#I FREAKIN FORGOT ABOUT THIS AU we should bring it back

[sundaysundaes]

Started With A Kiss

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Actor AU, Smut, Fluff, Humor | NC-17 | 10K

Summary: Rookie actor, Lee Haechan, desperately wants to get the lead role in the highly anticipated upcoming TV drama. He’s sure he has what it takes to fill the part. Acting as a hero? No problem. Pretending to overcome his traumatic experience? Consider it done. A bed scene? Easy—wait, no. That might be a problem. But he should be fine as long as he gets to rehearse, right?

Warnings:  protected sex, oral sex, crude humor, swearing, literally 10k of sex with very little plot, a lot of playful banters between sassy!hyuck and equally sassy!Y/N

Wrote this for my love Kira @flopim​ who’s been having a tough time lately. I hope this will cheer you up bb! ❤️

“I want you to make love to me.”

Standing there, still dressed in your bright pink pajamas with your hair resembling a bird’s nest, you can only blink once, twice, and several times more because surely, your ears are playing tricks on you. There’s no way that your best friend, the cutely annoying and annoyingly cute, Lee Haechan—the one who’s been practically glued to your skin like a conjoined twin of yours for the last two years—is asking you to make love to him. 

Surely, this is not what you’d expected to see when you opened the door to your apartment, ready to bark at whoever it was who dared to disturb your beauty sleep (since it is seven in the morning on a Sunday), only to see him standing in his blue ripped jeans and black Michael Jackson shirt with his cheeks flushed, his bag hanging loosely on his shoulder, brown eyes desperately begging for your attention. 

And you’re most definitely sure that he’s not asking you to sleep with him when you still have drool on the corner of your mouth and a terrible morning breath (in your defense, you have brushed your teeth but that was, like, six hours ago).

But when seconds have passed and Haechan still looks like he badly needs to hear an answer, you have very little options but to ask, “You want me to do what to who now?”

Catching a sniff of your mighty dragon’s breath, he promptly takes a step back, scrunching his nose while frantically covering half of his face with the script he’s been holding. “Eew, God, what is that smell?” Ignoring your glare, he repeats his words, voice muffled by the papers. “I said, I want you to make love to me.”

“What—”

“Damn it, woman, just brush your teeth and let me in!”

When he’s stomping his feet while whining that loudly—loud enough for your fucking landlord to hear, along with everybody else in the building (including your cute neighbor, Jaehyun, oh dear God, no), he doesn’t give you any other choice but to invite him in, does he?

You step away from the door, flatly muttering, “Please, come in, why don’t you.” Haechan doesn’t waste any second waiting, making sure to run and stay as far away as possible from you so he won’t inhale the poisonous air that’s tainted with your breath again. 

You roll your eyes. Dramatic little shit. But just to be on the safe side, you make your way to the bathroom.

***

The scalding hot shower you just took was comforting but not enough to wash your entire drowsiness away. You’re in dire need of your caffeine intake. “Would you like some coffee, my king?” You ask between a yawn, hands finding their way to the coffee jar on your kitchen counter.

Haechan throws his bag to the floor, body sinking into the comfort of your couch. “With milk, please.”

"I’m kidding.”

“Well, I’m not.” He throws one of those cheeky grins that you adore—no, wait, you hate—as he settles his legs on your coffee table. “Less sugar but more milk. I’m still growing.”

“Growing what, your balls?” You pour him a cup of coffee as requested, yes, because to balance his demonic behavior, you have to act like the perfect angel that you are. “Since you don’t have any?”

“You mean, like your boyfriend?” Haechan retorts before he gasps dramatically, his palm going to his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You hover above him from behind the couch, bringing two mugs filled with sizzling hot coffee. “Want to repeat that?” You tip your mug just a little bit until it nearly spills on his forehead.

Haechan winces, attempting to grin. “I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t ruin my face. It’s the only thing that’s good about me.”

“It surely is.”

“Yah, what does that mean?”

“Take it as a compliment.” 

Sitting next to him, you sip your coffee and curse silently when the liquid burns your tongue. “Okay, so what about this ‘make love to me’ thing you said earlier? Please tell me it’s just a figure of speech or something.”

“I wish.” He drags his legs away from the table so he can lay his cup down because apparently, he means business. “Okay, I know you’re gonna kill me after you hear—”

“After? I’m about to kill you now, actually.” You scoff. “Don’t you remember what we’ve agreed on? You cannot bother me when I’m still too sleepy to smack you in the head, Haechannie.”

“When did we ever—” He stops. “Why are you going to smack me in the head?” 

“‘Cause you’ll say something stupid.”

“Who says I’m gonna say something stupid?”

“You always say something stupid. You’re saying something stupid now!”

“It’s not stupid.” He sighs exasperatedly but when your flat, degrading stare comes into view, it morphs into a groan. “Well, not that stupid. I’ve thought about this—really thought about it—and I can’t find anyone else to do this but you since you’re the only girl I’m friends with. I mean, I can pick random girls, I suppose—you know how popular I am. They just can’t stop talking about me. My hair, my eyes—”

“—your tiny dick.”

“But I don’t want to break any girl’s heart by doing something that’s gonna make them feel like I’m just using them to get a job, you know? I know I’m hot but these good looks aren’t meant to trample people’s hearts.”

“And you don’t care how I’m gonna feel?”

He has the decency to act like he’s thinking about it, but then, “No, not really.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, I really need your help.” He takes it as further as holding your hand between his, puckering his pouty lips, and blinking his eyes in a way that’s cute enough to leave you in daze so you pretend like you’re about to vomit your insides to cover it up. 

Okay, so there’s one thing—one little thing that nobody knows—that you’re too ashamed to admit and that is the fact that you have a massive crush on this boy who sits in front of you with his socks unmatched. Well, no, not massive. It used to be massive during the first few weeks you knew him. How could you not? Haechan was so cute, you wanted to turn him into a doll so you could carry him around in your backpack and squish his cheeks whenever you feel like it. Sure, he’s not all jawlines and dimples like that neighbor of yours (Jung Jaehyun was probably sculpted by God himself ), but Haechan has his own charms. His devilish smirk, his loud, contagious laughter, his naughty eyebrow raise, and his lips—God, his beautiful plump lips, the way they look so pouty and soft. Honestly, you can write a whole essay about his attractive features (not that you haven’t already).

You knew you were crazy for him when the antics he did annoyed the hell out of his friends but to you, he was just plain adorable. And you realized you were pretty much fucked-up when Jeno said, “Fucking Lee Donghyuck said he forgot his wallet and robbed me this morning. Who the fuck orders a freakin’ wagyu steak for breakfast?!” and the only thing you could think of was how nice it was to go on a date with him and how your first kiss with him was going to be like (poor Jeno, though). 

It’s not that you love him or anything. It’s mostly physical, nothing more—at least for now anyway. It’s not your fault that he’s so fucking pretty that he ends up showing every now and then in your fantasy, doing indescribable naughty things that will definitely make Mark splash some holy water on your face if he knew what was going on in your head.

Fortunately, now that you’ve been friends with him for two years, that massive crush you had has turned into something normal, something you can easily hide. And can be forgotten even, whenever another cute guy—like Na Jaemin, for example—takes you out on a date or two. It’s easier to breathe these days.

“Hello? Are you there?” Haechan snaps his fingers, waking you up from your reverie. “What’s your answer? Do you want to make love to me or not?”

‘It’s easier to breathe these days?’ More like fucking kill me. 

“Can you stop saying that?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’re giving me headaches.” Or a heart attack, more accurately. “Assume I said yes. Don’t you think it’s gonna get a little weird between us?”

“What is so weird about it?” He throws his hands in the air, exhausted and impatient. “It’s just gonna be two friends, pretending to be in love with each other, hugging, kissing, touching, and having sweet, tender sex.” Realization falls upon him and you resist the urge to exhale loudly. “Yeah, okay, so it is a little weird, but it should be fine, right? It’s just acting. It’s not like you have any feelings for me, do you?”

If by feelings you mean picturing you naked in my head with your mouth sucking on my neck, then yeah, I do have feelings for you. Plenty of that. But on the outside, you say, “Eew, God, no.”

Haechan squints his eyes at your response. “Can’t say I’m not hurt with the way you said it, but eew, God, no to you too. Well, if that’s the case then I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he says, sipping his coffee, and retracts his mouth as soon as the flavor hits his tongue. “What the hell is this?! Did you spit on my coffee or something?”

You didn’t but for your amusement, you throw him a sly grin. “A little.” It’s satisfying to see him looking like he’s about to pass out. “I’m still worried how it’s gonna affect our friendship later on though.”

He simply shrugs. “Meh. We’re not really that close to begin with anyway.” He takes another sip of his coffee by accident and nearly vomits for real. “Fucking hell—take this shit out of my face.”

“I'm still not sure about this, Haechannie.”

“Look, I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to you, we’re just going to pretend! Acting!” He exclaims as if that was the most normal thing a friend could ask another friend. “And you’re gonna be acting out a love scene with someone as hot as me. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Consider yourself dead.”

“Damn it, my audition is in two days and I really want to get this role!” He’s whining, tugging at your hand like a baby as he practically throws himself at your feet, graveling for your mercy. “You’re the only one who can help me with this. How can I act properly if I don’t have enough experience to perform a freaking bed scene?!”

“I don’t think actors who have to play dead have enough experience of, you know, being dead.”

“Excellent point.” Haechan stares at you blankly, unimpressed. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?”

“Do you?”

A few seconds passed by in silence with the two of you exchanging sinister glares until he finally surrenders with a prominent pout on his face. “Fine, if you don’t want to.” Haechan exhales dramatically, his shoulders sagging and when you don’t respond, he sighs again only louder this time. “I guess, I have to force Mark to make out with me. Again.” He sneaks a glance to see your reaction. “And have my face slapped with a Bible. Again.”

You wince at the thought. “How did you force him, exactly?”

“Just…” He timidly scratches his nose. “Kinda attacked him in his sleep.”

You nod in understanding even when it’s the most idiotic thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, maybe he would’ve been fine with it if you had taken him out for a nice dinner before that.”

Haechan smiles a little at your words, and even a little glimpse of it is contagious enough to make your own spread wider on your face. Small chuckles resonate through the air and he playfully bumps his shoulder against yours, his palm resting on your knuckles.

“On a more serious note,” Haechan says, “I know that asking you to rehearse a bed scene with me is too much and way out of line. But I swear, I’m not gonna touch you if you’re so uncomfortable with it. Won’t even hold your hand, I promise.” Then he notices he’s still holding your hand from earlier. He drops it immediately, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” It’s more than fine. His hand seems to fit yours in a way that nobody ever does but there’s no way you’re gonna tell him that. “So, we’re just gonna be practicing lines?”

“Exactly.” He rubs his nape, suddenly a bit bashful. “Well, I was hoping to at least kiss you—just to, you know, know how it’d feel like.”

“You’ve never kissed before?”

“I have, obviously.” He rolls his eyes, disgusted at your question. “I’m not a fucking virgin if that’s what you’re assuming.”

“Chill, don’t get your panties in a twist. Nah, I know you’re not a virgin from how many times you’ve had sex with yourself.”

“Hey!” 

“But then, why do you need to practice? Can’t you just go straight to your castmates, and kiss the bejeezus out of them?”

Donghyuck runs a hand through his face. “It’s… I’ve never done it for a role,” he professes, faint blush blooming on his cheeks, “And the scene is supposed to be intimate and I’ve never… You know…”

You gesture at him to clarify more with your hands. “You’ve never…?”

“You know…” The color on his face turns brighter. “T-the thing.”

“What thing? Never made-out in public? Never had sex outdoor?” You act clueless just because you’re liking his reaction. “Never had a finger stuck in your ass? What? Please do enlighten me.”

“I’ve never been in love, you witch!” Haechan is adorable when he’s fuming. Nostrils blaring, eyebrows knitting together in an angry frown, scarlet cheeks all puffed out. He looks like a terribly pissed Pomeranian.

Man, if I could just take a picture. “Oh, okay. So have you had your finger stuck in your ass?”

“I swear to God—”

“Kidding. I know you have.” But even when Haechan is nearly ripping your cheeks apart from your face, your giggles are never-ending. “So, you’re nervous?” You snort, raising an eyebrow. “You, the obnoxious, desperate-for-attention Lee Haechan, are nervous?”

“Will you help me out or not?!”

You pretend like you’re contemplating about it when truth is, every part of your body and mind is just screaming what the heck are you waiting for? He’s asking you to rehearse a bed scene—a. bed. scene! And he said he wanted to kiss you, for God’s sake! So, really, what else is there to say but “Okay.”

Haechan widens his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You try your best to appear nonchalant. “But you’ll owe me a favor. A huge one.”

“Anything,” he instantly agrees, “As long as I’m not dead, you have my words.”

You’re not yet sure what you’re planning to ask him but seeing his enthusiasm, you know it’s going to be good. “Great. So, umm, do you want to do it now or…?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Here?”

“Wherever you want.”

“Man, you’re giving me too much power. I should’ve agreed to this way sooner.” You can practically feel your face splitting in half from how wide you’re grinning. “My room, then? I mean, a bed scene requires… a bed, right?”

Haechan laughs and even after two years, it still sounds like your most favorite thing in the world. “No, it doesn’t necessarily require a bed but sure.” He jumps out from the couch, taking you by the hand, and only by that, you can already feel your heart thumping a tad faster. But the second he walks into your room, he makes a face. “Why does it smell like something died in here?”

“Because something did die. Your dignity.”

The tickling fight doesn’t occur very often between you and Lee Haechan but once it starts, it means war.

***

“Okay, so…” Haechan hands you the script, already opened to show you a page filled with dialogues and short narratives. He scoots closer on the bed, his knee a few inches away from grazing yours as they dangle from the edge. “Just from the top of the page, here.” He points with his finger and you do a quick scan, trying to get a picture of the intimate scene you’re going to do. “So, a quick summary. Your character, Aeri, has been in love with my character, Donghyun. In the earlier scene, you’ve confessed your love to me but I rejected you because we’ve been friends for so long and I didn’t want to ruin what we have. But then, later on, some things happened and I ended up catching feelings for you and this is the part where I’m gonna be telling you how I really feel and then we start kissing and—”

“Then we have sex,” you utter in dismay, but butterflies are erupting from your stomach due to the anticipation.

“No,” Haechan corrects you, “We make love.”

“Is there any difference?”

“There are more feelings involved, not just out of sheer passion. It’s slower. Tender. Intimate.” And when he notices you raising a questioning brow at him, he sighs. “That thing you did with Jaemin? Fucking like bunnies? The opposite of that.”

You mock him by imitating his sigh exaggeratedly and receiving a flick on the nose in return. “Is it just me or is the script pretty lousy?”

He nods. “But they’ll pay you good money for this.”

“I thought the reason you became an actor was to create art not money.”

“When I’m rich, maybe. Right now, I gotta pay for my rent. And apparently, Jeno keeps chasing my ass, forcing me to pay him back. It was just a wagyu steak for fuck’s sake.” He grumbles to himself, momentarily distracted. “Anyway,” he cracks his neck, “I’ve memorized my lines. Wanna give it a go?”

“Okay, let’s try. I guess I’ll be fine if it’s just kissing. Even if it’s with you.” When in reality you’re only agreeing to this because it’s with him.

Haechan’s eyes gleam brighter, ears practically perking up like an excited puppy. “Really?”

“You’re that excited at the thought of kissing me?” You play smug but you could practically hear your heartbeat blasting through your ears. “What else have you been thinking about me?”

“I’m not excited at the thought of kissing you, dumbass,” he spits back, the spark in his eyes vanishes in an instant. “I’m excited that finally I can practice kissing scenes with someone who’s actually willing to do it, and not, you know, like with the back of my hand or something.”

“You…” Failing to hold back a grin, you burst out laughing. “You made out with your hand?”

It’s funny that even when his skin is golden as if it was kissed by the sun, it still shows vividly on his face whenever he blushes. “I didn’t mean it literally—”

“I can’t believe you made out with your hand.”

“Would you just—” He nearly suffocates you with your pillow but you quickly retaliate by kicking him in the stomach.

Tears are prickling at the corner of your eyes. “Man, that mental image of yours making out with your hand will live in my mind rent-free for as long as I live.” When you still can’t stop laughing, Haechan is practically baring his teeth. “Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s get this going. If it gets too uncomfortable for me, I’ll stop.”

“Of course.” 

“At any time I want.”

“Your call.” He nods in agreement with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him do; it almost doesn’t seem like him. 

“Good,” you say. “Now, I’ve never acted once in my life so if you laugh at me, I will sneak into your room at night and pour hot coffee on your computer.”

There’s fear fleeting through his eyes but he gives another nod. “Deal.”

“All right…” You take a deep breath, willing your heart to stop hammering against your ribcages, and for once, focus more on the script instead of the shape of his pretty, pretty mouth. “What are you doing here?” You follow the script, voice a little bit shaky as you’re still embarrassed with everything you’re doing. Haechan closes his eyes and you’re about to throw a joke to tease him about actor Haechan coming alive but when he opens them and gazes at you, you sit still, frozen.

“I wanted to see you,” he says, voice so delicate, it startles you. He’s so serious about this that you don’t find the strength within you to tease him like how you usually do. Somehow, the little gestures he makes, the changes in his expression alter the air along with the tension in the room. Suddenly, it feels like you’re standing next to him under the spotlight, hundreds of pairs of eyes following your every movement. 

“It’s—” You swallow your breath, tongue lays heavy in your mouth. “It's pouring outside, why are you—”

“I love you,” he vocalizes, his eyes gentle and heartbroken. His voice suddenly sounds a pitch lower, reverberating through the air until it sends goosebumps to the tiny hairs on your nape. He waits for your reply and you have to blink twice to slap yourself back to reality.

“W-what?”

“I’m sorry it took me this long to realize, but I do. I’m in love with you, hopelessly so.” He reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. Though he has pretty hands, his fingertips are not as soft as you had imagined them to be, but they feel better, feel real. His warmth is unfamiliar to your skin but it feels more pleasant than anything that ever touches you. “Maybe you’re unaware of this, but it kills me to know that I’ve hurt you because I simply couldn’t be brave enough to accept my feelings. The reason why I didn’t want us to be together was because I didn’t want to ruin what we have, not knowing that we could be something more.”

Haechan’s lines fit your situation so much that you wish he wasn’t acting. It’s amazing how he’s changing into an entirely different persona and yet, it feels so natural as if he has been that person all along. Your breathing gets heavier as you take a brief look at the script, searching for your lines. “This feels unreal…”

“Do you still love me?” Haechan lifts your face by the chin, his touch is paper-thin. 

You wet your lips, head swirling. “But Donghyun—”

“Do you still love me?” He repeats, emphasizing with his tone. His eyes are peering into yours and you wonder maybe the quote eyes deeper than the sea refers to his gaze. “Or is it too late for me?” His thumb drifts to your lip, caressing your bottom one, your lip balm sticking to his skin. 

“I do,” you reply. He’s so pretty. You’ve never taken a glance longer than a few seconds at his close-up face, but now that you’re in this close proximity, you can finally witness the two tiny moles on his cheek, the beautiful shape of his dark eyes, the delicate curve of his lips… “I do love you, Donghyuck.”

A few seconds of silence hangs in the air when Haechan stops, his eyebrows furrowing. “Umm—it’s Donghyun, actually.”

Fuck! “Right!” You nearly leap out of your bed, face aflame. “Donghyun! Of course! I don’t know why I said that. Donghyuck is your name, I know that—” Fuck, fuck, fuck, just fucking kill me. “Sorry, umm—nervous.”

Fortunately for you, Haechan buys your bluff. “Rookie mistake,” he chuckles and you exaggeratedly roll your eyes to play along. “Okay, let’s start over. Do you still love me?”

“I do,” you respond too rigidly, making him glance away so he won’t break into laughter. “I do love you, Donghyun. Dong-Hyun.”

“Good,” he improvises, as it’s not written in the script. He has a tiny smile on his face and you like to think that it’s just him doing a terrible job at hiding his amusement. But when he swats your bangs out of your eyes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he seems like he’s seeing the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his whole life. The adoration in his eyes, his loving gaze—they are so vivid, they nearly consume you. “Because I don’t think I can resist this any longer…”

You’re lost in his eyes, lost in his touch, lost in his warmth. It’s until Haechan nudges his head slightly, indicating you to wake up, you’ve got a line to say, that you jolt, eyes hurriedly going down to the script, seeking your lines. “Umm—“ You flinch. You sound so jittery, it’s terrible. “R-resist what…?”

But Haechan doesn’t pay a mind that you just stuttered from saying two words. He doesn’t ask you to start over. Instead, he presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling in the air and you can taste the scent of sandalwood and summer. Combined with his soft breathing, you’re almost stuck in a haze, just reeling in the feeling of how this man is now closer to you than he has ever been in the past two years and it’s better than anything you’ve ever imagined.

“Resist this,” he whispers and before you can look down to check whether you have more lines to say, Haechan dips his head, his lips brushing against yours, ever so faintly at first but when you gasp, he presses harder, framing your cheeks with both hands before he moves one down to your waist. Unlike his fingertips, his lips are soft—softer than silk or the cotton candy he once bought you. But it’s not the way they feel or the way he tastes that distract you the most. It’s the way he moves them, parting his lips slightly so he can blend with yours, your lower lip fits perfectly between his plump ones. It’s the way he sighs, so contentedly, as if kissing you was everything he ever wanted.

You close your eyes, hands reaching up to his collar, wanting to feel him more, wanting to touch him—

Haechan breaks away, placing both hands on your shoulders. “How was it?”

You’ve never had someone splash cold water on your face but you figure it might feel something like this. Your voice grows hoarse when you speak. “How was what?”

“The kiss!” Haechan’s eyes are filled with concern, analyzing your expression. “Was it romantic enough? Tender enough? Did it properly convey the desperation and longing my character feels for yours?”

You knew this was a bad idea. You fucking knew it. So, why are you still hurt when he acts like he feels exactly nothing by that kiss? This is just an acting lesson for him. You should have been prepared. 

“It’s good,” you answer, averting your gaze and hiding your eyes behind your bangs. Your heart is still running a thousand miles an hour but somehow, it doesn’t feel as pleasant as before. “So, next scene—”

“Wait, are you okay?” Haechan asks, bending slightly to catch a glimpse of your face. “Was it too much? Do you want to stop?”

Truth is, you’re conflicted. You’re going to catch feelings—you most likely already are. But Haechan only treats you as a friend and nothing more, and this is the only chance you have to be this close to him. The temptation of continuing the kiss, to just hold him close for one more time, stands stronger than anything else so you say, “No. I promised you I’d help.”

He’s still unsure, eyes glinting in concern. “It’s okay if you want to stop, I—”

“Let’s just do the damn scene, Donghyuck.”

Haechan freezes on his seat, eyes searching yours as you now have the bravery to look at his face. Knowing you came on too strong, you try to ease it off with a smile. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just my first time doing this—acting, I mean. Can we try again?”

He spends another few seconds trying to decipher the true meaning behind your smile but eventually nods his head at your command. He drags his finger back to the script. “Then, umm… Let’s start from here?”

You don’t even look at the page when you give affirmation. “Go.”

Haechan takes a moment to prepare himself and when your eyes meet each other again, he’s a different person once more. “The reason why I didn’t want us to be together was because I didn’t want to ruin what we have, not knowing that we could be something more.” His voice is so soothing, you almost forget that deep down you’re immensely upset knowing that the kiss didn’t have the same effects on him.

This time, when he frames your face with his palm, you lean into his touch, eyes never leaving his. “This feels unreal,” you say and for a second—just for a split second—you notice Haechan breaking out of character, surprised by the gentle expression on your face. Because you’re not acting out his script, you’re acting out on your feelings. It’s your only chance to be honest with him without forcing him to respond. So you pour all these feelings you have for him out in the open—ones that started from a mere physical attraction to something more as his presence grew bigger in your life, you’re acting out each and every one of them. 

“Do…” He inhales sharply, trying to focus. “Do you still love me?” He’s doing the same thing as before, placing his thumb and index finger on your chin but before he can say his lines, you see how his eyes fall on your lips.

And you kiss him. You kiss him with everything you have, hands going to his face, fingers slipping between his strands, and Haechan gasps against your mouth, his fingers curling around your wrist. You know he’s about to push you away so you quickly murmur, “I do,” against his lips, breath stuttering, “I do love you.”

When you take his bottom lip between yours, teeth grazing against his supple skin, Haechan lets out an involuntary moan at the back of his throat. The butterflies in your stomach come alive, pumping a rush of adrenaline through your veins and suddenly, you’re brave enough to glide your tongue across his lip. His hold tightens around your wrist but instead of pushing you away, he tugs you closer and you fall into his chest, hands breaking free from his grip to wind around his neck. Your fingertips are scraping against his nape before they move upward to yank at the roots of his hair. “Fuck,” he breathes out, almost inaudibly, as if he didn’t mean to let the word slip from his mouth and it makes your heart jumps straight out of your chest. The second he responds properly, Haechan kisses like fire, all passion and urgency, and you really don’t mind being consumed by his flames.

His hands are on your waist, pulling you closer and closer until you’re almost sitting on his lap before he jolts awake, pushing you away so abruptly, you almost fall from the bed.

“I’m—We—” he stammers, looking everywhere but your eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his lips bruised and red from your kisses. “I think we should—I gotta go—“

He stands up from the bed like the sheets are catching on fire, picking his script from the floor and gathering all his belongings at once before he runs toward the door. He turns on his heels, wanting to say something to fix the goddamn situation, but when his eyes land on yours, his words vanish without a trace. 

“I—I’ll call you later,” he finally says and doesn’t wait for your response. The front door closes with a thud.

And then silence comes to answer.

What just happened? 

Your heart is thundering inside your chest, you’re starting to feel nauseous. What have I done? You keep asking over and over. You thought everything was going to be fine. He responded to your kiss earlier, didn’t he? You were sure you didn’t imagine the whole thing. But now he’s gone and you’re not sure whether he’s gonna come back as the same Haechan—the old, bratty but caring Lee Haechan. The one who snickers loudly when you fall face-first on the ground but always steals secret glances at you to make sure you're not hurt. The one who makes jokes about your love life but never forgets to show up at your apartment with a thoughtful gift right at the minute you turn a year older. 

Things are not just gonna get awkward, they’re ruined.

When nearly half an hour has passed by and you’re still left alone in your apartment with no signs of him coming back, you’re about to go insane. You can’t stay still, walking back and forth your living room with the tip of your thumb between your teeth.

Should I chase after him and explain that it was just me trying to improvise? You hesitate with your hand lingering on the doorknob. But with your knees nearly giving up under your weight, you decide to stay put. It will probably just gonna make it worse. He’ll see through my lies, he always does.

You’re straying away to the kitchen, hands placed on the counter. You can feel your head spinning, stomach somersaulting. Damn it, why did I have to do that?! Why couldn’t I just— 

The front door slams opened and Haechan barges in with his hair messy, ruffled by the wind, and his bangs sticking to his temple. Stunned, you stand still on your ground. Your heart is the only one that’s moving beyond control. His eyes scan your apartment until they land on yours and for an instant, everything seems to fade away.

“Fuck it,” he says, dropping his bag to the ground and making his way towards you in such a hurry, he nearly trips over his feet. “You’re not that good of an actor to be faking it.” Before you have the chance to even take a breath, Haechan’s lips are smashing against yours. 

“Hae—” Haechan’s kiss is insane. So forceful that you can barely keep up, taking every bit of air directly from your lungs. He has you backed against the kitchen counter, the marbled edge digging into your skin. His hands frame your face, sliding against your cheek until they cup the backsides of your neck, his thumbs resting against your ears. You curl your fingers around his wrist, gasping, “Wait—”

He pulls away, lifting your face so you can’t bring your gaze anywhere else. “You like me?” His eyes are just as intense, begging for answers. “Please tell me I’m not imagining this.”

But behind that passion, his confidence is wavering. You can tell by his quivering breath, the little tremble running through his fingertips, and at that, you’re drowning in relief. You don’t think he’s that good of an actor to be faking this too. 

“I do,” you admit, heart pounding so loudly that you can barely hear your own voice. “I like—”

His mouth is on yours again and it feels like he’s kissing you in a hundred different places at once. “Jesus Christ, why have you kept quiet about this for so long?” he says, tasting your breath and skin at the same time. “Two fucking years. We wasted two fucking years.”

The words this isn’t happening endlessly run through your head but all your senses scream that Haechan is really here, in your arms, his nails clawing against your shirt and there’s nothing left you want from this world.

When you reciprocate to him properly, your palms sliding up his chest, over his shoulder, until your arms circle his neck, Haechan sighs in content. His kisses grow slower—more relaxed—but deeper, his tongue peeking out shyly at first but not for long. He still tastes faintly like the coffee you made and something else entirely different. Something pleasant that’s just exactly how you’ve fantasized him to be, if not more.

He pulls away to catch his breath with his eyes still focusing on your lips, thumb rubbing your lower one. “Does this feel weird to you?” He whispers, his temple pressing against yours.

You’re intoxicated by his sweet scent though you’re not sure whether it’s the smell of his shampoo, his cologne, or just him altogether. “No,” and as soon as the word comes out, his lips are chasing after yours once more.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t think I can stop.” He’s breathing heavily against your mouth as you are against his. With his fingers twisted in your hair, making a messy ponytail out of it, Haechan peppers open-mouthed kisses on your neck, tongue pressing against your pulsating vein and a whimper escapes your mouth.

Your dreams, your fantasies—they all fall pale in comparison to reality. When you vocalize his name, it almost sounds like a plead and Haechan slants his mouth back on yours again, giving you another taste as he is not satisfied with yours just yet. “Your lips taste amazing,” he breathes out and it’s so quiet, it seems like he’s intending to say the words in his head and not with his mouth. But as his words fall on your ears, they send tingles down your spine.

“So do yours,” you reply, attempting to make him blush in return but if he does, he doesn’t show much. “Never pegged you as a man who wears lip balm.”

You can feel his smirk directly with your skin. “I’m not wearing any.”

“You’re not?” You lightly giggle, swiping your tongue across his lower lip. “Then your lips do taste amazing.”

Haechan’s hand is slipping underneath your shirt, fingers hovering above your bra. “Guess there are still a lot of things you don’t know about me, huh?”

“I’ve got a hunch you’re about to teach me?”

“Only if you’re eager to learn.”

The kiss becomes heavier that you’re lost for words, entirely consumed by his passion, until he breaks away, muttering, “Off, off, off, off, off,” as he struggles to tear the fabric away from your body. You titter at his desperation, raising both hands to help him out of his misery. The second it’s off, he lifts you by the waist and places you down on the counter. 

“I’m amazed you could lift me,” you coo, admiring the sight of his lean stomach as he pulls his shirt over his head. His silver necklace hangs loosely around his neck and you hook a finger around it to yank him back to you.

He doesn’t seem to be able to detach his lips from yours for too long, especially when you keep sneaking glances at his. So when he speaks again, his every word is painted directly to your skin. “It wasn’t easy.” He settles between your thighs, mouth latching against your collarbone. “You weigh a ton.”

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, holding back a moan as he sucks bruises on your neck, the edge of his fingers trailing over the seam of your bra. “Then you must be so strong.”

“I am, haven’t you noticed?” Haechan pulls away just to showcase a mischievous grin. “I work out, you know.”

You blurt out laughing. It’s not solely because of the mental image of Lee Haechan—a full-time gamer, Lee Haechan—doing push-ups seems so funny to you. It’s more about the way he wiggles his eyebrow, trying to be sexy about it when you know he’s the weakest one in your group. Flustered at your reaction, he flicks your nose. “What is so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize though it doesn’t seem that much sincere with the way you’re still giggling at him. “It’s just that an hour ago we were two friends making fun of each other and now we’re here, in this position. I don’t know, it just feels surreal to me.”

An adorable pout blooms on his face. “I thought you said this didn’t feel weird.”

“No, it’s perfect. I want this.” You wrap the end of his necklace twice around your index finger. “I want you. It’s just… I’ve been imagining this to happen for such a long time and now that it’s happening, I’m feeling a lot of things at once.” You place a reassuring kiss on his temple. “I’m nervous.” This time landing one on his cheek. “I’m relieved.” When your lips hover above his, you notice him parting his own slightly in anticipation. “And it feels so good, I don’t ever want to stop. Even if that means we can’t go back to being friends.”

Haechan can’t form a response as you don’t let him, your mouth swallowing the tiny moans he emits. “We’ll talk about that later,” he hastily replies, “I still haven’t had enough of you yet.”

Without warning, he lifts you off the counter, making you yelp and wrap your legs around his waist for support. “Haechannie!” With you holding onto him, he takes a step forward, ignoring your call. “Where are you taking me—"

“Wait, no, back pain, back pain.” Both of you nearly tumble down to the ground from how he’s harshly placing you back to your feet, wincing at the ache erupting from the strained muscles in his spine. He’s groaning in pain, massaging his back with both hands. “Fuck, you’re really heavy!”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” You throw your slipper at him, missing his head just a few inches, laughing all the way. “What exactly were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to move us to the couch.”

“All you had to do was ask.”

“I was trying to be sexy.” He juts out his lower lip, and it takes all control of your body to not squeeze his cheeks from how adorable he looks.

“Honey, you are sexy, believe me, but you’re also weak as fuck. Consider hitting the gym for real next time and then carry me.”

“Shut up,” he sighs, holding out a hand for you to take. “To the couch, please? And maybe a massage after this ‘cause my back is killing me.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and drag him over to the couch. He’s in the middle of asking, “Do you want me to be on top or—” when you push him down and straddle his lap without warning, legs tangling around his hips. “Oh, okay.”

You run a hand through his hair, pushing them back so you can witness the glow in his eyes. “You look sexier with your hair pushed back.” You love the way he stares at you, eyes half-lidded painted with lust and desire. And combined with your commentary, he now has his cheek tinted with red. “Do you have a problem with me being on top?”

His eyes quickly run down to the place where your denim shorts are riding up your thighs, your zipper pressing against his groin. With a noticeable gulp, he stutters out, “N-no.”

You smile, patting his cheek. “Good.”

The kiss starts slow as you focus more on moving your hands down his body. Haechan shivers a little when your palm is pressing against his bare chest, sliding down to his navel. When you pull back, raising a questioning brow at his reaction, he bashfully says, “Your hand’s cold,” looking like a nervous little boy who’s a stark contrast to how he usually behaves.

He’s so cute.

“Well, I know a way to warm you up.” You smirk, almost cringing when you hear your own words but Haechan seems to like it.

“Oooh,” he coos, grinning against your lips. “Are you offering what I think you’re offering?”

“I don’t know.” You kiss your way down from his jawline to his chest, pushing yourself off his lap so you can kneel on the floor, your fingers unbuckling his belt. “What do you think I’m offering?”

Haechan’s eyes are glowing with anticipation. He curves his fingers around the edge of his seat, wetting his lip nervously when you pull his zipper down. You release him from his boxer, stroking him to life and he sinks his nails further into the couch. A train of expletives breaks free from his mouth but he’s so quiet, you can only hear his ragged breathing.

But by the time you run your thumb over his slit, your hot breath hitting his sensitive skin, Haechan melts into a whimpering mess. “Please don’t tease,” he begs.

“I haven’t even started, Haechannie.” And he looks like he’s about to say something but it only turns into a mewl when you press a kiss to his tip. “You’re so cute,” you comment, and he shivers when the vibration of your voice meets his skin. 

Haechan tries to act composed. “Of course I’m cute, it’s—” 

You cut his line short by darting out your tongue, giving kitten licks at the side, smiling satisfyingly when his eyes meet yours. As you give him a little suck around his tip, he throws his head back, his lower lip between his teeth. “I—I said don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing you.” But you are. How can you not? He looks so fucking cute. You’ve never really enjoyed giving head before, especially when your opponent gets rough and ends up pushing too deep until you gag. But with Haechan, you feel like you can do this for hours. He’s so nervous and shy, doesn’t even dare to place his hand on your hair, and his reaction to every bit of your action is honest even when his words aren’t. 

“Here.” You take one of his hands, moving it to your head. “You can use me as much as you want.”

“Use—” he crumbles at your choice of words. When you suddenly envelop him with your mouth, moving from the tip to the base in one quick motion, Haechan instinctively grabs a handful of your hair, flinching. “Goddamn, why are you so fucking hot?”

You giggle, sliding his cock out of your mouth with an obscene pop. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean your mouth. It’s so fucking warm.”

“So, you’re saying,” you dip your tongue into his slit, eyes seductively peering into his. “I’m not hot?”

“You’re—Fuck, fuck—” Haechan seethes, hips buckling when you bob your head down again, tongue pressing against his veins. Shivers run through his fingertips when he slips them between your locks, pushing your fringe back to have a good look at your face. You catch a glimpse of him, his lips unconsciously moving to form words that you can’t hear. So pretty, he seems to say, and the thought of it makes your stomach lurch in delight. Taking him completely in your mouth, you hollow your cheeks, swallowing around him. He tightens his hold around your hair, cheeks flushed and you expect him to hold you in place so he can thrust against your mouth but what he does is pull you away. “Stop, stop, stop, stop.”

Wiping a string of saliva away with the back of your hand, you ask with a frown. “Something’s wrong?”

Haechan hides his reddening face behind his fingers, quietly answering, “I was about to come.”

You hold back a grin. With a nonchalant hum, you dip your head down again, this time engulfing him until he hits the back of your throat.

“Jesus Christ.” His sanity is deteriorating, he can feel it.

“Don’t bring Lord’s name when I have your dick in my mouth, Haechannie. Mark would kill you if he knew.”

“Fuck Mark. Come here.” He rushes forward, forcibly pulling you up with both hands clamping your arms. When you follow his order, settling back down on top of his lap, he confesses with his lips grazing against the shell of your ear. “I really won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

Despite your previous teasing and confidence, you squirm inside his arms, feeling warmth spreading from your chest to your cheek. “So I have these effects on you?”

He’s almost growling when he retorts, “You don’t even know.” Haechan pushes your bra strap until it falls off your shoulder, teeth marking your supple skin until you hiss in both pain and pleasure. He presses a softer kiss to soothe away the bruise. “Sorry, I… You’re gonna need to cover it up tomorrow.”

“It’s fine.” You stroke his cheek, tracing the tiny mole on his jawline. “Seems like you have a biting kink.”

He sheepishly chuckles, “I don’t know. But if you let me, I’d love to do that again.” 

Something about him saying it in the most sincere way possible, almost too formal even, makes you crave more for him and everything he does. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want with me, Lee Donghyuck.”

Haechan swallows hard, barely has the bravery to look at you in the face after hearing your words and his real name tumbling out of your mouth. His fingers are now on the hem of your shorts, trembling a little bit. “Umm—may I?”

Helping him further, you stand on your knees, unclasping your bra first to his surprise and pulling your denim shorts and panties down to your thighs. Haechan watches with his eyes wide open, mouth parted in awe as he commits every bit of your curve and movement into memory. It feels so thrilling to be this wanted, to be ravished by his eyes, until you begin to struggle to push your clothing away from your legs.

“Need some help?” He asks, lips pursing as he tries to hide a grin. 

You exhale loudly, detaching yourself from him. “Let me just—” You jump off his lap, standing back with your feet on the ground, and kicking the clothing away with annoyance—why in the world did you have to wear shorts this tight—and slap him in the chest when he’s chuckling at the sight. 

“Maybe you should stop trying to be sexy too,” Haechan snickers.

“Shut up.” You crawl back into his lap. “Go back to staring dumbly at me like before. I’m naked.”

“I wasn’t staring like tha—oh,” he inhales sharply as you grind your heat against his cock, amazed at how warm you are despite your cold palms. The sensation of skin meeting skin feels much more different. There’s really no going back this time. Somehow, it feels dangerous, as if you’re doing something forbidden and it makes your skin crawl with excitement.

And by the look on his face, seems like he feels the same way.

“Lost for words?” You taunt him with a smirk, hands on his chest. “That’s new.” His glare is menacing but it falters away the second you rub your arousal against his. 

His head falls to his shoulder, eyes tightly shut. “God, baby…”

There it is again. The funny feeling in your stomach. “Baby?” You simper though your heart is palpitating like crazy. “We’re moving on to giving each other pet names now?”

If he can blush any harder than this, he probably might but with the way you’re grinding shamelessly on his cock, letting him get a glimpse of how wet and warm you are, he’s all maxed-out. 

His earlobe lays between your teeth when you whisper, “Shall we put it in?”

Haechan’s nails are sinking into the skin of your hips, both to hold you in place so you’ll stop torturing him and to press you down harder on his crotch. “I…” He’s so distracted, he can’t even think. The way the side of his length is pressing against your folds is pushing every little bit of self-control he has to the back of his head.

“Haechannie?” You giggle, moving your hips. “I kinda asked you a question here.”

“Yes, fuck, yes, please.” Haechan tries his very best to not sound that desperate for your touch but he is that desperate. “Wait—aren’t we—shouldn’t I wear a condom first?”

You blink, halting your movement. “You brought a condom with you?”

He nods as he leans forward, fingers searching frantically at the pocket of his jeans that hang low on his knees. “Here.”

“Why do you have a condom with you?”

“‘Cause I bought it downstairs just now.”

Your jaw grows slack at the realization. “Is that the reason why your hair was so messy and you were sweating when you barged in here? ‘Cause you ran downstairs, trying to find a condom?”

“I’m sorry, are you really complaining about this now?”

At the feeling of his member twitching underneath you, you sigh. “You’re right. Let’s discuss that later.”

It feels a bit awkward when you stand on your knees, giving him some space and wait until he finishes wrapping the rubber around himself. The silence that hangs between you is almost deafening that by the time he’s done and you fall back to his lap, sitting on his thighs, it feels like you have to start over again.

You diffidently smile. “Hey.”

Haechan is equally as embarrassed, mirroring your gesture. “Hi.”

“I guess we’re gonna have sex.”

“Guess so.”

Another few seconds pass by where you can only meet each other’s eyes, feeling your heartbeat racing louder and louder. It feels like you’re about to burst, honestly, but fortunately for you, Haechan leans in, his fingers tentatively caressing your cheek. “Can I kiss you?” He questions.

You melt under his gaze, his gentle touch, his honey-like voice. “Yes, please.”

Your lips start the connection and the rest of your body follows, fitting every curve of his perfectly like you were made for him. The way Haechan sighs against your mouth sends sparks of electricity all the way down to your toes and you don’t waste any more time. With his mouth latching on your breast, tongue flicking against your nipple, you lower yourself on him.

Haechan’s hold your waist tighter, eyebrows adjoined in the middle at the sensation, his moans muffled. He presses his spine back against the couch, admiring the sight of his member disappearing inch by inch into you. His eyes begin to droop when he’s completely sheathed inside, his bruised lips parted. He cups your cheek, kissing you softly on the corner of your mouth, making you shiver at the sudden tenderness. “I guess we are having sex,” he murmurs with a bashful smile.

You can’t help but laugh a little. “I guess so.” 

It starts slow, with you placing both hands on his chest and him swallowing his breath at the sight of you moving up and down his length. You hiss slightly at the friction, adjusting to his size. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear. 

“A little.” You reassure him with a grin. “Relax, you’re not gonna break me.”

You expect him to send back a snarky remark but what he does is press his forehead against yours. “You’re so warm,” he whispers, tasting the skin that connects your shoulder to your neck. Something about his words, his sensual kiss and his tender touch makes you squeeze your walls around him and he clutches harder around you. He glides his hands lower to your hips, silently urging you to pick up the pace and you follow.

Breathing heavily, Haechan has his thumb grazing your lower lip. “You have such a pretty mouth,” he professes as if he was in a trance.

You seductively bite his thumb, still working your hips. “You’re saying that ‘cause I just sucked your dick.”

“Yes, that too, but really.” It’s as if he’s staring at a work of art, eyes twinkling with admiration. Sometimes, when you’re hitting the right spot and quiver around him, a small moan escapes his lips and you feel him twitching inside you. “It’s—ah—It probably doesn’t sound sincere when I’m saying this now, but I’ve always thought you had a pretty mouth. And lips. I’ve thought about your lips a lot.”

“Yeah?” You mouth against the sensitive skin below his ear, sinking harder on his length. “What else do you like about me?”

“Y-your voice—” You can actually feel him shivering. “You have such a—fuck—I just—I really love your moans.” 

You’re not sure whether he’s saying that because he’s so distracted with the way you’re breathing in his ear or he genuinely loves it. Either way, it’s a pleasure to know how much you’re affecting him with your actions. With a chuckle, you say, “You’re rambling, baby.”

“And your hair,” he adds, probably losing every bit of his self-control by this point. “I love your hair. Looks so soft.” Haechan cards his fingers through your strands. “Feels so soft.”

You hum in response, hoping that your flushed face doesn’t look as apparent as you think. “Anything else?”

“Your—” He shudders when you paint a mark under his collarbone. “Your ass.”

You stop, pulling away to give him a look and he whines at the loss. “My ass?”

“What—” The tips of his ears are turning red, steam practically coming out of them. “Why are you staring at me like that—you have a great ass!”

Teasing him is such a joy to you. “Then, let’s do it this way.” You part away from him, landing back on the carpeted floor so you can turn around, giving him the chance to ogle at your behind, before you ease yourself down onto his lap once more. 

“Fuck—” Haechan’s hisses, his hands going down to your hips again. The new position doesn’t allow you to meet his eyes but with the way he’s whimpering behind you, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass, the sensation increases.

“You okay back there?” You taunt smugly, chuckling a bit because Haechan sounds like he’s losing it. His nails are sinking into your skin and you just know that’s gonna leave a nasty bruise tomorrow. “You seem like you’re enjoying this way too—“ You’re interrupted by your own moans when he suddenly has one hand massaging your breast and another one sliding down your stomach to find your clit. “W-wait, Haechannie—”

“You’re such a tease,” he breathily whispers into your ear, his chest pressing against your spine as he leans forward, pulling you into his embrace. “Isn’t that supposed to be my job?”

His fingers are rubbing you in circles, making your thighs tremble. “You’re right.” You move your hips harder, going out of rhythm with how fast you’re going and Haechan sinks his teeth to your shoulder again.

At the sound of his name departing your lips in the most sinful moan he’s ever heard, Haechan curses. “Shit, you’re not gonna let me enjoy this longer, are you?”

“There’s always a second round, Haechannie.” You smirk, raising your hips all the way up in intention to slam it back down again but Haechan catches you and pushes you forward until you land on the coffee table, stomach pressing flat against the wooden surface. “What—"

“There’s always a second round, right?” His lips are brushing against your ear as he positions himself behind you. “Then I’m going all out.”

When he slams his hips in one swift motion, hard and deep, he knocks all the air out of your lungs. “Wait—” You choke out, can barely keep up with his pace. “Oh God—”

“Now, now,” he coos, his hand finding its way to your throat, fingers pressing against your veins. He raises your face, his chest completing the dip of your spine. “Don’t bring God’s name when I’m fucking you like this, baby.”

You can’t even find the strength to retort, eyes shutting tightly until you see stars behind your eyelids. It almost feels unreal how fast he can go from being awkward and tentative about all of this to raw and wild within a few minutes but Haechan has always been fast adapting to new situations and you have been teasing him way too much. It’s about time that he snaps. 

Haechan moves you down to the floor, forcing you to stand on all fours and you’re so glad you follow his lead. “Spread your knees. Bring your head down,” he instructs and you do as you’re told, extending your arms in front of you. Haechan has his hand on the dip of your shoulder blades, holding you still until you have no choice but to press your cheek against the carpeted floor, ass in the air. “Good girl,” he praises, kneeling behind you and rubbing his tip along your folds. “Ready, baby?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer.

With only a few minutes in, you know you’re getting close, you can feel it. He has switched from giving deep, hard thrusts to quick, shallow ones and it’s driving you insane. “H-Haechannie, I—” you whimper, “I’m close—”

And he knows it too, of course he does. He can tell by the way you’re clenching around him. But instead of going harder and driving you completely over the edge, Haechan suddenly laces his fingers with yours, his lips painting soft kisses from your nape down to your spine, his hips hitting another angle that feels just as amazing even when he slows down the pace. The intimacy surprises you as you don’t expect him to be this tender. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like you’re doing this out of sheer passion. With his palm covering the back of your hand, fingers slipping between yours, somehow, everything feels more sentimental, stronger, crossing the lines.

With a moan of your name, Haechan flips you to your back, fingers framing your face, lips meeting lips as he thrusts back in, gasping against your mouth. “I want to see your face,” he says when he pulls away, his half-lidded eyes boring into yours, thumb slipping between your lips. “Not sure if I’ve told you this before but…” He snaps his hips, and you tangle your legs around them in response, fingernails digging into his upper arms. “You’re so beautiful.”

The knot in your stomach untangles without warning and your orgasm hits you so hard, you nearly sob at the sensation. With the way you’re quivering and squeezing around him, Haechan follows right after, his face sinking into the crook of your neck, hips stuttering as he rides out his own orgasm.

***

With his jeans back on and his used condom thrown away to the nearest trash bin, Haechan joins you back on the carpeted floor as you still haven’t found the strength to get up and get dressed after that. He shamelessly lays his body down on top of yours, his cheek pressing against the valley of your breasts. “I’m spent,” he mumbles, feeling drowsy.

“Haechannie?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re heavy.”

“I know.” But he doesn’t get up, only moving his head slightly to press a tiny kiss to your bare chest before he lies his head down over your heart again. You give up with a smile, wrapping your arms around him, fingertips stroking his hair. Haechan sighs contentedly under your touch. “Man, that was…”

“That was?”

“Amazing.” He props himself up on his elbows so he can meet your eyes. “You’re amazing.”

Your heart jolts at the sincerity in his words but you cooly smile back. “I know.”

“And I’m amazing too, I’m sure?”

“Meh,” you shrug. “Could be a little better but I’ll let you practice on me for free.”

“Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head, his strands tickling your nose. “I don’t even have the strength to join your banter. You know, I’ve always wondered since you’re pretty much shit at everything, there must be something you’re good at. But I never thought that something would turn out to be sex. I can’t even believe I’m saying this but you’re really, really amazing at it. I feel like I should give you a medal or something.”

“Thanks,” you flatly mutter. “Not sure if you’re praising me, though.”

“Oh, I am praising you, believe me. And you know me, I rarely praise.” 

“Stop it,” you use your robotic voice. “You’re making me feel so special, I’m about to cry.”

Haechan playfully nips at your nose, forcing you to break off your act and laugh directly into his mouth. “Seriously,” he says, breaking off the kiss. “If I were to pay you for sex, I would give you everything I own. Even the clothes I’m wearing. Hell, I’d even sell my grandma but don’t tell her that.”

Your laughter has reduced into small giggles. “That’s comforting.”

“So…” The way Haechan is caressing your hair is so soft, almost like a mother to her sleeping child. “What should we do about this?” When you raise an eyebrow, he tensely adds, “Do you, umm… I mean, do you want to, like—”

“You’re rambling.”

“I know, God, I’m so nervous! I may look like a naughty, sexy bad boy—”

“No one is saying that—“

“But I actually suck at this—as in, I don’t really know how to date a girl.”

“You don’t even know how to talk to a girl, based on the conversations we’ve had,” you comment and you know it’s not helping but it’s worth seeing his adorable pout. “Then don’t date me. If it’s hard for you to date, then let’s just keep being friends—"

“But I want to continue this!” He says it so fast and firmly that you don’t even have time to feel hurt about your offer. 

It’s not like you crave a relationship with him—you haven’t thought about it that far—even just holding him like this is enough for now, so the fact that he’s so excited to have this going makes your heart swells with joy. “Well then, we’ll be friends who have casual sex anytime we want,” you suggest.

He blinks twice, a bit amazed at your offer, but to your surprise, he seems rather… disappointed? “What happens if we start catching feelings?” He quietly asks.

“Then I guess we’ll start dating for real.”

“Then…” He runs a hand through his hair, nervous. “What happens if I already have feelings for you?”

He states it so quietly, it’s a miracle you can even hear him. “Do you want to date me, Haechannie?”

He looks away, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Do you want to date me?” He murmurs against your skin, unsure and flustered.

You heave the heaviest sigh you’ve ever done in your life. “You’re unbelievable. I’ll decide for us then. Starting now, we’re dating.”

He lifts his head, and if he were a puppy, he would’ve had his tail wagging behind him, even when his face doesn’t show much. “That easy?”

“That easy. What, you have something to complain about?”

“No.” He grins, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. “Hey, girlfriend.”

“Ugh, get off me, you’re gross.”

But no matter how hard you push your palm against his face, Haechan only giggles and turns you around so this time, you’re lying on his chest. “So,” he pushes a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “You like me, huh?”

“No, what makes you think that way?”

“Says the girl who just slept with me.”

“I slept with you ‘cause I was just curious about your dick. Jeno said you had a dick that was the size of his thumb.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Didn’t you see his InstaStory last night?” You reach up to gather your phone from the coffee table. “I took a screenshot of it actually. Man, you should’ve seen the comments. They’re hilarious.”

Snatching your phone away, Haechan runs his eyes along the words written on the screen. “That son of a bitch!”

Simpering, you sneak a peek under his boxer. “Well, he’s not wrong.” 

“Oh, it’s on,” he deadpans, throwing your phone away and pushes you back down on the floor. His eyes glinting mischievously. 

“What are you doing?” You’re still half-laughing when he brings your hands over your head, holding your wrists together with one hand as he settles between your thighs, his fingers hovering dangerously close.

“I’m gonna make you take your words back.” He wets his lip, one corner of his mouth turning upward. “Time for the second round, baby.” 

***

[tryingmydarndest]

Thank You (Luka Couffaine x Reader)

Summary (Part 1/probably 3): The author goes on a bit of a tangent about how Y/N goes on a bit of a tangent about Viperion. Who may just have a little, big ol' crush on them?

Tags: -not enough actual relationship -fluff -but like, a weird sprinkling of angst that I didn't plan on right at the end???

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Inspired by this fic by @seriously-sirius-black <3. Luka? OOC? Idk, probably, I don’t write fanfic. But I am actually kinda proud of how well Alya turned out. Writing this made me realize how much of a mom friend I apparently headcanon her as. I wrote this gender-and-as-everything-else-neutral as I can make it (lemme know if you see ways I can improve, tho idk how much more fanfic I'll even be writing). Also, I freakin' RAMBLE and overuse italics, but ya get what ya get and ya don't gotta fret. Ooh, important note for future parts (if i write them) - this is a kinda!au where the miraculous users keep their miraculous. also if I had a nickel for every time I get awkwardly specific about the placement of both of a character’s hands I’d have TWO nickels. Happy reading!! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Part I - Paris's Cutiest Heroes

The look currently on Marinette’s face as she sputtered out a response was priceless, “Cat Noir? Cat Noir!? What makes you think I’d find Cat Noir attractive at all? And- and- HIM- the cutest superhero! Ridiculous!”

“Utterly ridiculous?”

“Nice one, Alya”

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” you gave Alya a high five on your way to your seat next to Juleka and Rose on the couch facing Marinette and Alya. A sunny Friday after school was the perfect place for Kitty Section and their entourage to hang out. Unfortunately without Ivan and Mylène, seeing as their anniversary called for a private celebration. After pushing a couple couches onto the deck of The Liberty, Alya had predictably started talking about Paris's resident hero team. Today, she chose to ask everyone who they deemed the cutest, and she made sure to jump on Marinette's... interesting response, “And girl, he has the same silky golden hair and dreamy emerald eyes as Adrien Agreste. What’s utterly ridiculous is you freaking out and dodging every time we bring up superheroes!”

The designated snack-boy, Luka, walked out precariously carrying three bowls of goodies for everyone, “Alright, I got more popcorn. Sorry, but looks like we’re out of cheese flavoring, Y/N”

“Oh... that’s fine. I honestly wasn’t expecting it since I forgot to ask,” your free hand not reaching for the bowl rubbed the back of your neck, “but thanks for remembering.”

“Oh, um yeah- Always," is it creepy to remember something so specific? Someone as nice as Y/N wouldn't be interested in some creep. Ugh. Luka took a seat with his own bowl after passing Alya and Marinette theirs. He ended up next to you on the floor, leaning against the arm of the couch, dangerously close to touching your legs.

Rose reached for the popcorn as she interjected, “You know, Alya does have a point. So Marinette, why don’t you just tell us who you think the cutest superhero is, if you don’t like us guessing?”

Somehow Marinette’s face went even paler as she spoke, “What- I mean, I don’t- I haven’t thought- Wha- what about Y/N? Why aren’t you interrogating them?”

Alya crossed her arms, “Because Y/N says the same thing about the same hero every day. Just watch. Ahem, Y/N, care to weigh in on the cuteness level of our lovely Parisian superheroes?”

You looked up from the bowl you had stolen back from Rose with wide eyes, "Hey! Okay, no, that is not fair! Besides, what is our criteria for 'cute'? I mean... Are we going just by physical characteristics? Is costume a factor? What about the animal they're representing, could our opinion of that make this whole thing unfair? And cuteness is so subjective anyway... Why are we even reducing these amazing and honorable superheroes to just their looks? I mean we could be talking about skill, or their powers or power lev-"

"-And your answer would be exactly the same. Seriously, are you done trying- and might I add, failing- to talk yourself out of this one yet? Or should I just read the article you wrote for the Ladyblog?"

"You said you deleted that!"

Luka had perked his head up at your initial fumbling response and turned to you when he spoke, "You wrote an article? That's pretty cool."

You rubbed your face to try and distract yourself from the burning embarrassment, "Umm, yeah. But it was terrible and extremely not. worth. publishing." You hoped the glare you sent the girl in question was enough to scare her into deleting it on the spot, or to at least lie about it, "So Alya kindly deleted it, right?"

Sitting up with a smug look and crossed arms severely lowered your faith that she'd keep quiet. "A good journalist archives everything. Especially something as juicy as one of her besties going on for five thousand words about how dreamy the great Viperion is," dramatically fake-fainting into Marinette's lap, Alya could barely finish before bursting out in laughter. Of course, quickly followed by the others joining in to varying degrees. Juleka and Rose happily giggled to themselves, Marinette looked more relieved that the heat was off her, and Luka seemed to be shocked, or maybe just holding back to see how you were taking this.

Horribly. Horribly embarrassed would describe how you were taking this conversation. You sat there stock-still as you hoped that none of the others could hear your heart's desperate attempts to pound its way out of your chest. That's certainly all you could hear, at least until Alya's voice brought you out of it, "Hey, it's fine," she made her way over to sit next to you as she continued, "We all have our little hero crushes. That's why I bring it up all the time, to show you that it's totally normal! I mean, we all know how I could go on about Carapace for days," Alya gestured for the others to continue, and used her other hand to try and comfort you.

"Well, I find Ladybug to be just absolutely adorable and so kind.... oh it just makes me so happy knowing she's keeping all of Paris safe," Rose added softly.

Juleka brushed a strand of hair aside as she spoke, "Rena Rouge is super mysterious, pretty rad in my opinion."

Alya was rubbing your back like the mom friend she is to try and help encourage you, "See? Super normal, so go ahead and release all this pent up Viperion energy that I know you have. Maybe it'll encourage Marinette here to finally join in the fun!" Alya stuck her tongue out at her best friend, who responded promptly by smashing her face into a pillow.

You just sighed, "I mean- it’s- it can't just-'' were you supposed to just get over it all just like that? Well, at least the embarrassment was wearing off, maybe you could just entertain her for a bit, "Well- um, you see.... HisHairJustLooksReallySoftAnd- you know what. Nope. Can't do anymore of this. Yep- that's all you're getting out of me!" This time when everyone started giggling, you were able to comfortably join them. It was a nice feeling.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A nice evening chilling out with your friends was always welcome, especially with the rising number of akumatizations making that less possible. But the night had come to a close. Alya and Marinette went home, Juleka was walking Rose back herself, and Luka and you had volunteered to clean up. Luka stopped drying the cup in his hand for a minute as he looked at you, “Um, I know it might not be my place, but I want you to know that you don’t have to be embarrassed about the whole... Viperion thing.” God, how am I supposed to take the news that MY crush has a crush on.... Sort of me? Am I supposed to count it as me at all?

“Oh, um. Yeah, thanks. I think I’m over the embarrassment now that it’s out. I don’t know, it’s just that a lot of people think it’s weird since he’s kind of a new hero,” how are you supposed to explain this to him? That you kept such a non-issue secret from him, especially without getting suspiciously defensive about it. “And then people use that to try and say that I only like him for his looks..... And that’s not it! I don’t know, it’s kind of.... A lot? To explain, that is.” This was not going well.

“Oh... Well, what is it? That you like about him, I guess.”

This was so not going well. But he was waiting for a response so... “Uh, well I guess it did kinda start..... that way.... but then I started doing research. I learned about his power and saw videos of his fights. He’s really good! Especially for being so new, which kinda goes into why his power makes me like him so much.” Shit. Rambling, I’m just talking and talking and I need to stop. But how am I supposed to change the subject now? And now Luka’s sitting down, and he seems so invested. Why does this have to happen to me?

“What do you mean by that?”

Luka’s voice kindly shuts your little thought-spiral in its tracks. What were you saying? Oh, Viperion’s powers! You can talk about this, you know this. Just keep talking, at least he seems interested in it, “Well, you know how he can go back and redo the last couple of minutes?” Luka nodded, “Well, we always see the time that worked out. Us civilians get to keep going from the one time it all went right. Just imagine all the times he failed, all the times he couldn’t get it right. It could be dozens, maybe even hundreds of times! He must get so discouraged at some point, I mean I know I would.... I guess I didn’t really think about it at first, but.... but, I doubt I could keep that determination, and I’m so glad Paris has a hero who can, and does.”

Silence. Why was it so quiet? Oh no, he thinks I’m weird. He must think-

“All of this from ‘his hair looks soft’?”

“Hey! You can’t tell me not to be embarrassed, then make fun of me! That’s against the rules!”

Luka chuckled as he said, “Against what rules, exactly?”

“The Rules Of Best Friendship, duh!”

“And who exactly said you were my best friend?”

“Well... your loss, I guess. Now you won’t get an invitation when I plan Rose and Juleka’s wedding,” you brushed off his offended glare as you took the seat next to him.

“She’s my sister.”

“She’d take my side.”

I’d take your side, too. I will always take your side. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

A/N the sequel: I am super bad at finishing things, but I really wanna keep motivated to finish this (like I have a full, probably 3 part, plan for this). If you guys want to help, shoot me a message and I'll send you a link to the google doc I'm writing this on. Feel free to leave a little comment (pls be kind, obviously) and see my writing process! Idk, would any of you guys be interested in that? Would you just get annoyed at having already read the thing before I post it?

[bangtan-madi]

All Of Our Lifetimes — Five: Requiem

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 2.5k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?

Part — 5 / 15

Warnings — language

A/N — Taglist is open! Comment, message, or ask and I’ll add you to the roster :) (Also I’m a freakin’ moron and forgot to post on Wednesday night like usual, which was yesterday. So enjoy this late chapter lol!)

Previous — Next

The first person you text is Namjoon. To you, he was the obvious choice. Friendly, open, and the first of the members to accept you into their enclave. It wasn't anything in particular, just saying hi and reminding him of who you are and that you were looking forward to tomorrow.

Not two minutes later, he replies and invites you to join a group chat he'd just created for you and all seven members.

"This way, we can all keep in touch!" he says. "DMs are fine, of course, but if we all wanna get to know each other, group chats can be a lot of fun."

He wasn't wrong. The remainder of Sunday evening is spent texting the members. On the way home, while you cook a quick dinner, and when you're relaxing before bed. They're flooding your messages with all kinds of hilarity. Jungkook and Hoseok are a fan of memes, while Yoongi seems to prefer the straightforward communication that gifs provide. Jimin and Namjoon adore emojis, and Jin sticks to his usual bad dad jokes. Taehyung replies to a question every now and then, but for the most part, he's absent from the conversation.

"You're awfully quiet, Taehyung-ssi," Jimin teases half-way through a conversation on whether or not mint ice cream is edible.

"I'm working, but you guys are blowing up my phone so it's hard to concentrate."

A sigh slips out as you reply, "You can put your phone on vibrate, Taehyung. Really, we won't mind. Or at least I certainly won't."

His response is speedy. "Okay. I'll talk to you all tomorrow."

Namjoon sends you a private message. "Don't let him bother you. He can get like this when he's focused. He doesn't do well with things distracting him."

"Yeah...you're probably right."

"Oh, I definitely am!"

"Hey, thank you again for everything. Except for Kim Taehyung, I really feel at ease with everyone. I feel like we're going to get along great at the set tomorrow."

"My pleasure, [Y/n]. I really wanted to avoid you feeling like more of an outsider than you probably already do. Being in a new country, even if you speak the language, can be scary. I've been to enough of them to know that there's no place like home...but maybe we can make it a bit easier."

A smile spreads across your face at his genuine spirit and pure kindness. "You have, big time! Each of you is really fun to be around. Honestly? I can't wait for 'Run' tomorrow! Can I ask where we're going? I didn't see a production report yet, and Director Hyeon hasn't responded to my email."

"We'll probably knock out a few episodes in one night, and I think we're closing down the Seoul Museum of Art. They're going to close a bit early so we can have it to ourselves. The games we have planned will happen there!"

You turn your eyes away from your cell phone at the mention of the museum. Recalling what happened over the weekend, returning to that place doesn't seem like a terrific idea. But then again, if you are there with Taehyung, maybe the two of you can finally talk about what you see in your dreams.

Maybe, just maybe, you can get those answers.

Your resolve strengthens a little bit, and a new message comes through, one not from the group chat or Namjoon. You click out of your conversation with the leader and check the notification.

"Who are you?"

The question is blunt and straightforward, coming from the second-youngest member via a private chat. You open the message, and your fingers hover above the keyboard for a few moments.

"Hi Taehyung. What do you mean?"

"I know we've met before. I can't remember where."

You bite your lip at his statement. So you were right; he does have some sort of familiarity with you, too. Now, to figure out just how much.

"Have you been to a concert before? Or a fan-sign? Maybe you worked on the set of Hwarang?"

"None of those. I actually didn't listen to much of your music before recently, and I've never been to a concert or fan-sign. And I've never worked on any set before."

"You weren't a fan of BTS? Even though you applied to Big Hit?"

"Nope. Actually, my roommate Milo was the Bangtan superfan. I heard of you guys through her, and then of Big Hit. I applied because I wanted to live in Seoul. It's been my dream all my life. Big Hit just happened to have the job I wanted in the ideal location. Call it fate, I guess."

A half-truth, but it will have to do for now.

"I know. I remember. Your gut feeling."

You pause, your fingers halting mid-type. How did he already know about that? You hadn't mentioned it in either the group chat or in the earlier conversation. In fact, the only person you'd mentioned the gut feeling about Seoul to was—

"I have to go, sorry. I'll see you at the museum tomorrow. I think you know the way."

The museum looks almost spooky after the sun begins to set over the buildings that touch the sky. Downtown Seoul is as beautiful as ever as the bright oranges and pastel pinks bathe the exteriors of each in brilliant colors. If it weren't for the thirty or so Big Hit employees rushing about, you might've stood at the entrance for much longer than thirty seconds.

But the moment you're on-scene, you go to work. One of the producers flags you down, offers a brief introduction, and tells you where to hide the English words.

"Have you seen what we did a few episodes back, eighty-seven and eighty-eight?" he asks, shoving a stack of stickers into your hands. "When we put Hangul all over the Oil Tank Culture Park?"

You shake your head, offering a sheepish smile. "I haven't...exactly watched too much 'Run.'"

The producer waves it off. "Just run around the building and stick these wherever you think seven boys may or may not find them. Feel free to go crazy. We have fifteen minutes to get everything set before filming starts. The boys should be here soon. So, go! Once you're done, come back here. While they're running around, you can help me with the grading system."

"Grading system?"

"They're going to make sentences with the words they find. Since you know English the best, you can award points to each word based on difficulty in using."

A smile spreads across your face. "Got it! Sounds fun."

You speed off into the museum, weaving past the sound and lighting crew that are attempting to set up. Several of the museum staff have also stayed behind to give guidance, and you're relieved that the boys and company have the entire building to themselves. This wouldn't be possible during daytime hours when the public is here.

You begin sticking several dozen stickers along the walls, on the frames of pieces of art, on the marble floor. Basically, anywhere you can reach. You cover the Van Gogh exhibit with difficult words like "effervescence" and "halcyon," along with colorful words like "lilac" and "vermilion."

The further into the building you move, the fewer and fewer people you see. Once you've passed the room of modern art and approach the Winged Victory of Samothrace, there's no one in sight. Down to your last few words, you slip into the dimmed hallway and turn the corner.

Winged Victory is just as you remember. Tall and beautiful and haunting. The statue is still so familiar to you. Looking at the base, you can almost see the body of the woman from your dream. Right before you and Taehyung started running for your lives, this was where a murder occurred.

You flinch at the memory of the blood, but something else inside you is pulling you out of the room and towards the fountain. Last time you saw it, you ran from the room and left the friendly acquaintance behind. Part of you wonders what he must've thought. Surely, you looked like you'd seen a ghost.

But you might as well have.

Your feet tip-toe on the marble. The boys have most certainly arrived, and the filming has started from the sound of it. Their crazed and excited laughter fills the echo-y halls. Seeing as there aren't any stickers this far into the museum, you take your chances and continue moving deeper in. The producer could wait just a few more minutes, couldn't he?

The last of the sunlight ricochets across each panel of glass in the dome ceiling, greeting you with shards of light skewed in every direction. Like fireflies dancing together, they bring an almost magical aura to the open space, one very different from the horrors of your nightmares. The columns are made of ever-moving fire, and the fountain is made of glittery stars.

As you stand in the doorway, your throat drys and tightens. Seeing this place again, no matter how different, brings back the memories you can't explain. Are they even memories? Surely, that has to be what they are. But from when or from whom, you can't explain. They're a requiem for someone you hardly know.

Does Taehyung know the answers? Does he know more than you about this event you keep playing over and over in your mind? He's been in your dreams ever since you were a child, as a version much older than you were then and even older than you are now. Who has just one dream their whole lives, unless the explanation is that he has that dream, too?

You shake your head at the absurdity of it all. "What am I doing here?" you murmur, running your hand through your hair.

"Are you okay?"

The deep voice behind you causes you to jump and spin, eyes wide as you spot a familiar face at the entrance to the fountain. Taehyung stands with his hands in the pockets of his pants, his head tilted as he observes you.

"Holy shit, don't sneak up on people!"

The brunet smirks a little and shrugs. "Didn't mean to, sorry. You were staring off into space and didn't even hear me walk down the hallway. And it's hard to be quiet on marble floors."

"God, sorry, I didn't mean to snap." You run your hands over your face. "This museum has...some strange memories for me. I thought coming back here would help, but I think I've made it worse."

"How do you mean? I thought you hadn't been to Seoul before?"

"I haven't. It's complicated." Your eyes flicker to the corridor behind him. "Where's your cameraman?"

"I ditched him, told him I was running off to the restroom. But I didn't see you anywhere, so I figured you'd be back here."

Eyebrows pulling together, you reply, "How'd you figure that?"

"Well, you seemed really freaked out last weekend. You ran out of here like a ghost was chasing you. I was honestly worried until I saw you at Big Hit the next day, and you seemed fine, so..."

He trails off, and the realization of his words hits you. "Wait...shit, were you the one I was talking to both times I visited here this week? The one in the hoodie and mask?"

Taehyung nods, though there's a tiny line between his brows that shows he's as confused as you are. "Yes? I thought you knew that from day one, when you spoke to me at the Van Gogh exhibit."

Shaking your head fervently, you spout, "No! Not at all. I had no idea, honest to god. I just thought you were shy or introverted or maybe had a tough time talking to girls. I never, ever thought you were..." You gesture to all of him.

His brown eyes widen as he steps closer and out of the doorway. "Wait, really? You had no idea."

"None!"

He chuckles softly, turning to gaze at the fountain as the sunlight fades to soft blues of night. "I'd assumed you knew who I was. You were so open and friendly to a perfect stranger. I thought you'd recognized me."

"Not at all," you retort. "I was being nice and friendly because there was something about you that was so damn familiar. Kind of like this whole place, actually. I don't know. I can't explain it."

Taehyung nods and runs a hand through his curly locks. "I won't lie, there's something off about this place for me, too." He shifts his attention from the fountain to you. "You weren't lying about anything you said before, were you? About you being called to Seoul and not knowing why?"

You lock eyes with him as you reply, "I promise, everything I said was true."

"Then why did you run away?"

A heavy sigh slips out, and you sit down on the water fountain's edge. Looking into the water to your side, you run various ways to go about this disclosure. Blunt truth? A comforting lie? A bit of both?

"[Y/n]?"

"I've had this...nightmare, ever since I was a little girl. Ever since I could remember. It's always the same. I'm running for my life with someone I know that I care deeply about. We're trying to escape a murderer who's closing in behind us. He's just slaughtered one of our friends and he's coming for us."

You pause to take a breath, and Taehyung takes that pause to sit beside you. He doesn't say a word, only waist patiently for you to continue.

"We're eventually trapped. The man with me tells me to run while he distracts the murderer. Of course, I don't listen. There's a fight. We're both injured. And we both die."

There's a pregnant pause in the air before Taehyung hangs his head and murmurs, "That sounds horrible."

"I haven't told you everything," you reply. "I'm afraid I shouldn't...but what the hell." You gesture to the space around you. "In my dream, the entire thing is set here, in the Seoul Museum of Art. Our friend was killed at the base of Winged Victory. The fight happens among these columns. And the man and I, we die in this very fountain, bleeding out from gunshot wounds."

You turn to face the man beside you, seeing his eyes shift from his feet to yours as his head tilts slightly. "And every time, it's the same three people besides me. The same woman at the base of Winged Victory, the same murderer with a gun, the same man that this nightmare-version of me loves. I have no idea who the first two are..."

In your hesitation, Taehyung says, "But you know the last one."

Nodding, your knuckles turn white as you drip your knees. Here it goes. All or nothing. No turning back now.

"I do. He's—"

"—Me."

Taglist — @just-call-me-trash-can​, @jaienn​

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Danny Phantom
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Wesley Weston
Characters: Danny Fenton, Wesley Weston, Jazz Fenton, Maddie Fenton
Additional Tags: Walker is mentioned repeatedly, Phantom Family AU, Revelations, being a lil shit is genetic apparently, Danny swears in stars and constellations and space stuff, Wes swears with cuss words
Summary: Prompt from Tumblr: I wish you would write a fic about Danny being a little shit to Vlad by revealing him to Wes.
Wes comes over and nearly gets Danny’s half life ended, which leads to further family revelations that leave Danny’s head spinning.

Danny Fenton was having a weird and not particularly pleasant week. His Dad had finally encountered the Box Ghost, who took one look at him and glitched out like a Bethesda character before apparently regaining his memories. Apparently, the Box Ghost was Jason Fenton, older brother of Jack Fenton. The Box Ghost was Danny’s Uncle. That was weird as fuck to discover, especially when he implied that Box Lunch would be a person he’d have to deal with soonish. He was going to have a cousin. His already living cousin, Wes, had decided later that week to ruin Danny’s life by asking him right in front of Jazz and Mom if he still had that giant green dog thing he’d crashed a game with. Danny dragged him up to the third floor of Fentonworks, shoved him into his room, and learned very quickly that Wes had figured out that he was Phantom the moment he focused on him. “Orion, man, you can’t just imply I’m a ghost in front of Mom or Dad!” “Why not?” Wes stared at him like he’d grown a second head - he hadn’t, he knew the sensation - and Danny took a moment to redirect the energy surging to his eyes over his skin and outward. It blanketed the room in a wave and left what Tucker had described as the feeling of touching an old tv and feeling static on your fingers all over the place. Wes rubbed his arm and raised a brow at him. “Wes, tell me what Jack Fenton is going to think if you tell him ‘hey that ghost kid you shoot at all the time is your kid’? Actually, no, how the fuck did you even figure it out?” “You look like you put on your suit and then someone turned on the color inversion filter on their camera. Blue skin, white hair, black and white suit.” Wes paused and poked Danny’s cheek, looking him in the eye. “Your eyes should be orange instead of green though if that were the whole case. How’d this happen? Last time I talked to you, you n Tucker were talking about building a motorcycle that could fly.” “The hoverbike has sorta been put on hold, I’ll admit,” Danny grumbled, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He pulled his hands away from his face and Wes was still there, tall and stupid and overly observant. “If I tell you what happened, do you promise not to out me to my parents?” “I-should I treat this like you’re in the closet?” Wes snorted at the idea. “Closeted dead guy. Alright, I can get that. But uh, if you’re dead, why are you still…” he wiggled his hand and then gestured at Danny’s room. “In a house with ghost hunters?” “Well, to start with, I’m not actually dead. Not entirely, anyway.” Danny sat down on his bed and Wes followed, and after taking a moment to triple check that Vlad’s bugs weren’t in his room with another wave of energy, Danny told Wes the story of the Accident. It was a short story, but he was slow about it. He’d never really discussed it with anyone, Sam and Tucker just sort of knew better than to bring it up and Jazz probably thought he’d tell her himself in his own time. By the time he finished, Wes looked almost as uncomfortable with the situation as Danny felt. “You know, not to sound like a cheesy 90’s cartoon character but this is why you shouldn’t give in to peer pressure.” Danny snorted and laughed at that, and Wes grinned even when Danny elbowed him. “Ok, so I’m putting together that you did a bunch of dumb shit and found yourself decided to be a superhero. What the fuck was up with the dog, or the mayor getting kidnapped? Your eyes were fuckin red when you stole a bunch of shit that one time too.” “Ok in order of what all happened: Axiom labs euthanized their guard dogs and one of them came looking for his squeaky toy but forgot where it was and no matter how many times I shoved Cujo back into the portal-” “ Cujo ?” Wes snorted and ruffled Danny’s hair. “Have you been reading the stuff Sam gives you or did your emo phase just never really end? You have the emo bangs.” “I do not!” Danny huffed, running a hand through his curly hair that, well, Wes couldn’t really ruin a mess, could he? “You’re the one with actual bangs, sasquatch hunter.” “Acknowledging that Big Foot is real doesn’t mean I’m gonna go and shoot it.” Wes crossed his arms and rested them on Danny’s head. “By the way, any idea when that growth spurt is due?” “Bold words for someone with his shins within targeting range.” “I can and will put you in a headlock Astroboy.” “I can slam dunk you through a hoop like your precious balls.” Wes said nothing to this and simply leaned more onto Danny’s head. “If I snap my neck because of you I’m suing. Anyway no matter how often I yeeted Cujo back into the Ghost Zone-” “I beg of you to call it something cooler. Call it the afterlife even, just. Please.” “He just kept digging his way out. So, I looked at his tag, saw that he came from Axiom, and we ended up in there, while getting shot at by the Red Huntress-” “Valerie, right?” “H-” “She appeared as the Huntress literally the same time the dog shit was happening, and I am getting increasingly worried that no one has noticed that she sounds the same in her Red Huntress suit as she does in the Nasty Burger mascot suit.” Wes dropped his arms to Danny’s shoulder, but still rested his chin in his hair, humming loudly. Danny slid into that spot between and snorted when Wes fell onto the bed. “I can’t tell you how pissed she was that I outed her to her dad about being the Huntress so that she wouldn’t get herself killed fighting Pariah Dark. Pretty sure if you tell her or anyone else about that, she’ll shoot you.” “I mean, it’d probably get her swarmed by so much hostility she stops shooting at you, so that’d be a plus. I’d just come back and bug you anyway.” “You’re a jerk, but I guess you’re alright.” Danny flopped back. “The mayor thing was a ghost, this douche bag prison warden named Walker in the GZ who decided that since I broke out of his prison I owe him over a thousand years and he’d make my home a prison instead.” Wes stared at him, clasped his hands flat against each other, and took a deep breath. “There are so many things wrong in that sentence. Why were you in ghost prison?” “I did ghost crimes.” Wes looked and sounded like he was in some deal of pain, and Danny couldn’t help but grin. “Dad’s anniversary present for Mom fell through the portal while I was cleaning up by shooting things into their proper place,” he covered Wes’ mouth as he opened it, “and so I flew in after it, but it was a ‘real world item’ as though the Ghost Zone is fake somehow, and that was ‘Against The Rules’ according to Walker.” Danny rolled his eyes. “I got the present out and back to Dad but I had to like, get to him at your mom’s place.” “Did you fly all the way from Minnesota to Arkansas for a present?” “Arcturus, no, not with my powers.” Danny laughed, laying back on his bed. “That’d take me like, 8 hours at top speed. No, I used the Speeder.” “Have you modified it to get into space?” “Not yet.” “Do you have permission to mod it for space travel?” “Do I have permission to be dead?” “Touche.” “Anyway, Walker is stronger than me, even when possessing a human, so when all eyes and cameras were on me he possessed the mayor and dragged me back inside to make it look like I was dragging him in. Whole invasion was his idea.” “Danny?” “And then with the robberies when my eyes were red, did you know about Circus Gothica? Cause me and some other ghosts were under the control of the ring master of the circus, Freakshow, who had this freakin crystal ball thing that could control ghosts attached to his staff. It shattered after a very long fall, thank Astrea.” “That’s really fucked up. You’ve had a fucked up life.” “Yeah.” Danny shrugged. “I guess I have.” “Know what’s more fucked up about this?” Wes had a too big grin on his face and Danny narrowed his eyes. “Do you remember my mom’s last name?” “Wal..ker… no. ” The two of them were thundering down the stairs in seconds, Danny half shouting in the livingroom. “ Mom was your dad, by chance, a law enforcement officer, or jail warden or something?” Mom looked up at him from the staff she was tinkering with on the table - note to self, sterilize the table before dinner - and blinked at him a couple of times before smiling and nodding. “Why yes, he did. Warden James Lamont Walker ran the Spittoon prison when he was alive. He was a good man, if a bit strict.  To my and Alicia’s fury and grief he was murdered during a prison break.” Mom stared off in the distance, the air around her curling with a dark cold that Danny was sure only he could see. Then she softened up a bit and smiled softly at them. “Why?” “No reason, auntie, I was just curious about something and Danny thought we should ask you.” Wes played with the hem of his shirt while maintaining eye contact and Danny wondered if he had a tell for awkwardness like that. Then he realized he was rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you have any pictures of him?” “Oh, yes! They’re in the shed! My boxes are actually labelled.” “Uh oh, careful, Dad might hear of organization and come to tear it up,” Danny said with a laugh, half dragging Wes out the back door. When they were out of his mom’s considerable ear shot, Danny said softly, but with feeling, “Fuck.” “Got locked up by grandpa, huh? That’s like, the worst way to get grounded ever .” Wes snickered and watched Danny run-walk up to the shed, hand glowing so softly you could only see it by staring directly at it as he turned the knob. “There are odds, slim ones, that this is a whole different Walker. It might even be his first name.” “Who the hell names their kid Walker?” “Walter, Wayne and Wesley Weston.” “Alright then.” For a few minutes the two of them searched through the mess known as the Fenton Family Shed for a box with a label neither had thought to ask for. Eventually, they found one labeled Scrapbooks and carefully eased it out of the mess of it all. “Y’knonw, Danny,” Wes said as they opened the box and started flipping through scrapbooks with just enough care not to damage them. “I’m feelin kinda good about investigating a ghost with you. Is this how it is with you n your boyfriend and best friend?” Danny almost tore a page out, turning to stare at Wes. He must’ve felt the temperature drop for a second because he looked up with a raised brow. “What?” “Boyfriend?” “Tucker. Tucker Foley.” Danny’s jaw dropped and Wes’ confusion morphed into a shit eating grin. “You know, Tucker spends most of his time with you Foley? The one you build shit with all the time? The nerd that you get sick in sync with? I’ve seen you lose a pencil and then he puts one behind your ear while you look for the one you lost. You made him a custom gaming computer disguised as a console.” Danny’s face burned red as a tomato at this point and he shoved Wes. “Shut up I’m not dating Tucker!” “I have to ask Jazz about this now, you’re killing me.” Wes snorted and flipped a page. He blinked down at the scrapbook and pointed at a picture. “James Walker. This look anything like him?” Danny took the book and looked at the picture. Looked at the several pictures of the man with his daughters, wearing a black pinstriped suit in a handful of them. And he let out a long, loud groan. “I hate this week, I hate it so much.” Wes started cackling and Danny scowled. “That reminds me.” He kicked Wes in the shins and grinned. “Much better. Also, Wes, I gotta tell you. I’m not one of a kind, as far as my living status goes.” “Oh what, there’s another Schrodinger’s little shit flying around out there?” Wes rubbed his ankle and hissed. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but that fruitloop we call a mayor may have been elected because he possessed literally everyone that was voting.” Wes went silent and stared at him, and Danny nodded. “Think you can pester him instead of me? He wants to kill Dad and thinks that he can get Mom if he does that.” “Danny. My Dad works for Masters.” “This puts you in the perfect position to mess with him, I say. Just act like you’re there to see your dad.” “You oblivious asshole. I fuckin love you, cous.” “Same here, skyscraper.”

[hawkbucks]

Hi, yes, listen - i am such a sucker for identity porn fics. And i need MORE of your stony identity porn au! With dumbass tony going on dates with his armor because he has to keep up the charade, and a pining steve and an exhausted JARVIS and and and... I just need more, pretty please?? With cherry on top? Please and thank you~ ♡

I don’t think Steve would try to ask Iron Man out on a date while under the impression that he’s dating Mr. Stark, so IM/TS must break up! Which means... *drumroll* light angst! Or something! It’s very light! 

Saying that Tony has been having a bad day is an understatement. He’s been having a terrible day. Atrocious. Magnificent only in its ability to irritate him. His bruised ribs are flaring up again (thanks, Mole Man), he forgot to buy more of his favorite coffee brand so he had to drink--gasp!--Folgers, and everything is too bright and too loud and Jesus Christ, now that he’s thinking about it, he may or may not actually have a concussion. Add in the stress of trying to run Stark Industries, being a good benefactor-slash-mechanics for the Avengers, and his general sense of self-doubt, it’s a damn wonder as to how he hasn’t tipped over the edge yet. 

He sits on the common room couch, tablet in hand, and one leg crossed over the other. His tie is thrown somewhere over the back, blazer discarded. If any qualified doctor were to see him right now, he’s pretty sure they’d be having a conniption trying to get him to rest. The steady march towards the future never rests, though, so why should he? 

The answer to that comes in the form of Steve Rogers a.k.a Captain America a.k.a the object of Tony’s affections for the past 2 years a.k.a the one Tony has been deceiving into thinking that he’s dating himself walking into the room and smiling his golden smile while his eyes twinkle in the way that Tony knows Iron Man is going to be coming up in the conversation sooner or later. Surprisingly, Steve has been rather supportive about the entire thing, despite his own crush on Iron Man. It makes Tony feel a little bit worse about the entire thing. Okay, a lot worse. 

“Hello, Tony,” Steve greets, voice light. Then, he takes in the way Tony’s shoulders are set in a stiff line, a deep frown on his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Dandy,” Tony replies. He smiles up at Steve, well aware that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And you?” 

Steve, of course, doesn’t believe him. You don’t need super soldier senses to know that Tony is not fine and he is not dandy. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he chides. “You can talk to me.”

“I know,” Tony says. “I’m just... tired.”

“Sleep, then. Your work can wait.” 

“I can’t,” Tony murmurs. “I try, but I can’t. There’s so much on my plate, Steve, I couldn’t sleep even if I were dead. In between the company and the Avengers and I--” his breath hitches, the pain in his ribs making itself known again-- “Iron Man, it’s too much.” He clenches his fist. Fucking--Iron Man.

“Did something happen?” Steve asks, alarmed. 

That’s how he knows his thought didn’t stay a thought. It’s always the worst of them that end up coming out of his mouth. Never anything about him having a dream about riding a rainbow with a poodle the other day. Never anything about him making a delicious chicken parmesan. Always the bad shit. “We broke up.” Like ripping off a bandaid. 

“Shit.” 

“It was a week ago.” Tony feels like he should be concerned with how easily the lie flows off his tongue. “Amicable, I think, but it just--it stayed with me. He’s always going to stay with me. I don’t know. You shouldn’t have to listen to me.” 

“You’re as much of my friend as Iron Man is. I’ll listen for as long as you need.” Steve sits next to him and takes the tablet out of his hand, setting it on the coffee table in front of them. 

“Thank you.” Tony’s voice cracks. 

OKAY so now that’s out of the way I hope you do not mind bullet points because my brain is pulling me in 3 directions at once and I’m pretty sure if I actually tried to write it out the universe would implode.

It takes around 8 months before Steve even thinks about the possibility of asking Iron Man out. He knows that, technically, the man has been on the market ever since Tony cried during their little heart-to-heart on the couch, but he has too much respect for the man to make a move on his ex when it’s barely been 24 hours. Plus, even if Tony says it was amicable, who’s to say that Iron Man wasn’t also sobbing his eyes out? The only reason Steve doesn’t know is because he never brought it up, and he’s sure that if he did, Iron Man would’ve put a stop to the conversation fairly quickly. 

But he does end up asking Iron Man out and Iron Man’s repulsors stop working for a good 0.3 seconds. “Are you serious?” Iron Man asks, the concern in his voice showing even through the modulator. “You haven’t even seen my face.”

“I don’t need to see your face to know you’re a good man.”

(Tony may or may not think about getting that tattoo’d on an inconspicuous part of his body.) 

Every single date, Iron Man is in the armor. The only thing he can do is drink a milkshake or a soda through the straw. It honestly makes Steve feel a little selfish if he’s being honest. He’s over here, shoveling pancakes into his mouth, while Iron Man is sipping on a strawberry-banana smoothie. Iron Man insists that he doesn’t mind, but it still makes him feel bad. 

Meanwhile Tony is stressing even more because he has to be extra careful because Steve’s taken to hanging around more and more on Iron Man’s floor lately and if he times it wrong, Steve could very well walk in on him changing into/out of the Iron Man armor. 

“Might I suggest telling him, sir?” Jarvis suggests.

“No,” Tony curtly replies, “you may not.” 

And on the other hand, Steve lies awake at night dreaming about how Iron Man looks like under the mask and oh god oh god he just wants to kiss Iron Man so badly he aches (and he feels like the lead character in a Victorian romance novel). 

At some point later in the relationship: 

“Jarvis? Could you tell Iron Man I love him?” Steve asks. 

“Certainly, sir.” 

“HE LOVES ME,” Tony wails. “HE HASN’T EVEN SEEN MY FACE.”

“Certainly, sir.” 

And at another some point, Steve brings up the fact that he still hasn’t seen Iron Man without his mask. He’s not? Super Pushy about it, though? It’s like, “Would you ever unmask yourself in front of me some time? Don’t get me wrong, it’s been nice, but I would like to see your actual face.” 

And Tony is sweating bullets like, “I’m a bit self-conscious about my looks.”

“Nonsense. You’d be plenty handsome to me no matter how you look like.”

And Tony thinks he might die on the spot, oh my god. He needs to tell Steve at some point, but he’s so fucking afraid of how he would react. Bar the fact that he doesn’t think he could measure up to Captain freakin’ America, there’s also the fact that Steve has been a stickler for truth and justice and blah blah since day one, and if he were to find out that Tony’s been hiding his identity for as long as he has... yeah. 

[junionigiri]

BNHA Rarepair Month - Day 23 - Tattoos

for @bnha-rarepair-month​

Summary: Seeing her interest in tattoos, Tokage brings Uraraka with her to Illusion Ink, where her girlfriend Jirou works as an apprentice. Much to Uraraka's surprise, however, Todoroki Shouto is also there getting inked. (Cafe/Hospital AU part 2)

Relationship(s): Tokage Setsuna/Jirou Kyouka/Uraraka Ochako (SetsuJirouChako); Todoroki Shouto/Uraraka Ochako (TodoChako)

Rating: T

Warnings/Notes: I know I tagged this one as SetsuJirouTodoChako in the other platforms but yeaaaaah. Please enjoy the disaster that is Uraraka Ochako hehehe. Story TBC in the upcoming dates~

Uraraka Ochako sighs as she pulls off her OR scrub suit in the women’s lockers. She doesn’t always feel like shit and that she’s super incompetent at her job, but then again she didn’t always have to assist Dr. Hakamata for three consecutive surgeries. After being yelled at and threatened to be stitched up the ceiling about fifty times, her ego had just about enough bruising.

“I’ve had my share of miserable days, but you make a funeral look like a rave, Uraraka.”

Uraraka looks up from her miserable face reflected in her little mirror inside her little locker to look at the woman who entered. “Oh--Dr Tokage? What’re you doing here?”

The green-haired internist gives her a saw-tooth grin as she saunters in with a sterile set of scrubs. “Cardiac monitoring duties. I ran into a miserable-looking Honenuki on the way here. I’m guessing you both got an acute case of Best Jeans Syndrome.”

“You got that right, doc,” Uraraka says with another despondent sigh, one that she pulls out of the very depths of her being. “I was literally moments away from being torn into shreds and woven into the world’s ugliest quilt… I made so many booboos that…”

Oh sweet fuck Happy Thanksgiving. 

“That I can’t…” Uraraka struggles, as Tokage Setsuna casually starts pulling off her scaly-green dress, showing off an arsenal of tattoos over the smooth skin of her arms, chest, belly, and hips, and the most toned body on a woman she’s ever seen, ever, in her short existence as a disastrous bisexual. When the girl bends over to shimmy out of her shoes, Uraraka had to turn around to stop staring at her toned ass. “Sorry doc, I totally forgot what I was saying--”

Dr. Tokage chuckles. Through the little mirror in her locker, Uraraka sees that her stupid pink cheeks have turned cherry red. She’s probably a few moments away from floating herself into an embarrassed heap in the ceiling, if the doctor didn’t speak in the next second. “It’s fine. People tend to do that when they see all the tats. I regularly get shit over it, like why does a doctor look like a freakin’ Yakuza member, and things like that--”

“Th-that’s not what I w-was thinking at all!” Uraraka stammers, willing herself to look at the green-haired girl again. Thankfully, Dr. Tokage’s already pulling down the scrub top, and the brunette’s heart is spared a heap of extra work load. “I think your tats are amazing! I wish I had about half as many as you do! I just have a small one myself, and it’s not that nice-looking…”

“You think so? I’m sure it ain’t that bad,” says Tokage, with a playful little smirk on her wide mouth. “Care to show me?”

Uraraka blushes up to her hairline and internally beats herself up for even mentioning her tattoo. Because while she’s a little proud of having the courage to get a tattoo in the first place, she isn’t sure that she wants to show her fat ass to Tokage… especially not after she’s given such a lovely a visual treat.

Still, it’d be weird not to show it to her at this point, so she tries not to be too obviously reluctant when she pulls down her pants and shows the skin of the outside of her left thigh, angling her butt outwards so the other girl can see it. Her blush doesn’t die down as Tokage appraises it, bending her face so close over her bottom that she feels her piercing gaze on her.

“That’s such a cute little astronaut, Uraraka!” giggles the doctor, green eyes dilating from slits into interested dark oblongs. “And those cute planet-balloons! Are you into outer space or something?”

“Y… yeah… space is cool,” she says dumbly, making herself internally flinch at how uncool she sounds. Luckily though, Tokage doesn’t seem to mind her silliness, and just gives that melodic laugh again. She tries to recover by adding, “I mean… I want to have another tattoo… maybe like, a half sleeve or something, with all the planets--”

She shows off her bare arm, which contrasts quite markedly against Tokage’s decorated one. She sees that her muscly right arm has various sharp-toothed dinosaurs on it, inked in spectacular detail.

The green-haired girl hums thoughtfully, tapping one scaly finger to her chin. “You serious about that, Uraraka?”

The nurse blinks as she regards Tokage’s daring stare. “Yeah, I’m serious… I guess? I mean, I’ve looked around for artists and stuff, but as for design...”

“Coolness. That’s all I need to hear.” The girl shows off her sharp teeth again and raises both eyebrows. “You’re done with your shift, yeah? You should wait for me. This thing’ll take, like, a second or so--”

“Huh? But--”

“I mean, as long as the patient doesn’t die or anything,” she adds with a chortle and a graceful wave of her inked hand. “I’ll see you at the cafeteria in like, a couple of hours? Hey, maybe I can leave my mouth with you so we can keep talking?”

The young nurse yelps in horror and stammers the most polite no thank you I don’t want to spend the next two hours with your sexy disembodied mouth, and Tokage only cackles in response. In a few moments, the woman disappears into the operating room suites, and Uraraka can only calm her silly pink cheeks down and get dressed. 

*

Clad in her casual clothes (which is just a faded black tank top, joggers, and a pair of sneakers), Uraraka nervously chews on the plastic straw half-dipped in her lukewarm coke when she sees Dr. Tokage amble up to her, clad once more in an emerald-green snakeskin dress and a white coat.

In her doctor-ly regalia, all her tattoos are hidden from plain sight. There’s a certain thrill that comes with knowing how the map of her body looks like, while the rest of the world around her doesn’t. “So good news, the patient’s alive and I get to go home while Ibara-chan takes care of the rest. You ready to go, Uraraka?” she asks, sticking out her forked tongue for good measure.

“I guess?” Uraraka answers uneasily. Wherever Tokage’s taking her, she hopes it’s a place where she can see those lovely dinosaur-studded arms again.

They walk out of the hospital, with Tokage filling the empty air between them with chatter. Uraraka’s amazed by her ability to be able to make a conversation about anything. By the time they reach their destination, the young nurse finds herself up-to-date with all the latest gossip going around the hospital. In particular, one involving Dr. Todoroki and his father, the present number one pro-hero Endeavor, who’s allegedly on a head-hunt for a perfect mate with a perfect quirk so he can arrange a marriage and hopefully produce a grandchild who’d actually agree to being a pro hero, unlike any of his children who avoided heroism like the plague.

Uraraka wrinkles her nose at that. Arranged marriages--aren’t they a thing of the distant past? Or like stupid plot devices in shoujo manga, just an excuse for ordinary MCs to interact with impossibly rich and handsome men? Well, Dr. Todoroki Shouto indeed fits the bill for your standard shoujo or josei hero. He has the wealth, the breeding, and the brooding too. Just enough torment to be interesting, but not overwhelming, like Dr. Tokoyami or Dr. Kuroiro from radiology.

And the looks. Ohh, buddy boy, the looks. That dual-toned hair, those crazy heterochromatic eyes, how very, very pretty his face looks, even with the scar on his face. Not to mention how unfairly muscled his body is, for someone who spends all his time doing neurosurgery and probably not much of anything else. Uraraka’s spent many semiconscious moments inside and outside the OR watching him undress and unglove and unmask, enjoying how his strong arms look while scrubbing down for the next procedure--

Wait, did she really just--with Doctoroki again, of all people--ugh, Uraraka wants to punch herself in the damn face. She hasn’t even finished fantasizing about Dr. Tokage, and here she is moving on to the Hosu Gen’s unofficial image model--who, by the way, doesn’t even have a good reason to interact with her outside the OR.

But even though Uraraka’s notoriously mercurial when it comes to her crushes, Dr. Todoroki’s one of her strong constants. She always comes in danger of losing herself in her thoughts when she thinks of him, for some reason. What a true disaster she’s turning out to be.

She focuses her attention instead on the small place they’ve ended up, called Illusion Inks. The young nurse tilts her head curiously at the entrance and doesn’t move until Tokage does a little come-hither motion with her fingers.

“Come on. Are you backing out or something, Uraraka?” she asks teasingly.

“Um,” she begins uneasily, rubbing her arm self-consciously, “I know I said I wanted a tattoo, but I didn’t mean tonight--”

“No time like the present, babe,” is all the green-haired girl says before she forcibly drags Uraraka by the arm and into the threshold. Damn, the woman’s frickin’ strong, those muscles aren’t just for show.

The inside of the shop is nice and neat and bright. The walls are full of illustrations of varying themes, all of them dream-like: dragons and florals and creatures of the deep blue sea. Uraraka finds herself taken in particular by the galaxy themed ones, showing off clouds of purple and deep red surrounding a sea of stars.

She doesn’t pay attention to the beautiful illustrations for very long, though. Behind the counter is who Uraraka swears is an actual pixie of the dark-elemental type unless proven otherwise--straight, dark hair that falls above her shoulders, dark purple eyes that have just-enough-torment, and smooth beautiful skin riddled with tattoos all over her arms, neck, and chest. Her elongated earlobes are plugged into her phone, and she seems to be strumming on a phantom guitar before she looks up to the two visitors.

She breaks out into a cute grin. “Hey, Setsuna~ My fav crazy internist!”

“Kyouka! My beautiful tattooed angel, I missed you!”

Uraraka watches as they share a kiss that definitely lasts for more than ten seconds. She wonders whether it’s polite to look away or not, and whether it’s normal to suddenly feel so single and miserable upon the sight of two beautiful girls kissing until they thankfully break apart.

The girl called Kyouka then turns to Uraraka and regards her with a curious stare. “So Setsuna, are you going to introduce me, or…?”

“Of course I am,” she says, with some sass. “This here’s Uraraka Ochako, one of the best OR nurses in Hosu Gen, and your next beautiful canvas.”

“Hey. Jirou Kyouka. I’m an apprentice here,” the girl offers, offering out her hand for Uraraka to shake. “If I look familiar, it’s probably ‘cause you see me down the street sometimes trying not to kill my boss and co-worker at NTG Cafe.”

Uraraka gasps. “Oh, you work there? Your cold brew’s amazing. And yeah, I’ve seen your boss maybe once? I’d just like to say, from the bottom of my heart: yikes.”

Jirou laughs heartily at this. “I like this girl. You should ask her out too, Setsuna.”

The green-haired girl hums thoughtfully. “I was getting to that,” she begins, and before Uraraka can even process what they meant, Tokage’s already shrugging off her doctor’s coat, and she’s looking at those wonderful arms again, and all sound reasoning goes out the window. “Anyways, Kyouka, Uraraka here tells me that she wants a galaxy-themed sleeve to match the cute little astronaut she has tattooed on her toned-as-fuck left thigh--”

… she likes my thigh? Uraraka stammers bashfully in her head, before she realizes that Tokage’s already motioning for her to take of her pants right there to show Jirou the astronaut. Blushing, she obliges, hooking her thumb against the garter of her joggers while severely regretting her choice of hot-pink, kitten-print cotton undies that day, to show off her ass and all its unseemly stretchmarks for the second time that evening.

Jirou whistles low and carefully touches her skin and traces the outlines of the astronaut and balloons with her calloused fingertips. “Wow, it’s so cute, Uraraka. You might need to have it retouched, but it’s really well-made. Who’s your artist?”

“Um… he moved away, but Kamakiri-san from Mantis Tattoos did this one--”

“Yikes. Another mess of a human being, that mans is. Totes cray-cray, amirite?” a different, sultry voice calls out from behind them.

Uraraka goes ramrod straight and struggles dumbly to pull her pants up, but instead drops the mess of fabric to the floor. A tangled mess of astonishment and horror finds itself uncoiling inside her chest when she sees just who comes out of the back of the shop, to also stare at the little insignificant artwork on her thigh.

Uraraka thinks that the woman who walks in is the very definition of babe--long, light brown hair that falls over her shoulders, wide brown eyes, full lips with a tasteful hint of rouge, an hourglass figure accentuated by a jet-black bodycon dress that shows off her ample cleavage. Like everyone else in this damn place, all her exposed skin is covered in ink. Most of them are floral and dreamy and absolutely gorgeous, of course, and if she were the only one there, Uraraka would have spent more time appreciating all the details.

Yet, the person next to her just…!!! Makes her want to drop dead right there!!! Makes her want to walk her fat ass back to the ER and ask for a sedative that’ll last her for the next seven years!

Because why in seven hells would Todoroki Shouto, of all people, be standing there with his shirt only half-way on, with his stupid sexy arms and stupid sexy torso and stupid sexy abs on full display, his stupid sexy mouth half-open and curious, and his stupid sexy eyes directed right at her naked, stretchmarky ass?!

Uraraka knows that she should probably pull her stupid pants up and rescue what little dignity she has left. Her little brain goes shit shit shit as it takes her too long to hide her butt and her silly underwear and tattoo.

Thankfully, his stare doesn’t last very long. He makes an awkward noise in his throat, trains those distinct eyes elsewhere, and mutters, “I didn’t see anything, Uraraka.”

Yes you did, you obviously did, Doctorokiiii whyyyy do you exist, she cries in her head. Beside her, she hears Tokage trying to keep her shit together. She somehow manages not to float her ass up the ceiling and into outer space and to straighten up.

She hears the woman laughing next to her. “You didn’t? Too bad, fam, those are the nicest set of gams I’ve ever seen in me life. Cannot. Even.”

When Uraraka dares herself to look at the young doctor again, she sees that he’s already got his shirt back on and that his face is a little pink and he couldn’t look at Uraraka in the eye. She ponders briefly if she needs to leave the OR--maybe ICU has openings or something.

“So… Camie, I hear she wants a galaxy-themed sleeve, so I’m planning to make some designs for her right now,” the dark-haired girl pipes up brightly, interrupting Uraraka’s shame-filled train of thought.

The bombshell named Camie puts a finger to her full lips and makes a show of thinking about it. “This’ll be your biggest project to date, fam. You up to this?”

“Sure am, boss.” Jirou makes a show of flexing her slender arm and all its tattoos. Tokage subsequently swoons theatrically next to her.

“Yass~ then she’s all yours, my sweet child. Although, ya gotta make time for her after closing hours. We’re fully booked for, like, the next hundred years and so~”

“Leave it to me.” Jirou does a lazy salute and gives Uraraka a pure, excited smile, one that momentarily makes the nurse about the terrible misfortunes that had happened to her and her ass just then. All she wants to do now is to spend the rest of the evening with this beautiful pixie, talking about the vast infinity of space, all the undiscovered planets, aliens--

“Hey, Todoroki, lemme see your back!” Tokage says, pulling at the end of his shirt.

“Okay.”

Suddenly, Todoroki’s shirt comes off again, and Uraraka feels the Big Bang emulating in her brain once more. She cannot keep her jaw from opening like Pandora’s box as she takes in the beautiful sight.

Dr. Todoroki Shouto’s back is a fuckin’ masterpiece, and she isn’t talking about the obra maestra of a tattoo that Camie must have been working on before they arrived. Even miniscule movements of his arms and torso--fuck, even when he fucking breathes she sees muscles moving deliciously under his skin. It’s not too bulky either, just lean and well-proportioned and tasteful. Everything the light touches is a kingdom for her eyes to feast on--her fingers itched to touch the cuts--

Oh, and also, the tattoo. There’s saran wrap over it, but Uraraka still sees that it’s so beautiful it’s fearsome. Two dragons, entwined in each other, staring each other down as if they’re preparing for a battle to the death. On the right the dragon is grey and white, with glaciers surrounding it. On the left, a red dragon with hot blue eyes is engulfed in flame. The tattoo isn’t complete yet, and most of the skin on his back is swollen and tender, but Uraraka can tell that once it completely heals, it’ll be the most beautiful back in the history of all backs.

“Hot damn, Todoroki,” Tokage whistles. “Knowing you though, it still screams daddy issues--I mean, really, ice versus fire? You’re still hung up about that mess? But. Hot fucking damn.”

“Sure,” Todoroki says flatly, not deigning himself to remark about the daddy issues thing. Uraraka sees a little annoyed flash in his eyes, however, and she’s sure that he isn’t thinking of Tokage’s super foul remarks.

“Lit, ain’t it? My best work to date, even if I say so myself,” Camie says, proudly strutting around to stare at her handiwork once again. “We gots maybe two sesh’s to go, and his back’s good to go. You like it, Astronaut Sis?”

Uraraka closes her mouth shut and hates herself for the loud sound it makes. “Y-yeah, it’s pretty… um, lit,” she offers weakly.

She tries not to think too hard about the slightly-less-disinterested look that Todoroki gives her before he shrugs on his shirt again. He gives a curt little nod to Camie and says, “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, Utsushimi.”

“Sure, TodoBroki. Have fun saving lives and all,” Camie says, puckering her lips for a flying kiss that the dual-toned man ignores blatantly as he turns for the exit.

Uraraka thinks that she’s finally going to be able to catch her breath, but suddenly Todoroki stops at the door and turns his mismatched eyes to her. “Uraraka,” he calls out, making her freeze.

“Y-yes, Doc?” she stammers, her posture suddenly meek and all nurse-like.

There’s that odd look on his face again, and for a second Uraraka worries that he’ll tell her not to spread the word about his huge fucking ass back tattoo, but all he says is, “Show me your tat once you’re done. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Uraraka doesn’t know what she says in response, but he gives her a ghost of a smile before he leaves the premises.

When she deflates, Tokage and Jirou are positively cackling at her, and all she’s able to manage is a whine about how unfair life is. “I can’t believe I just showed Dr. Todoroki Shouto my ass,” she whines into Tokage’s arms, as the lizard girl holds her in mock-comfort.

“And as a direct result of it, he’s in-love with your astronaut ass,” the doctor remarks with a sawtooth grin. “But we can talk about our future foursome later. Right now, please let my beautiful and talented girlfriend draw on your sexy arm, Uraraka!”

Uraraka obliges and follows Jirou out into the back, where they finally talk about her tattoo. But she finds out how much of a struggle it is to keep her thoughts in outer space when most of her mind is occupied by fire and ice.  

[bangtaninink]

i’m too lit to dim down a notch III

Summary: Jeongguk is the new kid in town. Kind of. He’s looking for an Authentic College Experience™, and you have no problem helping him out with achieving that (fratboy!AU)

Part: 1 | 2

Jeongguk can’t even look in your direction in anatomy class the following Friday when you and Jimin take your usual seats in the same row as his. This tiny part of him can’t believe how calm and unaffected the both of you seem after he’d just caught the both of you having sex just a couple of days earlier, and he feel his old quiet and shy self coming right back to haunt him. He feels so awkward, and doesn’t know if he should be offended that neither of you seem to be feeling the same way.

“Alright, let’s settle down now,” Professor Kim announces, tapping his pen against the edge of the podium to call for the class’ attention. “We’ll be continuing on from last week’s fertilisation, implantation, and embryonic development topic, so I trust you all have reviewed your notes from our previous lecture. Let’s begin.”

Jeongguk slouches a little in his seat; of course they’d be studying the reproductive system two days after he’d caught his fraternity brother having sex with another fraternity brother’s step sister. Of course.

“Jeongguk. Hey.”

Jeongguk flinches slightly when he feels a pen poke his forearm, and he turns, wide-eyed, to look at you.

“You got a spare pen? Jimin forgot to bring one. Again.” He blinks at you, taking a moment to process your words as the lights in the theatre dim slightly while your professor sets up his Powerpoint.

“O-oh. Y-yeah, sure. Hold on,” he replies quietly, reaching into his bag at his feet to pull out his spare pen. “Here.”

“Thanks,” you say. He looks over your shoulder at Jimin who throws him a thumbs up before turning his attention to the lecture, you doing the same not long after you pass the pen over.

Jeongguk takes a deep breath and exhales quietly, steeling himself for the next two torturous hours.

“Hey, man. You okay?” Hoseok asks, nudging Jeongguk’s arm. “Usually you’d be done devouring your burger like an animal and asking us if you should order another one by now.”

“Huh?” Jeongguk lifts his cheek off of his fist, looking around the booth to find all eyes on him. “Sorry. What’d you say, hyung?”

“I said, are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Namjoon says. “You’ve still got food on your tray, dude.”

“You still freakin’ out about walkin’ in on me and _____ having sex?”

In the process of sipping his soda, Jeongguk starts to splutter and cough.

“Oh, dude, join the club,” Taehyung sighs. “Ain’t nothin’ weirder than running into your best friend and your sister goin’ at it like rabbits on the couch, that we all share, by the way. The least you two could do is be a bit more considerate.”

“Wait. They’ve done it on the couch?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide. “That’s it. That shit’s getting burnt to the ground when we get home.”

“You’ve-- oh Christ.” Jeongguk pounds his fist against his chest, letting out a few more coughs before speaking. “You’ve walked in on Jimin hyung having sex with, uh...”

“_____? Yeah, we all have,” Yoongi says, nonchalant. “I dunno. I think they get off on getting caught.”

“We do not,” Jimin replies, but there’s a smile playing on his lips that betrays him. “You’re all just rude ass dicks that don’t bother to knock.”

“You were doing it in the laundry. I needed to do laundry. Why the fuck would I have to knock to do my laundry, you little shit?”

“Wow,” Jeongguk says, leaning back against the padded seat, picking at the edge of his soda’s lid.

“Yeah, don’t sweat it, Guk,” Hoseok says. “Happens all the time, unfortunately. You’ll get used to it eventually.”

“I was wondering why them both seemed so... calm when I walked in.” Yoongi snorts; Jimin laughs. “So, um. How long have you two been dating?” Jimin laughs louder, a few heads turning their way at the sound.

“Oh, Jeongguk,” Jimin says, a little out of breath. “Jeongguk, Jeongguk, Jeongguk. We’re not dating, dude.”

“They’re not dating,” Taehyung says, slinging an arm around Jeongguk’s shoulders and pinching some of the younger’s fries. “Like hell I would let Jimin date my sister.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but fuck you anyway, Tae.”

“They’re just fucking.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk says. “Wait, you can do that with people? Like, without dating them?”

“College is the land of opportunities, my friend,” Namjoon says, grinning.

“I’ll tell you one thing though, Guk,” Jimin says, reaching over the table to try and grab some of Jeongguk’s fries, to which the younger promptly slaps his hand away, pulling his tray of food closer as he feels his appetite returning. Jimin pouts for a split second before continuing. “She’s a great help when it comes to studying anatomy, if you know what I mean.”

“If you could not speak about my sister like that, that’d be great, Chim,” Taehyung retorts, pursing his lips.

“Who’s talking shit about me now?”

Everyone turns to look over Taehyung’s shoulder as you approach their booth, one strap of your bag slung over your shoulder.

“Jimin is,” Taehyung answers.

“Pft. What’s new?” you say, grabbing a nearby chair, dropping your bag down at your feet when you sit down.

“Hey. I wasn’t talking shit. I was just appreciating... all of this,” Jimin argues, gesturing vaguely towards you.

“Eloquent. Nice.” (Yoongi snorts and chokes on a sip of his soda.) “Anyway. Not that any of you care, but I’m pissed.”

“Oh Lord. What now?”

“Damn. Don’t sound so enthusiastic, Chim. Bora just bailed on me for the Bears game this weekend, and since none of you appreciate the superstar that is Yoo Heekwan, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to tell you nerds about this.”

“Wait, the Bears?” Jeongguk asks, sitting up. “As in the Doosan Bears?”

Completely straight-faced, you turn and look Jeongguk dead in the eye.

“Jeongguk, are you gonna tell me that you are nothing like your bitch-ass Beta brothers here and follow the KBO right now?”

Feeling his cheeks start to flush at the sudden attention, he leans back again, going back to picking at the plastic lid of his drink and biting back a smile as he nods.

“Yeah, I love the KBO,” he says. “Never been to an actual game though.”

It’s a little dramatic, but with a deep breath, you stand, hands on your hips as you pace up and down the length of the table, ignoring the way the guys roll their eyes at your theatrics, despite being well used to this sort of thing. You stop, plant your hands flat on the table and lean over Taehyung to look Jeongguk in the eye again.

“You free Sunday afternoon?” He nods slowly and shrugs his shoulders.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Come with me to the Bears game.”

“Wait, really?” Jeongguk looks at you with wide eyes, eyebrows raised sky high. “You... you wanna take me to a baseball game? Seriously?”

“Better you than one of these guys,” you reply, laughing. “I gotta pay them twenty thousand won just to drag them along.”

“Well... shit. Yeah. Of course, I’d love to go!”

Taking another deep breath, you press a hand to your chest and sigh wistfully.

“God really took his time makin’ you, Jeongguk, I swear,” you say.

“Think you missed your calling, _____,” Namjoon says, dipping his fries into his ketchup. “Your dramatic ass belongs in the theatre department.”

“Yeah, well, you’re never gonna get a piece of this ass, so chill. Anyway, I gotta bounce and get to the gym. I downed two coffees and a chocolate muffin this morning. I feel like shit.” You pick up your bag, slinging one strap over your shoulders again. “Nine-thirty okay for you, Jeongguk? The lines get a little long for home games, so it’s probably better to be early and grab a spot, you know?”

“No problem,” he replies, nodding. “I’ll be ready.” You lean over Taehyung again to give Jeongguk a high-five before walking out of the diner with a small wave over your shoulder.

“Not to add to how dramatic _____ is,” Taehyung says once you’ve left. “But thanks for saving our asses, Guk.”

“Yeah, I second that,” Seokjin adds. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s great. But when it comes to baseball, _____ literally will not shut the fuck up for a good hour or two.”

“And don’t even get me started on days when a game’s on,” Hoseok says, rolling his eyes. “You change the channel during the half-time commercial break and she looks like she’s about to rip your head off and feed it to the dogs.” Jeongguk chuckles.

“Not a fan of sports?” he asks.

“Not when _____’s around.”

It’s just before three-thirty on Saturday when Jeongguk stumbles out of his room, still drowsy from his afternoon nap, stopping dead in his tracks when you emerge from Jimin’s room, downing half a bottle of water with no pants on. You wave hello when you spot him, casual, looking unbothered and none the wiser as you head on downstairs.

Jimin comes out not long after in nothing but sweatpants, eyebrows furrowed at the frozen Jeongguk staring at the staircase with disheveled hair.

“Guk? You okay?” he asks. “Did you have another weird dream again?”

“Huh?” Coming to, Jeongguk shakes his head, hair flattening out a little. “I’m good.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be taking naps so late in the afternoon, dude.” Jimin chuckles, nudging Jeongguk’s arm before shoving his hands into his pockets and walking down.

For a little while longer, he’s stuck in front of his room, unsure of what he’d set out to do before running into you. The commotion continues downstairs as the rest of the people in the house remain clueless to his weird inner turmoil at having seen you, sans pants, hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, clearly having just finished doing something with Jimin. Jeongguk barely hears sock-muffled footsteps running up the stairs as he tries to process everything, and the weird feeling that’s forming in his stomach.

“Jeongg-- oh, you’re here. Hey, me, Chim and _____ are going out to get some burgers. Want us to bring you back one, or are you gonna ransack the kitchen like you always do?” Taehyung asks.

Eyes shifting from the carpeted floor to Taehyung, Jeongguk busies himself with trying to form a coherent response.

“Or... are you just gonna wait for dinner?” Taehyung continues, speaking slower as he grows confused by how distracted Jeongguk seems. “You oka--”

“Yeah, I’ll have a burger, hyung,” Jeongguk interrupts, nodding his head before turning on his heels to dive back into his room, shutting the door before he can even catch a glimpse of the weird look Taehyung gives him.

(Downstairs, an even more confused Taehyung asks Jimin what’s wrong with Jeongguk.

“Dunno, man,” Jimin says, shrugging. “I think he might’ve had one of those weird alien dreams again or something.”)

Sitting down on his bed, Jeongguk tries to figure out why the image of you stepping out of Jimin’s room in nothing but a shirt that just barely covers you seems to keep appearing in his head. He’s seen guys and girls come in and out of the frat house before, walking in and out of his fellow Beta Tau Sigma brothers’ rooms with barely a second glance at him. Is it because you’d noticed him that he’s feeling so strange?

Jeongguk scratches his chest absentmindedly, just below the black ink across his collarbone, deep in thought. He hears the front door open and close downstairs, the house descending into an eery silence now that he’s the only occupant. He must look like a sight, zoned out, staring at his Iron Man poster by his door, scratching his skin until it turns a deep shade of pink. A tsunami could come and wipe out the whole house, and he’d barely flinch.

Until, that is, he looks down.

“What the fuck?”

Jeongguk can’t believe he’s popped a boner just thinking about you.

Jeongguk also can’t believe that he’s been stunned silent by his own dick.

Flustered and confused, he gets up and paces around his room, frantically scratching his head and almost tripping over a pile of shirts by the foot of his bed. This is the first time this has happened, and he has no idea how to deal with it. In hindsight, he supposes he’s thankful that he’s the only one at home right now, because if anyone were to walk in on him right now, Jeongguk would have some explaining to do -- and he’s not even sure what he could say.

He settles for jumping onto his bed and lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling as if it holds the solution for whatever this is. He’s twenty years old, a god damn adult, and yet here he is like some prepubescent teenager getting hard over the thought of his hyung’s not-girlfriend -- his other hyung’s sister -- walking around the house with no pants on. Jeongguk is frustrated, conflicted, and now, he supposes, horny too.

He has no idea what to do, and the longer he leaves it, the longer he thinks about it, the more he starts to lean towards thinking about you on Wednesday night, moaning beneath Jimin, the room just dark enough for Jeongguk to not see everything but enough to make out the contours of your body. He sighs, eyes fluttering shut, chest rising and falling with every deep breath he takes to try and calm himself down, because no, he can’t be replacing Jimin with himself in his head, and dwelling on what it would be like if you were moaning beneath him.

No fucking way.

Jeongguk marvels at the way he can be so juvenile and boyish, even as his fingers twitch, hand itching to just make it’s way to his stomach, to tug his shirt off and push his basketball shorts down to his knees.

“Fuck,” he whispers, teeth clenched. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck.” Is he actually gonna do it? Right now? Right fucking now? The answer: a resounding, “...ah, fuck it.”

At lightning speed, Jeongguk jumps off his bed and locks his door before pulling his curtains shut and drowning his room in darkness. There’s something so wrong about this, something ‘the throne in the seventh circle of hell is reserved for me’ wrong, but he supposes that he’s done enough already to condemn him to the underworld that he may as well go big or go home.

Jeongguk throws his shirt off to the side, not even caring where it lands, before doing the same with his shorts. He’s not fully hard, but he’s past the halfway point, and he lies back down on his bed to stare at the ceiling for a little while longer. Right now, he doesn’t even need to close his eyes to imagine you walking into his room at this very moment, still sans pants, to tell you that, “nah, I didn’t feel like a burger after all, so I came back here.” He takes a deep breath, one hand under his head while the other rests on his stomach, low enough that he can pick at the elastic of his boxer briefs with his pinky. He pictures you smirking with those cherry red lips of yours, tinted in a way that makes it seem as if you’d been busy biting your lip or sucking on a red popsicle.

(That image he can expand on later.)

Jeongguk lets out a sigh that’s somewhere between relief and resignation as he slides his hand into his boxer briefs, thumb ever so slightly dragging over the tip of his cock. His eyes flutter shut to better envision you sauntering over to his bed, climbing up and straddling his hips, before gripping the hem of your shirt and lifting it just enough to give him a peek of what’s beneath. He imagines white lace panties, then red lace panties, then black lace panties, and each option just has him gripping himself just that little bit tighter each time. Jeongguk starts to stroke himself when he imagines you moving your hips, swaying them from side to side on his lap like you’d danced at the Beta Tau Sigma frat party a few days ago, when you and Jimin had come down just in time for Ariana Grande’s Into You to start playing.

(Yoongi had voiced his complaints, of course, citing that ex-Nickelodeon child stars were not capable of producing ‘real’ music. But all protests shut right up at the way you’d given him a slightly-intoxicated, impromptu lap dance with an almost empty bottle of Hennessey in your hand. Jeongguk remembers being overwhelmed with confusion at Jimin’s reaction -- or, lack of -- to that.)

He exhales, shakily, because this is so fucking wrong, but he knows he’s past the point of no return, precum beading at the tip of his cock to smear against his fingers. With his free hand, Jeongguk pushes his underwear down to his thighs and kicks them off the rest of the way, and the cool air of his room hitting his skin has him hissing quietly. His mind drifts to the thought of you and him talking at the club the other night, and the image of you laughing so happily really shouldn’t be turning him on, but it is, and god is he definitely, a hundred percent going to hell for this.

“Hah,” he breathes out, hips ever so slightly bucking up off his bed to drive his cock deeper into his fist’s grasp. Jeongguk licks his lips, and swears he can hear you whispering in his ear, egging him on and driving him ever closer to the edge. “God.” Gradually, he starts to quicken his strokes, head pushed back against his pillows to bare his neck as if to expose it for you to run your lips against the vein that protrudes beneath his skin, pressing feather light kisses to his jugular before running the pad of your tongue up from his collarbone to his ear. Jeongguk shivers at the imaginary gesture, and feels goosebumps raise all over his arms as he grabs a fistful of his hair.

Jeonggukie? Are you thinking of me, Jeonggukie?

“Fucking hell,” he says, teeth clenched as he lets his hand bring him just inches away from the edge only to slow down and lull the imminent high.

Are you touching yourself for me, Jeonggukie?

Jeongguk’s mouth hangs open, simultaneously running dry and watering at the image of your kiss-swollen lips wrapping around his cock, head bobbing up and down in time to his strokes. He squeezes his cock and lets out a moan. He doesn’t let his hand slow down this time, lets the speed of his strokes bring him closer and closer to climax with no holds barred. His stomach tenses, hips lifting off his bed higher and higher, the heels of his feet digging into the mattress.

Are you gonna come for me, Jeonggukie?

Jeongguk couldn’t stop himself even if he tried.

He climaxes with a groan, guttural and low, thick spurts of come falling in broken lines across his stomach. There’s a moment where he feels as if he almost can’t breathe with the intensity of his orgasm, and by the time he brings his hand to a complete stop, Jeongguk is panting hard, sweat-slick chest rising and falling quickly.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, swallowing thickly, tilting his head down to look down at the mess all over his skin. He has a feeling that the shame is approaching, and Jeongguk tries to tamper it down by convincing himself that this is healthy, that there is nothing wrong with masturbation.

He strategically leaves out the part about you being his hyung’s step sister, and his other hyung’s not-girlfriend, in his silent pep talk as he makes his way to the bathroom to take a shower and wash away all evidence of sin.

[such-a-common-girl]

Professor Winchester (Dean Winchester x Reader AU) Chap. 4

Professor Winchester Masterlist

Word Count: 3,663

Professor!Dean Winchester x Reader AU

Summary: Just more slow burn, but there’s a tiny bit of smut at the end so it’s okay.

Warnings: Student/teacher relationships, language, mentions of alcohol use, pretty intense make out session, a tiny bit of smut

*gif not mine*

“I’m so screwed.” Dean groans as he flops onto his bed, his shoes already kicked off and by his door.

After your first day on the job a few days ago, Dean can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the only thing on his mind- the way you looked while you were sitting on his couch, so invested in the work in front of you. You didn’t know that he had been looking at you, but every once in a while in between grading essays, he would sneak a glance in. You looked beautiful and you weren’t even trying, which is what Dean found the most intriguing. Most girls he’d been attracted to, or interested in, were the epitome of “trying too hard.” They would throw themselves at him, desperation surrounding them. You weren’t like that, and Dean liked that. You’re different. You’re smart, gorgeous, and…

“You’ve gotta stop thinking about her, dammit Dean. She’s your student.” Dean scolds himself out loud. He’s been trying everything he can to get you off of his mind, to push the feelings out of his head. Hence why he went out drinking tonight, a Monday, when he has class tomorrow. He’s not drunk by any means (he knows his students would give him shit for showing up hungover), but he damn wanted to be.

Dean knew from the beginning that offering you the job wasn’t the greatest idea. Shit, he knew from the beginning that it was the worst idea. He knew how he felt about you, he knew that he couldn’t act upon it, and he knew that he was putting himself in a position to allow the feelings to continue. He knows it’s wrong to feel this way about you- student teacher relationships are frowned upon for a reason. But you… You put a trance on him he didn’t even know existed.

The moment you had stepped into his classroom back in January, he knew he was in for it. You had walked in wearing these skin-tight jeans, ones that made your ass look to die for. He, being the professional that he was, ignored this and continued throughout his day. He had several attractive students in this past- he never acted on that then, he certainly had no intention of acting on it now. But when you started to show how smart you truly were, that you were actually interested in learning what he was teaching about, was when Dean finally admitted to himself that he was getting feelings for you.

He, of course, still had no intentions of acting on this. His boss, Mr. Shurley, would fire him instantly for pursuing a relationship with a student, even if they did “have an ass to die for.” Dean might be one of his favorite professors, and Mr. Shurley is generally a ‘chill as fuck guy’, but not even he would allow that. He’s seen people get fired for much less.

But after that night in the bar, when he drunkenly flirted and confessed his feelings for you, it was like Dean couldn’t stop himself anymore. Didn’t want to stop himself anymore. There’s just something about you… And whenever the opportunity for him to hire an assistant came along, you were the first person he thought of. If he’s honest, he doesn’t even really need an assistant. Sure, it’s helpful, but he really only offered you the job to be around you more.

Sighing, Dean pulls out his phone and dials Sam’s number. Sam is always the person Dean calls whenever he’s in need of some brotherly advice, and although they’ve had their fair share of fights, they’re best friends. They can talk to each other about anything.

“Hello?” Sam’s voice comes out muffled over the phone. “Hold on, Jess, give me a minute. Dean’s calling.”

“Need me to call back later?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“No, no, you’re good.” Sam’s voice is clearer now. “She was just helping me out with some paperwork. My client’s case is a rollercoaster, I swear to god. I keep telling her that she needs to be honest with me, since I’m her lawyer and I’m the only person that can get her out of this mess, but she just keeps damn lying to me. Anyways, sorry, not here to talk about my problems. What’s going on?”

“I’m fuckin’ whipped.” Dean groans, putting his fingertips to his temples. “Every time Y/N’s around me, Jesus, I just want to bend her over my desk and… Yeah. But it’s more than that, too. I actually like spending time with her. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, ever. Much less my freakin’ student.”

“Yeah, you’ve always been a player, not one to stick around for more than a few dates.” Sam laughs. “So what’s up with this girl? Forget that fact that she’s your student for now. Why’s she so different?”

“Do I look like I know?” Dean says, exasperated. “She’s just… I don’t even have words, man. She’s beautiful. She’s smart as hell, she actually gives a damn about my class which is rare. Which, I know you told me to forget about this, but that brings me back to the fact that she’s my student. God, Sammy, I put my hand on her thigh the other day. My hand on her thigh. Like a freakin’ creep. I didn’t even realize until I already did it. Fuck, I’ve fucked this up so bad. First the whole bar incident and now this. I’m so gonna get fired.”

“Dude, you’ve got to chill,” Sam tells him. “Stop freaking out about the fact that she’s your student. She’s perfectly legal, and it’s not like you’re committing a crime by being attracted to her. Don’t tell this to Jess, but you’re not alone there- Y/N is hot. I think anyone would be attracted to her. And well, about the whole getting fired part, what Chuck doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Dammit, I forgot you and him are friends.” Dean shakes his head. “I trust you as my brother to not say anything.”

“I won’t. But, hey, if you want my advice- I’d say go for it. If you think Y/N is interested back, then why not? If the feeling wasn’t mutual, I don’t think she would be sticking around this long. I know I’m the more reasonable of us two, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with how you feel.”

“And here I was, thinking you’d talk some sense into me.”

“Dean, there’s not one thing I could do to talk any sense into you right now. You’re whipped and you haven’t even had sex yet. You’re in too deep already, bud.” Sam laughs. “But seriously, you wanna get rid of some of that tension? Take my advice.”

“I feel like I’m talking to myself, I’ve rubbed off on you too much.” Dean rolls his eyes. “I’ll think about it. Talk to you later, Sammy. I’ve got another class to teach tomorrow morning bright and early and then Y/N comes into the office at eleven. Gotta come up with more shit for her to do than to just return emails.”

He hangs up the phone with Sam, sighing as he plugs his phone into charge on his nightstand. Tomorrow is going to be hard day- he barely made it through the first day of your guys’ working together, he could only imagine how it’ll be tomorrow.

‘Just until the end of the semester, then she’s not my student anymore. I can wait until then, right? Just a few more months.’ Dean thinks to himself.

-

As time continues to go on, you’re finding it harder and harder to ignore the obvious sexual tension between you and him. You had managed to keep your cool on the first day at work, but it proved itself to be even harder than you thought it would. Especially after he so casually put his hand on your thigh- you had never got turned on so quickly in your life. And by the flustered look on his face and how he kept adjusting his tight pants afterward, neither had he.

Nothing else happened that day. To say that he avoided you after that would be an understatement. He ordered the pizza and then proceeded to sit at his desk the entire rest of the time until you went home. You’ll admit that you were a little disappointed nothing came out of it, especially since you saw how he was not so subtly trying to cover his boner by hiding out behind the desk. But, at the same time, you’re trying to remind yourself that it’s a good thing nothing happened. ‘Don’t lose focus, Y/N. Don’t lose focus. Dean Winchester is NOT your focus.’ You keep telling yourself.

“Y/N!” You can hear Nina yell at you from the other room, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“What?” You yell back, lowering the volume of your television so you can hear her better.

“Shit,” Nina curses, accompanied by the sound of glass breaking coming from the kitchen. “I just broke a plate, sorry! I’ll pay you back, I promise. You wanna go grab lunch today? That new sandwich place opened up a few days ago and I’m dying to try it out. I’ll pay for your sandwich if you forgive the broken plate?”

You laugh, walking out of your room and into the kitchen. Nina’s picking up the remnants of the plate, groaning. She looks up at you, giving you a look of confusion when she sees that you’re still wearing your pajamas.

“Don’t you have class this morning?” She asks, throwing the last piece of glass into the trash can.

“Nah,” You explain. “Crowley canceled, again. I don’t know how Mr. Shurley hasn’t fired the guy yet. All I have going on today is work with Dean at eleven, should be done around five or six. I’m sure we can get lunch, I don’t think Dean will mind if I leave for lunch break.”

“It’s weird hearing you call him Dean.” Nina laughs. “But alright. My psych class gets out at noon, I’ll swing by Professor Winchester’s office after that and pick you up?

“Sounds like a plan. Don’t be mean to Matt today in class, alright? You’ve put the poor guy through too much.” You say as Nina grabs her purse and starts to head to the door.

“No promises.” She winks at you while she opens up the door to your shared apartment. “See you later.”

“See ya!” You call out.

You spend the next few hours getting ready for your day ahead of you, taking a shower and picking out your clothing. You want to dress professionally for your job, but you also know that since you’ll most likely just be sitting on his couch the entire time, you don’t want to be too uncomfortable.

You end up going with a nicer blouse along with skinny jeans, the ones that you think make your legs and ass look great. You’re not exactly dressing for Dean to look at you, but it’s definitely an added bonus if he does. ‘Stop thinking like that.’ You scold yourself.

You finish getting ready by straightening your hair and applying some makeup- not a lot, but enough to enhance your natural beauty. Once you’re happy with your appearance and you’ve grabbed your purse, you’re heading out the door and driving to Dean’s office. Thankfully it’s only a short ten-minute drive since you’re running a bit late.

You park your car in the front of the parking lot before speed-walking into the building, your heels clicking loudly against the concrete. You’ve always loved the sound of that- it makes you feel sophisticated.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” You apologize when you open the door to Dean’s office. He about jumps out of his skin as you walk into the room, slamming his laptop screen shut. His face is red as he looks up at you from his desk, obviously flustered. “Uh… should I come back later?”

“No no no,” Dean shakes his head. “Sorry, come in.”

You decide to not press the matter, just simply nodding your head and closing the door behind you as you enter his office. You set your purse down on the small table in front of his couch before grabbing his extra laptop, ready to start returning emails.

You spend the next half-hour typing away at the laptop, answering questions and posting announcements for Dean. You don’t mind doing this work, you actually enjoy it. It’s giving you a glance into what life is going to be like for you once you graduate and become a teacher yourself. And this time, you don’t allow yourself to be distracted by Dean while you do your work. Actually, you make it a point to avoid looking at him while you work.

Once you finish up, you close the laptop screen, sighing as you lean back on the couch. Despite everything in your mind telling you to not look over at Dean, to not think those lustful thoughts, you glance up at him over at his desk. He’s dressed nicely again today since he had an early morning class before you came in, and it’s almost sinful. His hair is perfectly styled and paired with his blue dress shirt and tie. You’ve never seen someone look so good before, but then again, you swear that Dean only gets more attractive the longer you spend time with him. Oh, it’s going to be a long day.

“My friend’s picking me up in fifteen minutes for lunch. I should only be gone for thirty minutes, then I’ll be back.” You tell Dean, tearing yourself away from your thoughts.

“Before you do that, do you mind running up to the store for me? I need printer ink. I’ll give you my card, don’t worry about buying it yourself.” Dean interrupts you.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” You can feel the big block of awkward in the room, and you just want it gone.

Dean reaches into his wallet to pull out his debit card, standing up out of his desk chair and beginning to walk over to you. You get up from the couch, full intentions of taking his card and then leaving, but fate once again doesn’t allow that to happen, no. As you’re walking over to meet Dean halfway, your ankle gives out and you trip, falling face first towards the ground.

Dean reaches out to grab you, but instead of helping you stay up, he falls onto the ground as well. You fall onto his chest with a thud, making a loud hissing sound as the both of your foreheads bump into each other.

“Fucking hell,” You groan out, embarrassment radiating throughout your body. “I’m sorry, fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m good,” Dean laughs, bringing up his hand to rub his forehead where you hit. “Damn, you have one hell of a hard head.”

You laugh out, mostly in embarrassment at what just happened. You cannot believe you just fell on your face in front of the school’s most attractive professor, the one who’s been showing more than a little interest in you. You’re about to sputter out more apologies when you feel something poking your stomach.

You begin to blush, realizing why “something” is poking your stomach. He’s lying on the ground underneath you, you’re on top of him, your cleavage popping out of your shirt. Your legs are straddled around him, your clothing covered groin almost directly above his own hardening length. His left arm is holding you tightly, his hand gripping your lower back as his eyes travel from your breasts to your eyes. You can feel yourself getting turn on immediately, your face suddenly becoming flushed. You look away from him immediately, not wanting him to see how flustered he’s getting you.

“Y/N…” He whispers out, his tone completely different than before. It’s more serious; his joking and laughing tone from moments prior has disappeared. “Look at me.”

You take a deep breath, turning to face him. His eyes have become darker, lust-filled, and in this moment, you know that if you don’t stop now you’ll have no self-control left.

“Dean…” You say softly, your eyes glancing down to his lips.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice shakes. “Tell me to stop and I’ll let you go, we can forget this happened.”

“I…” You trail off. God, you want this. You want this so so bad. “Fuck it. Don’t stop.”

His lips smash against yours, his hands instantly traveling down to cup your ass and pull you in closer to him. Your lips move together in perfect rhythm, him swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You part your mouth slightly, not even attempting to fight for dominance as you allow him access. His tongue expertly explores your mouth, his tight pants only straining against you even more.

You begin to grind your hips against him, a slight moan escaping from Dean. Suddenly, he breaks away from the kiss, picking you up and letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He slams you into the wall, his hands still placed firmly on your ass as he now begins to kiss your neck roughly, no doubt leaving a few marks for you to remember tomorrow.

Your brain is telling you to stop, but you don’t want to. No, you’ve never wanted to continue anything more in your life. Dean’s intoxicating, and you want more.

Dean’s right hand begins to fumble with the zipper of your jeans, sliding them down just enough to be able to put his hand in between your legs. His fingers slide underneath the fabric of your thong, rubbing small circles on your clit.

“You’re so wet already, baby, fuck,” Dean mumbles, lowering his hand down and entering a finger inside of you. He begins to pump his finger in and out slowly, just enough to tease you. ”Been wanting to do this for so long.”

“Fuck, Dean-“ You begin, but a knocking at the door stops you.

Dean jumps away from you immediately, setting you back on the ground. You quickly fumble with your jeans, pulling them back up before attempting to straighten yourself out. Dean is wiping his fingers on his pants as he avoids looking at you, nervousness obvious in his face. He clears his throat while he opens the door, and relief washes throughout you. It was only Nina.

“Hey!” She smiles at you. “You ready? I have another class at one so we should probably go now.”

“Hey, I’m ready, let’s go.” You say quickly, pushing past Dean as you walk out the door. You grab Nina by the arm as you rush out of the building, your cheeks still red from the events that were taking place before Nina interrupted.

“What the fuck is going on?” She looks at you bewilderedly once you get into her car. “You ran outta there like you were running away from a ghost.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m good.” You stammer. “I just, man, I am hungry.”

“You’re totally bullshitting me right now, but alright. Don’t tell me details about you and Professor, that’s fine.” She smirks at you. “But I’m assuming something happened, looking at the state of your hair and how flustered you look.”

“Shut up.” You mumble. “Let’s just go eat, yeah?”

-

After half an hour of Nina’s persistent questioning while you two had lunch together, during which you refused to tell her anything, she finally dropped you back off at Dean’s office.

You can’t believe what had just happened, with Dean no less. If it wasn’t for the slowly forming hickey on your neck, you wouldn’t be sure if it did happen. Your self-control went out the damn window, and oh boy did you like it.

You take a deep breath before entering his office again, preparing yourself to have a probably very awkward conversation with Dean. But, instead of him being at his desk like you had expected, a note was sitting in his place.

Your eyebrows furrow upon reading the letter. You don’t blame him for leaving, shit, you practically ran out of there like you were running a marathon as well. You also might’ve had a few drinks during lunch, too. Because, “lord knows you needed it.”

You know that he’s right, that you two really need to talk about what happened. Everything, starting from what happened a few weeks ago at the bar. It was only briefly spoken about before agreeing to never talk about it again, but after today, that rule is going out the window. Clearly, you two need to sit down and talk.

You pull out your phone, entering his phone number into your contacts before beginning to text him.

You bite your lip as you begin to type your next answer.

You know you should say no, that maybe going to his house to “talk” isn’t the best idea. That you should suggest that maybe you go somewhere a bit more public, just somewhere that’s further away from campus where no one would recognize you.

You type out your next answer.

Sighing, you close your phone screen, not bothering to answer. You can’t believe you’re in this position right now- you. The girl who was a virgin up until last year, the girl who hadn’t even had her first kiss until senior year of high school. The girl who had sworn up and down she wouldn’t let her attractive professor get to her. Now, you’re getting fingered up against a wall by the hottest man you’ve ever met, which also happens to be said professor.

“Well,” You groan. “I’m so screwed.”

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