#skip hire rosebud

[withcreamandsugar]

Lilac Kiss

🤍 details: A short NSFW fic featuring Yves and a gender neutral reader. Enjoy! :)

🤍 word count: ~1k

🤍 a/n: this is actually my first time writing nsfw stuff!! please feel free to give me advice uwu

Fresh out of college, you found yourself void of opportunities. “Experience” was a word you only found in video games, not in your career after all. You decided to apply for a janitorial job, seeing as the pay was shockingly good. Little did you know, you signed up to be the housemaid of a certain 12 member girl group.

On your first day, you considered wearing a dress shirt, desperate to impress your employers. You canned that thought after remembering you were there to recycle cans, not shake hands. Nevertheless, an immediate sense of butterflies in your stomach arose as you reached for the dorms door handle. “How bad could it be? It’s a girl group for god’s sake.”

You opened the door and took a deep breath, something you immediately regretted as a deep stench of stale ramen, soju, and an undiscernible sour smell wafted into your face. “PUT DOWN THE SCISSORS YEOJIN!!” screamed a woman you assumed to be the one who hired you, as she ran across the living room chasing down a girl wearing a lavish paper crown jumping from chair to chair. As the door closed behind you, the woman’s gaze darted over to you.

“Oh, you must be y/n. Come in, come in, please. Sorry about the mess, last night was Yeojinnie’s birthday and... I’m trailing off. Here’s your payment in advance. If you need anything don’t hesitate to call me over.”

The woman gave a warm, comforting smile as she laid the paper bills in your hands, lingering for just a moment as your hands brushed together. Your heart skipped a beat as you struggled to get a word out, mind going blank. “Thanks, er...”

“You can call me Yves.”

You were so busy locked in her gaze that you almost overlooked her arm outstretched for a handshake. You quickly reached out, shaking her delicate hand for far too long before realizing and looking sheepishly away.

Under her breath as she walked away, she whispered to herself,

“I like this one.”

The sheer quantity of empty soju bottles, empty snack bags, and ramen packets made you question what you did in your past life to deserve such punishment. It took 5 fully filled trash bags and a future of lower back pain for you to finish most of the rooms, until you reached the last bedroom. You knocked twice, no answer. Another two, louder knocks, still no answer. You gingerly opened the door and saw a scantily clad, nightgowned Yves, wine glass in hand and a half smile pointed at your direction.

“I didn’t tell you to come in. Yet.”

A scent of something sweet, something... flowery tickled your nose as you walked in. Yves got up from her bed and walked over to a chair, sitting down legs crossed over one another as she motioned you in.

Worried that you would be staring at her gorgeous legs for the rest of time, you quickly scanned the room for something to clean and avert your gaze. To your surprise, there wasn’t a speck of dust in the almost blindingly white room.

Yves rose from her seat and sauntered over to you, an almost devilish look in her eyes. The sweet scent also grew tantalizingly closer; your mind raced as you tried to figure out the smell while also wondering what Yves was going to do to you.

Yves reached out and brushed the hair on the side of your head, the sweet scent now overwhelmingly powerful, making your mind go blank.

“Lilac. Do you like?”

Her fingers traced your face from your scalp to caressing your cheek, then to gently brushing your lips. With her other hand, Yves guides your idle hands to around her waist and leans in close.

“So what’s it gonna be? Finally gonna make your move? Or-“ Yves lowers your hands down to her hips and gently smiles. “Or do I have to do everything myself?”

You take the plunge and lean in for a passionate kiss, lips still intertwined as you reach around to undo the knot on her nightgown. The two of you stumble over to the bed, accidentally pushing down Yves on her back onto the mattress and you on top on all fours. Your face buries into the side of her neck as you gently suckle, desperate to leave a hickey, a mark on her otherwise perfect complexion. As you come up for air, Yves once again caresses your cheek with her palm.

“I gotta say, all this initiative you’re taking is very... arousing.”

You lower yourself down her slender body, making sure to kiss every part on your way down. Her petite yet supple breasts, her beautifully toned abs, her creamy thighs. You move one leg over to one side, then the other, her folds gently separating like it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in the world.

Your mouth waters with anticipation as you bury your face between her legs. Your tongue dances from fold to fold, crevice to crevice, as you discern the correct speed to use from the strength of Yves’s deep moans. You move on to gently suckle on the rosebud that was her clitoris, illicit in hand even greater vocal reaction from the woman. Yves’ juices begin to flow as your licks ramp up in speed, slow moans now becoming primal as her legs tighten around you and her fingers ruffle through your hair. For the first time of the night it’s Yves’ mind that goes blank, as her body arches back and convulses, your head still locked in place.

After a few minutes that felt like a lifetime, Yves pulls your head up to rest on her chest, puffing up and down almost as if she had just run a marathon. Her fingers ran through your now ruffled hair.

“I think this is the start of a beautiful workplace relationship.” Yves whispered, giving you a peck on the forehead and resting her eyes.

Your heart raced at the thought of next week’s escapade, remedied by the now rhythmic beating of Yves’ heart.

That night, you dreamt of lilacs.

[angelguk]

dynamite!jaykay at the record store falling in love with a pretty girl (yes that’s you). if the song lyrics in this r wack that’s my fault. yoongi is yoongi. 1k words listen to the louvre by lorde

It was by sheer serendipity that he even saw you; a fluke in all honesty. Jeongguk’s eyes never wandered beyond the rows of records bordering the shelves in Yoongi’s store. He usually came in with a purpose, the records he intended to purchase listed methodically in his head. His feet only paused to linger in the backroom where Yoongi stashed the ‘good stuff’ — a myriad of rare vinyls, cherished cassettes and CDs that cost more than his entire life, as Yoongi liked to tell him —  but never for long. Just to see, experience being in the same room as them.  His older friend didn’t appreciate his hands grazing the collection. So Jeongguk kept his curious fingers stowed away in the pockets of his baggy jeans as Yoongi raved about his new find, brown eyes bright with delight. Eventually, Jeongguk meandered over to the counter, the records he’d selected tucked in his grasp as he haggled Yoongi for a discount.

(He never got one. Not even on his birthday).

But today is different. From the moment he stepped into the store, the low hum of the fan buzzing in the air, Jeongguk felt it. He’s not searching for anything in specific, gaze idle as he wanders through the lanes of records, fingertips skipping the sheath-like plastic hugging them. His headphones are on as well, ears cushioned as they drowned under the smooth sound of Lila Mac’s silvery voice seeping from the speakers. It’s a new single, a soft little love song that has wormed its way into his head. He’d caught himself singing the lyrics out loud more than once, voice timid and untested, unlike the surety of Lila’s. Perhaps he should practise, upload a cover online for the hell of it. Yoongi had suggested it the first time he'd heard Jeongguk sing. But Jeongguk always felt like something was missing in his voice. You don't just have to sound nice, your voice had to make others feel things too; he could never replicate the tender sentiment coating Lila's voice. It's rather difficult to sing about something you’ve never really felt. That something in question being love.

“Yah! Jeongguk!”

The song in his ears drifts to a pause, headphones dropping to rest on his shoulders. The last line lingers, a faint wandering melody.

this could be easy

if i let it all go

promise you'll see me

even what i can't let you know

but im afraid

im afraid

im afraid

i'll make you my home

“Jeongguk! Do me a favour, yeah?” Yoongi yells again, impatient as he always is. Jeongguk twists, unsuspecting of what awaits him, ready to yell back that if Yoongi wants him to work, he might as well hire him. But that thought evaporates as fast as it formed into existence.  It punches him square in the heart, knees nothing but mush the moment your eyes lock. Yoongi’s beside you, wearing the beat-up Pink Floyd shirt Jeongguk knows has a hole in the armpit, his elbows propped on the battered wooden counter. There’s a band sweeping his dark hair out of his face, fierce eyebrows on display as his gaze settles on Jeongguk, a command already falling from the tip of his rosebud lips, unaware of the inner turmoil wrecking through his friend. “Run to the back and get the Aaliyah vinyl you see on the boxes for me. Make it quick too.”

Jeongguk nods, tongue tying itself into knots in his throat. It gets immeasurable worse when you smile at him, a dainty little thing, your eyes luring him to the edge of a cliff he wasn’t aware he was standing at until a moment ago. He doesn’t know how his legs move, pumping forward even though his vision is swimming with shock. He keeps you in his peripheral, taking in your lax choice in fashion; baggy jeans like him, beat-up sneakers and a tote bag with a multitude of colourful pins stabbed into it. A sudden part of him longs to know what they mean to you. Or whether you simply like them because they’re pretty. But he forces himself forward, picking up on the pleasant tone of your voice as you turn to chat to Yoongi, words too low to make out thanks to the bungled ceiling fan whirring in the air.

(He told Yoongi he should hire someone to properly fix it. Yoongi said no).

He finds the record exactly where he's told it is, grip delicate as he brings to you. A special order, Yoongi states as he rings up your total, the two of you murmuring together. Jeongguk drifts aside, exiled from your relationship, feeling unsure of the bones in his body, his stance, his presence. He yearns to move forward, lean in to your space, ask for your name, maybe learn the feeling of your hand in his. He doesn’t know who you are; he knows all the regulars by now and he would never forget a face like yours. He tries not to stare, plucking through a stack by the register so he wouldn’t appear odd. You probably already think that of him, considering the way he choked on his words when you took the record from his hands, tone amiable as you thanked him. His heart thumped so hard he was sure the both of you heard it, shattering his rib cage with every wild hard beat.

It’s with the mellifluous tinkling of the entrance bell that he watches you leave, mind plastered with every image of you he’d committed to memory. He feels weird for thinking about you like that, his heart stuck on a pretty face with no name. But he can’t help it. There’s a clamminess in his palms as he rocks against the counter-top, blatantly ignoring the aggravated glare Yoongi shoots his direction. He’s too busy mustering up the courage to ask, tongue dry and heavy in his mouth. But his heart wants too much to allow him to wait, pushing past his discordant emotions.

“Hyung, who was that?”