#nude with coffee cup

[bishopsbox]

source: @superleapoffaith

Gene Oryx (photographer), nude with coffee cup

[hotchscvm]

leaked nudes

pt. 2

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: while looking at crime scene pictures on your phone, aaron swipes too far left and discovers some … sexy photos.

word count: 1.4k (short one)

warnings: nudes, masturbation, aaron jizzing in his pants like a teen, pervy aaron

This particular case had the whole team restless. Other than one lead that turned out to be useless as the suspect had an airtight alibi, there was nothing else that pointed where the unsub was. Thankfully, it seemed like his time in between kills was increasing, though that did very little to ease the team.

The precinct was almost empty, save for the few officers working the night shift and the team spread out around the conference room. Rossi was nursing a coffee, wishing it was whiskey. Emily sprawled out on the floor, the case file resting on her stomach. JJ sat sleeping in her chair, a blanket laid over her. Spencer was going over the details of the case while Derek stared at his file, unmoving.

You were positive he had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

Aaron sat next to you, a cup of coffee in his hand while he reviewed the case. You had given up trying to focus, taking a break as you played Tetris on your phone. Every few minutes, Aaron would glance at you before smiling and focusing back on his file.

After losing another game, you placed your phone on the table, leaning back in exhaustion. Looking around you, you were certain everyone except Rossi, Spencer, and Aaron were clocked out for the night. Derek was about ten minutes away from smacking his head on the table when his head slips from his hands.

Aaron flips through his file, brows furrowing. He looks around the messy table, searching for something in particular as you watched him with curiosity. “Where are the crime scene pictures from this morning’s victim?”

“Sheriff said their printer broke so they couldn’t print them out. I took a few pictures on my phone if you want to see them.” You motioned to your phone, yawning. Looking over at JJ, you resisted the urge to snatch the blanket from her.

He picks up your phone, swiping. “What’s your password?”

“Twelve thirty-four.”

Aaron paused, his lips twitching as he turned to look at you. “One, two, three, four?”

“It’s not like I have anything to hide,” you grumbled, ignoring his soft chuckle.

He put in the passcode, bringing him to the unclosed game of Tetris you were previously playing. Aaron couldn’t help but be amused at the high score before closing out and opening your photos. In your recents were the crime scene pictures he was looking for.

Aaron had swiped through the photos, trying to find a deviation from the killer’s MO but it looked the same as his previous victims. Maybe you had taken too many pictures of the body because he kept swiping left, looking at all the angles you had taken. The crime scene pictures had to end eventually but he was too sleep deprived to realize he’d eventually come across one of your other photos.

So he wasn’t prepared when he swiped to the left and instead of being met with another photo of the victim, it was one of you in skimpy clothing. Thankfully, he hadn’t been drinking his coffee as he saw it since he still managed to choke on his own saliva. Aaron’s eyes widened at the risque picture, sitting up, suddenly alert.

During him looking at the crime scene pictures, you had gotten up and walked to the vending machines. From where he sat, he could see you kick the machine in hopes of free food. The only one to witness his change of behavior was Rossi as Spencer was too engrossed in his reading, who had raised an eyebrow at his reaction.

In the photo, you were in a lacy black bra with a matching thong, bent over your bed. You had taken the picture facing the mirror, your back arched and ass up–on your knees and your clothing barely covering your essentials. Aaron swore he could see your nipples through the laced bra.

Curious, and driven by his hardening cock, Aaron swiped more. His breath hitched at the site of you topless, with just a pair of boxers on. A pair of his boxers. He remembered you shamelessly asking him for some shorts out of his go bag as you had forgotten to repack your sleep clothes and he had given you his boxers, blushing all the while.

As he stared at your breasts, he grew hard. He knew he should stop and close out, respecting your privacy and all, but he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t bring himself to look away let alone put the phone down.

He swiped again, this time you covered your bare breasts with one hand. You lay on your bed, naked yet what Aaron desperately wanted to see was covered by a discarded shirt that laid between your legs. The sun hit your body right, sunbeams illuminating your hair and despite the sensual position, he couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you are.

Looking up, he saw you were still bullying the vending machine and he couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He didn’t want you to see him being … perverted was the only word that came to him that described the situation perfectly.

Aaron couldn’t meet Rossi’s eyes as he took a sip of his coffee, careful to swallow it right. He pushed the chair into the table, concealing his rock-hard cock. His polyester suit pants rubbed against his cock, and he hissed quietly at the friction, wanting to head to the bathroom with your phone in hand to fix his situation.

He remained seated, pulling up your phone again in the hopes that he looked like he was going through the crime scene pictures, the reason you granted him permission to look through your phone.

He’s thinking about stopping, his finger shaking, urging him to swipe one more time while a small part of him screams to stop. Aaron swipes anyways.

His exhale is ragged as he sees your pussy for the first time. The video plays on mute and he almost combusts right then and there as you slowly finger yourself. You’re in a hotel room, your shirt bunched around your tits, a hand playing with a nipple. Aaron watches your index finger enter your dripping cunt, the wetness visible on camera. He has to bite his fist as you slowly slid it in and out, biting your lip at the feeling.

As you take your finger out, he watches your hand pinched your nipples, eyes narrowing at the shirt you had on. As you inserted a second finger into your sopping pussy, Aaron realized it was his shirt. A small, barely audible groan escaped his lips at the revelation. Video you had arched your back, mouth opening as you fucked yourself with two fingers. He could barely keep it together at the thought of you wearing his shirt as you fingered yourself.

He can’t take his eyes off your show, unknowingly palming himself with his free hand. Aaron watches in awe as you pump your fingers faster, unable to decide whether to watch the ecstasy on your face or your pussy swallowing your fingers in greed. The video is a minute from ending and he’s mesmerized at the screen.

So mesmerized he hadn’t noticed you come back into the room with a bunch of snacks in your arms. He jumped slightly as you dropped the snacks onto the table, quickly closing out your photos and placing your phone on the table.

You smiled at him, noticing the redness in his cheeks and ears. “I come back from battle with a feast.”

He nods, subtly fixing his pants under the table. Aaron doesn’t dare speak a word, knowing well enough that his mouth was dry.

Picking up a bag of goldfish, you threw it at Spencer’s face, breaking him out of his own world before getting a bag of Chex Mix and handing it out to your boss. “Here, Hotch.”

Your hand touches his as you give him the snack. From the video, a small touch and you saying his name, he cums in his pants. His hands wrap tightly around the bag, Chex Mix flying to the floor as the bag pops. His climax hits him hard, spurts of his cum wetting his pants and euphoria washing through him in powerful waves.

When he comes down from his high, he sees the whole team wake up, staring at the snack littering the floor and table. You glanced at him, confused, grimacing at the mess.

Aaron cleared his throat, slowly putting the bag on the table. “I don’t like Chex Mix.”

[nomnomnoona]

ATEEZ: The Morning After (aka Round 2 from the night before) HYUNG LINE

Adult OT8 imagine drabbles. Minors, please do not interact. You can read the maknae line of this theme here.

.

The warmth of the daylight slipping between the split of the curtains hits your cheek as you lay beneath the softest duvet. You toss, attempting to dodge the daylight, but instead the movement wakes you. You stretch, allowing your eyes to gently flutter open when you kick off the covers. The cool breeze kisses your skin and you lightly shiver, not yet fully aware.

As your eyes open, you notice a silhouette sitting against the light of the sheer layer of the curtain. The silhouette was seated quite close to the bed, the duvet spilling out to their feet.

Then the smell of coffee steals away that last moment of slumber as you are jolted by the realization that the relaxed, seated silhouette had chuckled. You remembered who he was.

You look down with a hyper awareness that you're fully nude. In a panic, you reach for the duvet with your legs, but he kicks it aside.

"Hongjoong," you scolded, grabbing the pillow beneath your head to cover yourself up. The bed was now bare. He had completely kicked off the duvet while you sat up, hugging the pillow with your arms and legs.

"Good morning to you too," he chuckled. As your eyes adjusted, you noticed more details. He was in the bath robe of the hotel, one leg crossed over the other, his cup of coffee in one hand, while he held open a magazine in the other.

"Don't you have work?" you asked, trying to scoot to the edge of the bed with the pillow in place.

He wasn't paying attention to the conversation, "Where's the modesty coming from? You had no problem letting me watch you squirm while you were sprawled out beneath me last night."

"I'm sober now," you tried to defend yourself, hoping he didn't notice you blush.

He smirked, "Silly," a scoff followed, "You didn't touch any of the alcohol I ordered."

Hongjoong put the coffee down and stood to walk passed you to the bathroom. He entered and you heard the shower running.

"Can I go first?" you called.

Hongjoong didn't respond.

You walked up to the bathroom, but before you could even reach for the door, Hongjoong opened it and stood in the doorway. His eyes travelled to the pillow you were hugging for dear life.

He reached over to you and your knee-jerk reaction was to flinch, thinking he was going to yank the pillow from you. Instead, he gently placed the end of his bathrobe's tie into your palm, closing your fingers in to hold onto it.

"Get in," he gestured to the bathtub, "Since you can't remember last night, I'll remind you."

Hongjoong turned around and walked towards the tub while you held onto the tie, his robe unraveling in his wake.

.

It came as a complete surprise to you that someone as obsessively clean as Seonghwa made you feel so dirty--but not in the filthy way.

"Come here," Seonghwa had snaked his arms around your waste to pull your body against his. You didn't flinch. You liked it--heck--you loved it. Seonghwa was slender but strong, gentle yet firm. He was the type who made every effort to be in the same rhythm and heartbeat as you were.

If you weren't done, he wouldn't be. If you were at your climax, he would be right there with you. The man's seduction technique was pure synchronicity. He never left you alone. He was always right there with you.

So even if it took him a long time to wake up, you waited for him and stayed by his side to let him know you'd be right there with him too.

"I'm glad you waited for me," he said, his voice now muffled because he had buried his nose in your hair. "I love your smell. This is how I want to wake up."

"What do I smell like?" you asked.

"Sex," he drawled. But before you could reply, his hand was between your legs, "Breakfast?"

"Do we order in or--" never mind. He didn't mean coffee.

.

You stretched and then woke when Yunho's side of the bed was empty. Feeling a bit lonely, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, trying to gain a little more awareness so you could figure out where he was.

You stood up, not bothering to cover up, following the sound of the faucet in the bathroom. It was your first time sleeping over at Yunho's and he had been a bit nervous about you staying over. He had been going above and beyond recently to be hospitable, so you weren't surprised when you found him drawing you a bath.

"You're up," he jumped up, putting the bath bomb on the counter as he all but rushed over and let you sit on the edge of the tub. Before you could even speak, he pulled up a small basin with warm water and a towel, dipping in the towel and wringing it before he reached over between your legs.

"What are you doing?" you said with a laugh, tickled by the way he cleaned your thighs.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep right away," okay. Yunho must have looked up after care. This guy was really going the extra mile. You placed your hand on his.

"I feel comfortable," you assured him. "Come on," you stood, he looked confused as you guided him to stand. He towered over you.

"Take it off," you said with a smile as you tugged the hem of his shirt. "That's an expensive bath bomb," you laughed a little, "We should make the most of it."

With no less than stars in his eyes, he hurried to yank his shirt over his head, toss the bath bomb in, and pull you into an eager, delicious kiss, guiding you into the tub with him.

.

Yeosang was probably the most confusing person you have ever slept with. It was a good kind of confusion, because you were nothing short of satisfied, but confusing nonetheless.

When you had met Yeosang, he was almost the textbook definition of "baby girl". He was sweet, gentle, and he even had a delicate laugh.

A few drinks down the line, he was beginning to flop onto your couch like a stuffed animal. You had offered him your couch for the night because he was much too drunk to drive. On top of that, you were also absolutely enamored with him. He was so beautiful, so fascinating to watch. You could have watched him sleep.

And then he pulled off his long-sleeved sweater.

His forearms were practically carved as his veins moved with every motion of his fingers. His arms were solid as rocks and your inebriated memory reminded you that your eyes tried to follow his veins from his forearm to his bicep to his neck.

You were seated next to him on the couch, stunned silent as he threw his head back, irritated that he chose to wear such fitted jeans tonight. Yeosang began to roughly yank his belt off, but failed.

Your last memory was the moment he grabbed your wrist and placed your hand on his buckle, his almost baritone voice demanding, "Take it off."

"What happened?" was his next question, 11:00 in the morning, clutching his temple as he sat across you at your dining table.

You poured him a tall glass of water and shrugged. You were intoxicated, sure, but not so much that you would forget the way he flat out fucked you senseless. You could still feel his iron grip on your hips. It was as though they were about to bruise.

Of course, it was wonderful. You would do it again in a heartbeat. You knew that he was someone who could get it from you anytime he asked.

You turned around and brought over toast, eggs, and a few sausages when your eyes locked with his. Your heart skipped a beat because he just had the most knowing smirk on his face.

He remembered.

"I'll have one egg," he said. "But if you're not yet sore," he pushed his empty plate forward, "I'll have two so I have enough energy to make sure you bruise this time."

Without a second thought, you straight up poured all four eggs you made onto his plate.

.

Maknae line here

[k-hotchoisan]

touch and sketch

<jongho x fem!reader>

stuck with an artist’s block, Jongho’s friend introduces you to be his model for his project, which ends up introducing a whole whirlwind of problems, especially when you're modelling nude for him, and he realises how pent up he is on top realising how attracted he is to you.

Genres/warnings: smut, pwp, artist jongho (bc he’s the only who can actually draw 😭), nude modeling for art, perverted! Jongho who’s actually pent up, unprotected sex, sexual tension, kinda fluff?, oral (m receive), tit/nipple licking, masturbation, blowjob, cumming on garment, cream pie, Wooyoung is lowkey a wingman, bathrobe is a paid actor

taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee

🩷stay perverted: the masterlist

The back of Jongho's wooden pencil taps against his sketch book. The page has faint lines of messy sketches, erased over and over again. Eraser dust is scattered all over his desk, especially around his notebook. Jongho sighs, dropping his pencil, where it rolls into the crook of the notebook before he gets up to grab his third cup of coffee. Artist's block is a common occurrence, but this came at the wrong fucking time. Not when he has deadlines to meet.

He glances over at the large blank canvas propped up on the easel. It doesn’t help that his model bailed last minute because something came up. Now he’s left uninspired, without a model, and a shit ton of piling works to submit before the month ends. Sure, two and a half weeks sounded long, but for an artist? It’s almost a death sentence with the amount of work sketches he needs to come up with, let alone the large glaring canvas serving a reminder that his final piece is due altogether.

Knocking from the studio door echoes in the room, snapping Jongho out of his thoughts and worries, at least for the time being. There is a pause before the door pushes open, Wooyoung’s head peeping from the door.

“Hyung”, Jongho greets, settling his mug onto the table, rubbing his hands on the fabric of his trousers. Wooyoung’s eyes are bright, and he looks like he has something to tell Jongho, and he hopes that it’s good news.

“I’ve got good news for you, buddy”, Wooyoung says, dragging a stool to sit beside his junior. “I found a replacement model.”

Jongho’s tired eyes suddenly lighten up. Fuck, there’s hope. Maybe he can wing this shit especially when one of his worries has been elevated by a whole ton.

“How?” Jongho asks, his fingers idly twirling the pencil.

“I’ve got my ways. You owe me dinner, bro”, Wooyoung smiles, patting Jongho’s back gently. “But you can do that when you’re done with your submissions.”

Jongho has never felt relief this large like the ocean, washing over him over and over again. He feels like he can breathe once more. He looks up at Wooyoung, his eyes reflecting a glint of hope of completely escaping his hell.

“Thank you, Hyung. I really am eternally grateful for you”, Jongho sighs, dropping the pencil back to the desk as Wooyoung snatches his phone to enter the model’s number into Jongho’s phone.

Wooyoung dons his signature smile before he heads for the door. He pauses for a moment before he turns to Jongho.

“She’ll come in tomorrow. Don’t scare her off okay?”

Jongho scoffs at Wooyoung’s words, but he nods before he waves Wooyoung off, then going back to his empty sketch book, attempting to drown in his work once more, hopefully with an ounce of progress this time at least.

You glance down at the message from the number Wooyooung passed to you the day before. He told you he had a friend who needed a model for his art finals, and that he was pretty desperate because his previous model cancelled on him. You didn’t think much of it, considering that you did help a couple of your close friends to model for their art finals too, and accepted without much thought.

“He’s a polite guy, but he’s a little shy. Don’t bite him okay?” Wooyoung reminded you, receiving a soft smack to his arm from you in response.

You look up at the art studio, double checking the signage before knocking on the door.

There’s silence. You furrow your eyebrows and knock again after a few seconds.

Shuffling could be heard from the other side of the door before the door pulls open to reveal a boy with glasses that sit loosely on the bridge of his nose. His cheeks are chubby, and his whole demeanour reminds you of a…bear? Something about him looks so cuddly. But he looks like a mess—his brunette hair tousled, his eye bags are slightly prominent, and it makes you wonder how much this poor dude has been slaving away for his work.

You force a smile. “Hey! I’m y/n. You’re Choi Jongho right?”

Jongho blinks before it seems like a lightbulb has gone off in his head. His eyes slightly brightens up, and he shifts a little to let you into his studio.

“Nice to meet you, y/n. Thank you for accepting such a last minute thing. I’ll compensate you once I’m done”, Jongho greets, shutting the door behind him.

You take a step into the studio, taking in the small and cluttered space. Canvases and easels stands take up space on the floors and corners, different types of papers, pens, brushes and palettes covering the desk. There is a couch in the middle of the room, probably for the model, dusted clean, with a large piece of fabric hastily draped over the piece of furniture.

He plants himself on the roller chair before he turns to you, gesturing to you to sit on the couch, and you take the offer, trying to relax against the fabric beneath you.

“So”, Jongho begins, flipping a smaller notebook open, scanning through the bullet points he wrote. “I need you to come in quite often for the next two weeks, at least until I’m done with this, so I’ll have to trouble you a bit.” You shake your head reassuringly.

“No worries, I’m done with my finals, so I’ve got time to spare.”

Jongho nods, and he starts with briefing you on the details of the schedule, and he pauses at the final bit. He seems hesitant.

“…And for this piece, I need you to model nude”, he finally says. Then he looks up. “Are you okay with that?” You see pink tint dusted at the tips of his ears, but his expression remains firm. But he continues, his gaze switching back to his moleskin-esque looking notebook, “this one is gonna take the longest because as you can see”, his hands gestures to the large, blank canvas that sat in the middle of the studio, “it’s definitely going to take awhile.” He’s done, and you see his fingers fidgeting with the dangling ribbon of his notebook.

“Sure. Do we get started now? We should right?”, you respond, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips, watching hints of relief flood Jongho’s expression as he relaxes slightly. “I’ll compensate you well, I promise”, the male artist sighs in relief.

Of course, he doesn’t have you model nude immediately. He doesn’t want to scare you off, not when he knows how fucking difficult it is to get a model, let alone someone to model nude for him. But he has you do simple poses, poses that he manages to transfer into gorgeous sketches in his sketch book that he feels relief in seeing filled up. It’s amazing to see Jongho at work—how he’s concentrated at fixing your poses at the smallest angles and movements, and how he’s able to replicate real life into drawings. It was almost like magic.

You take a small sip of coffee that Jongho made for you as you watch the pencil in his fingers make rough, yet confident strokes on the paper, all of it coming together.

You observe that he’s rather quiet for the most part, or maybe he’s just absorbed in his own works. So from time to time, you would talk to him, sometimes making coffee for him in between sessions, which Jongho is definitely grateful for. Undoubtedly, he slowly starts to open up, on top of making progress on his assignments. If anything, you thought it was nothing short of attractive Jongho looked when he was fully focused onto his crafts.

The sixth day is when he gives you a head’s up to start modelling for him in nude. By then, the both of you were more comfortable with each other, especially spending quite a bit of time in close proximity, not to mention, despite his seemingly cool demeanour, Jongho was a very easy person to get along with.

“Have you done this before?” Jongho asks, as he sifts through large canvases, looking for the one that is perfect. “Yeah, a couple of times”, you reply, squeezing the bathrobe in your arms.

“I’ve drawn the curtains and locked the door. You can remove your clothes behind the folding screen there”, he points over before going back to setting up his charcoals onto the easel.

It doesn’t take you long to walk out from behind the folding screens in a bathrobe, and Jongho is still setting up his canvas. He looks over when he hears your footsteps growing closer, then gestures to the couch, now with a large piece of white silk fabric draped over. “You can get ready over there”, he instructs.

You drop the robe, letting it hang over the couch as you get yourself comfortable on the furniture. You shiver slightly at the cold breeze from the ceiling fan, and well, also because you were currently naked.

When Jongho is finally done with setting up, his attention turns to you, and he’s rooted to the ground for a good few seconds as his eyes wander all over your body and your pretty little features, and for a moment, his breath is caught in his throat.

Here’s the thing, Jongho has had models model nude for him—both men and women. He’s not phased, because that’s just part of what he needs to do—capture anatomy at it’s rawest form and sketch them onto his papers. But then, here’s the thing—he suddenly cannot seem to focus when his eyes are on you.

“So, how should I pose, Mr Artist?” You ask with a small smile on your face, snapping him out of his little thoughts. Jongho looks pretty flushed—you notice the tips of his ears are growing slightly red, but he walks over where you are.

“If you don’t mind”, he asks, and you shake your head, holding your breath when you feel his warm touch against your bare skin as he gently positions you.

“Lie down for me and face the canvas. I’ll position your arms and legs for you”, Jongho says. You let yourself rest on the plush couch, and you feel Jongho’s hands all over you once more, resting under your ams as he positions it on the couch. Your eyes follow his movements, noticing how he would glance past your chest, but then pause when he has to touch your lower body. The red at the tip of his ears is starting to flush his entire ear by now. His fingers brush against your thighs, and you try not to fidget too much, and hope he doesn’t feel the goosebumps he’s giving you. Jongho manages to position your legs the way he wants them to look before he hastily gets up and scurries back to the canvas.

“I might need you to stay like that, at least until I’m finished with the rough sketch. Could you hold on for me until then?” He asks, his eyes slowly trailing down your whole body, trying to keep the image in his head.

“I’ll try my best”, you reply with a smile.

Jongho tries his best to keep his thoughts at bay, at least, until he finishes the sketches. He lets his hands do the magic, the graphite pressing against the canvas as the quick strokes begin taking shape.

The process definitely took awhile, and you were grateful that Jongho positioned you in a pose where it was relatively comfortable, at least. The both of you would have small conversations in between, and it definitely helped ease the tension. When Jongho’s head would peek out from the side of the canvas, you would internally giggle to yourself, thinking how much he looks like a little bear looking for food.

Although the first day of the nude modelling went well, for some reason, Jongho can’t seem to get you out of his head, well your body, specifically. The touch of your skin still burns on his, and he barely is able to shake off the growing tension in his body. He slaps his cheeks.

Few more days, Jongho. Just a few more days.

The following days go by, not with their own problems—not with the art piece though, thankfully, but with you. The more he stares at you, the more he can’t seem to get his mind out of the gutter. Each passing day he thought he would grow more used to looking at your bare body, but apparently not, because his cheeks would heat up whenever he’s shading or blending, especially nearing your chest and thighs, when he has to look over, his gaze lingering a little too long, at the same time, thinking about how ridiculous he feels about this. Jongho mentally slaps himself, and forces his attention back to the canvas, his shading already halfway done.

But as his glances continue to stay longer on you, the sudden thought of his fantasies bubble up right at that moment—the way you’re writhing underneath him, taking his thick cock inch by inch on the couch that you were supposed to be modelling on, his bare skin against yours. His mind begins to float at the expressions you would make, the things you would say, and his grip on his charcoal tightens.

Jongho pauses there, his mind swimming in the depths of sin, his charcoal paused in mid air. His erection is pressing against his cargo pants. He internally curses, thankful that the canvas is big enough to hide whatever embarrassment he’s holding right now.

As the drawing slowly blooms on the canvas, you could take more frequent breaks in between sessions. At first, you’d wear the bathrobe fully, but as you slowly become more comfortable, you wouldn’t even tie the bathrobe, letting your nipples peek through the large opening, and boy, did that sometimes send Jongho’s head spinning when you’re teasing him like that.

Everything seems to almost snap during another one of your breaks, you quietly walk over to Jongho’s side, your bathrobe only draping over your shoulders watching him blend out the charcoal. The smell of your body soap hits him and floods all of his senses, and Jongho stills, his mind completely surrounded by you.

And that’s when realises his cock is rock hard, and that you are standing just over his shoulder, barely covered.

“I really like your art style”, you compliment, your eyes tracing the lines. You lean in forward, and your hand presses against his shoulders to balance yourself, followed by your body weight. All Jongho can do is force a smile while his heart is beating a hundred miles an hour.

When you leave few hours later, Jongho stays behind to finish and clean up. He doesn’t know how he was able to pull through the rest of the session with an erection just pressing painfully against his pants, but the moment he goes to the couch to collect the bathrobe, he cracks. The smell of you lingers on the piece of garment and Jongho feels like he’s about to fucking burst. He slides his bottoms off, including his underwear, letting his wet cock sit heavily against his abdomen with a relieved sigh.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this.

Lifting the garment to his nose, your smell completely engulfs him, and his hand is on his cock, giving it a couple of pumps, soft groans leaving his lips. His hips buck into his hand, desperate to speed up while day dreaming about you between his legs, taking his cock into your mouth, bobbing your head, looking up at him with fluttered lashes, then slowly pulling out, agonisingly slow that it drives Jongho crazy, before you pump him and let him cum all over your bare tits.

Jongho’s hips jerk, accompanied by a whine at that imagery. He fucking swears you look ethereal bare like that, but his cum on you? He thinks you’ll look like the perfect masterpiece. The bathrobe falls slightly, and drapes over his cock, and Jongho decides to fuck his hand over the garment, while still letting himself go drunk over your smell.

“Y/n, fuck. Deeper. Oh gods”, His mind slowly growing more hazy at the thought of you doing things to him. Before he knows it, a pleasured whimper slips past his lips, his eyes rolling back, the lewd sounds of his cock being fucked by his hand grow louder, more faster and more wetter, as his orgasm bubbles over, warm and thick all over the bathrobe.

He’s fucked.

The next day, Jongho is completely in a blur, but he’s almost done, much to both his relief and dismay, mostly because he wants to see you more often. The sinful act he committed lingers freshly in his mind, and the slight of you wearing the bathrobe, loose over your body, when he just cummed on it the night before (although he still washed it), has his cock jump in his pants again. He internally prays for the session to go quickly, or smoothly at least, because he doesn’t know how much more he can take.

On your break, you stand behind him again, watching him skilfully use his fingers to blend out the charcoal, his movements growing slower at your scent once more.

“Oh, that means you’re almost done, aren’t you?” You ask, your sides leaning onto him, only separately by the useless garment hugging you loosely.

“Yeah. It’s just a little more blending and we can wrap up”, Jongho manages to reply. He doesn’t catch you taking one of the charcoal. He doesn’t catch you with that playful stare while you slightly stain your hands with it. And he definitely doesn’t catch your playful intentions when you smudge your fingers against his face, a stroke of charcoal that streaked down his cheek while he blinks in utter shock. He glances up at you with a pout before hastily getting off his chair.

A wide smile spreads over your face before you giggle and run away, with Jongho giving chase after you.

“Come back here!”, he yells playfully, chasing you around the studio, which only makes you giggle even more. “That was rude as hell, y/n!”

His hands manage to grab your wrists, and you’re pinned onto the couch, the bathrobe sliding off your shoulders, all the way down your arm. Jongho is just inches above you, panting slightly from chasing you.

“Caught ya”, he presses his hands on your face, streaking a charcoal stain down your cheek as well, for payback, reflecting your smile before it completely disappears. You stare back at him breathlessly, your eyes lowering to his lips before shifting back to his eyes.

He slowly lets go of your wrists, his hands sliding to your jaw. Your arms hug his neck, and before you realise it, Jongho’s lips are soft and wet against yours, parting your lips to let his tongue swipe your bottom lip. A soft groan is pulled from you as he tugs gently against your bottom lip, feeling slick slowly puddling from the arousal. Jongho’s hands slide down to your thighs, pushing them open while his lips keep yours occupied, his mind slowly blanking out.

When the both of you pull back, you can’t help but relish at the way Jongho still looks so fucking good even after that steamy make out session. He looks starved, and so pent up, even more evident when you feel the hardness of his cock just pressing onto your thigh through his pants.

You press your bare leg against his erection, and Jongho lets out a whimper.

“Let me help you with that”, you offer, shifting so that it was Jongho on the couch. You tug at the waistband of his shorts, and his cock comes into view, as heavy as it was the night before, transparent fluids coating the tip of his length.

His breathing grows more ragged, because he can’t believe that this is happening.

“So fucking pretty”, you smile, before sticking your tongue out, giving licks from the base to the top, sending Jongho’s mind into a complete frenzy. “How long have you been pent up like this, babe?”

Babe. Jongho’s breath is caught in his throat. “Awhile”, is all he manages to answer, his abdomen flexing from the way you’re stroking him with your hands.

You don’t give him any warning before pushing your head down, letting your mouth cover the entirety of his cock, letting it hit the back of your throat. Jongho’s knuckles are growing white from how hard he’s gripping the silk fabric on the couch, his other hand tugging at your scalp.

“F-fuck. Don’t stop. Please. It feels so fucking good”, he whimpers, slowly turning into a sob, his hips fucking into your mouth. You pull back slowly, letting him watch his cock emerge from your mouth, wet and sticky with a coy smile.

“Feels better than in your little fantasies, doesn’t it?”

Jongho’s eyes widen, and he swallows hard. Fuck.

You don’t even give him a chance to respond, taking his full cock into your mouth once more, this time, bobbing your head, feeling him fill up your mouth whenever you take him in once more. Jongho’s mind is completely gone, his head is resting against the backing of the couch, eyes rolled back in complete bliss.

He barely comes back to reality when you finally slow down and pull back, thick fluids of his precum and your spit link your mouth to his cock before you lick them away. You give his pretty cock a couple more pumps before you sit up to straddle his thighs, letting Jongho undress you completely (although there wasn’t much to undress anyway), leaving the bathrobe somewhere on the couch.

You inch forward, capturing his lips with yours once more, taking his hands to roam around your bare skin, letting his warm touch linger. Jongho lifts your hips, barely hovering over his cock, and he pushes you down slowly, his eyes locked onto you—eating up your fucked out expression as you’re spilt open by him from below as his cock pushes past your hole. He swallows hard again when his cock is seated warmly in your cunt, taking your breast to his mouth, his tongue swirling gentle circles over and over to distract himself from cumming too early. Drool seeps past the corner of his lips, his mind dizzy at how you’re so warm and just squeezing him so fucking perfectly. He switches to your other breast, giving it the same treatment, absolutely drunk on the way you’re moaning his name, your hips lifting slightly before he’s seated in you to the hilt.

“So fucking deep babe”, you sigh, keeping your eyes locked onto Jongho, who only pulls you into another deep kiss before he says, “we can go deeper.”

You blink at him, and this time, it’s his turn to stop you from responding when his hands roam to your ass, pulling your cheeks apart, letting your cunt swallow his cock even more, before making you bounce on his cock while you hug him.

“That’s it. All the way, baby”, he encourages right into your ears, ignoring the profanities spewing out of your mouth.

The sounds of wet skin only echoes louder in the closed studio, you only pray that no one walks past or tries to rattle the damn door knob. Well, not that you could do anything about it.

“Too much, Jongho-“ you choke, feeling his cock dragging against your soft walls, “I’m gonna-“

“Go on, let it go”, he encourages once more, making sure every time he sinks into you, you fucking feel him pressing against your sensitive spots.

Jongho holds your thighs down, his vision completely focused onto, watching you fall apart on his cock, fluttering so fucking nicely against his length as stars overtake your vision, and cream coating his cock when he pulls out, only to rut back into you.

“You’re so fucking pretty, y/n. Even the canvas can’t capture your glow”, Jongho confesses, feeling himself reach his limit. His eyes are shut, and he buries his head against the crook of your neck. You feel yourself flush at his words.

“I’m gonna cum, y/n. I can’t take it. Feels so good”, Jongho mutters, eyes glazed, looking up at you once more, his grip around you tightening. Your fingers comb back his locks, and with a smile, you reply, “you’ve earned it, baby.”

He falls apart, flooding thick and warm cum into your pussy, his breathing uneven and his mind spinning. Oh god, he can’t think.

As the both of you come down from your high, Jongho still has his head nuzzled against your neck, giving soft kisses from time to time as he softens in you.

“Don’t you need to finish your piece?” You ask, slotting your hands into the sleeves of the bathrobe as Jongho holds it behind your back.

“Yeah, I’m almost done. If it wasn’t for someone who decided to smudge charcoal onto my face”, he teases, and you laugh in reply. “Give me fifteen minutes, then we can have dinner together.”

The mess the both of you made was the least of your concerns, because Jongho scored a distinction on said piece anyway, and evidently, you’ve become his favourite muse, and he turned to be your favourite artist.

[suguruplsr]

ex geto as you roommate (love your work🩷🩷)

Ex suguru as your roommate!

✰ ✰ ✰ roommate!ex!suguru headcannons !

જ⁀➴ mind was racing, heart beating, thighs quivering, toes sh****** — when i saw this <3 and ty ilyyyy

,,roommate!ex!suguru x ex!fem!reader , suguru is toxic a bit , and a asshole , he brings girls over , soft sex , idk 🧍🏾‍♀️

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who you broke up with after finding out he was talking to multiple girls on campus. even a few you knew and smiled to your face while their nudes were in their messages with him. but you didn't have any choice but to stay with him, only as his roomate of course.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who finds the changes in not only how you two act with each other, but how you live together, a nuisance. his room no longer cluttered with a few of your belongings, the smell of your body wash fading away in his sheets, (he didn't wash them and his pillow case for nearly 3 weeks), your voice waking him softly, the sound of the front door closing right as he wakes up with no aroma of food, all of it was gone.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who can't handle it. hearing your voice through the thin walls, talking to some guy over the phone. he's sure he knows the guy. a goodie two-shoes with absolutely no game at all. at least in suguru's opinion. it's bewildering that the guy even got you to the point of talking to him in that oh so sultry voice that you used to use on suguru himself. even if it was directed towards him. just hearing it made his heart, and something else jump.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who starts waking up early. up at 8 am, drinking a cup coffee, (his 4th cup), with nothing but a dark pair of sweats on, and his hair messy and untied. he’d scroll through his phone, not responding to his messages of girls he hasn’t talked to after the break up. all just to see you up and ready for a good 15 minutes before you leave for nearly 12 hours, and he's sure you're not that busy, you're so cute avoiding and ignoring his existence.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who's just so nosy, and doesn't know what to do with knowing that you're actually moving on from him. so he begins to tell you little lies, "that guy? no, the really smart one. yea, he's just fucking the psychology professor for a good grade.", "i heard some guy got your number yesterday. don't worry about who told me- he has herpes!" , "did you hear about that rumor of him and his sister? yes i saw that clown kissing her” he can’t let you leave him just yet, maybe he should start threatening people?

Roommate!Ex!Suguru whose lies are just so funny to you. you know what is true and what’s not. and you also know he’s just being a huge dick. but you can’t help but indulge him just a tiny bit and cut off a few guys just to see how his eyes twinkle, with a small, “i told you so.” it makes you feel jittery, desperately wanting to just, ‘burst his bubble’, and call him out on his bull.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who begins to realize that despite you listening to his words, you aren’t as affected as he wishes you were. he knows it’s wrong to be upset that his, not-so-good, actions aren’t enough to push you over the edge. over back to him. he can still hear you talking to that one guy. you met him like a month ago and you’ve been going on dates with him every single week. he knows his ego is too big, especially to think that he’s better than some smart, preppy, cute guy. but he can’t help it.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who begins to get petty. talking to new girls and finding quick fuck buddies whose names he can’t remember. but what he eventually did, which definitely pissed you off, was bring them home. sneaking them in the house and fucking them closer to your shared wall. acting clueless when you cuss him out in the morning. you never showed your face to them though, knowing that he picks a new girl every week so it was best just avoid the temporary girls. maybe he never saves their numbers because even he finds their shrills annoying. it makes you facepalm, the dick is never that good.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who actually hooks up with one girl more than once. surprising you when she walks out his room, finding you, who was making a bowl of cereal before you get ready for work.

“And who the hell are you..?” you sigh at the sound of her snob tone. but you can’t blame her. “i’m his roomate, and i’m leaving.” short and sweet. respectful. and yet she just had to open her mouth, “of course. geto wouldn’t fuck someone like you..” she trails off under her breath, making you whip your head with a roll of you eyes. “oh please. suguru, has fucked me more times than i can count. and you aren’t going to disrespect me where i live, so good day ma’am.” you open the door, a smug look on your face as she stomps out.

“did you really have to do that..” suguru slumped out of his room with a yawn, feigned annoyance on his pretty face, but you could tell he felt rather happy from the crinkle of his eyes. you aren’t sure why he’s obviously deriving some joy from seeing you kick out one of his hoes. but it makes your lips curl in a smile. “stop having sex with girls while i’m here. plus i think her wig was slipping.” your eyes soften at the sight of him covering his croaky laugh. you follow in suite with a few chuckles as you two actually continue the conversation, talking for nearly an hour before you have to go.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who you begin to get more comfortable with compared to before. the tension between you two lessening within weeks. you two even continued having your late night horror movies, which you stopped after breaking up, or talking to each for hours about gossip that you two bring home. hell, both of you spent two hours talking about the guy you’ve been seeing, piecing up to the fact that he may have been a bad ex of some girl you knew. suguru was fairly happy when you called the guy and broke things off.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who starts to change as your friendship heals. becoming more involved in things he actually likes, cutting off on his smoking and drinking habits, getting good grades, working out. you knew he was genuine about his growth in becoming more healthy from him doing it unconsciously and without question.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru whose change slowly attracts you. its refreshing. but you knew from his glances and small intimate touches, that he still wanted you. you thought he’d be over you after nearly 5 months but you’ve decided to wait. maybe he’s caught on to your own fleeting actions? anytime you’re touching him, he makes it a mission to have your hands on him longer than they should be.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who gets bolder after a small incident of him accidentally cornering you…

“that’s the salt.” “oh..” you sigh playfully as he puts the salt back, searching for the sugar again and moving around you. you admit, it was kinda scary how his taller build just towered over you. large arms going around your head and— wait what?

pausing, you place the knife down on the cutting board and look up. suguru’s jaw was way above you, one of his long and large arms around your whole body to reach up to the cabinet as he searched for the sugar shaker. turning, you tried to move away but his other arm blocked your way.

and of course. with the way your kitchen was styled, part of the counter blocked the other side. “suguru….” your voice comes out quieter than you wish it did, so meek and quiet. “suguru..” you say it louder, making him halt and look down at you. god, you looked adorable, your eyes trying to look anywhere but him, biting your lip. gesturing to the sink, you stammer, eyes flickering up to him only to look away. “you’re kinda..” “oh- sorry”

suguru immediately moves away, watching silently as you wash your hands. he could tell how nervous you were from how you had let your hands stay in the water a little longer than needed, taking a deep breath. so cute.

Roommate!Ex!Suguru who lets his hands linger on you more, sometimes guiding your body when moving around you, or helping you out. “your bonnet’s falling a bit, lemme fix that right quick.” and you know it doesn’t take that long to adjust your bonnet. you know it doesn’t take that long to get a piece of lint off you. you know it doesn’t take that long to fix your necklace. you know. yet you never speak out on it. but maybe that’s why he keeps doing it.

Roomate!Ex!Suguru who makes small innuendos when you least expect it. loving the small gasp that escapes your lips, head whipping to him with traces of your ice cream on your lips. “what? i’m just saying~” he’d tease, wiping off the ice cream and licking it off his thumb. the tension quickly easing as you slap his shoulder with a huff.

Roomate!Ex!Suguru who knows you both aren’t shy of knowing each other's bodies. but you two can’t help but act like little virgins who can’t handle being near each other without getting nervous. it’s like falling in love all over again, but with sexual tension. and it's killing him. you both know what you want so why not act on it and try again. together.

Roomate!Ex!Suguru who works you up, annoying you and turning you on all in one day only to shut you up with a kiss. which leads to both of you eventually stumbling onto the couch..

“m’so sorry baby.. should’ve been better” you huff as suguru mutters the nth apology, his feather like kisses on your neck numbing the pain of his cock sliding into to you for the first time in what feels like forever. “i know— um, oh fuck.. sugu, please, it’s okay! i..” your whimpers make suguru’s eyes lock onto you, leaving little scratches on his chest.

he was in deep. cock pushed to the hilt and right at your sweet spot. just pressing it. but he just wouldn’t move, your pussy was so tight, so he could just grind into you and he’s sure he’d cum. “s-sorry baby. i’m just so sorry n’ i can’t think. fuckin’ pussy is a-amazing..” suguru closes his eyes tight. his voice having an undertone of a whine as he slowly rocks his cock in and out of you.

“uh— mm, your so deep suguru~ just like this.. still need ta’ get used to it” your moan has a chuckle leaving his lips. both of you were in a drunk haze of sex and emotions, unable to even fuck properly. “yea? o-ok. that’s fine. but please tell me you’re gonna take me back after this. fuck. really wanna be with you again. i love you so much and—“

you cut him off like a small kiss, a ditzy smile playing on your lips, “of course you idiot. i don’t just let anyone fuck me. not on a couch of all things. a-and i love you too.” your nails dig into his shoulder at the feeling of his cock dragging in slowly. it made you feel delirious, and him leaning down to continue the kisses topped it off, speaking between them, “then i’m not fucking you. i’m making— ha, love to you..”

[spencereidluver]

F is for First Date

summary: You and Spencer go on your first date to a little coffee shop before work. You convince him to try your coffee, and he finds he enjoys it.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none. just fluff and spencer being a gentleman

You roll over in your bed, throwing the covers off of your body. It was hot. Why was it so hot? You look over to your alarm cock: 8:03 a.m. You were running late. 45 minutes late, actually. Luckily, your apartment is only a few blocks away from the office, however, you typically left at 8:10. That left you 7 minutes to do your normal hour long routine.

You quickly jump up from your bed, letting the blankets fall wherever they pleased. Honestly, what’s the point in making the bed? You’re just going to tear it apart in your sleep tonight, anyways. You jog slightly to your bathroom, grabbing your hairbrush and multitasking as you did your morning pee. You brushed your teeth in record time, definitely not two minutes, but at least the morning breath was gone.

You went back to your room, slipping off your flannel pajama pants and gray “Harvard” shirt. You didn’t go to Harvard. You just liked the oversized shirt. 

You grabbed a nude-toned bra out of your dresser and clasped it behind your back. You slid a white lace top over your head and threw a tan fuzzy cardigan on. You put a pair of dark tights on and pulled a dark brown leather miniskirt over them, tucking the white top in. You slid on thick white socks on, ones that ended at your mid-shin, and put on a pair of black converse. 

Good enough, you thought to yourself, not bothering to put on makeup. You planned to stay in the office today. No meetings, and pray to god no cases. You just wanted a chill day.

You left your apartment at 8:15, not much later than you normally did, you’d just have to take out the coffee stop this morning. 

______

You nearly drop your bag as you’re rushing through the parking lot, trying desperately to enter the building before 8:30. Not only were you up late this morning, but traffic was a bitch. It wouldn’t be a big deal if you were a few minutes late, however you’ve been petulant in your 9 months and don’t plan to start truancy now. 

Of course, Derek, who 9 times out of 10 is fashionablly late, sees you speed walking through the parking lot.

“Hey Sweetheart, what are you doing in so late?” He jokingly cat-calls you through the lot.

“Slept late,” You respond in a yell, not slowing your step at all.

“Aw, baby needs her beauty sleep?” “Something like that.”

You rush into the building, crossing through the glass doors of the BAU office right as the clock struck 8:30, Derek somehow a full two minutes behind you. You walk over to your desk and place your knitted tote bag filled with personal items on the ground beneath you. Sitting in your chair, you plop the stack of paperwork in front of you, and look at the man across from you.

“Morning, Spence,” You say as you open the file.

“Goodmorning, y/n. How was your morning?” He asks curiously. 

“Well, I overslept and didn’t have time for a coffee stop, but luckily I was having a good hair day so it doesn’t matter. How about you?”

“Well I couldn’t even tell. You look great. My morning was alright. I got my coffee.” He mockingly takes a big sip before standing up and excusing himself. 

You didn’t know where he was going, though you had enough paperwork to let it pass through your mind. You quickly began scribbling through the papers and placing files where they needed to go. You forgot how messy you’d left your desk Friday when you returned from a case. You were in a big hurry to leave and go to dinner with the team, you just threw everything from the case on your desk and scrammed. It wasn’t a big deal though, it was just easy, boring paperwork. 

Spencer returned a few minutes later with a coffee cup in hand. He approached your desk. “Hey, y/n,” he says, you move your attention from the paperwork to him towering over you. “I made you a coffee. I um, I put two sugars in it, I hope that’s alright, I’ve seen you drink it like that before and-”

“It’s perfect, Spence, thank you.” You say, taking the cup as he hands it down to you.

He hurries to his chair and hides his face. You curiously turned the cup around. There, you saw the inscription of his homely handwriting. “y/n: do you want to go out for coffee tomorrow morning before work? -Spence.” 

You smiled, and went to look up at him, but he instinctively scurried away. Though, he’d left his half drank cup of coffee on his desk. You walk over to his, and flop down in his chair, it almost swallowing you whole as the leather back had fitted to his broader shoulders. You grab the coffee and a Sharpie marker from his pencil cup. “Spence: of course I do… 7:30? <3”

You get up and return to your  desk, almost on cue, Spencer returns. You were unsure of where he came from, though it didn’t matter. He sat at his desk, and you nodded your head to the cup. He looked confused for a brief second, before bringing it to his eyes to read it. 

He looked up and smiled at you. “ 7:30 sounds great, I’ll meet you there,” he says.

“Okay! I’m parking here and walking, if you wish to join,” you say, taking a sip of the special made coffee. It was no different than how you normally made it, but it tasted special because of who made it.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot here, then. How’s that?” “That’s perfect, Spence.”

You return to your paperwork, unable to hide the smile on your face. You’d waited so long for this moment, you couldn’t believe it was finally happening. You caught Spencer smiling a few times as well. You wondered how long he’d wanted to ask you out. You’ve found Spencer attractive since the day you started working here. You were so beyond ecstatic something was finally happening between the two of you. 

You finished your coffee quickly. It was the best coffee you have ever tasted. You thought briefly for a second, before going to the kitchen to clean the styrofoam cup out. You made sure it was no longer sticky or had any coffee residue before drying it completely and taking it back to your desk. You open the small pencil drawer of your desk and pull out four sticky notes. Notes Spencer had left you in the past few weeks. You placed the four notes in the cup and placed a new lid on it. Putting the cup in the side drawer, you smiled to yourself. You’ve kept every note Spencer has ever given you. And you don’t plan on stopping any time soon.

_____

‘7:28,’ the clock on the dash of your car read. You looked in your rearview mirror at the road behind you. There was Spencer in his old man car. You’d been early, nervous about your date, though you knew it would go good. You wore a fitted white turtleneck with a knitted tank top sweater vest of different shades of brown on top. You paired this with a khaki skirt and the same pair of black converse. You realized this was a very Spencer-esque outfit, and it was quite possible you and him could have nearly the exact same outfit on today.

Luckily, Spencer picked from the other side of his closet this morning. He approached you wearing dark brown slacks and black converse as well. He had his satchel pulled over his waist, drawing attention to the way he swayed as he walked. He had a dark, though not as dark as his pants, sweater that was open, and underneath was a collared off-white shirt and a diagonally striped tie. His left hand rested on his satchel, and his right was hidden behind his back. He did his little hoppy jog to your car, you having opened the door, grabbing your knitted tote bag, and beginning to make your way around to him.

“Good morning, y/n,” he says as he reaches you. 

“Hi, Spence,” You didn’t know why, but you were suddenly very shy. Maybe because this was a “formal date,” but you’d been on friend dates with Spencer so many times before. 

Spencer was clearly nervous too, though less than you. His hand from behind his back made itself known, in his fist was a single red rose. “I um, I got this for you. I know it’s only one, but I actually saw a flower patch on my way here and I didn’t want to take them all.” He was rambling.

“I love it, it’s perfect.” You grab the rose from his hand, letting your fingers run over the petals. They were smooth. He could see you were trying not to touch the stem too much, as you were trying not to touch the thorns. 

“I picked all the thorns off so you didn’t hurt yourself. I don’t have any water for it or anything…”

You examined the stem. You saw all the spots where thorns once laid. He was so sweet. Not only did he make a stop to pick you a rose, but he also safety coded it. You were going to keep this rose forever. You knew it. You planned on pressing the flowers once you got home from work that night. Maybe you could keep the petals in the “note drawer,” or maybe you could start a new drawer..

“Spencer, hey, I love it okay. Thank you.” You slid the stem of the rose between two knits of your bag, it poking inside and the flower on the outside like a pin. You saw Spencer smile. He was proud of himself. 

The two of you began to walk through the parking lot. Spencer paid careful attention to your feet, matching his gate exactly with yours. As you neared the end of the parking lot, reaching the sidewalk next to a fairly busy street, you felt a hand gently brush your waist. Spencer switched sides, him now being on the side adjacent to the road. First flowers, and now this? This boy was a true gentleman.

You smiled to yourself. Technically, the date hadn’t even begun yet, but you were already certain you wanted a relationship to blossom from this. You looked to the man to your left, the sun in a position to hit against his face in a way that made him look like an angel. You couldn’t help yourself. You reached over and took hold of his hand. He jumped slightly, before gripping a little too tight. He looked down at you and smiled. 

“You’re so pretty, y/n,” Spencer said. He’d been waiting what seemed like years- though only 9 months- to tell you that. You didn’t know where Spencer learned how to flirt, but frankly you didn’t care. You really liked this side of him.

“I think you’re pretty too, Spence.” You said. He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. Wow.

______

The coffee shop made itself known once you reached the top of a hill. The natural brick on the outside makes it look homey. It was about a 10 minute walk from the parking lot of the BAU, but Spencer and you were agents. You made the walk take a total of eight minutes. Speed walking isn’t a training module for the FBI, though it is definitely learned, and quickly. 

Spencer opened the door and allowed for you to enter first. Yet another gentlemanly move today. The smell of coffee filled your noses. It reminded you of Spencer. He always had coffee breath, yet not the nasty kind. He always seemed to smell so wonderful.

“Hello,” the barista at the counter cheerfully said as you and Spencer entered the small building. The two of you approached her. “What can I get for you guys today?”

You order your regular and Spencer orders a black coffee with a LOT of sugar. You retrieve the coffees from the pick up area and sit at a raised table in the corner next to a window.

“Why do you like black coffee?” you ask him. 

“I’m not sure. I always drank it when I was growing up and throughout college… and honestly, I’ve never tried it any other way.” He responded, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Really?” you said surprised. “With how much coffee you drink, I’m surprised you haven’t ventured into new territory even once.”

“Not once.” He took another sip. You noticed him kicking his feet beneath the table.

“Do you want to try a sip of mine?”

He smiled, crinkling his nose up. “Sure, do you want to try mine?”

“I guess I’ll give it a shot, though I will say I’m not the biggest fan of black coffee, so don’t be mad if I don’t like it.”

“I can’t promise anything, I can’t even say I’m going to like your girly drink.” He was teasing.

“I’ll tell you what Spence. You like my coffee and I’ll buy you a croissant. I like your coffee, you buy me a croissant. Deal?”

“It’s a deal, y/l/n.”

You switched cups. He gave it a sniff before popping open the lid to see inside. Tensley, he took a sip. You saw his eyes bulge. Licking his lips as he brought the cup down, he wrinkled his nose once again. He brought the cup back up, taking another sip. 

“You know what, I think you owe me a croissant.”

You smiled at  him, before taking a sip of his old man coffee, you cocked your head to the side. 

“You don’t like it, do you?” He laughed. 

You quickly sat the cup down and jumped up from your seat. You walked up to the counter, and ordered one regular croissant. Returning to the table with the plastic container in hand, you tossed in down in front of him. 

He opened the container, and tore a piece of the pastry off. He took a bite, and attempted to slide the container to you. In the process, it collided with his cup of coffee which was still situated on your side, causing it to spill all over your blouse. 

“Oh my god, y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, at least it wasn’t hot anymore.” You reach for the few napkins on the table, trying to dry yourself off despite knowing it wouldn’t do anything.

You were giggling, but Spencer didn’t find this one bit funny. He felt awful. You began to attempt wiping the table with the napkins, but were stopped by Spencer’s hand grabbing your damp-sleeved arm. 

“Hey, don’t worry about the table. I got it.” He gets up to go get napkins from the counter, before stopping in his tracks. He turns around and comes back to you, sitting in the chair using the sleeve of your sweater to stop the liquid from pouring onto your skirt and the ground. “Y/n, do you want to wear my sweater?”

This takes you a bit off guard. For a second, you forget your soaking wet with warm coffee. Your voice catches in your throat as you try to speak, but Spencer is already unbuttoning the two fastened buttons and sliding the sweater off his shoulders.

“You can go to the bathroom and change. I’ve got the mess, okay?” He hands you the sweater and makes room for you to move around him. You rush to the bathroom, trying not to leave a trail of coffee droplets through the lobby.

Turning into a stall, you immediately begin taking your sweater and white shirt off, tossing white one in the small garbage can. There was no way you’d be able to get the coffee stains out, and plus, the shirt was only $4 on sale at WalMart. Only left in your wire bra, you slip the brown sweater on. You button it all the way up, but as it’s a men’s sweater, it’s a little more of a V-neck than you’d like, especially since you were going to work soon. You tucked one side of the sweater into your skirt, letting the other side hang over to create dimension in your outfit and make it less simple. You toss your damp sweater vest over your shoulder and exit the bathroom.

Spencer was waiting for you when you came out. He’d gotten the mess cleaned up and was ready to leave. He grabs your hand, leading you outside the doors to begin your walk back to work. 

next chapter: G is for Girlfriend

a/n: Sorry it took so long on this chapter, I've been pretty busy. Hopefully I can get the next few out quickly as I hope to release part M (the christmas themed) on Christmas day.

taglist: @universallyblizzardlove @ms-ks-world @justlivinginadaydream @dij-ology @lotus-ignis @sammy-4103 @ktssstuff @ada--44 @moongirl27 @monfleurr @shycreationdreamland @cultish-corner @ariianelle @iiheartbowie @spencerreidismybitch @traderjoesmints @ivyflowers13 @hades-disappointment-child @aceofspades190 @taygrls @hookergutss @random-3455 @nmw-am @bookworm124 @hizzielover @jem08 @cherrybowbabby @theofficialfunk

[hyunsvngs]

𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 - hwang hyunjin x gn!afab reader

wc: 5.3k

rating: 18+. MDNI

cw: casual sex w no strings attached, reader is afab but no gender-specific language/pronouns are used, background reader x minho, smut warnings under the cut.

synopsis: it was well established now that you were fucking your way around the frat. you hadn't intended to make hyunjin your next victim, but when you end up alone together, it seems like the perfect opportunity.

a/n: part four of our fratboy series, hot bitch summer!!! i really hope you all enjoy this bc i'm completely in love with our sweet, sensitive, artsy, pervy fratboy hyunjin <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: swearing, nude painting and photography, mutual masturbation, cumswapping, casual sex, a little bit of bickering, mentions of male x male sexual activity, very poetic descriptions of many types of genitals, hyunjin is a pervy little boy but still very lovely.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You didn't know if you'd ever seen the frat house this quiet. Even with the red solo cups littering the coffee table, hoodies and shirts strewn over furniture, clear remnants of a recent rager, the place was almost peaceful. That was probably because it was mostly empty, though. Minho and Felix were helping out at the dance studio they frequented, Chan and Changbin were at the gym. Jisung was napping, which contributed to most of the peace and quiet. Jeongin was away visiting family, and you had no idea where Seungmin was - that man remained a mystery.

Hyunjin, however, was lounging on the couch in the lounge, sketchbook in his arms. It appeared that he would be your target for tonight. You leaned on the back of the sofa, looking over the boy's shoulder. "What are you drawing?"

Hyunjin yelped, clutching his sketchpad to his chest. "Jesus, Y/N! You scared the life out of me. I didn’t even know you were here tonight."

You couldn't help but laugh at the absolute terror that had flashed in his eyes when he looked back at you. You really hadn't meant to ambush him - honestly - but it had been entertaining nonetheless. "Sorry, Hyunjin," you apologised, not sounding very sorry at all. You reached over his shoulder and tapped his book. "Can I see?" 

"Um. No." He clutched the notebook closer to his chest. “Not this one.”

You rested your forearms on the back of the couch, leaning next to him. "How come? Are you shy?" 

"I'm not shy." He was looking ahead, but you didn't need to see him. You could hear the eye-roll in his voice. 

"Show me then!" you insisted, prodding his shoulder gently.

"This one is private, okay?"

"Private?" You fake-gasped. "Hyunjin, are you drawing dirty things? Are you a porn artist?"

"What? No!" He squirmed at the accusation.

"You're drawing nasty things, aren't you Hyunjin! It's not hentai, is it? Tentacle porn?" In all honesty, you wouldn't have cared, or judged him at all. But it was funny to play with him.

“Obviously not! I’m not Jisung.”

You snorted at his quip. “Okay, well… are there any drawings I can see?”

He pondered for a moment. “I guess so. You really wanna see?”

“Of course.” You knew Hyunjin was studying fine art, and you were aware that he spent the majority of his time in the makeshift art studio he called a bedroom, but you hadn’t really seen much of his work.

When he led you up there, you immediately understood why he’d want to spend his hours here. It was a cosy respite from the chaos that so regularly consumed the rest of the house. Strings of fairy lights came alive at the touch of a button, casting a warm glow on the space. An easel sat in the corner of the room, and most surfaces were lightly cluttered with various art supplies; notebooks, paintbrushes, pencils, as well as a few completed works. There was a vase of what looked like lavender; you breathed in and the scent confirmed it, sweet and gentle. 

“Take a seat,” Hyunjin murmured, before rifling through a pile of books. He tossed one into your lap as you sat on his bed, although you were a bit more preoccupied with watching him move around the room. He did everything so elegantly, despite his extra-long limbs; it wasn’t hard to tell he was a dancer. He sifted through a box of records, his fingers flipping through them deftly, before setting up a pale blue record player. You turned your attention to the book in your lap.

It seemed to be full of off-handed sketches. They were absolutely gorgeous, but you could tell he’d done them absent-mindedly as he observed the world around him. There was one of Felix and Jisung, cuddling on the couch. A sight you’d seen many times before, you had no doubt it had turned to play-fighting before Hyunjin had even finished his drawing. You flipped the page. A sketch of Changbin curling a weight, his bicep bulging - if Hyunjin had followed the man to the gym just to observe and draw him, you truly understood. You couldn’t help but gasp, as you turned the page once more. You and Minho, standing in the kitchen together, his arms wrapped around you as you beamed. You remembered the moment. He’d been attempting to make lunch, but you’d been rather successful at distracting him.

“Hyunjin, these are so beautiful,” you told him honestly, your heart swelling at the charm with which he captured such everyday moments.

He thanked you, looking a little bashful.

You took a break from flipping through his drawings to survey him for a moment.. He was different when he was sober. Most of the time you'd spent with him, he was near-blackout drunk - utterly white-girl wasted. He was the life of the party, really. Loud, giggly, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Maybe he was just one of those people who took some time to warm up to someone, you considered. You didn't doubt this, but beyond that… 

He just seemed so gentle. So sensitive, so sweet.

"You're… not the typical fratboy, are you?" 

Hyunjin looked over at you from the other side of the room. His eyes were so round, so innocent-looking. "What do you mean?"

You paused, choosing your words carefully. "You're just so lovely, Hyunjin." He blushed, looking away from you and resuming what he was doing - lighting a candle? - but he didn't speak. "Some of the other boys… great guys, don't get me wrong. But they have such fuckboy energy. Not you, though, Hyunjin. You're so sweet."

"Hmm," he hummed, appearing to think on your words. "I guess so. But…" he trailed off.

"But?" you asked. "I don't believe there's a but. Not with you, Hwang Hyunjin." 

His voice was barely above a whisper, hardly louder than the scratching of his pencil. "I'm still a man, Y/N."

You blinked. "Well, I've noticed that." 

Hyunjin shifted uncomfortably. "I'm just saying… men are all the same. Even if some seem nicer."

You placed the book on his bed, your brow furrowed as you tried to figure out what the fuck he was trying to say. "What are you getting at, Hyunjin?" 

"Don't judge a book by its cover, okay? Let's leave it at that." 

You hummed. "I don't want to leave it at that. I feel like you're hiding something now, and I wanna know what it is." Hyunjin stayed quiet, although you saw his jaw tense, noticed his cheeks redden. "So, if I shouldn't judge a book by its cover… does that mean you're not the sweet, kind, artsy boy I thought you were?"

"Well, no. I am those things. I'm just… other things, too."

“Other things?” you asked. You watched him light another candle. The cogs in your brain turned a mile a minute, trying to read the situation. The fairy lights, the candles, the record turning quietly. It all felt so sensual. He wasn’t trying to set the mood, was he? In all fairness, the boys had been constantly joking about how you were fucking your way around the whole frat. And it wasn’t even really a joke. You decided to test the waters. “Hyunjin, do you mean… you’re a little dirty?”

He paused for a moment. “I suppose so.”

“You’re a horrible pervy man? Who brought me up to his room to have his way with me?”

Hyunjin jumped. “What? No! I brought you up here to hang out. And look at my drawings. I’m not trying to take advantage of you!” 

You partly believed him. You chuckled. “What if I like dirty pervy boys, though?”

“Fine,” Hyunjin mumbled. He picked up the book he had been drawing in downstairs, a plain black, very nondescript sketchpad. He brought it to you, dropping it in your lap before going to the chair by his easel, sitting down and looking away from you. You looked at him expectantly, but soon realised you weren’t going to get anything more from him. 

You shrugged and opened up the book.

Oh. He really was a dirty boy.

You'd never in your life seen such a varied array of vulvas. Drawings, paintings, doodles. Shaved, trimmed, hairy. Innies, outies. Small, button-like clits, more enlarged ones. He didn't seem to discriminate at all - the man was pussy-obsessed. You flipped through a few pages, admiring the pussies like a field of flowers. Hyunjin's non-vagina art was beautiful, but he'd clearly found his calling here. 

“So you are a porn artist?”

Hyunjin glared at you. “It’s not porn,” he said scornfully. “It’s art.”

"But, you must watch a ton of porn? For research?" The air quotes you put around research earned you a scathing gaze.

"I don't watch porn at all," Hyunjin stated with a roll of his eyes. "And ninety-nine percent of the time, when guys say that it's a lie. But I'm the one percent, promise. I mainly use erotic photography, for references. Or paint from memory."

"From memory? You must be some kinda pussy expert." 

"Well, you're a dick expert, from what I've heard," Hyunjin murmured, just a little too loud to be under his breath. 

You couldn't help but cackle. "God, you're a bitch." 

Hyunjin smirked, before reassuring you, "I'm not judging, by the way. By all means, keep going."

"Thank you for giving me your permission, Hyunjin."

"Not what I meant and you know it." 

You shrugged, and returned to flipping through the book. "I like this one," you mumbled. The model's legs were parted, dainty fingers spreading their labia. Stretch marks streaked across their inner thighs, pubic hair wild and untamed. These drawings, they were all so real. It made you wonder what you'd look like, through his eyes. How would he draw your lips, what would your clitoris look like sketched out by his hand? How would he look, as he painted your most intimate area? Would he study you closely? Would he lick his lips in concentration, would he peer at you as he tried to envision how you felt, tasted, smelled? Would he touch himself, later, thinking about what's between your legs?

You decided to cut to the chase. 

"Have you ever had a live model before?"

Hyunjin looked like he was about to combust. He looked at you, mouth agape, and you could tell he was trying to determine whether he'd heard you correctly. "I've… I've never had the opportunity." 

You smiled at him sweetly. You loved the way he made you feel as though you were bestowing a blessed opportunity upon him. You had blown his mind with the mere implication that you might let him see you naked. 

"Do you want a live model?"

He nodded, still looking absolutely bewildered that you'd even offer. You didn't know why he was so surprised - you didn't exactly have a representation as a prude. You had openly fucked three of his friends in the last week, and here he was, utterly mystified by the idea of simply looking at your pussy.

You laughed at him, gently. "C'mon then, artist. Get your easel."

"Right - yeah. Let me just - get everything set up." 

Hyunjin turned, and you saw how hurried his actions were as he rooted through drawers, gathering his supplies. You supposed you'd better get yourself ready, too.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he told you, raking through a box of pencils.

"I want to." God, you really did. The rumours were true; you were, in fact, looking to conquer the entire fraternity. 

Hyunjin picked up his easel from the corner of the room, and finally turned back to you. "Oh. You're… naked."

You looked up at him from the bed, where you perched on the edge with your legs crossed. "Well. You're painting my pussy." 

He looked absolutely lost. "I didn't expect to see your… I didn't know you'd take your shirt off." 

You chuckled. "What am I, Winnie the fucking Pooh? Anyways, I didn't think you'd be so surprised by nudity, given the fact you draw genitals as a hobby." 

Hyunjin merely nodded, before setting the canvas on the easel and spreading numerous pencils and what looked like oil pastels on a small table beside it.

"Hey, Hyunjin. Look at me for a second." He did, hesitantly. "Relax a little, okay? It's all fine." 

He nodded again. "I know." He didn't sound sure. He was clearly nervous, which was understandable. But you wondered what it was, exactly, about the situation that was stressing him. Was he overthinking whether this would lead to sex? He wanted it, you could tell. Surely he knew that you wanted it too? Maybe you'd need to make your intentions clearer.

You sat quietly as Hyunjin worked. He brought a small lamp over, positioning it beside the bed. You watched as he tied his hair into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, gathering a few strands that had escaped and tucking them behind his ears. He was so pretty, even when he wasn't all dolled up.

"Okay," Hyunjin breathed. "Ready when you are." 

"Where do you want me?" you asked, and yet again, he looked ready to explode.

"Anywhere's fine. As long as I can see it - you." He cleared his throat. "As long as you're comfortable. That's the most important thing."

You leaned back on your elbows, and slowly spread your legs. Hyunjin looked upon you, mesmerised. His eyes were sparkling. This was how a man would look at a work of art, Michelangelo's David perhaps. This was how a man would gaze out across Nepal, having reached Everest's peak. This was how a man would look upon a real, honest-to-god miracle, a biblically accurate angel come to deliver the news that he is the messiah. That was how Hwang Hyunjin looked at a pussy. God, he really was a perv.

After minutes of scrutiny, during which you'd never felt so fucking visible, he turned to the easel and began his sketch.

He spoke up again, after a few minutes of working. “I don’t mean to overstep, but…”

“You just spent at least three straight minutes staring directly into my vagina,” you stated. “Say whatever you wanna say.”

“What’s actually going on between you and Minho?”

You wished you knew how to answer that. “I guess it’s hard to explain. We haven’t really discussed anything properly.” You thought for a few moments. “I’m sleeping around, obviously, but at the end of each day, I go back to him. That’s all there is to it, really.” 

He peered over at you, curious. “So, it’s true then?”

You looked back at him. “What?”

“You’re sleeping your way around the frat?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“And you’re having fun?”

“Well, obviously. You’re all hot as fuck,” you admitted outright. 

Hyunjin nodded. “I get it. We’re a pretty fun group of guys to fuck. You haven’t fucked Seungmin yet, right?”

You blinked at him. “No. Not yet… to be honest, I don’t know if Seungmin’s even interested.”

Hyunjin waved a hand at you, dismissing your concerns. “Seungmin’s just like that, don’t worry. Anyways, look forward to it - that’ll be a fun one.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. That seemed like a strange thing for a man to say about his friend. Unless… “You sound like you’re speaking from experience, Hyunjin.”

“Duh,” Hyunjin said, as if it was obvious. “You said it yourself, we’re all hot as fuck. Most of us fuck around with each other, from time to time. It’d be a wasted opportunity if we didn’t, really.”

You took a moment to absorb this. You couldn’t believe neither Felix nor Jisung had ever mentioned this to you. Traitorous bastards. They’d been fucking around with their stupid hot friends this whole time, and hadn’t even invited you to watch, or join? They were sick in the head, both of them.

You went quiet, letting Hyunjin sketch. 

There were many beautiful things in this world. Sensual, erotic, carnally beautiful things. The curve of an erection, the tightly-wound curls at its base, heavy hanging balls which almost looked like a heart, when caught in the right position. But this? Hyunjin, leaning over his easel, chewing on his lip as he deliberated over the perfect way to capture you on page. This was something else. This was beauty redefined.

It occured to you that it was impossible to hide anything from him. This took wearing your heart on your sleeve to a new level. He was privy to every one of your desires; he'd see liquid arousal drip from your hole, he'd watch as your clit slowly swelled. And if he took a moment to look away from your pussy (although he was so completely entranced that you didn't know if he'd be capable of it) he may even notice your nipples hardening, your pupils blown out with desire. He'd see just how much you wanted, needed him.

Although, by the looks of it, he was starting to get rather needy himself. His sweatpants were tented, though he was clearly trying to hide it, forearm draped over his crotch. You watched intently, trying to gain as much intel as you could from your obscured view. It looked big - that was about all you could gather.

"Maybe you should just take those off," you chanced. 

Hyunjin looked at you, surprised.

"Your trousers. They look like they're getting a little uncomfortable. And maybe it'd be less weird if we were both naked anyways?" 

Hyunjin put his pencil down, giving you an accusatory look. "You just want to see me naked." 

You grinned brazenly. "Obviously."

Hyunjin laughed. "You are so shameless. Fine, have it your way." 

Satisfied, you watched as he pulled off his shirt. Vast planes of tanned skin revealed themselves to you, and you fought not to drool. He was far from the muscular beast Changbin was, but he was surprisingly toned. Curved biceps, lightly defined abs, sweet little pecs with the loveliest pink nipples. So many places to kiss, lick, suck. And that was before he'd even taken his trousers off. 

He stood, and as he tugged down his trousers, you could've sworn that his dick sprung back up with enough force to knock you out. You kind of wanted it to knock you out. It had a beautiful curve to it, not quite as thick as some that you'd seen recently - your mind flitted back to Changbin and his coke-can cock - but it was still undoubtedly long enough to ruin your pussy. And so fucking pretty. Your eyes scanned him slowly; the tip was the prettiest shade of pink, the long smooth shaft, the perfectly round, clean-shaven balls. He was perfect.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked, snapping you out of your staring. He didn't meet your gaze, but you could tell he wasn't too shy. He knew how beautiful he was, and he was used to people staring. 

You simply smirked at him. "Keep drawing, boy." 

You felt your clit begin to throb - you couldn’t help it. You burned under his gaze each time he looked back at you studiously. You knew what Hyunjin was like, with his art. Although you were both clearly desperate, he would continue drawing for hours, putting off the inevitable pleasure that you both craved, in pursuit of his next masterpiece before he let you both indulge. If you wanted his touch, you would have to intervene.

It took him a surprising amount of time to notice that you were stroking your clit. He was peering at the canvas, eyes narrowed. You could tell he took his craft seriously. It was admirable, but incredibly frustrating when you needed him to just turn his head ever so slightly.

"Oh."

There it was.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking at you with a blank stare. He looked you in the eyes, rather than in the crotch. 

"Enjoying the view," you repeated, inserting a finger and spreading the wetness across your clit.

Hyunjin turned back to the canvas, apparently unperturbed, but you saw his dick twitch. You had him. You continued to circle your clit gently, letting out a soft moan as you did so.

Hyunjin snickered under his breath. "Screw you," he whispered, his hand wrapping around his length gently. Still, though, he didn't stop drawing. You watched as he stroked himself, torturously slow, head slowly disappearing into his fist before reappearing once more, all the while leaning over the easel.

And you'd thought Minho had been a master of restraint. Hyunjin was different, though. He wasn't hiding how much he needed this. He was perfectly happy to show you his rock hard, leaking cock. More than happy to jerk off languidly before you. But he was also making it clear that he wasn't going to rush into anything. He'd sit there and paint all night, if you let him.

Of course you wouldn't let him. 

"Oh, put the fucking pencil down." 

He met this with less resistance than you expected, and didn't hesitate, even for a moment. "Fine, but I really do want to finish this painting soon." He turned in his seat to face you, fucking into his fist as he watched you.

You shuddered under your own touch, fingers swiping over your bundle of nerves and sending jolts throughout your body. Your pleasure felt so heightened, as you watched the man before you. His hands were gorgeous, veins popping out as he stroked himself, long fingers wrapped around his member. His balls swung gracefully as he did so - how did he do everything with such elegance?

You thought about how he might feel inside you. His dick was so long, you knew he’d hit all the spots you needed him to. You knew he’d be princely and refined, even while fucking you. Even when he reaches his peak, when cum spurts out of that gorgeous pink tip, even if he lost his composure… he’d do it with poise.

You could hardly take it any more. “I need you, Hyunjin.”

“But I’m having so much fun watching,” he said, his voice hoarse - he sounded so fucked out already. 

You groaned. “You’ll have more fun fucking me, and you know it.”

Hyunjin grinned as he shook his head, but showed no resistance. “C’mere, baby,” he murmured, his long, slender fingers gripping you by the hips and dragging you towards the edge of the bed. “You ready for it?”

“More than ready, fuck, please.”

Hyunjin pushed the tip of his dick inside you, ever so slowly. You sighed happily; there was that feeling you craved. Centimetre by centimetre, he entered you deeper, gradually filling you up more and more. Eventually, when his hips ground into yours, when he was fully buried inside you, he let out the sweetest whine you’d ever heard. 

You couldn’t help but grin at the sound. “That feel good, pretty boy?” 

He nodded, eyebrows furrowed as he fixated on the feeling. The slow pace was agonising, the drag of his cock against your g-spot positively electric. He was fucking you as if it was an art form, as if his dick was a paintbrush and you were his canvas. And, fuck, he was a master of his craft.

“Legs up, baby. I need to get deeper.” His voice was low, strained. You did as he instructed, hooking your ankles over his shoulders. “God, that’s good.”

Had anyone ever fucked you this deeply before? You weren’t sure. Although, to be fair, you weren’t certain you knew your own name, at that point. All you could see were stars, and the angel of the man above you. He pulled himself all the way out, until the head of his dick was barely inside you, before plunging back inside, slowly, slowly. Each time, he pressed up against your cervix, and it hurt, but fuck, it felt so good. 

The room was hot, the air heavy. Sweat was dripping from Hyunjin’s forehead and landing on your skin. You were consumed with his scent, lavender and fresh cotton, You were covered in him, you felt his touch on every inch of your body, surrounded by soft moans from both yourself and him.

His hands explored your body as he fucked you. They tasted your thighs, squeezing gently. They caressed your hips, your waist, your hips, your chest. He handled you so gently, treating you with the utmost care. You could picture him so clearly, manoeuvring a delicate statue, arranging flowers in a vase, manipulating clay on a pottery wheel. He treated you with the exact same respect and admiration.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece, babe.” He thrusted hard, but still so slow. “So fucking beautiful.”

Hyunjin looked down to the site where your bodies joined. He was enthralled, eyes fixated on the sight of himself disappearing inside you. 

“Can I - shit -” His hands were shaking slightly, as he caressed your stomach. “Can I get out my camera? Just - fuck - just to take some reference photos. I need to paint you over and over, please-” His words trailed off into a whine.

You nodded. “Of course.” 

He pulled out, and you gasped, feeling a sudden emptiness. 

“Hurry,” you whimpered, as he gathered his equipment. He returned to you, kneeling before you and capturing the sight before him. You felt yourself clenching around nothing, desperate to have him inside you once more. He didn’t leave you waiting too long fortunately, sliding his dick back inside you, snapping more photos as he did so, still moving at that lazy, unhurried tempo. It drove you crazy. It felt amazing, of course. He was hitting all the right places, sending shivers down your spine and spreading butterflies throughout your tummy. But with a dick that perfect, you wanted him to thoroughly destroy you.

“Put your fucking camera away and fuck me properly,” you urged him.

Hyunjin smirked down at you. “Minho wasn’t lying. You really do get bratty and impatient.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fucking rail me before I throw you on this bed and take things into my own hands.”

Hyunjin laughed, shaking his head as he put his camera safely on his desk. “Relax, hon, I’ll fuck you.” He returned to the bed, looming over you with a teasing smile. “Are you sure you’re ready? You sure you can take it?”

“So help me god, Hwang Hyunjin, if you don’t-”

Hyunjin swiftly cut you off, thrusting deep inside you. Your words trailed off into a high-pitched squeak. Sassy as he was, he did as he was told; he fucked you hard, pounding into you powerfully. One of his hands gripped your thigh, holding it close to him, the other tweaking your nipple, sending yet more bliss running through your system. 

“You’re so fucking tight, hon,” Hyunjin rasped. So you’d heard.

“Keep fucking me, Hyunjin - fuck me harder!” You gazed upon his slender frame, tanned skin glistening with sweat. Maybe it was just because he was fucking you so well, but you could’ve sworn he was a real live angel, an almighty being. No person was this beautiful - no human being fucked this well.

“Fuck, I don’t know how long I can last like this,” Hyunjin grunted. He had a dark look in his eye.

“Cum then,” you encouraged him, “Give me your cum, baby.”

He shook his head. “Not until you cum first.” What a gentleman.

His thumb went to your clit, rubbing gentle circles into it, the perfect amount of pressure. It was pushing you over the edge, embarrassingly quickly. You felt your heart rate rise, your skin begin to tingle. Your climax was approaching - you felt it throughout your whole body.

“Hyunjin - Hyunjin!”

“That’s it, baby, let go,” he coaxed you. 

“I’m cumming!” With your announcement, it crashed over you like a wave. It exploded out from your core, white heat shooting through your entire body, coursing through your veins. You distantly heard yourself babbling Hyunjin’s name, although you couldn’t say you were quite lucid enough to be aware of it. All you knew were the fireworks spreading from your pussy, sparks erupting, setting you alight. 

“You’re clenching around me so tight,” Hyunjin whined. “Shit - Y/N!”

He pulled out, gripping his dick at its base, crying out as he painted your pussy, shooting his cum across your folds. You watched intently as the hot white spurts landed on your clit, your lips, dripping down towards your asshole. 

“There we go, baby,” you sighed, catching your breath. 

Hyunjin kneeled before you, also panting with exertion. He leaned in, locking his eyes with yours before licking a gentle stripe across your clit. He hummed. “Tastes good. Wanna taste?” You nodded, wide-eyed. He delved in, licking and sucking, and you moaned at the sensation on your oversensitive parts. He sucked on your clit, swiped his tongue through your folds, spread your cheeks and licked at your asshole. You couldn’t help but squeal.

He stood, leaning over you and gripping your cheeks gently, forcing your mouth open. You stuck out your tongue compliantly, waiting for the salty substance to reach you. He allowed it to dribble from his tongue slowly, landing in your mouth. 

Hyunjin pulled away. “Don’t swallow. Stick out your tongue, let me see.” You complied, and he picked up his camera once more, snapping more shots of you. Your face, this time, rather than your genitals. “Fucking gorgeous,” he whispered.

He put the camera down. “You can swallow now - I know you want to.” He sat on the bed beside you, lounging back, and you cuddled into his side. You watched as he clicked through the photos he’d taken; your dripping wet pussy, his dick teasing your entrance, burying itself inside you. Cum dripping down your clit, decorating you. Your face, eyes hazy, looking beyond fucked-out, tongue coated in the tangy mix of Hyunjin’s cum and spit. 

“We should blow this one up and hang it in the hall,” Hyunjin remarked. 

You snickered weakly, tired as you slumped against the man. “You boys would like that, huh? You’re all obsessed with me.”

“And for good reason. I see what the hype is about.” Hyunjin kissed your forehead softly. It was so tender - this was a no-strings-attached hook-up, nobody was under any illusions here. But it seemed that everything he did, every action he carried out towards anyone, was so filled with love.

“Hype? What do you guys say about me, when I’m not here?”

“That would be telling,” Hyunjin responded slyly. “Let’s just say, you’ve gotten some pretty good reviews.”

You yawned. “That doesn’t surprise me.” 

“Who’s next then, hm?” he asked.

“That would be telling,” you responded with a mocking tone. “I’m tired. You want me to stay here tonight, Hyune?”

“It’s okay, hon. Go crawl into Minho’s bed, he should be home soon.” 

You sat up, kissing Hyunjin’s pretty, plump lips. “Thank you for giving me a good time tonight, Hyunjin.”

He smiled. “Thank you for being my muse.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

When Minho returned home to find you curled up in his bed, you were barely awake, but still hanging on to your consciousness.

“Hey there, sleepy.”

“Hey, Minho.”

He paused, looking at you, eyes narrowed. “I know that smile. Who have you been with tonight, then?”

You gave him a smug grin. “Guess.”

“Not Jisung again?” He got into bed beside you, looking amused as he wrapped his arms around your frame. “You haven’t even showered, babe. I can smell Hyunjin on you.”

“You’re so good at this game,” you said, your voice slurred with tiredness.

Minho pulled you closer, kissing your neck from behind and making you sigh contentedly. He pulled you closer, and you felt his length press into you from behind - was he getting hard, thinking about you and his friend together? Was he imagining fucking you, with the scent of Hyunjin’s sweat still marking your skin?

He whispered in your ear, confirming your suspicions. “Are you too tired for another round?” 

You turned around in his arms, eyes twinkling. “Never.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

taglist: @moasworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @queenofthegardengnomes @boomfrogg @hoeinthehouse @msaddictions @sunnyhonie @hizliyuruyen @jyu037 @jouoy @drhsthl @seungincore @jellylver @veedoesntknaur @meloncremesoda @k-poplv @livieloo914 @fekixfmp @fawnpeaks @minnielvr @imastraykidsfan @hanjisung2023 @hoelynecujoh @kyrviu @sxgeofprohets @everydreams-penumbra @chaneomma @kkissreol @phtogravi @secretjj @princelingperfect @personawthai @dirah-h @straykids5star @luvhyux @chuuswifereal @stg110 @cookiesandmilfx @number1seungminstan @skzswife @starsandrqindrops @poody1608 @cutiespaghetti @hwa-0403 @i8rsie @kpopsstuffs @everyonehatesshani @han8ul @velentine143 @vixensss @cuddlehye @sheeshhhhfelixsworld @angeldhd @comicnerd557 @leeknowfz @imwithurmother @hrtsformin @maknae00 @teaholic @ficrecnctskz @tasteskz-sworld @ilychee08 @thehomotron8000 @romynochill @freckleboilix @yunhorights

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Products & Services Worth The Splurge

Fashion:

A great couple of bras in black/nude (your best skin-toned shade)

Comfortable, breathable, and seamless underwear

Outerwear (Coats, jackets, blazers)

The perfect pair of jeans

An LBD that works from day to night

Comfortable, sturdy, sleek, and timeless footwear (a versatile black boot, a black heel, white sneaker, and a black flat/loafer/sandal)

A timeless and versatile crossbody or shoulder bag (a larger one for the daytime/work or school and a smaller one for nighttime/events)

One or two well-made classic jewelry item(s)

A conversation-starting item or accessory

Beauty:

Sunscreen

Any skincare/skin cosmetic products that are game-changers for you

A quality hair brush, comb, and hair towel

Your signature scent

A quality razor/hair removal product

Vitamin C/Retinol serums

Reliable hair tools and sturdy nail tools

A quality hair heat protectant/scalp cleansing or conditioning spray

Makeup brushes and beauty tool cleaners

Home:

Lamps/lighting

Couch/desk chair

Everything for your bed: Bed frame, mattress/sheets/pillows, etc.

Knives

Dishwasher-safe and microwave-safe dishes & cups you love

A full-length mirror

Vacuum

Storage solutions/cedar blocks or moth balls

Quality holders for everything: Paper towels, shower storage, hooks, mailbox/key bowls

Name brand paper products/household cleaners

Electric toothbrush & Waterpik

Sound-proof headphones/Airpods

MacBook Air

Health & Wellness:

High-quality lettuce and/or sprouts

Organic frozen fruits and vegetables (if fresh is too pricey)

BPA-free canned goods

Potassium bromate & glyphosate-free grain products

Snacks free of artificial colors

Quality coffee

An at-home massage tool/heating pad

Fur products for skin/hair removal

Vitamin C/Retinol serums

Quality running shoes

Anything that goes near your vulva or into the vagina: Sex toys, lube, condoms, toy cleaners, pads/tampons/menstrual cups, cleansing wipes, etc.

A yoga mat, resistance band, and a pair of small ankle weights

Spotify subscription

Books and audiobooks

Services:

Therapy

A top-tier haircut

House cleaning (even if it's only once every couple of months)

Top-tier hair removal/brow maintenance services of your choice

Best doctors, dentists, OB/GYN, and dermatologists you can get

At least one personal training/styling session in your life

Professional/Social:

Ownership of the domain for your full legal/professional name and/or business name

A CPA/bookkeeper/fiduciary financial advisor

Automation workflow/content management system software

A lawyer for contract review/LLC services

Personalized stationery/"Thank You" cards

Memorable client gifting for the holidays/milestone successes

Niche skill-based certifications (Google, AWS, Hubspot, etc.) or courses made by trusted professionals in your field

Subscriptions in world-leading and industry-authority digital publications

[kita-shinsuke-whore]

THINKING ABOUT....OBEY ME (MDNI)

TW: Sex, breeding kink, creampie, squirting, cum, edging kink, somnophilia, voyeurism, dom!.

Characters: Demon brothers + Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon.

Thinking about Lucifer that asked you to make him a cup of coffee and when you enter into his office, he would pulled your thighs and slides your pantie to the side. He sat you down on his length and asked you to c*ckwarm him until he finished his works. If you're being a good girl, he will fuck you until you will cum so hard. If you're being a bad girl (by moving a lot), he will edges you and won't let you cum.

Thinking about Mammon who will put a vibrator inside your wet hole every dinner time so that he could see your flustered face. If he is being nice, he will keeps the vibrations constant. But if he is not, he will make sure the vibrations go high just to see if you can hold your moans and cum during dinner. After dinner, he will drag you to his room balcony, take out the vibrator and fuck you outside until he dumps a lot of cum in your womb while enjoying the night view.

Thinking about Leviathan that will fingers you when you're sleeping next to him because of his kink. He will rubs your clit and your folds with his pretty long fingers. If he is in too much heat, he will spread open your legs and lick your wet hole until you didn't realize you're squirting because of his tongue.

Thinking about Satan who would watch you're touching yourself while he is touching himself. He is so into voyeurism and when he is about to cum, he will cum inside you. If his brothers annoy him on a certain day, make sure you are ready because he deep throat you with his c*ck until he is satisfied. Don't worry, he has your safe word.

Thinking about Asmodeus that will help you to scrub your body during shower time until his naughty fingers slipped inside your hole. He will finger it with his fingers and he pushed you to the shower wall and fuck you mercilessly. He even loves to make love to you in the bathtub because it helps him to release all the stress he is facing. He would grope your breasts and leaves a lot of sweet hickeys on them.

Thinking about Beelzebub that will put small chocolates on your naked body and eat them one by one until it reached your sweet hole. He will licks it and make sure you're getting the sweetest session. He also would love to fuck you in the kitchen at night while both of you are searching for snacks. He also loves to see you swallow his cum and he loves to devour your sweet little cunt.

Thinking about Belphie who will make you hump his thigh and cum on his thighs. If he is not satisfied, he will ask you to ride the dildo infront of the mirror until your cunt becomes puffy. He also loves to see you dominate him by riding but if you're way too slow, he will pull down your waist and he will push his waist up just to hear the slapping sound.

Thinking about Diavolo who is into your breasts that he will suck them every night. He is so into 69 position because both of you can taste eachother well. Sometimes he would love to invite Lucifer to have a threesome with you and both of them will insert their cocks into both of your holes.

Thinking about Barbatos gives you a lust tea during your personal tea party session with him and lust started to take over your body. You were wearing Leviathan's shirt and a mini skirt that made his c*ck hardened so much. He would bent you down and shove himself into you, thrusting in and out roughly without mercy. All he could think about is you full with his cum and dumbfuck by him.

Thinking about Solomon who requested for your nudes every single time. He even comes to your room and try new magic that he learns by making it sensual. He also loves to spank your ass with his wand and makes sure you know that he is your dom. He even buys you a lot of lingeries so that you wear them everytime he meets you personally. He loves your cunt so much that he always wanted you to sit on his face. He would love to die under you.

[omomancer]

omomancer's ultimate dice holding challenge!

so, inspired by @tanyapiankova12 's dice holding challenge, i decided i wanted to make my own that's more suited to my own tastes. its a little meaner if you want something a little harder/more punishing!

you'll need water (obviously), a D6 (a virtual dice roller works best if you dont have one!), clothes youre okay with wetting/leaking in, and diapers (these are optional, dont worry if youre not into that!)

start by rolling the Drink table one or two times. i recommend waiting until you can feel your bladder starting to fill before starting rolls. once you start, unless otherwise instructed, roll your dice every 10-15 minutes!

Firstly, roll one d6 for the table below- afterwards, roll another d6 for the results on the table! the game ends when you either get permission to pee, or, you know, wet yourself.

if you leak without permission, or have an accident, roll the corresponding leak or accident tables. finally, if you do this challenge, feel free to message or ping me in a post and tell me how it goes! <3

as with any holding challenge, listen to yourself and your body! if you start to feel sick, or hurt to the point its not enjoyable, stop immediately! make sure to stay safe!

First Table;

Drink

Wait

Challenge

Clothing

Tease

Relief

Drink;

Drink half a cup of your choice of fluid

Drink a full cup of water

Drink a full cup of diuretic (tea, soda, coffee, etc.)

Drink 2 cups of water

Drink 2 cups of diuretic

Unlucky! Drink a cup and a half of water and diuretic each.

Wait;

Wait an extra 10 minutes before your next roll

Press on your bladder for 30 seconds per minute until your next roll

Wait 30 minutes before your next roll

Roll Drink table, then wait an extra 10 minutes before next roll.

Keep your legs spread until your next roll

No waiting, roll again immediately.

Challenge;

Relax your muscles entirely until your next roll; squirming, holding etc. is fine, but your muscles must not be tensed.

Take an ice cube, or something else frozen, and leave it ontop of your bladder until your next roll.

Place something firm underneath you, and lay with your bladder pressed onto it until your next roll.

Listen to water noises until your next roll.

Squat for a full minute, pressing on your bladder for 5 seconds while you do.

No holding yourself or crossing your legs until your next roll.

Clothing;

Strip to just your underwear. Let out a one second leak- if it hits the floor, you're not allowed to take your underwear off at all for the rest of the challenge.

Put on tight bottoms that squeeze your bladder.

Add an extra layer ontop of what you're already wearing.

Put a diaper ontop of what you're already wearing. If you're already wearing a diaper, double up. If you don't want to wear a diaper or don't have any, put on two layers of pants.

Use a belt, or something similar (rope, string, etc.) to tie your bottoms to yourself. Make sure it's pressing into your bladder. You cannot remove this until the end of the challenge, or to place extra layers on when instructed.

Strip completely nude. If you prefer wetting clothing, or have failed #1 previously, re-reroll this table.

Tease;

Edge yourself once before your next roll.

Rub yourself slowly with your legs spread until your next roll.

Post a detailed description of how you're feeling right now- how your bladder feels, if you're wet or dry, how turned you are. etc.

Hump the nearest soft object to you until your next roll. This can be a pillow, a plushie, a rolled up blanket or towel, etc.

If you have one, hold a vibrator against yourself until your next roll. If not, re-roll this.

Bring yourself to the edge, then roll this table again. If you get 6 again, you can cum. If not, edge.

Relief;

Leak for 2 seconds into whatever you're wearing.

Fill a cup with water, then slowly pour it into the toilet. Doesn't that feel better?

Take a bottle cap, and pee into that. If you overflow, roll leak punishment table.

Sit on the toilet until your next roll, then flush and wash your hands as if you used the bathroom. Do not pee.

Leak until a wet spot appears on the outer layer of your clothing. If nude, leak one second.

Roll this table again. If you get this again, spread your legs and press on your bladder, letting out a 5 second leak. If you manage to stop it, roll this table again. If you get this a third time, congratulations! You have earned permission to pee. Try not to have an accident on the way to the toilet <3

PUNISHMENTS

Leaking;

Post a detailed description of how you leaked, and write about how pathetic you are for failing to control your bladder. Then, roll Drink table.

For the rest of the challenge, you must have something constantly pressing into your bladder. Be it a belt, or something pressing against you while you lay on your stomach, or your hand. Get creative. But your bladder must always be squashed.

For the rest of the challenge, you must listen to loud water noises.

Sit on the toilet fully clothed, and turn on your bathroom sink. Press on your bladder until your next roll. If you leak during this, press harder.

Turn on your bath or shower, and stand next to the running water until your next roll.

You are banned from using the toilet for the rest of the challenge. No matter what, you are going to have an accident. Stay dry next time, and maybe you'll get your toilet privileges back.

Accident;

You failed to hold it, and now you're soaking wet. Clearly, someone needs to teach you a lesson.

For the next 24 hours, any time you need to pee, you must lay down a towel or puppy pad, kneel on it, and pee on it through your underwear. Post about it every time you do.

Roll 1d6. This is the amount of days you are banned from the toilet entirely.

For the next 48 hours, you must hold it until you start to leak before running to the toilet. If you don't make it, post about it.

Clearly, your potty training has failed. For the next 24 hours, any time you feel the urge to pee, you must immediately wet into either your pants or a diaper.

For the next 24 hours, you must hold it until you have an accident every time you need to pee.

Do not pee before bed tonight. When you wake up, you must get permission from someone to pee. If you have an accident before you get permission, or wet the bed during the night, post about it and roll this table again.

[here2bbtstrash]

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

summary: the same day you finally manage to speak to your months-long public transit crush, you end up seeing much more of him than you bargained for.

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

contains: explicit sexual content~*~ (after a slow burn lmao) - new york city grad school AU, strangers to lovers, reader is an art student, public transit thirsting, jimin is a dancer and a nude model, namgi and vhope as side characters, basically everyone is gay (they're ART STUDENTS in NEW YORK CITY it's called realism 💅), a smidge of member x member side character relationships, jimin is biromantic demisexual 👀, conversations about body image issues/past relationship struggles/demisexuality and libido, soooo much making out, a couple "failed attempts" at sex, accidental voyeurism (but not how you think lmao YOU'LL SEE), showering together non-sexually, and: fingering, clit stim, nipple play, come eating/sharing 🤭 an attempted blowjob, face sitting, & protected sex (multiple rounds 🥵)

A/N: asjdshgkdfjgs i can't believe it's done 😭 there were so many times i thought i would never finish this fic !!! i have too many friends to thank for talking me off of SEVERAL ledges where i was convinced this whole thing was trash and that i should just stick to short porn or perhaps simply never write again. i'm so glad i saw this one through because there are concepts in here that are deeply important and personal to me wehhh 🫠 i sincerely hope y'all enjoy this one!! thank u for enduring mostly radio silence while i was in jimin lockdown, and of course, happy early birthday to mini, the light of my mf life 🥰💜 (oh and LDOMLT ch 8 is coming next so buckle tf up bitches 👀)

an eternity of smooches to @haliiimede for beta reading and just generally being the best fucking person on planet earth ✨ AND TO @goodsoop FOR THE DEMI SENSITIVITY READ VERY SORRY THAT I AM THE WORLD'S LARGEST IDIOT AND FORGOT TO CREDIT..... i love you both 🥺

read on AO3!

~*~

You’ve taken the subway thousands of times since moving to New York.

Morning rides, squeezed nearly to death between commuters in suits blinking back sleep and school-uniformed kids scream-laughing and paper coffee cups gripped tight by winter-numb fingers.

Long trips with your sketchbook on your lap, riding the line all the way to Pelham Bay Park and back, to surface above ground out where there’s a little more space to breathe, until the setting sun floods orange glow between the buildings just before you descend again.

Late nights coming home, Namjoon’s head thudding back against the train window behind him as he dozes off, one arm thrown around your shoulder to ward off any drunk creeps, his free hand interlaced with Yoongi’s on his other side.

It’s always been the three of you, first in friendship, and now that the two of them have figured out they’re something more, you don’t mind it. But when it’s late and you’ve had enough drinks to feel warm all the way through, to melt something open inside of you, and you glance over to see a loving flicker of eyelashes exchanged as Namjoon leans down and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s temple, you can’t help it.

There’s a little bit of an ache there, right behind your ribs. Sometimes.

But mostly, when it comes to the train, you take the 6 to school. You go through the motions this morning the same as you always do: headphones around your neck, bag slung over your shoulder, immediately dropping into the first empty seat you see as the train doors shudder closed and the car starts to move. Six stops down, 51st street to Astor Place, five days a week, you know it like a heartbeat.

You just wish you knew him, too.

Subway Boy, as Yoongi affectionately labeled him the time you got two pitchers of margaritas deep and made the mistake of confessing to your roommates about your crush— if it can even be called that. Can you truly have a crush on someone you know nothing about, not even their name?

Well, you know a few things.

He must live further north than you, because on the days you see him, he’s already on the train when you board at 51st.

He must like music, because he always has a set of fancy bluetooth earbuds in.

You’re pretty sure he’s an athlete of some sort, because he’s usually carrying a gym bag—and because during this summer’s heat wave, the one and only time you’ve seen him wear shorts, you nearly fainted at the thick, defined muscles of his thighs.

He has an affinity for jewelry, delicate silver always glinting through the multiple piercings in his ears. At odds with this, he seems to prefer to dress comfortably, and you’ve seen him in enough branded school t-shirts and sweats to figure he must also be an NYU student, though you can’t say for sure if he’s undergrad or graduate.

You deeply hope you’re not crushing on someone who still needs a fake ID to drink, but there’s no way to be certain.

Most importantly, you know that he is absolutely stunning. Elegantly handsome, with expressive deep brown eyes, skin like glass, and round cheeks and full lips that flush frozen pink on particularly frigid New York days. His hair has changed colors a few times over the months that have passed since you first took notice of him, but it’s currently a honey blonde, and long enough that he often reaches up to card a hand through it. He does it now, pushing loose strands back to expose his forehead as he frowns down at his phone.

On days where you share the same car, you notice very little else that happens on the ride, thoroughly entranced in Subway Boy’s beauty and his mystery. The train could probably catch fire and you’d miss it entirely.

Today happens to be one of those days, and excitement glitters in your bloodstream as you realize he’s seated across from you. The rush of seeing him always feels like its own reward, some kind of cosmic sign that the day is going to be a good one.

And then the train stops moving.

There’s an audible reaction from a few people in the car, and you glance up a moment later when a voice buzzes over the intercom. You’re able to make out “attention passengers” and very little after that, just the basics about some sort of unforeseen interruption of service and that the train should resume moving again soon.

You sigh, knowing very well that the MTA’s definition of ‘soon’ does not often align with typical human expectations. Figuring you’ve got some time to kill, you reach into your bag to retrieve your sketchbook and the first pencil you can dig out of the bottom.

“What did they say?” A voice, quiet and deep, surprises you before you can even flip to your in-progress page.

You glance up to find Subway Boy staring at you, forearms braced on his knees as he leans forward into the gap between his seat and yours. He’s got one bluetooth earbud pinched between his fingertips and a confused look on his face, having clearly missed the announcement.

Heat floods your face at the feeling of his eyes fixed on you, and it takes you a second to form a response. “Uh— I didn’t get most of it. Something about unforeseen interruption. And that we’ll be moving again soon.”

A muscle works in his jaw as he rolls his eyes. “Typical.”

“I don’t think they know what ‘soon’ means,” you murmur, mostly to yourself as you tear your gaze away from Subway Boy and return to the sketchbook in your lap, rifling through to find your latest half-finished drawing. When you hear him huff a laugh, you have to bite down on the hopeful smile that threatens to shine across your face.

“Definitely not.”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on the page, assuming Subway Boy must go back to his music when he falls silent after his last comment.

With featherlight flicks of your pencil, you start to add a little depth to the quick study you were working on last night, Yoongi’s half-peeled tangerine that he left abandoned on the coffee table when he stepped out onto the fire escape for a smoke.

Subway Boy’s voice catches you off guard a second time. “Are you drawing?”

You bite down on your lip again, a nervous habit, and you nod as you tilt the page so he can see from across the car.

“Wow.” You wonder if you’re imagining the way his voice seems to soften a little. “You’re really good. Are you an artist?”

You can’t help it— your gaze flits up to meet his again. It’s nearly overwhelming to lock eyes with your Subway Boy and hear him compliment you, like something out of a wild daydream. “I guess so,” you remark, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a small smile as you say it. “I’ve certainly paid NYU enough money in my attempts to become one.”

“Know the feeling,” he scoffs, but his eyes smile back, pulled into crescent moons.

“What did you pay them for?”

“Currently, a dual MFA/MA in dance and… teaching dance. Really went all-in on the dancer thing.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen automatically. You’ve wondered— and yes, occasionally drunkenly speculated with your roommates— what Subway Boy’s line of work might be, but you have no idea why dancer never occurred to you. Because now all the pieces suddenly fall together in front of you: the toned muscles that flex beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, the natural grace he exudes, not to mention his perfect posture.

Of course he’s a dancer. It makes perfect sense.

It occurs to you, a beat too late, that a wide-eyed ‘oh’ is not the most normal response to a truly innocuous answer to a question asked of a random stranger.

But the smile in his eyes doesn’t falter. “I feel like I see you on this train a lot.”

Your stomach flutters like butterfly wings, and you have to look away, back down to the safety of your sketchbook. “Really?”

There’s an extra pause before he speaks again. “Man, sorry. Think I misread that. Now I feel creepy. I promise I’ve only noticed you a normal amount.” Your eyes snap back up to find him wincing slightly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“No, no, I’m— it’s not—” you stammer, trying to recover. “I, uh— me too, I have too. Noticed you. A normal amount. I… I don’t know why I just pretended like I didn’t.”

Subway Boy leans forward, head dropping down with a genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders, and you can’t help but laugh too, out of sheer embarrassment. He’s beaming when he rights himself again, and it sends a thrill buzzing through you, all the way down to your fingertips still clutched tight to your pencil.

“That makes me feel better,” he admits. “At least we’re both creepy.”

As if the universe itself is intervening to save you from any further humiliation, the train shudders back to life and begins to move again. The sigh you breathe is a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

“That’s definitely a new record,” you say shyly as you move to shove your things back in your bag. “Maybe the MTA actually looked up what ‘soon’ means.”

His focus is tracked over your shoulder when you look up again, and his eyes dance left to right to chase the patterns in the subway tile as you pull into the next station.

“Guess it’s a miracle,” he says softly, not making eye contact.

“Must be,” you murmur back, letting your gaze drop to the floor, unable to hide your smile now.

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, but the warm flush stays in your face for the rest of the ride. When the train pulls into the Astor Place station, you and Subway Boy get to your feet simultaneously, so quickly that your bags knock together as you pull them over your shoulders.

“Sorry,” you say in unison, immediately sharing an exhaled laugh at the synchronicity of the moment.

The doors slide open and he gestures for you to go first before following after. It’s a surprise— he’s never gotten off at Astor before, and when he doesn’t take the option of heading in another direction but instead falls into lockstep next to you, you seize the opportunity.

“Astor Place today, huh?” You hope the observation still falls into the category of ‘noticing a normal amount’.

“Yeah, first day of a new gig. What about you? Class?”

You nod. “Pretty standard stuff. But we start a new unit today, so that’s fun.”

“You in grad school too?”

“Yup, MFA in studio art.” You can’t help but tease, just a little. “Only one master’s degree for me, I’m such a slacker.”

His eyes squint again as he smiles. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re not, like, eighteen.”

“I thought that too!” You keep talking before you can stop yourself. “I mean, when I was… noticing. I distinctly remember thinking, like, please let me not be thirsting over a straight-up child right now.”

“Ahh...” Subway Boy trails off, and you can see a faint pink starting to blossom in the apples of his cheeks. “You were thirsting?”

You can’t help but scrunch your nose up slightly, resisting the urge to full-body cringe at your own stupid mouth. “We are now officially both creepy.”

He fidgets a little with the strap of the dance bag slung over his shoulder. “Hopefully I’m living up to the hype.”

You’re grateful to reach the art building before you can dig your grave any deeper. You nod your head in the direction of the glass doors as you slow to a stop, and he does, too. “This is me.”

“It’s actually me, too,” he remarks, glancing up at the building as if to double-check. “But I have a little bit, so I’m gonna grab a coffee I think. But it was nice to finally talk to you. Not that— sorry, that was weird. Take out the finally. It was good to talk. Meet a fellow starving artist and all.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, until you finally work up the courage to ask the question. “Do you have a name?”

“Oh!” His eyes widen, more heat-blush coloring his face. “Yeah. Park Jimin. Probably could’ve led with that.”

You give him your name, and his voice is like music when he repeats it back.

“Well, good luck in class,” Jimin says with a nod. “And hopefully I’ll see you around sometime.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and then he pauses as his words seem to catch up to him. “Well, I mean. I guess I know I will. On the— train— yeah, I’m gonna go before I say any more stupid things.”

“Bye Jimin,” you giggle, and he gives a shy departing wave before he spins on his heel. As he walks away, you can’t help but notice the way he drops his gaze and shakes his head, like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his social performance.

And just like that, Subway Boy has a name— one that loops in your head as you float to class, barely feeling your feet touch the floor. Park Jimin. It’s sweet like him, warm sunshine in your veins as you shoulder open the door to the studio, grab a seat, and start to get set up.

A voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin as Kim Taehyung leans in, having occupied the seat next to you while you were off in la-la land. “Know what the new unit is?” You start to shake your head, then realize it was a rhetorical question when he waggles his eyebrows and continues. “Life drawing. Ready for some naked people?”

You roll your eyes and grab at the strings of his gray beanie, pulling it down over his fluffy hair and eyes in one swift tug. “Bro, we are literally in grad school. Stop acting like a virgin.”

“Like you weren’t thinking it too,” he grumbles to himself as he shoves the hat back up his forehead.

You shoot him a look as your professor signals the class to settle and launches in. It’s the same routine as each unit you’ve rotated through in your graduate studio, so you only half-listen, mostly distracted by Taehyung tearing open the paper wrapper of a red heart-shaped lollipop and popping it into his mouth. His latest oral fixation in his millionth attempt to quit vaping.

You lean down to dig into your bag, trying to ignore the sound of hard candy clacking against teeth as you fish out both pencils and charcoal to give yourself options. You pull a couple of each out of their cases, glancing up in an attempt to refocus on the professor, who is still talking.

It takes a second for your brain to process the image in front of you. His shy smile has been replaced with a serious, professional expression, but there’s no questioning the familiar face, the posture, the silver jewelry, the way he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Subway Boy Park Jimin is standing in the center of the room, wearing a short black satin dressing gown.

Your jaw goes slack. It feels like it happens in slow motion as you watch Jimin’s strong hands move down to undo the sash at his waist before he shrugs off the flimsy fabric and lets it fall to the floor. And then he’s not wearing anything at all.

You lose your grip entirely on your handful of pencils, and they hit the studio floor with a clatter that certainly feels deafening, each one choosing to roll off in a different direction.

Taehyung glances over at you, brow slightly creased. The lollipop tucked in his cheek impedes his speech slightly, but not enough that you can’t understand him. “Now who’s the virgin?”

You crouch down, praying that maybe you can gather your things unnoticed, but it already feels like every pair of eyes in the room is burning a hole in your back. To his credit, Taehyung at least helps a little, extending a sandaled foot to kick any pencils he can reach over towards you. You scramble around the room to chase after the rest, and you can’t bear to look up and see if Jimin is watching you or not. You’re not sure which would be worse.

Fighting the urge to army crawl out of the room, you grip both hands tightly around your materials as you return to your seat, then tuck everything into the tray of the easel in front of you. You’re a professional, you tell yourself. It’s not like it’s your first time drawing someone nude.

It’s just your first time doing it when you happen to have a crush on them.

But it’s fine. You let out an exhale to ground yourself, then pick up a pencil. It’s just a body.

You vaguely recall hearing your professor explain that you’d be moving through ten quick-sketch poses to begin with, each held for only a few minutes, before switching to a few longer sessions for the rest of class. As you were too busy chasing your pencils around the room, you’ve missed the first pose entirely, and you have to work quickly to get a very rough outline of the second before Jimin moves again at the professor’s instruction.

He switches so fluidly from one pose to the next, and you have so little time, it’s enough to get you out of your head just trying to keep up. You find yourself falling comfortably into a flow state, focused on little more than lines and shapes in front of you and the act of reproducing them on your page. It’s an exercise you know well, and the repetition of it soothes you.

The studio is quiet, save for the scratching of pencils on paper and the soft classical music your professor has switched on.

By the time you finish sketching the tenth pose, it feels like you can breathe a little easier, and your professor offers Jimin a quick break just as you lean back to admire your work. You do your best to quickly duck behind your easel as he stretches, then reaches for a bottle of water set on a nearby table.

Taehyung removes his sheet of sketches and sets it aside before leaning in, pressing his face against his easel to match yours. “He’s cute. Bet he gets like, infinite ass-pussy. Just the absolute most.”

“Shut up, Tae!” You jerk your foot out to kick the leg of his chair, and a boxy grin stretches over his face as he giggles. You stare daggers back. “You’re too damn horny today. Like you didn’t just get your ass eaten in the supply closet last week.” The rumor had spread through your cohort practically overnight— probably started by Taehyung himself.

The menace in question shoots you an over-exaggerated wink. “And I’d do it again, too.”

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

The professor claps to get everyone’s attention again, and you peer around your easel to watch as Jimin resumes his place at the center of the room. You settle in for the first of a few longer, more detailed sketches, trying desperately to keep your cool about it. But Jimin is unquestionably gorgeous.

He turns to the side for the first pose, arms wrapped around his muscular torso and eyes downcast, fingertips and thumb resting over his neck and chin as if to cradle his own face in his hand. After a long stretch of time where you manage to get most of a sketch done, the professor cues him to move into a second pose, and he faces the back wall, reaching up to drape his arms over each other, crossed wrists resting delicately on the crown of his head.

You could easily see him as a statue carved out of marble, and you try to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat as you attempt to translate his beauty onto your page each time. You have to hold in several sighs as you work on outlining the strong, toned muscles of his back and thighs— not to mention his perky ass. You can’t help but wonder if the rest of the class is struggling silently, too.

You’re beginning to think you might survive after all when the professor asks Jimin to move again and he does, shaking his body out slightly before reaching to grab a provided stool and shift it to the center of the room. He takes a seat, abdominals flexing as he leans back on his hands and unabashedly lets his legs fall open.

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

You try desperately to keep it together as you start your third sketch with unsteady hands. The minutes tick by, and you aren’t aware of Taehyung’s eyes on your paper until you hear his stupid whisper again. “Why aren’t you drawing his dick?”

He’s not wrong. There is a noticeable blank spot at the center of your page. “I’m getting there,” you huff. “Worry about your own sketch, Tae.”

“Girl, you are literally doing detail shading on his legs and he doesn’t even have a penis. What is he, a Ken doll?”

You grit your teeth and refuse to dignify Taehyung with a response. Fine. You can do this, you tell yourself. Don’t think. Just look and draw. It’s not a big deal.

With a hard swallow, you trace your eyes down his body, and… well, you don’t know what you were expecting. It’s just a soft penis resting limp between his legs, framed by an extremely regular pair of balls. Nothing scary, though you can’t quite will the heat back out of your face, can’t manage to silence the recurring thought that makes your stomach drop— it’s cute.

You resist the urge to smack your head against your easel as you finally fill in your sketch’s dick.

You somehow manage to survive the rest of class, but relief still floods your veins when your professor signals for everyone to wrap up what they’re doing for the day. Jimin starts to come alive again from the fixed pose, tilting his head to one side until something cracks audibly in his neck. You tear your gaze away for fear that his eyes might find yours, and shove everything into your bag as quickly as you can, not even caring what ends up where.

“Where’s the fire?” Taehyung questions beside you, but you ignore him.

You zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder, then make a beeline for the exit, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. It’s only once the studio door swings shut behind you that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to keep yourself from outright sprinting to your next class.

~*~

The rest of the day rushes by in an overwhelming blur, your focus entirely shot by the events of the morning. You collapse into a seat on your train home, hugging your bag to your chest, thankful for the first time in your life to not be sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

When you turn your keys in the lock and stumble in the front door of the apartment, the divine smell of what could only be Yoongi’s cooking immediately hits you full-force. You find him in the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, searing a large steak in a cast iron pan for what must be a planned date night with Namjoon.

You wrap your arms around his tiny waist from behind as you approach. He responds with his usual greeting: a soft grunt of mild discomfort.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, trying to sound as sweet as possible.

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

You decide to let his sass go, since you really do need help. “Two more?” Yoongi hums, somewhat affirmative, and you continue. “I know you work like 47 jobs and never get any time off—“

“Some of us have to pay rent without the luxury of stipends or rich parents, yes—“

“But is there any way I could… maybe possibly encroach upon your date night just this once? It’s an emergency. I need advice.”

Yoongi sighs, and you shift to peek over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around him as you watch the way he tilts the pan to one side, collecting butter on a spoon to baste over the steak as it cooks. You squish your cheek into his bicep.

“Lucky for you,” he begins, his tone relenting, “Namjoonie just called. They’ve got him working late to prep for the exhibition next month. So date night was canceled anyway.”

“Aw, Yoongiiiii.” You squeeze him tight enough that he makes another disgruntled noise, and you finally release your grip. “I’ll be your girlfriend tonight.”

He rolls his eyes, but willingly plays along. “Then get the wine, darling?”

You fall into a typical routine: Yoongi pulls a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven as he lets the steak rest, while you grab a bottle of red at his instruction and fight with the corkscrew in an attempt to get it open. Yoongi watches you, slow-blinking, unamused.

“You wouldn’t last an hour in the restaurant industry.”

“Either help me, or shut up,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

When you finally get settled at your tiny kitchen table, Yoongi nods as if to prompt you while he fills each wine glass with a heavy pour. “Let’s hear it.”

You take a deep breath before launching in and recounting the events of your day, trying not to choke as you simultaneously stuff your face with food. Yoongi eats and listens quietly, no discernible reaction on his face save the occasional lift of his eyebrows. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as you finish detailing the way you ran out of the studio the minute class ended.

“Alright. So you saw Subway Boy naked, big deal. Do you know how many dicks I’ve seen?”

You groan. “Spare me the details, please.”

“But this is what you wanted, right?” You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t play coy now. You’ve been lusting after this kid for months like a weirdo. So why are you stressed?”

“Because!” you huff, frustrated. “It’s— it’s out of order. It’s not like he chose to get naked in front of me specifically, he obviously just thought it was going to be a roomful of strangers. And it seemed like maybe we could be friends or something, but now I don’t know if I should keep pursuing that or just leave him alone. I want to be respectful, but I don’t want him to think I took one look at his penis and decided I didn’t like him anymore, but then it’s like, how do I hold a conversation when he and I both know I have seen his penis, not only seen but studied it, drawn it, and will continue to, weekly, in detail, from multiple angles—“

“You are absolutely overthinking this,” Yoongi laughs into his glass of wine, downing the rest before he continues. “Just get on the fucking train and say hi like a normal, well-adjusted human. This is my advice to you.”

You sigh as you shove a roasted potato in your mouth. “At least you’re a good cook.”

“I’m a great cook,” Yoongi corrects you as he gets to his feet. “Now help me with these dishes.”

~*~

Yoongi’s advice continues to echo in your brain as you lapse back into something like normalcy for the rest of the week.

When the day of your studio class rolls around again, you find yourself hustling not to miss the train, having hit snooze on your alarm a few too many times that morning. You fly down the subway steps just as the 6 is pulling into the station, and you try to ignore the way your pulse is already quickening, telling yourself it’s just from rushing and nothing else.

Pulling the strap of your bag up on your shoulder, you make it to the platform just as the train doors slide open, and your heart instantly leaps into your throat. There he is, leaning against a pole, overwhelmingly beautiful as ever. Park Jimin.

He’s scrolling through something on his phone and hasn’t yet looked up to notice you, and you find yourself frozen in place, jostled angrily by commuters exiting and boarding the train on either side of you.

Panic floods your veins. There’s no time to talk yourself off the ledge, no time to remember Yoongi’s words of wisdom, no time to do anything but make a snap decision. So you do the only thing that feels right: you turn around and sprint back up the stairs and out of the subway station.

The sidewalk is equally bustling, and you try to dodge people while you think through what to do despite the way your head is spinning. You were already going to be cutting it close for time today, and you don’t exactly have the disposable income for a taxi or an Uber. As you try to settle your racing thoughts, your eyes alight on a rack of Citibikes.

Fuck it. You don’t have a better option. Securing your bag on your back, you quickly scan the code to unlock the bike, then shove your phone in your pocket and swing your leg over the seat.

You’ve never biked in Manhattan traffic before, but it can’t be that difficult, you tell yourself. Definitely easier than sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

Thankfully the street you’re on has a defined bike path, and you do your best to follow the flow of traffic, squeezing your hand brakes to slow to a stop when you hit a red light. It’s been years since you’ve ridden a bike that wasn’t stationary, but it comes back to you relatively easily, like— well, riding a bike.

When you hit a long stretch of green lights, you do your best to pick up speed, trying to make up for lost time. An approaching red light threatens to slow you down again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as it flips to green at the last possible second.

Just as your front tire rolls into the intersection, a deafening car horn nearly gives you a heart attack. You instinctively slam your grip tight around your brakes, and your bike screeches to a halt so fast you’re almost flung over the handlebars. A taxi just barely veers around you as it plows down the intersecting avenue, and you gasp for air, adrenaline coursing through your system.

Holy shit.

You drop one foot to the ground for leverage as you try to get your pulse back under control— you’re pretty sure you just saw your life flash before your eyes. Reality feels a million miles away, but you’re vaguely aware of someone shouting after the car as it speeds down the street.

“Fucking asshole!”

It takes a few seconds for you to realize that it’s a familiar voice, and when you do, you whip around as best you can with a bike between your legs.

“Yoongi?!”

“Oh my god,” Yoongi groans, knuckles blanching as he presses down on his own brakes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You squint, taking in the helmet strapped over his wavy dark hair and the insulated bag tucked into the basket on the front of his bike. “Since when do you deliver food?”

He grimaces, speaking up to be heard over the noise of traffic. “I just do it to make extra money when my hours suck.”

“What about the coffee shop?”

He shakes his head. “They only have me opening Mondays and Wednesdays right now.”

“What about the bar?”

“That’s just weekends, reliably. Sometimes extra evenings, but only if someone calls out.”

“What about the—”

“Christ, woman!” Yoongi cuts you off with a growl. “The food’s gonna get cold if I have to sit here and run through my entire résumé with you! Are you alright? Why aren’t you taking the subway?”

“Because!” you snap back. “There is a man on that train whose dick I’ve seen and I… I don’t know how to handle it! Okay?!” Though you don’t intend to raise your voice, it comes out loud enough that a group of high school kids on their phones exchange stifled giggles as they fast-walk around you.

“Well you need to be fucking careful,” Yoongi chides. “Biking in the city is not for the faint of heart. And if I’m not allowed to give in to my suicidal ideation, you’re not allowed to crack your head open on the pavement all because you’re trying to avoid a penis.”

“Fine,” you spit back through gritted teeth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to class.” You push off the asphalt, legs still shaking a little with excess nerves as you re-find your balance and make your way cautiously through the intersection.

The rush of wind in your ears isn’t quite loud enough to drown out Yoongi calling after you as you bike away. “It’s only weird if you make it weird!”

When you somehow make it to Astor Place in one piece, you dock your bike and quickly sprint to the building, well aware that you’re already late. It’s only once you push the studio door open that you realize how truly frazzled and out of breath you are, and though you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, you can feel every pair of eyes in the room on you. You hold a hand up in an apologetic wave and hurry to find your seat.

Trying to collect yourself, you begin to unpack your materials as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the class. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Kim Taehyung’s voice beside you.

“You’re sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?”

He’s got an eyebrow cocked when you look over, and you give him the most powerful death glare you can muster, enough that it must actually scare him. “Shutting up now,” Taehyung murmurs, voice shaking slightly as he returns to his own sketches, and you huff an exhale as you attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.

Class passes surprisingly quickly once you manage to get your breath back, much in the same way it did the week prior: you do your best to compartmentalize the body in front of you from the human person you have a giant, embarrassing crush on. It goes decently well in the moments where Jimin is frozen in a fixed pose, just lines and curves and light and shadow for you to emulate. During the breaks when he comes alive again, you hide out behind your easel, trying to ignore Taehyung’s inane bullshit and wishing you could disappear entirely.

The second your professor dismisses everyone for the day, you stuff your things back into your bag, hoping to once again speed-walk out of the room.

But despite your better judgment, you can’t help yourself this time. As you get to your feet, you glance up to watch Jimin pull his dressing gown back on, only to realize his eyes are already on you.

You’re distinctly aware of how much of a mess you must look from biking over, and the fact that you almost assuredly smudged charcoal on your face when you reached up absentmindedly to scratch an itch mid-sketch.

Jimin’s plush lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and the bottom drops out of your stomach.

With a hard swallow, you avert your gaze from his, sling your bag over your shoulder, and quickly make your escape through the studio door. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat even after he’s out of your sight, and your hands shake like a leaf all the way to your next class.

~*~

That night, sleep evades you until the early hours of the morning, and it feels like you’ve only just begun to doze off when the harsh noise of your alarm pulls you up from dreaming. You roll over in bed and glare accusingly at your phone, then shut it off, promptly letting the waves drag you under once more, seminar be damned.

It’s nearly noon when you finally make it out of bed and stumble into the living room in your sweats. Namjoon is curled up in his reading chair, a feat for someone of his size, surrounded as always by his massive stack of ever-changing ‘to read’ books. He glances up from the one that’s open on his lap, clearly surprised to see you.

“No class?” Namjoon’s voice is rough-edged, like he’s only just woken up himself.

“Skipped,” you grunt. His eyes track you as you cross the room and collapse face-first onto the couch.

“Is this about the penis?”

The cushion muffles your groan. “Not you too.”

You hear the distinct fluttering sound of Namjoon closing his book and shifting in his seat to give you his undivided attention. “Seems like you want to talk about it.”

You turn your head to the side to take in your roommate. “Maybe. Are you gonna give me the same stupid advice your boyfriend did?”

He smiles softly, one dimple flexing at the corner of his mouth. “I can try to be gentler.”

You huff as you flip onto your side, pressing your palms together and slipping them under your cheek. “Sounds like you’ve got the details already, so please. Enlighten me. Tell me how I’m supposed to handle seeing this guy naked once a week in the name of art.”

“Didn’t William Blake say ‘Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed’?” Namjoon poses it like a serious question, brow creased as if in contemplation, and you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Joon, did he? I said enlighten me, not write me a thesis.” You reach up to grab a couch pillow and fling it in his direction, missing by several inches. “Did Blake have anything in there on dealing with a naked crush and trying not to make it weird as fuck?”

“Well, does he seem weirded out by it?” Namjoon counters, patient as ever.

“I don’t know.” You shrug unsurely as you play back your last interaction with Jimin. “He smiled at me yesterday, at the end of class.”

Namjoon steeples his fingers together, leaning forward slightly in his chair, interest clearly piqued. “Okay, and what did you do?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I… threw all my shit in my bag and ran out of the room.” When you crack an eye open again, you can see Namjoon trying and failing to keep the smug smile off his face, his dimples giving him away.

“Maybe you could try smiling back next time?” he gently suggests.

You sigh, because you know he’s right. “You make it sound so easy. What’s next? You’re going to tell me to talk to him?”

He laughs a little. “I’d quote another poet, but I fear you might launch more projectiles at me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s hear it, nerd.”

Namjoon clears his throat for dramatic effect before launching into a recitation. “‘It’s cool, not tryna put a rush on you / I had to let you know, that I got a crush on you.’”

There’s a wide grin on his face as you sit all the way up. “Did you just quote Biggie Smalls at me?”

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

You feign annoyance, but you can’t quite hide the smile beneath it, and you get to your feet as Namjoon continues to mumble a verse of Crush on You under his breath. “Whatever. I need to do laundry.”

“Oh—” Namjoon pauses to interrupt himself. “Lucky’s closed, by the way.”

Already halfway out of the living room, you whip around again at the mention of the laundromat you’ve been exclusive with for the last few years. “What?”

He nods solemnly. “Me and Yoongi found out the hard way last week. They’re putting in an Equinox.”

Your face twists in disgust. “A stupid bougie gym?! You’ve got to be kidding me. Where am I supposed to wash my fucking clothes?”

“We found a place a few blocks up. Quick Clean, or something like that.” Namjoon shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send you the address. It’s not bad, just a little more expensive.”

“This is such bullshit,” you groan as you stomp back into your bedroom, the day already off to a terrible start.

In a gentrification-induced rage, you angrily shove the contents of your overflowing laundry hamper into the giant yellow IKEA bag hung up in your closet, just barely managing to fit it all. Glancing at the mirror on the back of the door, you briefly consider changing out of your sweats, or at the very least doing something with your hair, but you shrug it off— it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone at the damn laundromat.

You grab your headphones off your desk and sling them around your neck, double-check that your sketchbook is still tucked into your bag, then lug everything out to the front hallway. You pull your slides off the shoe rack and slip your socked feet into them.

“Bye, nerd!” you call over your shoulder to Namjoon before the front door slams shut behind you.

By the time you make it to the weird new laundromat, you’re sweaty and pissed off. You knew the walk to Lucky’s by heart, but you had to do this one while looking down at your phone GPS and trying not to get hit by a car. Not an easy feat while carrying every article of clothing you own over one shoulder.

You miss the way the nice old man who owned Lucky’s would greet you warmly and sneak you a cup of coffee from his pot in the back, the way his cat would roll over on the front counter for belly rubs, the way there was always a deeply entertaining telenovela playing on the ancient tiny TV.

The stupid Quick Clean has none of these things, just a shitty pile of magazines in the seating area and weirdly sticky floors. You slam into the front door a little harder than is necessary to push it open, the bell tinkling violently overhead as you enter. The only compliment you can give the place is that it’s relatively dead, save for a couple people on their phones or half-asleep in chairs as they wait on their stuff, and two guys in the corner loading armfuls of wet clothes into a pair of dryers.

You grab a machine a respectful distance away from them and swing the door open when a laugh that’s nearly musical gives you pause. Unable to shake a sense of familiarity, you glance over at your neighbors again, just in time to see one of them reach up to run a hand through his honey blonde hair.

Your IKEA bag hits the sticky floor with an audible thud as panic kickstarts your heart.

This isn’t fucking happening. Of all the laundromats in New York City, you did not just manage to stumble into the one currently being used by Park Jimin.

But even before you can catch a glimpse of his profile, you’re already certain it can’t be anyone else. You’ve spent too much time familiarizing yourself with the slope of his neck, the definition of his forearms, his dainty hands. There’s no mistaking them, adorned today with several silver rings that catch the dim fluorescent light as he grabs more of his clothes from the washer.

The desperate need to turn around and run rises up in your chest, just as before, but this time you steel yourself. You can’t keep running away forever— particularly not when you pulled on your last clean pair of underwear this morning.

A rush of heat floods your face at the thought of the many pairs of underwear in your bag that will soon be sent spinning around this washing machine, where Jimin could easily see, but then it occurs to you that you have seen his penis. Maybe the trade-off will put you on slightly more equal footing.

But you really don’t need to be thinking about Park Jimin’s penis in this laundromat right now.

Shaking your head slightly to try and banish the thought, you set about your laundry routine, trying not to drop any unmentionables on the floor when you dump the contents of your tote into the washer. You dig quarters out of your bag and slot them into the machine, then press the button to start the cycle.

With a final exhale to steady yourself, you turn to look over your shoulder again, only to find Jimin leaning up against the empty dryer next to his, unabashedly watching you with a small smile on his face.

It occurs to you now that you couldn’t have put less effort into your appearance if you tried, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every random stain on your sweatpants and your extremely fashionable socks and slides combination. Jimin’s just in a white t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans today, but literally everything looks fresh off the runway on him. You suppress the urge to walk out the door and go lay down in traffic, and instead take Namjoon’s advice: you smile back and even lift your hand in a shy wave.

You drop into an empty chair across from your machine and watch as Jimin starts to cross the room to join you, his eyes never leaving yours. Before he can make it, you suddenly become aware of someone else sliding into the seat beside you.

“You didn’t tell me she was cute, Jimin-ah!”

Eyes wide, you turn to see Jimin’s friend sprawled out next to you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His wavy dark hair peeks out from under a lime green beanie, and he’s swimming in an oversized long sleeve tucked into baggy pants, cinched tight at the waist with a Gucci belt.

“Jung Hoseok,” he gives you a nod. “Friends call me Hobi. You can call me whatever you like.” The way his wide smile pulls his mouth heart-shaped makes you giggle a little, slightly dazed by whatever the fuck is happening right now.

You hear Jimin sigh as he takes the open seat on your other side. “Please ignore Hoseok’s tendency to come on way too strong. If it makes you feel any better, he’s as gay as they come.”

Hoseok flicks his wrist just so. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say with a shrug, your gaze flitting from Jimin to Hoseok and back again. “I have two gay roommates, so.”

Hoseok hums, clearly interested. “Gay together or gay separately?”

“Gay together.”

He narrows his eyes. “Open to a third?”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected question. “Uh, I’d have to ask.”

He looks like he’s going to say more, but Jimin interjects. “Hoseok— can we get a minute?”

Hoseok’s lips pull together, fish-like, and he nods as he gets to his feet. “Say no more. I’ll just, uh…” He fumbles, looking around for something to do, then crosses the room to take the open seat next to the sad pile of magazines. “…do a little light reading.” He picks up one at the top of the stack, holding it up for you both to witness. “Oh look, the queen died!”

You bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, but Jimin’s face is surprisingly serious when you look back at him. “I just want to say one thing,” he murmurs, voice low, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Nerves settle in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight. “Jimin,” you start, and when he opens his mouth to keep talking, you blurt out the first thing you can think of.

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison, and there’s a beat where you both blink, equally taken aback by the other’s apology. It’s quiet apart from the rumble of the laundry machines and the distinct sound of Hoseok smacking the magazine over his mouth, clearly more invested in your plot line.

You break the silence first. “Wait, why are you sorry?”

Jimin’s eyes drop down to the floor, one black boot toeing nervously at the tile. “I figured you were upset with me because I didn’t warn you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise when you play your initial conversation back. “Oh my god— when I said graduate studio art, you… you knew.”

He nods, somewhat remorseful. “I was kind of hoping that maybe it would be a different class, but. Yeah. I figured. I’m really sorry, I should’ve—”

“No, no,” you interrupt. “I get it. I’m not mad, obviously I didn’t even put it together until right now.” You pause for a second and can’t help but smile a little. “And, I mean, how do you just casually work that into your first conversation with someone? ‘Great talking to you, ready to see my dick in five minutes?’”

Jimin’s head tips back when he laughs, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. “Right.”

You can feel your own face grow hot as you realize what you’ve just said. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to— clearly I don’t know how to handle this. That’s why I wanted to apologize, for avoiding you and being weird.” You twist your hands uncomfortably in your lap. “I’ve just never been in this situation before, and I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to talk given… the…” Every cell in your body screams at you not to say the word ‘dick’ again. “Yeah. I thought it might be easier to keep my distance. Keep it separate.”

Jimin’s eyes drift back up to find yours, and his casual beauty is so stunning, it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. He shrugs softly. “I mean, maybe it would be. But I don’t want to.”

“Great,” you manage a laugh, still breathless. “Because I nearly died on a Citibike the day I didn’t take the subway.”

He laughs, too. “Not gonna lie, I missed seeing you on the train.” You’re not expecting it when he extends a hand out. “Friends?”

You realize belatedly that he’s offering a handshake, and you gently take his hand in yours. His skin is soft and warm, a contrast to the cool metal of his rings that press into your palm as he squeezes.

“Friends,” you echo with a smile, squeezing back.

There’s a sudden thump and a cackle as Hoseok falls out of his chair with a peal of laughter. “You are so fucking weird, Jimin-ah!” he gasps from his spot on the floor. “Who shakes hands?!”

The two of them keep you more than entertained until the buzzers on their dryers sound a second apart from each other. You learn that Hoseok and Jimin are roommates, that they met as dance majors in their undergrad program, and that Hoseok now works as an adjunct instructor and freelance choreographer.

“Because some of us decided we wanted to actually make money instead of digging ourselves further into debt,” he explains with a sly grin and smack delivered to the back of Jimin’s head.

You watch as they meticulously fold, Hoseok regularly leaning over to redo Jimin’s work and chide him about wrinkles, and then they stack the clean laundry back into their bags and head for the exit.

“Bye, new friend!” Hoseok calls as he maneuvers the door open with his foot, and Jimin pauses at the threshold, the bell overhead tinkling gently.

“So… guess I’ll see you on the train?” he asks, like he’s still a little unsure, and your heartbeat flutters.

“Guess so.”

“Cool.” He gives you one last soft smile before he disappears after Hoseok. The bell sounds again when the door shuts behind him, as if to snap you back to reality.

The floating feeling in your stomach doesn’t quite dissipate even long after Jimin has left the laundromat. While you wait on your clothes, you flip to a blank page in your sketchbook and start on something new: the outline of a hand extended in mid-air, rings glinting like an offered promise.

~*~

The next week, Jimin is waiting for you on your morning subway ride, the dance bag that he usually keeps tucked between his legs set on the bench next to him. When he sees you step through the train doors at 51st, you watch him reach over to swing the bag down to its rightful place on the floor, freeing up the space. An open invitation.

You can’t help but feel a little shy as you sink down next to him and murmur your thanks. There’s something about being this close to him that just makes your mind go blank, puts you at a loss for words entirely.

To your surprise, he doesn’t try to strike up conversation either. Instead he plucks one fancy bluetooth earbud out of his ear, gives it a diplomatic swipe across the fabric of his joggers, then holds it up, pinched between his fingers in front of you.

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

The corner of your mouth turns up as you pluck the bud out of his hand and press it into your own ear. The music that must have paused itself upon the earbud’s removal resumes, and your smile grows when Jimin quickly unlocks his phone to restart the song from the beginning.

An acoustic guitar and a light, pretty voice fill your ear, underscored by a gentle yet driving beat, not unlike the rumble of the train beneath your feet. It’s like the rest of the world fades away to nothing as you stare down at his sneakers next to your shoes, hyper-aware of the mere inch or two of space between you in this moment.

As if to prove your point, the train comes to a sharp stop, enough to make you slide a little on the bench and then you’re suddenly not just close but touching, all the way down, an unbroken line from shoulder to hip to knee.

When you look over in surprise, Jimin is already looking back at you. You swear you can feel warmth radiating out from him at every point where your bodies press together.

After another dazed moment, you come to your senses enough to scoot over, breaking the contact with an embarrassed laugh as you feel your face grow hot.

Your gaze drifts back down to the floor, only to snap up again at another brush of contact, this one not initiated by you or by the motion of the train. Instead, you realize Jimin has spread his legs an inch wider to purposefully touch his knee to yours again and leave it there. You blink softly as you look over at him, but he’s staring firmly out the window of the subway car now, smiling with just his eyes.

For the rest of the ride, you think of little else but Jimin’s knee pressed against yours and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.

You stay in comfortable silence, music floating in your ears as you exit the train at Astor Place together, until you reach the studio, where you finally return the borrowed earbud. He smiles as he tucks them both back into the case, then pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Jimin shoots you a final look before your paths diverge, and you sink into your seat with a small, dreamy sigh. Your bliss is short-lived when you hear Taehyung’s voice over your shoulder.

“That was fast.”

You whip around to shoot him a look. “What was fast?”

He makes a face, like it’s obvious. “You’re already banging the model and it’s been, what, two weeks?”

Taehyung’s just close enough that you can lean forward and smack him on the arm, and he hisses in a way that has to be an exaggeration. Thankfully he seems to take the hint, and manages to actually keep his mouth shut as the professor commands everyone’s attention at the center of the room.

When Jimin emerges in the usual black satin, you try to keep your composure, but you can’t ignore the chill that dots up your spine when he lets the fabric fall to the floor.

Nevertheless, you sink into the routine of class, the thrill of Jimin’s naked body now equal parts familiar and exhilarating. The only difference is that today, when you’re dismissed, you make no effort to quickly pack up. You instead purposefully take your time, adding a few extra details to your last sketch before you finally start putting things away. Your gaze flickers up distractedly to see Jimin pulling his dressing gown back over his body as he moves to close the distance between you.

“Hi,” he says simply when he reaches your easel, and you smile.

“Hi.”

“Sorry, is, uh— is it okay that I talk to you, when I’m—” He gestures vaguely to his lower half with one hand, using the other to keep himself covered.

You swallow hard at the thin layer of fabric and everything you know lies beneath it. “Yeah, it’s okay,” you say, hating how breathless you sound.

“When are you done with classes today?”

It takes an extra second for you to remember your own schedule. “Uh, six.”

Jimin fidgets with the satin material in his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous. “Would you… want to get dinner after? With me?”

Your stomach flutters as you nod. “Yeah, yes. I’d like that.”

~*~

When you emerge from your last class, you find Jimin waiting for you on Astor Place, and you’re not expecting it when he greets you with a single question: “Do you like sushi?” You answer affirmatively, and he nods over his shoulder. “Then let’s walk this way.”

You end up tucked into two seats at a place you’ve never been to before, where rolls and other plates of food zip past you on a steadily moving conveyor belt. Jimin shows you how to pop the plates out from their protective domes, and you gather a small feast of options on the table between you to share.

“So,” you start with a nervous smile, chopsticks hovering in midair. “Can I ask the obvious question?”

He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What made you decide to nude model?” The words alone send fresh waves of heat and nerves through you, sparkling in your chest. “Or have you done it before?”

“I haven’t,” Jimin confirms with a shake of his head, then he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth as if to buy himself time. He chews, bringing a hand up as he speaks with his mouth still half-full. “Do you want the real answer?”

You nod, and his adam’s apple jerks as he swallows. There’s a look on his face like he isn’t quite sure what to say, and then he exhales a weighty sigh. “I’ve struggled with my body for a really long time. Especially in undergrad.”

Your eyes widen slightly— you weren’t expecting such a serious response.

“Dance doesn’t typically have the best culture for that to begin with,” he continues, “and I’d spend literally all day staring at myself in a mirror, so I would just… pick myself apart. Always convinced I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to lose more weight, always.”

The thought of it makes your heart ache, but you let him talk.

“I’m through the worst of it now, so please don’t feel like you need to be worried. But I have some friends who’ve done this kind of thing before and it seemed like, I don’t know, a good challenge?” His brow creases, contemplative. “I really love art, so I thought maybe if I did it, I might be able to see my body in a new way, through the eyes of other people. Of artists.” He pauses, then nods, like he’s said his piece.

It takes you a second to respond. “That’s… beautiful, Jimin.”

He looks down, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Sorry if that was too heavy.”

“I can take it,” you say softly, and it’s enough to make him glance back up in surprise. “Thank you for telling me.”

A faint color floods his face. “Thanks for listening.”

You eat in a silence that’s oddly comfortable, and when you both reach for the same piece of sushi and end up knocking chopsticks together, he lets you have it, picking up the thread of conversation again as he smiles. “What got you into art?”

You make a face, chased by an unsure shrug. “Is it bad if I say it’s the only thing I feel like I’m good at?”

Jimin laughs a little. “I don’t know that I believe you.”

“I mean,” you lean back in your seat. “Maybe not the only thing, but I’ve just never been able to see myself doing anything else. I’m not cut out for the corporate life, as much as my parents wish I was. Art’s always been the thing that I go to in my free time. When I’m feeling so much that it’s overwhelming, or so numb that it’s like I can’t feel anything, the act of creating something just… brings me back to center again.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s an outlet, I guess.”

“Well, if it helps, you’re very good at it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. “But it’s not even about being good, at least not to me. Maybe it sounds weird, but I don’t really have any interest in being the best. It’s art, so it’s all subjective anyway. I just wanna make stuff.”

Jimin smirks as he adds another empty plate to the growing stack in front of you, tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “I could stand to be more like you.”

“Your turn,” you shoot back. “Why dance?”

At this, he actually brings a hand up to cover his face, and his voice is muffled under his palm when he responds. “I can tell you exactly why, but it’s embarrassing.”

You shift a little in your chair to get a better look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s not like I—” you cut yourself off before you can very obviously finish the sentence with ‘haven’t seen your dick’, and you shove a piece of sushi in your mouth to shut yourself up, so fast you nearly choke.

Jimin laughs loudly into his hands, and then you’re laughing too, dropping your head down on the table to try and chew your food without asphyxiating.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps when he can finally manage to take a breath in. “I’ll tell you.”

He sets his chopsticks down, overly serious. “When I was little, I was obsessed with Titanic. Specifically the scene where they dance together, and Rose rises up on her toes in front of everyone.” There are practically stars in his eyes as he recounts the moment, and you can’t bear to cut him off. “I just thought she was so beautiful, and I wanted to be like that. Almost broke my toes trying to go en pointe barefoot like an idiot.”

You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a flicker of panic in Jimin’s face, like he’s worried he overshared. “I have to be honest,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Titanic.”

His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”

Already expecting the reaction, you grimace and nod. “I know, I know. Everyone gets mad at me for it. Go ahead.”

Jimin’s eyes flit from your face to the remaining piece of sushi on the plate between you, then back again. “I mean, we can go solve this problem right now, if you want.” He pauses, then admits with a giggle, “I have it on DVD.”

You shrug, trying to act casual despite the way your pulse has started to quicken. “They canceled my morning seminar for tomorrow, so I’m down.”

He leans forward to steal the last piece of sushi with a smug smile. “Then let’s get out of here.”

It’s a short train ride back to Jimin’s place, and you make it in the front door just in time to see Hoseok slipping out of what looks to be his bedroom. You barely process him as the same person— tonight his dark hair is swept off his forehead, and he’s in nice dress pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to display the delicate spread of his collarbone.

“Hi kids!” he calls in greeting, and you wave back as you kick your shoes off.

Hoseok crosses to grab a mirrored pair of aviators and his keys off the table by the front door. “Daddy’s going out. You two have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s waiting for a joke to land, then cracks a grin. “By which I obviously mean do whatever the fuck you want.”

As Hoseok pulls the door shut behind him, you follow Jimin into the living room, where you perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he disappears into the kitchen. “Do you like prosecco?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard.

“Uh, I think so,” you say unsurely. “I don’t think I ever developed enough of a palette to have wine preferences.”

“White and sparkling?”

“Sounds good,” you respond, and then you hear the distinct noise of a cork popping before he returns with a bottle and two glasses in hand. He sets everything on the coffee table as he takes a seat next to you, then leans forward to fill both glasses nearly to the brim.

Jimin’s face flushes when you giggle softly at the pour. “Sorry— I like to drink. You don’t have to finish it all.” You shrug and take a healthy pull from your glass. It’s crisp and light, with little bubbles that fizz and pop all the way down. 

“Hoseok calls me a lush,” he admits with a shy laugh as he picks up his own drink and turns to face you, sitting back against the arm of the couch. You shift to mirror him, curling your socked feet up under you. He takes a sip, then seems to think better of it, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table again. “I did want to tell you something. A couple of things, I guess.”

The sentence makes your stomach twist, and you try your best to ignore it. “What’s up?”

Jimin’s lips press together for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever he’s about to say. “I’m not, like, trying to be presumptuous by telling you this but I just— I don’t want it to go unsaid and then come up later and be a whole big thing, so. I just want you to know that Hoseok is my ex.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but certainly not that.

“We dated freshman year of undergrad, for… maybe three months? It was the kind of thing where I knew I was bi in high school but was too scared to act on it, so when I moved to New York I just, like, dated the first gay person I met? Which was probably a little shitty of me. We quickly realized we work much better as friends, and it was a very mutual thing. No hard feelings.”

You nod slowly, trying to keep up. “And you’ve lived together since then?”

“No, no,” Jimin replies quickly, and he nearly grimaces as he continues. “At the end of last semester, I, uh… I got out of a pretty bad long-term relationship.” The way he says it makes your heart sink a little. “And she and I lived together, so Hoseok was extremely gracious and offered to take me in.”

He reaches for his glass of wine again, then pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “Ideally the number of exes I’d be living with would be zero, but. You know. This is definitely the better option, at least until I can figure out what comes next.”

A pause settles between you while he takes a long drink and you try to process all this new information. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” you say softly, and he shakes his head as he swallows.

“Don’t be. It was a very good thing. Long overdue.”

“Well,” you correct yourself, the corners of your mouth pulling up. “Then I’m sorry that it took so long.”

At this, he smiles back. “Me fuckin’ too.”

After one more sip, Jimin sets his wine back down on the coffee table, then rolls off the couch— surprisingly graceful— to retrieve Titanic from the small collection of movies lined up on the shelf beneath the TV.

“Ready?”

“This better have a happy ending,” you murmur over the edge of your wine glass. Jimin laughs so hard he nearly tips over.

He settles next to you again as the movie starts, painted pretty in the blue glow of the TV, and you try your best to watch the movie, but it’s hard to keep your eyes off him. Partway through you notice him grab a pillow off the back of the couch and hug both of his arms around it, curling up small.

Cute, you can’t help but think to yourself, and you can feel heat settle in your face as you try to refocus on the story.

When you reach the dancing scene Jimin sits up a little, lips parting slightly, that same starry look in his eyes as when he explained it initially. The mental image of a younger version of him equally enraptured by the moment nearly makes your chest cave in.

The movie goes on, and you’re draining the last of your second glass of wine when out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin’s eyes go wide. Jack and Rose are closely examining a rare diamond necklace, and you don’t understand what he could be reacting to until Kate Winslet delivers her next line.

“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”

Your eyes go just as wide as Jimin’s, and you let out a laugh of disbelief that’s nearly a scream. “Oh my fucking god, Park Jimin! You did this on purpose!”

“I swear, I didn’t! I didn’t even think about that part until right now!” He shakes his head desperately as he gasps for air, and he doubles over with his own laughter, rolling right off the couch, arms still clutched tightly around his pillow.

“I literally cannot believe this.” You dissolve into giggles as you sink to your knees on the floor beside him, close to tears.

It takes time for you both to recover, but Jimin eventually manages to pull himself back up to sitting, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. He lets the pillow drop to the floor and presses both of his palms down into it as he leans towards you. “But hey, maybe that’s why I like you.”

He’s so magnetic, so beautiful, you can’t help but lean in, too. “You like me?”

There’s a warm glow of color in his cheeks, and you’re not sure if you can blame it entirely on the wine. “I do.”

Your lingering smile slowly starts to soften, and now your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. “So what, you’re Rose and I’m Jack?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “Uh-huh”. Imaginary violins swell in your head as you surge forward to close the distance and press your lips to his.

Jimin’s lips are soft and warm, and your head spins as you sit up on your knees and lean into the kiss. While his mouth moves gently against yours, his palms press to the small of your back, and the heat of his hands radiates through the thin fabric of your shirt. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, partially for balance and partially in an attempt to pull him closer to you.

He tilts his head, and you whimper against him when you feel his tongue trace delicately over your bottom lip. He returns a breathy noise back as he licks slowly into your mouth, like he’s taking his time, like he’s not in any rush.

Even though you can feel your arousal starting to build, heavy in your gut and slick between your thighs, you realize: you want him to take his time with you.

You’re surprised at the loss when he suddenly leans back, just enough to break the kiss, still keeping you held close. “Is it, um—” he clears his throat, then tries again. “I don’t… want to go any further. Than this. At least not tonight. Is that okay?”

Your eyes search his, and you’re a little breathless when you manage to get the words out. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m good with that. With whatever you want.”

“Okay.” You exhale a laugh when he reaches over to find the remote on the coffee table and pause the movie. “I want to keep kissing you, if that’s alright.”

“Yes, please,” you murmur against his lips.

Jimin shifts a little, and you follow his lead, letting him tip you backwards onto the floor, your arms still looped around his neck, one hand now tangling in his honey blonde hair. He drops a forearm down to the carpet beside you, his other hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist, knees bracketing your hips as he covers your body with his.

He alternates between sucking on your lower lip and gentle passes of his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your waist tracing a lazy path down to your hip and back up again. Something pulled tight inside you starts to slowly unwind, blooming open as you sink into the rhythm, into him.

It’s been such a long time since you’ve just kissed someone like this, without it feeling like part of a race to get naked. And you’ve never been kissed like this in your life— so soft, so attentive. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even with your back pressed flat to the floor.

You lose track of how much time passes as you trade open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s living room carpet, until he finally pulls away again. Still in a daze, you shift the hand in his hair to gently cup his face, not quite able to believe that he’s really real.

“God,” Jimin breathes, laughing quietly to himself. “I really like you.”

You smile as you blink up at him. “I like you too, Jimin.” 

Rolling over, he drops down onto the floor next to you with a blissed-out sigh. He stretches his arms overhead, spine arching like a cat, then lifts up again to glance back at you. “Do you want more wine? ‘Cause we’re only like halfway done. This movie is stupid long.”

“I could go for more,” you answer with a shrug, still smiling.

In one swift move, Jimin flips his legs over his head and effortlessly somersaults up to standing, and your eyes go wide. “How do you fucking do that?!”

“I’m a trained professional!” he calls over his shoulder as he sashays into the kitchen. You giggle a little. “I would break every bone in my body.”

He’s humming prettily to himself, and you hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the pop of another bottle being uncorked. You pull yourself back onto the couch as he rejoins you and pours fresh wine into both glasses, and a sudden curiosity urges you to ask a question. “Is Titanic your favorite movie?”

Jimin shakes his head, but says nothing, and the strange hesitant expression that flashes over his face just makes you that much more intrigued.

“Let’s hear it.”

His eyes flit over to you, then back to the wine glasses. “You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t!” you exclaim, lifting a hand when he scrunches up his nose, doubtful. “Promise.”

With a reluctant sigh, Jimin sets the bottle back down on the table, staring straight ahead as he admits, “It’s The Notebook.”

You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep your mouth in a straight line. At least you manage not to laugh. “I— wow. Really?”

He nods like the reaction is expected, picking up his wine glass and settling back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know, there’s just something about it. It’s comforting, to me.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you murmur, gently nudging his thigh with your foot until you coax a smile out of him.

“You know what?” Jimin’s voice is thoughtful now, more self-assured. “I am.” He takes a sip of his drink before he continues. “For a long time I didn’t want to be. Or thought that I couldn’t be. I used to always try to be so. I don’t know. Masculine, I guess. I think some of it had to do with denying my sexuality, but even once I got around to accepting that, there was still this part of me that would just never allow myself to be… soft.”

His gaze drops down to the wine in his glass, and you sit up, tucking your legs underneath you to scoot closer to him until you’re side by side. “I like you soft,” you say simply, and he looks over at you, still smiling.

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

“That’s okay.” You lean into him to seek a kiss, made sweet from the wine. He hums a little against your lips before you pull back. “Same time next week?”

~*~

Just like that, you fall into a regular routine with Jimin: sharing his headphones on the morning train, sketching out the shape of his body in studio, then picking up takeout and wine to bring back to his place and split over a movie. As predicted, The Notebook does make him cry, and when you show him Kimi no Na wa the week after, hot tears stream down your face at the final scene, the way they always do.

He takes your head in his hands as the credits roll, his thumbs swiping at errant tears on your cheeks. You chase a sniffle with an embarrassed laugh. “Okay. We’re even now.”

On your fourth movie night, partway into Moulin Rouge, something emboldens you when you see Jimin reach for his usual couch pillow. You lean over and gently pry it out of his grip, then shift to tuck yourself into his side and curl your legs up in his lap instead.

“Better?”

“Mm-hmm”, he murmurs as he ducks down to nuzzle against your cheek. “You’re warm.”

These nights end the same way each time: you ride the train home with a wine-soaked buzz in your brain and flushed, kiss-bitten lips, your fingertips brushing over your own mouth at the memory of his.

Once a week quickly turns into more. The two of you coordinate laundromat afternoons where you listen to music together as you wait for your clothes. You usually end up drawing to pass the time, and sometimes Jimin dozes off, head tipping over onto your shoulder so gently that you can’t help but smile down at your sketchbook.

At his request, you help him dye his hair pink in his tiny apartment bathroom, and it somehow suits him just as well as honey blonde. You both get dizzy from laughter and cleaning product fumes as you desperately try to scrub the bubblegum stains out of the tile before Hoseok comes home.

When you finally introduce Jimin to your roommates, the four of you crammed all-too formally around the kitchen table over Yoongi’s cooking, the interaction feels like a cross between a job interview and a prom date meeting your parents. You choke on a piece of chicken that you nearly inhale when Namjoon offhandedly refers to Jimin as Subway Boy, and Yoongi smiles wide enough to show his gums as he gladly recounts your months-long crush in great detail while you bury your burning face in your arms.

But Jimin takes it in stride, laughs into your mouth as he kisses you over the sink while the two of you wash the dishes.

“Subway Boy, huh?”

“I will drown you,” you murmur as you pull away, brandishing the spray hose like a threat.

It’s easy and slow. This blossoming something, a nameless but undeniable spark, the calm comfort of Jimin’s arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers intertwined with yours, his head dropped down on your shoulder.

~*~

You dig your phone out of your pocket as you shoulder open the door to the dance building, pulling up the text from Jimin to double-check his practice room number. A train delay made you slightly later than your agreed-upon time, but you know the takeout bag of Indian food dangling over your wrist will easily earn you his forgiveness.

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s the only one left in the room when you find it, nor that he’s still reviewing the choreography with an expression of severe focus. You hover in the doorway, waiting for him to look up, but he’s entirely concentrated on his own reflection in the mirror.

His movements alternate between delicate and powerful, explosive and restrained, and you have to hold in an outright gasp when he launches his body into an aerial and lands it effortlessly. But then his feet falter in a split second of hesitation, and you can see his expression tighten, clearly frustrated.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face, and he doesn’t even try to keep going with the rest of the dance. You take the opportunity to step a few more paces into the room, and his eyes jump to you in the mirror.

“Hi,” you say softly, suddenly a little nervous to be intruding on the moment. The corner of Jimin’s mouth turns up, but his eyes seem far away, and you can tell he’s still raging at himself in his mind.

“Hi, sorry,” he sighs. “I just— can’t get this. It’s like my body isn’t doing what I tell it to.”

“You need food.” You try to say it gently as you cross the room, holding up the smiley-face adorned plastic takeout bag. “And perhaps the enigmatic charm of Rachel McAdams.”

This seems to shake him out of his thoughts, at least a little. “I do like her.” He steps close enough to slip his arms around your waist and pull your body flush against his. Sweat glistens on his collarbone in the dim practice room lighting. “But I like you more.”

You roll your eyes as you playfully smack a hand against his solid chest. “Stop lying.”

“‘M not,” he insists as he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Rachel McAdams has never once brought me masala dosa.” You giggle despite yourself, and when his lips drop down to your neck, it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

A spark ignites in your chest that doesn’t go out, not on the subway ride back to your apartment, not through dinner and a movie, and certainly not once you’re most of the way through the second bottle of wine. As the credits start to roll, you waste no time, turning in Jimin’s lap so you can properly straddle him and take his face in your hands.

You trade decadent, easy kisses, and Jimin’s hands settle at the small of your back, his thumbs massaging gentle circles into your hips. A shiver rolls up your spine when he shifts a little and you realize you can feel a growing bulge through the fabric of his joggers, pressed firm against your thigh. He breathes a soft sound into your mouth as his tongue slides over yours, and you’re so overwhelmed, you barely register the sound of keys in the lock or the front door opening.

It’s Jimin who reacts first, turning his head to break the kiss as his cheeks flood with color, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi storm past, heading for his room. He lifts a hand up to his face to shield you from view as he goes.

“Don’t stop on my account!” Yoongi’s voice is dripping with derision. “By all means, continue fucking on our shared furniture!”

“We’re fully clothed, asshole!” you snap in response as Yoongi slams the bedroom door behind him, hard enough that it rattles in the frame.

When you look back down at Jimin, his face is twisted in an expression you take to be embarrassment. You drop your head down on his shoulder with a frustrated groan, the moment successfully killed.

“Do you…” you pause, turning your head to the side but continuing to ask your question into the fabric of his shirt. “We could go to my room, for more privacy, if you want?”

He hums his agreement, and when you peel yourself off the couch and head for your room, he follows. You spin back around to face him in the doorway, so fast he nearly knocks into you.

You brace your hands on the doorframe as you survey him. “We really don’t have to… do anything, if you don’t want to. We can just talk.”

Jimin nods, and you step aside to let him enter first, pulling the door closed behind you as you follow. He takes a few tentative steps into the room, and you walk past him to drop down onto the floor next to your bed, then pat the carpet to encourage him to join. There’s a flash of something over his face, and then he sinks down beside you. It’s only now that you realize how quiet he’s gotten.

“What is it?” you ask, suddenly a little nervous.

He stares down at the soles of his feet, pressed into each other, his knees tipped open like butterfly wings. “Does it make you feel bad? That we’re not—”

“No,” you answer immediately, and the honesty of it resonates in your chest.

“I know we’ve been hanging out for a while,” he continues, voice low. “And I do want to, you know. Hook up.”

“Jimin,” you lean forward to place both of your hands over one of his, settled atop his knee. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. When you want to, I want to. But I like everything we’ve been doing, too. It’s not like we’re not… intimate.”

His gaze flits up from the floor to meet yours. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you.”

You close your fingers around his hand, pulling it off his leg and up to your face so you can brush your lips over his palm.

“I don’t think that at all,” you murmur against his skin. “Promise.”

There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes when you look back up at him. “Okay. Sorry, I know it’s stupid. Like why do I need reassurance from you when I’m the one being difficult?”

You press your cheek into the warmth of his hand, toying lazily with the rings on his fingers. “Why are you so convinced that you’re difficult?”

Jimin huffs a small sigh. “This conversation has not gone this well in the past.” His eyes drop to the floor again, and after a moment’s pause, he keeps talking.

“My ex and I struggled a lot with…” he shakes his head, as if he’s trying not to say ‘everything’. “Sex. With me wanting it, with us having enough of it. I think it gave me a complex. I could be physically, you know, ready, but then as soon as she’d touch me I’d get in my head about everything and freak out and immediately want to stop.” He pauses, worrying at his bottom lip.

You pull his hand into your lap, your fingers delicately tracing over his in an attempt to provide some comfort. He shrugs when he starts to speak again. “And then, I don’t know, I guess she was just trying to share her side, but... she would make me feel so bad about it sometimes. Because I was genuinely trying so hard but it was like I was never good enough.” Another pause, and this time he sniffs a little. When his eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling, you can see he’s holding back tears. “It felt like she didn’t want me anymore, not if there wasn’t sex. So I left.”

“Jimin,” you breathe, and he flashes you a small grimace, clearly embarrassed by his own dramatics. With a grunt of effort, he turns sideways and flops backwards onto the floor of your room, and you scoot closer to him, your hand still playing with his.

His gaze roams over the ceiling as he sighs. “I don’t want you to think I was this perfect person and she was some awful bitch. She loved me a lot, and I’m sure she was struggling with not feeling wanted either, in her own way.”

Your voice is soft when you interject. “Two people can just be… incompatible. It doesn’t mean either of them is a bad person, or that it’s anyone’s fault. Sometimes things just don’t work, no matter how hard you try.”

Jimin’s mouth pulls up on one side as he shakes his head, eyes squinting. “How did you get to be so smart?”

You can’t help but laugh a little, lacing your fingers together with his in your lap. “Years of making terrible decisions.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze before you ask a question. “Did you struggle with this before, or just with her?”

His mouth twists slightly, unsure. “Yes and no? Both? My desire has always… fluctuated, I guess. Been a little shy.” A smile spreads over his face, and he hums a note. “Like, you know how people say love at first sight isn’t a thing? That it’s just lust?” You nod, prompting him to continue. “I think, at least for me, it’s the opposite. I can fall for somebody, and fall hard, like that.” He snaps loudly with his free hand. “But lust… I don’t know, it takes longer. It’s like a slow burn thing.”

You nod again, processing his words for a moment before you respond. “Well, I’m in no rush.”

Jimin sits up, voice thoughtful as he untangles his hand from yours, and it’s clear he’s getting more comfortable opening up to you. “Right after the breakup, I did a lot of research. I found this term, demisexual, that felt pretty accurate.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know. I mostly just think that... I am who I am. And the people who get it will get it. Like you.”

Before you can even speak, he sweeps an arm under your calves to drag you into his lap in one swift move, and you squeak a little in surprise as your world tilts.

“Demisexual. I like it,” you giggle as he guides your legs to wrap around his middle. His hands slide up your thighs, grabbing at your hips to tug you closer so he can trail kisses along your neck.

“Biromantic demisexual, technically,” he murmurs, head tipping up to find your mouth again.

You drape your arms over his shoulders and hum against his lips as he kisses you. “It suits you.”

Another soft noise escapes you when Jimin manages to maneuver to standing with you still in his arms. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and your legs around his waist, and his hands shift down to your ass to firmly hold you up. You squeeze your eyes shut automatically in fear of being dropped, then flutter them open again when you feel your back press into the soft cushion of your bedspread.

Jimin is hovering over you, forearms dropped down to the bed on either side of you. His eyes search yours for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss you again, so fiercely this time that it leaves you breathless. You can’t help but whimper as his tongue slips into your mouth.

When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to your collarbone with a groan. “It’s late,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your neck. “I should go.”

You nod responsibly, despite how desperately you want him to stay.

You walk him out, and his sweet parting kiss leaves your heart hammering in your chest, enough that you slump against the frame with a sigh once you shut the door, your knees suddenly weak.

Light on your feet, you follow the faint noise of the TV to find Yoongi in the living room with Planet Earth on at a barely audible volume. He glances at you, his mouth a flat line, then reaches for the remote to turn the sound up a few notches. You drop down on the couch next to him, and it’s silent for a moment, save for the calm narration and the crinkling plastic of him tearing open a bag of Turtle Chips.

“How’d it go?” he finally asks, voice monotone.

“It’s good,” you answer softly. “We’re good.” You fold your legs up under yourself and sneak a look at Yoongi out of the corner of your eye. You’re still a little pissed, but you also want advice. Damn him for knowing everything.

“Have you heard the term ‘demisexual’ before?”

Yoongi nods, still chewing as he replies. “Yeah. Like asexual spectrum, right?”

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

He shoves a few more chips in his mouth before he continues. “Is that what your Subway Boy is?”

“I think so, yeah.”

There’s a long pause while you watch penguins march across the screen, and you think that might be the end of it. Then Yoongi clears his throat. “You know, I’m somewhere in there too. Not completely asexual, but definitely not… not.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

Yoongi snorts. “Don’t act so shocked. These walls aren’t that thick.”

“Is Joon?”

He smirks, like you’ve just told a joke. “Decidedly not.”

“Oh.” You blink, trying to process. “How do you deal with it?”

Yoongi makes a face, like he’s never thought about it before. “We just communicate, I guess. Be respectful even when we don’t necessarily understand. And, like, Namjoon watches porn, and surprisingly reads quite a bit of erotica—”

“Okay, okay,” you cut him off. “I don’t need all the details.”

He huffs a dry laugh at your discomfort. “It’s not always easy, sometimes it’s frustrating for both of us. But we make it work. We love each other.”

You chew a little at the inside of your cheek, and then you can’t hold in the question any longer. “Is it weird that the idea doesn’t bother me? Jimin said it was a huge issue with his ex. Like, does that make me on the… spectrum?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, you might be? But not necessarily? I don’t know, sex matters different amounts to everyone. Some people don’t mind not having it that often. You don’t have to put a label on it unless you want to, you know?”

“Yeah, makes sense.” You nod slowly as you digest the idea. “Thanks, Yoongi. I appreciate the education.”

His only answer at first is a noncommittal hum, and then he points a finger at the few inches of wine in the bottle you left sitting on the coffee table. “Gonna finish that?”

“It’s all yours,” you say. “Consider it atonement for going to first base on the couch.”

Yoongi grabs the bottle by the neck and immediately drains it. “Apology accepted,” he grunts as he sets it back down. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He extends his bag of chips in your direction and you happily reach in for the biggest handful you can manage.

~*~

During your next movie night, Jimin can’t keep his hands to himself.

They pet up your thighs, your legs draped over his, then slide up to your hips, fingertips tracing patterns over the waistband of your leggings and toying at the hem of your shirt.

His mouth has a similar problem: he leans in to press kisses along the line of your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, sucking delicately at the spot that makes your nipples tighten and sends a shiver through you.

“You’re missing the movie,” you remark, raking a hand through his peachy-pink hair, shadowed at the roots where his natural color has started to grow in. He’s typically good about keeping himself restrained until the credits roll, but you’re barely halfway through Pride & Prejudice, haven’t even cracked a second bottle yet.

“Fuck the movie,” he growls against your skin, and you bite back a whimper when his teeth scrape over your neck. You can’t ignore the way your core is starting to ache from his insistent mouth.

His lips find yours again, and you giggle softly into him. “You’re in a mood.”

“Just been thinking about you,” he murmurs between kisses. It surprises you a little when he suddenly pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. “Should we— do you want to go to my room?”

The air hangs still and heavy between you, and you worry at your bottom lip for a moment. “Are you sure?” When he nods, dark brown eyes blinking up at you, your mouth turns up at the corner. “I’d rather we not traumatize any more roommates if we can help it.”

You lean over to pause the movie before sliding off his lap and getting to your feet, and then you reach your hands out for his and pull him up next to you. “Come on.”

Jimin’s bedroom is so perfectly him that it relaxes you, feather-soft comfort every time you step inside. His bed isn’t made, because it never is, the thick white duvet pushed down on one side where he stumbled out from beneath it this morning. He keeps it dark, blackout curtains drawn to support his night owl lifestyle, and the room is bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights he’s strung up along the ceiling. A myriad of posters and art prints and polaroids are taped to the walls, some beautiful, others sentimental— he even managed to coax you into tearing a few of his favorites out of your sketchbook. You still don’t think they’re anything special, but nevertheless, it makes your heart squeeze in your chest to see them on display with everything else. Like they belong here in this room, like you do too.

The door clicks as it shuts behind him, and then his mouth is on yours again, kissing you dizzy while he backs you up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He guides you to lay down, and his hand slips beneath you to drag you up the bed with him as he crawls over you.

His hands come up to tug at your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he breathes.

You nod, staring up at him and not quite able to believe any of this is real. “You can do anything you want to me.” With a smile, he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you sit up a little so he can pull it the rest of the way off.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jimin murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, then down between the valley of your breasts. His hands slip down to palm at your tits, squeezing gently, and he mouths at the stiff peaks of your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette. You untangle briefly, only for as long as it takes to get the lacy thing off of you entirely and tossed over the edge of the bed.

You shiver a little as the air hits your bare skin, and then the warmth of his body covers you again, and he ducks down to close his mouth over your nipple and suck. The plush softness of his lips and the firm suction combined are enough to make your eyes roll back, and your spine arches up beneath him when he drags his tongue in a circle over the sensitive bud.

“Shit,” you groan. Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, and it feels like your only tether to reality.

It’s easy to believe it’s the waiting, the anticipation of this moment, that makes every little touch light you up like a live wire now. But something tells you it will always feel like this.

While his lips shift to your other breast, one hand slides down to cup your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle friction into your center. You circle your hips to press yourself against the flat of his palm, sighing at the brush of indirect contact and the heat that thrums through you from the pressure on your clit.

You feel Jimin’s weight shift on the mattress as he kneels next to you, and his lips find yours again at the same time his hand slips into your leggings, two fingers tracing the seam of your panties to make you whine softly. If he couldn’t tell before, he must be able to now: how wet you are, enough to drench the lacy fabric so it clings to your cunt, dripping arousal to show how badly you want him.

He’s surprisingly forceful when he tugs the damp fabric to the side, but so gentle again as he slips one finger and then a second into your tight heat. Your mouth drops open as he curls them up to rub at your g-spot, stroking into you over and over while your cunt squeezes tight around him.

Your head drops back on the pillow and you groan. “Oh, fuck, Jimin.”

You can hear how soaked your pussy is as he pumps into you, and the wet squelch of his fingers working inside you would make you shy if it didn’t feel so overwhelmingly perfect. The pleasure edges your breathing with soft sounds, and Jimin swallows them when he kisses you again.

He shifts slightly for a better angle and then you feel the heel of his palm grind down against your clit. It’s enough to make your hips buck up under him with every press of his hand, his insistent touch shooting sparks of arousal through you.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, and you’ve wanted this with him so badly for so long, but even still, it surprises you how quickly he can bring you to the edge.

“Jimin,” you break the kiss to gasp against his mouth, unable to believe how close you already are. Close enough that all you can do is cling, to any part of him you can reach: his hair, his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt. “Jimin, Jimin, fuck.”

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he groans, and he says the next part softer, like it’s just for him. “My girl looks so pretty on my fingers.”

The pace of his movements doesn’t falter, nor does the heavy weight of his palm as he ducks down to capture your nipple in his mouth again. Your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in to the last knuckle with each thrust of his hand, and your nails dig desperately into his forearm as you feel your orgasm crest.

His teeth graze lightly over the tight bud of your breast, and it’s enough. With a final whine, the arousal that’s been coiling inside you snaps, and your back arches up off the bed as you come hard on his fingers.

Jimin’s fingers keep stroking you through it, the flat of his palm rubbing rough circles against your clit again and again and again and it feels like you might never stop coming. You moan as it rolls over you, wave after wave, until his touch is so overwhelming that you have to pull your trembling thighs together, and he finally relents.

Spent, your body sinks heavy into the bed, and you can’t help the dazed giggle that flutters out as afterglow starts to bloom behind your ribs.

Jimin hovers over you, dropped down onto his forearms, full lips pressing indiscriminately to your flushed skin, all over. You snake a hand through his hair to pull his mouth up to yours, and he kisses you slow and deep.

When you break apart, you tip your forehead to his. “Can I touch you?” you ask, still a little breathless.

“Please,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours again before he pulls away with a small, embarrassed smile. “My pants hurt.”

You sit up on your knees and he does too, and you bite down on your lip as you reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it over his head, and then there he is, beautiful as ever. Familiar, yet somehow all new.

Jimin shivers and whines when your hands run across the bare skin of his chest, teasing over his soft brown nipples before starting to trace a path down to his stomach. You lean in to kiss him, and he outright groans into your mouth when your fingertips tease along the band of his boxers that peeks out over his jeans. You gently bring your palms to his hips to guide him, and he’s pliant for you, shifting backwards at your suggestion until he’s seated, leaned back against the headboard.

Your hands shake slightly as you unbutton and push down his jeans, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh of relief. He’s so hard, you can understand why the tight denim must have been painful: his dick is still straining even now, a thick outline pressed into the fabric of his underwear, and there’s a dark patch that clings to his tip where he’s started to leak precum.

You tug his boxers down with enough force that his length smacks heavy against his stomach, and he makes a strangled noise in response, eyes squeezing shut. His hips jerk violently beneath you, and your jaw goes slack as you watch his cock twitch, and keep twitching, until a steady pool of milky gloss has leaked out over his stomach.

“Shit,” Jimin hisses as he comes practically untouched, and he gasps for air to try to speak. “Fuck fuck fuck— ‘msorry, thought I could—”

You can see him starting to spiral, can feel the panic starting to heat up inside his body, so you take his face in both of your hands. “Jimin.”

“This has never happened before— fuck, I don’t— this is so—”

“Jimin.” When you say his name again, firmer this time, he goes quiet, his eyes still shut tight. “Look at me,” you murmur, and he does, lashes slow-blinking open. “It’s okay. Okay?” Your gaze searches his, trying to convince him. “I like everything about you. Everything you do. You’re perfect.”

Clearly trying to steady his breathing, his chest shudders with effort, and you gently circle your thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He makes a soft noise as his eyelids drop shut again, his cheek pressing into your hand, letting you carry a little bit more of his weight.

It’s quiet for a moment, and his voice is unsure when he speaks. “There’s tissues… in the—”

“Can I take care of it?” you interrupt to ask, your voice low. His eyes blink open again to look at you, and a dark glint flickers there as the unsaid meaning of your question washes over him.

“Y-yeah.”

You take your time moving down the bed to settle between Jimin’s thighs, and you stare up at him, waiting for any indication that he wants you to stop or doesn’t feel comfortable. But he just swallows hard, his adam’s apple jerking in his throat, and nods.

Leaning down, you drag your tongue in steady, long strokes over the flat plane of his stomach to lick the mess up.

As you get the last of it, you’re surprised to feel his hand cup the back of your head. You don’t resist when he pulls you up for a kiss, then licks into your mouth to taste himself, the salt and slick of his cum sliding between your tongues.

When you break apart to swallow, Jimin’s voice is a whisper. “That okay?”

You nod, unable to bite back your smile. “You’re… really fucking hot.”

He smirks as he finds your lips again. “So are you.” The next kiss is sweeter, and then he pulls back. “If you want, we can keep— or I can go down— I don’t want—” He can’t finish any of his half-started thoughts, and you smile, lovingly running your palms over his thighs, back and forth. 

You want him so badly, more than anything, but you try to breathe through it. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, that self-critical flash in his eyes, the same furrow in his brow that creases when he gets frustrated with himself.

“I’m not saying no because I don’t want you,” you preface. “But I just don’t want you to feel stressed or get in your head about it. I want it to feel good, and I’m in no rush. Next time, okay?” 

His lips are still a little pouted, but he nods, and you lean in to sling your arms around his neck. “C’mere.”

You tug him down to the mattress, and your half-naked bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, hands tracing gentle patterns over bare skin as you kiss.

When you eventually end up with your cheek pressed to his chest, you listen to the sound of his heartbeat settling, his breathing evening out. You speak softly in the quiet of his room. “My roommate’s doing an exhibition on Friday. Will you come with me? I’ve been promised there will be free booze.”

Jimin tightens his grip on your waist, his voice slurring like he’s half-asleep. “Mmm, my favorite person and my favorite thing.” There’s a pause, and he sighs. “That sounded bad. Promise I'm not an alcoholic.”

“I know,” you laugh, dragging your lips over his collarbone, then grunting a little noise of frustration as reality starts to set in. “I have class early tomorrow. I should go before I fall asleep here.”

He whines his disapproval, but when you glance up you can see the fight going out of him, his eyelids starting to flutter closed. You lean up for one, two, three more kisses before you force yourself out of bed to find your bra and your shirt. “I’ll see you Friday?”

“Mmkay.” He inhales deep, like he’s coming up for air. “Text me when you make it home safe?”

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

Namjoon’s exhibition is laughably fancy for what really just ends up being a room full of gay, overdressed art students. The ridiculous finger foods disappear in minutes— all the broke grad school kids came hungry— but you and Jimin gladly hover around the table of champagne flutes instead, giggles sparkling between you like the bubbles that fizz in your glasses.

You’ve been trying to drag him away to actually take in the art, but he keeps necking his drinks. “You’re supposed to sip it, you demon!” you chide with a laugh as he does it again, picking up a fresh glass and throwing all of it back in one gulp.

He smirks slightly as he shakes his head. “It’s more fun this way. Try it.”

You roll your eyes, hiding the grin that threatens to stretch over your face in the rim of your drink before following suit. He’s not wrong: a rush of warmth creeps up your neck as you swallow, the world softening around you, and it’s made sweeter by the kiss Jimin leans in for. When he pulls back you can see his face is flushing, too.

“Come on, Mr. Park,” you murmur, your free hand intertwining with his as you set the empty glass down and retrieve another. “Take me on a tour.”

Jimin grabs another flute too and then you’re off, and he actually manages to drink this one slowly as you weave through the gallery, the click of your footsteps underscoring the gentle classical music that floats through the speakers. You lean into Jimin in comfortable silence as you take in each art piece, sipping delicately at your champagne, occasionally hooking your chin over his shoulder just for the thrill of being close to him.

“These are all beautiful,” he hums appreciatively as you stand in front of a wide, impressionist landscape, swirls of color that shift into shapes when you step far enough away, but dissolve into unidentifiable blobs of thick-textured paint up close. “Namjoon did a really good job curating.”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, but your eyes are on Jimin and everything else pales in comparison. He’s dressed up for the occasion, tight black jeans and a white button-down with a leather jacket thrown on over top. His hair is styled, pretty pink strands pushed back off his forehead, and his asymmetrical silver earrings glimmer in the low lighting. The result is so stunning you’ve had a hard time focusing on anything but him tonight.

A thought that’s been running through your mind all evening resurfaces again as you swallow the last of your glass of champagne.

“They should put you in a gallery.” You didn’t necessarily plan to say the thought out loud, but say it you do. Jimin quirks an eyebrow and you decide to double down. “But not here. Somewhere better.”

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

“The Louvre,” you counter, and he outright laughs, his head tipping back.

“The Louvre?!”

“You heard me,” you giggle, your body pressed against his side. “You’re art.”

Releasing your hand, he wraps his free arm around you to pull you into his chest, the smile still lingering over his face. “And you,” he murmurs, “are drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Your voice is muffled slightly as you speak into his collarbone.

You tilt your head up for a kiss, and it seems to surprise both of you how quickly the atmosphere changes. It might be the more-than-several glasses of champagne to blame, or the fact that you’ve found yourselves in a corner, hidden away from the rest of the exhibition’s patrons, but the soft spark that ignites between you quickly grows into a licking flame at the touch of your lips. It’s heat-blush passion as your mouths move against each other, and you’re trying to keep quiet despite the weight of it, heavy in your core, this shared, unspoken need.

“Jimin,” you breathe into him, overwhelmed by all that he is.

He shifts, nosing at your jawline as he speaks into your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

The suggestion makes you a little unsteady on your feet, your high heels threatening to topple over, and he catches you with a hand to your waist when you falter. “Like, somewhere here?”

“Too far to go all the way home,” he purrs, the hand on your body squeezing gently. “And you look too good.”

Your head swims as he kisses you again, and he pries the empty glass out of your hand, setting it down on the nearest table with his. A hand returns to the small of your back, then slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your black dress. His mouth paints a smile over yours, and you grab his wrist. “Follow me.”

Stumbling your way through the gallery, trading laughs under your breath like confidants and kisses when no one is looking, you lead him back to the coat check closet at the front, thankfully left vacant by whichever freshman had been roped in to the thankless job. With a final glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re unseen, you push the door open and tug Jimin inside after you.

As soon as the coat check door closes again, he has you pressed against it, his tongue slipping hungrily into your mouth. His hands skirt up the curve of your hips as he slots a thigh between your legs, firmly pushing up the hem of your dress to grind into your clothed center.

You both freeze where you are at the sound of a moan, one that very distinctly does not come from either of you.

Jimin tries and fails to suppress a nervous laugh. Unable to make out anything in the dark, you reach your hand out, smacking aimlessly at the wall next to you until you find a lightswitch and flip it on.

“What the fu—” The man who made the noise in question flings a hand over his face at the sudden intrusive wash of fluorescents, but you’d know him from his voice alone. Kim Taehyung still has one hand gripped tight to the metal bar of a coat rack, back arched and legs spread for whoever his latest victim is, with his pants and boxers shoved down to his ankles.

Before your alcohol-soaked brain can put together a smug comment about how Taehyung needs to get his ass eaten at home like a normal human, Jimin’s voice surprises you.

“Hobi?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you realize the man on his knees, pulling his tongue off Taehyung’s rim with a look of utter confusion, is none other than Jung Hoseok. His eyes are wide as dinner plates as his head snaps up to take the two of you in.

“Jimin?!”

“Oh my god.” You start to laugh so hard your knees buckle, and Jimin has to wrap his arms around you to keep you upright. “How the fuck did you two even meet?!”

“Do we really need to have this discussion now?!” Taehyung growls, and it only makes you laugh harder.

“Come on, come on—” Jimin is collapsing into giggles himself as he fumbles for the handle behind you. He simultaneously attempts to pull you off the door so he can swing it open. “Let’s leave them to it.”

You smack the lights off again as you make your escape, Jimin’s grip still hugging tight around your waist as you laugh until your lungs nearly give out. The lobby is thankfully empty, all the attendees pressed deeper into the gallery, so you loop your arms over his shoulders as you recover and pull his mouth back down to yours, unable to stop yourself.

“Let me take you home,” you manage to say in the space between kisses. Your tongue feels heavy when you speak; his is champagne-sweet. “Joon and Yoongi will be here for a while.”

Jimin’s agreement hums, buzzing on your lips. “Wanna take the train?”

You’re grateful the subway car you stumble into is empty, because the pull of Jimin’s mouth is too magnetic to be ignored. You don’t think you could stop kissing him if you tried.

It’s practically a race back to your apartment once you emerge from the station, partially to get out of the cold night air, though you hardly feel it with Jimin’s jacket slung over your shoulders and your body flushed hot from alcohol and desire. As you climb the four flights to your walk-up, both of you giggling and gripping tight to the banister, the spiral of the stairs sends your world spinning. You feel dizzy-drunk on wine and laughter and lust alike, and maybe something more. Something you don’t have words for yet.

It takes you three tries to get your keys in the door, and when you finally manage to get it open, you kick your shoes off and make a beeline for your bedroom, dragging Jimin along after you, hand-in-hand. Thankfully he has the foresight to remember to shut the door behind you, because all you can think about is him: the rich musk of his cologne, the taste of his tongue, the warm blush of his skin under your palms.

The leather jacket hits the floor and you step over it, walking backwards as he licks into your open mouth, shameless.

You nearly fall over when you bump up against the bed and almost lose your balance, and then you reach for the buttons of his shirt at the same time he goes for your dress. The two of you laugh your frustrations against each other as your arms tangle and get in the way.

“You first!” you insist, and he relents, lets you unbutton the starched white fabric of his button-down so he can shrug out of it. Your fingers move to undo his belt and then he takes over, impressively coordinated enough to be able to kiss you while kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, stripped down now to his black boxer-briefs. He pulls your dress up over your head, and then your barely-clothed bodies press together all the way down, the ache in your core now an undeniable throb.

Jimin takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, and you slip one hand between your hips and his to palm at him, earning an appreciative hiss. You rub at him over the front of his briefs, teasing, then dip your touch beneath his waistband.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs, but he’s not quite hard yet, maybe from the cold, so you take him in your hand and start to pump. For fear of too much dry friction you try to go slow, and he groans into your mouth as you twist your wrist a little to circle your thumb over his frenulum.

He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom against your skin. “Sorry— gimme a second.”

Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize. D’you wanna try laying down?”

When he nods, you release your grip on him so he can sink down onto the bed, crawling backwards up to the pillows. Knelt down on the mattress, you settle in the space he makes for you, thighs spread and knees tipped open, and you push his briefs down enough to free all of him.

You hook your thumb and index finger under the head of his dick to pull it flush against his stomach, allowing you better access to drag your tongue in little kitten licks up his shaft. Your other hand moves to massage gently at his balls as you take his tip into your mouth and let it bulge against your cheek, let him slip against the soft wall there to make saliva pool on your tongue, sloppy on purpose.

It’s still not working, not really, and when your gaze flits up to him again, Jimin’s face is pulled into a grimace. Heat rushes up your neck, and you pull your mouth off him and immediately right yourself. You shift backwards a little on your knees as your pulse starts to race. Does he not want this? Did you misread some sign, or push him too far?

Jimin must be able to read the look in your eyes, because he groans as he presses his face into his hands. “It’s not you. Think I drank too much, I don’t— i-it feels good, I—it just—”

You’re not exactly sober yourself. The receding white noise of panic makes it hard to think, hard to know what to say. “I-it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I just—” he tries again. “I really want to do this, I don’t know why— it’s fucking embarrassing.” The blankets muffle the sound as his palms smack flat against the bed on either side of him in clear frustration. You move out from between his legs, still trying to catch up, and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he pulls his boxer-briefs back over himself.

“Jimin,” you murmur. The bed creaks when you shift to lay next to him, to tuck into his side, and you reach up to run a hand through his hair, a little sticky with the product holding it in place. An anxious, thrumming quiet settles over both of you as his eyes flutter closed.

The words finally come to you in the silence; you can only hope they’ll reach him. “I had so much fun with you tonight. That doesn’t go away.” The crease between his brows softens a little, so you keep talking. “It’s not your only chance, okay? I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here.” Your free hand slips into his on the bed next to you. “And I want you with me.”

He sniffs a little, so quiet you nearly miss it, then turns in towards you. Your noses bump together and your mouth turns up at the corners as you continue. “It’s late, and I… can’t promise there isn’t more ass-eating waiting for you at home. Do you want to sleep here?”

Jimin’s eyes blink open, glassy, and then he nods.

“Come on,” you say softly, sitting up and tugging on your still-joined hands. “How about we shower?”

In the bathroom, you run the water scalding hot, and when you both step in you nudge Jimin forward to stand under it first, then press against him from behind. Your hands wrap around his waist to slide over his stomach as you tilt up to reach his ear when you speak. “This okay?”

He nods, hums a little, and you move your hands up over the whole of his body. Hard lines and soft curves, a work of art you know so well, you can see it when you close your eyes as you map his skin with your fingertips. You nuzzle into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, then press a kiss there. “I’m right here,” you say again, not even sure if he hears you.

But his head turns, and you feel one of his hands slide over yours on his chest. “Will you wash my hair?” he asks softly, and you tip forward to bring your mouth to his, convinced you’d do anything he asked of you.

It’s intimate, the way you take your time running shampoo and then conditioner through his silky pink strands, dragging your nails over his scalp and applying gentle pressure that makes him sigh prettily in response. Jimin steps further under the showerhead both times to rinse the product out, and if a few tears slip down his cheeks, they’re lost to the spray of the water where you can’t tell the difference.

But he does manage the ghost of a smile when you reach to grab your washcloth and he gets there first. “Your turn.”

Once your body and then his are scrubbed and rinsed clean, you shut the water off and grab thick, fluffy towels that you dry off and wrap up in. In the dim light of your room, you pull on an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, then dig out a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. They’re fairly baggy on you, but they fit Jimin perfectly, and the image of him in something of yours makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

You run two glasses under the kitchen tap that you set out to ward off any potential hangovers, and you even manage to find a spare toothbrush for him to use. When he emerges from the bathroom again, still absentmindedly toweling his damp hair, you’re sitting on the bed with your feet tucked under you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you offer gently.

He shakes his head as he stifles a yawn. “‘Mtired. Think I just wanna sleep.”

You pat the bedspread next to you, an invitation. “Then let’s sleep.”

Under the covers, you curl up together, soft and warm from the shower, scented lavender and mint from your body wash and toothpaste. Jimin’s legs tangle with yours, an arm wrapping over your waist, and you press your cheek against the hard plane of his chest with a small sigh.

You listen as his breathing slows, each inhale a little further apart from the last, to the point where you think he’s fallen asleep. You feel yourself start to follow after him, and the last thing you hear before you’re dragged all the way down is Jimin inhaling deep, then mumbling softly into your hair. “Thank you. For everything.”

~*~

Light streams in between the cracks of the window blinds, painting warm shapes over your eyelids that gently wake you. You sigh and stretch as you slowly come all the way up from dreaming, your eyes still heavy-lidded. When you roll over with a soft grunt, you find Jimin fast asleep there, his face smushed into the pillow, one arm slung lazily over you.

The corner of your mouth pulls up, and you have to fight the urge to dot kisses all over his face, deciding to let him sleep instead. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to roll out from under his arm without waking him and slip quietly out of bed, easing the bedroom door closed behind you.

It’s early, and the apartment is still, washed in morning gleam and the gentle hum of New York City traffic on the streets outside.

You stumble into the kitchen with a stifled yawn, swinging open the fridge and leaning down to retrieve a pack of bacon and the half-empty carton of eggs. Humming quietly to yourself, you dig a pan out and set it on the stove to heat.

Arms slide around your waist, making you jump a little before you melt back as Jimin nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You can feel his body through your t-shirt, still warm from sleep and bedsheets he must’ve only just crawled out from under.

Not quite graceful, you turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck to seek a kiss. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice hoarse on your first spoken words of the day. “How are you feeling?”

Jimin’s mouth is still slurred from waking up when he answers. “‘Mgood. You look good.” His gaze roams down your body and back up, as if to take in your oversized shirt, your bare legs, your hair still messy from sleep. “So cute like this.”

You scrunch your nose slightly as you smile up at him. “Want breakfast?”

A heat starts to pool between your legs as his hands slide further down your back. He pushes your shirt up so he can grip your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing separating his skin from yours.

“In a bit.”

You can’t help but squeak when, in one swift move, he bends his knees and lifts you off the ground. Impulsively, your legs spread to wrap over his hips, thighs squeezing tight to hold on, and your arms cling around his neck as laughter flutters in your chest. Before you can act on the urge to bury your face in his shoulder, his mouth finds yours again, and the way he kisses you, hungry and deep, makes nothing else in the world matter.

He carries you back to bed, nudging open the door he didn’t quite close all the way with his shoulder, then using a foot to push it shut again. Your muscles unclench when he sits down with you in his lap, and you unwrap your legs from around him, your knees sinking soft into the bed.

You can’t quite shake the thoughts of the night before. “Jimin,” you start, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t—”

“Want to,” his voice is low, ragged edges from sleep. “Doing it ‘cause I want to. I want you. Do you want me?”

You nod, leaning back to look at him, your arms still twined over his neck. “More than anything.”

There’s no rush this time as he shifts backwards up the bed and you crawl over him to settle into his lap again. No tension that’s been building all night, no alcohol buzzing in your systems, no urgency. Just your bodies, half-dressed in sleep clothes, intertwining like they were made to fit together.

Your kisses are sweet and unhurried as Jimin’s hands slip beneath your oversized t-shirt, delicate fingers tracing up your waist. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he licks into your mouth. When he rolls a nipple between his fingers, your breath hitches, sparks of arousal shooting all the way down to your toes. A weight blossoms in your core as you reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, and you shiver a little in the morning air.

“Beautiful,” Jimin says quietly, reverently, and you take his face in your hands.

“You are too,” you murmur, your eyes searching his. “So beautiful.” Your hands slip down his body as he kisses you again, your fingertips outlining the contours of his chest, gently brushing over his nipples to make him groan into your mouth.

Jimin’s hands come to rest at the curve of your hips as your mouths move together, where he teases his touch under the band of your boyshorts. He pulls back just far enough to ask, “Can I take these off?” and you nod.

You shimmy the thin fabric down your thighs, dropping onto your ass with a laugh so he can tug them the rest of the way off, one ankle at a time. As you sit up on your knees again, his hands come to grip your thighs, and he shifts lower on the bed until he’s laying flat on his back next to you.

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

“Yeah?” You bite down on a small smile.

He hums. “Can I— will you please, uh… sit on my face?”

You can’t help but giggle. No one has ever asked so politely. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s slow, languid, the way his full lips close delicately around your clit when you settle over him, how he alternates with lazy passes of his tongue, not unlike the way he kisses you. The pleasure pulls your spine arched and your head tips back, palms pressing flat to the bed beneath you.

“Jimin,” you gasp, “baby, feels so fucking good.”

His tongue is heavy as it drags down your folds, thick when he sinks it into your cunt to taste the slick arousal that pours out of you and drips down his chin. Your hips rock into his mouth, his nose inadvertently bumping against your clit as he licks you like he doesn’t want to waste a drop. Your walls cling tight, crammed up full of him.

With a slurp and a gasp for breath, he withdraws, his tongue made hot from being buried inside of you, trailing wet warmth as he licks back up your pussy to lap at your clit again. Your arms threaten to give out when he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, lips pulsing an insistent rhythm that makes you moan and writhe above him.

“Jimin, Jimin.” The pleasure is decadent, thick, wine and honey, made sweeter by the beautiful boy pressed between your thighs. Emotion bubbles up inside of you to twist with your pleasure, and you tighten a hand in his rose-blush hair as you moan again, nearly a sob this time, a dam breaking.

Jimin hums against you, fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thighs, like he can tell you’re at the edge without you having to say a word, and it’s enough to send you tumbling over it.

“Oh fuck baby, yes, fuck.” Your toes curl tight over the bedsheets as your pussy flutters, throbs, gushes. Your vision whites out as you come hard enough to make your thighs shake, hard enough that your stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding you up. Jimin’s mouth works you through it, tongue stroking flat and slow to coax pulse after pulse out of you, until everything melts into shaky aftershocks and your thighs clench around him, over-sensitive.

He pulls back when you start to squirm, lips smacking wetly on a final kiss to your pussy, and heat flushes your face at the sound of it. Your limbs feel heavy as lead as you slip off from on top of him and collapse down onto the mattress with a floaty sigh, your pulse still thudding brightly in your ears.

You’re only distantly aware of the way the bed shifts as Jimin slides down next to you. You follow his touch on instinct, turning into him when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your hairline. Heartbeat still slamming in your chest, mind hazy with morning orgasm glow, you hum contentedly as your eyes flutter open to find him palming at a thick bulge tenting his– well, your sweatpants.

“Looks like it’s cooperating today.” Jimin’s voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. “What do you want to do about it?”

He laughs hoarsely. “I would love to finally fuck you, if you’ll have me.”

“I don’t want anybody else.” The thought spills out before you can worry if it’s too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.

At Jimin’s guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. “There’s condoms in the nightstand,” you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.

He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each other’s mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like you’re afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.

“Thank you.” Jimin’s low voice sends a ripple through you. “For waiting for me.”

You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. “It wasn’t waiting, Jimin. Really. I’ve loved every second with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. “Fuck, Jimin.”

There’s a pause when he’s pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. “God, you’re so tight. Does it hurt?”

You shake your head— you’re so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.

Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.

“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.

“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”

He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.

Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.

The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”

“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”

You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.

You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.

“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”

Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”

A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”

He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.

As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.

That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.

“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”

This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.

As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.

“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.

“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”

Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.

A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.

With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.

Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”

Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”

The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”

“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.

[augustinewrites]

+ series summary: as marius von hagen’s assistant, it’s your job to accompany him to certain public functions. you’re used to being in the background, but this time? the event is an engagement party, and he doesn’t need an assistant. he needs a date.

as soon as the elevator opens to the penthouse floor, you pull the key card out of your purse and march straight to the door on your right.

six months ago you would have hesitated. six months ago you would have knocked politely, with a cup of coffee, a muffin, and a kind smile. 

now, you slap the key against the scanner aggressively. as soon as it turns green, you push down the handle and lean heavily on the door to let yourself in. 

you scrunch your nose as you step over a pair of sloppily discarded high heels, slipping your own off and pushing both pairs aside with a stocking-clad foot. then you venture into your boss’ apartment, deciding to deal with the blonde scrolling through her phone on the couch first.

“you need to leave,” you tell her dispassionately, picking up what you assume is her clutch and tossing it into her lap. “this isn’t a bed and breakfast. mr. von hagen has business to attend to.”

you wait impatiently as she looks you up and down, taking in your office ensemble along with the identification card hanging from your lanyard. 

relenting, she lets you herd her out the door without protest, but not before handing off all her contact information in case your boss ‘wants to have fun again.’

you take the little slip of paper (noting the lipstick kiss in the corner), then slam the door in her face. 

monday mornings are always the same. 

after kicking out sunday’s trash, you grab some aspirin and a glass of water, heading for the master bedroom.

predictably, marius is still passed out. you find him practically spread-eagled in the bed, with only a thin top sheet protecting his modesty. 

you’ve learned the hard way that marius sleeps nude, but seeing his toned chest and abdomen, along with the neatly trimmed trail of hair leading below the sheet never fails to make you catch your breath…

you squeeze your eyes shut, telling yourself to snap out of it. he’s your boss, the man who signs your paychecks and is the cause of some of your biggest headaches to date. 

“sir,” you whisper harshly from the doorway, reluctant to move closer. when you don’t get a response, you call out to him again, this time at a normal volume. much to your chagrin, his cute sleeping face - mouth slightly parted, brows scrunched - remains unchanged. 

huffing, you step around last night’s clothes and empty liquor bottles to rip the curtains open, letting the morning sunshine stream into the room. this action makes marius stir, groaning tiredly as he lays a hand over his eyes. 

“sir,” you say again, with more force this time. “you have a consult with the legal team in a half hour.”

“the legal team…” he mutters, still refusing to pry his eyes open. 

he continues to grumble uselessly into his pillowcase, clearly intending to make your job as difficult as possible. 

…until you check your watch and decide that you can’t waste anymore time coddling him, so you take the half filled glass of water and dump it over his head. 

he jerks up with a sputter, glaring at you as he swipes the ice water out of his face. 

“there are nicer ways to wake a guy up, you know,” he huffs, shaking the water out of his hair. 

you set the glass down, sighing. “if you want to be babied, sir, you should call vincent.” 

he mumbles something you’re sure is rude under his breath, pushing wet bangs out of his face before asking, “where’s maia?”

“first of all her name is–” you check the note you’d scrunched in your pocket. “–mia and she left her cell number, home number, and the number of the strip club she works at.” you hold it out to him, humming. “very classy, sir.”  

he doesn’t even look at it, so you crumple it back up and stuff it into your pocket. 

“yikes. i don’t know why she bothered. i already gave her the speech.” he shrugs, clearing his throat as he recites, “‘last night was incredible. you’re a great girl, but right now in my career–’” 

“‘i just can’t give you the relationship you want or deserve,’” you finish, having heard him recycle the practiced line to multiple other hookups in the last three months.

“hey, you memorized it!” he exclaims, lifting his hand for a high five. he lowers it when he sees your unimpressed look. “wrong crowd, i see that now.”

rolling your eyes, you turn around and open the door to his closet, grabbing a set of clothes that costs more than your rent and laying them over your arm as you call over your shoulder, “when i took this job, i didn’t expect to deal with the pussy parade. be honest, are you in some kind of competitive sex tournament?”

“i’m young and single!” he reasons, catching the boxers you throw at his head and quickly slipping them on. “i’m allowed to sow a few oats.” 

everyone in the office knows that it’s really about the lawyer from themis getting engaged. 

you’ve seen the way marius used to look at her, seen the plain adoration that used to shine in his gaze. it’s why ever since news of her engagement, you go through this every monday— when she comes in to help him navigate the confusing reports and updates of confusing legalese.

his behaviour these past few weeks was a coping mechanism. an unhealthy one, obviously, but who were you to tell that to the president of a multi-billion dollar company?

“whatever you say, sir,” you shrug, shoving the pants and button down into his arms. “get changed. i’ll call vincent and have him let everyone know we’re on our way.” 

you step out of the bedroom to let him get dressed, deciding to make yourself busy by starting the coffee maker. as the scent of freshly ground beans fills the penthouse, you take a moment to pull out your phone and double-check your boss’ calendar. 

after the meeting with legal, his schedule is relatively clear. only a handful of things you need him to review, along with a spot of press. it’s a relatively easy monday, by all means.

it’s then that berry decides to make an appearance, the adorable russian blue leaping up onto the counter and meowing insistently to get your attention. smiling, you reach out to scratch lightly under his chin.

“what are we going to do with him, huh?” you whisper, scooping him up into your arms. content purrs rumble against your palm as you stroke his fur. 

“traitor,” marius scoffs, entering the kitchen. you glance over your shoulder to see him looking somewhat put together. not only is his shirt still untucked, but his hair is still messy and wet and you’re positive he’s still sweating tequila. 

he ignores the fresh coffee in favour of grabbing a carton of orange juice from the fridge. he unscrews the cap, flicking it onto the counter so he can take a swig. 

“unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath. marius  glances over at you, wiping the corner of his mouth with sleeve before holding the carton out to you. 

“what? you want some?”

you push it away with a fingertip. “no, thank you.”

he shrugs, screwing the cap back on and shoving it back into the fridge. you and berry watch with equally unimpressed looks as he rummages through the oversized pantry, resurfacing with a box of cereal. 

you turn to open a nearby cabinet, grabbing a bowl. 

but in those few seconds, he’d already ripped the box open and was scooping cereal out with his hands, pouring handfuls into his mouth. 

this is it, you think as he gets crumbs all over his nice shirt. this is what marius von hagen looks like when he hits rock bottom. 

_____

you barely make it to the meeting on time. 

the whole team is already seated, ready to begin. marius - with the mcdonald’s iced coffee that’d almost made the two of you late in hand - takes a seat at the head of the conference table. 

your boss is surprisingly alert despite the fact that his brain is currently steeped in alcohol. he takes notes, asks appropriate questions, makes thoughtful suggestions. it’s one of the things you respect about him. he is a professional first and foremost.

“it seems that’s all for today,” he says once the last subject has been covered. “if there are any other questions, please keep them to yourselves.”

with that, he makes his grand exit.

well…he was a professional most of the time.

you're quick to jump in when the room fills with dissatisfied murmurs. “if you have any questions, please direct them to vincent or myself so we may raise them with mr. von hagen at a later time."

with that, everyone carries on with their day. you head back to your desk with an armload of paperwork for marius to look over and sign. you read the first few pages as you walk, already working out a summary in your head.

you make it to your desk just in time to see rosa following marius into his office.

chatting in his office after a meeting is a fairly common occurance. rosa comes by to help review whatever contracts his staff of corporate lawyers had drawn up, or walk him through any topics confused about.

your phone buzzes with a message from marius.

[marius]: come get me in five to say that we’ll be late for lunch.

what isn’t common is for him to do that.

but you do as he says, knocking politely when the five minutes are up.

“come in!”

“sir,” you begin after sending rosa a small wave. “we’ll be late for lunch if we don’t leave now.”

“lunch?” the young lawyer echoes, sounding confused. “it’s hardly 10am.”

marius clicks his tongue, closing the folder on his desk. “well, you know what they say. early worm gets the worm.”

“that’s not at all correct—”

he’s already nudging you out the door, a respectful hand resting on the small of your back as he guides you away from his office. “see you later, miss!”

“what are you doing?” you ask, feeling your face heat up as you become the object of your coworker’s confused stares. “i have work to do—”

marius pulls you into an empty conference room, closing the door behind you.

“rosa invited me to her engagement party this weekend,” he says, tone clipped.

you’re not quite sure where he’s going with this. “shall i pick out a gift?”

“no, i’ll take care of that,” he tells you. then, with a growing smile that almost always means he’s up to something, he asks, “what are you doing this saturday?”

“i—”

“trick question. i’d like you to accompany me as my date.”

[laurfilijames]

Under His Kutte

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Sending a nude photo. Fingering. Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: When Jax forgets his kutte at your house, you make good use of it.

A/N: I am such a slut for this man especially when he wears a hat, and particularly when it's backwards. I stared at this photo for too long and needed to write about it, and with the help from @ramadiiiisme, this happened. Bonus action of The Hat™️ at the end 🫠

---

The same flustered excitement you felt in your stomach every time you saw Jax stirred up again despite having only said goodbye to him a few hours ago, the benefits of him having accidentally left his kutte behind continuing to grace you.

You placed it back on the sofa where he had carelessly discarded it last night, pretending as though you hadn’t seen it there as soon as you walked out of your bedroom earlier that morning, his rush to leave after being woken up by a phone call from Chibs making him forget his most treasured item of clothing.

You sat on the barstool at the kitchen island, sipping from a cup of coffee you had been nursing, smiling into the mug when you heard your door open and Jax strut through it as confidently and comfortably as usual.

“I left my kutte,” he explained, getting right to the point while glancing around your living room quickly, lifting up the blanket and a pillow off of the loveseat before spinning on the spot to begin his search of the sofa.

“Oh, did you? I hadn’t noticed,” you lied, your cheeks feeling a flush that was partly from the heat of the coffee but mostly from the sight of Jax. He had his Reaper Crew hat on backwards, sunglasses still on, and the sunshine had kissed the skin on his face to tint it with a healthy pink that was the same whenever he was fucking you.

Finally locating it, Jax held up his vest with a smile before shrugging it on and walking over to you, his smile bright and playful, and you knew his eyes held the same sparkle behind the black lenses that covered them that you could never forget.

He leaned down and kissed you, bracing his arms on either side of your body to land on the countertop and cage you in, forcing your body to arch back into it as he delved his tongue deep inside your mouth.

You hummed when he peeled himself away from you, your eyes feeling heavy with lust as you watched him lick his lips.

“Did you forget it on purpose?” you teased, slipping your hands beneath the leather panels to feel the warmth radiating off his body through his layers of faded shirts.

He chuckled, his hands reaching up to cup your face while he nudged your legs apart with his, standing close to you where he was able to grind his hips against you.

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?”

You giggled when he grinned at you before capturing your lips again, pressing his bulge into your core to make you moan into his mouth, the fervor of your kiss growing with each pass of your tongues.

“Fuck!” he hissed, backing away from you but still holding your face in his hands. “I gotta go.”

You breathed out a disappointed sigh, tilting your head to the side as you watched him step away and try to collect himself, hoping he’d convince himself to stay for a hard and fast fuck.

His phone rang in his pocket, and he dug to answer it immediately, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Yeah, I’ll be right there. I said I’ll be right there…Five minutes! Jesus Christ.”

Jax flipped it shut and shook his head as he replaced it back in his pocket, closing the distance between you again with another smile on his face as soon as he looked at you.

“I’ll see you later.” he spoke sweetly, his tone completely different from the one he had just used to whatever poor soul had called him.

You nodded, smiling again as he kissed you once, then again, chuckling when he finally found the strength to stop and back away from you.

He stormed through to the front door in a few long strides, giving you one last grin as he shut the door behind him, and you grinned to yourself as you picked up your phone and sent him the photo you had taken just after he had called you to say he was stopping by.

You listened for the roar of his Harley to start up, feeling giddy as you waited to see if he checked his phone before taking off.

Standing, you walked over to the window, seeing him sitting on his bike looking at his phone with a huge smile on his face.

Your phone rang, his name and number lighting up the screen, and you answered through a smile so big it hurt your cheeks, “Did you forget something else?”

“Are you kidding me?” he asked, his amusement clear in his voice. “Jesus fucking Christ, how am I going to focus on anything now?”

“It’s just a little something to get you back here.”

“Like I need the help,” he said pointedly, starting his bike where it purred loudly through both the phone and the walls of your house.

“I’ll be back to deal with you soon,” he both promised and threatened, making heat surge through your body like wildfire.

“See you later, Teller.”

You hung up, tucking your lip between your teeth to stave off your smile as you looked at the photo you had sent again, feeling more than satisfied with the reaction it had gotten out of him.

You wore nothing but his kutte, your body that he had already made tired and sore from a sleepless night on full display under his leather, the bare skin on your chest bearing the claiming marks left by his mouth.

He took off quickly, his engine rumbling so loud it vibrated the house and sent a shiver down your spine, and you hoped whatever it was he was going to do was done quickly so he could get back to you soon.

You did everything you could think of to occupy yourself; laundry, dishes, even baked muffins and whipped up a casserole, knowing Jax would be hungry when he got there, or if he wasn’t, that he would be made hungry from all the things you did whenever you were together.

The impatience you felt was beginning to outgrow your arousal, the desperation in wanting to have your hands on him and his on you becoming too much to stand any longer.

Not two minutes later did you hear the distant grumble of his Harley tearing through your neighbourhood, your body conditioned over time to respond to that sound and awaken a neediness and desire that never seemed to be sated.

Even though you expected it, you still jumped when Jax barrelled through the door with a hungry and desperate look on his face as he stared you down while kicking off his white sneakers, his grin sly and crooked.

“Why the fuck aren’t you naked yet?” he panted, crossing the room to get to where you stood waiting for him.

“Isn’t half the fun undressing me?”

“Yeah, but when I’ve been staring at that pic you sent me all day, I kinda want to get to the point,” he explained, his eyebrows lifting upward while he tugged his jeans down to the floor.

He still had his ball cap on, worn with the bill of it facing forward this time, the shade casting on his face making his blue eyes glow like flames in the shadow.

Jax slipped his kutte off, placing it carefully on the back of the sofa as if making a point that he knew where it was or would be needing it again soon, and stepped toward you, tipping his head and giving you a piercing look.

“Now, get naked.”

You obeyed with a grin, crossing your arms to grab at the hem of his ‘SAMCRO’ t-shirt, pulling it over your head where you had the satisfaction of hearing Jax’s breath hitch when your tits became exposed, and tossed it on the floor beside you.

Remaining in your panties, you went to assist him with his clothes, only to have him grip your wrists, his long fingers wrapping around them securely.

“That’s not naked, sweetheart.”

You glared at him as he released you, making a point to slowly hook your thumbs in the waist of them and inch by torturous inch, crept them down your hips.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffed impatiently, even though he was still smiling.

A furious look flashed in his eyes when you pulled them back up to their rightful place, challenging what he would do, and you gasped in equal shock and fear when he grabbed onto your thong and tore them roughly down your thighs.

He crashed against your lips, kissing you with a demand that reminded you that he wasn’t playing games, your body flinching when his fingers trailed along your hip and to your soaked pussy.

Spreading your legs further apart, you moaned into his mouth, rocking on his hand as he drove two fingers inside you, hooking them to massage your g-spot.

Within minutes he had you on the edge, fucking you with his fingers until you were a whimpering mess ready to completely fall apart, but he stopped his movements and withdrew his hand from you, smirking at you with a smugness that managed to turn you on even more.

“Fuck, Jax,” you hissed, your breathing sharp as an untamed feeling ran through your veins.

“Hang on, darlin’” he drawled, his tone all-too happy considering what he just did to you.

He took off his hat and then tore his shirts off his torso, leaving him in his boxers that did nothing to disguise how large and hard he was, and had he not tugged them off himself, you were seconds away from doing it for him, your need for him increasing to the highest point when his cock sprang free.

“Put the hat back on,” you requested, your voice so lusty it was almost unrecognizable.

You squirmed in place, seeing the surprise in his features as he did as you asked and placed it back over his messy, blond tresses that crept out wildly from under it, his expression turned cocky in knowing how horny you were.

A half-satisfied smile pulled at your lips when he stood up against you, wrapping his arms behind your back where his hands carded up and down, returning your smile.

You leaned back slightly, reaching up to grip the bill of it to spin it around, facing it backwards just as he had worn it earlier.

“Happy now?” he chuckled.

You nodded, “Mhm. Are you?”

“Fuck, no!” he admitted jokingly through another laugh, reaching over for his kutte that he hadn’t for a second forgotten about you wearing earlier.

Guiding each of your arms through it, he brought it up to rest on your shoulders, holding onto the edges of its opening as his thumbs moved to rub your nipples until they hardened, making you shiver while a breathy whine passed your lips.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his mouth so close to you that his lips grazed your parted ones when he spoke.

You let your eyes close, waiting for him to give you the pleasure he was never selfish with, holding your breath until you felt his lips press onto your neck and down over your chest, his hands falling to your waist and then your hip, smoothing over the curve of your bum where he squeezed your flesh and gave it a playful slap.

Your giggle was swallowed when he kissed you, and you felt his own laugh shake through his chest when you brought your hands up to it, sliding them up to cradle his neck and let your fingers dance where his hair brushed along his bare shoulders.

In a swift motion that caught you off-guard, Jax lifted you into his arms, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist where he backed you up against the wall, thudding against the drywall as he pressed his body hard into yours.

Your nails raked across his shoulders and upper back, roaming to tangle in his hair that wasn’t trapped beneath his hat, and when he lined his cock up to your spread pussy and guided himself inside, you pulled at the strands that were woven between your fingers, his reaction to both sensations reverberating in your mouth.

Jax unleashed all his power on you, holding you up while slamming into you aggressively, the photos that hung on your wall rattling and banging with his barbaric movements.

Doing the best you could to move with him, you humped up and down in an effort to rub your clit on the coarse, wheat coloured pubes above his cock, feeling your climax begin to build again where it had been left teetering on the edge.

You caught Jax staring at your exposed tits, his vest having opened to put them fully on display where they bounced to the enthusiasm of his thrusts and your erratic rocking, his pupils blown out wide with lust.

“You look so fucking good, baby,” he growled, taking one last look at the erotic scene before meeting his mouth with yours, his kiss sloppy and rough.

A sweat started to break out on both of your bodies, your skin able to slip and glide on his easier with the harder you worked, the hair at the base of his neck damp when you moved your fingers along it.

Jax was always completely enamoured when he fucked you, but for some reason with you wearing his kutte today, he found himself in even more of a state, destroying you with reckless abandon to create the whimpering mess before him that he craved to see, the sounds he pulled from you the sweetest ones he'd ever heard. He was convinced it had something to do with the way his Vice President patch kept swaying beside your right breast as your chest shook in time to his ruthless pace, or the way the worn, faded, black leather and the white on all the labels that had turned dingey over time looked against your supple skin, and the thought of fucking you in it when it ranked him as President one day instead had him ready to explode.

The sense of pride he felt when it came to his club and displaying its logos was something he never took lightly, and seeing them on you intensified it even more, making it seem like no one else could wear them as well as you.

He became almost possessive, wanting to claim you and prove to you all the things he never vocalized all while knowing without hesitation that everything under that piece of leather was his and his only.

He kissed you roughly, not caring that the scruff on his face was turning your skin raw or that his teeth had knocked against yours more than once in his frenzy to get enough of you, feeling your pussy get wetter with every drive of his dick inside it.

“Fucking turn around!” he spat through gritted teeth, giving the order despite forcing you to do it anyway. He dropped your legs and had you spun around and planted against the wall in a matter of seconds, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck to guide you forward, pushing you down so you hinged at your waist and were bent over.

His other hand gripped at your ass to spread your cheeks apart, his cock finding your open cunt without needing any help, slamming into you so hard you had to brace yourself on the wall to stop your face from hitting it.

“God, I’m gonna - fuck! - I’m gonna cum, Jax!” you wailed, your ability to speak properly taken away when he reached around you and started rubbing your clit.

“Yeah?” he huffed, mesmerized in the sight of his glistening cock pumping in and out of you. “You gonna cream all over me, you fucking slut?”

The way he barked that name made you shiver, your mouth filling with saliva to a point you couldn't even contain it anymore, feeling it drool out as your jaw went slack and your climax billowed its way to the surface.

Exhilaration took over you, your moans and cries of approval of how hard Jax was fucking you making him increase his fervor, creating a domino effect of you growing louder and his own moans to sound out and intoxicate you further, the mix of everything so dizzying that it was impossible to imagine a better high.

Jax chuckled behind you, the sound maniacal and deliciously twisted. “That’s it, fuck…”

You let go, accepting the way his body threw you into a trembling orgasm, clenching hard around his cock as he proceeded to pound you mercilessly, hearing his grunts and growls increase in volume and consistency as he honed in on his own end.

He couldn’t look away, watching your combined milky spend leak out of you as he continued to fuck you, your ass cheeks shaking along to his irregular thrusts, the Reaper patch spread out across your back as you took every blow he gave you a sight he would never tire of.

His hand was soaked when he removed it from between your legs, bringing his fingers to his mouth where he sucked them clean, keeping his dick buried inside you until he couldn't anymore.

You closed your eyes as you worked at steadying your breath, your fingers continuing to grip the wall even as you slowly began to straighten your body, feeling full and close to him despite him having slipped from you.

Sweaty handprints temporarily stained the paint when you opened your heavy lids again, smiling at the tingling afterglow that filled your veins, that smile growing bigger when you felt Jax press his lips to your dewy neck where he kissed your sensitive skin with gratitude. You were spun around again, gentler this time, his sweet smile matching yours as he brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, your hands wrapping around his damp back to help support you as you stood on unreliable legs.

He was heavenly in his post-fuck glow, small beads of sweat dancing just below the edge of his hat, his skin tinged with a pinkish blush from his efforts, his pulse hammering in his neck. His lips looked more inviting than usual, plump and moist, and when his tongue licked across them before dipping to capture yours, you swore your own pulse ceased in its duties.

The way he looked at you when he pulled away after kissing you slowly was curious, a softness and devotion reflecting in his cerulean blues that made your heart beat faster after having just managed to regulate it.

“You look like you've got something to say, Jax,” you breathed, wondering if there would ever be a day that he would say what he felt.

He shrugged, his thumbs stroking your heated face as he tilted his head, looking between your bodies at yours clad in nothing but his kutte, seeing his cum dripping down your thigh.

“I think I'll be leaving this here more often.”

You both laughed as he kissed you again, shuffling forward to push you against the wall where he was able to press his lips to yours as much as he wanted to.

---

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Taglist: @sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @rhoorl

[twola]

To Name A Vista

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

It's beautiful - this hidden place he's brought you - but you'd have to admit, nature is not the only view you're admiring.

When you awaken, blinking yourself back into the world of the living, it's only a moment before you arch your back against your bedroom that your body becomes your own again.

You yawn, stretching your arms above your head and your legs out straight, the small of your back bowing upward. As you settle back down on the rumbled bedroll, you run a hand down your face, brushing your hopelessly tangled hair from your cheeks.

As you stare up at the pitch of the tent, the morning light filters through the canvas as your hand settles over your stomach. A smile crosses your face.

Your cunt aches sweetly, a dull pain you're happy to feel within the cradle of your hips. A blanket lays discarded, twisted around one of your legs. Otherwise, your skin is bared completely within the tent, gooseflesh prickling as a soft morning breeze pushes through the hanging flap of the tent.

You roll over, yawning again, frowning slightly as you feel the stickiness of dried sweat on your back and something else entirely between your thighs.

Sitting up, you roll your shoulder backward to shake out the sleep from your body. Discarded clothing litters the ground, trousers and shirts, gun belts, and a chemise bunched up in the corner of the tent. A pair of men’s boots knocked over.

Your fingers grasp for the tent’s flap, drawing it open slightly to let the early morning sunlight in, birdsong becoming louder as you squint against the brightness.

It’s certainly picturesque, here along the banks of the Dakota River, tucked away from roads and trails, the gentle waters flowing south to collect in Flat Iron.

You grope for the discarded blanket on the other side of the bedroll and wrap it around your shoulders as crawl out of the tent to stand. Stepping past the campfire that’s been re-lit in the morning, you notice a pot of coffee heating up in that old beat-up percolator.

You’re drawn by some unseen string to the riverbank.  Your bare feet slide slowly over weathered river stones to where your toes touch the water’s edge. Pulling the blanket around you closer, you smile as the birds chirp loudly overhead.

Arthur stands several feet out in the water, gently lapping at his thighs as he scrubs at his shoulder idly, staring off into the distance, Mount Shann looming large miles away.

Nude as the day he was born, you are transfixed, gazing unabashedly at your lover’s body. The lines at his neck and elbows where sun-kissed skin meets what’s usually hidden beneath his clothing. Scars, marks, a smattering of dark, wiry hair. That slash on his shoulder from a coach robbery in Colorado. The circular mark on his bicep when he was shot in Arizona. New, pink-red lines scratched into his skin on either side of his spine. No, those weren’t battle wounds, those were love marks - carved into his skin by your blunt nails as he thrust himself inside your body, over and over and over again last night.

A smile creeps over your face as you note a faint pink imprint of your hand on one of his ass cheeks.

He rolls his shoulder, still unaware of your gaze on him. Blading his body sideways, he leans over, cups river water between his hands, and brings it up to his neckline, splashing it to cover his chest, idly scrubbing at wet skin.

You cannot help but stare at his large cock hanging prettily between his legs. Even with how many times the two of you climbed into each other last night, heat flares in your belly as you feel wetness gathering in your cunt. You rub your thighs together absentmindedly as you trace the paths of the rivulets of water down his chest, down the muscles of his abdomen, as it weaves through the dark curls of his pubic hair and drips off of his cock.

You’re smitten, there isn’t any denying it. 

This was all fairly new between you - and maybe it’s still those early days of a relationship where you can’t keep your hands off of each other. At some point when the gang was traveling from the west, the simmering tension between the two of you boiled over, and after a night around the campfire and a tad too much whiskey, you awoke in Arthur’s bedroll, thoroughly satiated and adorned with sloppy bite marks and suckled bruises across your décolletage.

That, of course, quickly devolved into sneaking into tents at night, groping behind wagons, and the occasional dalliance in the woods outside of camp.

When things had finally calmed down from the Blackwater mess, he grabbed you without much preamble, led you to the horses, swung you up on the rump of his new mare, and headed out of Horseshoe Overlook, muttering something about needing a break.

Not that last night was much of a break… the night was spent holed away in that little tent, between gasps and moans and cries of each other’s names for hours.

Arthur finally turns around completely and sees you, your hair spilling messily over the blanket you’ve wrapped around yourself. A grin slides across his face as he begins to wade toward you, unabashed in his nakedness.

“Get some sleep there, darlin’?” 

You snort lightly as he steps closer to you, his arms reaching toward your shoulders, engulfing them in his large hands and rubbing them affectionately.

“You know me, need plenty of beauty rest.” You roll your eyes with a laugh.

Arthur snorts in return, bemused, “Y’dont need a lick of that to be a beauty.”

Oh, this man…

You give a smile as you let the blanket fall from your body and collect at your feet. You can hear him suck in a breath for a moment, then Arthur’s hands immediately dart to your bared breasts, his palms engulfing them as he squeezes gently. Your hands trail down his abdomen, fingers brushing the wet hair from just below his navel until it spreads out over his pelvis.

He smirks, “That getcha goin’?”

You grasp his cock, solid and warm even when he wasn’t aroused, and squeeze as gently as he holds your breasts, “So gentlemanly,” You stress the honorific by swiping your thumb over the head of his cock, and he shivers in response, blood rushing to his groin as he is coaxed to rigidity in your hand.

With an affectionate squeeze of his right hand to your breast, he quickly moves southward, reaching between your thighs as you begin to stroke him.

You step up on your toes and he leans down to press your lips together, opening your mouth immediately to him as a comforting rumble emits outward from his chest.

Your tongue presses up against his as his fingers slide between the seam of your body, collecting your dewy sheen as he rubs back and forth between that little nub of pleasure and the rim of your aching cunt.

Speaking of which, you jerk backward slightly when his pointer finger slips inside to the first knuckle. He pulls back immediately, hand landing on your hip. He blinks, a concerned look on his face. 

“Y’hurtin?” Arthur whispers, patting your hip gently.

“Just a little sore.” You smile up at him and press your lips to his again quickly, “Been a while since we did that. And you ain’t exactly small neither.”

Arthur blushes, and you’re overcome with a fondness for him - for this, he blushes, considering every damn position he had you in last night. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t ever want to hurt you.” Your outlaw says forlornly, one of his hands moving to cup your cheek as a frown snakes across his face.

“Stop, stop it. You didn’t hurt me. Y’did nothin’ but please me last night,'' You shake your head with a smile, “Now let me please you.”

He cannot suppress a groan as you slowly let yourself down to your knees, the blanket saving you from being directly on the sandy soil.

“Oh honey - y’don’t -”

“You’re all clean and I’m still dirty. Let me.” You whisper in a sultry voice as you stroke his cock languidly. He swallows audibly as his hand moves to cup your jaw.

“Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me, my girl.” His thumb traces the apple of your cheek as you smile, turning your head to kiss his palm.

You move from his palm to the edge of his hip, where the hard-earned lines of muscle collect in a v-shape, tapering from his waist. Slowly, nearly painfully slowly, your lips trail across his body, from the crest of his bone to underneath his navel, where dark, wiry hair starts to curl. 

Arthur cannot help but to gently rock forward against you, and you place your chin just below his navel, smiling up at him in complete adoration. He returns that smile as he pushes a strand of your hair behind your ears.

You grasp the base of his hefty cock with one hand and turn your head back to him, drawing the red tip of him to your mouth and kissing it gently before letting your tongue dart out against it. He hisses in pleasure as his fingers thread through your tangled locks to grasp your head. You take that action as permission to take him into the wet cavern of your mouth, inch by inch, tongue pressing against him. 

Arthur groans aloud and throws his head back, slightly bowing his body toward you. You suck gently on the head of his cock before pressing forward to take more of him in, beginning to bob back and forth, taking him more and more with each movement. Your hand balances on his thigh, thick and corded with muscle.

He looks back down at you, breathing heavily, while you tip your head up slightly and make eye contact with him. Slowly, near aggravatingly slowly, you take him into your mouth, deeper, deeper, until you can’t look at him anymore, and your nose presses against his pubic bone. You choke slightly as the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, leaking precum 

“Jesus fuck,” He curses, unable to stop himself from rocking forward slightly, and you moan around him, pulling your head backward to begin bobbing again.

You’re able to wrench the most beautiful sounds from him: pleads and groans and heavy, needy breaths as you suckle on him, the pain in your knees an afterthought as you continue to pleasure your lover.

“F- fuck-” he gasps, breathless and red-faced looking down at you, “I’m gonna -ngh- where…-?”

Your mouth releases from around his cock with a wet pop , a trail of saliva connecting you to him for a moment before it snaps.

He groans, panting.

“Wherever you want.” You purr.

Arthur whines, actually whines, this outlaw, this hardened criminal, this man hewn from the rough life he lives. His hand flies to his cock and starts pumping, obscene noises loud in your ear as his fingers slide over the wetness your mouth left.

“Lemme… lemme spend on them pretty little tits o’ y-yours.” Arthur gasps out, his hips rocking in time with the hand stroking his cock.

You smile, brushing your hair back over your shoulders and leaning forward as he begins to grunt, his free hand moving from your head to cup at his full, heavy balls as he strokes his cock faster and harder.

A groan spills loudly from his throat as his knees shake slightly, and warm spend splatters across your chest, slowly rolling down the curve of your breasts and between them.

Arthur pants, and with one last slow stroke, the pulsing of his cock ceases, a final lazy drip from the head of his member falls to the ground between them.

He stares at you as he staggers back half a step, trying to catch his breath. “Jesus Christ,” He breathes, a dopey, satisfied grin crossing his features. 

Milky spend slowly trails down your chest, and he cannot help but stare. With a gentle shake of his head, he regains both his balance and wits, stepping back toward you and offering his hand to help pull you up.

“C’mon, my lady, let’s get you clean.” You’ve stood up for only a moment before he swings his arms down on either side of you and lifts you beneath your knees and back. You giggle softly as he pretends to exude an air of chivalry, wading slowly back into the river water carrying you like a princess - albeit a ‘noble’ lady with his spend splattered all over your chest.

The morning birdsong blooms along with the sunshine, near perfection in this small wooded area where the two of you are hidden away from the world.

Until your screeching voice cuts across the valley, that is.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur! The water’s cold as shit!” 

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

SELF LOVE 101 (Gojo x Black!Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [REQUEST FILL]

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Black!Self-Insert!Reader (Coworkers to Lovers)

Synopsis: When you get invited to your coworker's Valentine's Day party, you have no intention of going. Especially since this particular coworker isn't exactly your cup of tea: Gojo Satoru is just too proud, too cocky, and too damn full of himself for a girl like you. But when you're persuaded to go and find yourself alone with him, Gojo will stop at nothing until you see that loving yourself is nothing to hate on. After all, a beautiful woman like you deserves to be loved on...especially on camera.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Coworkers to Lovers; Mild Enemies to Lovers; Secret Crush; Reader is a Self-Insert; Reader is Black, Fem & Plus-Sized; Foreplay; Mutual Oral; Spitting; Cunnilingus + Fingering; Deepthroating; Facefucking; Lipstick Marking; Heels On During Sex; Body Worship; Spanking; Begging; Dom!Gojo; sub!Reader; Breeding Position; Missionary; Dirty Talk; Eye Contact; Mutual Orgasm; Creampie; Reader Cums 2x; Sex on Camera/Nude Photos

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: A very special thank you to @curiouscutie143 for requesting my writing again for a V-Day special! I love writing about that sexy blue-eyed MFer & I hope you enjoy reading about him. -Jazz

**********

Commission Fan Art by greentforever on Fiverrrr

“So, V, you goin’ to Gojo’s Valentine’s Day party tonight?” 

You sit at your computer desk between the gray walls of your cubicle lined with photos of you with family, friends, and co-workers. One of them, your good friend Shoko, leans against the doorway to your cubicle in her black blazer, slacks that do nothing to hide her shapely ass, and blouse as red as her bold lip color. You, too, are dressed for the day of romance and love in your pink sweater paired with a black pencil skirt, nylon stockings, and pumps. 

She gives you an expectant smile as if she already knows your answer as she stirs sugar into her mug of coffee. You have your own coffee–iced despite the cold–that you sip as you sit at your desk, answering emails for the morning before the team meeting at 10 AM. This leaves you two hours to bullshit and gossip with Shoko which is one of your favorite points of the workday. “No,” you calmly reply. “You know I don’t do parties, Sho.” 

“But it’ll be with our coworkers,” Shoko protests. “You know these people! Gojo is inviting everyone from all of the departments, including our boss.” You inwardly roll your eyes behind your cat-eye glasses. Of course, Gojo would invite the bossman too. You always thought of him as a “boss’ pet” as well as a “people whore”, meaning he always makes it his mission to socialize and make everybody like him. Or maybe that’s just your strong distaste for his personality talking. 

“Sorry, girl,” you sigh, giving Shoko an apologetic smile. “It’s a no for me.” Shoko gives you a look between a glare and a pout. “Why? You’ve got plans? I wouldn’t doubt that your fine ass has a hot date.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you and snorts as you roll your eyes at her ridiculousness. 

Though you know that you’re a very attractive woman with your smooth, brown skin, plump frame, and an ass and rack that can stop traffic, you don’t do the dating thing. At least not right now. It’s too complicated. Too messy. Too distracting. You’re way too focused on your job, which you enjoy and are very good at, to be fooling around on dating sites and chasing after coworkers for some short-lived office romance. 

“Actually, yes, I do have plans,” you reply to your friend. “I have a date with my cat, TV, and Chinese takeout, thank you very much.” You then take a manila folder from the corner of your seat, stand from your chair, and give Shoko a tight-lipped smile. “Now, if you wanna continue pestering me with this, you’re gonna have to follow me to the scanner room.” 

And she does. She follows you, hot on your heels, as you walk through the office of cubicles holding your coworkers making calls, doing work, and sipping their morning coffee. She follows you into the scanner room with its dozens of scanning/printing/copying machines and boxes of extra office supplies. “Come on, V!” she groans. “I’ll be there too and we can have some fun! It would be the perfect time to work on your introvert tendencies.” 

You side-eye her as you begin to fire up the machine and put sheets into the scanner, one at a time. “A party isn’t gonna help with that,” you argue. “And it’s not like I don’t go out! I just don’t try to socialize with people I don’t know like you and…” Your words seem to die in your throat when you catch a glimpse of him through the scanning room’s doorway. 

You’ll never get over how tall Gojo is, standing a whole head taller than you with a lean, toned build that you can see even through his blue button-down shirt and slacks. His office attire is casual yet expensive-looking judging by his red bottom dress shoes. He keeps his locks of snow-white hair unstyled and slightly unruly as if he just rolled out of bed. It gives him a sexy look that you know drives so many of the girls in here crazy. Not to mention his voice––smooth, oh-so-sweet, and annoying like a song you’ve heard over and over again and can’t get out of your head. 

And then there are his eyes. They are an intense, electric blue that seems to shock you whenever you see them. Even now, when he turns his head slightly from chatting up a coworker, his eyes meet yours and you forget how to function. A small, crooked smile appears on his lips and he nods at you. You nod back in greeting––one of the only three ways you acknowledge each other. The other two are “good morning”s and unreadable glances across the office at one another. 

Shoko notices and bumps you with her hip. “And you can finally stop acting like you don’t like this man and get you some dick,” she sniggers. “You know he’d give it to you if you asked, V. The guy has pining after you for months now.” You give her a glare which she just laughs at. She swears that you have a “thing” for Gojo, but you will argue that down into the dirt until your very last breath. 

Shoko doesn’t understand that you and Gojo would not work. You and him are total opposites. He is extroverted and makes it his mission to go to every party, club, and kickback on the weekends while you’re more introverted and . rather stay home. While you know you’re attractive, you don’t constantly throw it in people’s faces like he does. He’s cocky and pompous and waaaay too into himself. 

You don’t dislike Gojo as a person, but you dislike his personality. And the persona he seems to put on for everyone else as if they are his audience. You’ve had the misfortune of seeing him drunk at your company’s Christmas party and left after an hour because of his constant jokes, loud singing, and how much he badgered you to take a shot. Despite this dislike, you don’t hate the guy. You both stay mannerable when your paths cross for any reason and sneak glances at one another but never speak beyond a “good morning” or about work. He works in a whole other department so you don’t see him often, but on the elevators or at company meetings, it’s a different story. 

Shoko can see you battling internally with yourself, so she stands in front of the doorway to block your view of Gojo, leaning her hip against the frame. “Listen, I know you have this whole love-hate thing with this dude,” she sighs, “but I promise you, he isn’t that bad. An attention slut, sure, but he means well. But I’m not here to talk about him–I’m here for you. I’ll be damned if you’re going to spend V-Day alone with your cat and takeout, which is why you need to come out with me, drink, shake ass, and make fun of our coworkers! Just for an hour, V, pleeeeease?” 

She folds her hands into a prayer, interlacing her fingers. You want to say no, but maybe she’s right. Maybe you can use a change. “One hour,” you firmly say. “One. Hour. And then I’m leaving.” 

Shoko squeals and presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving a red lip mark. “You won’t regret this, I promise,” she says though you groan indifferently. However, you can’t help but feel like maybe you won’t regret it either. 

********** 

You’ve never seen a house so big until your Uber pulls up to the estate Gojo rented out for the party. 

“Wow,” you whisper, staring up at the house in awe. After going down a trail lined with trees with bare branches to a forest that seemed to get deeper and darker, making you feel like you were entering a horror movie as you sat in the back of the car, the trees finally cleared and the mansion revealed itself. It’s more like a castle with its many floors, balconies, cobble-stoned walls, and glass windows. You spot a large pool on the right covered with a tarp, a tennis court, and a parking lot to the left filled with cars of all kinds. The lawn before it is clean, cut, and dewy, freshly cut and watered for the guests. 

The driver parks near the door and you pay him extra in cash despite also putting his tip on your credit card. “Keep it,” you tell him with a smile before thanking him and leaving the car. You press your wool trench closer to you as you walk up the path to the mansion in your heels that click against the cobblestones. The closer you get, the louder the party gets. Music and miscellaneous conversations drift to your ears, making you feel nervous. You want to turn around and run. 

‘No,’ you think, forcing yourself to keep walking. ‘You agreed to stay for an hour. AN HOUR, BITCH. You’ll be fine.’ So you swallow your fear, take a deep breath, and knock loudly on the door (ringing the doorbell for good measure). The door opens, revealing not Gojo but someone just as tall, built, and fine. He sports long, black locks of hair tied into a neat bun, gage earrings, and a tailored suit that he looks absolutely drool-worthy in. 

The stranger stares at you warmly but questionably with his chocolate eyes that you find yourself falling into. “Hello,” he greets you in a deep yet soft voice. “I’m guessing you’re here for the party?” Gulping, you find your voice and manage to answer the handsome stranger: “Y-Yeah, um, I’m V. Gojo’s coworker?” 

Recognition appears in the stranger’s eyes. “Oh, you’re V!” he chuckles. “Pleasure to finally meet you. Gojo has told me so much about you..and you’re just as pretty as he told me.” He gives you a wink that makes your stomach flip, but even more so that makes you react in such a way is the newfound information that Gojo has talked about you…and he thinks you’re pretty? 

You can’t mull over it for long though because the stranger moves aside to let you in. “Please, come in,” he says. “I’ll take your coat.” You thank him as you shed your coat, revealing your outfit of a red, curve-hugging dress that crosses over your chest, only giving viewers a peak of your cleavage. You curled your hair so it falls and bounces around your neck and paired your outfit with nylon stockings, pumps, a bold red lip and cat eye, and some small gold jewelry. You feel sexy and expensive. 

You take a moment to look around and admire the place. It’s something straight out of a movie with its polished marbled floors and walls, tablecloth tables covered in expensive snacks, fondue fountains, and champagne glasses, and a DJ playing slower songs as guests continue to show up. It’s truly a beautiful setup. 

“I’m Geto,” the stranger says once he’s finished hanging up your coat. “Suguru. I’m a friend of Gojo’s from high school and I own the place. Pretty, right?” You shake his hand when he offers it, noticing how large it is. “Nice to meet you,” you reply, “and it’s magnificent. I’m curious about what you do for work if you own a place like this!” 

He chuckles at the compliment and your curiosity. “I’m a business owner,” he explains. “I own one of the largest art companies in the country. We work primarily in setting up art exhibits, selling historical pieces, and keeping all art museums funded.” Ooooh…that means he got money. “I’ll have to tell Gojo that you’re here. He was so sure you weren’t coming.” 

You scowl confusedly at him, but before you can ask bout it, the man of the hour makes his grand appearance. “Getoooo!” his annoyingly familiar voice bellows. You turn, finding Gojo strutting over with a glass of champagne in a sleek, black button-up shirt, dress slacks, and red-bottom shoes. Darkened glasses sit on his eyes and his fingers and neck drip with gold jewelry. He looks expensive. And annoyingly good. 

He tosses an arm around Geto once near him, leaning into his friend.  “Where’d you get to, man? I’ve been looking for your ass for over 15 min…” He trails off when he gets a look at you and lowers his glasses down the bridge of his nose. You two stand there, silent, the music and noise swelling around you. “Huh,” he exhales, shocked. “And here I was wonderin’ who you were chattin’ up.” 

“Nice to see you too, Satoru,” you mutter. Sensing the tension, Geto clears his throat and takes Gojo’s glass from him. “I’ll just leave you two to talk,” he says before practically hurrying off. Then it’s just you two left alone. You don’t know whether to look at him or at the floor. “I can’t believe you actually came,” he huffs. “Shoko said you’d be coming, but I didn’t believe her. You never really come to any work-related events.” 

You flush under the lights, hugging your arms close to your body as a self-soothing mechanism. “That’s not true,” you protest. “I came to the Christmas party.” Gojo gives you a humored smile that irritates you for some reason. “But you left early,” he points out. 

“Well, maybe that’s because I don’t like seein’ my coworkers drunk,” you pointedly reply. “I’m just not a party person…but I did promise Shoko, so here I am.” You look off to the side to avoid Gojo’s gaze, but you can still feel him looking at you. Having no choice, you look back at him and find him giving you a soft, unreadable look. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” you ask, uncomfortable. 

“You just look…” He stops and bites his lower lip as if struggling internally with himself. It feels as if the room has gotten ten times hotter. “Really nice,” he decides, giving you a smile. “I’m shocked you’re not here with somebody.” 

“Well, I sorta am…” You begin to look for Shoko and find her in a green mini dress chatting up Nanami and Haibara from another department at your job. When she sees you, she gasps and immediately struts over you to you, a glass in one hand. “There she is!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around you. You sigh in relief, glad to have her here. “Is this guy bothering you? It’s okay, baby, I’m here now.” 

She turns to Gojo with a scowl, her arm wrapped around your plump waist. “So you can make your exit, Gojo,” she jokingly tells him. He puts his hands up in mock defense and backs away.

“Fine with me, just don’t make out in front of our boss. I’ll see you two around.” But as he says this, he looks dead at you as if making a promise. When he finally turns to walk away, you finally feel like you can breathe. “He’s got it bad,” Shoko chuckles. 

“Shut up,” you sigh. “I’m already uncomfortable here. I feel like everyone is staring at me.” Shoko titters, taking a champagne glass from a nearby tray and handing it to you. “Maybe it’s because you look fine as fuck,” she laughs. “Girl, just take a glass and relax! It’s a party! Those nerves will start to melt away the minute you get that champagne down the hatchet.” 

You do as she says and sip on your first glass of the night. And though you start to feel somewhat calm, you still feel disturbed. Mostly because of Gojo. Throughout the night, you become increasingly annoyed by his constant socializing and his noise. Why is he so loud? Loud when he talks. Loud when he laughs. Loud when he sings karaoke in front of his adoring, tipsy coworkers who cheer him on. 

Not to mention he constantly takes photos with everybody! Every person, including your boss, he takes a photo with, causing his phone to flash in your face every five minutes. Combined with the loud music and drunken laughter, you’re quickly becoming overstimulated (and not at all in a good way). 

Fed up with your snowy-haired party host and the noise, you down your second glass and text Shoko that you went to find the bathroom. But really, you just need to get away and be alone. Then you sneak away from the party and up the stairs until you are in the long hallway lined with paintings, oakwood vanities, and doors. Many doors. You push open the door that is cracked, leading to an empty study that is only lit by the big, round cheese moon outside the window behind the oakwood desk. 

The study is spacious and cozy with its polished bookcases of books on every subject, hanging paintings, and carpeted floor. The moon cuts through the glass window, creating a silvery square on the carpet and the wall near the desk where you see Geto’s name plastered on a college diploma. This must be his study. Hopefully, he won’t be upset that you’re in here, but the door was locked and you won’t be in here for long. 

You shut the door behind you and slowly walk into the study before stopping at the desk leaning against it. You feel so good to just be alone for a while, the sound of the party muffled beneath the floorboards. The only loud sounds are of your breathing and the hooting of a lone owl outside the window. It is peaceful. Serene. But not for long. 

The door opens before you can duck to hide and a tall figure stands in the doorway. He steps in, revealing himself to be the exact man you were trying to escape. “Shit!” you gasp, placing a hand on your leaping heart. “Don’t you knock?” 

Gojo stands there as if he didn’t just nearly scare you half to death. “I did knock,” he says. “Said your name too. Must’ve not heard me.” The door shuts behind him as he walks further into the room, slowly as if you’re a spooked animal. You don’t move from the desk, even when he comes to lean on the edge of it with you. 

“I was lookin’ for you,” he explains. “Shoko said you went to the bathroom, but that was over fifteen minutes ago.” He takes off his glasses to reveal his eyes, worry embedded in the crystal blue irises. 

“Oh,” you sheepishly say. “Sorry, I just…needed some time to myself. It was too loud down there.” He quirks one eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his pink lips. “Is that code for me bein’ too loud?” he chuckles. “C’mon, I know you were annoyed by me. I could see it all over your face. That’s why I came up here to check on you and tell you I’m sorry.” 

And he actually sounds genuinely sorry about it. It makes you feel incredibly guilty. “You don’t have to apologize,” you sigh. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I guess our personalities just clash…and I’m not too fond of a phone flashing in myself every five seconds when you take a selfie.” 

Gojo laughs at this, the sound pleasant to you. “Just taking advantage of how good I look,” he jokes, flashing you a pearly-white grin. You don’t respond, staring at your shoes. “You don’t agree?” he asks, taking your silence for disagreement. 

“I didn’t say that!” you protest, flushing. “I just don’t see the need in takin’ all of those photos of yourself just because you look good. I mean, who’s gonna see ‘em?” You shrug to yourself, not really liking this conversation. “I am!” he laughs. “It’s not always for others to see. Maybe I just wanna admire myself. Don’t you, V? Admire yourself, I mean?” 

Now you really don’t like this conversation. You don’t reply, your thoughts running a million miles a minute. You feel like you should leave…but at the same time, you like the quiet and you enjoy Gojo’s openness. You enjoy him when he isn’t someone else. “Lemme ask you somethin’,” he says, not waiting for a response. “Do you hate confident guys? Guys who know they’re good-looking?” 

You look at him then, your eyes sharp and pointed. “No; just the ones who are cocky and into themselves.” 

A twinkle appears in Gojo’s eyes that is illuminated by the moonlight pouting into the window. Unbeknownst to you, he loves your boldness. Your bite. It’s sexy. And more than anything, he loves to prove you wrong about him. “It’s not that I’m into myself. I just know I’m a strong, smart, sexy guy. And there’s nothing wrong with that! I have the kind of confidence that no one’s opinion of me can make me feel some type of way…I mean, other than yours.” 

You furrow your brows at this, confused. Gojo just laughs, shaking his head. “In case you ain’t pieced it together, I like you, V. I think you’re way too smart for your department and you’re not bad on the eyes either.” He tilts his head to the side, a puppy dog look in his eyes. “But for some sad reason, you just seriously dislike me.” 

“I don’t dislike you!” you protest, feeling even guiltier than initially. He must think you’re such a bitch! “I just don’t like how cocky and overly exaggerated you can be with your confidence. To me, it feels like you rub it in my face.” Gojo raises an eyebrow, shocked at this confession. “Why?” he asks curiously. “Don’t you think you’re just as good-looking?” 

You look away at your nails, hyper-fixated on how shiny and glossy they are. “Well, yeah, but…” You pause, pretty sure that you’re oversharing at this point. You do know that you’re beautiful, but taking photos isn’t your thing. You don’t even have an Instagram account! It just isn’t for you. But Gojo thinks this is a travesty. “But what? Do you not take selfies of yourself?” You don’t answer, too embarrassed to. Gojo honestly looks shocked. “How?!” he exclaims. “Do you not see how beautiful you are? Seriously, V, you’re a fucking knockout! Especially right now.” 

You feel his blue eyes roaming across your body, your curves, your dress, and suddenly, the room feels hotter. “Here, c’mere,” he suddenly says, pulling out his phone. He then scoots closer to you to which you move away. “What are you doing?” you ask, confused. 

“Takin’ photos with you,” he replies as he opens his camera. “What’s it look like? Just scoot in close and you can see how gorgeous you are.” He flips the camera lens around so they’re facing you and him, but you scoot out of the shot, hesitant. “C’mon, just a few pics!” he pleads. “Pleeeease? I’ll put the camera on auto flash so it’ll go off every 20 seconds.” 

He gives you those puppy dog eyes again and you sigh, knowing that you’ll regret this. “Alright, fine,” you huff and scoot closer to him, trying not to inhale his cologne or feel some type of way with his shoulder and calve rubbing up against yours. “Say V-Day,” he says before the screen flashes in your face. He smiles but you don’t though, keeping your expression stoic. 

Gojo hums in satisfaction at the photo. “See? Look at that gorgeous face!” You look between the two contrasting faces and facial expressions. “Mine or yours?” you ask. He smirks at you and you realize your mistake. “Yours, of course,” he chuckles. “Why? You think I’m gorgeous?” You tsk and nudge him, earning a cackle. “C’mon, another one! Smile in this one.” 

Though you roll your eyes, you do as he says and smile, big and bright, into the camera. When the camera flashes, Gojo all but cracks a smirk in the photo. “Shit, I wasn’t ready for that one,” he sighs. “Now you’re definitely the gorgeous one in this one.” You flush, mostly because you feel that he’s right––you do look gorgeous in the photo. 

After another photo where you’re both smiling, you start settling in and realize how funny Gojo is. He cracks jokes and makes you laugh as the photo flash goes off, leading to pictures being taken of you and him cracking up. Soon, you’re making silly faces at the screen which makes you both laugh even harder. “Okay, okay, lemme do this one normal,” you giggle and smile at the camera, feeling warm and happy. 

Gojo can tell and that is why he tells you exactly what he thinks of you, unable to keep it in: “Goddamn, you truly are beautiful, V,” he sighs. “Can’t you see us together?” You turn to him, confused and alarmed by his words, but you don’t realize how close you are. As the camera goes off, your lips touch his in a soft, quick kiss that is as fast as the flash of the camera. 

You pull away as quickly as it happens, shocked and alarmed by how much you liked the kiss rather than by the fact that it happened. He’s a good kisser. Gojo stares at you in the same light like he can’t believe that that just happened and that it was with you. But he also looks at you in a way no one ever has: adoringly. Enchantingly. Like you’re the most beautiful thing in the room. Your eyes roam down his handsome face to his lips, soft and pink. 

Gojo places his phone down next to him before, silently, you both lean in again, your lips moving slowly yet passionately against each other’s. Scratch that “good”. Gojo Satoru is a great kisser. He moves his lips like it’s his profession, taking his time easing you into it. His hand caresses your face and holds your cheek, his touch making you shiver. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to become hotter and more passionate while your hands move along your bodies. At some point, his phone falls off of the edge of the desk and lands on the carpet, face-up. You can’t tell if the camera is still open and can’t care enough to check. Gojo’s lips move from your mouth to your neck, peppering your skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses. You grasp his shoulders and close your eyes, blissed out from the sensations. Despite him being your coworker, despite his personality, despite the party going on downstairs and you still being in another person’s room, you don’t care. 

You can’t care. Not when Gojo is giving you everything you’ve been craving. So when his hands inch to the zipper at the nape of your neck, you let him do as he pleases. He pauses, looking at you questionably, and you nod, wanting him to continue. He continues to kiss you down, giving you small lovebites as his fingers work the zipper down. “Gojo,” you exhale. It’s all you can utter as the dress comes off, only falling down from the waist up due to you still sitting. 

Gojo stares at you like you’re a work of art, eyes now dark with molten lust. “Fuck, look at you,” he whispers, drinking in your soft, brown skin. “Look at these.” His hands move to your breasts, big, soft, and juicy. You whimper softly at his touch, his thumbs moving over your hard nipples. “You’re absolutely beautiful, V,” he groans like it pains him. “How the fuck aren’t you with anyone?” 

You don’t answer, too horny to speak. All that is on your mind is him. “Well, it’s their loss. Now, I have you tonight…if that’s what you want.” His hands begin to leave your body, but you stop him, keeping them on your chest. “Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I want this.” He smiles, a light sparkling in his eyes. He doesn’t begin playing with your titties just yet. First, he runs his piano fingers up and down your back as he kisses you again, soft moans traveling into each other’s mouths. 

Your hands find his body, touching and stroking his forearms; his chest; his sides; his waist. At some point, you brush up against his crotch where you feel his obvious hard-on pushing up against his pants. You gasp at the feeling and he lightly laughs into your ear. “Do you see? You see what you do to me?” 

He then stands in between your legs and latches his lips onto one of your hard, brown nipples. You gasp at the sensations of his wet tongue flicking the sensitive bud and swirling around the areola. “Fuck, Gojo,” you quietly moan, tossing your head back to the ceiling as you lean back onto one hand on the desk. He is so good with his tongue! Every flick against your nipple has you gushing, along with his fingers gently fondling the other breast he doesn’t have his mouth on. He switches, giving both of you girls equal attention. He is sloppy and greedy with it, just as you hope he is eating pussy. 

Gojo hums into your nipple, pulling away to look at you with a mischievous smile. “Rubbin’ that pussy against my leg, huh?” he chuckles. “You’re so needy, V, baby. Didn’t think that was possible for you.” Realizing that you’ve been embarrassingly rubbing your cunt up against his leg wedged between your thighs, you try to pull away, but Gojo firmly grips your outer thigh to stop you. “No; tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.” 

You know you shouldn’t. You know that having relations with your coworker at a party can only bring trouble, but the need that you have is desperate to be unbottled and overflow; not trapped again. “Taste me, Satoru,” you say in a soft plea. “I want your mouth on me.” The smile he gives you just about melts your pussy right off the bone. 

“You’ve got it, kitty,” he coos, using his thumb to gently play with your plump bottom lip, watching the way it bounces and jiggles slightly. “But on one condition: you be as loud as you wanna be. Don’t pull that quiet shit with me. The music is loud enough anyway…and even if it isn’t, fuck them.” 

Before you can argue or protest, he kneels between your legs so he is at eye level with your panties and pulls them to the side, exposing them to his naked eyes. He hisses at the way your arousal sticks to your panties as he does, your pussy lips so soaked that strands of your wetness stick to the fabric. “Shit, baby,” he groans. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” 

You bite your lip, embarrassment and arousal mixing within you. You hate how horny he makes you, but you can’t deny that you love it too. You’ve never had anyone make you feel this out of control before. But when Gojo finally proceeds to slurp up your pussy like his favorite meal, you just about lose yourself. “Fuck!” you moan, immediately grabbing his shoulder while the other grips the edge of the desk. 

Gojo is a master at eating pussy. He wiggles his tongue this way and that, stroking your lips and your clit. He just kisses the entrance of your pussy with his tongue, never quite venturing inside but you can still feel him stroking your inner walls. When he does that, his nose bumps against your clit, nudging it gently and sending sparks of pleasure throughout your entire body. It’s so hard to keep quiet or control your body because of the immense pleasure you feel.

“Oh, my God!” you gasp, earning a hum of pleasure from Gojo that he makes in your pussy. Your thick thighs clamp around his head, making him feel smothered just the way he wants to. 

God, he loves your thighs! He uses his hands to grip them; stroke the outside of them; even lightly spank them and the space where they meet your ass that he is more than eager to see in 3D. 

When he pulls away to spit onto your pussy and slurp it back up, you swear you nearly shout to the heavens, but you manage to bite your lip to keep it all in. Noticing, Gojo gives the meat of your outer thigh a light spank that makes you squeak. “I said let that voice out,” he mumbles into your pussy. “Come on, baby…ain’t this where you’re weak at?” 

He then begins to gently flick and rub your clit with his thumb, paying close attention to the way you respond. Judging by the way your moans echo throughout the empty study and your thighs quiver, he assumes he’s right on the money. “I guess it is,” he chuckles. “Let’s see what other pretty sounds I make you make with these fingers.” 

And he gets exactly what he’s looking for when he dips one of those long fingers into your tight, wet, delectable pussy and begins to stroke upward to rub your clit and G-spot at the same time. You’re unable to keep your voice hidden, each moan, whimper, and sob loud and unbridled. Thank God the music is loud enough to mask the sounds, but even if it isn’t, you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when Gojo’s tongue and fingers feel so good. 

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that knot in your core beginning to tighten with each stroke, lick, and slurp. When he pulls away to once again spit on your pussy and then slurp it back up while his finger continues to stroke your insides, you feel that tension about to boil over and grab his head to push into your pussy. He welcomes it, loving the feeling of being drowned in your wet cunt. You can’t even speak a coherent sentence. You begin to babble cusses and his name as you feel yourself about to cum: “Fuck, ‘Tarou! Shit, you’re gonna make me cum! You’re gonna…I’m gonna…oh, shit, shit shit!” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Gojo hums eagerly into your cunt, repeating this and becoming more eager the faster his ministrations get. The faster they get, the harder and faster you cum. You throw your head back and grip his white locks as you cream all over and into Gojo’s mouth. A loud moan from deep within you rises to the surface and exits your mouth, echoing throughout the room. You feel euphoric, tingles of pleasure coursing through you. 

Gojo doesn’t stop licking or finger-fucking you until he can feel your pussy twitch and weak moans leave your lips. He finally pulls away with a gasp, his chin and lips coated in you. He licks it all off eagerly and sucks on the finger he had inside of you, staring deep into your eyes as he does so. Your eyes trail down to his hardened cock which has now begun to pulse beneath his pants, desperate to be released…and you’re desperate to get it. “Need you,” you whisper breathlessly. “I wanna taste you too.” 

Gojo gives you a lustful, molten hot stare that nearly gets you out of the rest of your dress. “Not here. Follow me.” He takes your hand and helps you off of the desk before leading you out of the study and into the hallway. You walk all the way down the hall to an empty master guest room, spacious, clean, and comes with a balcony that overlooks the outside. The tree branches stretching their spiny fingers to the window cut across the floor in shadows, the moonlight shining through into the bedroom. 

You barely pay any attention to the room because you’re too busy kissing on Gojo. You wrap your arms tight around his neck as your lips move against one another’s, your tongues swirling and moans traveling into each other’s mouths. Gojo, skilled as he is, kicks the door shut with one foot and unzips the rest of your dress so it falls to the floor. His hands immediately go for your ass, groping, squeezing, and spanking your plump cheeks. He chuckles through your kiss at each soft moan and gasp you make, the sounds going straight to his groin. 

When he pulls away, his lips are plump from constantly kissing and his eyes are blown with lust. “My turn,” he says, smirking at you, and suddenly, he’s hoisting you up into his arms like you weigh absolutely nothing compared to him. He laughs at your cute little squeak as he carries you over to the humongous, neatly-made bed and tosses you onto the soft mattress where he hums seductively at the way you bounce against the bedsprings. Seeing you naked in just your heels is many things to him, one of which causes him to strip himself out of his clothes. Before he does, he leans his phone up against a charger on the nightstand so it faces you and the bed. You can’t tell if it’s on or not, too focused on him to even care. 

You watch him from the bed, turning over onto your tummy to lean against your elbows, your chin in your hands, and heels kicked up in the air. You’ve never seen someone take off his clothes so quick and in a flash, Gojo is completely naked. Your hungry eyes roam over his body, drinking in his muscles and lighter skin that contrasts with yours. They then go lower where they latch onto his big, thick, gorgeous, hard cock. You see veins and stark white pubic hairs that are trimmed short leading up to his toned stomach and V-line. You feel your body twitch with need, wanting him inside you in any possible way. 

Gojo takes a handful of his cock and begins to slowly stroke it in your face, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “You want this?” he asks. Slowly, you nod, unable to speak. “Then open your mouth and take it like a good girl.” 

You do so, inching to the edge of the bed so you’re able to reach him. You open your mouth and wrap your lips around him, emitting a needy groan from his luscious lips as you begin to suck and lick on his cock. “Thaaat’s it, baby,” he praises you, pushing stray hairs out of your face. “Lick it just like that. Like a lollipop…but just a little bigger.” 

Bigger, indeed! He stretches out your mouth and barely fits in your hands as you begin to stroke him, but you love his girth and length. You love how your dark, long nails look against his pale skin stroking him up and down. You love the sounds he makes, each moan and hum of pleasure encouraging you to give him major throat. So you bob your head and stare into his eyes as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks around his length. “Shit, baby!” he hisses, tossing his head back. “How are you this fucking good at suckin’ dick?” 

You just answer by continuing your work, loving how good you’re making him feel with your mouth and hands. After letting you do your thing for a while, Gojo slides out of your throat with a groan and gently slaps his cock against your lips dripping with spit, smearing it and your lipstick around your mouth. “So pretty,” he sighs dreamily, giving you a hooded gaze that makes you gush. “Look at how much you marked me, kitty.” 

He nods down at his cockhead ringed in your red lipstick which only makes you want to make more. “I wanna mark you too,” he says in a sultry, breathless voice. “I wanna fuck your throat, baby. Is that okay?” Is that okay? He may as well ask if it’s okay to fuck you! “Yes,” you reply, staring up at him through your lashes. “It’s okay…use my throat, ‘Tarou.” 

Your voice and nasty words make his dick twitch excitedly. He wraps his hand around himself and taps the head lightly against your tongue, making light, wet smacking sounds as he does so. “Just tap my hip or my thigh twice if you need to breathe, okay?” he coos to which you nod. And then he’s gripping your hair as he slides deep, deep, deep into your throat, nearly making you choke. A loud, needy moan leaves his lips as he settles into your tight, wet mouth and begins fucking it, bumping his pelvis and heavy balls against your face and chin as he does so. 

“Oh, my God,” he groans, fucking your throat like it’s a fleshlight. “Oh, my fucking God, baby, you’re so good at this shit! So, so good at suckin’ cock. Why the fuck didn’t we do this a long time ago?” You can only gargle and gag around his cock in response, earning a pleased chuckle. “Those are the sounds I like to hear,” he huffs. “You’re doin’ so well for me, baby, takin’ this big cock. You love gettin’ that throat fucked, don’t you? Maybe that’s all you needed to see things my way.” 

After some time of fucking your throat and leaning forward to plant some smacks on your ass to watch it jiggle, Gojo slides out of your mouth, giving you a chance to breathe. Spit and pre-cum drips from your mouth and chin, dribbling down to your tits and onto the bed. Gojo stares down at you, cheeks flushed, eyes narrow, and pumping his hard cock wet with your spit. “You still want this?” he asks. “We can leave it here if you want. No pressure, baby.” 

But you want all the pressure he can give you. So you position yourself onto your back and open your thighs for him, your heels planted on the edge of the bed. His intense, blue eyes immediately flick down to your gorgeous, edible pussy shimmering in the moonlight for him. “I want this,” you whisper into the dimly lit bedroom. But Gojo doesn’t move. He just stands there, still stroking his cock. “Do you not want this?” you ask uncertainly. 

“No, I wanna fuck you,” he answers easily. “I just want you to beg.” He grins at your gobsmacked expression. “That’s right, kitty: beg for me. Beg for this cock nice and pretty for me.” The heat of embarrassment crackles at your cheeks and skin, but it also makes your pussy quiver. “Please,” you whimper, swallowing your pride. “Please fuck me, Satoru. I need you. I’m so, so wet for you.” You begin to lightly play with your pussy in front of him, rubbing your clit and coating your lips in your wetness. 

It’s enough to make Gojo go absolutely insane. “Keep rubbin’ that pretty clit for me,” he demands before taking your ankles and yanking you to the edge of the bed. You gasp as he does so, but it turns into a moan as he slides himself home inside of you. Your body instantly tenses at his girth stretching out your walls, but he doesn’t move immediately. He watches you intently, waiting until you relax to start moving. And even then, he doesn’t fuck you hard and rough straight off the rip. He is gentle and slow, giving you strokes that are careful but still draw moans out of you. 

You can feel every inch of him inside of you, feeling unbelievably full. As you continue to rub your clit, the pleasure begins to build and your body becomes comfortable with Gojo’s cock, adapting and molding into a shape just for him. Gojo notices and grips your hips as he continues to roll his hips nice and tortorously slow into you. “This okay, baby?” he huffs. “You need it faster? Harder?” You nod, whimpering pathetically. 

Smack! His hand collides with the outside of your thigh, making it jiggle. “Nuh-uh, baby,” he growls. “Look at me. Say it to my face.” You open your eyes, just slits, and look at his handsome face slightly gleaming with sweat, as he bumps his hips even slower into you. He cackles at your groan of frustration, not giving up until you give him what he wants. “Please!” you whine. “Please, Gojo, baby, fuck me harder!” 

That’s when he holds you close by your hips, hoists your legs over his shoulders, and puts your ass straight into the mattress. Your eyes widen and your nails dig into shoulders as he fucks you rough, gripping the flesh of your thighs and fucking into you with a speed and precision that has you seeing stars. You’ve neve been fucked so good before. You pussy squelches and gushes all around his cock the more it pummels into you, drilling you just the way you need. 

It’s so good. Too good. Your eyes squeeze shut at the overwhelming pleasure, moans and whines leaving your lips to echo throughout the bedroom. You then feel Gojo’s hand gripping your chin, squishing your cheeks together. “Look at me, V,” he demands. “I said fucking look at me when I’m fucking you!” At his tone and volume, you weakly open your eyes and stare into his that remind you so much of the oceans in the Bahamas. 

“Keep lookin’ at me,” he orders but it sounds more like a plea. “Don’t look away. I wanna see those pretty eyes while I fill this pussy up.” You have to force yourself to keep staring, mostly because of the vulnerability. You’re here being splayed out and stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey, your heels dangling in the air and pussy squleching around his cock! And here he is, wanting to see every single cute little expression on your face and in your eyes. It’s too much. It’s too intimate. 

But it’s so intoxicating. So addictive. And the feeling is mutual. Gojo commits your body and the way your tits jiggle as he fucks you into the bed to memory, wanting to give you good dick any time you want as long as it’s his. “This is all it took, huh?” he chuckles. “You just needed some dick to see how beautiful you are? How much you deserve a guy like me?” He holds your face in his hand, forcing you to keep looking at him. “Do you see how good we are together, V? Huh? Do you see it now?” 

You must be delicious from the dick because you do. You do see it and you’re desperate to make it known as he speeds up, plowing into that pussy again and again until the bedsprings creak. “Fuck, ‘Tarou, yes!” you sob. “I’m gonna fucking cum! I’m so close!” You can’t stop the way your pussy clenches and your clit swells as you continue to toy with it. 

But then Gojo stops, stilling his movements. “Me too,” he warns. “But not like this.” He suddenly hoists you up farther onto the bed and edges onto it with you on his knees. He grips your ass as lifts your legs up onto his shoulders, leaning forward so your knees are pressed against your chest. “Need to make it count,” he grunts. “Need to be closer to you…need to be deeper.” 

You’re confused at fist, not sure what he’s doing. 

That’s when he proceeds to fuck you into a breeding position, his hips slamming down against yours with his feet planted firmly on the bed. “Oh, my God!” you practically scream as his cock pummels in and out of you at a breakneck pace, causing every part of you to jiggle and move with the force of his fucking. Now you understand why so many women are crazy for him: he’s amazing in bed. He has such stamina being able to fuck you in such a position without hiring, feral moans and grunts leaving his lips as he fucks you stupid. 

Now you have no choice but to cum. You’re completely trapped beneath him with no place to go, your pussy quivering and twitching around his cock. “G-Gojo!” you stutter, gripping his shoulders for dea life. “‘M g-gonna cum! Gonna…you’re g-gonna m-make me…” You can’t even speak, your tongue heavy and mind blank with pleasure. But Gojo understands. “Cum for me, baby,” he begs, staring deep into your eyes. “Cum with me. Give it to me like a good girl!” 

And you do. As soon as he bursts inside of you with a loud moan of your name, your pussy clenches and you cum all around his cock, drenching him in your juices. Gojo grips you to him, making you feel restricted and trapped with just his arms and his body. You gasp as you feel him fill you up with his nut, warm, wet, and endless. He groans as his cum drips out of you and leaks down your thighs and his balls, soaking you both in the aftermath of your sex. Your sex. You just had sex with a coworker. 

As the fog of your orgasm fades, you feel nothing close to bliss and everything close to mortification. Gojo finally releases you and stands up straight, hissing as he does so. “Ah, shit!” he groans. “Think I overdid it.” He puts a hand to his lower back, winching. You just stare up at him, trying to make sense of him and everything that just happened. “Sorry,” he sheepishly says, smiling down at you. “Did that ruin the mood?” 

Your eyes roam over his naked, toned body to his semi-hard cock still soaked in your and his cum. You quickly look away to your clothes and bag, feeling the urge to throw up. “No, I…fuck!” The gravity of the situation hits you like a freight train. “I can’t believe I did this,” you murmur to yourself. “I can’t believe we did this.” 

Gojo chuckles, laying next to you on the edge of the bed. “Believe it, baby; the hair speaks for itself.” He runs a hand through his unruly, sexed-out locks of silvery-white hair. “You were so, so good,” he sighs happily. He goes to touch you, but you move away, immediately feeling guilty for doing so when you see his saddened eyes. But you can’t bring yourself to touch him or snuggle. Aftercare doesn’t matter right now when all you feel is guilt and confusion. “I-I’m sorry, Gojo,” you weakly say. “I have to go. I took things too far with you tonight.” 

It was the alcohol, you try to reason. And you were trying to distract yourself from the noise of the party. You were vulnerable. You try to think of every reason this happened instead of just blaming it on the fact that you’re very attracted to Gojo Satoru. He lays on the bed now, scowling in utter confusion at you. “Wait, huh?” he asks as you scramble to leave the bed. “Wait, V, don’t go! Let’s sit down and talk about it!” 

But you don’t want to talk about it and you can’t talk about it. If you do, you’re sure that you’ll start crying. You can already feel the tears building. But as you rush to the door, gravity has other plans for you and you knock right into the nightstand, causing Gojo’s phone to fall. “Shit!” you gasp, immediately bending down to pick it up. His phone sits faceup in your hand, the screen glowing at you. 

There, you see his camera roll. And in it, every new picture taken by Gojo tonight. You see photos of him and your team; him and the boss; and him and you. Not just the ones you took side by side in Geto’s study, but also…other ones. More intimate ones taken every 20 seconds of you both. Naked. Having sex. Heat runs through your veins and up to your face, creating a permanent blush. ‘No,’ you think. ‘No, no, no!’ 

You open all of them, each one becoming more embarrassing and lewd than the previous one. You see photos taken from the floor in the study where Gojo is on his knees eating you out; photos of you getting your face fucked at the edge of the bed, your heels kicked up and his hand gripping your hair; you on your back legs spread wide and face contorted in pleasure as Gojo fucks you into the couch; you and him together, locked into a breeding position, your eyes locked on each other’s as the moon glows against your skin. 

Gojo slides off of the bed to check on you, seeing you staring at his phone completely in awe. “What?” he asks, curious. “What is it?” Wordlessly, you pass the phone to him and he sees the photos. His blue eyes widen an inch as he scrolls through each one. “Oh,” he just says. “Well, at least you look hot in all of these. But I can delete ‘em if you want.” 

And you realize that he’s right: you do look hot in all of them. You drink in your smooth, brown skin glowing in the moonlight; your thick thighs spread and ass looking so delectable; your pussy stretched around Gojo’s cock as your pretty face contorts beautifully with pleasure, spit and red lipstick smeared around your open mouth. It’s still embarrassing, but also liberating. And a turn-on. You see yourself just as Gojo sees you in those photos: sexy, beautiful, and meant to be with him. 

“No,” you reply. “Send them to me.” He gazes at you, shocked. “You’re right: I do look pretty hot in those…we both do, actually.” You give him a shy smile to which he returns, a slight blush adorning his cheeks. “Well, I’m glad you see it my way, but I can’t send them to you. I don’t have your number.” He actually looks sad to give you the bad news. 

But you smirk, one step ahead of him. You put your hand out, palm up, for his phone. “Then I guess you’ll need my number then,” you purr. He stares at you for a few seconds, his mind slowly processing your words, and then hands you the phone. He continues to give you that laughable look as you put your name and a cute heart emoji beside your name into his contacts, along with your number. 

When you pass it back to him, your heartbeat has accelerated, your stomach fluttering with butterflies. “You can use that for a brunch date too,” you add, feeling somewhat shy. “Or the movies.” You silence yourself, letting Gojo piece your words together. 

He stares down at your number and then at you before breaking out into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on a person. He tosses his phone onto the bed before engulfing you in a tight embrace, picking you up off of the ground. You squeal as he tosses you both onto the bed, kissing you all over on your face; your neck; your shoulders. “Finally!” he laughs. “Finally, you’re mine!” You laugh with him, feeling giddy like a schoolgirl who just found out her crush likes her back. 

You lean up to kiss him, but stop when a knock interrupts you. “Yes, finally,” Shoko agrees. “I was waiting for the day you two finally stopped acting like you weren’t crazy about each other and just fucked.” You gape at the door, mortified that your friend is behind it. Did she hear you two? Did anyone else hear you two?  

“As happy as I am for you Satoru, can you at least clean up my bed when you’re done in there?” Geto asks. “And come down for the party toast in about fifteen minutes.” 

Gojo presses a finger to his lips, signaling you to keep quiet while he’s silently dying with laughter. “Sorry, Sugu!” he calls. “We promise we didn’t break nothing!” 

“Uh-huh,” Geto replies blandly. “You’re lucky you’re my friend because I would’ve tried to scoop her up myself. She’s a keeper, indeed.” You flush as you hear him and Shoko finally leave, no doubt going to give the others a good story about the noise…but you also find that you don’t care if anyone knows. You want them to know. 

Gojo gazes down at you as you lean against his chest, feeling so small and so safe against him. 

“Now let’s get back to that snuggle. We’ve got fifteen minutes to spare and I’m not wasting any of ‘em.” He then leans down to capture your lips with his and you remind yourself to treat Shoko to lunch for persuading you to come to this stupid party. 

THE END.

[evilvillain123456789]

in my noble pursuits i roam the streets of oregon, writhing, throbbing hard and wet and deep in vagabondage, scrawling in shit, sharpie, blood, gel pens- whatever i can find, upon the walls of the commons such delightful designs i invented of dog girls with big sparkly eyes and their wet mouths open. and their tongue sticking out. and I draw dragon girls with big sparkly eyes and their wet mouths open, and cat girls too. but i'll reveal to you a trade secret- i make them all look like the dog girls. i do. and its good that they look the way they do.. because i'm conserving my precious brain power for what's really important things- i need to writing a speech bubble coming out of their wet mouths that reads, Were here, were queer, or, Smash, the fash.. Vaccines save lives... of course there are other slogans, but i cannot think of any more at the moment. but this work i do is important. i do this to mark my territory. in the sense that i pray a beautiful goddess will come, see me huddled. within my impressive collection of vintage lego sets and empty coffee cups, and candy wrappers. and see how many twitter likes my graffiti and opinions got and accept me into her, multi partnered sexual relations, and her home, where i may roam freely with both her and the beasts that flock to lap up my taint wounds, and sing to me beautiful songs on their ukeleles... where we may paint nude torsos covered in all manner of jagged surgical scars... where monster energy flows freely as water... i dream of it, my paradise, i'm hoping, i'm coming, i'm coming.... but i digress.. i'm getting a bit ahead of myself, ha, me and my dreamers soul. i also do it to make sure any people of color passing through my turf know that they are not welcome here.