#wc: >5k

[altarecs]

note: yeah. nice. i love gyu. i'm not gonna say anything else because if i do i'll run my mouth until the character limit is reached but. yeah. i heart kim mingyu...and i guess em, too.

Sit Down

anniversary event [closed]

kim mingyu x reader

prompt(s): getting aroused by the other's jealousy/obsession with them, "Could he/she/they do it like this?”, “you're sexy when you're angry”

word count: 5.1k

warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), fluff, potter!mingyu, they're married, reader discovers jealousy, oral (m.rec), penetration (unprotected!!!), kissing, breast play, clit stimulation, they're nasty as hell idk what to tell you

synopsis: It isn't your fault that you feel this way, especially as you watch her hands trace over your husband's own.

It isn't your fault that you can barely go on with your day with that cursed image replaying in your mind like a broken record.

And it certainly isn't your fault that you find yourself completely naked on your husband's lap while his clay-clad hands cannot touch you.

[a/n]: @highvern at the scene of the crime as always, we all have to thank her for her service as she betas for me and encourages my tomfoolery. enjoy this and let me know your thoughts in the rbs, comments or send me an ask!!!!!

masterlist

The grip you have on the file is proving to be detrimental to the cheap plastic covering. Not that you could blame yourself as you watch your husband through the window of his pottery studio, leaning over to help a student with her discombobulated salad bowl. 

It was a beautiful morning, the beach across from the boardwalk sparingly occupied with delighted tanners and swimmers, the low buzz of waves reaching the shore sending a calming draft across the area. Envious as you were of Mingyu and his impeccable real estate choices, especially right now as your heel clad feet ache to take a dip in the waters, you couldn’t help but feel all the more irked that this was the background the image inside the studio was sitting against. 

Through the large glass windows, Mingyu is pressing his foot over top of his very pretty student’s on the pedal to force the pottery wheel to spin, hands over her own as he guides her fingers to put pressure on the wet clay. A spiteful part of you pushes a thought in your mind, that your husband was attempting to fix a lost cause, especially when his student seemed quite insistent in her soft smiles and keeping her gaze on the fingers that cover her own, rather than actually fixing the abomination on the pottery wheel. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there by the time he’s done, straightening his back to turn his attention to the other students that make their attempts at their half done projects. Mingyu catches your figure through the window and immediately breaks into a big smile, clay covered hand coming to wave at you. 

Taking it as your cue to walk into the studio, you return neither his gorgeous smile or his occupied wave as you strut through the glass doors. Your husband meets you on the other side of the open space, hands now washed clean as he leans over to place a kiss on your cheek. 

“Hey, you,” he says in greeting, hands drying on a towel. 

All you can think about is if that salad bowl girl can see you, and you thank goodness you wore your nice top today. 

“Here.” You merely push the slightly crumpled file of documents to his chest, jaw set and lips tight. 

“Oh, thanks,” he comments as he grabs the papers pushed towards him, smile dropping a little at your abrupt attitude. “Is everything alright?” 

“Hm? ‘Course,” you answer, adjust the strap of your bag. “I have to get back to work. Be careful about your paperwork next time, I can’t keep making trips across town for this.”

You bite your tongue as soon as you say it, the words tumbling out before you can help it. Can’t keep making trips across town for this? Last time you checked, you were looking for passive excuses to make the trip to your husband’s studio just to see him during the day. 

“Oh.” His brows are furrowed, the frown apparent on his face. “I–I didn’t think you’d be too busy today, you said you’d be done early so—I—nevermind. I’m sorry I pulled you out of work for this, I’ll be careful next time.”

There’s a pang in your heart as you hear him apologise, immediately mad at yourself for going on and ruining his mood. What were you annoyed at? That he was doing his job? 

Your gaze lands behind him where most of his students are occupied with their projects, but just one whose eyes dart between you and Mingyu. 

Taking a step back, you’re about to walk out before you feel him grab your wrist. “D’you wanna have dinner at the new restaurant down the pier after work? We can watch the sunset too, haven’t done that in a while.”

You want to scream yes. Of course you want to watch a beach sunset with your husband. Of course you want to eat at the restaurant you’ve been waiting eagerly for with your husband. And you aren’t entirely sure if this reaction is simply because you’ve been stressed lately, but the sticky feeling is pushing you to make your claim in some way, somehow. 

Biting back another strangely snarky reply, you make an attempt to fix your stoic face and walk back to Mingyu. Leaning up, you kiss the corner of his mouth in what you hope is slightly reassuring. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Kicking off your heels is the first thing you do once you make it back to your desk, taking no time to punch the power on button on your computer. You pull a file from the stack next to you, one that sits at the bottom, with a harder than necessary yank. Bad idea, because as you scramble to stop the pile from tipping over entirely, you can only think of other ways your day could get worse. 

Before the worst of it can hit the floor, you find a second set of hands catching the strewing papers. 

“Thanks, Han,” you say as you attempt to reorganise the documents, taking the extra ones off his hands. 

“Have the laws of physics forsaken you? Or do you just like reorganising paperwork?” Hansol asks, sipping on something from the stupid horse mug Mingyu had made for him in light of his promotion. 

Huffing, you only haphazardly stuff the files to the corner to be done with it, opening the file you need as your computer finally boots up. “Don’t you have manager stuff to do?” 

“Being a manager means I can put off doing manager stuff,” he states. “Besides, I’m taking care of my peers, can you imagine the catastrophe that could’ve been if I didn’t swoop in to save you?”

“Papers on the floor? How catastrophic indeed,” you monotone as you click away at trying to find a particular excel sheet. 

“How was Mingyu?”

Stiffening, you want to curse Hansol at reminding you of the very thing you did not want to think of right now. 

“He was fine.”

“You were back earlier than usual, thought you would’ve had lunch with him.”

That was your plan, but clearly the universe had other ways for you to go about your day. Like thinking about an overly flirty student and her all too oblivious teacher. 

“He…he had a workshop today,” you simply comment. 

“Okay, Elsa, who shoved an ice cube up your ass?” You can hear the sneer in his voice, the judgmental stare. 

Groaning loudly, you can only slam your forehead onto your desk in an all too dramatic fashion. “Can you drop it? Please?”

“Ah,” he drags. “Trouble in paradise. Understood. I will be at my desk if you want to complain about your husband like Margaret from Finance.”

Margaret from Finance. The woman who’s entire catalogue of marital issues would be solved if she and her husband simply spoke to each other once in a while. Perhaps even held hands on occasion. 

You wince as you envision yourself becoming as stuck up and miserable as that, Hansol’s harmless comparison sending you into yet another spiral. It wasn’t that serious, this was all because your brain was stressed, horny and in love. The fact that your husband looked like how he did wasn’t really helping either. 

With a little more aggression than you usually would’ve done with, you attempt to skim through the files as quickly as humanly possible, flicking through the useless filler pages to get to the ones that actually required your attention. 

You send a passive aggressive email to Hansol entailing his job to keep things precise. 

Shoving forkfuls of salad into your mouth, your mouse clicks louder than anyone else in the area, having gone back to change your cursor speed about thrice since you turned your computer on. 

Your phone dings. Closing your eyes, you count to ten before turning to look at the illuminated screen beside you. 

[Gyu <3]: did u have lunch?

[Gyu <3]: i wanted us to get sum together but u zoomed off : (((

[Gyu <3]: im done with my classes for the day. The students were asking ab you earlier when u came in heh

[Gyu <3]: cant wait to see u tonight i looooooveee u <333

God, he makes it hard to stay mad at him. 

Snapping your head back to your monitor, you close your eyes once again as you question the war in your head and chest. Why were you mad at him? There was nothing to be mad about. Did you expect him to go about his day covered in plastic wrap and a neon ‘OFF LIMITS’ sign all day? The ring on his finger was supposed to do the job just fine. 

You sigh as you force yourself to text him back something that wasn’t entirely passive aggressive. Typing and erasing, and typing again and erasing again. A smiley face to seal it into something you were not feeling, and send. 

It’s late in the afternoon by the time you’re done, the sun less blaring as it pours through the office windows. You flick the last file shut, power off your computer and spring up to your feet, immediately gathering your things. Phone, ID, keys, and the last plastic file in your hands, you stalk towards Hansol’s desk and slam the papers next to his computer. 

He nearly chokes on his pocky stick as you spit out your final notes in rapid fire, not caring if you were indecipherable in the slightest. Hansol’s eyebrows remain in the air by the time you’re done, spinning on your heels and walking straight towards the elevators. 

“See you, Monday!” you finally hear him call out and you don’t turn to return his goodbye. Something that might have given you a strike but you could threaten him to take it off all the same. 

Besides, you had somewhere to be, and the idea churning in your brain didn’t seem like it wanted to wait. 

The sun is setting by the time you get to the beach boardwalk, climbing the steps to the line of establishments that overlook the significantly more occupied shore. Everything is perfect. Warm just the right amount, the sunlight forcing everything in its path into an incandescent glow. 

What you would’ve given for a nice lie on one of the beach chairs to release an entire day’s worth of tense muscles. But alas, you trudge straight down the boardwalk and walk the way to Mingyu’s studio. When you’re nearly there, you see the glass door of the studio open from a distance, immediately recognising the part timer leaving for the day. 

You cross paths as he walks towards you in the opposite direction, lighting up as he recognises you through your work attire. 

“Oh, hi!” Chan chirps, arm raised in a half wave. 

“Hi! Clocking out?” you ask as you stop to greet him. 

“Uh—yeah, Mingyu let me go early.” He’s grinning. 

“Good to hear. You enjoy the rest of your night, alright?” 

“Yeah–uh, you too!” he stutters once again as he continues to smile wide. You think nothing of it and continue your short walk to where the studio doors were. 

Coming round, you find the large glass door and walls have been blocked out with the blinds, the blaring CLOSED sign right at the entrance. 

You stand there in front of the door like a fool, taking a deep breath, eyes closed as you gain your bearings. Grabbing the shiny handle, you push the unlocked glass open. 

The bell at the top jingles, signalling a customer, and you watch your husband sitting at one of the turntables, clearly occupied. The studio is completely empty except for him, the whirr of the spinning table coming to a halt as he turns to tell whoever came in that they were closed for the day. 

It’s revolting. He’s wearing his usual black tee, stained with months of splattered clay, his hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it before he started his project. The sun seeps in through the neglected edges of the top of the glass walls, past the blinds that cover most of them, casting him in an unbelievable light. It’s revolting, he’s done nothing and it’s making your head reel; revolting. 

“We’re—oh, you’re early!” There it is, that stupid smile he can’t help but flash at every last person he sees, directed straight at you laced with nothing but love. 

Reaching behind you, you push the metal lock on the door to click it shut, locking the both of you inside, and the rest of the beach and boardwalk out. Right after, you begin to kick off your heels. 

“I already made the reservations for an hour from now, let me change and wash up so we can go to the beach till—”

“Sit down.”

He was halfway out of his seat as he was talking, ready to leave his half done work on the turntable to leave with you. Your words come out firm, a strange tone like you were giving him a command. 

It works, and the shock has him immediately falling back into his chair. The force pushes the chair away from the turn tables, now half facing you.  

Dropping your bag, you shuck your long coat off and leave it on the floor. Eyeing his hands, they’re covered in wet clay, suspended away from his body so as to not ruin his clothes more than they already are, speckled with dried clay and paint. 

He recovers quickly, confused as he watches you fiddle with the buttons on your bottoms, rising out of his chair once again. 

“What are you—” 

“I said,'' you grunt as you finally push your bottoms down so they hit the floor. “Sit down.” 

The shift in his face makes it obvious it has clicked in his head, staring at you as you walk towards him in just your blouse as the situation escalates faster than he can keep up with. 

“Right now? Can you at least let me—”

Through his blabbering you’ve reached him and swung a leg over his lap, seating yourself on his clothed thighs as he moves his hands away, making sure not to get clay all over your blouse. 

His hands may be occupied in a different sense, but you choose to busy yours in other ways. Taking his face in your hands, you lock your mouths in an open mouthed kiss, rendering him speechless. 

Taking no time to think, nor to let him think, you push your hips down to meet his own in a deep grind, panty clad pussy making contact with the rough of his jeans right over his bulge. The feeling is so sudden, spiking throughout your system as you hear him take a sharp inhale still pressed into your mouth.

That was you. That was you getting that reaction out of him, no matter how small it was. The thought has you gripping the back of his head, fingers making home in the short strands of his hair as you let go from the kiss. 

Wasting no time, you push his head back and stick your tongue out, licking a stripe from the base of his throat right up to his jaw. He shivers beneath you, and it only muddles your mind even more. 

You can feel his bulge beneath you growing larger and larger by the second, pressing into your inner thigh as his breathing grows exponentially heavier in your ear. Locking eyes with him, you trail your other hand down to graze over the front of his shirt, pressing into the bumps and ridges that lie beneath.

Reaching his buckle, you hook your finger underneath the gap and pull at the metal. As you let go, it snaps back into place with a resounding cling! Keeping the eye contact, you drift even lower, your fingers find the growing tent in his jeans as you cup the bulge. Moving your hands in the way you know he likes it, you curb your speed to drag out the feeling for him. 

“Fuck,” you hear him curse lowly. 

It’s becoming impossible for him to keep his composure, especially to keep his hands away from your body that sits on him. He gets close, fingers brushing the white of your blouse in a moment of confusion, instant brown on the surface as his wet, clay hands ruin your shirt. 

“If you really can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you say, halting your movements on his crotch. “I guess this’ll have to go too.”

Not bothering to undo all the buttons, you tug the first couple ones unfastened and pull your blouse over your head, throwing it somewhere behind his head. Quickly, you reach behind and unclasp your bra, flinging it away in the same general area. You’re now almost entirely naked while he remains clothed head to toe. 

Your nipples harden as they meet the air in the studio, Mingyu’s eyes set on your mounds as he takes them in. 

Before he has the opportunity to do anything, you slip off of your seat in his lap, knees slamming the floors in your haste as you kneel before him. Hands flying, you tug at the buckle of his belt, undoing it despite your hurried motions. 

“You’ve been off today, are you sure everything’s alright?” Mingyu asks from, still wide eyed as he watches helplessly as you yank his jeans enough to reveal the final layer of his underwear. It doesn’t take you long to take his entire length out of there too, needing him in front of you.

“Do not ask me about my feelings when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“What on earth–shit!”

You’ve taken his now fully hard length into your hand, licking a strip from the base of his cock up to the bulbous head. The tip of your tongue teases the head ever so lightly, and Mingyu watches as his head and your tongue match in their reds. He watches the way your tongue dips into the pooling white of his precum, pushing into his slit as the tip of your tongue wiggles slightly. 

The fact that he cannot touch only heightens the effects of your teasing, clayed hands balling into fists just to feel something on his fingertips. 

Soon, your lips have wrapped around the head of cock as you let it rub against the beginnings of the inside of your soft mouth. Letting go, you take him in again, this time running your tongue over his slit, feeling his hips twitch beneath you as you continue to take him in and out, only to take him back in again. 

In one motion, you sink your mouth lower onto his dick, feeling the head of his cock run against the roof of your mouth. Mingyu hisses audibly amidst his very loud and heavy breathing. 

When you feel him hit the beginnings of your throat, you pull back, bringing your hand to curve around the base to cover what you couldn’t fit, pumping him up and down as you continue to pull his member in and out of your mouth. 

He’s moaning loud, the echoes resonating off the walls as you hear your name slip from his mouth over, and over, and over again. It only encourages you as you move down deeper, his cock touching the back of your throat in more familiarity than before. 

Everything is wet; the spit and precum turning into a shiny gleam on his cock and on the lower half of your face, the heat between your legs that makes you feel oh so empty. Clenching around nothing, you resist the urge to bring a hand down to relieve yourself. 

“Are you ovulating or something, why are you suddenly…suddenly, fucking hell I don’t know.” 

Releasing him from your mouth with a loud pop, you rear your head to look up at him, the lower half of your face covered in a wet glisten. Your hand continues to pump him as you watch his face remain contorted in pleasure.

In a daze, you don’t realise what you’re saying as you blab. “Could she do it like this?”

“What?”

“Could she do it like this?” you repeat like a mantra, needing to hear his answer. “Could she make you feel like this?”

“What are you talking about?” It’s taking Mingyu every bit of his soul to form coherent words. 

In one swift motion, you’ve hoisted yourself back on your feet, nails digging into his thighs through his pants. 

Hovering over his lap, you take his shaft once again, but this time you push your panties aside with your hand and bring it close to your heat, brushing the head of his cock over your wet folds, using him to feel the pleasure that builds. 

“God, you’re so wet,” he blabs as he throws his head back at the feeling. “I wanna touch you, fuck I need to get this clay off, I need to touch you.”

He’s brought his mouth to latch onto your nipple, evoking a loud gasp from you as feel him circle your nub with his tongue before sucking. Letting go, he sticks his tongue out as his only weapon, flicking it repeatedly as you continue to rub his wet cock over your equally wet cunt. 

Lining him up with your entrance, you sink onto his head as you let out a loud moan, feeling the tip stretch you out in the familiar way you’ve been craving all day. It’s like your brain is buffering as you recover from the bout of pleasure, barely registering that he’s continued to assault your other nipple now. 

Your free hand comes to toy with your relieved tit, twisting your spit covered nipple between your fingers as his dick pushes further and further inside you. 

Fully sheathed, you pull your husband’s face away from your breast as you bring his lips to your own, kissing him deep as you clench around his hard cock.

“Don’t. Do that,” he hisses against your lips, hands suddenly closing in your waist, so close before he realises he can’t. “‘M gonna fucking come, I’m so serious.”

The news is enlightening, especially as it encourages you to lift your hips ever so slightly, and curl back back down in an initial thrust. Again, and again, and again till you’re moving your hips at a swift pace, striking down on his length as you both moan into each other's mouths.

The feeling is electrifying, and the borderline pornographic noises your husband is making is only making it all the more easier to gush around his member, to move your hips faster as you feel the knot in your abdomen tighten and loosen. 

“You feel amazing, so fucking good,” he grunts as he mouths the column of your throat. “My baby, my darling, my wife.”

And when the burn in your thighs becomes more than just a mental battle, your hips slowing despite the mind boggling feeling and the choked sobs that come out of you, you feel Mingyu’s hips lift from the chair he’d been trapped in, pushing into you instead. 

His still dirty hands have taken hold of the top of the back legs of the chair, helping himself push off his seat to thrust into you rapidly. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” he says. “Rub your clit for me.”

Who are you to deny him, one hand on one of his broad shoulders while the other flies down to the mess that’s becoming of your cunt. Rubbing two fingers over your clit, you throw your head back in a loud moan as you feel yourself beginning to close in.

Mingyu is watching the apex of your thighs; the way your fingers work against your swollen clit, the way his dick disappears inside you, a ring of sinful white foaming at the base of his cock. He twitches inside you, a clear indication that he was also close. 

Your breasts are a sight to behold, and the scene before him is enough to make him bust entirely. Bouncing tits that he cannot touch, perfectly red, puffed pussy he cannot touch, the beautiful curves and dips of your waist and thigh, barely illuminated by the setting sun, that he cannot touch. He curses the wretched idea to make a last minute thing on the turntable before you arrived, curses the fact that he should be able to feel all of you. 

He might lose his mind, and he does when your walls clamp down on him like a trap, your moans so loud he’s sure he’ll be hearing them in his ears for weeks. 

“G–Gyu, I’m cumming,” you whimper through the pure brain fog. 

Mingyu fucks you through your orgasm, finally letting himself release his own load into you when he simply can’t take it anymore, dick spasming as he shoots white hot cum into your hole. The added slick makes it easier to slip in and out faster as his orgasm holds out far longer than it usually does, both of your hips twitching like you’d been zapped as you come down from your highs. 

It’s become near impossible to hold up your own weight, slumping against his large frame as you unclench every pinched muscle and joint. Forehead on his shoulder, you take pleasure in the afterglow, breathing in his scent with your nose pressed into the sliver of skin that reveals past his shirt. Sweat, the earthy odour of clay, and the calm familiarity of him.

“I don’t know what I did to have you acting like this,” he breathes into your ear. “But whatever it is, I need to do it more often.”

Sluggishly, you lift your head to look at him. His head is leaned back on the chair, face glowing as you stare into the eyes you fell in love with so long ago. 

“You haven’t done anything,” you sigh. “It was…stupid.”

“That’s the worst thing you could say to me right now.”

You whine, rolling your neck. “What do you want me to tell you?”

He stares. “Who do I need to thank for creating this monster?”

It was a joke, clearly, but you couldn’t help but feel the little pool of pride swell within you anyway. 

“Salad bowl girl.”

“And I’m supposed to know what that means? Do you want a salad bowl? I can make you one.”

“No. The girl in your class this morning with that god awful salad bowl,” you huff. “It looked offensive, she was too busy burning holes into you.”

“Oh no,” he whispers, eyes wide, mouth turning it the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. “My pretty little wife is jealous.”

“If you’re gonna rub it in, I'm getting off.” You try to remove yourself from his lap, slipping his now soft member out of you. 

You’re stopped when you feel the two points of his elbows locking you at the waist, pushing you down. He’s grinning like a fool. “You’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry—”

“Your hello was my dick in your mouth.”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I’d fire myself in the kiln before I ever say that.” He locks his elbows harder, pulling you closer. “Besides, I think this means I’ve won.”

“Won what?”

“Like you’ve never noticed Chan looking at you like…like he’s got some puppy dog crush on you. I’ve won the battle of composure.” 

You guffaw, “What are you—stop it, he does not!”

He merely leans forward and kisses you, “I don’t blame him. My wife is the most gorgeous thing anyone could ever see.” 

Grabbing him by the elbows, you break free of his hold and get off of his lap, attempting to gather the clothes you’ve scattered across the studio. 

“Can you at least help me put my dick back inside my pants, these are my cleaner jeans!”

Snapping the elastic of your bra back on, pantied adjusted, you walk back to him. He’s looking at you with those stupid stars in his eyes and it makes it hard to focus on readjusting his jeans for him. 

Leaning down, you take in your hands his still wet cock, smothered in your spit and arousal, complete with his own release. You can’t help it when you dip further to take his head into your mouth, the groan coming from above you near automatic. 

“Oh, you’re evil.”

You grin as you wrap your mouth in a harsher suck, feeling him harden slowly, still quicker than you’d thought. Giving him a few more generous sucks, you run your tongue over his slit before moving back. 

He’s breathing heavily, leaning close as you pull his waistband up. “You know, they say you should lay down afterwards if you want to be successful. I think we might have to go again later on a real bed to do the trick.”

“You can stay horny, I’m getting dressed for some real food.” 

“I think we kinda need to be horny to do what we’re trying to do,” he lowtones, moving his face back and forth to meet your drifting eyes. 

You sigh once again, “Why can’t just getting off birth control be enough?”

“Are you not having fun?”

“I’m literally buttoning your pants for you, it was fun until now.”

Mingyu raises his hands in both surrender and pointed regard, the clay now dried and cracking over his hands and forearms. “I digress.”

 It annoys you that he’s right, so you lean in to give him a kiss as a distraction. It works. 

“It’s alright,” he smiles into your kiss. “This is the one thing I won’t mind breaking my back for.”

The giggle escapes you before you can help it, and you feel him kiss at your cheeks, placing one last one on the tip of your nose.

“Now, if my lovely wife will let me wash my hands…?”

“Go,” you chuckle.

“We should name our baby Salad Bowl in this honour.” He’s way at the handwash station by now, water running as he scrubs off all the dried up clay.

“So sad our baby will have to grow up without a father.”

 “I love you,” he yells. 

“I’ll be sure to tell our child.” 

“You’re insufferable,” he says, suddenly behind you as you pull on your blouse. Wet hands grasp your waist and you squeal at the feeling. 

“Mingyu!” 

“I love you,” he drags, spinning you around to face him. 

“I thought I was insufferable.”

Your husband groans, simply pulling you into him with his own two hands to kiss you. 

“I think we’re late for our reservation.”

“You’d better hurry then.” You eye his clay speckled shirt.

“Don’t miss me.” He turns around to find his cleaner shirt, all while you drift over to see the incomplete project still on his table.

A mug still clay-brown and half done, but one that looks suspiciously similar to your favourite one you broke last week. 

[iotnonii-dormant]

[neopuppy]

SISTER….I’M PICKLED!!!!!!!!

[merthurglompfest]

Title: I Told You So (Prat) By: fluffypoato Gift for: a13merlinfan Rating: T Word Count/Medium: 2,171 Warning(s): No Archive Warnings

Summary: Tale as old as time: Arthur is kidnapped (again) by foes who wish to enacted their revenge on King Uther via harm his son and heir (again), and Merlin has to go and save his dollophead of a prince before he gets himself killed (A-GAIN)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63936247

[altarecs]

note: i fear that the seungkwan brainrot continues despite me telling myself i'd force myself out of it after writing my behemoth (aka my proudest work.) thanks to ren for keeping the brainrot deeply ingrained in my brain.

office hours — bsk

♡ pairing: boo seungkwan x afab!reader ♡ theme: college au, nonidol!au ♡ wc: ~6.2k ♡ warnings: swearing, smut, reader is gender neutral but wears a skirt, fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (stay safe y’all), creampie, petnames (f. receiving - baby), fluff at the end if you squint ♡ a/n: this whole thing is a highly self-indulgent fic so if reader is down horrendous for bsk… u know why

‧₊˚✩彡 moodboard by @myhimbomingi ‧₊˚✩彡

You fucking hate Tuesdays. 

There’s nothing actually wrong with your Tuesday schedule - on the contrary it’s probably the best day of the week in terms of lectures and extracurriculars. Your first class of the day, Developmental Psychology, doesn’t start til 11am, so you get to sleep in - always a win in your book. Afterwards you have an hour and a half break, usually spent by eating lunch in the student center and then a visit to the campus library to get some studying done. Then your 2pm Discussion for your Intro to Fiction class, followed by yoga at the gym - and since your work-study job at the Cognitive Research Lab doesn’t have you scheduled for Tuesdays, you get to go home right after. All in all, a pretty laid-back day in your hectic college life.

Except for that stupid 2pm Discussion. 

As a Psychology major you didn’t anticipate having to take any Literature courses, but you needed to fill an elective and Intro to Fiction had a reputation for being a fun, low-stakes course. It also fit conveniently into your Fall Semester schedule, so you signed up. Professor Mendoza turned out to be super nice and never gives any bullshit extra homework, and the assigned books have been surprisingly enjoyable. No, none of that is the problem. 

The problem is the hot TA you’ve inadvertently fallen in love with. 

Your first encounter with Seungkwan had been a bit embarrassing - the first week of the semester you somehow went to the completely wrong building, and even with speed walking you arrived to Discussion about five minutes late. You tried to sneak in quietly but the loud, creaky door hinge had other plans. Twenty-some pairs of eyes turned to stare at the idiot latecomer, but the pair you locked onto were the soft brown ones surrounded by long dark eyelashes, belonging to the blazer-wearing grad student standing at the front of the classroom. 

You would’ve been embarrassed in this situation anyway, but the unexpected eye contact made your stomach drop and your face turn hot. You stood there for a few moments too long, before muttering a feeble “sorry” under your breath as you made your way to the only empty seat in the room - which of course was located at the very front, immediately before the TA. You quickly took your seat and pulled out a notebook (not even the right one, but you were too frazzled to notice). The TA, whose name you missed due to being late, resumed his lecture. You started writing down everything he was saying - definitely not necessary, but you were doing your best to focus without looking up. 

Your face eventually stopped burning up, but this classroom was particularly warm and stuffy. You set down your pen and took your cardigan off, hanging it over the back of the chair. Mindlessly looking up, you look at the TA for the first time since sitting down. He too had discarded his outerwear - the muted brown herringbone blazer now laying aside on the teacher’s desk upon which he was leaning. His dark brown shoes matched his dark pants - which weren’t tight but certainly hugged his thighs nicely, but you tried not to think about that - and he was currently rolling up the sleeves of his medium gray button down - and you definitely tried not to think about that. You put your head back down and focused on your note-taking, transcribing everything without actually processing any of what he said. This was all very strange for you - sure some of your past TAs had been nice looking, but why was this particular one making you this flustered? 

The clock ticked on at an unbearably slow pace. You took your notes and paid no attention, not joining in on the conversation even once. You just have to make it through the hour, you kept telling yourself. But the hour seemed to never end. 

You snap out of it as the TA finally wraps up the class. 

“Don’t forget to read through chapter 5,” he reminds everyone. You realize you don’t even know which book you’re supposed to be reading, but it’s too late to ask now - you’ve looked like enough of a fool today already. Quickly packing your bag, you try to make your escape but as you are heading toward the door the TA calls out to you. Shit.  

“I just need to get your name - for attendance,” he tells you as you turn back around. 

“Oh… yeah,” you reply. You silently curse yourself for how stupid you sound. You tell him your name and he makes note of your attendance in his notes. You try to escape again but not before he sticks his hand out to you. 

“Seungkwan,” he introduces himself. You make the mistake of looking into those big round doe eyes again. He was even more beautiful up close. SHIT. 

You shake his hand, trying to do so as quickly as possible, but he has a very strong grip. 

“Nice to have you in class,” he says warmly. 

“Nicetomeetyoutoo!” you reply, taking your hand back and turning to dart out the door before he can get another word in. 

You don’t look back, so you don’t see how his eyes are glued to you as you hurriedly exit the classroom. 

—

You thought after a few classes you’d get over your dumb little crush on your TA, but four weeks into the semester and it’s only gotten worse. Now that you know where the stupid building is, you always make sure to arrive to Discussion early so you can snag a seat in the very back - as far away from him as you can manage - but this only allows your mind to wander. Watching him from the back of the class, you’ve unintentionally memorized his subtle habits: the way he takes his glasses case out of his bag at the beginning of each class, opening it and wiping the lenses clean with a cloth before placing them on his face with two hands, delicately moving his hair off to the side as not to obscure his vision; the way he leans against the desk, resting his weight on his palms as he listens to the students engage in conversation about the current book; the way he holds his well-worn copy in his left hand when referencing the text, flipping through the dog-eared pages filled with highlights and notes written in ink in the margins, laying the book on the desk pages-down to preserve his place when he goes to write important points on the chalkboard; the way he carefully erases the board as not to create a cloud of dust, wiping his hands together away from his body as not to get chalk on his perfectly pressed clothes; the way he focuses so intently when somebody is speaking, maintaining eye contact and nodding his head slightly, giving them his full attention.

That last one is why you never say a word in that class. You’re pretty sure you would combust on the spot.

Unfortunately, your entire grade for the Discussion portion of the course is based on actually engaging in the discussion - and based on your participation thus far you were right on track for getting an entire zero. I’ll say something next week, you tell yourself - then next week rolls around and you don’t say a damn thing. And repeat. You just hope Seungkwan doesn’t say anything to you. 

But he does. 

You freeze upon hearing your name as you’re gathering your belongings at the end of session. You look up and meet his gaze, doing your best to maintain a relaxed demeanor. It’s only a little eye contact, just chill. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” you respond nonchalantly. He gives you a bit of an inquisitive look, so you add on a polite smile.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t participated at all during discussion so far - you know that’s what I have to grade you on, right?”

“Oh yeah, um- I’ve been… I’ll work on that.”

The look on his face tells you he’s not convinced. “I graded your first essay - you showed exemplary comprehension and your analysis was one of the best ones I’ve read.”

You feel your stomach do a flip. The sudden praise caught you off guard. 

“Oh uh, thank you,” you stammer, trying not to display how flustered you are but undoubtedly failing. 

You make the mistake (again) of making direct eye contact with Seungkwan. It lasts maybe two seconds, but feels like time has slowed; the world has stopped; nothing matters but you and him, standing alone in this room together. You’ve never wanted to impulsively kiss somebody this bad in your life. 

You force yourself back to reality. 

Seungkwan continues. “But, if you’re having some trouble with this particular novel,” he says as he holds up his book, “you can always stop by my office hours with any questions.”

You glance at his copy of Dracula. It’s a standard size paperback, but it looks small in his hand - a hand so strong and defined, yet elegant, fingers long and graceful…

Nope. Not gonna think about that right now. 

“I hold them every Thursday from 3-5pm - in this building, room 430. Top floor - all the way at the end of the hallway.” 

You nod - looking at him without making direct eye contact. “Cool cool. I’ll uh… Thanks, I might take you up on that.”

“Of course,” he replies matter-of-factly. He pauses, then adds with a slight smile, “It is my job after all.” 

Picking up his coat, he heads toward the door, and you follow. He holds the door open for you; as you pass by him you catch the scent of his cologne: woody but fresh, notes of patchouli and bergamot. You utter a soft “Thank you”. He nods chivalrously. 

Exiting the discussion room, he starts heading in the opposite direction as you. “See ya around!” you blurt out suddenly. He pauses - turning over his shoulder, he nods once more at you. “Have a good one,” he responds cordially. Maybe you’re seeing things, but his eyes seem to linger on you for a split second longer than one would expect. 

You watch him walk away for as long as you can get away with without being detected. 

As you make your way to the gym you ruminate over what he told you. Office hours. You didn’t really see a need to go - you weren’t actually having any trouble with the book. And of course office hours are open to all students, but the chance that you might be alone in a room with him again, having a one-on-one conversation…

You try to push the thought aside. You arrive to yoga, prepared to clear your head - but you spend the whole class thinking about Seungkwan. You head home after class, sitting on the bus with your headphones in, blasting your favorite album - but still your mind dwells on your TA. You get home and sit down to continue the novel, reading the next chapter - but you quickly give up. You’re absorbing none of the story, so you’d have to reread it anyway. 

Maybe you will go to office hours after all. 

—

Thursday. You’ve been trying not to think about Seungkwan’s office hours, but of course it’s just the white bear experiment all over again - the harder you tried, the more you ended up thinking about it. Your last class - Statistics - ends at 3:30pm, so you have all day to debate whether to go or not. Damn him for holding them so late in the day. 

Your Stats professor could not be a more uninteresting lecturer if he tried. You spend most of the class stifling your yawns as you do your best to pay attention, to no avail. Finally, the clock hits 3:30 and class is dismissed. You have to make your decision now - so naturally you end up going to the library to procrastinate said decision and mull it over some more. 

After many wasted minutes trying (and failing) to get some homework done, you check the time: 4:19pm. With a sigh you open up your book to leaf through the pages, looking for something you could make up some bullshit question about. Nothing. Mildly peeved, you open your laptop and pull up trusty sparknotes.com. All the discussion questions seem too juvenile, and you’re pretty sure you’d manage to make a fool of yourself if you tried to ask a question you already knew the answer to. 

You decide to abandon your plan to drop by with specific questions and instead just hope and pray there will be other students there so you can simply join in on their conversations. If there aren’t… you’ll just have to figure that out when you get there. 

You make your way to the Literature Studies building, realizing upon your arrival there is no elevator - and your destination is on the top floor. Cursing the building for being old, you trek up the stairs in search of room 430, which - as he mentioned - appears to be at the very end of the hallway. Nearly there, you abruptly decide to backtrack to the restroom you passed to check yourself in the mirror real quick, which turns out to be a mistake because now you’re hyperaware of how anxious (and for some reason, frumpy) you look right now. Nice going you idiot. 

Doing your best to make yourself presentable, you tussle your hair a bit and fix the collar of your shirt back to its proper position. You decide it’s good enough and go to exit the bathroom, pausing when you remember that you have a tinted lip balm you threw in your bag last minute. Rummaging through your bag for a solid 20 seconds, you find the tube at the very bottom and hastily apply it to your lips. Taking a step back, you take a final glance at your reflection - the balm is neutral-colored and fairly subtle, but makes you look slightly less dead. You’ll take the W. 

You make your way back down the hallway toward room 430. Approaching the end of the hall, you hear voices engaged in conversation. You pull out your phone to quickly check the time: 22 minutes of office hours remaining. Good enough, I guess. You’re three steps away from the doorway when you hear a familiar voice chime in - a voice soft and soothing, confident without being cocky. You proceed to enter the office before you have a chance to process how it’s making you feel. 

You find yourself in a room small yet cozy - bookshelves built into the wall that go all the way up to the ceiling, stacked with endless literature: many classics you’ve heard of, many others you haven’t. There’s no overhead lighting, but two antique-ish looking floor lamps illuminate the room with a warm-toned glow. An old, large mahogany desk fills nearly half the room, its accompanying chair vacant. Two fellow classmates are seated in the two smaller chairs facing the dark leather loveseat upon which your TA is currently sitting - reclined, one leg over the other knee, hand on the open book laying face down on the couch next to him. The three faces turn to look at you as you enter, bringing their conversation to a halt. You fucking hate being collectively perceived in any circumstance, but something about the intimacy of the room makes this particular situation even worse than usual. You feel your face start to turn warm but you quickly shove the embarrassment back down. Not today. 

Seungkwan greets you amiably, your name sounding sweet in his mellow voice. “Glad you could make it! Come on in, have a seat.” He picks up the paperback by his side and sets it on his lap, motioning for you to sit next to him. 

Right. Next. To. Him. 

Ignoring the million panic alarms going off in your head, you force a small smile and take your seat. The couch is even smaller than it seemed - there’s maybe two feet between you and him. You’re greeted with the inviting scent of his cologne. 

The two students resume their discussion. You sit there mostly in silence, nodding along, trying not to fixate on Seungkwan’s closeness. But it’s hard to focus on anything other than that - like, really hard.

The twenty-ish minutes pass rather quickly, and the conversation that you’ve contributed nothing to starts to wrap up. The two other students begin packing their bags. You pull out your phone to check the time - 4:57pm. A sense of relief washes over you as you’ll be forced to leave now - no more sitting there anxiously not knowing what to say - but you’re also feeling a little sulky about leaving so soon. You politely say goodbye back to your classmates, who are already on their way out the door. You go to put on your jacket only to discover you never took it off (no wonder it felt so warm in here). Grabbing your book and tossing it in your backpack, you hurry to leave as well before you manage to do or say something to embarrass yourself. 

“Bye! Thank you!” you say cheerily as you step out the door.

“Y/n?”

You stop in your tracks. You turn around to face Seungkwan, who is still sitting on the couch, reclined, with his arm now laying across the back where you just were. That makes you feel a lot of things, which you promptly ignore.

“Yeah?” you reply, hoping a smile will cover your nervousness.

“I believe you took my book.”

You stand there for a moment, confused, before you realize you never took your own copy out. The one you hastily threw into your bag was his. So much for not embarrassing yourself.

“Oh my god I’m SO sorry!!” you blurt out, swinging your backpack around and hurrying to retrieve it.

“It’s alright,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I did set it right next to you.”

You grab his copy out of your bag and hold it out to him sheepishly. He stands up and takes the book in his hand, his fingers brushing yours slightly. You’ve never been electrocuted, but you’re pretty sure what just jolted through your body was a similar sensation.

“Did you have any questions about the book?” he asks before you can bolt out the door. “You didn’t say much in our discussion today-” You open your mouth to apologize again, but he gently puts his hand up to stop you. “I just want to make sure I can help you if you came here with something specific in mind.” 

“Oh, um…” You hesitate, fiddling with your coat sleeve. You decide to tell the truth.  

“Honestly, not really. I kinda just came here to get an idea of how I can participate during class. Cuz, y’know. Don’t really want a zero.”

Seungkwan nods. “Your essays have been very good, I know you’re a highly capable student.” 

You try not to blush. You know he’s just talking about your coursework, but accepting compliments is not your forté. 

“I’m just… not a literature student, so I’m not used to taking classes like these. I guess I just get a little nervous that I’m gonna say something stupid.” You’re not sure why you’re telling him all this. 

“As long as you’ve read and understood the text, you won’t sound stupid - I promise.” 

You look down at the floor. Maybe these are normal things for TAs to say to students, but the fact that you’re kind of in love with him is not helping right now. 

“Besides,” he continues, “I’m the one grading you. I assure you you’ll get a good grade as long as you participate.”

“Well, that’s good news,” you say with a contented smile. You do feel reassured by his words. “Thanks again,” you say, as you turn to leave. 

“Oh, and y/n?”

You lock eyes with him, a recurring habit you seem to be unable to quit. 

“If you ever can’t make my office hours, feel free to email me. I’m sure we can find another time to meet one-on-one.”

One-on-one???

“Oh cool, I… appreciate that.” Does he say that to all his students?? He must, right? Don’t be delusional…

He nods courteously. “See you in class.”

“You too!” you add brightly as you finally head out the door. This time you do look back to see him still looking at you, with an ambiguous look on his face that you cannot decipher.

For the rest of the week, for once, you find yourself looking forward to Tuesday.

—

Tuesday. You resume your usual very-back-of-the-room spot for Discussion - but this time you finally engage in the class’ conversation. You still feel kinda dumb about it, but your TA’s promise of giving you a good grade so long as you participate sticks with you. Besides, who gives a shit what the other students think of you. There is only one person in that room whose opinion you care about, and you seem to have his approval, for reasons unclear to you. Maybe you are just a decent student. But the fact that there’s maybe something else there… You don’t let yourself develop delusions of grandeur, but there’s no crime in being cautiously optimistic. 

On Thursday you find yourself back at office hours, this time arriving a bit earlier - though much to your chagrin the two other students from last time are there again. You’re not sure exactly what you were hoping for if it was just you alone, especially considering you still don’t have any specific questions about the book, but you were kind of hoping it would happen anyway. But alas, you partake in office hours with company. You actually find yourself enjoying these literary discussions a bit, now that you (sort of) know how to engage with them properly.

And so you become a regular at Seungkwan’s office hours - Thursday afternoons quickly becoming the highlight of your week. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happens between you two - and there’s always other students there whenever you attend - but you don’t see any harm in enjoying your time spent with him. 

Per usual, though, as finals approach more and more students start attending as well. One week you show up at 3pm sharp, only to find five students already there asking questions about their essays. You acknowledge that it’s probably just wishful thinking, but he does seem genuinely pleased to see you - pausing his conversation briefly to greet you, your name spoken warmly with a smile on his face. You make a mental note that he doesn’t greet anyone else who enters by name.

Seungkwan maintains a very patient and polite composure, but you get the sense that he is rather irked at the several students who are more or less trying to get him to write part of their essays for them. You chat for a few minutes with a friendly classmate you’ve become acquainted with, but ultimately you both give up on trying to talk to the TA and decide to leave. You sneak a quick glance back as you exit, catching Seungkwan’s eye right before you’re out of his line of sight. Though perhaps you weren’t so sneaky, because once you’re in the hallway your classmate nudges you with her elbow and teases, “Ooooh you have a crush on him don’t you?”

You scoff. “Oh please.”

“No seriously, he looked like a sad puppy seeing you go. You should ask him out.”

You roll your eyes and give her a “Yeah, right,” before casually changing the subject. But her comment sticks with you, and for days your mind keeps coming back to it. You’re hesitant to jump to conclusions, but the fact that she noticed it too… Perhaps you will shoot your shot after all. 

—

Taking advantage of the fact that you didn’t get a chance to speak with him during his regular office hours, you decide to take Seungkwan up on his offer. You did rewrite the email about 15 times, erase it repeatedly, and almost give up entirely, but in the end you came up with a message you deemed solidly good enough:

Hi Seungkwan, I was wondering if you have any availability to meet to discuss the current essay. I have a few questions that I feel would be easier to convey in person. I understand finals are a very busy time though, so if you aren’t available I completely understand. Thank you.

You hit send at 11:57pm on Sunday night, so you figure you’ll get a response the next morning. Before you can even close your laptop, you get an email notification.

Hi y/n, I’d be happy to meet with you. Are you available Tuesday evening after 6pm? I apologize for the odd hours, but that would be the most ideal time for me. However, if that does not work for you I’m sure we can figure something out.  Seungkwan

You sit and stare at your screen rereading it for a good five minutes. You hit the reply button.

Sure, that works for me! Thank you - I really appreciate it.

The light ping of a notification returns within seconds.

Of course, y/n. See you then.

You shut your laptop, your hand resting on top of it as your mind races, rapidly cycling between excited and anxious. You keep telling yourself to lower your expectations: you’re simply meeting with your TA to discuss your essay - which, you don’t actually have any questions about, so now you’ll have to make some shit up. But that can be a tomorrow problem. Tonight, you go to bed, half-coherent thoughts of literature, exams, and a certain pair of soft brown eyes floating around in your mind as you drift off to sleep. 

—

You wake up on Tuesday and immediately enter into panic mode. You can’t seem to focus on anything other than your date meeting with Seungkwan later - which of course you expected, but it’s pretty inconvenient considering you have so much to do with finals rapidly drawing near. Your Discussion class is finished for the semester, so you won’t be seeing him until evening - you’re not sure if this makes things better or worse, but it is what it is. You spend the entire afternoon in the library, sitting amongst the stacks, sort of studying but mostly doing a whole fucking lot of daydreaming instead.

After several hours of minimal productivity, you check the time: 5:36pm. You feel your heart start to beat faster. Since you’re clearly not going to get anything else done, you pack up your belongings and make your way to the Literature building. Might as well get there a little early.

You climb the four flights of stairs to the top floor, the building strangely empty. Making your way down to the very end of the hallway you wonder if Seungkwan will even be there yet or if you’ve arrived early for nothing - but as you approach you notice the door is ajar, the unexpected sound of alt rock music greeting your ears. You knock lightly on the doorframe as you poke your head into the office. Seungkwan, seated behind the large mahogany desk, seemingly absorbed in something on his laptop, looks up - you’ve clearly caught him a bit off guard.

“Hi, sorry - I’m a little early,” you apologize.

His face lights up in a warm smile. “No, uh - that’s alright!” he replies cheerfully. “Go ahead, take a seat,” he says as he gestures to the couch. 

You plop your backpack down on the ground and remove your coat, carefully tucking your skirt (a rare choice of clothing for you, but you figured fuck it, why not) under yourself as you take a seat on the comfy sofa. Seungkwan turns the music down to a faintly audible volume and rises from his desk chair, making his way over to you. You expected him to sit in the armchair across from you, but he comes and joins you on the couch instead. You can practically hear the rapid thumpthumpthumpthump of your heartbeat. 

“So, tell me about your essay,” he starts. His eyes linger on yours.  “What did you have questions about?”

Nonchalantly taking a deep breath, you take out your laptop and open it, pulling up your draft file. You basically had your paper planned out already, but you made up some questions to ask so as not to give away the fact that you literally had no academic reason to be here. You begin to explain your first question, which turns out to be an extremely difficult feat with him not only sitting so close to you, but also gazing at you softly, listening intently. You decide to avoid eye contact almost entirely. 

You chat about your essay topic for what feels like an eternity (you glance at the clock on your computer - it’s been 14 minutes). You’re in the middle of discussing the second point of your thesis when he interjects.

“Y/n, why are you really here?”

You feel the blood drain from your face. He’s onto me. It’s over.

“It’s very clear that you understand the book perfectly well. I really don’t think you need my help.”

You slowly look up at him, hesitating before opening your mouth to try and bullshit some response, but nothing comes out. 

“You know, I don’t normally schedule one-on-one office hours with students outside of my usual times.”

The blood comes rushing back to your cheeks. You feel like a fucking idiot.

“I’msosorry,” you blurt out. “I really wasn’t trying to waste your time I-”

“That’s not what I mean, y/n.”

You freeze. Does he mean…

Before you can even finish that thought he kisses you.

His hand cradles your face gently, drawing you closer to him as he presses his lips onto yours, electricity pulsing through your entire body - all you can think about is the way his lips feel, the way he softly brushes your cheek with his thumb, the way you want to throw your laptop across the room and throw yourself onto him so you can kiss him even more. 

As if he read your mind, he reaches down (still kissing you) and closes your laptop, picking it up and setting it aside carefully. You lap now vacant, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your body into his, his soft kiss becoming more fervent. Your hand rests on his chest as you kiss him back - you feel the energy of his heart beating, at the same pace as yours, through the cozy sweater he has on. After several seconds (minutes? hours?) his lips part from yours, the sudden lack of sensation leaving you immediately longing for more; they linger mere inches from your face as your eyes meet his sensuous gaze. 

“Just one second,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper.

Seungkwan gets up and swiftly shuts the door - you hear the deep, satisfying thunk of the old door closing, followed by the subtle click of the lock. He then walks over to the desk to turn the music up to a decent volume before making his way back over to the couch. He barely resumes his seat before grasping onto you desperately, his face buried as he begins to kiss your neck. You let out a sigh at the unexpected sensation, wrapping your arms around his torso and drawing him in even tighter. His large hands caress your back as if trying to commit your shape to memory, as your hand slowly makes its way down his side - stopping when you reach his belt, resting on the waistline of his jeans which are very obviously becoming tighter by the second. 

You hesitate at first, but eventually your hand continues downward; Seungkwan sharply inhales as it lands on his growing bulge, his body tensing up against yours. He pulls his face from the crook of your neck, his lips immediately finding yours again, indulging in another kiss as he pulls you over onto his lap. You begin making out with him, your hand holding his warm, flushed cheek; your core, now exposed aside from the barrier of your underwear, presses against the hardness in his pants, causing soft moans to escape from the both of you. Before long, your hips begin to rock back and forth, grinding on his clothed cock - lightly at first, but with increasing intensity. You break away from his kiss; he looks at you, his eyelids heavy.

“Y/n…” he breathes out as he starts to kiss you again, “you don’t know how… wanted you so bad…”

“Me too,” you mutter.

He slides his hand under your skirt, finding your clit and beginning to circle it gently through your soaked underwear, causing you to whine softly.

“Oh fuck, you’re so wet,” he says in a low, husky voice, his fingertips increasing their pace against the sensitive bud. He then slips his finger under the hem of your panties, pulling them aside to expose your already-swollen cunt, the sharpness of the cool air hitting its wetness. You cry out as he slides one finger into you, followed by another, his thumb continuing to caress your clit. Your hips begin to rock again, fucking yourself against his perfectly-curled fingers that are hitting you in all the right spots, your speed quickly increasing with the overwhelming pleasure that has taken over your entire body. You feel it welling in your stomach, your orgasm growing nearer with each movement. You’re about to lose it when he slows your pace, looking at you with lust-filled eyes - you can tell what it is he wants. 

You reach down and undo his belt, unfastening his button and drawing down the zipper. His jeans out of the way, you pull the band of his underwear down, freeing his hardened cock - he lets out a groan as you begin to stroke its length. Precum has already begun to form, your fingers taking the wetness and gliding it over the head. 

“Please… wanna fuck you so bad…” He’s practically whimpering at this point.

You slide your pussy up and down his length a few times, causing him to recline his head against the couch as he breathes heavily. Finally you take his cock in your hand, placing it at your entrance and lowering yourself onto him, crying out at the sudden sensation of fullness. He groans as you slowly begin to ride him, his length hitting you in the perfect spot; you have to bite your lip to control yourself from becoming too loud - it feels even better than you’d ever imagined.

You begin to pick up the pace, bouncing on his cock as the sensation in your stomach begins to build again, even stronger now with him inside you. Your cries involuntarily become louder, prompting him to place his other hand over your mouth.

“Shhh, baby - don’t want anyone to hear us.”

You nod, tears welling in your eyes.

His soft grunts become more frequent - you can tell he’s getting close. Your walls squeeze around him tightly as you’re also nearing orgasm. He drops his hand from your mouth so he can grab onto your hips with both hands, holding you tight as he thrusts into you, full of vigor. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he says, his voice low and gruff.

“Want you to cum in me,” you reply breathily. He nods eagerly. You’re nearly there yourself. You cling to his face, giving him one more kiss before you can’t hold it in any longer.

“Oh fuck I’m gonna cum,” you manage to get out before the white-hot sensation takes over your whole body. You cry out, your walls clenching around him, immediately sending him over the edge - his cock pulses as you feel his cum release inside you. 

As you come down from your high your body melts into his as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in. He plants a few soft kisses on your cheek as you sink into him, his cock still inside you. You lay there peacefully for an unknown amount of minutes, the rock music still playing in the background as he rubs your back gently. Eventually you sit up, pressing your nose against his.

“Does this mean I get an A?” you ask jokingly.

He laughs, his nose crinkling as he smiles. “You were going to get one anyway, I assure you the fact that I just had the best sex of my life will have no impact on your grade.”

You break out into laughter. You pause, then ask hesitantly, “Soooo, what does this mean?”

His brown eyes rest on yours. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to figure that out later,” he says pragmatically. A slight tinge of sadness comes across your face, but before you can say anything he continues.

“How does tonight over dinner sound?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile back at him. 

“I think that sounds perfect.”

[end]

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Purchase Your Time (John Price x Escort!Reader)

Summary: Captain John Price ventures into unfamiliar territory by going on a blind date... with a sex worker.

AN: I've got a whole universe and timeline about these two in my head. But, instead of putting the pressure of writing a full-on series in chronological order, I want to have some more reader participation and write more of what you want to see!

If you want to suggest a scenario or a question about this universe, hit me up in my inbox or DMs and I'll write something in reply!

This is also an entry to the amazing @glitterypirateduck's writing challenge! I went for the "blind date" prompt with a twist.

Content warning: Sexual references, reader is a sex worker, so minors DNI/18+ only. 5k word count. Reader is gender neutral and no use of Y/N.

You could tell that your client was uneasy, despite the façade of seeming relaxed on his expression. The notches in his broad back beneath that suit jacket were taut like rope. Head on an axis, he was constantly checking the windows. You could see his eyes but no lower down his face as he did so, view blocked by the perspective of the booths. No doubt he’d spied your car by now and was waiting for you to step into the restaurant. Yet still you waited and watched from the seat of your car for anything else that would tip you off to what kind of man you were meeting for dinner. He scrubbed up well for a man wearing a basic navy suit. That photo he sent you – the selfie from an angle that was a classic indicator of a man who seldom opened the front camera – wasn’t a lie. He was very cute.

When you could no longer put off the date in favour of recon, you shot off a message to your friend to confirm your arrival and stepped out of your vehicle.

By the time you arrived at the podium where the hostess greeted you warmly, he was looking at you. Not quite staring, certainly not discourteous, he seemed more intrigued. There wasn’t much doubt as to why.

The hostess guided you over to the booth. Fun choice, since it would just be the two of you. He likely wanted to ensure no one would eavesdrop or be spotted by someone he knew. Many of your clients were the exact same.

“John Price?” You inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” He was already scooting towards the end of the cushioned seat – something else your clients didn’t consider. There was no graceful way to enter and exit a booth.

Once he was on his feet, you offered your hand to him and your name. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Worn and warm skin enclosed your hand, and immediately you noted the lack of a wedding ring. So he was either single or had the peace of mind to remove it prior to your meeting. Your brief handshake allowed you to take in the uncommon style of his facial hair, his close-lipped smile, the crinkles by his eyes that you could now tell were blue, and it all added to a beautiful portrait of a man you would be happy to entertain. Not that you were shallow enough to deny a potential client based on looks, but you were certainly enjoying the benefits of this man being a delight to look at.

“Can I get you anything?” John asked, looking once between yourself and the waitress who’d guided you to the table.

Ice cubes in his own drink were shrinking into the amber swirls of the crystal tumbler. You gave her your own order before you tucked yourself beside him, enough distance that you could reach out and touch his bicep in an act of reassurance should he need it. By the time you were comfortable, the appropriate time for the wait-staff to be out of earshot had elapsed, and you began your lackadaisical interrogation.

“How are you?”

“I’m well, yes. Thank you. Yourself?”

“Can’t complain.” Your hands folded on your lap as you twisted to face him a bit more openly,“So, the purpose of us meeting today is to see if this is something you want to pursue with me, if we suit each other. Nothing is going to happen today, and not until we’re both certain that this arrangement is going to be beneficial. I take it this is your first time doing something like this.”

Already, you’d made him smile. Not out of nerves, he’d shown no usual signs as such. It wasn’t with a hunger that couldn’t be sated by anything on the menu. No, this man was feeling some relief, the corners of his mouth creasing and quickly disappearing. You hoped it wasn’t triggered by some kind of saviour complex, preparing to get you out of “this lifestyle” – you’d find out sooner or later if so.

“Am I that easy to read?” John asked before sipping his drink.

“Perhaps. Am I right?”

“You are,” He admitted, though it wasn’t a self-conscious confession, “This is… completely new to me.”

“That’s why I like to discuss our options first. It irons out any wrinkles, soothes any first-time nerves. Plus you seem like the kind of man who can appreciate being as prepared as possible.”

“I take pride in it.” Ah, a large hint of his perceived worth.

Your drink arrived at the table, your fingertips delicately leaving prints in the condensation of the glass. As you turned back to John after thanking the waitress, you caught him staring at your thighs. You pretended you hadn’t so as not to dissuade him. This allowed him to collect his own drink and raise it close to you.

You both gave cheers to your meeting, glasses tapping together in a clear single note that sang until your lips pursed against the rim.

“Tell me about yourself then, John.”

In that deep gravel his register rested in, John spoke about the unpredictability of his work-life. Nothing in actual detail was given about what he did, but you gathered it was high intensity, high risk, high reward. Regardless of the wall of cement he was putting up with his vague details, the pride in his work showed through. You stored up all this knowledge to note down on revision cards later. Just a little something so that you could remember what was important to your potential client.

The third time it happened, you decided to track how often he touched his Windsor knot, and it didn’t take long to figure out that it wasn’t a tell of his lying. Otherwise, he would’ve told you more details - fabricated. Clearly, this man’s occupation was not a CEO of any kind; he worked without a suit (enough to not be used to it) and without visible security guards to check your pockets.

“Why don’t you take that off?” You extended your hand to touch the space on the table between you two, “It seems to be bothering you. I want you comfortable, John.”

As if he’d been waiting for permission, John Price ripped off the tie (it wasn’t a clip on) and stuffed it in his suit pocket, undoing his top button for good measure.

“Not the biggest fan of them, if I’m honest.” Double whammy: he’d confirmed your theory and revealed a few dark hairs on his chest in one go.

“I like honesty,” You replied. That seemed to spark something in his eyes.

“I can’t always be completely honest. My job doesn’t allow for it, or value it, mind.”

“I could tell.”

“But I will be transparent – as much as I can be – about when I’ll be away, how long that’ll be for. I think that’s only fair to you.”

You agreed just as your waitress returned to take your food order. Thank God John didn’t try to order for you. As per your own personal guidelines, you let him go first, matching your order with the price of his own. While passing over the menu, he asked about you with the self-deprecating comment that you were probably sick of hearing about him. You gave your standard issue reassurance before meeting him with similar defences that he would likely recognise: very little given away in terms of personal details but all reliable information that would help.

Concluding your latest hobby – an acceptable one for small talk - you asked. “What do you like to do with your downtime then?”

John blinked at you twice, “I watch football.”

“What team?”

“Liverpool. You?”

“Never played, never watched.”

“Well, I’m going to have to do something about that,” and he smiled.

At last, he was cracking jokes. You basked in the joy of getting him to loosen up – a challenge, unlike some men who came out the gate, blasting misogynistic quips. At least that came with the favour of being about to ditch their company as soon as you were safe to do so. This was not the case with John, despite the several times now you’d spied him catching glimpses at your legs.

Another surprise arrived just after your food was served. You’d planned to begin edging towards the real reason most of your clients contacted you in the first place. However, John beat you to the punch after you’d shared the typical services you offered.

“And you’d be willing to…” He seemed to struggle with his words, though he could blame it on a tough bit of the steak if he wanted to.

You didn’t give him the easy way out, offering instead a raised eyebrow you’re your glass, “Yes?”

Realising you were gonna make him say it, John put on a sheepish smile, laughing at his own awkwardness before asking with a little more confidence, “Have sex?”

“If that’s something you wanted. Is it?”

His Adam’s apple gulped down a morsel from his fork – which remained poised in place the moment his lips touched the silver tines. There was a smouldering confidence hiding behind his eyes. You thought about why he might pretend to be nervous and act as such when he realised you caught him.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested.”

This is key to your vetting process. If your professionalism wasn’t reflected back by the potential client, too lost in their horny desperate disposition to consider boundaries, then they were struck from your list and forwarded to your friends so they could avoid them too. Handsome ones tended to throw the biggest tantrums over this. They wielded their wealth or insisted you not “spoil” the mood with talks of hard limits. 

You maintained your composure, and, now that he’d gotten over that first hurdle of awkwardness, John resumed his own. You could tell, by the way his pupils blew out and his lips parted, he was definitely hooked. Naturally, you didn’t feel his polished shoe creeping closer to yours though. He’d never come across as that kind of man. Keeping you at that distance with his walls up meant discussing your hard limits and no-go’s was less awkward than it had been for other potential clients. Still, you sought to knock him off his balance again to see what he might do. 

“Is it mainly sex that you’re seeking?” You asked as casually as you always did. 

John’s head jerked to face you head on in mild but abject shock, “No. No, it’s not.”

“It’s ok if you are,” You said, still smiling calmingly.

Waiting for his reply, you watched John hover his drink in front of his lips before the last droplets slid down his throat.

Swallowing again, John gave his reasoning, “As I’m sure you’ve gathered, my job makes it difficult to maintain a relationship. I’m not able to… provide stability or consistency a lot of the time.”

Nodding sympathetically, you said, “I can imagine.”

“Also, there are… certain measures I’d want you to take for when we meet that aren’t really attractive to anyone, let alone a long-term partner.”

“That must be difficult for you.” You slipped your hand over his that was planted firmly on the table, feeling it tense then slack beneath your touch. Easily, you could empathise with the fact that he wanted to replicate the kind of life he couldn’t have. “Tell me about these measures. I’ve a few of my own.”

“You don’t tell anyone my name. You need to make sure you’re not being followed. If you are, tell me. Do you have your own driver?”

“It was a cab today.”

“I’d like to order your cars from now on.”

“Awfully protective of me already.”

Your blithe smile cut off at John’s reply, “Those are my terms and they’re necessary if I’m going to be using your services.”

There was not an inch of room in that statement for a joke. If you were naïve, you’d say he was taking this too seriously. But the balance you’d found within John and the tidbits of his life that he’d laid out for you sounded the alarm that these precautions might just keep you alive. Your job was also a precarious one; adding another layer on top of it might be beyond your comfort levels.

Then John asked you, with the same earnestness, “What about your safety measures?”

His question checked a hidden box in your head.

“Mine is that I’m available to be in contact with a colleague at all times. They’ll check in regularly to keep me safe when we’re together. I’ll tell them where and when we’re meeting and for how long.”

John nodded along, mirroring your body language as you leant just a little closer and continued:

“I also have a policy on mandatory aftercare for myself and my clients - so you. If this is going to work, we need to take care of each other and that courtesy extends until we’ve parted ways.”

“I understand.”

“And do you accept them?”

“I do,” and John lowered his voice a tad more as he implored for your answer “Do you accept mine?”

Your thumb rubbed over the hairs on the back of his hand once more before releasing him, “I do. I’ll add your terms to our contract and we can discuss any further details once it’s drafted.”

John raised his eyebrows, “Contract?”

“Of course,” You said, a hint of coyness slipping into the professionality, “Get it in writing, make it official and keep us both protected.”

“So that means you’d let me see you again?” The corner of John’s mouth betrayed him as it struggled not to smile.

“I would, John, I really would.”

With that decided, the pair of you clinked your newly topped-up drinks together.

Though you both decided against pudding, you stayed for another half an hour after your plates were cleared and escorted back to the kitchen. Of course John paid the bill too, left a tip, helped you into your coat and all, whilst you ordered a new cab to take you home – you insisted. John may want precautions.

“I’ll send you my details tonight so that we can arrange to get the contract drawn up and signed. Then the ball’s in your park to arrange our next meeting,” You adjusted your coat collar before cupping his elbow innocuously. “Thank you for dinner, John.”

“Thank you for meeting me,” He said

“My pleasure.” And, just as you were about to close the door, you added, “Look forward to hearing from you.”

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

While he did get back to you within the minute you sent across your further details, and even faster in drawing up and signing your contract , it would take John Price a month to request an official meeting.

“I’d like to book us a room and spend some time together.” That was what his newest message said.

Perhaps he’d been taken away by that busy, busy schedule. Perhaps he was just shy. Despite being able to read his surface level emotions, you found the man was like a safe inside a vault inside a sealed bunker when texting you. It was when you got this text that you realised everything you’d learnt on your date was likely a deliberate choice from John. Rehearsed and ready, just like you. 

“Would you like me to stay the night?” You replied.

Unlike his previous messages, John took some time to respond with quite a short message: “Yes please.”

“Any requests for what you’d like me to wear?” You asked once he’d sent you the date and location.

You managed to complete a swift clean of your kitchen and make yourself a drink by the time you received your next text.

“Something that makes you feel good.”

Not a common request.

Even so, on the night of, you took extensive measures of preparation. Your outfit, to the untrained eye (so men), would seem like you’d just thrown on an outfit and effortlessly looked ethereal – and it was still something you picked based on what you thought John would like. Trousers and shirt cuddled your skin, neatly ironed even though it was likely to end up creased on a bedroom floor within the next hour.

He had sent two cars to pick you up and an encrypted, preplanned journey. One vehicle dropped you off at a random location that was noted with a giant red pin on the map; the second scooped you up precisely four minutes later. Nothing new, you’d been a mistress before and that came with similar routines.

A key was awaiting for you at the front desk once you had been delivered and the code word was shared.

You had the decency to knock three times before you slid the key card into the slot. Despite that minimal warning, the door jerked open with John at the handle.

“Hi,” He said. Hair damp and sticking up at the back like he’d used his hands instead of a brush to collect it into some order, he’d clearly just finished trimming his beard – based on the occasional trimming on his white t-shirt. Jogging bottoms hid his lower half.

“Hello,” You smiled.

John looked you in the eye, then adjusted his gaze to look down at your outfit. Perhaps he didn’t like that you had hidden your legs beneath flared trouser because he stepped aside quickly and held the door for you to enter.

It was a cosy suite, boasting a quiet immodest comfort. Poncy art still hung on the walls, and it had all the hallmarks of a usual hotel room – little kettle, stack of teabags and coffee – were hidden behind a sliding cabinet door. You saw a duffel bag poking out the entrance of the wardrobe. Hanging above it across the railing were several dry cleaning bags. Had he even gone to his home yet?

“How’ve you been, John?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Well, thank you.” And you dropped your overstay bag beside his.

Followed your agreement to the letter, handing you a wad of cash that he didn’t mind you counting upfront. The total sum left you expecting this would probably be an eventful evening and you tucked it into your coat pocket for safe keeping.

“What would you like to do, John?” You pulled off your coat to hang it up.

When you returned to face him, you found John unable to break away from looking at your waistband, specifically the side of your shirt that you’d made the conscious choice to leave untucked. Whatever, you’d seen it somewhere and it looked good on the model so you tried it. The doubt that it just made you look a bit lazy left your head as John pinched the hem of it, his thumb rubbing the material.

“Could you…” John sighed as soon as he paused. His voice was still that low and sustained register. You wondered what he might sound like while you were taking care of him. 

He’d said, when adding the fine print to your contract, that he was ok with you initiating touch. So, you were a tad surprised (though you hid it well) when he seemed unnerved at your hand finding purchase over his heart, fingers tracing over a large fold line in the fabric, that had been ironed in from a nap presumably – he seemed the type to know how to fold a shirt properly. 

Your voice dropped to a hushed timbre, as if you were letting him in on some workplace gossip around the water cooler, enticing him to join you in this little game, “You can tell me, John. What do you want to do?”

How John’s eyelids twitched, you could tell it was working. A moth to a flame, you drew him in, but you saw how John’s frustration brewed in his tight jaw over how his words didn’t seem to want to climb out of his mouth. The first hurdle was always the toughest; once he got over this embarrassment, he’d be fine. You just had to coax him a little further, lead him closer to the water until he took the initiative to drink it.

Measured breathing took hold of his body again and he looked you directly in the eye, “Could you hold me? In the bed, please?”

“Of course,” You said in the same calming tone, taking his hands in yours to give a reassuring squeeze. This allowed him, spurred him perhaps, to lead you over to the Queen-sized bed, where the only blemish in its immaculate sheets was a dip on the edge that you could picture John taking up as he waited for you to arrive.

When you leant in that same spot he had and began to take off your shoes, John reached his hand out as if to stop your hand. It hovered for a split second before gesturing at you.

“Clothes stay on. Please,” He said in the same voice.  

Both times he’d asked you for something, his manners seemed like an after-thought. You were reminded that his job likely meant he wasn’t used to having to be polite. Though it was the bare minimum, you appreciated it nonetheless. That confidence you’d spotted him hiding last time wasn’t unfounded. Here, it just was clearer that he found himself floundering and being uncomfortable with the very fact that he wasn’t able to sail smoothly through this interaction. You reminded yourself that he had wanted something akin to a romantic relationship, but you didn’t expect him to struggle with it this much. You’d have to be a lot more merciful with him then. 

With your shoes off, but socks still on, you knelt in the centre of the shockingly plush mattress and reached out for him. Your coy smile warmed him up, his own sheepish one growing as he took your hands again. Balancing carefully, you pivoted your legs out from under you and lay back in the mountain of pillows. Your descent encouraged John to follow you, tuck himself up into you, rest his head atop your chest as you curved your arms to accommodate his giant frame. The instant he finally ceased fidgeting, you heard – and felt through the thread of your shirt – John taking a deep breath right where your collarbones kissed. The tension down his spine started to slouch its way out. You made a mental note to wear this scent around him more.

“Do you want to watch anything?” he asked, already holding the remote control.

“I’m not fussed,” You replied. It emerged as a half-whisper. 

“I don’t know any of these, d’you?”

“All a bit rubbish, to be honest. Just gotta find you your type of rubbish.”

“Don’t have the energy right now, love. What’s your type of rubbish?”

You let him flick through the categories, none of these sparking hope. At last, the cursor landed on a safe option, a no-man’s-land of a TV show.

“There, that’ll do,” You said, pointing and wagging your hand over when John accidentally skipped past it, “It’s not mind-blowing, but it passes the time.”

“Good enough for me.”

And it was for you too. Quite a nice paycheck, all things considered. Not once did John’s hands stray down your body; one arm was tucked into his front between the two of you and the other crossed over your chest. Your shirt creased where his cheek pressed against your chest. He was like a heated, weighted blanket that smelt incredible and would occasionally make scathing commentary on the programme, making you chuckle. Among his other noises, he let out grunts of approval whenever your nails scratched up where his skull met his neck. The third was a little snore he let out whilst dozing – a few snorts pushing out his nose until he either woke himself back up or disappeared into deeper sleep. You yourself fell victim to the Sandman shortly after, but not before texting your friend that you were safe and sound with your burly customer as good as a lamb.

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

Beneath a throw blanket, you woke up at half past seven. There was no doubt in your mind that John had been awake for some time; he was sitting up beside you, pretending to watch the TV still, wearing the same clothes but evidently a lot less groggy than you were.

“Good morning, I wanted to order breakfast,” He indicated the menu he was reading, “Didn’t know what you wanted though. Didn’t wanna wake you either.”

Your elbow propped you up to say, “That’s so sweet of you.”

Clearly not used to a flattering remark, John turned his attention back to the screen with rosy cheeks, the menu held out to you, “Let me know what you want.”

How ironic, for a man who dictated the entire scenario but was still unable to confess outside of a legal setting that he wanted to fuck you, to ask you if how you’d like your eggs. Eggs you would not be ordering because of the awful breath it would give you.

You pushed up to sit beside him against the scarlet cushioned headboard. A few stretches resulted in a satisfied groan against the clicks of your back and you handed back the menu with your order.

Just like last night, John seemed to have trouble getting out his requests, which you interpreted as him wanting to ask you to shower with him. Instead, he offered it to you first, which you graciously accepted.

In your reflection, an imprint of a button winked faintly at you from your chest, right where John had rested his head. You touched over the impression before you set your shower up for a quick scrub. Yet you lingered in the stall for a few minutes longer, the water pressure and temperature pacifying the stiffness in your back.

Steam rolled out like fog over a lake when you opened the shower door. A complimentary robe transitioned you from your towel and kept you cosy as you began massaging lotion into your face, skin staying soothed in the circle you cleared of condensation in the mirror.

A chill reached your shoulder blades as John let himself into the bathroom, still in his clothes from yesterday.

“Breakfast will be here in about ten minutes,” He perched on the toilet seat.

“Thank you.” Continuing to make odd faces to ensure your lotion reached every pore, you took note of the intrigue with which he observed your routine.

You offered your hand out, two fingers wielding a healthy dollop of face cream. “Want some?”

Price looked down at it, instinctively leaning back an inch to decline, “No, thank you. You’re alright.”

You didn’t push it – his freckled skin seemed fine without your products – so you just let him watch you from his spot in the steam. In the reflection, you caught him smiling wistfully at you, though never initiating eye contact. Having gone off assumptions of contentedness when you cuddled him last night, you were glad that you could actually see John smile again.

Still, that wall, for your “safety” as he’d phrased it, was up.John sprang for the polite rapping at the door and was blocking you from the view of the visitor with both doors plus his own body. From that alone, he was clearly capable of taking charge in any situation. So why not this one? Why was he so obviously nervous when he’d been able to hide it in the restaurant? You wanted to find out. You wanted to break that wall down to see his reasons why.

Maybe next time you were together, once this routine became a little closer to his comfort zone, he’d be a bit more alright with asking for more.   

As you exited the bathroom, you caught John and found him guilty of reorganising the trays, removing all signs of hotel logos from the plated food. Maybe it was to aid the pretence that he’d made you breakfast, an attempt to add to the domesticity of this rendezvous. Maybe he was just picky. Regardless, he met your eye with no shame of being found out.

You made use of the tiny iron (why did hotels always have such tiny irons?) to neaten up your clothes whilst tactfully ignoring the packet of condoms poking out of John’s bag. He must’ve noticed you noticing them however; he carefully nudged them deeper into his bag whilst retrieving a clean jumper.

His desires from your dinner still ringing in your ears, you tested the waters again and pointed to the smallest of creases at the cuff of the jumper, “Want me to press it quickly?” 

For a split second, John looked at you with pupils blown and a firm grip on his clothing. Then he scoffed light-heartedly, “You’re not my maid.”

“I know. I’m offering.”

Though his smirk twisted into an appreciative smile, John still denied your request and disappeared to change in the bathroom. Yet his choice still quietly confirmed how your new client would veer more towards the domestic clauses in your contract.

Based on his reactions over the past twelve hours, you deduced he was not quite at the stage where you do his coat buttons up for him or adjust his beanie. You’d get there eventually. But he did let you do the little zip up on his jumper when it came time to part ways. 

“I had a lot of fun, John.”

“You don’t have to lie just because I’m paying you,” He said, in such an earnest way that you knew instantly he wasn’t saying it to fish for compliments. Still, that underlying insult stung you.

Not wanting to let this become a habit, you forced him to face your stare with a hand on his cheek to keep him locked in place, “Do you really think I’m lying to you, just because you’ve given me money?”

How he observed you, his eyes travelling along where bones and tissue connected, over the valleys of blood vessels and stretch marks, you felt a slight chill. John was not scanning you to total your physical worth to him but genuinely deciding based on your behaviours, body language, if you were lying. Your morbidly curious mind leaned into the darkness of what might happen if he landed on a false conclusion and how often he came to those.

Remaining to be seen, John shook his head once, “No.”

“So, don’t be rude. I enjoy your company and it’d be a shame to ruin that with your assumptions,” You said, playfully whilst hoping he inferred your warning.

An exhale through the nose, John’s shoulders shrugged his body with a warm smile, “Sorry.”

“I forgive you.” Again, you spoke with a teasing tone over the layer of seriousness. It persisted as you wondered if he’d like a kiss goodbye. He was still letting you thumb over where his dimples were hiding from the daylight. If he wanted a kiss, would he want one on the cheek? The lips? The corner of his mouth to hide and save for his greatest adventure?

Not even the J.M. Barrie connection could soften your disbelief (which you really should’ve been adjusted to with this slow-release enigma of a man). John who opened up about wanting sex and more was the same man who wouldn’t even initiate a kiss. So your hand slipped down from his face and squeezed on his bicep instead, a tip at the end of your bill as you absorbed the strength he was capable of. John’s already straight posture adjusted underneath your gesture.

“See you again soon?” You prompted as you let go of him.

John confirmed, “I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

[jinhyun]

written part of heart out coming later todayyyy ✨

[bowtiepasta]

started severance today and holy fuck

[altarecs]

note: you did so well. wonderful job. loverboy!mingyu with a bitchless agenda is my favorite trope.

Work Me Out

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, 18+

Warnings: working out, flirting, touching, almost car sex, making out, breast play, fingering, oral, face sitting, multiple sex positions, big dick mingyu, protected sex (gasp!), strength kink, dirty talk, choking, spanking :) lover boy gyu as always. let me know if i missed anything!

Length: ~5k

Note: y'all thought cheol rot was bad but the OG bias wrecker is back. dont come at me for gym terminology i go by vibes. replaced my gym crush with mingyu and this is what happened <3 i have a bonus/pt 2 in the drafts too but I'll wait to post it bc too much muscle pig mingyu is bad for the soul... and the [redacted]

to the anon that sent me a seok ask forever ago about his arms, im sorry i used it in this fic. but know i have a seok fic with exactly what you asked for in the works rn. everyone say thank you anon.

@bbychocolat do not hit my line about mingyu for at least 24 business hours i need to recover

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

read part II

read more here

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

Figuring out the ins and outs of a new gym isn’t easy but it isn’t impossible. Go too early and you’re surrounded by creepy men old enough to be your grandfather. Right after work is a sure way to experience hoards of gym bros crowding around machines like they own them. 

So you go as late as possible. 

Only a handful of people are dispersed through the large space. A few run on the treadmills lined on the catwalk of the second floor, several switch through different weights in front of the mirrors. You make your way through the maze of equipment towards the leg press; your final sets before you can go home and wash away the grime of the day.

Or you would if someone wasn’t occupying the one machine you need.

Peeping your head around, you notice a black backpack and matching water bottle on the ground. You glance around, unable to find a clear owner since the next closest person is halfway across the gym doing a different exercise.

Would it be that rude to take the machine out from under someone if they’re not even using it? You could probably get in all your sets before the person even came back if you moved quickly.

You wait a few minutes. How embarrassing would it be to have the mystery person walk back up the second you sat down? But after five minutes pass and no one emerges to claim the spot, you set about changing the weights out.

And just when you slip into the seat, you look up and find someone approaching.

He’s tall, he’s handsome, and he’s barely ten feet away. Your saving grace is that he hasn’t spotted you yet thanks to his phone. 

But that doesn’t last long.

“Oh! Sorry! Were you using this machine?” You ask, trying to sound cordial. 

“It’s okay!” He smiles at you. “Do you need it?”

Yes.

“No, I can find something else to do.” 

You rise to do just that when he stops you with a shrug.

“I don’t mind sharing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I take long breaks between my sets anyway so it’s no big deal.”

So that’s where he went.

“Okay, thanks.”

“No problem.”

He moves to lean against the wall, face buried in his phone once again as you work through your set. Honestly you think he forgot you were even there until you start standing up and he pushes off his perch. 

Exchanging polite smiles, you skirt around him and snag your water bottle before occupying the same spot against the painted bricks. You try not to be a creep but watching the way the muscles in his legs bulge and coil with each rep is impossible to look away from. Especially when there’s just so much to look at.

He racks up twelve reps with ease and switches back off with you before wandering out of sight.

You work through two of your sets before he comes teetering back. 

“I tried putting it back to your weight.” You laugh, sipping from your water bottle.

“Three forty? Ouch.”

“What? Should I have made it lighter?”

“Try heavier. Like four hundred.”

“My sincerest apologies.” You mock, placing your hand over your heart. “I’ll remember that next time.”

He laughs again before slipping back into the seat and working through the motions.

This time you don’t bother hiding the way you watch him over your phone. He looks good, it’d be a waste not to watch the swell of his chest or the stretch of his thighs. The gym shorts and snug black t-shirt only exacerbate how cut his physique is. 

And if he makes a comment you can always twist your not so subtle gawking into a compliment about his form.

When he finishes his set again, he snags his bag and water bottle off the ground before turning to you. “All yours. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

And he’s gone.

Over the next few weeks, you learn mystery man works out at the same time you. He’s there when you arrive and remains when you leave after an hour and a half of sweating and gasping like a dying fish, only absent on Wednesdays when you manage the most last luster workouts of your life. The disappointment the first time you realized you were looking for the backwards cap sticking out amongst the free weights would have been embarrassing but what's wrong with a little eye candy while breaking a sweat? 

And what a great view he makes. Your brief peeks into the mirrored walls are full of nothing straining muscles and glowing skin. The first day he did arms in a cutoff tee will go down in history as the worst day of your life. Only rivaled by all the other days he works his legs in shorts accentuating just how nice his ass is with every squat.

Your friends all ask when you’re going to talk to him again. As if you’ll just walk right up and interrupt the best part of your day. No, you’d rather watch him move across the gym floor from the corner of your eye, throw him a friendly nod, and go about your business than run the risk of making things awkward.

Unfortunately, doesn’t possess the same desire to remain a friendly nameless face like you do.

His name is Mingyu. Or that’s what the employee with glasses calls him while they joke around one night. You don’t mean to eavesdrop but they’re loud and the only exit takes you right past the U-shaped desk. Mingyu throws a grin as you pass by on your way out and the flash of teeth spikes your heart rate higher than any exercise you’ve done that night.

When he officially introduces himself at the water fountain the next night, you have to bite the urge to tell him ‘I know.’ Instead you snort at his extended hand, providing your own name over the firm shake like you won’t be haunted by the feeling of the calluses on his fingers or the heat of his palm for the next week. 

What’s worse is how he says your name back, rolling the sound across his tongue and past his quirked lips. 

And the final nail in the coffin is when you leave and you see the way he turns in the glass doors to watch, bidding you a goodnight with your name signed at the end.

Mingyu might be the worst gym crush in the world. Mostly because your thoughts of him extend beyond the brick walls he should only exist in. And partially because he’s caught you staring more times than you care to admit. 

Not as many times as you’ve caught him, but the point stands.

No, the worst part, you find out, is Mingyu is an incorrigible flirt. And he knows it.

Tonight you’re off schedule, runny nearly half an hour later than usual.; work clothes sticking to your skin as you make your way towards the off shooting hall housing the entrance to the locker rooms. In a rush, you step around another body only to end up in front of one much more familiar.

“There's my girl.” Mingyu smiles. “Thought you were skipping out on me.”

My girl. My girl. My girl, my girl, my girl….

There isn’t a thought in your head beyond the bold casualness he drops that bomb on you with so you nod awkwardly and force yourself not to sprint the next twenty feet to hide.

Half an hour later, when you catch him watching you in the mirror over his own weights, the bastard smiles like the cat who caught the canary. 

But you end up on top when Mingyu offers to spot you while doing weighted squats. He’s at your back, an appropriate amount of space between your bodies you wish he’d close. You don’t need his help. Your form is better than his (you would know, his ass and thighs give you tunnel vision when its his leg day). And the weight on the bar isn’t even enough to make you strain but why pass up on the offer? Especially with how Mingyu meets your eyes over your shoulder in the mirror with each dip.

And then he cheers ‘that’s my girl’ again when you re-rack the equipment with ease and it's over.

“Shit,” you grunt. 

Mingyu pops up from his perch between your breasts under your shirt, hair a mess and eyes glazed. “Good?”

“No, your steering wheel is in my back.” You wince, attempting to wiggle away and ending up further up his lap.

“Sorry, let me just…”

The seat flies back under your combined weight, throwing your forehead right into Mingyu’s chin.

“Fuck!” 

“Oh my god!” You gasp. “Are you okay?”

Mingyu’s head falls back as he releases a massive sigh. Each second that ticks by has you both coming to the same conclusion.

“Yeah,” you breath, sitting up. “I think this was a bad idea.”

“Oh…”

“I just mean like your car is small and you’re too big and I—“

The guffaw Mingyu tries to hide slips free too easily. “That’s what she said.”

“God, you’re gross.” 

Your nose crinkles as you rise up, using his chest for leverage. It feels as nice as it looks and its the worst knowledge you’ve gained in you life.

“Sticks and stones,” he hums.

“Well this was fun. I’ll ugh… see you around?”

When you try to shift back into the passenger seat to exit, Mingyu’s hands flex over your thighs to keep you in his lap. His sweats do nothing to hide his semi. Something he doesn’t even seem to consider as a concern given the way he unconsciously curls into you.

“Or we can go back to mine.”

He’s trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Like he won’t go home and fuck his fist in the shower with the echoes of your sighs filling his ears if you turn him down. You can see it in his eyes. What hinges on his offer and how much you’ll both regret it if the tension fizzles and dies in his SUV.

From where you’re sitting, it’s incredibly difficult to think with your head and not your hormones. Mingyu is hot, he’s nice, he seems decent enough. His behavior doesn’t hint at him being a creep. If he’s normal enough to fuck in his car, is he not normal enough to fuck in the comfort of a bed?

The thumb stroking your thighs and the hopeful eyes staring you down make the decision for you.

“Yeah, okay.” 

With his address in your phone’s GPS, you trail after his SUV in your own car. The roads are familiar because they’re the same roads you drive when you return to your apartment that turns out to be only three blocks closer to the gym than Mingyu’s. 

All this time he’d been so close and you never even realized. Did he think about you the same way you thought about him when he drove home? If he did, you’re in for a night.

Rolling into a space only a few down from where he parks, you pause to hype yourself up. 

People have sex all the time. It’s no big deal. I can do this. 

A knock at the window interrupts your spiral, finding Mingyu smiling sheepishly through the glass. The muscles in your chest squeeze when he opens the door and holds it for you to exit; and threaten to explode when his hand finds the small of your back and guides you towards the stairwell.

Footsteps echo down to the hall, Mingyu only a fraction ahead to lead the way to a non-descript door with a seasonal doormat that's seen better days.

“Ugh, this is it.” 

His apartment is shockingly clean for a guy your age. Not clean in the ‘I don’t own enough shit to even be dirty’ way. No, Mingyu’s apartment is cozy. There’s throw pillows and blankets on the couch. He has a lamp and bookshelf in the corner and the walls are adorned with a collage of artwork thoughtfully pieced together. Several personal photos are littered throughout, some with an obviously younger Mingyu propped next to what must be a sister or a cousin, a few of him with friends. One of him and a familiar man with glasses, their faces blurry but the glee clear as they’re frozen in time. Your lips lift with a soft smile at the personal touches bleeding into every corner of his space.

Turning over your shoulder you ask, “You and the guy at the gym are friends?” 

Mingyu’s watching you with something unidentifiable in his eyes, stepping forward to figure out which frame you're looking at until he’s only a foot behind you.

“Yeah, we went to the same middle school.”

“And this one?” You say, fingers tracing the edge of the wooden frame.

“My little sister.” Mingyu follows, still only a step behind.

“And I’m assuming these are your parents?”

“Actually those are Wonwoo’s parents.” He chuckles. “These are my parents.”

Mingyu’s arm reaches around to point at the correct photo, his chest brushing against your back.

“Wanna give me the tour?”

Mingyu manages to show you everything in five minutes. The living room and connected kitchen you’re already standing in, the door of the hall bathroom, and finally his bedroom. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, discovering the new smattering of details that uncover more about the man waiting with baited breath in the threshold. 

“Why are you over there?” You ask.

With arms crossed and shoulders up to his ears, Mingyu resembles a kid waiting to be scolded rather than a man who tried to hook up with you in his car less than thirty minutes ago.

“I’m nervous.”

You can’t stop the satisfaction from spreading to your face. “I make you nervous?”

Mingyu pushes off the door jam, shuffling forward until he’s standing a foot in front of you. “Yeah. I don’t really do stuff like this.”

“Stuff like what? Try and fuck girls in your car?”

“Haha.” Mingyu mocks, face descending until he rubs his nose with yours.

Your eyes slip closed when his do, breathing each other's air. “Stuff like what, Gyu?”

Your hands find the material of his shirt stretched across his shoulder. Each brush of his lips across your cheek, down your jaw, until he finds your ear.

“I don’t sleep around with girls I’m not dating.”

Oh.

“We don’t hav—”

“Which is not the best way to ask you out.”

You press him out of your space, far enough that you can look him in the eyes and see if he’s serious. The tips of Mingyu’s ears burn red but he’s looking right at you despite how embarrassed he clearly feels.

“You’re asking me on a date?”

“Ugh, yeah. I think it’d be fun. But you don’t have to! If you just wanna do this that's fine t—”

Whatever words Mingyu was trying to say fizzle on the tip of his tongue as you pull him into a kiss. He curls over you, pressing you further into his bed with every fervent pass. Wedging one hand under the small of your back, Mingyu lifts you up and carries you while he crawls to the center.

Your mind wanders to all the other ways he can manhandle you into the mattress.

He settles flat against you, hips cradled between your own while delving into your mouth. You fill your hands with his ass, dragging Mingyu’s covered cock against your core. A groan backs apart your lips as Mingyu falls into the curve of your neck. 

“This is a yes to the date by the way.” You pant now that he’s taken over, hands scratching up his back in an effort to get rid of his shirt. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Mingyu’s clothes disappear over his head and across the room, yours following shortly after. The heat of bare skin on bare skin is better than anything until he takes one of your breasts in his palm and the other in his mouth. 

Every curse you know flies through your lips as he sucks and pinches until you're sore between the legs.

He takes the squeeze of your thighs and the rock of your hips as a greenlight, hands leading where his lips follow until it’s nothing but your panty clad core an inch from his face.

“This okay?” Mingyu asks in the fat of your thigh, tongue trailing fire across the skin.

You nod with a sigh, “Mingyu, please.”

He doesn’t need much more than that, the fabric barrier gone in a blink and his nose traces your folds until he’s dying for a taste.

Mingyu eats pussy like he doesn’t need oxygen. The path of his pointed tongue around your clit is nothing short of precise, meticulously tracing every ridge and curve until the sheets stretch under your fingers. When he flattens it to pay broader attention, your legs squeeze and Mingyu’s hands force them wide around his shoulders.

Your feet flatten on the bed and thrust up his mouth, wet and crude with fingers in his hair and your whines in his ears. Every suck of Mingyu’s mouth forces the muscles in your neck to lerch until they hurt and your head falls back. He takes pride in the way you drip for him, making the best mess he’s ever had the privilege to clean up.

You reward him with an lavishing praise at the next twitch of your insides, “Fuck, just like that.” 

Taking advantage of the slight arch in your spine, Mingyu’s hand sneaks under your back, fingers unforgiving as they dig into your ass. He curls your hips up and buries a finger in your core with mortifying ease.

Between your legs, Mingyu catches your eyes. Pupils blown wide, mouths bruised around stuttered breath. A matching set of debauched expressions. He’s more familiar like this; skin glowing with sweat, and hair matted to his forehead. Next time you see him at the gym you know it's all you’ll think about. Next time you're alone in your room, or the shower, or the grocery store. Or anywhere you’ve day dreamed about him before.

He leans back to watch the digit disappear, only to reappear soaking. “Feels good?”

“Give me another and it will.”

You savor the rhythm he sets, thick fingers working to prep you for what you felt under his shorts. His tongue is hard and wet at your clit, fingers stretching and spreading until your stomach dips and you nearly buck him off as your clit swells from abuse.  

Your fingers pluck at your nipples and Mingyu apparently likes to watch because he manages more enthusiasm, forces his finger to crook just the right way, and continues to suck even after you start screaming.

“Oh fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant, voice cracked.

Something sounding suspiciously like a ‘thank you’ drops into the mix but Mingyu’s the only one to hear it. In his opinion, he should be the one doing the thanking; you just gave him enough spank bank material for the next six months.

You don’t dislike the taste of yourself on his tongue, his lips, his chin, his cheeks, and even his chest when you flip Mingyu over and aim to return the favor. He blushes when you lap against the hollow of his throat; embarrassed from the way he goes boneless with such simple affection.

He sinks into the plush of the mattress, propped up by the mountain of pillows at the headboard. Mingyu’s stomach stiffens under your tongue and the twitch blooms a smile on your face. Predictable.

“Sensitive?”

Your nails raking up the shape of his thighs turn the denial falling from his lips into a whine, and it makes you wonder what other sounds Mingyu will make with his cock in your mouth.

The vein bulging along the underside of his length gives your tongue something to trace along as you lap from base to flared tip, sucking down until it shines from spit and pre-cum. You take all you can until the curve of your throat protests.

Mingyu’s big and he’s loud.

“Oh God, shit.” He babbles with abandon, hands fisted at his sides until his knuckles turn pale.

You focus on the cock in your mouth rather than how pretty Mingyu’s chest would look covered in bite marks. How a bruise on his hip would be just visible when he reaches over his head to do pull ups, and red streaks from your nails on his bicep would make a great accessory.

A hand lands on the base of your skull, gentle until it's not. His thumb dips to stroke the bulge of his dick through your throat as you take him deeper. And like some ridiculous porno theres still an inch you’ll never be able to take even if you do nothing but let him fucking your mouth until the only thing you taste is cum.

“Fuuuuck,” Mingyu groans from a harsh suck on the upstroke.

He distracts you with his tongue on yours, keeping you from diving back down and destroying his ego from how quick you almost made him cum. Your one solace is the lazy grip you have on the base of Mingyu’s length, fingers tightening around the head while he cants into the squeeze.

You think Mingyu is going to plant you on his cock and make you ride it until one of you is crying. But he keeps pushing and pulling until you’re kneeling over his face, knees cushioned in the pillows and hands against the wall to steady you while he dives in again.

His head shakes back and forth, tongue out to swipe messily at your clit as you grind into his face. The last grip of sanity you have gives you the mind to reach back, jerking Mingyu off while he eats it, a cycle of moans moving through you; him into your folds when you squeeze from a grating pass off his tongue that has you whining to the ceiling fan.

“Shit, need you to fuck me.” You whine but don’t stop curling against the latch of his lips, legs stiff with ache.

It’s Mingyu who brings things to a halt, raising you away from his mouth until you're left on your knees while he stands to rummage in the drawer for a condom. You listen while the paint of the wall cools your forehead.

The hand at the dip of your spine makes you melt when he checks in, “Still okay?”

Nodding, you find him over your shoulder with a thick swallow. Mingyu’s nose follows the slope of your muscles, lips untying all the knots he’s worked into them over the past few weeks.

“Want it like this?”

“Yeah.”

You drop until your chest meets the bed and arch until it hurts just to put on a good show. Mingyu shuffles behind you, knocking your knees wider with his own, palms molding to your ass and spreading it apart to take a good look like he wasn’t tongue deep inside your pussy already. The room is nothing more than the sounds of grounding breaths; Mingyu watching the way your torso moves around the air, releasing a long exhale before moving closer.

The feel of his chest against yours was great, but the hard muscle of it along your back, his chain caught between and leaving a definitive mark, is life ruining. It shreds the last bit of humanity you’ve been clinging to since you dragged Mingyu to the parking lot and tried to stick your hands down his pants while leant against the passenger door.

No matter how well Mingyu stretched you for his cock it was never going to be enough. Taking the first inch nearly splits you in half. But you're soaked and needy; nothing short of the end of the world is going to keep you from getting the satisfaction of feeling him in your guts. You take it with measured breaths and affirmations to relax. Slow arches of his hips work him in until he’s flat with your ass and whispering absolute depravity into your ears.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

Arching your ass higher, you whimper, “You’re huge.”

Your ass stings under his punishing hand, thrown forward by an involuntary buck of his hips.

“Don’t say that.”

You turn until you can look over your shoulder again, meeting wild eyes. “You feels so good.” You moan, eyelids low and wrecked.

“Didn’t—shit, think you’d have such a dirty mouth.” He bites into the side of your neck, sucking a bruise like a depraved teenager. 

“I knew you’d have a fat cock.”

You get what you want so easily it's almost insulting; Mingyu’s hand forcing your face into the sheets and his hips rushing into you with pure need. Every prod into your cunt has you wailing. It’d destroy your self respect if you could think of anything beyond how he’s ruining you for anyone else.

Pillows topple off the edge of the bed as you scramble for a hold. Anything to ground you against the burn in your veins with every tight squeeze around Mingyu’s cock. His balls slap against your clit teasingly, more degrading than the way he has you bent in half. 

“Harder,” you beg.

Mingyu falls back on his haunches, pulling you with him until you're sitting up right. His arm comes into view, curling around neck until your throat sits in the crux of his elbow and his hand latches on your shoulder; a crude headlock he uses as leverage to keep fucking into you. You’ve been choked but this is infinitely better. Whatever Mingyu wants to take from you, he’s in a position to do so.

“Gonna cum?” He nips into your earlobe.

His hand shoves its way between your legs, swipe roughly against your clit before you can even hope to answer.

A pathetic nod is all you manage thanks to the muscles gathered under your chin limiting your mobility.

Mingyu let's go then and your hands prevent a crash into the headboard, putting you back in the same position as before but you have to work for it now; ass bouncing in his laps as you ride him. Finding your balance, you drop one hand to your clit as Mingyu’s pinch your nipples.

“Let me have it, let me make you come." Mingyu pants into your spine. "Fuck you look so good like this, shit.”

He keeps rambling, flying with you towards the edge hand in hand; both breathless from the slap of your thighs against his.

“Mingyu, feel so good. Oh my god, oh my g—”

The softness of the pillows greets you once again while everything flashes white. Mingyu scrambles behind, fucking you into the mattress while you soak his cock. Muscles twitching, teeth ground till they crack, you come and come and come while begging him to do the same.

Mingyu gives in without hesitation, all his weight behind his hips as he fills the condom; dragging you back with an arm around your waist. Every jerk of his cock against your walls from the force makes you vibrate until he’s slipping out, soiled and used against the back of your thigh.

The last thing you register is his lips finding your shoulder again, rubbing back and forth as he comes down.

You fall asleep under the heat of his body for who knows how long, content in the mind shattering numbness of what just happened. Mingyu seems to feel the same, dead weight hanging half off you so you can at least manage to breath.

When you wake, whether it's twenty minutes or two hours later, Mingyu is snoring into the pillow, still naked. His lips pout in his sleep and you swallow the urge to shower them with kisses thanks to the drool at the corner of his mouth.

Even without the covers, you're warm. The kind of heat that slips over your skin, sinks into your bones and keens for you to fall asleep and stay. But Mingyu asked you on a date, not to spend the night. And you’d hate to assume and ruin whatever this is before it as a chance to start.

“Where are you going?” He pouts.

You don't make it two inches out of his arms before he’s pulling you back, tangling them around you so there's no chance of unnoticed escape. Mingyu digs his nose into your cheek and waits for an answer like he has all the time in the world.

Something tells you if he knew you were attempting to head home, Mingyu would throw a fit. And what use is that when you want to see what a night sleep with a giant human furnace is like?

“Bathroom.”

Adding to the list of information you’ve learned, Mingyu is a stage five clinger. He latches on to your back, guiding you into the shower stall for a quick spray down that leaves half your face, part of your thigh, and almost none of him clean.

He falls asleep against the base of your skull while brushing your teeth, because of course he has a stash of extra toothbrushes under the sink just in case. 

And when you crawl under the fresh sheets, he pulls you into his chest, leaves a kiss against your forehead, and tells you he can’t wait for your breakfast date tomorrow.

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

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

[solvisun]

its rare of me to feel smth while writing fluff, so writing the final chp of hershey’s kisses and giggling my arse off rn must be special

[lostgracestories]

Hi! I saw that you write for MHM/MBM and this fandom fr needs more fanfics, so heres my request :) I was wondering if you could do an Arata Usuba or Kazushi Tatsuishi x reader? Could be anything of your choice ofc

OMG So I love that you requested this because I have been wanting to write something for this for forever!!! I really love arranged marriage/forbidden love pairings <3 personally, I feel like giving Arata somebody to love because he seemed so upset at the end of the anime's first season :,( Thank you so much for being my first request!

I also totally did not proof read this LOL ALSO ARATA WITHOUT HIS GLASSES OMG <3 <3 <3

Purpose - Arata Usuba x Reader wc: 2k (I GOT EXCITED) tw: maybe a little angst if you squint, reader gets pretty sick, arranged marriage, female reader

Arata was no stranger to searching for a way to fulfill his purpose. He is a driven man, and most people knew that. However, he struggles to believe he will ever fulfill his purpose. Although a man of dignity, respect, and loyalty, he hides worry, concern, and shame. Well… that was until he met you.

It was an unusual turn of events when it was suddenly stated to him that he was to be married. He already had so much on his plate. Not to mention, the marriage came seemingly out of nowhere. It wasn’t unlikely for other people, but for him to be arranged in a marriage? Something had to be going on. Well he found out the answer to his curiosities the moment he met you.

Each of you had powerful families and you yourself did not possess spirit sight. This marriage was a means to gain security and leverage and in return, you would keep your head low and be a trophy wife. Despite your lack of spirit sight, however, you had to be the most beautiful woman that Arata had ever laid his eyes on.

You sat in the living room of the Usuba house, glancing around at the decorations and accessories adorning the home. You had been instructing by your parents not to speak unless instructed, as was the usual of your expectations when you left the house. You weren’t upset about it though. Your parents were very kind people and they had raised you to nurture your other talents since you lacked spirit sight. You understood the situation because you knew you could not do much to protect anybody against grotesqueries. Your parents had assured you that they picked the perfect match for you, a man who would take care of you like it was his job. You finally looked across to the other couch at the man in question, watching him speak with your parents.

“I will devote my life to protecting your daughter mister and misses L/n. You have my word”

Arata stands briefly to bow. He had a purpose finally. One to devote himself to you. Arata turned to look at you with such a determined expression on his face like he was pursuing a prize.

“Miss y/n, may I show you to your living quarters now?”

You responded with a silent nod and slowly and carefully stood up. You followed quietly behind Arata as he led you to the room where you would be staying. It was so luxurious and big. Sure your family was powerful, but your family was also humble and you were used to your fairly small traditional home. The room is not very decorated which confuses you. The rest of the house is so beautifully and delicately decorated but your room was practically bare. You supposed that they didn’t want you to steal or break anything.

“I know it’s not the most exciting room but I figured you would like to decorate it yourself to make yourself feel more at home”

Arata clears his throat after speaking. He was very subtly embarrassed. You may not see grotesqueries but you could see through people’s emotions like a window. You merely nod at his comment and look around at all the places you could decorate. The bed was huge and elegant, definitely different than your average sized bed at your home, well, old home now.

“What do you think of the room?”

Arata asks. Insecurity, you take note in your head.

“It’s beautiful. It’s just…”

You debate whether or not to mention your concern about the drastic difference from your home

“Just what, miss y/n?”

“It’s just… so big… I feel like all this space is such a waste for me… I’m used to a small bedroom…” Arata seems to knit his brows together at your concerned comment and nods in acknowledgment.

“I’ll see to it that the issue is resolved. How big would you like it?”

You look at Arata like he’s crazy for a moment then offer him a gentle smile, a soft chuckle following it.

“Don’t be so hasty. I’ll get used to it. I’m sure I can fill up the empty space”

You look at Arata’s face an he has his lips pursed

“Is something bothering you?”

You question, internally pinching yourself for intruding on his personal issues without being given permission to become involved.

“Yes actually…”

Arata’s response shocks you and you keep your eyes locked on him, your face radiates kindness and patience to him, wanting to hear what he has to say. Arata noticed your interest and shook his head.

“It is nothing that should concern you. Now, I have some matters to attend to so please make yourself at home and get some rest”

And that was that. Arata closed the bedroom door and you stared at it for a little bit. You told yourself it was none of your business but the conversation lingers in your mind even as you’re laying down to fall asleep.

The days of living in the Usuba house began to bleed together. Your routine was the same everyday and you always took care to be quiet and not bothersome to anyone. Weeks went by and eventually a couple months. This was nothing like those fairytail arranged marriages you had heard about. Neither of you really spoke to each other. You were simply just living there for your family’s benefit.

You had always been so cheery and hopeful. You had been so excited to be married but this was so lackluster. You didn’t feel loved. You wanted to be loved. You werent even sure if you loved Arata. I mean, how would you know if you were in love with him? You barely spoke. No matter. The day was coming to an end once again and you were preparing for bed. You carefully slipped into the covers and listened to the chirping of bugs outside as you drifted to sleep. 

You didn’t sleep long though. A sudden rattle from outside of your bedroom startled you awake. You snapped your head toward the door to see if someone was coming in. When nobody came in you noticed that you had begun to sweat profusely when you had been sleeping. It took a few moments but eventually you realized how hot you felt and how your head ached strongly. You pulled down the sheets to cool off and laid back in bed, trying to sleep. Your effort was useless as the feelings only seemed to worsen as the night passed by and morning came.

Just like every morning, Arata came to knock on your door and tell you that breakfast was ready and that he was going out to run errands.

“Miss y/n, breakfast is ready and waiting downstairs and I’m going to go and run my errands. Are you awake?”

No response.

Arata knit his brows together in concern. He had figured out that you always woke up at 6 am every morning and you always answered him with a cheerful response. So he tried again. When he still received no response he made the choice to go into your room to check on you.

“Y/n I’m coming in!”

Arata carefully pushed the door open and laid eyes on your figured, strewn uncomfortably across the bed. He noticed your skin shining with sweat and hurried over. You must be sick. Arata placed the back of his hand to your forehead, your skin burning hot against his hand. You needed a doctor, quickly.

“Y’n, I’m going to call for a doctor… please don’t attempt to get out of bed, you seem very sick…”

With that, Arata rushed out of the room to get a doctor.

In the meantime, you shivered despite your body heat, your lower jaw trembling. You had never felt this horrible, you just wanted it all to be over. Your mind wandered to how worried Arata had sounded when he found you lying sickly in your bed and it nearly made your heart skip a beat. You replayed his tone of voice in your mind to keep yourself sane while he was gone.

When Arata returned, he had a doctor at his side. The doctor introduced himself but you were too dazed to care, and at this point, all of your reason was out the window. As the doctor examined you, you whimpered out Arata’s name. You wanted, no, needed comfort.

Arata stiffened slightly at the tone you used while saying his name. It was so desperate and filled with pain. It tugged at his heart and he swore he felt his heart drop into his stomach. Without thinking about it, he reached out and held your hand. He didn’t stop to think that you may have something that could pass to him, he just did it.

“I’m here…”

He assured you. His voice made your currently overstimulated self cry. Arata immediately worried he had done something wrong. The doctor pulled his tools away from you and put them away in his bag, ready to give a diagnosis.

“This is likely a strain of influenza.”

The doctor ripped a paper out of his small notepad and used a pen from his pocket to scribble down an address and a prescription medication.

“When you have time, go down to the pharmacy and get her that medication. It will bring down the fever. Make sure to keep a close eye on her.”

Arata nodded firmly, his eyes stuck on you after taking the paper. Without another word, the doctor left and Arata stayed by your side.

“Y’n… I’m going to go and get you this medicine… it will help you to feel better. I promise to be fast…”

In response, he was met with a whine and once again without thinking, he leaned over you, planting a kiss to your forehead. This action shocked him. He noticed the lack of thought he had given to holding your hand and now this. It worried him. He didn’t know why he was acting this way.

Arata made a point to hurry and acquire the medicine. As soon as he got home, he never left your side. He stayed there for weeks to bring you back to health from this nasty case of influenza. You were just now finally coming out of it, able to sit up in bed and speak at last. No chills or shakes anymore, just a minor fever that would surely be gone by morning. Yet here Arata was, still worried about you, insistent on hand feeding you your lunch. You had tried to protest at first but it had been no use, so you let him.

“Arata…”

You begin speaking in between bites and he pauses feeding you to listen to you.

“Yes?”

He gives you a look of questioning.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me… and for that kiss…”

Arata’s cheeks flushed and he seemed to swallow hard at the memory. He had almost forgotten about it.

“Yes… well… it would be a shame if you had not made it through… I admit we have barely spoken with each other since you arrived here.”

You nod and smile, admiring his embarrassment.

“I would love to spend more time with you… but I understand you must be a busy man”

Arata shifts uncomfortably in his chair that he had seated next to your bed.

“I admit… I am not actually overwhelmingly busy. I have been avoiding you because this was simply a marriage of opportunity, I didn’t want to force anything to happen between us”

You laugh at his words and quickly stop yourself, apologizing.

“Sorry- I just think it’s funny because I would prefer if you treated me more like a wife than assuming that I want nothing to do with you… You know where I think a good place to start would be?”

Arata looks at you intently, waiting for you to continue.

“This…”

You move your hand to his cheek gently, pushing a couple stray hairs out of the way and pressing your lips to his forehead. His cheeks suddenly burn bright red and he almost seems like he’s glowing.

“That’s a thank you… for the one that you gave me…”

Arata sat, star-struck by your boldness. He looked at you with such a curious and tender expression this time. You know what? He could live with this whole arranged marriage situation… You were more than just his purpose now, you were his reason.

[fanfic4u]

fic: An unusual (Dug)trio

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio/Kozume Kenma, Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio & Kozume Kenma

Rating: Gen

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: When Kenma and Kageyama become roommates at the Uva Academy a shared friend quickly brings them closer. Together the three of them train and prepare for an adventure of a lifetime.

Or snapshots from the trio's year of preparation and training to go on their big adventure.

A/N: This is my first piece for the Haikyuu 'They were Roomates' Reverse Mini Bang. The experience has been incredibly fun, and you should all go check out the amazing art done by Kaiyou when it's posted!

Also a huge thank you to Ron for being my beta and really helping me pull this off.

[Read on AO3]

[tincansamurai]

i don't think i was made to have anything i create be discoverable, or else i wouldn't hate self promotion so much. tell me why i don't even wanna reblog my shit to pillowfort communities where it is generally well-received bc i don't wanna be intrusive

[rollerrecs]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45423979

Calls Like These by Quiet_Shadow

“I ought to neuter you, you little suborning pervert! You two-credits, virus-addled seducer! You…” Blaster’s speech dissolved into statics, but Soundwave didn’t care.

He was too busy staring at Ravage, and he was Judging him, because he was getting a better understanding of the situation, and he didn’t like the picture it was forming at all.

A furious Blaster is calling the Nemesis. Things devolve from there, much to Soundwave's disapproval and Ravage's sheepishness.

Fandom: Transformers Gen 1

Ship: Ravage/Steeljaw

Words: 2.1k. Completed.

i mean, you read that description. what else is there to be said. you get it. just read it. yeah. i can't advertise this fic better than it's advertised itself

[baeshijima]

sometimes all u need in life are tea and some plain crackers with sliced fruit 🙂‍↕️

[merthurglompfest]

Title: My only mate By: HadrianPeverellBlack Gift for: LilyGreen10 Rating: General Word Count: 1,172 words Warning(s): N/A Creator Notes:Hi @LilyGreen10! I hope you'll like this!

I'd like to thank the merthur glompfest mods for this event and Emma for the beta work she did! Summary: Jealous Alpha Arthur and Amused Omega Merlin. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64472968