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fxstpace · 2 months ago

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the very first night

summary: the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

⇢ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers au, roommates au ⇢ word count: 19.7k ⇢ warnings: profanity, alcohol conusmption, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, protected sex) ⇢ a/n: title is the very first night by taylor swift. reposted from my old blog.

ONE

You think that all the decisions you’ve made in your life so far have all boiled down to this one moment.

Karmic retribution, if you will.

Despite the six months for which you and your ex-boyfriend have been separated, Kim Mingyu looks the same. The same floppy hair that never quite sits flat on his head—though he’s let it grow a tiny bit, and now it curls behind his ears—and the same tight-fitting black shirt you swear you tried stealing from him once. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and warm brown eyes that peer back at you. Pink lips which beckon you with a small, yet welcoming smile.

“Hey.” The word drags from his mouth, and he extends the last syllable for a second longer than necessary. “You’re here early.”

Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.

You heft your suitcase and place it by your feet just so you can avoid eye contact. Under different circumstances, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have let you carry your suitcase all the way up the stairs to the third floor—the elevator has been out of commission since before you even met him, and that doesn’t appear to change anytime soon. He probably would have lugged the whole thing upstairs, despite your protests and claims that you’re strong enough to do it on your own. But now, you can only sense his gaze on your figure as you place it securely on the floor.

When you straighten up, he’s still looking at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes are clouded, almost as if he’s built some kind of impenetrable fortress against you. You have your walls up, too—in the slight clench of your jaw and defiant raise of your chin—and it’s something someone else wouldn’t be able to notice, but you’re sure Kim Mingyu has.

“Yeah. Um.” You attempt to smile, pray it doesn’t visibly appear as a grimace, and gesture behind you with your thumb. “The packers and movers came by pretty early, so everything ended up moving faster.”

“I see.” He purses his lips, evidently running out of things to say. (Good for you, really, because there’s nothing for you to say either.)

You take the chance to glance behind him—a feat in itself, considering how broad his shoulders are—and observe the interiors of what is going to be your home for the next year. Beige walls, the ratty sofa he bought off a garage sale, the television set he originally used to play video games on but ended up using it to watch shows instead—and a potted succulent placed in the corner. That wasn’t there before.

Before you allow your lips to tug up amusedly, Mingyu speaks again. “Is that all? When’s the rest of your stuff coming in?”

“The movers said they’d have everything ready within two days. It might take me longer to get everything sorted out, though,” you reply, aiming your gaze downwards at your suitcase.

It’s an old thing, with fraying fabric and rusty wheels, but it currently contains a fraction of your belongings: Clothes, toiletry, a small pouch where you keep items that have a special significance to you. Only the bare essentials, really. Mingyu had assured you that the room was furnished, with a bed, closet and desk. His old roommate, Minghao, had moved out but left the furniture behind because he had no reason to take them with him—not when he moved in with his girlfriend in her own apartment. All that’s left for the movers to bring over is your bookshelf, your book collection, the rest of your clothes, the Ikea drawer you and your best friend, Park Jihyo, built together, and other smaller items like your desk lamp and office chair.

“That’s okay,” Mingyu says. “Take as long as you need.”

You nod, mumbling a “thank you”, then bend down to pick up your suitcase.

Mingyu moves aside, granting you enough space to roll it across the floor and head over to the side that leads to the Minghao’s old room. Right opposite you is the doorway that leads to Mingyu’s bedroom, and further to the side is the corridor that opens into the kitchen, the small space where he keeps a dining table, and the bathroom.

In a way, you’re glad your room is situated further away from those places. Ghosts of memories linger there, ones that you can’t bear to revisit.

No, it’s better this way; you’re away from everything that you used to consider a second home. Maybe if you close the door behind you, you can pretend like you’re in some kind of void where the only things that exist are you and the bed.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You pause, feeling… something. The way he says your name, so casually, as if it’s second nature to him (it used to be) and nothing has changed at all, has you on edge—not in the good way, but not in the bad way either.

You turn around. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Your ex-boyfriend hesitates for a second. “I’m… going out for dinner with Minghao and some others, is that okay? It might be late by the time I come back.”

“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify something, you say, “You—you don’t have to tell me that. We don’t… owe each other an explanation for where the other is.”

Mingyu stays quiet, and you look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You wonder if he’s going to say anything—or even show any kind of reaction at all.

“Right. We don’t.” His voice is toned down with a kind of uneasiness that you don’t blame him for. Heck, even you feel a twinge of hurt rise up your throat at your own words. “I’ll… let you get some rest.” He nods once, places his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his room.

Your grip on the suitcase handle tightens. Once you enter your room, you let out a pained sigh. You shut the door and turn your back to the wooden blockade that separates you from the rest of the apartment.

This is not going the way you expected—but then again, what had you expected? That everything between you and Mingyu would just vanish and you could talk to him normally without feeling that tiny pinprick of bitterness stab your chest every time you address him? You and Mingyu have a history, filled with good times and bad times, and six months spent away from each other will do nothing to erase that.

You think of what your old roommate, Jihyo, would’ve said. He’s just a boy, Y/N. Make him clean the toilet all the time so he’ll automatically get sick of you.

You smile to yourself, unlocking your phone. Jihyo is probably too busy settling down in her new home in the city she moved to, so she can’t pick up your call. You decide to send her a text message instead.

You switch to the food app, order your favourite dishes from the Indian place a couple of streets away, and toss your phone onto the bed. Kneeling, you unzip your suitcase and unpack the few items you have with you. As you move around, you can already imagine how to decorate the place, how to make it feel more like a home and less like you’re an intruder. The closet is just enough for all the clothes you own—the ones you’ve packed and the ones stored in cardboard boxes yet to arrive. The desk placed opposite to the bed is perfect for when you have to work on your laptop late at night; if you place your lamp on it, you might even forget that you’re not in your old apartment. The bed already has a mattress with clean linen on the bedspread. You place your old Looney Tunes duvet on it.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You pause your unpacking to get the door and thank the delivery guy for the food. Mingyu has already left, judging by the lack of noise in the rest of the apartment. You just hope he doesn’t come back home drunk and shit-faced—that would definitely ruin the rest of your night, and the much-needed sleep you require.

You decide not to use the kitchen table, instead opting to take the food containers into your room, where you can eat and watch a show at the same time. It’s lonely, but at least you can have your meal somewhere comfortable.

Your phone rings with notifications. You pick it up, carefully balancing the bowl of curry on your knee.

(19:47) Jihyo: hows the apartment??? did u make mingyu clean the toilet yet?

(19:47) Mingyu: hey, i’m at a thai place. do you want anything to eat at home? i could get something packaged.

You smile at the first text, tense up at the second one, and place your phone down next to you. Not replying to either of their messages might be a bad idea, but right now, all you want is to have your spicy curry and naan in peace—your best friend and ex-boyfriend be damned.

TWO

It’s only after you move in with Mingyu that your separation from Jihyo truly sinks in. Now, there’s no one you can wake up at two in the morning because your period started and you ran out of pads, or gossip about that one campus couple who broke up in public at your favourite boba place.

Not to mention the fact that living with your ex-boyfriend is mildly awkward at best and stupidly melancholic at worst.

It’s been a week, but you and Mingyu seem to have figured out a way to work in tandem. It appears as though neither of you want to see the other—just yet, at least. He goes for a morning jog at six; your alarm rings at six. He comes back reeking of sweat at seven in the morning; you’re getting ready to leave for work by then. You do the dishes on the days he vacuums the apartment and vice versa. It leaves no room for conversation, other than the occasional greetings and small talk when you happen to cross paths.

In fact, ever since you purposefully ignored Mingyu’s text asking if you wanted anything from the Thai restaurant, he’s made a conscious effort at avoiding you.

You nearly jump out of your seat when someone taps your shoulder. “Hey.”

You turn around and meet your co-worker, Lee Seokmin’s eyes. He smiles at you, eyes curving into little crescents.

“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.

If there’s one person you can count on to bring a smile to your lips, even if it’s eight o’clock in the morning—at work, no less—it’s Lee Seokmin. His cheerful nature and lively personality is infectious. His happiness radiates outwards in waves that everyone gets swept up on. You might even consider yourself envious of how easily he sways everyone, with that exuberant smile and those good-natured compliments he doles out to everyone like they cost him nothing. (Which they don’t, you suppose.)

“Something on your mind?”

Your smile turns into a grimace. “You could tell?”

He gives you a little half-shrug, still smiling. “You had a weird, serious, think-y face. And before you come at me for think-y not being a real word—I’m very aware of that, thank you—it’s the best way I can describe you.”

“You chose think-y—” you bite back a chuckle— “as the best word to describe me? Come on, Seokmin, you can do better than that.”

“I can,” he agrees, “but only when the situation is appropriate.” His face turns grave, and he continues, “But seriously, Y/N. Did you have a rough night?”

His eyes roam over your face, evident concern shown in the curve of his lips and the slight dip of his eyebrows. You control your wince, wondering if the swollen bags underneath your eyes aren’t as concealed by your makeup as you thought.

Rough week, more like. But you don’t say that to him. “Something like that,” you say.

“You moved out a while back, right? How’s the new place?”

“It’s… good. Close to the supermarket and all that. Everything is within, like, a ten-metre radius, so I don’t have to go very far to get things.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Seokmin says, and you can tell he really means it. “I bet you’re tired, though, with all that packing and unpacking and moving around.”

He bends closer, the front of his loosely tucked shirt just barely touching the back of your chair. This close, you can smell the faint scent of Seokmin’s deodorant and fabric softener. He taps his finger on the arm of your chair. “Do you want to get some coffee with me?”

“Um.” You look back at your laptop and the pile of binders next to it. Seokmin seems to know what you’re thinking, because he huffs and says, “C’mon, I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you took a coffee break.”

“I guess,” you return, flashing him a smile when he rolls your chair backwards to give you space to stand up.

Getting up, both of you weave your way to the third floor, where the only functioning coffee maker is housed. The elevator is too crowded and busy for you to use to get down from your position on the seventh floor, so you settle for using the stairs. Throughout the ten-minute walk (which effectively turns into a fifteen-minute one, thanks to him), Seokmin waves and greets every single fellow office worker you pass by. By name.

You roll your eyes and bite your lip to hold back your laugh when a young, female intern—probably still in college by the looks of it—flushes bright red because Seokmin complimented her barrette.

He catches your eye and grins. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head good-naturedly. “It’s nothing. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, “making everyone fall head over heels for you because you’re just so nice.”

His grin only widens. “You make it sound as though being nice is a bad thing.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” you protest. “I’m just— Greeting every single person you see? By name? How do you even know everyone in the building?”

“I just check their ID card,” he explains, shrugging slightly. “I read this WikiHow article that said if you speak to people using their name, it creates a good impression and makes you appear more confident than you really are.”

“Really?”

Humming, Seokmin nods, before adding slyly, “I’m not sure what you mean by making everyone fall in love with me, though.”

“Please,” you snort. “You’re way too charming for your own good—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“You think so?”

You can hear the smugness in his tone and you roll your eyes again. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then…” He trails off, gazing at the handrail.

Seokmin’s voice turns softer, more serious. Contemplation bleeds into his features, and when he speaks again, he lacks the bravado he had with all the other people he spoke to on your way down.

“Guess I better work on charming the right people, huh?”

You blink, but before you can digest Seokmin’s words, he gives you another bright grin before rounding the corner and striding towards the coffee machine. You follow, the need for caffeine in your system overriding your instinct to mull over what your co-worker said. Unfortunately, it seems you and Seokmin aren’t the only ones who want coffee; a long queue runs ahead of you. Your coffee break might end up taking longer than you thought.

“So,” Seokmin casually drawls, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his ID card’s lanyard. “Do you want to talk about your rough night?”

“I…” You pause and consider.

Should you tell Seokmin? You trust him enough—you’ve known him for as long as you’ve been working in this company—and he’s always been friendly to you, offering you a ride home when both of you work overtime and paying for your food on the occasional visits to a café or a coffee shop. Besides, he’s the closest person you have to a friend, now that Jihyo lives in a different city and you can’t call her up whenever you feel like it. You decide to tread the waters first, only telling him the bare minimum.

“Hypothetically speaking,” you begin, “if you move in with someone you don’t like but have known for years, what would you do?”

“That’s a tough one.” He scratches his chin, pretending to think. “I guess it depends on the kind of past you share, y’know? But either way, I would try to… make peace with them, I guess. Like a ceasefire. Offer them an olive branch. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He grins knowingly at the last bit and you shove his shoulder.

What Seokmin said makes sense. You and Mingyu are living together; your past relationship shouldn’t come in the way of talking to each other. But it does, so much more than it should. Try as hard as you might, every time you think of Kim Mingyu, the first thing that comes to your mind is all the kisses you’ve shared, the way his arms feel around you, how both of you broke the promises you made to each other—all because you were too proud and he was too stubborn.

You still are proud. For all you know, Mingyu might still be stubborn.

What a pair, you think drily.

You and Seokmin shuffle forwards. He stays silent, allowing you to process your thoughts and wonder how, exactly, you’re going to get over Mingyu and talk to him without feeling like your stomach is twisting into a million knots.

Once you reach the coffee machine, Seokmin hands you a cup. “It’s hot,” he warns, before carefully handing you the styrofoam cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew. You cautiously take a sip, wincing when you almost burn your tongue and make a face at your co-worker when he chimes, “I told you.”

The walk back to your floor doesn’t take as long as the walk down. Before you part ways, Seokmin offers you a small smile and a pat on your shoulder.

“If you’re wondering how to approach your roommate,” he says, lowering his voice, “maybe start off by offering them food. Works like a charm every time.”

Food. Yeah, you can manage that. Dinner with your ex-boyfriend.

Should be a piece of cake.

THREE

Asking Mingyu if he would like to have dinner with you is decidedly not a piece of cake.

When he comes back home from work, Mingyu has only one trajectory: Travel in a straight line from the door to his bedroom, offering you a tight smile if he sees you along the way. His bag is always slung across one shoulder and his shirt is always untucked and his hair is always a wild mess. If his appearance wasn’t achingly familiar, you would probably laugh every time you see his unruly figure.

It takes a week for you to muster up the nerve to look Mingyu in the eye, after your conversation with Seokmin. He’s been pestering you incessantly, almost exactly like Jihyo. When you told her about Seokmin’s suggestion, she had been nothing short of enthusiastic. Your phone has been blowing up constantly with texts from her, egging you on and on and on to make a move first and raise the (hypothetical) white flag.

“If you keep putting it off, you’re going to be very miserable for the rest of your immediate future,” was her reasoning when you called and spoke to her on the phone three days ago. “But also if you don’t fucking ask him to have a meal with you within the next week, I will fly over and have you both sit in a room, alone, and force you to talk.”

Both the options are pretty much the same. You didn’t have the energy to tell Jihyo that.

It’s on a Monday evening that you catch Mingyu and pop the question. A Monday evening that’s insignificant, really. Almost laughable at how normal the evening is. Mingyu unlocks the door, closes it while toeing his shoes off, and gives you the same tight smile—one where it doesn’t reach his eyes, his jaw is slightly clenched, and his lips thin into almost straight lines.

“Mingyu.” Your voice comes out breathless, like you’ve been jogging for miles before coming to a stop in front of him. He pauses, wind-ruffled hair framing his face in cloudy wisps.

“Yeah?”

“I—uh—” you force the words to tumble out of your lips, before you can overthink— “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”

Mingyu purses his lips, looking at you warily. He’s careful, cautious, when he asks, “Is… there any special reason?”

You swallow. “No,” you say honestly, not allowing your eyes to tear away from his. “There isn’t. But I tried making lasagne today, and I would like to share it with someone.”

For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, only lets his bag fall into the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let me just change and wash up.”

You nod, making your way to the kitchen to bring out the casserole. You’re not usually one for cooking—you prefer ordering takeout because it’s easier and they make the food better than you, anyway—but simply ordering food didn’t sit right with you. Lasagne is a dish you’ve made a few times before, and you would rather make something you’re familiar with instead of trying to whip up something new.

When you go back into the kitchen, you find Mingyu already there, bent over an open cupboard’s door as he fishes out some plates and cutlery. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, fringe falling freely over his forehead and obscuring his eyes.

“Are our regular plates okay or do we need the china ones?” he asks, still bent over.

“Why do we need china plates? Wait, why do you even have china plates with you in the first place?”

He looks over at you and shrugs. “Dunno. Minghao had a china cutlery phase, I think.”

That does sound like a phase Xu Minghao would have.

“The regular ones are fine.” You don’t want to risk breaking Minghao’s precious cutlery.

While Mingyu wipes the plates with a dishcloth, you grab two mugs and pour orange juice from the fridge into them. You take one in each hand and follow Mingyu to the kitchen table, placing both of them on either side.

“Orange juice?” Mingyu’s eyebrows are raised.

“Yeah. So?” you challenge him, raising your eyebrows as well.

But he doesn’t say anything against your choice of beverage, only shrugs and mumbles, “We should really stock up on alcohol.”

Your lips twitch. You don’t allow yourself to smile.

Instead, you pull your chair back and sit down, steepling your fingers in front of you. Mingyu piles some food onto his plate. For some reason, you feel weirdly nervous. What if it’s not as good as you think? What if he doesn’t like it?

You shake those thoughts away. This is Kim Mingyu. Even if the food was bad, he wouldn’t tell you; he would only grin, compliment your culinary skills, and continue to eat despite everything.

“Is it… good?” you ask tentatively, after he takes a forkful into his mouth and chews deliberately.

He waits until he’s swallowed before answering. “It’s great. Really good,” he affirms, and you can hear in his voice that he means it.

Well, almost.

It’s the slight dip and intonation of his tone, but it’s one you’re familiar with. You narrow your eyes at him. Mingyu continues eating, oblivious to your glare. In fact, he shovels more lasagne onto his dish and eats with more gusto, pausing every now and then to gulp down some orange juice.

“Really?” you say casually. “I’m glad. Maybe I should try some too.”

Mingyu’s reaction is so instantaneous, it’s almost comical. His eyes widen by a fraction, and he immediately reaches for the casserole. “You should definitely try some,” he says. “But it’s so good, I wanna have some more.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching Mingyu stuff more food into his mouth before deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Mingyu. Tell me the truth. How’s the food?”

He pauses, swallowing the food in his mouth and answering with a subdued, sheepish smile:

“It’s too salty.”

FOUR

“Why are you leaving so early?” Jihyo’s voice crackles through your phone placed on your bed.

“Seokmin said he wanted to try out the croissants at the new bakery that opened nearby,” you reply, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt. “He also said he wanted to buy a baguette so that he could whack his roommate with it. Something about going all the way to Paris to buy it but his roommate used it to hammer a nail into the wall and broke it.”

A pause, and then, “Is his roommate okay in the head?”

“Good question.” You grin at your reflection in the mirror, pat down the hair at the back of your neck, and grab your phone. “I’m heading out now. I’ll text you later.”

“’kay,” your best friend says. “Tell Mingyu I said hi.”

“I will,” you say, but you already know you’re not going to greet him on behalf of her.

Things between you and Mingyu are… still pretty much the same, honestly. After that dinner fiasco, you’ve been too embarrassed to properly address him, and he’s not made much of an effort on his part. Or maybe you’ve been consciously avoiding him so much that he doesn’t get a chance to put his foot forward. Either way, your cheeks still burn up whenever you think of that night’s dinner, so for now, hiding in your room is quite possibly the only way you can prevent yourself from catching fire completely.

Stupid logic. You’re a grown adult, with the ability to make good judgements and make decisions. Unfortunately, your decisions are mostly borderline idiotic.

Shouldering your bag, you leave your room and head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. There’s a Post-It note stuck on the refrigerator. Peeling it off the fridge’s door, you read it curiously.

Got some cookies from Minghao’s friend’s bakery. I’ve kept them in the pantry. Enjoy! :)

Mingyu’s familiar scrawl is branded into your head, and seeing the yellow square of paper makes nostalgia bubble inside your chest like a bath bomb dropped into a bathtub filled with water. You pocket the note, and smile so widely, your cheeks hurt.

Maybe he’s put his foot forward, after all.

Seokmin is already waiting for you outside your apartment building by the time you go out. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth flashing happily.

“Hi,” you greet him. “Did you wait long?”

“No.” Your co-worker shakes his head, still smiling. “I just got here, actually.”

“I’m glad.” You return his smile. “Should we head out?”

Seokmin nods. “Of course,” he says, and you fall into step with him.

He has a never-ending list of topics to talk to you about—and for the most part, you’re glad that he’s so outgoing. In twenty minutes, you’ve learnt almost everything there is to know about his roommate, Jeonghan, his older sister, his fear of ladybugs (you snort out loud at that particular anecdote), and his favourite anime (Haikyu!! and One Piece). In return, you tell him about that time you and Jihyo accidentally walked into the wrong restroom at a bar, and how you got dumped by your high school crush because he thought you were better than him at playing basketball.

It’s comfortable. Talking to Seokmin always is.

But you still don’t talk about Mingyu. You try hard to stop thinking of him, but he’s always there at the back of your mind, an unopened gift that you don’t unwrap.

Finally, you and Seokmin round a corner and find yourselves standing in front of the just-opened bakery. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the open door. An array of different types of breads and other desserts is placed carefully on a display at the counter, and the owner greets you with a welcoming smile.

“What do you want to have?” Seokmin asks, holding your elbow and leading you in.

You eye the basket of croissants. The buttery confection looks delicious, but so does the tray of muffins placed next to it. And the bagels placed beside the muffins. “I can’t decide.”

“How about one of everything?”

You glance at him to see if he’s joking, but Seokmin looks completely serious. “You’re kidding, right?” you say, grabbing his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to let you buy one of everything in this store!”

“I would,” Seokmin admits, a flush creeping up his neck, “if you asked me to.”

You groan. “Seokmin. Please don’t.”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m just saying, if you wanted me to—”

“One croissant, please,” you interrupt, addressing the owner. “To go. And he will have…”

“Make that two croissants,” Seokmin finishes. “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having.”

“How gentlemanly of you.”

“I know.”

Seokmin pays for his croissant, and you pay for yours. The owner wraps them up and hands them to you, asking you to visit again. Once you exit, you unwrap yours and take a small bite. The bread is soft and melts in your mouth, leaving a sweet aftertaste. You take another bite, and it’s only then that you notice Seokmin looking at you, a corner of his lips turned upwards in a crooked smile and one hand in his pocket.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”

“No,” he replies. “I just… I would really love to do this again, Y/N.”

Oh.

Seokmin looks at you so hopefully. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Like he needs to get something off his chest. Like he never wants this moment to end.

“...I’d like that, too,” you say.

Somehow, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, one that even another mouthful of the sweet snack can’t erase.

FIVE

It’s getting late, and yet Kim Mingyu is hellbent on getting you to keep him company. The worst part is that it’s working—though you would never admit that to him.

Being friends with your ex isn’t that uncommon. You and Mingyu can be friends. But how long are you willing to put up with this ruse before it all blows up in your faces? Friendship between two people who used to date isn’t that much of a big deal—but that’s just it, isn’t it? You and Mingyu weren’t just two people who used to date.

How did you even let him talk you into spending time with him? Or maybe that’s all on you; you’ve never been able to say no to him. One minute you’re looking at his face and remembering the lasagne gone wrong, the next he’s asking if you want to watch a movie with him. Except neither of you have updated your Netflix subscription, so this was a bad idea all along.

Maybe talking to Mingyu is a bad idea.

Maybe you should go back to your old ways, locking yourself up in your room and only acknowledging his presence when you happen to cross paths.

But the socialite in you nags, what if he thinks you’re some kind of hermit who only comes out to eat and drink? Besides, he’s here now, right next to you on the sofa—keeping a respectable distance between your bodies—as he watches a rerun of America’s Next Top Model because it was the least shitty thing playing on all the channels you scrounged through fifteen minutes ago.

Normally, you would be elated at the idea of poking fun at random reality shows, expressing your exasperation at the poorly-written scripted drama and the even worse acting. But even if the showoff between two aspiring models both named Jessica and sporting the same colour of fake tan and bleached blonde hair was somewhat interesting, you find your gaze keeps wandering to your ex-boyfriend.

You trace the contours of his face with your eyes—the cheekbones that jut out only slightly, the furrow created on his forehead as his eyebrows kiss, the way his honey-brown eyes stare at the screen in front of him with a focused intensity. Even the way his lips curve ever-so slightly upwards, despite him pressing them together, has you recalling just how soft they felt against your own.

His warm, soft skin. The prominent collarbone that you used to press small kisses to whenever you wanted to get his attention. The moles scattered all over his body, creating a canvas for you to paint on by tracing them with your fingers. The flex of his fingers as he bunches them into a loose fist.

Everything about him is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

Even this semblance of friendship that has bridged the drawn-out distance between you both feels strange—as though somewhere in the back of your subconscious, you recognise that this camaraderie is either a really good thing or could go extremely wrong. You’re in the middle of that bridge, trying your best not to lean too much to the right or to the left, but even a slight misstep could lead to everything going downhill.

“Are you rooting for Jessice H. or Jessica C.?”

“Huh?” You blink, escaping your haze of thoughts. “I’m sorry—which one is which?”

Mingyu glances at you with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been watching them trying to one up each other for the past ten minutes.”

“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “Both of them look the same to me.”

“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, before returning his focus to the show. “It’s the fake tan, isn’t it? Although the hair is similar too… No wonder they’ve been arguing about who put on their mascara better—it looks identical.”

You play along. “Or maybe it’s the supposed Gucci belts. I had no idea Gucci made handbags with fake crocodile skin.”

“The more you know…”

You laugh at that, and Mingyu looks at you—really looks, the same way he used to when you made a bad joke and giggled at it yourself. He looks at you with adoration written all over his face, in the upward twist of his lips and the crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

You clamp your mouth shut immediately, feeling a sense of nostalgia, longing and wistfulness seep into your skin, through your flesh and settle deep into your bones.

Too much. It’s too much, and it’s way too early, and you don’t want to dwell on anything at the moment. So you do what you do best: You hide.

You tear your gaze off him and rub your palms on your old jeans. You hear Mingyu’s sharp intake of breath, but you force yourself not to look, not to think about him.

“Hey, uh—I was supposed to call Jihyo right now,” you lie, and even you think it sounds lame coming out of your mouth, so there’s no way Mingyu can’t see through it.

“Y/N,” is all he says.

You hate the way your chest clenches—just because he said your name—but what can you do? Escape the situation and never bring up the obvious elephant in the room?

Yeah. That’s exactly what you do. Making decisions isn’t your forte, but you’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. Much, much later, if you can avoid it for as long as you’re living here.

You get up and make a beeline for your room, and Kim Mingyu doesn’t say anything to make you stop.

SIX

Whenever you faltered, Jihyo was your voice of reason. She would help you back to your feet, give you a solid nudge on your shoulder and list out the pros and cons of everything, allowing you to formulate your own opinion and come to a decision.

She isn’t being very helpful right now.

“Think about it,” she reasons. “Before, he was your ex. Now, he’s the guy you live with. You have to talk to him, no matter what.”

She’s right. She knows you know she’s right. You still refuse to acknowledge it, because pride comes before a fall, but you haven’t fallen yet. It’s more like you’re dangling off the precipice.

“How’s Jaehyun?” you say instead, referring to the guy she’s been crushing on ever since she moved to the new city.

Jihyo lets out an unimpressed sigh, the grainy image of her face on your phone screen contorting slightly. “Don’t think you’re being super smart by changing the topic, Y/N. And he’s fine. We went out for boba the other day.”

“Yeah?” You play with the fraying edge of the duvet thrown over your body. “That’s nice.”

Jihyo hums, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “And then he asked if we could hook up.”

You guffaw. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nods vigorously, affirming her statement. “I said no, obviously.”

“Why? Afraid he’s too much to handle?”

“Please,” your best friend snorts. “Have you seen him? I think I’m too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even pay for the boba without tearing his pocket because he was too enthusiastic in getting his wallet out.”

You smile thinly. Jihyo might be poking fun at the man, but you can tell from the twinkle in her eyes and the way her voice is filled with infectious joy that she’s enamoured by him. You wish you could meet him in person. Instead, you have to settle for checking out his Instagram profile.

“Anyway,” she continues, stifling a yawn, “it’s late and I have to head out tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” you say. “Good night. Don’t dream of Jaehyun.”

She flips her middle finger at you and you roll your eyes, pressing the end button. Just when you’re about to fluff your pillow so you can lie down, you hear a knock on your door.

“Y/N?” Mingyu sounds remarkably active, considering the fact that it’s currently fifteen minutes past midnight. “Are you awake?”

Curiosity compels you to answer honestly, “Yeah. Is everything okay?”

You tread over to the door, swinging it open. Mingyu is in his sweatpants—a pair you know he only wears for bed—and a loose graphic T-shirt. You’re wearing pretty much the same attire, except your shirt is an old one, worn-out from your high school days, and it doesn't fit you that well anymore. You tug the hem over your hips consciously.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I was just…” He pauses, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”

Of all possible things you expected Mingyu to ask you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You blink, bemused.

“Or—or we don’t have to,” he backtracks, when you don’t say anything immediately. “I was just craving something sweet, that’s all—”

“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with your answer. Mingyu is trying to extend the olive branch you placed in between you both, and you have to appreciate that. Regardless of your personal feelings. Besides, Jihyo was right—he’s the guy you live with, and you need to be able to spend time with him. As friends. Nothing more.

“Okay.” He exhales, relieved. “It’s right across the street.”

“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”

The ice cream parlour is a ten-minute walk from your apartment, but walking with Mingyu makes time fly. He says something about mint chocolate being an underrated flavour, and you insinuate that it deserves to be, and just like that, conversation flows between you both as though your past is some kind of a fever dream.

Where Seokmin is a bright ray of sunshine lighting up your way on a cloudy day, Mingyu is moonlight, skittering over your figure and providing solace in the dark. Seokmin is infectious laughter and gleeful smiles; Mingyu is whispered jokes and shared silence.

Perhaps it’s those very qualities that made you fall so hard for the man next to you. You know for sure it’s those very qualities that still have you in his grip, even though he doesn’t know it. Maybe that’s why talking to him is awkward—because how do you move on from someone who captured your heart and kept it for safe-keeping but know that there’s one big, gaping hole in your chest where his heart is supposed to be? Even now, a small part of you belongs to Mingyu, like a little token which he’s kept locked up and hidden the key.

Six months is a long time, but neither you nor Mingyu seems to be able to bring up what happened. Maybe it’s for the best, you think. You would rather have a small bit of this domesticity that feels familiar than have everything blow up in your face because of the harsh words you exchanged.

You ignore the tightening in your chest and focus on the warmth pooling in your stomach when Mingyu grins and offers you a chance to redeem yourself when it comes to good ice cream flavours. You say mint chocolate is tolerable, but only because Mingyu likes it.

SEVEN

Seokmin drops by your cubicle almost every day now. He offers to drop you back home, too.

Each time, you smile but decline politely. You still feel guilty about saying that you would like to spend more time with him as well—but in your defence, you didn’t really lie; you do want to spend more time with him, but only as a friend. Seokmin didn’t specify how exactly he wants to go out with you.

It’s getting harder to say no, however. Seokmin is everything if not persistent, and his determination to take you out has you crumbling under his forlorn gaze and pleading words.

He doesn’t make your heart beat faster, or make butterflies erupt inside your belly. Being with Seokmin doesn’t come with bright fireworks or flashy songs. It’s finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and laughing yourselves silly over jokes that aren’t even that funny.

So. It’s not Mingyu, but Seokmin is nice and friendly and stable, and you think you can fall for him. You and Mingyu aren’t going to cross the threshold of friends ever again, anyway. There’s nothing stopping you from going out with Seokmin.

“Okay,” you say when he asks you again, a half-resigned look on his face when he assumes you’ll just say no again.

The way his expression morphs to elation is worth it, you think. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into your ear, and the joy he feels is infectious—as most good things with Seokmin are—so it’s no surprise that your cheeks are already hurting from smiling too hard.

When you update Jihyo about the latest turn of events, she tuts disapprovingly and says, “Have you told Mingyu?”

“No,” you say, feeling defensive. “I don’t have to tell him, do I?”

Your best friend waits for a beat. “You don’t, I guess.”

Mingyu interrupts your call then, and you quickly tell Jihyo you’ll text her later. He stands in the living room, holding up a pair of button down shirts, one in each hand, forehead creased and mouth downturned.

You lean against your doorway, amused. “You called?”

His face clears as he looks at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I have this work event I need to attend tomorrow, but I don’t know what to wear.”

You observe the shirts he’s holding up. One is cream in colour, long-sleeved and ironed neatly. The other is black, with a thin white stripe along the collar and sleeves.

“The black one,” you say immediately. And then feel your cheeks heat up with your quick answer. In your defence, Kim Mingyu has always looked alarmingly handsome in black. Objectively speaking.

“I haven’t worn this one in a long time.” He brings it close to his face, squinting at it. “It probably stinks.”

“Smell it, then,” you say, chuckling at the mortified look on Mingyu’s face. “What? You’re telling me you’ve never worn your underwear inside out because you forgot to do the laundry? This isn’t that different.”

“I have never done anything of the sort.” He sniffs petulantly at you, before his eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean you’ve worn your underwear inside out?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. I thought you knew me better than that.”

Mingyu tenses up at your offhand comment, and you look down, wondering why that even slipped out of your mouth in the first place. Of course you screw everything up just when things are going decently well.

“I do,” he mumbles. “I do know you better than that.” When you look at him, he has a wan smile on his lips. “Which is why I’m going to trust your judgement and wear the black shirt. Even if it’s musty from sitting in the back of my closet for so long.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huff, walking over to him and grabbing the cloth out of his hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He only raises a single eyebrow at you.

That’s what prompts you to sniff at it. At his goddamn shirt. Like you’re one of those police dogs they use to find missing people.

It… doesn’t smell unpleasant. A little bit musty, like Mingyu said, but that can be attributed to him not wearing it often. Mostly, it smells of faint fabric softener and deodorant—and underneath it all, a scent that is solely Mingyu’s. (Pine and citrus and lavender, all mixed together, in a way that only Mingyu can pull off.)

“It smells fine,” you say, shoving it into Mingyu’s chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not the one who grabbed it and shoved my face into it,” he says, “so who’s the real dramatic one here?”

“I didn’t shove my face into it!” You swat at his shoulder, but he laughs and dodges, eyes twinkling with playfulness.

“If you say so,” he returns, still chuckling to himself.

“When is this event?”

“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.

“Both of us won’t be at home then,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “I… have a date tomorrow,” you explain, and regret it almost instantly. Why are you even telling him that? He doesn’t need to know.

“Oh,” is all he says, followed by a quieter, “Have fun.”

EIGHT

Seokmin picks you up at exactly six o’clock, wearing a loose button down shirt and slacks, and his hair styled carefully. He perks up as soon as you wave at him, jogging over to you with a smile.

“Hey,” he greets you. “You look good.”

You return his smile, tugging at the edge of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt. “Thank you. So do you.”

Seokmin’s grin brightens, which you didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks,” he says, and then gently takes hold of your elbow. “So… the plan for today is to take you out for dinner, and then a movie. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… good,” you say, letting him lead the way. It’s basic, yes, but you’re a firm believer in clichés—there’s a reason they become popular, after all.

He doesn’t stop talking, and neither do you. Throughout the entire half an hour dinner in some hole-in-the-wall diner that Seokmin discovered a month ago and serves the best blue lemonade mojitos you’ve ever tasted, and the entire two hour movie that’s way too boring for you to focus on the screen anyway, you and your co-worker keep up an endless stream of banter and silly anecdotes and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would.

It’s refreshing, and when you and Seokmin finally make the walk back to your apartment, you find it difficult to let go of his hand. He pulls you to a stop in front of the building, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of your hand.

His smile is as bright as ever, albeit tinged with slight disappointment. “So. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”

He’s interrupted by someone stumbling across the sidewalk—not someone, you realise. It’s two people, tightly coiled around each other in a manner that is entirely indecent for the public eye. But as they trip around one another—still holding each other tightly—your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.

One of them is Mingyu.

The other person is some girl, hair falling loosely across her face, Mingyu’s fingers tangled into her tresses, while his other hand bunches up the material of her dress at her waist. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and you don’t tear your eyes away until Seokmin makes a noise of disgust.

He turns around, blocking your view of them and takes both your hands in his. “I… I’ll call you. Okay?”

You nod numbly. “Okay.”

Seokmin leaves with a bright smile and a lingering kiss on your cheek. You plaster a smile onto your lips until he moves out of your line of sight, after which you begin the arduous trek back to your—Mingyu’s—apartment. Normally, the three floors you climb aren’t much of a strenuous task; tonight, however, every step you take makes you feel like your legs are made of lead.

You fumble in your purse for your key, the image of Mingyu kissing that girl not leaving your mind. It’s not supposed to hurt, you’re not supposed to be bothered by it. But it stings, like the biting cold on a freezing winter morning, making your fingers stiff and your ears chilly.

You hear footsteps right when you twist the key into the lock.

The last thing you see before you enter the apartment is Mingyu clambering up the staircase, clearly drunk but surprisingly upright. He has a lipstick stain leading from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, his hair is tousled—no doubt from someone running their hands through his silky locks—and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you grab the door handle and step inside, because the last thing you want to confront is the fact that your feelings for Kim Mingyu might not be as forgotten as you believe.

Which is fine, all things considered, except Kim Mingyu doesn’t give a damn.

You let the door slam shut behind you before Mingyu can get in. Technically, it’s his house. Technically, he’s the one who has the right to lock you out.

Technically, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum, and technically, Mingyu is allowed to kiss whomever the fuck he wants.

You wish Jihyo was here. She would ground you, make you see everything calmly and rationally. But she’s been having boy problems of her own (Jeong Jaehyun, who is decidedly not as romantic as Jihyo was led to believe), and the last thing you want is to dump your boy problems on her.

Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?

Mingyu lives here. He should have his own copy of the keys. He’s also drunk. (Drunk and half-laid, your mind helpfully reminds.)

Before you start overthinking about letting the door close behind you, you decide that what you really need is a warm shower. So you let your feet lead you to the bathroom directly, and don’t allow thoughts of ex-boyfriends and overly friendly co-workers to enter your brain.

You don’t hear the sound of keys turning in the lock the entire night, but you shove down the guilt that bubbles up your throat. It’s Mingyu’s fault for not carrying them with him wherever he goes; you’re not his caretaker, anyway.

Your phone pings with a text message from Seokmin, and you pick it up.

(19:47) Seokmin: I had a great time today. Thanks for coming with me :)

Despite the fact that you only have a towel wrapped around your body, and the fact that your hair is dripping wet, you feel a tingling warmth creep up your chest.

NINE

Monday is a horrible day.

You woke up half an hour later than usual, which led to you rushing through your morning routine. Your clothes aren’t ironed, which is fine usually, but the shirt you pick doesn’t tuck in quite right and you don’t have the time to change it. You almost tripped over the curb in your rush to get to work and nearly spilled a cup of coffee—which is far too sweet for your liking, due to the dollop of sugar you added by accident—all over yourself. Your manager, Choi Seungcheol, doesn’t approve of the project portfolio you compiled, and the deadline is fast approaching, which means more late nights for you.

And to top it all off, your car engine won’t fucking start.

You’re really not in the mood for Seokmin and his exuberant enthusiasm, which is something he probably catches onto, considering the fact that he stands silently next to you, waiting for you to finish cursing the piece of metal you call a car. Once you’re done resisting the urge to burn down the automobile, Seokmin places a placating hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, training a concerned gaze over your figure. “I can drop you back home.”

“No, it’s fine,” you mutter sullenly. “I’ll just call a cab or something.”

“Y/N, please. It’s no trouble.” He pauses, and you glance at him, at the sympathetic crease of his forehead and the genuinity reflected in his eyes. It’s touching, and Seokmin flashes you a small smile. “I was gonna head over that way anyway—I wanted to get some stuff from that bakery we went to.”

“I—” You hesitate, and he takes the chance to slide in.

“You call the mechanic. I’ll wait for you in my car, okay?”

He scurries away, leaving you biting your lip and staring at your phone. You should probably call Mingyu; he can help. Knowing him, he would probably want to help, regardless of who was asking him. Instead, you search up the nearest mechanic shop and dial in their number, giving them the details of where you are. They arrive a couple of minutes later, and you watch as they hook your car onto their big tow truck and drive away.

Seokmin waves you over to his car, a sleek Hyundai that's probably a few years old but still looks brand new. He opens the door to the passenger seat with a smile before grabbing the stack of folders you had kept clutched to your chest. You let him take them. You’re far too tired to argue.

Briefly, your mind wanders to Mingyu—what he would do if you had told him. Probably run all the way here, your brain supplies, prompting a wry smile to form on your lips. You press them together when you think of Mingyu with that girl immediately afterwards.

The drive to your house is silent, only the rumble of Seokmin’s car and the soft noise of some interview playing on the radio filling the silence. He pulls to a stop near your apartment, bundles up your work folders in his arms and gestures for you to lead the way to your flat.

The door swings open before you get the chance to pull out your key. Mingyu stands opposite you, dishevelled—just woken up from a nap, it seems. His mouth parts when he sees Seokmin standing behind you.

“Who’s this?” he asks by way of greeting.

You shift uncomfortably, wanting to say something, but the words stick to your throat like you’ve swallowed chewing gum. Seokmin reaches out from next to you, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s positively beaming.

“Hi, I’m Seokmin,” he says. “I work with Y/N.”

Mingyu shakes his hand, eyes roaming quizzically between you and Seokmin. “Nice to meet you,” he says distractedly. “I’m Mingyu, Y/N’s… roommate. And ex—”

“Come on in, Seokmin.” You glare at Mingyu. He only raises an eyebrow in retaliation. Seokmin coughs slightly, blows out a puff of air, and follows you inside.

“You can just…” You wave your hand around vaguely. Gritting your teeth does nothing to bring you out of your haze. It only exacerbates it.

“Did something happen?” Mingyu moves aside, but you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.

“Y/N’s car broke down,” Seokmin supplies. “It’s at the mechanic’s right now, so I offered to drop her back home.”

“I see.” His next statement is directed at you. “You could’ve called me. I would have come.”

It’s only then that you turn around and face him. He doesn’t move, gaze locked unwaveringly on your hunched-over figure. It’s almost like he’s challenging you to say something.

“I know that,” is all you say, voice low.

Mingyu nods. “Good.”

You avert your attention to Seokmin. He appears lost, gaping at both of you as though he can’t quite catch onto what’s going on. “Let’s go to my room, Seokmin. You can leave my stuff there.”

“Okay.” Seokmin nods, giving Mingyu a hesitant smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mingyu.”

“You too.”

It’s a tiny exchange, but it’s enough to cause a fissure inside your heart. Seokmin is always so nice. He gives out niceness like he’s handing out free candy to toddlers. The only time you’ve ever seen him get remotely angry was when another co-worker of yours forgot a pen drive containing a crucial presentation to an important client—even then, all he did was level a glare at her before calmly asking for a backup drive to be brought.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is like a burning ember. Calm one minute, and angry the next—and it’s the reason you love him, but it’s also the reason you broke things off. You and Mingyu are far too similar, hot-headed and careless to a fault, like two candle flames competing to see who can burn their wick the fastest. You didn’t burn the wick. You ended up burning each other instead. Let it not be said that playing with fire isn’t one of your specialties.

Seokmin lets out a breath that sounds like a huff and a sigh simultaneously as soon as he enters your room. “You can leave the stuff here,” you say, pointing at your desk.

He obliges, carefully placing the stack on the table. “That’s your roommate, huh? Y’know, when you said that you were living with someone you didn’t like, I didn’t think you meant your ex-boyfriend.”

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s… difficult. I needed a place to live and he was the only person who offered on short notice. It just happened.”

Seokmin nods understandingly, lips pursed in thought. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you agree. “One of the nicest people I know.”

“Yeah?” Your co-worker lifts one corner of his lips in an amused half-smile. “What does that make me?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. You know Seokmin is expecting it. Hell, you’re expecting the words to just come out. The nicest guy of them all. That’s all you have to say.

“You’re… Lee Seokmin.”

The words are flat on your tongue. Seokmin’s expression falls—just the tiniest bit, a crack in the foundation—but you feel a terrible weight in your stomach, pulling you down, down, down until your head sinks below the surface of the metaphorical waves and the water erases your existence.

Seokmin is a nice guy—you know that, and you’ve reiterated it so many times. The only thing stopping you from being in a proper relationship with him is your ex-boyfriend, only separated from you by a wooden door and cement walls. Mingyu doesn’t like you anymore, not in the way he used to, and it’s clearly time for you to stop dwelling on what you had.

You swallow, looking at Seokmin directly. “And…” You take a step closer to him. “I consider myself lucky to have met you.”

Seokmin looks at you, his gaze unsteady, but he takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” His throat bobs when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” you confirm, letting his fingers slip in between yours.

He shuffles closer to you, and you can smell his woody cologne intermingled with sweat. You can count the moles on his face, see your reflection in his pupils.

“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”

There’s a knock on your door, and you and Seokmin jump away from each other like a pair of schoolchildren getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Seokmin looks down at his feet; you clear your throat before letting out a hoarse, “Yes?”

“You left your phone outside,” Mingyu calls. “The mechanic just called.”

“Oh, um. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Seokmin, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all possible times for Mingyu to be a cockblocker, why now? “S-sorry about that.”

“No, it’s—you’re fine,” he stammers out, clearly as out of it as you are. “I should probably leave too, I still need to stop by the bakery.”

“Oh, yeah!” you say. “I forgot. Do you want me to come with you?”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s getting dark outside and you need to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Cursed your car to oblivion, probably,” he teases.

You flush, heat creeping up the back of your neck and ears. “That—you didn’t have to see that.”

“I thought it was cute,” he returns easily, corners of his lips twitching.

Against your will, your lips twitch upwards too. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Seokmin opens your door, and you follow him out of your room. He gives Mingyu a grin, says, “See you around,” and lets you close the door behind him.

Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest. You glance at him. His eyebrows are knotted together, lips pressed into a stoic line. You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Hey,” he begins, voice soft, “is that… your boyfriend?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”

He huffs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes—no. No, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious, okay?”

You open your mouth, then close it, at a loss for words. Are you and Seokmin together? Not really. Both of you haven’t done or said anything to define your relationship—if there is one in the romantic sense, at least. Seokmin wanted to kiss you, but Mingyu interrupted before anything could even happen—it’s your irritation at the day being shitty, and Mingyu being an asshole after everything he did that makes you roll your eyes at him and snap at him. “It’s none of your business.”

Mingyu’s face turns stony, a hardness to his features that you’ve only seen a few times before—it was directed at you the last time, too. “Okay. Fine. Sorry I asked.”

“Are you?” you retort, and before he can say anything to retaliate, you storm back into your room and lock the door.

Your heart feels like it’s been split into two, one half yearning for the comfort and familiarity that comes with still liking Mingyu, and the other excited to explore what Seokmin could offer you—and what he already has offered. But for now, you decide to get some sleep. Your heart can wait.

TEN

Jihyo is back.

Jihyo is fucking back, and she’s standing in your—Mingyu’s—living room, arms wide open and a grin on her lips so wide, her eyes crinkle in the corners. It takes all of your willpower not to launch yourself into her arms. Instead, you slow down, toe your shoes off, let your bag drop to the floor, and then launch yourself into her arms.

She laughs at your overzealous demeanour, and you giggle into her hair. God, you’d missed her. Texting every day and video calling every weekend can only do so much, and it’s nothing compared to seeing her in person.

“Hi,” she says, pulling back enough to escape your cage-like hold around her body.

“Hi,” you greet back, smiling so wide and so hard, you can feel your ears pop. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” She confirms your statement by nodding. “Only for a week, though.”

“Ah.”

Your best friend lets out a sheepish chuckle, and you take a step back. Her suitcase is on the floor next to her, and she’s kept her backpack on the sofa. “Are you gonna stay here?” you ask.

She winces. “No, there isn’t much space here. I booked a room at a hotel nearby. It’s, like, ten minutes by walk from here and it’s not very expensive either,” she assures.

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. If Jihyo stayed with you, at least the awkwardness between you and Mingyu might be reduced by a small fraction. Her overbearing nature and ability to make conversation with literally anyone would be a lifesaver, given the situation you’ve dug yourself into.

A situation that she knows nothing about.

You haven’t had the time to keep Jihyo updated about the latest turn of events—not when she was busy juggling a relationship with her sort-of boyfriend, Jeong Jaehyun. She doesn’t know about Seokmin, and she doesn’t know about your lingering feelings for Mingyu.

“Hey, you’re back already.”

Speak of the devil.

You turn around and find Mingyu leaning against the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. You feel your breath hitch. He continues, “I guess Jihyo already beat me to it, huh?”

“You knew she was coming?” you ask him, almost accusatory.

“You didn’t tell her?” Jihyo echos, a curious tinge to her tone.

He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”

Against your will, you find yourself grinning at him. Mingyu dissolves in the slightest—a small hint of surprise—before he grins back at you, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. Jihyo lets out a small huff from next to you, but you know nothing can put a damper on your mood right now. Not even your resurfaced feelings for Mingyu, nor your newfound ones for Seokmin.

Your best friend squeezes your arm. “I have some time before I need to check in at the hotel. Do you wanna check out our old place?”

You turn to her and nod. The prospect of going back to the place where you created cherished memories with someone so dear to you is enticing; then you remember your car is still at the mechanic’s. “My car is out of commission.”

Jihyo only turns and stares at Mingyu. He sighs resignedly, pushing himself off the doorway and heading inside his room. “Let me grab my keys.”

“Might as well stop for ice cream along the way,” Jihyo calls out gleefully to his retreating back.

You gulp. This… might not be a good idea. If Mingyu tags along with you, this would be the first time since last week where you’re speaking to him normally, making conversation that isn’t just along the lines of “Did you do the laundry?” or “I bought some vegetables”. Of course, if you told Jihyo what happened, she would immediately make sure Mingyu doesn’t come. You chew on your bottom lip, but before you can come to a decision, Mingyu emerges from his bedroom, car keys dangling off his fingers.

“Ready?” he asks.

Jihyo grabs onto your arm, excitement so visible on her face that it prompts the tension in your own features to melt away. You let yourself get carried away by her giddiness, not noticing the fond glances the only male in the group keeps giving you whenever he’s sure you’re not looking. If you’d met his eyes once throughout the drive to your old place, you’d see the way his eyes still twinkle at you with the same intensity as they did months ago, but you’re too busy catching up with Jihyo to notice.

Mingyu pulls to a stop in front of your old apartment building—a dilapidated structure that’s not half as modern as the current building you stay in. At least the elevator is still functioning; you purse your lips to contain your laugh when Mingyu looks at it, eyebrows raised in visible astonishment. Jihyo grips your hand tightly when you reach your floor. You tighten your hold on her hand as well, feeling a sudden burst of emotion erupt inside your chest like lava escaping from a volcano.

You and Jihyo round the corner to the apartment that used to be yours, Mingyu following closely. The door is the same dull brown it was back then as well, but someone has put in the effort to redo the varnish. There’s a potted fern next to it as well.

You let out a shuddering breath. Jihyo wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close; you aren’t sure if it’s just the wind rattling through the open window, but you hear something like a sniffle.

This is the place you lived in when you had your first boyfriend, when you had your first heartbreak, when you cried your lungs out at some stupid TV show that you were invested in at the time but can’t possibly remember the name of now. This is the place where you and Jihyo bonded over crappy supermarket deals and made a mess of the kitchen whenever you tried to learn how to cook something new.

This is the place where you first met Kim Mingyu.

You tilt your head at him, watch as he stares resolutely ahead of him, like if glares at it strongly enough, he can bore two holes straight through the wood. Eventually, his eyes land on yours.

His lips part but no words come out. He offers you a small smile instead, one so tender and heart-warming and achingly familiar. You blink, and the moment is gone. You’re left with the same sense of wistfulness and longing that you always feel around him.

Jihyo squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining. “Should we ring the bell?” she asks, and then presses the doorbell before you can respond.

A muffled “Coming!” from inside, and the latch is pulled open to reveal a college student—a few years younger than you, perhaps, with sleep bags underneath his eyes and a cup of coffee clutched to his chest. He looks confused—as anyone would be, you suppose, when you see a random bunch of strangers standing on your doorstep—but his expression clears when Jihyo explains who you are and why you’re here.

He says he’s living here with his boyfriend and their pet cat—a beautiful Siberian who coils itself around his legs, tail upturned—and you feel your heart swell with the knowledge that your old haven is being taken care of well. Jihyo consistently badgers him with questions and he answers each one patiently, to his credit.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, however. Does Mingyu not remember this? He was looking for apartments in this building, too, when you met him. Doesn’t he remember the old landlady conversing with you? Doesn’t he remember the way people constantly asked if you two were together, which is what even prompted him to ask for your number in the first place?

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when you feel a slight pressure on your shoulder. Mingyu’s hand is on your shoulder. Your gaze flits over to him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “There was a mosquito.”

He’s lying.

He remembers.

ELEVEN

“Spill.”

“The… tea?” you ask cautiously, looking at Jihyo. She’s holding a steaming mug of tea in her hand.

“You think you’re so funny.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I am,” you quip, and she rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of the beverage.

“You’ve been distracted since yesterday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Since we went to our old place.” Her voice quietens, “Is it Mingyu? Did he do something?”

You eye her warily, sitting down on the plush armchair opposite her. “No,” you say.

“Then what is it? Did—did you not want me here?”

“No.” You’re quick to alleviate her concerns. “Of fucking course I wanted you here. I missed you. So much.”

Your best friend smiles at that, swirling the tea in the mug. “But something’s bothering you.”

“...Yes.” You admit it slowly, playing with your fingers splayed out on your lap. “It’s not important. You’re here only for a few days, we should do something fun.”

“Y/N,” Jihyo says slowly, enunciating every syllable of your name like she’s speaking to a troublesome child, “if you’re worried about me feeling bad or anything, please don’t. I want to help you.”

You wave her away. “You have your own shit to deal with.”

“What, you mean Jaehyun?” She snorts. “I’m over him. I was over him ages ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just.” You look down at your feet. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

Jihyo cocks her head to the side, studying you carefully. “Yes. I did. What about it?”

Your shoulder slump, dejectedness seeping into your figure. “How… did you do it?” You glance up at her, note the way she observes you carefully. Your voice is almost pleading when you continue, “How did you get over him?”

Your best friend’s expression clears, comprehension dawning on her face. She places her mug down, leaning forward and clasping your hand with hers. “It’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

You shake your head miserably. “Not just him.”

“There’s someone else?” She doesn’t sound surprised, only intrigued and concerned.

You take a deep breath, lock gazes with her—and everything comes spilling out of your mouth like the tide receding into the ocean. You tell her everything, about Mingyu and Seokmin and how conflicted they make you feel; how one is like the living personification of sunlight on a gloomy day, and the other reminds you of clouds providing shade on a hot afternoon. You tell her about how guilty you feel, as though you’re leading Seokmin to believe that you’re ready for a committed relationship when a part of your heart still belongs to Mingyu. You speak until the words end up garbled and slurred, and your breathing turns heavy and salt water streaks across your cheeks, your best friend rubbing them away with the pad of her thumb.

When you don’t know what to say, Jihyo pulls you into a hug—it’s an awkward position, your elbows locked around her arms while your neck is bent at an odd angle, but it’s comforting, and you let your eyes close tiredly.

“Y/N,” she says, rubbing her thumb on your shoulder soothingly. “I know it’s hard for you to decide, but you have to know: What do you want?”

The question makes you contemplate. What do you want?

“I don’t know,” is all you can get out, slumping further into her arms.

She hums softly. “But you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Will you? You’re not so sure. Maybe when the time is right. But for now, you rest your chin on your best friend’s shoulder and let her rub circles onto your skin.

You pull back when the position becomes too uncomfortable—you can already feel a crick in your neck—and Jihyo wraps her fingers around her discarded mug. She raises it in a half-hearted toast. “To sexy girls who don’t need men in their lives.”

You giggle, rubbing your eyes. “Men are pieces of shit, anyway.”

“Damn right they are,” she croons, falling dramatically back onto the couch. “We should just get married instead.”

“If you propose to me the right way, maybe I’ll consider it.”

Jihyo grins at you, and it’s infectious enough to make you grin back at her. “Consider it done,” she says. “I have a ring in my nightstand drawer with your name written on it.”

“If it’s not pure diamond, I won’t accept.”

“Tsk. So greedy.”

TWELVE

Introducing Seokmin to Jihyo was not a part of your agenda for the week.

But it’s Seokmin and it’s Jihyo, so really, what else did you expect? Both of them integrated themselves seamlessly into your life, and they have no plans of leaving anytime soon. Might as well get the introductions over with.

Ironically, it happens when you go to collect your car from the mechanic’s, and once they’ve exchanged names and small talk, Jihyo and Seokmin are inseparable. The former regals him with tales of your college shenanigans, while the latter listens enthusiastically, eyes flitting between you both amusedly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you hurriedly interrupt the conversation, right before Jihyo can go into the messy details of how you wanted to marry the toilet when you were drunk once and Mingyu had to physically carry you out of the house because you were convinced the white ceramic was proposing to you.

“You and Mingyu were together for a long time, huh?” Seokmin asks you quietly, once Jihyo is finished with her sulking at you interrupting her story. She’s at the side, conversing with someone on the phone, leaving you and your co-worker alone in front of your car.

You’re so startled by the question, you nearly drop your keys. “I—why do you ask?”

Seokmin licks his lips, a seriousness to his figure that you haven’t witnessed many times before. “Just… curious, I suppose.”

You look down once, see how he’s twisted his fingers together—even the Lee Seokmin gets nervous, after all—and look back up at him. “Yes,” you admit softly, voice hitching slightly, “we were. We… were in love, I guess you could say.”

He’s silent for a minute, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “And now?”

“I don’t know, Seokmin,” you answer him honestly. Your heart flutters inside your chest, while your stomach twists into tight knots—two reactions you didn’t think would go hand-in-hand, yet here you are, leaving your heart bare for Seokmin to take while gatekeeping a part of it to yourself.

He raises his head, warm eyes capturing yours. You see the smallest flicker of hope and sadness, two thin wisps of emotion dancing in his eyes—but even then, his lips are turned upwards, because it’s Lee Seokmin.

“But you could try?” he asks, so softly you can barely catch the words.

You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don’t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.

He opens his mouth, but Jihyo walks back to you both, mouth downturned. “My company said they need me back as soon as possible.” She says it calmly, but disappointment and bitterness seep into her voice.

For a moment, you freeze, and then ask, “When do you need to leave?”

“Tomorrow,” she answers with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “They’ve already booked the flight.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll drop you to the airport.”

“I’ll come with,” Seokmin chimes in, and adds, in true Seokmin fashion, “Make sure Y/N doesn’t drive us all into a ditch or something.”

You shove his shoulder, muttering an “asshole” under your breath, and his smile only widens. Jihyo glances in between you both, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she sucks in a breath and smiles. “Good to know my best friend is in good hands.”

“The best hands, actually,” Seokmin teasingly corrects.

You roll your eyes at the two of them. “Can we go home now, or not?”

“Home it is,” Jihyo agrees, “but first, I demand Taco Bell.”

“Fine,” you concede, letting her grab the keys from your outstretched palm.

Seokmin grabs your hand once she clambers into your fixed car. His palm is broad, skin warm, and his fingers wrap around yours with ease. He squeezes your hand once, gently, and it feels like a promise and a farewell at the same time.

Seokmin asks you out again three days after Jihyo leaves.

This time, he takes you out to an Italian restaurant. He’s dressed up in a suit and a bowtie—and actual blue velvet bowtie that sits snugly at the hollow of his neck—and he’s the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pouring champagne into your glass like a professional. (When you compliment him on his drink-pouring skills, he just mutters bashfully about how his dad taught him that to please a lady, you need to be good at pouring drinks; it does nothing to ease the quickening pace of your heart.)

Lee Seokmin compliments your dress, says that that specific shade of pink looks beautiful on you. He recommends you try out their vegetable lasagne, says it’s one of the dishes the restaurant is famous for. He laughs about his favourite show, tells you he would love to rewatch it with you someday. He asks if you like gardens because his neighbour is trying to convince him to grow a rosebush outside his house, but he can’t look after plants even if his life depended on it. He wants to go out for ice cream afterwards, but the night is too chilly for the cold dessert so you opt against it.

Throughout, you play someone who’s on her first date, who thinks this is all there is and everything she’s been dreaming of has come true.

You would like to think you’re a good actor.

Kim Mingyu has seen you in nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts and he used to whisper praises against your skin, flushed with sweat and sweet words. He ate the shitty lasagne you made without complaining, no matter how bad it tasted. He watched whatever was playing on television with you, just because he enjoyed your company and wanted to be wherever you were. He’s not particularly good with plants, but he has a little succulent named Spurt, making sure it gets enough sunlight and water. He likes mint chocolate ice cream, and would defend the flavour with his life.

Kim Mingyu and Lee Seokmin: Two sides of the same coin.

Jihyo’s question resonates in your mind as you and Seokmin walk back to your car.

What do you want?

As you near your vehicle, Seokmin puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N,” is all he says, and you hate the way your chest clenches at that—just because he said your name.

“Did you have fun today?” he continues, eyes roaming over your features like he’s committing you to memory. Like a soldier leaving his wife before he heads out to the frontlines.

“I did, Seokmin. I really did.” You place your hand over his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, pressing lightly on his knuckles; you need him to know that you truly enjoyed today—desperate for him to know, because it’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you.

“Good,” he says. “I—I had fun today with you, too. I always have fun when I’m with you, Y/N.”

He bends down. You can feel his breath fan out on the shell of your ear and it makes you shiver. He turns his head, and his lips brush against your cheek. A small, soft farewell.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—” you begin, feeling your voice begin to wobble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Seokmin whispers, but he sounds firm. “We’re still friends.”

Your heart plummets deep, deep down, a free fall that isn’t orchestrated by gravity. You think you know the answer to Jihyo’s question now.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to Seokmin.

THIRTEEN

The light is on when you enter the apartment. Mingyu’s figure lies hunched on the sofa, head in his hands, a half-empty beer can next to him. You quickly shuck off your heels and drop your purse onto the shoe rack.

Your ex-boyfriend looks at you when pad over to the living room. “You’re back.” He sounds hoarse, tired.

“Have you been drinking?” you say in return, raising an eyebrow.

Mingyu glances at the can in his hand then back at you. “Yeah. Long day.”

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

Perhaps it’s the quiet ambience of your shared home—silent, despite the noise of the city outside—that compels him; or maybe it’s the idea of coming home to someone you think you know better than the back of your own hand. Either way, when Mingyu pats the cushion beside him, your feet move automatically and you sit down, letting out a weary sigh.

It’s quiet, but not in the awkward sense. Not like back then, when Mingyu thought you and Seokmin were dating. Not even when you visited your old apartment. Exhaustion makes its home in your bones, and you suspect it’s taken over Mingyu too; there’s no way this shared piece of night can be so comfortable otherwise.

“Want some?” he asks after a few minutes.

“No thanks.”

Mingyu shrugs and puts the can down on the coffee table. “Wanna talk about it?” He leans back against the sofa, arms crossed behind his head.

“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”

“No.” He clears his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Were you with… Seokmin?”

“...Yes.”

You don’t have to look at Mingyu to know he’s clenching his jaw. It’s a pure rush of adrenaline that makes you ask, “Why does it bother you so much whenever I’m with him?”

Silence.

You turn your head, cheek brushing against the back of the sofa. Mingyu’s eyes are closed, hair falling in loose strands around his forehead and neck. You wonder what he’s thinking.

His answer excites you—in the rawest form possible. Anticipation builds up in your chest, threatens to explode through your windpipe. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but when he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, there is nothing you can do to stop your heart from rabbiting inside your rib cage.

“It doesn’t,” he says finally, an air of decisiveness about him.

For the second time that night, your heart plummets, and you tear your eyes off him. “Okay,” you say. “That is, um, good information to have.”

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“How does it matter to you?”

Mingyu crosses and uncrosses his ankles, this time staring resolutely at the floor. “I don’t know. It just does.”

You purse your lips. He isn’t being fair to you. “What about you?” you demand. “What about that girl you almost brought back home, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “You saw that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“I’m not blind, Mingyu,” you retort.

Your roommate lets out a sardonic chuckle at that, slowly dragging his eyes up. “I highly doubt that.”

“What do you mean?” You scowl at him, feeling your chest begin to heave. “You—you’re like some kind of a riddle, Mingyu. I can never tell what you mean by anything, and it’s even worse now that you’re drunk and—”

“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts.

“I don’t care if you’re drunk or not—” you don’t realise your voice is caving in, growing softer and softer by the second— “stop saying things you don’t mean.”

“I want to kiss you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you and I may be slightly drunk, but I don’t fucking care. And I mean it.”

You swallow, blood pounding through your veins. “Say that again.”

“What?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. His gaze never leaves your face, every ounce of earnestness and honesty written plainly on his features.

“Say it again,” you repeat.

“I want—”

You surge forward, capturing his lips with yours, pressing them firmly against his even when he lets out a muffled gasp. He doesn’t kiss back immediately, but his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly and crumpling the flimsy material of your dress. He kisses you back then, mouth jutting insistently into yours, tongue sliding against your lower lip. You arch your back, scramble to find some balance in this precarious position, and your hands end up tangled in his hair. He tastes like beer and aftershave and something that’s so distinctly Mingyu, you want more.

You pull away when air becomes a necessity, blinking even as Mingyu’s arms pull you closer to him.

“This isn’t over,” you manage to get out in between huffed breaths.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, but his eyes are glazed. He looks at you like a man starved, and tilts his head and kisses you again, kisses you like he might never see you again.

You let him. It’s Kim Mingyu, after all, and you’ve always been a little weak for him.

You don’t think of Seokmin; don’t let him come out of the tiny pocket you’ve preserved in your heart just for him. Instead, you wrap your arms around your ex-boyfriend’s neck, leaning into his chest and kissing him back with equal fervour, letting him know that you need him as much as he needs you.

God, you’d missed him. Way more than you thought. You’ve memorised his touch, branded it into your mind, but it still feels new. Like the first time you were with him, kissing like two teenagers with reckless abandon.

His cold fingers find their way underneath your waist, hitching up the loose material of your dress around your thighs. You kneel on the couch cushions in front of him, almost straddling his lap but not quite. His fingers brush against your sides in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He nips at your lip, asking for entrance to your mouth to which you accept, parting your lips enough for him to get a taste. As he moves his tongue around yours, exploring your mouth in every way possible, you can’t contain the slight whimper that escapes your throat.

Mingyu groans, leaning his weight onto you as you both start moving together until you’re laid flat against the couch. He’s impatient, you can tell; his fingers dig into your skin, and he groans again when you bite down gently on his lower lip. He pulls back and moves downwards, kissing your jaw and behind your ear, suckling gently on a sensitive bit of skin with expertise. “Tell me to stop,” he says, whispering the words against your skin.

All you do is moan in response, rubbing your thighs together to get some friction with the way he’s moving his mouth against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, more firmly this time.

“Shut the fuck up, Gyu,” is all you reply with, the nickname falling out of your lips with familiarity.

Maybe it’s the use of something that used to be your thing—something the two of you shared, the shortened version of his name—but hearing it come out of your lips again does things to Mingyu that he isn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words for you. Trailing his movements down to your neck, he stops at your chest, a small smile spreading on his face. “Forgot how much I loved it when you called me that.”

Looking down at him, you hadn’t realised he’s moved further down your body and his fingers trace the edges of your underwear. Your dress is bunched up above your thighs, skin exposed to the cool air. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the inside of your thighs. He toys with the elastic of the waistband, chuckling when you shoot him an irritated glare.

He stares down at your clothed core, mouth watering while his hands move faster than you can comprehend. It takes him two seconds to hook his slender fingers underneath the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down to your ankles and tosses them onto the coffee table.

You feel a wave of shyness overcome you—with the way he’s looking at you, desperate for your taste—and you try to close your legs, before his hands land on your thighs, halting your actions. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I want to see all of you.”

Heat burns your cheeks and flows through your body. You turn your head to avoid his burning gaze as you feel him part your legs. He readjusts himself, laying as flat and comfortably as he can with what little space he has on the couch until he’s face-to-face with where you need him most. He tests the waters, leaning in with his tongue out, letting it graze your clit. You stifle a moan, biting your lip so hard, you think it might bleed.

He smiles, loving how you’re holding back. “So quiet, baby. Wanna remember how I used to make you feel.” Laying his tongue flat against your clit, he gives you slow and soft strokes—so gentle that it drives you insane.

“You’re such—such a tease,” you gasp out, right when he swirls his tongue around the nub.

Mingyu only raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t changed.” But all the same, any plans he had to be patient with you go straight out the window; he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down further to his face. The sudden pull surprises you, and you gasp a little while searching for something to grab onto. He indulges in your pussy, tongue exploring your pulsating hole that clenches around everything and nothing all at once. He relishes in the way you feel on his tongue, groaning against your folds while bringing a hand up and rubbing his thumb on your neglected clit.

You’re a mess under his touch, squirming on the sofa, loud groans and soft mewls escaping your lips wantonly. Your fingers find their way into his soft locks, pulling gently on his hair and scratching against his scalp. He lets out a moan against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if you’re his last source of water. “F-fuck, Gyu, ‘m gonna—” a gasp— “‘m gonna cum.”

This only encourages him to work his mouth harder, wanting to watch you fall apart just by his mouth alone. You tug harder at his hair, moans growing louder and more desperate by the second, and your thighs shudder around his head, feeling the rush of your high come so close, you aren’t prepared for it.

With two final sucks to your clit, you come undone on his tongue followed by a string of moans with broken pieces of his name somewhere in between. Mingyu looks up at you with bright eyes and a satisfied grin, as if he didn’t just eat out your pussy like he would never get the chance to again. The mixture of saliva and your juices dripping down his chin makes your eyes widen even as you squint down at him.

With careful, deliberate motions, he moves away from you, the grin on his face replaced by a more serious expression. You sit up, leaning on your elbows. The aftermath of your passionate actions catches up to you; reaching over, you snatch your panties from the coffee table and swing your legs over. Throughout, Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He only watches, in that quiet, observant way of his, swiping at his mouth and chin with a tissue he grabbed from the tissue box next to the couch.

You glance at him. Is he going to say something? Or is he going to let you walk away again, with all the words you want to say to him lying on the tip of your tongue, always there but never released?

“Y/N.” He scrambles to his feet when you stand up, clutching your underwear in one hand and adjusting your dress with the other. He sounds… uncertain. Completely unlike the Mingyu who cockily asked you if Seokmin was your boyfriend, or who joked around with Jihyo like it was second nature to him.

You bite your lip. “Yes?”

“Do you… do you want anything? Water?”

You melt a little at his words like an ice cream left out for too long. Kim Mingyu, always so kind, always so caring—you know that better than anyone.

He can be cruel too, in the way he chips away at your already broken heart. He doesn’t know it but he does—lift your hopes only to let it all crumble down. Like how he broke the promises you made to each other, and how you broke the words you’d sworn to say to him alone.

It hits you again, how you and Mingyu were meant to be, and how lonely it was when he left. You wonder if he feels the same way—did he spend sleepless nights in bed, thinking of you? Did he ever think that if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again?

You shake your head no at him. He doesn’t say anything after that, but his lips part slightly. He watches you as you walk over to grab your purse and head inside your room.

That night, you don’t sleep at all—despite wrapping yourself up in your Looney Tunes comforter and the comforting weight of your pillow beneath your head that usually puts you to sleep instantly.

Instead, it feels like the very first night you and Mingyu broke up all over again.

SIXTEEN

You don’t tell anyone about what transpired between you and Mingyu. It remains hidden between you both, a secret neither of you are willing to bring up.

Jihyo is back to work at her new city, now completely devoid of boy problems of any sort, since Jeong Jaehyun has shifted his affections to another co-worker. (“It’s better this way,” she tells you, “he didn’t want a committed relationship, anyway.” You can tell she’s truly not bothered by it, so you grin and agree.)

Seokmin doesn’t come around to your cubicle the way he used to earlier, either. Your days at the office are dreary and boring, now that your co-worker’s sunshine smile isn’t there to keep you company. In fact, the only person who still talks to you voluntarily at work is your boss, Seunghcheol, but even then it’s mostly just a sympathetic smile he offers you followed by a new deadline or a project.

You and Mingyu are back to whatever it was you had when you first moved in, before the lasagne fiasco. Not talking to each other, but not not talking to each other either. You swerve around each other in tandem, finding more and more excuses to avoid whatever happened in between you both. He lied when he said he would talk to you about it the next day, after he ate you out on the couch.

You can’t blame him completely; you’ve made no effort to reach out to him, either.

Weariness seeps into your skin with every passing second. You rub at your already half-closed eyes and hide a yawn behind a closed fist. The letters on your laptop screen swim in front of you. The stack of folders next to it drags a tired sigh out of your lips.

You’re so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally you’re drained out, all the liveliness sucked out of you like someone vacuumed up the inside of your heart. The lack of sleep is getting to you; the lack of someone to brighten up your days is getting to you more.

If you and Seokmin were still on a talking basis, he would have sauntered over to your desk by now, hands in his pockets and the same question on his lips: “Coffee break?”

He’s not here now, probably tucked into his corner of the floor. Maybe his smile is directed at someone else. Maybe he’s taking someone else on the daily ritual that you used to consider yours. Maybe it’s time you get out of your fucking swivel chair and get some coffee.

You’re not doing it alone, of course. No, coffee at the office—no matter how shitty the machine is and how long the line for the coveted caffeine is—is yours and Seokmin’s thing. Besides, he said you’re still friends; it’s time for you to step up.

Stifling another yawn, you blink slowly before pushing yourself off your chair. It occurs to you that you don’t know exactly where Seokmin’s cubicle is—he’d mentioned it was by Seungcheol’s room once. You decide to start there.

It doesn’t take you long to find Seokmin. You walk into him—literally walk into him. A startled gasp leaves your lips when you collide into someone’s chest, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you okay?”

You blink once. The voice is familiar. You direct your gaze at the person you bumped into.

“Seokmin,” you breathe out weakly.

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only.”

“I-I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you quickly apologise. “I was on my—”

“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he interrupts. “I should’ve looked at where I was going too.”

“How… have you been?” The question spills out before you notice, and you realise that you’re genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. You’ve missed him, missed his companionship.

Seokmin looks briefly surprised that you’ve asked him. He clears his throat, once. “Oh, um. I’ve been fine—y’know, the usual. Work, home, sleep and then repeat. How—how about you?”

“I’ve been better,” you admit. “You look tired, though.”

He lifts his hand and rubs his cheek with an accompanying embarrassed chuckle. “You could tell?”

He has bags underneath his eyes. His shoulders sag ever-so slightly. His usually perfectly styled hair isn’t as neat as it used to be. You nod. “You look exhausted.”

“Ah.” Another embarrassed chuckle; you can tell he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Coffee break?” you offer, a small, lopsided smile gracing your lips.

This time, the smile Lee Seokmin gives you lights up his eyes.

SEVENTEEN

“This is ridiculous!” you call out for the nth time, glaring at the door with as much intensity as you can muster.

“Jihyo’s orders!” Seokmin calls back, from outside the room. “I have proof that she asked me to lock you two up in order for you to talk it out.”

Mingyu huffs out a breathless laugh from behind you. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sheets crumpled and pillow on his lap. You turn around to level your glare at him.

“Give it up,” he advises.

“Don’t even.” You pinch the bride of your nose, closing your eyes in exasperation. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? No one told you to tell Seokmin everything!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know he would go and tell Jihyo?” you splutter out, opening your eyes and bringing your hand down. “I didn’t even know they’d exchanged numbers!”

“Might as well get it over with,” Seokmin’s voice travels through the barricade once more. “The sooner the better.”

“I didn’t ask you, Seokmin,” you mutter.

“He’s right, you know.” Mingyu pats the space next to him, inviting you to sit down. “If Jihyo hadn’t forced him to do it, I would have found some way to do it myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you retort. “You’ve been avoiding me since the day we—since the day we kissed.”

“I would have tried,” he reasons. “But since you’re here now, can you at least please listen to what I have to say?”

“Oh, so now you have things you want to say,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. Regardless, you sit down next to him. You’re curious, you will admit. This conversation could potentially break your heart, or it could also change the trajectory of your relationship with Mingyu.

Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.

“The other day, when I said I wanted to kiss you—I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I truly meant it. I’ve wanted to kiss you the minute I laid eyes on you again. I wanted to hold your hand, to take you places around the neighbourhood, to come back home to you.

“I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends again, and I could somehow win your heart back.” A wry smile crosses his lips. “But then Seokmin came by, and you both just seemed so close. He—he brought back this life in you; your eyes sparkled whenever he was around, and you were always smiling when you were with him. I never saw that after we… after you moved in. You were always so jittery with me—understandably so—and I… I let my jealousy of seeing you with Seokmin get the better of me.

“That day, when I—” he pauses, glancing at you; his eyes are imploring, and you sense that he’s laying himself bare for you— “when you saw me kissing that girl, I did it on purpose. To make you jealous. And then I saw the look on your face, and even when I was drunk, I knew I’d fucked up. So I left her, and I followed you back inside—you closed the door just as I caught up with you. I called up Minghao, spent the night at his place. I think that’s when I realised completely that I—that I still love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. You can’t believe you’re actually hearing these words.

Mingyu swallows. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Even after we broke up, even after all the things we said to each other—some part of me knew that I shouldn’t give up on you. I have loved you throughout. I will continue to love you throughout.”

He looks down, staring at his hands. In that instant, he looks so small. Vulnerable. As if giving his entire heart to you on a silver platter isn’t enough. As if he’s giving all of himself to you, mind, body and soul.

You need to tell him that your mind, body and soul have always been his.

“Mingyu,” you begin, watching as his eyes travel over to yours uncertainly, “you absolute fucking idiot.”

His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”

“I love you, too, idiot.” The words rush out breathlessly. “I never stopped.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen and his mouth opens imperceptibly. You continue, “I knew this would happen. The minute I stepped foot into your house, I knew I would fall for you all over again.”

You reach out and grip his hand, needing something to tether you against him. “And I did.” A watery laugh escapes your mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again.”

A pause, and then Mingyu’s free hand cups your cheek, skin warm against yours. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Mingyu smiles at your confession—a full smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners and his lips turning upwards. He leans forward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You beat him to it, covering the distance between you both with one swift swoop. You capture his lower lip in between yours, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. He kisses you back with equal fervour, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You close your eyes and slide your tongue across the seam of his lips, smiling when he lets out a silent groan.

He only pulls away once he needs air, but even then he doesn’t let you go. He pulls you forward, making you straddle his lap as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, the column of your throat. You relish in his touches, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging gently at the silky strands.

“We should probably stop,” you whisper, when a particularly sharp nip at your neck elicits a soft moan from you. “Seokmin’s standing outside.”

“Fuck him,” Mingyu says. He presses another kiss on your jaw, looking up at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the universe.

You roll your eyes affectionately at him. “C’mon. I don’t want to scar him for life.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you say, slowly getting off his lap. Already you can feel the absence of his warmth.

“Fine,” he agrees, once you stand up fully and brush yourself off. “I love you.”

Warmth shoots up your chest and onto your cheeks and neck. Your heart swells, and you find yourself grinning involuntarily. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Mingyu stands up and pecks your cheek. “Now let’s go save Seokmin from his misery.”

(Later, if you find Seokmin with bright pink ears as he pointedly avoids yours and Mingyu’s gaze, that’s no one’s business but his.)

EIGHTEEN

Mingyu sucks on a sweet spot right underneath your ear and you can practically hear his smirk when you let out a whine. You fist your hand in the sheets, feeling the soft material crinkle underneath your fingertips.

“Such a tease,” you whisper out.

He lowers his head, nips at your neck and then runs his tongue over the spot, soothing it. “So you’ve mentioned.”

Your retort dies on your lips when he moves lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones and shoulders. You whine again when his fingers find your nipple, pinching the bud lightly in between his thumb and forefingers. He moves lower, breath ghosting over your abdomen and belly button, until he finally comes face to face with your clothed pussy.

He hooks his finger into the waistband of your panties, nails scraping against your skin. You squirm under his touch, lifting your hips to help him pull the flimsy garment down your legs and toss it to the side. Mingyu sucks in a breath sharply when he sees your exposed cunt—despite already having seen it before, and you feel a rush of pride at the fact that you still have this effect on him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, eyeing your folds hungrily.

Mingyu works on your clit expertly, thumb rubbing against the nub, eliciting a loud moan from you. He licks a stripe up your folds, grinning when your hand automatically finds itself in his hair again. When he finds you’re wet enough, he slides a finger in. You inhale sharply, hole clenching around the digit. He circles his thumb around your clit once more, before sliding another finger in.

You gasp at that, tightening the hand in his hair. Mingyu leans forward, swiping at your clit with his tongue one more time and pulling both his fingers out at the same time. He relishes in the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling proud that you’re not trying to hide anything from him. You’re completely under his mercy, as is he when it comes to you.

He slides both the fingers back in, hissing when your walls contract against them, pumping the digits in and out a few more times. The way you moan—because of him—makes him finger your hole faster, enjoying the way your moans increase in pitch. When he sees your eyes beginning to cloud over, Mingyu quickly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss of his touch and he chuckles. “Patience, baby. Don’t want you to cum just yet.”

Your head falls back on the pillow and you mutter a string of incoherent words under your breath. “Look at me,” Mingyu tuts.

You lift up your neck curiously. Mingyu waits for your eyes to land on his lips before he slowly, deliberately puts his two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits and licking your juices off. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you bite your lip at the sight.

Once he pulls his fingers out, Mingyu bends down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you even gonna fuck me, Gyu?” you grit out, and his eyes widen.

“Call me that again,” he orders.

“Fuck me, Gyu.” Your voice is borderline a whimper, and, well—who is Mingyu to prevent you from getting what you desire? After all, he’s always been a little weak when it comes to you.

He gets on his knees, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. He pumps it a few times, groaning softly, before positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re on the pill?”

“Yes.” You nod almost desperately, waiting for him to slide it all the way in.

Mingyu enters you slowly—the pace is almost unbearable—but he shudders when he feels your walls against his dick. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. A loud moan escapes your lips when he jerks his hips forward, his cock pressing into your cervix. Your eyes screw shut, and Mingyu grunts, pulling out and thrusting back inside with more force. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your legs around his hips, granting him more access to your hole and allowing him to push himself deeper inside you.

He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the pebbled bud. You gasp out moans wantonly, and it spurs him to thrust faster and faster inside you. He watches you fall apart on him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips when your moans become interspersed with chants of his name.

Your grip on his shoulders tighten and the muscles flex under your hold. Your cries reach a crescendo with one particularly sharp thrust; Mingyu can tell your climax is approaching.

He speeds up, pumping into you with as much strength as he can muster. Your nails leave white-hot trails along his back, his shoulders—you try to hold onto him as best as you can. You cry for more, beg him to keep going. A bit redundant, in his opinion—he has no plans of stopping until you’ve orgasmed.

Mingyu thrusts into you one last time, throwing you over the edge. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, black stars floating in your vision as you cry out his name. He pumps into you weakly, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, and when your walls tighten around him, he comes inside you, his movements coming to a pause.

You stroke his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, both of you catching your breaths. He remains sheathed in you, even as he pulls you onto your side so both your chests are touching.

“Feel good?” he asks, one hand carding through your hair gently.

You let out a tired, but satisfied hum, smiling softly at Mingyu.

You spend the night curled up in his arms. He sleeps soundly next to you, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and hands wrapped protectively around your figure. The steady thrum of his heartbeat sounds against your ear, and you smile, even in your sleep.

NINETEEN

“You have your thinking face on.” Your boyfriend saunters into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at him.

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it too,” you say pointedly, waving your wooden spatula at him.

Mingyu chuckles, moving over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “What, that Seokmin and Jihyo are meant to be? That smells amazing, by the way, love.”

“Yes,” you huff out, stirring the soup inside the pot boiling on the stove. “And thank you.”

From the living room, you can hear your two friends laughing over something you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Jihyo still lives in another city, but she comes over to visit whenever she can. You and Seokmin remain friends, and he often comes over whenever you, Mingyu and Jihyo decide to hang out—though, you suspect his enthusiasm to join you three has more to do with one particular person rather than the entire group.

“If you say so,” Mingyu agrees. “I think they’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other that way,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Really? I seem to recall him looking at you the exact same way not too long ago.”

“That’s different, Gyu. Here, can you taste some? I don’t want it to be too salty.” Grabbing a large spoon, you dip it in the pot and offer it to Mingyu.

He obliges, letting you shove the spoonful into his mouth—and yelps almost immediately. “Ouch! You didn’t tell me it was hot.”

You only raise an eyebrow at him, but a small hint of amusement dances in your eyes. “How does it taste?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes at you but rests his chin on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear. “It tastes amazing as always, love.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“I’m offended you think I would lie to you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you deadpan, and it makes Mingyu giggle.

“I’m serious, it tastes good.” He smiles at you, peeling himself away from you. “Let’s go join the other two.”

“Coming.” You put the stove on simmer and grab Mingyu’s extended hand. His fingers slot in between yours easily. Your lips curl upwards on their own accord, and your heart feels so full, it’s close to bursting.

You’re there, in a room with all your favourite people, and it’s perfect.

The very first night you and Mingyu broke up is pushed to the back of your mind, never to slip out of the corner you’ve tucked it into. The nights after made up for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You rebuild the promises you made and make new ones along the way.

You’d write it in the sky if you could, but you and Mingyu don’t need that.

#mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #mingyu imagines #seventeen imagines #mingyu x y/n #seventeen x y/n #mingyu x you #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt smut #svt imagines #svt x y/n #svt x you #seventeen #svt #kim mingyu #mingyu

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wanders-in-wonderland · 4 months ago

Text

Smile for the Camera

It’s 10pm sharp when I start my stream. I’ve always been on time, always with my makeup on flawlessly, hair styled perfectly, and bedroom set curated just right to show my pretty pink sheets and collection of toys.

I smile and wave at the camera, tossing my hair back to reveal the pink lingerie set I’ve chosen for tonight.

“Good evening everyone! I’m sooo glad to see so many of you tuning in!”

The chat inbox floods with greetings from my audience and there’s an influx of money that comes from my particularly generous viewers. I giggle and flirt with my viewers, many of whom who have become regulars in my viewership population.

Someone in the audience asks for a strip tease and I feel my pussy pulse in response, looking forward to a night of performing for my devoted viewers.

I start slow, running my fingers up and down my body, brushing gently over my lingerie-clad nipples and whimpering loudly for the microphone to pick up. My eyes stare into the camera, all of my thoughts melting away as I fall into my role of entertainer.

Teasingly, I pull along the shoulder straps of my top, letting the fabric fall away from my chest to show off my perky tits and hardened nipples that are always a fan favorite. My hands dance over my chest, pulling gently at my nipples in a way that makes my moans completely genuine. My eyes glance to the screen and I see the excitement building in my chat box, and my account balance steadily rising.

Suddenly, I hear the lock on my door click and my body goes cold. The door to my room is out of the video shot, behind my camera setup and before I can even react, the door slams open.

I let out a startled yelp as my arms instinctively cover my chest. In the corner of my eye, I see the chat go crazy as my audience tries to figure out what it is they’re hearing but not seeing off screen. My attention is wholly focused on the man whose frame fills my doorway.

I scramble off my bed. “What the fuck? Why are you in my house?” My voice is shaking with fear and shrill with panic. I’m far too preoccupied to even think about the livestream anymore.

My fear deepens when I see him leer at me and stalk through my door and towards me without any hesitation.

“A fucking whore like you should be more gracious to me,” he says, his eyes taking on a dangerous glint. He and I are both in the camera’s view now and the viewers on my stream are firing off more messages than before, speculating over who he is and what is going on.

Without saying anything else, he moves to me faster than I can evade and grabs my hair. My mouth opens to scream but before sound can escape, he throws me chest down onto my bed. The air is forced out of my lungs and for a moment, I’m still and stunned. The next moment, he’s on me.

His hand is buried in my hair, keeping my face pressed down against the bed while he forces my ass up into the air. I struggle uselessly against him, unable to push up off the bed or move myself away from his ironclad grip. My cries are muffled against my bed and I want to scream and yell for help but there’s not enough air in my lungs.

His free hand lands a sharp slap against my ass that make me jolt forwards and arch my back further in pain. He doesn’t give me time to adjust as he begins to land blow after blow. My arms begin to flail, fingers scrambling for something to hold onto as I struggle.

“Stop fucking moving, whore,” he growls at me. I feel the spanks subside for a moment and I can feel my ass burning red and throbbing from the pain. My head spins from the abuse and the lack of oxygen. I feel his large hand find my wrist, his fingers locking around me in a bruising hold as he yanks my arm behind my back, straining my shoulder.

The hand on my head finally comes away and I raise my head just enough to gasp in much-needed oxygen. In that split second, he’d grabbed and secured my other arm behind my back as well, his one hand effortless holding my arms crossed behind my back. My body is still bent over, knees on the bed and ass up in the air. My only saving grace is that I can raise my head enough to breathe and glance at my laptop, showing the livestream still ongoing.

My eyes dart across the screen, reading messages as fast as I can. None of them show any concern for me, in fact, a vast majority are discussing how much they wished they were the ones holding my body down in this moment.

“Fuck yes, show that whore her place.”

“God, what would I do to be there to punish her for always teasing us.”

“I bet her cunt is dripping wet right now.”

I whine softly when I see that message because it’s right. “Please, let me go!” I turn my head to look at the menace of a man behind me. He flashes a dark grin at me, “Not until I fuck you out of your whore mind.”

His words echo in my head and panic rises within me. “Please! No! Stop! Someone help me!” I make eye contact with the camera, begging at its cold, dark lens.

He laughs behind me. “There’s no one here to help you, whore. You and I both know that every single person watching behind their computer screen is more than eager to see your whore body get ruined.”

As he speaks, his free hand pulls his belt and pants undone enough for him to pull his massive cock out. I let out a choked gasp when I see it.

“Wait, no, please, you’re too big, it’s not going to fit! Please!” My voice shakes and I start to struggle harder against him. His body dwarfs mine and I watch through the camera as he rips my panties off, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room.

“Shut the fuck up and take it, whore.” I feel the head of his cock brush against my dripping slit and my eyes widen.

“Wait, please-” My begging ends in a wail as he slams himself into me to the hilt. The painful stretch makes tears spring into my eyes but unimaginable pleasure quickly follows as his cock nudges into every sensitive spot inside of me. He doesn’t give me time to adjust as he begins to rut into me mercilessly.

Every thrust makes my body shake with pain-tinged pleasure and pathetic moans are spilling out of my mouth as my eyes roll upwards. My hazy vision catches a glimpse of us on the camera. I look like a rag doll, back arched, ass in the air, and shuddering as he towers over me, his cock sinking into my cunt.

Every thrust is accompanied by the squelch of my wetness and the sound of our bodies slamming into each other. The bed creaks under us as his body moves like a machine, drilling into me. “Fuck, you tight fucking whore, your pussy was made for me huh?”

His voice is guttural. Suddenly, he grips my upper arms and yanks me upwards. His other hand comes around to grip my throat as he traps me against his front. The new angle makes his cock stab even deeper into me, forcing a cry from my lips.

“Look at the fucking camera, whore. Show them what a fucked out little slut you are. Go ahead, smile for the camera.” His thrusts seem to come even faster now.

I have tears falling from my eyes as my face reddens from his constricting grip around my neck.

“Smile or I choke you out on my cock like this,” he snarls, hips never stuttering in their punishing pace. I let out a muffled groan and try my best to focus myself enough to obey.

I stare through half-lidded eyes at the camera, barely coherent. My lips pull up in a small, desperate smile as I feel myself gradually running out of air.

“Good fucking whore. Now tell them how much you like having your whore cunt fucked.” His hand leaves my throat and goes to pinch my clit harshly, making me squeal.

“Ah- I like having, ah-, my whore cunt fucked!” My voice is hoarse, my orgasm fast approaching as he starts to roughly roll my clit between his fingers.

“That’s right, and you’re going to cum like this aren’t you, whore? Come on, cum all over me, show them how much you love this.” His words combined with the brutal assault on my body push me over the edge and with a desperate wail, I fall apart.

I hear him groan lowly behind me as my pussy clenches around him, my orgasm ripping through my senses. He uses my body harder than ever, treating me like a sex toy as he chases his own release. He slams himself into me one final time as he erupts, his grip bruising my arms as he keeps me in place.

I collapse against him, a boneless, overstimulated mess. He lets me down gently onto the bed, pulling out of me. The sound of his cock squelching out of my pussy makes my viewers more than aware of how well-fucked I am. He steps away from the bed and towards my filming setup. He leans into the camera and smirks.

“Let me know how else you want to see this whore fucked. If your idea is good, maybe I’ll let you come and enjoy her too.” With that, he shuts the camera off and closes out of the streaming site.

My body is still limp on the bed. I feel him settle next to me and pull me close before brushing my hair away from my forehead and kissing my nose.

“Do you think they liked me?” His murmurs.

“They loved you,” I say, breathless and drowsy from what we just did.

“I hope so, I wouldn’t want my debut on your stream to make a bad first impression,” he says, frowning down at me a little. It makes me let out a soft laugh.

I tilt my head up to kiss his jawline, “Only you would fuck the life out of me on livestream and then worry that you did a bad job.”

I giggle again and he grumbles back at me, “Shut up and sleep, I’ll clean up.” His kiss on my forehead is the last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep.

#nsft concept #dark fantasy #cnc k!nk #tw noncon #rap3 fantasy #cam grl #exhibition kink #aftercare #size difference #size k!nk #breathplay #bimboification #fsub #mdom #rough kink #rough cnc #roughfuck

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stunie · 6 months ago

Text

“FIRST TIME’S GOTTA BE SOFT!”

WIND BREAKER + SOFT SEX. ft. togame jo, kiryu mitsuki, hayato suo, & sakura haruka x f!reader

req 1 ﾉreq 2 ﾉ nsfw + explicit smut ﾉ contains : dry humping, praise, very mild teasing, overstim, you cum from just putting it in, size kink / big dick!togame, fingering, squirting, pet names

TOGAME JO.

“Gotta relax,” Togame coos from just above you, leaning down onto his forearms to press hot kisses against the side of your neck. “And just lemme in, yeah?”

You take in a sharp breath, embrace tightening around your boyfriend’s neck as he sinks himself deeper inside, inch by inch. Your thighs are trembling atop his shoulders as you try your hardest to just relax and let him in like he said, ignoring how your cunt feels so impossibly full— and oh- he’s only halfway in.

You always knew Togame was a big person, and that it implied he would be big there…but actually trying to take him was a completely different story. You think he might actually be splitting you in half.

“J-Jo,” your eyes clench shut as you whimper. “Big…”

“Shhh, shh, shh,” he coos softly against your sensitive skin before he’s messily kissing and licking at your neck in an attempt to distract you from the agonizing stretch. “I know. ‘S okay, doll. Doing so good for me.”

“So big…” you repeat, voice sounding just as cute as always to him, so sweet and syrupy and innocent— even when you’re practically being folded underneath him like this. His cock suddenly reaches a particularly sensitive spot inside you, and you cry out, walls instinctively clenching tightly around his length.

And you think the growl that rips out of togame is borderline carnal. “Oh, fuck,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Careful. Don’t do tha— don’t squeeze me in like that.”

“S-sorry,” you pant, arms wrapped around him tightly. You think you might be feeling dizzy, or maybe just sensitive— it feels weird. Electrifying. You can feel everything so vividly right now, and maybe it’s because you’ve never taken anything this big inside, but the way your core has balled up into such a tight and intense knot is different than usual.

“Jo…..wai—”

“Shit, doll,” he’s snarling from above you. “Not letting me in.. just a little more, ‘kay?”

The knot seems to tighten up impossibly more when he pushes a bit forward, and your eyes widen, the realization suddenly hitting you like a truck. “Wait!”

Your words come out a second too late, and he’s already pushing the last few inches inside all at once. He presses up against the spot that makes you gasp, vision clouded with white as the knot in your core abruptly snaps, head falling back as you scream.

“Whoa— whoa, you’re…? ” Togame stiffens up, eyes blown wide when your walls violently clench around him before you’re suddenly gushing, juices coating his cock and thighs in a messy layer of slick.

You’re gasping under him, chest heaving up and down as you come down from your high, and a part of him wishes he could have gone back in time and recorded that. He would’ve caught the way your face contorted at the fullness and catch how you’re looking now— eyes half lidded as you pant and tremble.

It would’ve been such a treat to save a video like that.

He’s suddenly aching, and he thinks that just sitting inside you like this wasn’t gonna be enough for him now. Togame’s looming back over you in an instant, labored breaths just above you as you peer up at him through teary eyes. “I didn’t mean to,” you start babbling. “Was just too much. Came so fast- I-”

“Haven’t even moved yet, doll,” he lulls, the amusement in his eyes obvious from the way he’s watching your lips press into a nervous line. “Too early for you to be squirting on me, don’t you think?”

The burn on your cheeks worsens, and you think you could die of embarrassment— but the excited flutter of your walls is practically shameless, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “Feeling good on my dick?”

“..Good enough for another one?”

Your eyes widen, and he’s pulling out slowly until just the tip is inside before he slams back, and the noise you choke out has his cock just twitching in anticipation.

“Let me join you this time, yeah?”

KIRYU MITSUKI.

“My pretty girl,” Kiryu smiles when you perk up at the nickname. “Are you nervous?”

His voice is a soft whisper against the shell of your ear, hands steady on your hips as he guides you back and forth across his cock, your slick coating him in thick and messy layers. “Just a little bit..” you mumble, face buried deep into the crook of his neck.

You’re so wet. You were never this wet when you touched yourself, and truth be told, you didn’t know it was possible to be this soaked. The sounds of your pants and Kiryu’s deep sighs are drowned out by the lewd noises your cunt is making when you’re humping so desperately against him, face contorting each time your clit grinds against his tip.

He hasn’t even gone inside you. Not his fingers, not his cock. Nothing— and you’re aching so badly for it.

“Ah!” You gasp when his cock suddenly twitches against you, slapping against your clit before he’s pulling you right back down, moving you back and forth with a little more urgency this time.

“Ah, sorry,” Kiryu’s chuckle comes out strained, his jaw clenched tightly. “It’s a little hard to control myself, I guess. You just feel so good, love. Can’t help it..”

A part of you is thankful that his lights are off. the faint glow of Kiryu’s gaming leds are just barely enough to illuminate the two of you, and it gives you the courage you need to sneak glances downwards, eyes catching the way the muscles of his arms flex as he guides your hips back and forth.

It’s only when your gaze shifts further downwards that you notice it. Tue subtle flex of his abs, and just below, his hips. Completely soaked in your slick. Were you really that wet? Your thighs are also trembling more wildly now, and you’re unsure if it’s because you’ve been hovering over him for so long or if it’s because he feels so good against you.

Another part of you thinks it’s because of nerves— his voice sending a shiver straight down your spine each time he whispers something so lewd into your ears.

“I-it’s okay,” you stutter, fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders. “Want more, Suki.”

“Hmmm?” His hum comes out amused. “More? Can you handle more?”

He chuckles a bit when you nod without even a small trace of hesitation. “But you’re shaking so much.”

Kiryu is certain he’s fallen in love with you all over again. His gaze softens at the sight of you, watching with a smile as your shaky hands move to shyly line his cock up with your hole, thighs trembling even harder trying to keep balance without his help. It’s only a few seconds later when you’re letting out a distracted whine, pleading eyes coming to lock with his. “Suki..”

“I know. Leave everything to me, angel,” he says with a soft smile, grunting when he adjusts his position on his mattress, hands coming to steady your hips.

“Let me know if it's too much, okay?”

HAYATO SUO.

“Mmm,” Suo lets out a slow hum from beside you, chin rested gently atop your shoulder and his eyes fixated on the way his fingers are moving in and out of your dripping cunt. “I don’t think you’re quiet ready yet.”

Your eyebrows furrow— not ready? This had to be the third, or maybe even the fourth. You’ve lost count of the exact number of orgasms he’s pulled from you tonight with just his fingers, but you’re certain it was more than enough to prep you.

“No….” your protest comes out strained, voice weak and weary, but your cunt seems to be the opposite— still greedy, still eagerly swallowing his fingers whole and sucking him right back inside each time he’s trying to pull them back. You’re gushing with every curl of his fingers, slick lewdly dripping onto your mattress to form a puddle right beneath the two of you.

“Please….need you— need you so bad,” you babble, unsure if your words are coming out coherent with how hot your head feels. “Please, please, please.”

His lips tug into a gentle smile, eyes softening at your current state. “..And what is it that you need?”

He’s feigning innocence, but he swears he’s not being mean to you. He would never, not when you’re asking him so sweetly, crystalline tears collecting along your lashes from the overstimulation— but he knows the extent of your greed. fingers aren’t enough for you.

“Y-you. Need you.”

The soft chuckle that leaves his lips has your cheeks filling with heat, but you don’t get to wallow in embarrassment— not when you’re gasping loudly as soon as he’s pressing against your ass, heavy cock rubbing against you. He feels so big against you, and you think your senses have been heightened from how clearly you can feel each and every vein on his cock drag along your skin.

“This?” he asks. “You can have it. I’m yours, after all.”

You’re quick to shake your head, looking almost too innocent for someone who’s making such a mess on your sheets just for some dick— and he hasn’t even stuffed you full yet.

“No— not like that. Need it inside..” you whisper, voice trailing off into a needy and frustrated whine.

“Oh? You meant inside?”

You ignore the way your cheeks burn at the suggestion, head nodding desperately. He’s humming when his hands come to delicately circle at your clit, cock slick with your juices when he finally prods at your hole. It’s slow and steady when he pushes inside, forcing himself deeper and deeper as your eyes widen, strained moan ripping from your throat at the stretch.

“You should have specified, love,” he coos, but his voice comes out a little breathless from the way you’re squeezing him. It takes everything in him to go slow for you— inch inside until his cock is finally nestling against your cervix, and oh- you’ve never felt so stuffed.

“You okay?” Suo exhales shakily, hands subconsciously tightening their grip around your hips.

You’re barely able to choke out a “w-wait,” tired eyes narrowing and blinking to rid of the dizzying stars dotting your vision. “‘M not sure.”

Suo’s lips are back on your neck the next second, planting a wet trail of kisses up the skin as you shiver beneath his hold. “You can handle me, pretty girl. I know you can. I’m already inside, aren’t I?”

Your walls flutter eagerly against him at the sound of his voice just beside your ear, and you nod, mumbling something about how you wanna try, and that he feels so good— you just aren’t sure you can take it.

“Sure you can. And you know exactly what to say if it’s too much, don’t you? My sweet girl.”

SAKURA HARUKA.

Sakura’s hands roughly slam beside your head, face contorting to a grimace as he inches inside, your walls sucking him up with desperation. His face is red with heat, jaw clenched so hard that he thinks he can hear the way his teeth are grinding against each other— but you just feel so good. He’s drunk on the feeling, and he hasn’t even gone all the way in yet.

“Ah—!” You gasp when his hips stutter against you, the rest of his length slamming inside as he chokes out a strained groan.

He never would have guessed that he’d be buried in your cunt by the end of today. It started off as a sweet movie date, with you cuddled against his side as you shared snacks. He doesn’t quite remember how that led to such a heated make out session, or how the two of you starting marking each other up— lips attached to the other’s neck, or even how that led to desperately grinding against each other … and now he’s sinking his cock into you.

“S-shit, sorry,” he sputters, hands balling into fists as he forces himself to keep still. His cock twitches once, twice, so eager and desperate for more of you— but he holds himself back. He would never ever dream of hurting you.

“Did that hurt..?”

You shake your head.

“Need you, Haru,” you whine, and your arms reach to wrap around his neck, pulling him flush against you— but you accidentally pull him deeper inside, both pairs of eyes widening when his cock roughly shoves against the deepest spot inside you.

“Fuck—” his voice is just above a growl. “Don’t fucking do that.”

“But I want all of y-you,” your voice is so sweet, so soft, and it’s a challenge for him for hold back the knot threatening to snap in his core. You feel so damn good, so fucking good— he just can’t handle it.

“No,” he protests, lips parted in heavy pants. “Don’t know if i can hold myself back if you act like that.”

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guiltyc0nscience · 4 months ago

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⋆˙⟡ surf curse, chris sturniolo

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis. in which you convinced chris to do the latest tiktok trend with you.

warnings. i don’t think there’s any

authors note. this is so cute

after ten minutes of convincing chris to make this tiktok with you. which took a lot of pouting and puppy eyes, you finally got him to do the newest tiktok trend with you.

“okay. so what do i do again?” he asks standing in front of you, looking down on you.

“so basically. you just point your arms down, then to the side, up to the sky then down to your chest then you move. i’ll show you other people doing it before we do.” you explain while doing the actions before grabbing your phone and showing chris the tiktok.

chris rewatches the video a few times before nodding, “okay. i got it. i can do that. easy peasy.” he says rubbing his hands together as you prop your phone up on a cup which sits on top of a shelf.

“you ready?” you ask chris, looking over your shoulder. seeing him nod in response you then press the three second timer before standing in position.

you and chris stand face-to-face with a little gap in between you two. as you hear the song begin to start, you look chris in the eyes before letting out a giggle as he sticks his tongue out at you.

you give chris a nod when you move both of your arms down by your side, pointing to the ground. chris mirroring your movements. both of you then move your arms outwards, then upwards before bringing them back down and holding them in that position for a split second before chris shimmy’s his body backwards and you shimmy yours forwards.

as yous shimmy forwards and backwards you both begin to let out loud giggles, barely being able to hear the music before going back to standing up straight.

then you repeat the same arm movements again before shimmying yet again, but this time you went backwards and chris went forward.

as soon as the tiktok finishes chris launches himself forward and engulfing his arms around your small frame before throwing you over his shoulder. the song playing on repeat in the background.

“chris! put me down. now.” you giggle between your words. chris begins to walk forwards towards the sofa before launching you down onto the plushy sofa.

you went down with a ‘mmph’ and a giggle. chris looks down at you with a grin before turning around behind him and walking towards your still playing phone and grabbing it.

he looks up at you, keeping eye contact with you until he is standing right in front of you. he then flops down next to you and leaning his head on your shoulder and moving your phone into both of you so you can both watch the video.

you both watch the video twice, both with shit eating grins on your faces’. the end of the video shows chris running towards you before it cuts off which brings a massive toothy smile onto your face.

“we fucked that up” chris said before pressing the ‘post’ button then switching your phone off and throwing it behind him. he then brings his legs up onto the sofa before flopping his head onto your lap and snuggling into your thighs.

you sit with the same smile on your face, still thinking about the tiktok. you bring your hand down into his fluffy brunette hair and begin to lightly massage his scalp.

“i fucking love when you do that shit” chris hums out and closing his eyes. you lean down just enough to press a kiss to his temple before leaning your head back on the couch and closing your eyes with a grin in your face.

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kimstills · 6 months ago

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savor

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: after being compromised to working a case the next day, aaron decides on savoring your current moment together for when he’s gone.

content warnings: heavy smut, 18+, minors do not interact! consensual recording, use of nicknames, slapping, choking, dirty talk, groping, aaron hotchner is a FREAK and has a big dick, allusions to m masturbation.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: very much inspired by this post, not sure if the original poster deleted it? but i couldn’t get it out of my head omfg i literally finished this in 2 HOURS AND IT’S NOT PROOFREAD

part two here

Aaron’s not sure where he gets the idea from.

Maybe it’s from the longing he already feels for you after being informed that the team was to take off for a case first thing tomorrow morning, even though he hasn’t even left yet.

Maybe it’s from the sexual tension that’s been filling your shared apartment ever since he stepped foot inside it, the original plan of having the weekend off and spending it with you immediately crumbling from his work.

But, even with his dick buried inside your sopping cunt, he’s just as surprised as you are when he gets the idea of grabbing his phone from where he had discarded it on his side of the nightstand table.

You whine when his movements falter for a split second, eyes widening as you stare up at him when his phone comes into your line of sight.

“Is this okay?” He whispers, already swiping right for his camera.

“You want to film this?” You ask from beneath him, his weight feeling a bit heavier as he stills.

Aaron nods, though your question makes him feel out of character. But at the sight of you sprawled underneath him on silk sheets, face a sweaty, yet beautiful mess makes him not care at all.

He leans down to press a feverish kiss to your cheek, looking you in the eyes when he pulls back, “If that’s okay with you,” the same kiss presses into your already swollen lips. “Just wanna savor the memory for when I’m gone.”

The thought of Aaron pulling up a sloppily filmed video of you two having sex while he’s away on a case immediately riles you up once more. Of him locking himself in his hotel room, fucking his cock into his hand while he watches himself fuck you from a previous time has you clenching around him.

You nod, “Okay,” you bite your lip and look up at him. “Film it.”

That’s all the confirmation Aaron needs for him to hit record and resume his actions, pummeling his still rock hard dick into your soaked pussy.

You let out a loud moan, throwing your head back. Your hand comes up to grip at the arm that wasn’t recording you for support and your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feel of the tip of his dick rubbing against your sweetest spot.

Aaron’s hands are shaky as he films you, lifting his phone higher to capture both your blissful expression and the way his cock disappears inside you with each thrust. His free hand slithers down to grip at the meat of your thigh before throwing it over his shoulder, consequently deepening his thrusts.

“O-Oh, fuck, Aaron!” Your back arches against the bed, nails digging into his forearm as each thrust sends you further over the edge, the coil in your belly threatening to finally snap.

“Look at the camera, pretty girl,”

Your boyfriend’s voice is deep and gravely, leaving you no choice but to submissively follow his orders and stare deep into the small circle of his phone’s camera.

You stare up at it, mouth slightly open to form a lazy, curved ‘o’ as each thrust Aaron delivers sends you further up the bed.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Aaron’s hand comes down to your throat, pulling you up and leaving your head slightly limp underneath his grip. “My slutty girl, taking my cock so well while she gets filmed,” a harsh slap is delivered to your face, making you gasp. “You like that, baby?”

You pout and try your best to nod with his whole hand wrapped around your throat, “I love it, Aaron.”

“I know you do, sweetheart, I can feel you clenching around my dick,” he teases, enunciating the word ‘dick’ with a particularly harsh thrust that gets you whining again. “You gonna cum, sweet girl?”

You nod harshly despite the limited air flow, eyes flickering from the camera to Aaron, “Y-Yes, yes. Can I cum, Aaron? Please?”

Your voice is whiny and desperate, filled with so much need that it takes everything in him to not cum right then and there. He lets out a grunt, hand tightening around your neck the slightest bit more, still careful as to not actually stop you from breathing, “Go ahead, baby. Cum around my cock.”

Immediately, the tightness in your lower belly snaps at Aaron’s permission, your body reduced to shaking and stuttering as your pussy clenches and unclenches around your boyfriend’s dick. Your orgasms washes over you violently, white spots filling your vision as he lets go of your neck to squeeze at your breast, fucking you through it with slower, more deeper thrusts.

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!”

His name leaves your lips like a babbled mantra, your release captured perfectly by his phone as his dick twitches inside you at the feeling of you gushing around him. When your body has calmed down and you’re practically left limp on the bed, he pulls out of you, bringing the phone down to your pussy so he can film the way your juices spill out of you.

He dips two fingers in, earning a squeal from above when he pushes them in just to pull them back out, showing the camera how soaked they come out.

Aaron groans at the sight of it and decides that it’s not enough. He stops the video and briefly sets his phone down besides you, bringing himself up to press a sweet kiss to your cheek once more, rubbing your tousled hair out of your face, “Can you give me one more, sweetheart?”

You hum from underneath him, looking at him with a fucked out expression.

“You can do that, right, baby?” Another kiss to your temple, “My good girl can handle one more for the camera, can’t she?”

You think that the concept of being recorded, of being so obsessed over by your lover that he wants to film you again gets you even hotter, the pushing of your thighs together desperately proving inevitably so.

Aaron immediately jumps into action when you nod ‘yes,’ giving you another kiss before helping you onto your hands and knees.

Once you’re settled, he leans over you to position his phone on the top of the bed frame, leant against the wall.

A whimper emits from your pursed lips when you feel the tip of Aaron’s dick rub against your still fully soaked folds, teasing at your entrance before shoving it back inside. Your back immediately arches in response, mouth flying open in a silent scream as your boyfriend bottoms out, hips hitting your ass.

He hasn’t even moved yet, hasn’t started hitting you from behind yet your arms already shake from feeling full.

“You good, sweetheart?” He asks, brushing your hair back endearingly.

You hum, nodding as you wiggle your ass against him. You lick your lips when you catch sight of how prominently his dick still stands, hitting against the muscles of his softly defined stomach.

He hovers above you momentarily and presses what seems like the millionth loving kiss to your cheek, sneaking his hand down to squeeze one of your breast affectionately, “Want you to keep looking at the camera while I fuck you, honey,” a kiss. Another kiss. And another kiss. “Okay?”

He begins to move his hips before you can reply, starting out slow and deep before eventually moving to the same pace he was using before.

You gasp and your hands shoot out to curl around the sleeve of the pillow in front of you. Your eyes glance towards his phone, where you’re more in focus of the phone’s frame than he is. Even with you on your hands and knees and him kneeling on the bed, you can only see the bottom half of his face.

Your eyes roll back to your head again, the only sounds audible being the ones of skin slapping against skin, Aaron’s grunts, and your silent huffs that match his pace.

A mixture of a cry and moan emits from your mouth when he lands a harsh slap onto your ass, gripping the flesh in his big hand. Your legs shake when another slap lands and you feel your arms give out from beneath you, falling limp onto your stomach.

“Oh, no,” Aaron mutters, leaning down and wrapping an arm around your neck as if he were putting you in a chokehold but without the same force like before. He pulls you flush against him, sweaty chest to sweaty back, “Want the camera to capture how I’m fucking you, sweetheart,”

His hand sneaks down to fondle at your breasts, caressing both lovely with a squeeze to each one, “You look so pretty getting fucked by my cock, honey,” he points at the camera. “Can’t wait to watch these and start a collection when I get back,” he presses a kiss to your hair. “You gonna let me do that?”

You can’t reply, too fucked out to do so. Instead, you watch yourself from where you’re held against him, watching your boobs bounce with each delicious thrust he delivers into your cunt and relishing in the hot breath that fans against your ear as he nips at the sensitive skin beneath it.

“A-Aaron,” you whine. “‘m g-gonna cum again,”

“Yeah?” He asks, hand sneaking down from your breasts to your folds, slipping his fingers to begin rubbing at your clit. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

You scream, body stuttering at the cruel pace he begins to touch you with. Your other hand shoots to grip that same arm, thrashing against his hold as another orgasm ripples through your body, filling you with even more pleasure and even overstimulation.

Aaron watches you from his phone, head dipped down to get a good view at the way you rode your high out on his hand and pushed back into his dick simultaneously, mouth open in a wide ‘o’ and legs shaking.

The way you clench around him like before pushes him further towards his own release. When he stops rubbing at your clit, it’s to bring the same fingers up to your tits, coating your nipples with your juices and squeezing them once more as he pushes through the last couple of thrusts that it takes for him to finally come inside you.

You’re whining in front of him with each shallow shove, feeling his come coat your walls. You mewl when he gives the side of your head another kiss before releasing his grip on you and allowing you to fall flat against the mattress once more.

Aaron grabs his phone and aims it at your pussy once more, your ass still somewhat high in the air. He spreads your ass apart, groaning in delight when some of his seed spills out of your pussy, giving the flesh another harsh slap.

“You did so well for me, sweetheart,” he mumbles, angling himself so that he could bend over you again and place much more sweeter, loving kisses your face. “I love you, honey,”

You hum, eyes fluttering closed before emitting a tired “Love you, too,” in response.

The next night, when Aaron is alone in his hotel room, somewhere in Arizona solving said case with his team, he pulls out his phone and presses on the private folder he created shortly after you had both finished and presses play.

When he himself finishes, come all over his chest and his right hand slack next to him while his left holds up his phone, he sets a mental reminder to record you sucking him off when he gets home.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #maddie’s stills #aaron hotchner smut

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midnighvtm4ss · 3 months ago

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Based on this viral tiktok

Laughter echoed through the barracks as Soap and Gaz had been cracking up all afternoon. It was the day after a heavy mission and the duo decided to relax by making silly tiktok trends, in particular the ‘you ladies alright’ one. The trend had been blowing up on tiktok, making the pair wanting to replicate it around the base.

Gaz was the one knocking and delivering the cheesy line, another soldier threw the ball while Soap filmed the reactions. It was going great—soldiers were either laughing, rolling their eyes, or playing along with them.

They were near the end of the hall when they reached your door. Gaz hesitated for just a split second hand half raised to knock when he recognized the plate numbers of your door. Shaking away his thoughts Gaz knocked. He was all set to say the line, confident as ever, his hands smoothly catching the ball but then his eyes met your figure.

There you were, looking effortlessly beautiful with nothing but some sweatpants and a oversized black tshirt. He never saw you with civvies on and he swore in that moment he fell impossibly harder for you. For the first time in the entire day, Gaz froze. His cool persona slipped away in an instant as his gaze locked onto yours. His heart skipped a beat, a voice far back in his mind screamed at him to just say his line and not stand there like a moron but Gaz couldn’t say it. He just stood there, his mouth slightly open as he looked at you. All the confidence he’d built up throughout the day vanished.

You blinked at him, a mixture of confusion and amusement playing on your face while your cheeks reddened. Your eyes shifted around noticing Soap with his camera pointed at the scene holding back his laughter. And then it hit you, they were doing that viral tiktok trend. You looked back at Gaz awkwardly holding a ball and couldn’t help but let out an embarrassed laugh. His cheeks mirrored yours in redness as he smiled sheepishly murmuring a small ‘you ladies alright?’.

You shook your head, chuckling, greeting Soap before closing the door.

As they walked down the hallway Soap nudged Gaz with a wide grin stretched across his face “Mate, you’re hopeless.” Gaz rolled his eyes at the scot making him swear to delete the video.

Later that night a notification popped up on Gaz’s phone, illuminating his face.

TaskForce 141

“Soap🫧sent a video”

Soap🫧: “Got our loverboy blushing in 4k”

a/n: My first time writing for the Call of Duty fandom I’m scared even though I’ve been in the fandom for years. let’s pretend I know how the military works and they have these silly little moments around base shhh. Also idk if anyone has already done this scenario so sorry in advance!!

#.rira’s posting ౨ৎ ⋆#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz x reader #gaz x reader #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #cod x reader #tf 141 x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #task force 141 #tf 141 #tf 141 headcanons

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miumura · 7 days ago

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SHE GETS HER WAY ｡｡｡ 보이넥스트도어 🪽 ✦

( 𝓢 ) ﹕ gf privilege with boynextdoor

──── 0t6!boynextdoor x f ! r ╱ ⌕ est. relationship, fluff ∿ w. none, they are just cuties wc. 0.7K+ ( 757 ) ｡｡ first post of 2025 😚 !! ( many more bnd works to come! ) happy new years everyone !! i am so thankful for everyone && i hope that 2025 treats you well and also becomes your year 🤍 !!

❛❛ 💬 ❞ 𝗦𝗢𝗣𝗛 > 𓂃 𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗖𝗞 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗕𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗙 ⋮ 🪽

MYUNG JAEHYUN freely allowing you to bother him

no matter what kind of tricks you could pull, he never seems to get even a little bit annoyed. in fact, it's almost as if he adores you even more because of your antics. sometimes, it leaves you wondering if anything could tick him off at all. in reality, he might just play hard to get purposefully just to watch you persistently ask for something he would do for you without a second thought—no matter what it was. he just finds it rather cute when you're so determined to make him do something that you want. you wouldn’t even notice it’s an act until you see his wide grin as he finally “gives” in. so really, there's no need to beg for anything—you’re his weak spot, and he doesn't even try to hide it.

PARK SUNGHO dragging him into doing silly trends

regardless how silly he may think the tiktok you just showed him is, there’s such a low chance for him to say no. almost all of the time, you’d catch him saying yes. to his defense, how could he say no to someone like you? he loves seeing that spark of excitement in your eyes and can’t help but smile as you eagerly set up for the video you’re about to record. sungho, without a doubt, would just look at you with so much love as you tie that pink ribbon around him, adoring and cheesing over you internally.

LEE SANGHYEOK random physical touch

he doesn’t dislike physical touch, however, he will get all tensed up if someone were to randomly give it to him without warning. but with you? that’s a complete different story—poke at him, wrap your arms around him, or even smother him with affection, and he'd let it happen without a single complaint. if you wanted it, he’d simply give it to you. regardless, it’s a win-win situation for him—you’d get all the physical touch you want and he gets pampered with your sweet kisses and hugs. let’s say, there was always a motive all along—one that leaves him content with getting to keep you as close as possible.

HAN DONGMIN taking his belongings without asking

the first time he saw you wearing one of his hoodies, he could’ve sworn he fell even harder for you. sure, he’s the type who usually prefers when people ask before borrowing his things, but seeing you in it? that was a whole different story. it brought an instant smile to his face, one he couldn’t hide even if he tried. from that moment on, he’s never refused you—or asked for anything back. need to borrow his phone for a bit? go ahead. want to wear that accessory he cherishes so much? it’s yours. he’s just that down bad for you. honestly, it doesn’t matter how long it’s out of his sight because as long as it’s with you, he’s at ease. he trusts you completely—and maybe, just maybe, he secretly loves the reminder that he’s yours.

KIM DONGHYUN you have all of his attention

safe to say, you have the leehan completely swooned. you could be distracting him from his game or youtube video, but the moment you call his name, it's like everything fades into the background. it’s almost as if, within a split of a second, he’d be right there for you. even when you don’t call for him, he’ll pause whatever he’s doing just to check up on you. whether it’s a quick text or simply staying close within your reach, it’s more than enough to keep him content. his eyes soften the moment they land on you, almost as if he can’t help but admire the person who means the most to him. and honestly? he wouldn’t want it any other way.

KIM WOONHAK decorating his belongings

at first, he might refuse and say a few half-hearted complaints as you pulled out your sticker sheets. but the moment you stuck those tiny heart stickers on his phone case, it was game over. his heart started racing faster than he’d like to admit, and suddenly, those so-called “childish” designs didn’t seem so bad. ever since then, he’s been extra cautious with anything you’ve decorated, treating them with such care as if his life depended on it. he’s practically paranoid about getting even the tiniest scratch on them. in fact, he takes every chance he gets to proudly show them off—whether it’s his phone, notebook, or water bottle—and purposely leaves his things out in the open, secretly hoping you’ll add more. it doesn’t matter if the stickers are cute, silly, or completely random. what matters is that you’re the one who decorated them, and to him, that makes them absolutely perfect.

‘💬’ ─── new year new layout ( ? ) do we like this way of writing for hcs ??

BND PERM TAGLIST ( OPEN ) ! — @juyeoz @j4d

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cherrychilli · 8 months ago

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18+ Perv! Steve Harrington x Perv! reader, F reader, friends to lovers, scent kink, reader being a bit of a creep but Steve's into it because duh, masturbation (f) sexual acts in public, mentions of and allusions to oral sex (f)

WC: 5K

A/N: I was going to split this into two parts but fuck it. Two for one special. Still feeling rusty when it comes to writing so go easy on me, yeah? Also, this one's kind of gross at times. Just a little bit. Nothing extreme but just letting you know incase you're someone who gets squeamish easily. Enjoy!

The hair? sure. Everyone liked his hair.

People usually fell into two camps when it came to Steve Harrington's signature do; either they envied it or they hoped to be one of the lucky ones who got to run their fingers through it.

You used to daydream about the latter when you only knew him from afar but now that he no longer ran with a particular kind of crowd, now that he's just Steve and no longer the King, you managed to get close enough to find out that he smelled nice too.

Really nice.

So, figuring out that he used women's shampoo shouldn't have been the revelation that it was because it made so much sense, his tresses never scented with a wintry pine or spicy cedarwood like most scent profiles marketed to men.

You had your friends to thank for your stumbling upon that discovery, the group of them arriving at your home to bully you out of your PJ's and into a pair of jeans and shoes, uprooting you from your room on a Saturday afternoon for an outing to the fancy part of the mall.

While they searched for new make-up, you wandered a section of the store by yourself, uncapping the pretty bottles in the hair care aisle whenever the sales assistants' attention wandered elsewhere, squeezing each one carefully to sample the array of scents. You did this idly and with no real plans to purchase anything, just something to pass the time while your friends crowded another display a few aisles away, chattering blissfully and swatching lipsticks.

Picking up a fifth shampoo from the lineup of bottles, you brought the uncapped rim up to your face, lightly skimming your cupids bow with it as you gently inhaled. While fun, you'd spent most of your time at the mall feeling a little bored, a small part of you still desiring to go back home where you could lounge and laze in peace. That was until you began to recognize the scent of the newest shampoo you had clutched in your hand, the familiarity of it triggering a whirlpool of memories.

In seconds, your mind plunged back to the night of Jack Sullivan's graduation party. The first time Steve Harrington had spoken to you – really spoken to you since he’d parted ways with Carol and Tommy, seeming much more approachable than he had in the past.

The two of you had ended up sharing the patio swing outside where the air wasn't as thick with smoke and the smell of spilled booze. Making conversation, he offered you a beer he'd originally intended to give Robin before she'd slipped away into one of the guest bathrooms with your best friend Sally. You both knew why, sharing a look of understanding but never mentioning the obvious out loud out of loyalty to your friends.

Then there was the only day it rained in July, remembering the way your fingers brushed against his as you handed him your umbrella. You'd discovered him taking refuge under the awning of the diner you worked at that morning, face twisted all worrisome as he looked up from his wristwatch to the downpour in front of him, forced into walking to work that day due to his car still being in the shop. The only light that shone that day was the gleaming smile he gave you when he thanked you for your kindness.

And then there was the time when you had your head down while scanning a tape at Family Video, bumping face first into Steve's chest when you rounded the corner, his name tag catching on your bottom lip. It was the tiniest sliver of a cut, barely noticeable or painful but oh, how he fussed over you like you were made of porcelain. He’d gone so far as to sit you down on his chair behind the counter as if you might collapse from blood loss at any moment, whizzing into the break room and back with a fist full of napkins to dab the miniscule wound that had already stopped bleeding.

All of those memories and more linked by one scent. This scent.

With your pupils dilating like a cat prepared to pounce, you flipped the bottle over to read the contents.

White frangipani blossoms, toasted coconut, bergamot waters, sea salt breeze and sunkissed musk.

Steve Harrington in a bottle. And the quickest 16 dollars you've ever spent.

And with that purchase came the self-imposed reminder to exercise caution. Upon leaving the mall with your friends, your mood much chipper than when you'd arrived, you made sure to hardly ever use the shampoo when you bathed, afraid that if Steve smelled it on you later, somehow, he'd be able to put the pieces together and know why you'd bought it, even as wildly unlikely as that seemed.

So instead, you huffed the bottle in private on most days, only using it when you knew you'd be spending the day at home. On those eagerly awaited days you luxuriated in the scent as you applied the shampoo in your shower, mind and fingers wandering, working your peaked nipples and your firm clit up to the thought of Steve joining you in your shower and fucking you dumb – tits pressed up against the cold, wet tiles, ass bouncing on his hips as he stretched you open and used you well.

But now that you'd discovered this new kind of hunger you had to make sure to keep it well fed and when the shampoo didn't feel like enough anymore, you set out to purchase his cologne.

The scent was one you had memorized from all of your trips to the video store, hanging around the counter while Steve talked to you about which movie you ought to rent next. You could smell it on his neck whenever he leaned in close on his elbows, face inches away from yours, wishing he'd close the distance and meet your lips with his.

Another trip to the mall had you scouring the men's section like a wolf tracking the scent of injured prey, sampling bottle after bottle of cologne until you found it.

Aromatic sage, dark tonka bean and rich sandalwood. Priced at a cool $39.50 which you gladly forked over because to you, it was all money well spent.

The cologne became part of your nightly routine after that, dabbing drops of the heady scent on your body when you went to bed, the smell making your arousal climb before lulling you to sleep an orgasm later, evoking dreams of Steve throughout the night that made you wake up to your panties all damp and sticking to your core by morning.

You were content that way, the shampoo and the cologne enough to satiate your fixation on the way Steve smelled all while managing to maintain your friendship with him without things becoming weird.

What ended up shattering that peace however was running into him a few weeks later coming out of the Y, just done with a game of basketball as he spotted you passing by and happily waved you down.

He smiled at you just as brightly as he had all those months ago in July, this time dressed in his gym clothes; a pair of green shorts that showed off the thickness of his toned, hairy thighs and a grey t-shirt, the sleeves filled out well by his tanned biceps and its collar darkened by sweat.

Up close, you could smell the exertion on him and that was what became your undoing.

It took every iota of self-control not to rush him to the ground and pin him beneath you, feeling more and more like a caged animal the longer the conversation went on and you were forced to compose yourself.

It was the kind of scent you wanted to sink into, more so than the cologne or the shampoo because this was Steve completely unadulterated – that earthy musk, that rugged, almost spicy all-natural scent that you wouldn't be able to find on any shelf.

Barely managing to hold it together until parting ways with him, you knew you wouldn't be able to rest without it, mind already working to devise a plan.

"Risve- what?"

You chuckled as the word died on Steve's tongue, knowing he'd trip up on the pronunciation. Reaching for a pen and a scrap of paper sitting on the counter, you wrote the word down for him. "Risvegli. It's Italian", you explain, handing it to him as you do your best to repress the shiver that runs through you when his slender fingers graze yours, trying hard to quieten your mind after all the ways you’ve imagined those very fingers touching you in your most sensitive places.

"It's kind of an obscure flick but I like that sort of stuff. D'you think you could have a look and see if you've got a copy in the back?", you try not to bat your lashes too much when you ask, not wanting to overplay the sweetness to the point that it comes off as insincere or worse, suspicious.

Steve looks down to study the paper, cheeks dusted a pretty pink, you can’t help but notice. The ends of his hair are still damp from his shower at the Y, just as you expected now that you knew which days he spent there before clocking in for work.

"For you? Definitely", he looked back up and smiled at you in that way that made your heart somersault. "Be right back". He leaves you alone at the counter and you make sure to wait for him to disappear out of sight into the back, stamping down a flash of guilt for having sent him off to search for a movie that didn't exist to buy you time.

You'd planned it all last night, stepping away from the counter before heading towards the employee break room, able to sneak in without fear of running into Robin because you knew she'd be spending the day with Sally on her day off from working at the diner.

Steve’s duffle bag is in plain view as you shut the door to the little room behind you quietly, resting on a chair that'd been pulled out from the table where you imagined he probably shared his lunch breaks with Robin.

Striding up to it, you find the zipper and tentatively, you pull it open to reveal the contents. What you're looking for is balled up at the very top, picking up the sweat damp t-shirt with clammy, trembling fingers. You're really crossing a line this time and you know it, your teeth close to piercing the soft skin of your bottom lip as you bite down on it but you can't deny that there's just something so exhilarating about the whole thing too. The lying, the sneaking around, the risk – it's all a little too much and your mind grows foggy with it, dulling your once sharp intuition and giving way to a moment of weakness that has you abandoning caution now that you're alone.

Waiting to do indulge your urges until you're safe at home feels impossible now that you've got your hands on it, eagerly pressing your nose into the damp t-shirt, eyes nearly rolling back as you filled your lungs with the smell of him. It must have been the pheromones, it had to be, awakening that primal kind of desire in you that had you parting your lips and pressing the tip of your tongue to one of the sweat stains, sucking on the sour, salty musk that had soaked into the cotton.

What you're doing is so dirty, damn near repulsive and knowing that just fuels you even more as you begin to salivate. You're too wrapped up in the earthy scent of him, too lost in the taste to notice when the door handle jiggles behind you, too drunk on the sick thought of what Steve’s used boxers must smell like if you were to pull those out of his duffle next when all of a sudden, it's too late.

The door to the break room swings open and in walks Steve, the world screeching to a sickening standstill when his eyes fall on you.

Your own eyes bulging, you watch in mute horror as he takes in the sight before him, the scrap of paper you'd handed him earlier slipping from between his thumb and forefinger, fluttering to the floor like the wings of a dying butterfly.

It's impossible to know what he's thinking. Is it disgust? if so, he hid it well. Bewilderment? You weren't sure. Ice crackles over your bones as the two of you stare for a few seconds longer, Steve's expression still unreadable.

The whole thing's all the more uncomfortable because of the way he continues to watch you like you’re something to be studied, looking contemplative as you trembled in place, wishing for the ground to break open beneath your feet and swallow you away into a never-ending crevasse.

But as the seconds tick by and the ground stays perfectly intact you're left to seek your own respite.

Despite what feels like the blood retreating from your veins, your body shifts into auto pilot as you wordlessly place the rumpled t-shirt back in Steve's duffel and do the only thing you can do in a fucked up situation like this – walk away. Even as he tries to call after you, you ignore his shouts, continuing on a path towards and out the exit, mortified.

You don't go back to Family Video after that. In fact, you avoid that entire street for a whole week.

The days following being caught out by Steve were some of the worst you've had to endure. Shame made a home in your body, making you ache with a belly full of thorns and your thoughts growing increasingly heavy and abrasive as they flood your throbbing head.

For those seven days you carried around the dread of knowing that Steve had discovered that secret side of you, the feeling worsening at the thought of him telling others what he had seen and rendering you some kind of town pariah – even though a tiny, hopeful whisper inside your raucous head told you that he probably hadn't said anything, at least not yet since Sally hadn't even seemed to have gotten word of the incident from Robin.

But that's all it was. A tiny, fleeting whisper that did nothing to calm you.

At home, you buried yourself in your blankets, letting your anxieties exhaust you to sleep and at work you moved as if you were fighting your way through thick slurry – slow and dragging your body from table to table, unsmiling as you took patrons' meal orders and served them their food.

You continued like that all throughout your shift, waiting for the moment you could peel your polyester uniform off in favour of your own clothes and drive yourself home. With only 30 minutes left before closing, your shoulders which had been pulled tight all day with tension began to sag, a momentary wash of relief coursing through you. That was until you smelled it – smelled him.

Whipping around, your stomach plummets when your eyes fall on Steve walking through the door – and to make things worse, he’s carrying that duffle on his shoulder.

He's yet to have spotted you, taking a seat at one of the empty booths though you notice the way his eyes are scanning the diner, searching.

It's obvious that you’re the one he’s looking for as worry courses down your spine like a lightning strike. Was he going to confront you? right here? in front of all these people? Normally you wouldn’t peg Steve as someone who’d do something so cruel but after what he’d caught you doing, a little public humiliation doesn’t seem all that undeserved, you had to admit.

So, carefully you retreat into the breakroom without drawing his attention, pulling a perplexed Sally along with you once you'd caught hold of her by her elbow.

Once safely inside, you all but blubber in her face, begging her to wait on Steve's table, even promising her all your tips for the next week in exchange.

Seeing the distress contorting your face must have made her feel sorry for you because she pulls you in for a quick, tight hug, running her hand up and down your back in an attempt to calm you. You'd only given her little snippets of what had happened at the video store, making sure to alter a few details for the sake of concealing how far you’d actually gone that day. To her, the gist of it was that you'd embarrassed yourself horribly and that was all she really needed to know, springing into action as the compassionate best friend to the rescue.

"I've got it, okay? just breathe", she'd repeated soothingly into your hair, giving you a quick squeeze and her best reassuring smile before you reluctantly unwind your hands from around her, allowing her to step out of the break room ahead of you.

Outside again, thirty minutes drag on like hours while you purposely stick to the part of the diner that's furthest away from Steve's table. You don't dare look at him but you do sneak a glance when Sally walks by with his order, a single black coffee and nothing else which he sips leisurely while you tremble.

If his plan was to confront you then what the hell was he waiting for? There was nothing stopping him from walking up to you while sweat collects between your shoulder blades as you clear the tables of customers who’ve settled their bill and since left. Nothing to prevent him from stepping up to the counter while you nervously rubbed the surface of it free of crumbs and stains to demand an explanation for your bizarre behavior last week. Nothing to stop him from simply walking up to you at any moment and ask to know what the fuck your deal was.

But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he finishes his coffee and casually waves down Sally for the bill while smiling politely. Somehow that causes you even more unease.

In that moment you lose sight of Steve when you’re called over to serve the only other table of customers left, a family of five keen to fit in one last round of milkshakes before they call an end to their meal.

You see to their order despite your shaking limbs, returning with a tray crowded with the cold, sweet drinks, setting each one down carefully in front of the smiling children and their parents before you head back behind the counter with your tray clutched close to your chest. The whole thing must have taken you ten minutes and when you sneak one more look in Steve’s direction you find his booth empty this time.

Eyes frantically searching the diner, you manage to catch a final glimpse of him walking out the front door, bell chiming above him as he departs, leaving the diner and you with even more questions than you had when he'd first arrived.

Had Steve changed his mind? Had he just wanted to make you sweat for the hell of it? Taken pleasure in watching you try to keep it together in his presence while you traipsed around the diner all too carefully like a petrified newborn deer?

Why had he shown up at all today if he wasn’t going to...do anything?

You get your answer fifteen minutes later when wearily, you trudge into the staff room at the end of your shift, pulling open your locker and all but fainting at the sight of what’s been placed inside beside your belongings.

Neatly folded inside is Steve's grey t-shirt, the same one you'd tried unsuccessfully to "borrow" last week The scent of him is instantly recognizable as you inhale shakily, fingers reaching out to touch the slightly damp cotton to confirm to yourself that you weren’t in fact hallucinating the whole thing.

When your pulse starts to settle and the static crackling in your ears starts to cease you notice a little scrap of folded paper placed inside too. Picking it up and pulling it open, it's with a deep, dreamy sigh that your chest blooms with sunny warmth as you read the note, a smile gracing your lips for the first time in a week.

Three months later...

The only good thing about working the graveyard shift at the diner was that Steve always insisted on coming in an hour before you clocked out so he could drive you home.

Occupying one of the booths inside the sleepy diner, he'd keep himself busy with his phone while you worked, perking up whenever you came by to freshen up his coffee or sneak him a piece of pie he hadn't ordered with all his favorite fixings.

It was during those moments that he liked to have a little fun with you, quickly surveying the room to make sure no customers or staff were looking over in your direction before he'd slip his fingers under your skirt and pinch your ass. Sometimes you'd see it coming and other times he'd catch you off guard, cruel delight curling his lips into a smirk whenever you had to stifle your surprised squeals.

And that's as far as he usually took, patiently waiting until he could get you in his car for more but today felt different.

With no new customers coming in in the last two hours, Sally had taken to the break room to work in a nap while the kitchen staff had stepped out back to smoke and deal cards to pass the time. That left just you working the front with Steve as the diner's only patron.

Having no one else around meant you could flirt freely with him now, making sure to look over your shoulder every now and then just incase to make sure you didn't get caught.

You spent that time alone together with his boot gently tapping against your shoe under the table, reaching out and fiddling with his fingers because you always liked to be touching him while you happily teased each other as the minutes passed by.

Somewhere in the middle of your playful banter you noticed Steve's cup was now empty, picking yourself up from the booth to bring over more coffee. As you leaned over the edge of the table to pour, you anticipated the glide of his fingers on your thigh, inching up your skirt to situate them between your legs.

"You're going to get me fired one of these days", you chide him, still holding on to the pot of coffee once you'd finished refilling his cup.

"Good – then I can have you all to myself", he teased back, index finger drawing patterns on your inner thigh, just a few inches below the lacy trim of your panties.

"Steve", you attempt to scold but there's barely any heat there for him to take it seriously, fingers daring to trail higher.

Meeting his heavy gaze, you watch him search your eyes for a moment, the soft smirk that had been tugging at the corner of his lips slowly fading away as something more serious clouds his expression when he leans forward to whisper to you.

"No one's around, baby. Please? Can I?"

It takes you a second before you know exactly what he's asking for without needing him to specify, heat rising up from the depths of your chest and gathering in your cheeks.

He's got that look in his eyes too and you know that this is what it must have looked like the day he caught you with your face buried in his sweaty t-shirt. That feverish glint of potent want making his iris' gleam.

"Steve, it's too risky", you try to reason quietly despite the way your thighs are already parting for him, allowing him to skim the pads of his fingers over the seat of your panties, teasing your waiting folds through the thin later of fabric.

"Never stopped you before", he's quick to reply with wink, making you grow warmer at the reminder.

He's got you beat there.

"I promise I'll be quick", he pleads again softly and it's almost comical how quickly you buckle under the weight of his needy gaze.

"Shit, okay", you concede as you step closer to the edge of the booth and he pulls himself closer too, hand moving higher to cup your ass under your skirt.

You sigh contently when Steve leans forward and presses his nose against the front of your uniform, right over the juncture between your legs. You're careful to keep your grip tight on the handle of the coffee pot you're still carrying when he takes in a deep breath, inhaling your scent right through your clothes.

Steve liked to joke that you brought out this side of him, the one that made the both of you realize how alike you really were.

It started with the way he liked to linger between your legs after he'd finished eating you out. Your ruined panties spilled out of his back pocket, never to be returned to you as he took his time pressing sweet kisses against your swollen folds and spent clit with his sticky lips, clearly pleased with himself as you fought to catch your breath from the orgasm that'd rippled through you.

And as things progressed, he wasn't secretive about wanting to fuck you so hard and often that the smell of you would linger in the air long after you were done. Or how he liked to nestle his nose in the curls on your mound once he'd finished laving at your pussy – the moreish combination of sweat, saliva and your natural musk making his twitching cock stiffen all over again as he rut into the mattress for a second time, painting his sticky boxers with another generous load.

Other times he'd get on his knees for you, pulling you close by your hips so he could place his face against your clothed cunt and mumble dreamy praises about how good your pussy smelled. And you always loved it when he got like that, even now as your free hand strokes lazily through his caramel hair, letting him do this to you in the middle of your place of work, your coworkers unaware but not far away enough that they couldn't walk in at any moment and find the two of you like this.

"Stevie", you whined softly as you tried to get his attention, a reluctant reminder that the two of you should probably stop before it's too late.

"Jus' a little more, please? need it to tide me over before I can get you alone". His eyes are all glazed over when he looks up at you, tentatively slipping his other hand up the front of your thigh to hitch up the hem of your skirt ever so slightly, his gaze all pleading as he waits for your permission.

With the way he's managed to work you up, your panties more that a little tacky from his attention and your belly tightening with warmth, how could you possibly refuse when you needed this just as badly as he did?

"Fuck. Yes, okay – just be careful", you urge gently because 'be quick' doesn't seem likely anymore.

A look of pure bliss breaks out on his reddening face. "Christ. Thank you, baby", Steve groans appreciatively, pushing your skirt up to expose your panties before burying his face against your clothed mound. He can feel the outline of your cunt perfectly when he's this close – so soft and plump, his mounting greed has him battling the urge to pull the soaked cotton down to your knees and start sucking the tangy slick from your pretty, swollen pussy lips before pressing deeper to lick at your tight hole and all it has to offer.

Restraining himself, he lets out a muffled moan against your core that has your clit swelling and throbbing, your eyes slipping shut while you give yourself to him. It's almost soothing the way he savors you so shamelessly, head partially ducked underneath your rucked up skirt, fingers gently squeezing your ass with his blunt nails making light indents in your skin.

You let him breathe you in for a while longer until you begin to feel a little floaty and more than a little needy from it all, expecting Steve to pull away soon because how much longer could you get away with doing this in public? Stopping him isn't what you want, not really but you knew better than to push your luck by now.

But instead of him reluctantly withdrawing away from you, what you feel next is the wet drag of his tongue along your messy panties, warm, firm and sudden.

Although definitely not unwelcome, under the circumstances, the feeling of it startles you and you can't help but cry out with a yelp, arm jerking backwards as a splash of coffee makes its way onto the checkered diner floor.

Hearts hammering, the both of you rip apart from each other then, Steve with his wide eyes and ruffled hair as he plasters himself to his seat while you very nearly lose what's left of your balance when your shoes skid over the wet mess of spilled coffee. You manage to catch yourself though when you grab the edge of his table with your free hand, finally placing the damn coffee pot down to hurriedly pull your skirt back into place.

Silence overtakes the room as the both of you peer wordlessly in the direction of the kitchen and breakroom, waiting to see if you'd accidentally drawn the attention of any nearby diner staff.

Seconds turn into a minute and when no one comes through either of the doors you allow yourself to sigh out in relief, turning back to Steve.

"Shit. I'm sorry I couldn't help it – had to taste you, honey. You just – fuck, you just smell so fucking good. I needed a little more", he tries to explain when your eyes connect, his cheeks sheened with a thin layer of perspiration and flushed a deep pink.

You were foolish to think you could let him do all of that and endure waiting until the end of your shift to take things further in his car. Leaving him with his lips parted and his jaw slack, you stride away to the diner's entrance to quickly flip the 'open' sign over to read 'closed', rushing back to tug Steve up and out of his seat urgently, grinning when you catch sight of the stiff bulge straining in his jeans.

"Supply closet. Now. Need you to put that mouth of yours to good use."

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #stranger things #steve harrington x reader

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brattyspence · 10 days ago

Note

hellllllllooooo! i've had this idea for awhile and nobody else has done it when i've requested it ? pretty much spencer is super old fashioned (as everyone has seen in the show) but he kinda takes it to the next level by making a sex tape with reader on a video camera because he doesn't wanna use his phone!! and it could start off with spencer taking pictures of reader on a polaroid camera because she's wearing pretty lingerie and he wants to capture the moment :)) have a great day !!

take a picture, it'll last longer | s.reid

summary: spencer is welcomed home from a case by reader's new lingerie set, and he decides to take a picture to capture the memory.. tags: suggestive fluff, reader wears lingerie, uhhhhhh. taking nudes. not beta read a/n: hi anon sorry this took 12 years to publish and also sorry that it sucks and only hits part of your request. i'm not ready to write actual smut again idt but were getting there. love u and thank u for requesting! word count: 700+ masterlist

You were only half listening to his ramblings as you stepped backwards into the doorway of the bedroom.

“You wouldn't-” kiss “believe how-” kiss “rare this-” kiss “kind of case is,” he rambled. His fingertips pressed against your hips, guiding you backwards. With a final step, you felt the back of your knees brush the bed, and with practiced ease, you found yourself suddenly hoisted up, falling back against the comforter.

“Mhm,” you mumbled. He swiftly kicked off his shoes, and then removed with watch with a single motion, tossing it somewhere on the nightstand. You felt the bed dip underneath you as he climbed over you, his nose brushing yours to encourage you to tilt your head back.

“And it was truly-” kiss “a complete improbability that-” kiss “we caught him when we did.”

You were growing impatient with his ramblings. Spencer had been away for four days, somewhere in rural Ohio, and you'd had ample time to clean the apartment, wash the bedsheets, shop for a new matching set, and then finish the day with the longest shower you'd had in recent memory. You were scrubbed and lotioned and done up just for him, and he was taking his time.

“Yeah?” You replied, linking your arms over his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he nodded, this time trailing his kisses down your jaw and along the side of your neck. “Because statistically-”

“Spence,” you whined. “Come on.”

“I'm getting there,” he chuckled. He let his fingertips trail up and down your thighs for a moment.

“Taking too long,” you huffed.

“And when-” kiss “have I ever not made that worth your while?”

“But there's a surprise,” you huffed. You looked up at him, a hint of a pout on your lips, which was only met with another soft chuckle.

His fingertips trailed further up your side this time, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake, stopping when they met the lace edge of your bra. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly in acknowledgment. The palms of his hands warmed your skin.

“This surprise?”

You nodded emphatically, pulling your lower lip between your teeth as he thumbed over the fabric for another moment, his eyes still locked on you in thought.

In an instant, he drew your shirt over your head, letting the fabric fall to the floor somewhere. His hands settled back into their spot against your hips, his touch still warm and possessive.

“You don't want to see the bottoms?” You asked.

After a moment, his fingers looped around your waistband, gently tugging away the fabric of your shorts and again discarding them somewhere to the abyss that was the bedroom floor. He watched you carefully, studying eyes working to remember every detail as he always did.

“I don’t want you to take them off,” he said, lazily looping his fingers into yours.

“That’s no fun,” you smiled. “The whole point was that you would take them off.

“Yeah, but… you look so pretty like this,” he replied. He looked away for a split second, and you saw a hint of mischief in his gaze. It was a rare sight for him.

“What’re you thinking?” You asked, tugging his hand.

He leaned over you one more time, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping away.

“I had an idea.”

You watched him make his way across the bedroom, where he quickly sifted through a drawer. He returned a moment later, instant camera in one hand, quickly configuring the device as he stood at the foot of the bed.

It was a gift, one he’d accepted reluctantly. You’d insisted that he needed something to capture moments with, especially if he would continue to refuse a smartphone. He had always insisted it was useless to him; an eidetic memory could work just the same.

“That was not why I bought you that,” you giggled, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“So?” he replied. “Lie back down.”

You huffed, falling back into the comforter. You tossed an arm over your face as he raised the device, angling it towards you, quickly snapping the picture.

“You're ridiculous.” You giggled. “I thought you didn’t need a camera.”

You listened as the camera dispensed the picture, which he quickly put away for safe keeping.

“No one needs anything. I’m not allowed to take pictures of my beautiful girlfriend?”

“You can do whatever you want,” you smiled, watching him climb up onto the bed. You took his face in your hands as he hovered over you. “I just want you to admit that I was right.”

“You were right,” he sighed. “But you know what they say. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid #criminal minds #fluff #smut #asks #requests #my things!

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obsesssedblerd · 5 months ago

Text

Either he is utterly clueless, or he’s toying with you because he knows you think he’s attractive. You don’t know which is worse.

Choso, your roommate, walks around the kitchen of your shared apartment, preparing breakfast like he does every other weekend—when he works less hours due to his little brother staying over for a few nights. In the living room, you can hear Yuuji and best friend, Megumi, playing video games together and enjoying the slow Saturday morning.

You should focus on that and maybe offer to play games with them- No, you should focus on the smell of the food. Bacon, eggs, hash browns, something sweet that’s baking in the oven. However, you don’t focus on any of that, and your feet remain glued to their spot at the kitchen doorway, and your eyes stay locked on your roommate.

Choso was only wearing sweatpants. You can tell that he was fresh out of a shower. His hair is left down this morning, and you can’t help but think that it looks even better that way, especially with the dark strands of his bangs still falling in front of his face. Then his upper body. Holy shit, his upper body. You knew Choso worked out often, sometimes with Satoru Gojo, but not once have you seen the results of his efforts in the gym this clearly. The muscles in his arms flex as he mixes something in a bowl, and your breath hitches slightly. Your gaze slowly drifts lower, taking in his toned chest, his abs, then settling on where his sweatpants hung loosely on his waist. Fuck.

You finally shake yourself out of it, then tear your eyes away from his body, deciding to look at the table instead. You clear your throat, and the sound of it gets his attention. “Morning,” he greets casually, facing you with his usual small smile. “Sorry if Yuuji and his friend woke you up. Megumi decided to stay the night at the last minute.”

You smile in return, then shake your head. “Oh, that’s fine.” You walk close to the stove where he’s standing. “I don’t mind Megumi. He’s actually way quieter than the rest of Yuuji’s friends. What are you making in that bowl?”

“Hm? Oh, this is some icing to go on top of the cinnamon rolls.” He grabs a clean spoon from a drawer, then dips it into the bowl. “I think it needs a bit more vanilla, but I’m not too sure. Could you also try it?”

You nod, then reach to grab the spoon from him, but because your grip on it wasn’t secure, it nearly slips from your hand, resulting in some of the icing getting on Choso’s finger. You both laugh it off, then you sample the icing.

As you’re tasting it, you see Choso checking on the bacon sizzling in a skillet. Then, he lifts his hand to his mouth that you’ve definitely stared at many times before. A split second before his lips close around his finger with the icing on it, you catch his tongue dart out to lick the icing. Then, he sucks it clean, releasing it with a light smacking sound. You nearly stop breathing. It’s so simple, so innocent, but it’s so damn–

“What do you think?” He asks as he heads over to the sink to wash his hands.

“...Huh?”

He looks at you, then points to the spoon in your hand. “The icing. What do you think?”

Oh. That.

Heat rises to your face, and you mask your sudden nervousness quickly. “You’re right. Just a touch more vanilla. I think a teaspoon will be perfect.”

“Okay, thanks. I remember making it before, and…” Choso continues talking about the icing, but your brain tunes it out when you stare at him again. He was so attractive that it wasn’t fair. You’re certain that you’ve never wanted anyone this bad before. You promised yourself on the day you moved in that you wouldn’t fall for him. He worked a lot, and when he wasn’t working, he was a caring older brother to Yuuji. You assumed that he barely had time for anything else.

“Hey.”

His low voice snaps you back to reality, and embarrassment creeps into your gut. “What was that? I’m sorry for being spaced out. I barely got any sleep last night,” you lie.

You think he sees right through it, because he’s stepping closer to where you’re leaning against the counter. He places his hands on either side of the countertop, trapping you in between his arms—directly in front of him and nowhere to go. Your heart begins to race as he leans closer to you, the faint, fresh scent of his body wash filling your nose. The corner of his mouth slightly lifts, and the look in his dark eyes gives it away.

He’s amused.

“I asked if you could grab a bowl from the cabinet behind you so I could put the eggs in it,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” you reply with a soft exhale. “No problem.” You turn around carefully, then lift your arm to open the cabinet, trying to pretend that you don’t literally feel him behind you. You grab a medium-sized bowl. “This one okay?”

There’s silence, then you feel Choso’s gentle touch. His large hand holds your waist, and his other arm reaches up towards the shelf you took the bowl from, grabbing another one that was a bit larger.

“I was thinking that this one would be better,” he whispers into your ear.

You put the other bowl back before your slippery palm lets it fall, and Choso takes a step back and flashes a smile at you. “Nearly done with the food. Could you let Yuuji and Megumi know?”

You do your best to hide how flustered you are, and nod. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go grab them. I’ll be back.”

As you turn to leave the kitchen, you hear his quiet, amused chuckle, eventually drowned out by the sound of him putting some used dishes into the sink.

Oh, he was definitely toying with you.

-------

a/n: so do y'all know that one choso fanart of him wearing only sweatpants and making breakfast? yeahhhhhhhhhh

also ik we mostly hc him as being shy (and i love it) but there's something about him being the one doing the teasing.

#choso kamo #choso #choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk choso #choso x female reader #choso x you #written by rey <3 #jjk drabbles #choso drabbles

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 7 days ago

Note

Long distance girlfriend surprising Rafe

Request: Reader going to college on the east coast and being stuck there because of snow + Rafe being sad

—

‘’Thank you for choosing Cameron Development for your project, Mr. Phillips. Our secretary will email the documents shortly,’’ Rafe said in his polished, customer-service tone. ‘’Happy holidays.’’

The second the call ended, his forced smile vanished, leaving his face set in a grim scowl. He’s never been a fan of Christmas, but for the first time, he had been looking forward to it — his first Christmas with you. But that changed when a snowstorm hit the East Coast, forcing all flights in New York to get cancelled.

Rafe leaned back in his leather office chair, running a hand through his buzzed hair in frustration. It was only 3pm, but he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was you, alone in your apartment in New York, and most importantly, miles away from him. He thought of driving to you, but Topper resonated with him. If flights were cancelled, some roads would be closed too.

Why must you go to college so far away? With a sigh, Rafe picked up his personal phone for the tenth time today, and re-reading your last message. He was hurting himself by doing this, but reading your message also brought him some comfort.

I’m so sorry I can’t make it to you, baby 😢💔 I’ve been keeping track of the flights, but everything is still cancelled… This snow really wants to sabotage our first Christmas! 😠 In case nothing changes, I’m gonna video-call you on Christmas morning…in my sexy lingerie set I got just for you. Wish you were there to unwrap me 🎁🤭

Before he could finish reading, Wheezie’s face filled his screen with an incoming call.

‘’Wheezie? Why are you calling me?’’ Rafe frowned, leaning back in his chair. She never called him at work unless it was important.

‘’Rafe! Thank god you picked up! I tried calling Sarah, but she didn’t answer.’’ Wheezie's voice was high-pitched and panicked, words spilling out in a rush.

‘’Wheezie, what is it?’’ he asked.

‘’I tried making gingerbread cookies, but I guess I left them in for too long...’’

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache coming on. ‘’Just throw them out if they’re burned. It’s not worth breaking a tooth over.’’

‘’No, you don’t understand,’’ she cried, her voice breaking slightly. ‘’There’s smoke all over the kitchen!’’ A coughing fit punctuated her sentence, and Rafe’s heart dropped.

‘’What? Wheeze, are you okay?’’

He was already standing, grabbing his keys. Fuck work.

‘’Can you come home? Please, Rafe. Dad is gonna be so mad if I burn the house down—’’

He didn’t even wait to hang up properly before he was out the door. ‘’I’m coming, Wheeze. Just, stay away from the oven, okay? And get outside if it gets worse. Do you hear me?’’ Rafe’s tone sharpened, his protective instincts kicking in.

Rafe pulled into the driveway of Tannyhill, tires screeching as he parked quickly. His jaw was tight, still on edge from Wheezie’s frantic call. The house seemed calm from the outside, which was strange because she said there was smoke all over the kitchen.

He opened the front door. “Wheezie?” he called out, stepping into the house, his eyes scanning for signs of smoke. ‘’Wheezie, I’m here. Where’s the damn smoke you talked about?’’

The kitchen light was on, and as he stepped closer, his stomach dropped. Instead of finding his little sister panicking, he found you standing in the middle of the kitchen, grinning at him.

‘’Hi.’’

For a split second, neither of you moved. Then, you ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing yourself against him. Rafe’s brain scrambled to catch up. Then it clicked. The familiar scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your arms — it was really you. His arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you might disappear, and you buried your face in his chest, clutching him like you’d never let go.

‘’What the—’’ He pulled back just enough to grab your face, his blue eyes searching yours, wide with disbelief. ‘’You’re here? Really here?’’

‘’Surprise, baby,’’ you murmured before pressing your lips to his, cutting off whatever string of disbelief he was about to voice again.

The kiss was soft at first, but as the realization sank in, Rafe pulled you closer, deepening it, one hand sliding to your back while the other tangled in your hair. It was desperate and relieved, like he couldn’t believe you were actually there, standing in his kitchen, and not miles away in New York.

He hadn’t seen you since his weekend visit for Thanksgiving, he couldn’t settle with a peck.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, faces inches apart.

Rafe’s forehead pressed against yours. ‘’But you were in New York. The flights—’’ He blinked, still trying to process, his grip on your waist tightening. ‘’How are you here? I mean…what—? Wheezie called me about some fire in the kitchen.’’ He glanced around, half-expecting his sister to pop out from somewhere.

You laughed, guilt flickering across your face. ‘’Yeah, that was her idea. There’s no fire. I told her to find something to make you come home. It worked, didn’t it?’’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘’She knew about you coming here and didn’t tell me?!’’

You nodded. Flights being cancelled was not a lie, but you were able to take a train to another state — where the snow was not as bad —, and take a flight there. You texted Wheezie during your flight, asking for help to surprise Rafe. Why would she not help the girl who brought smiles on her brother’s moody face?

‘’Sorry, baby.’’ You looked up and rubbed your hands over his work button up, feeling the planes of his muscled chest and the warmth of his skin underneath. ‘’I just… I couldn’t stand hearing how sad you sounded yesterday. I had to get here, I tried everything in my power to get to you. Don’t be mad at her, okay? She just wanted to help me.’’

Rafe shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you close as he tilted his head. ‘’You’re lucky I love you,’’ he murmured, his voice absentmindedly falling into your relationship bubble where it was just you and him.

You stayed like that for a moment, bathing in each other’s embrace, until a thought crossed your mind. ‘’Rafe? There’s one other thing I need to tell you: I left your Christmas present in New York…’’ You pulled back, guilt filling you again as you continued and explained yourself. ‘’It was on the table so I wouldn’t forget it, but—’’

But Rafe couldn't care less.

‘’That’s okay. There’s only you on my wishlist anyway.’’

—

OBX taglist: @moralina@eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx@sweeterheartxamerica @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc @pedrosprincess @mikaelsonsstuff @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @madelynie @loverofdrewstarkey @radiant-whore @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696 @under-seasoned-pasta @hoeforsirius @buckyswhxre @emerald-09 @simonessolarsystem @rehead1180 @stvrkey @ynmunson @riddle18 @love4ldr @withfireandbl00d @wonderland2425 @blublock404 @eddieslut69

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe fanfiction

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dnpbeats · 8 days ago

Text

2025 d&p predictions 🫶🏻

some of these are gonna be unhinged but like lbr who was expecting a tour to happen so quickly? who was expecting phil to randomly go blond?! so I had to have some things that feel like they’re out of left field

1. new d&p app or physical game

2. PHODCAST 🤞🏻

3. pet (my heart says cat but my brain says dog)

4. “our bed” comment

5. new corner of the phouse reveal

6. phil announces AP is going to be semi-inactive and it has one upload every other month (sad) because he is working on a solo proj (happy) > solo project is something sci-fi- and/or horror-related

7. completely out of the blue comment implying that d&p are gonna have kids one day and everyone is like hey what

8. new sponsorship and then the sponsor gets canceled for being a horrible business weeks after d&p post their video sponsored by them

9. tit is filmed and then not released for months bc they can’t find a platform for it à la WAD

10. IRL folds

11. super romantic vacation after the tour is over where they don’t announce it and are radio silent for two weeks and then randomly post a photo dump from it that includes a photo of dan kissing phil on the cheek or vice versa

12. dan goes viral on tiktok

13. dan and phil wedding invitations are leaked but it was actually an elaborate ruse set up by a phan who sent fake phwedding invites to a print shop

14. phil accidentally doxes his lurker account

15. someone finds an AITA post that they connect back to dan. the post is mysteriously deleted but dan never mentions it

16. dan gives up on the phullet by february and goes back to his regular hair

17. “our niece”

18. someone posts one of those tiktoks that’s like “love is everywhere if you look for it ❤️” that has a bunch of 2 second shots of random couples who don’t know they’re being filmed and one of them is d&p (OP has no idea who they are)

19. they try to wash the pheal and accidentally kill it (aka the stuffing gets fucked up in the washing machine). they try to replace it without anyone realizing but everyone notices

20. phil posts a reel trying some crazy dessert the size of his face that went viral online. months later dan is talking about it and implies that he and phil split the dessert. we talk about it for a month

21. dan makes a bunch of allusions to posting on daniel howell but it never actually happens

22. lessamazingphil comeback (aka phil posts a domestic video featuring dan)

23. one of them makes a passing comment about how there are talented authors in the phandom and it sparks a weeks-long debate about whether or not d&p read phanfic and if content creators have the right to enter into fan spaces

24. it is revealed they have a second house on IOM

25. they acknowledge that dab and evan are their proxies

26. they get a new editor

27. dan learns a new instrument (guitar perhaps)

28. pj and sophie talk about going to a wedding. everyone thinks it’s d&p’s and then someone figures out it wasn’t d&p’s wedding. but actually it turns out it WAS

29. another charity livestream (WAD cubes anyone? 💔) and one of the prizes is that phil will dye his hair a wild color. tyler oakley posts a thirst tweet about it

30. dan and phil randomly do a hosting gig for the BBC

31. they learn to cook solely because they get paranoid about getting a deliveroo driver that recognizes them

32. they voice characters in a video game and everyone is so excited only for it to be like big hero 6 where they have two lines each

#33. dan is philslion reveal 🥰#im ngl a few of these are not predictions but rather wishes im speaking into existence #dan and phil #phan #d&p #daniel howell #amazingphil #wordvom.txt

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nadvs · 6 months ago

Text

better off (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary your split with rafe left its mark. when you feel like you’re finally getting over him, he pulls you back in. you decide that break-up sex is the best way to say goodbye once and for all.

warnings substance use, smut, toxic relationship

» masterlist

You have to remind yourself of his temper. Of his need for control. Of how fucking mean he can be.

Because when you’re at a party in a beach house on the north side of the island and your phone flashes with a text from Rafe, your drunken instinct is to reply to him.

It’s been a month since your last explosive fight. That argument in his car was the final nail in the coffin, the wake-up call that whatever you were trying to put back together was unsalvageable.

It ended abruptly. Your mind has replayed your last screamed words over and over again. This isn’t working, you shouted, your throat burning. Fuck it then, he shouted louder.

And you got out of his car and haven’t spoken since.

Despite its end, it’s not like your six-month relationship was all bad. Between great dates and even greater sex, you two had formed a real friendship. Because of those good times, you’ve been holed up in your bedroom since, grieving, crying your eyes out.

But when it was bad, it was toxic. You yelled at each other. Called each other names. Played mind games.

The worst was that you were both fuelled by spite when you were angry. He purposely hit you where it hurt, validating your insecurities just to crush you.

Although you exchanged some vile words, you think you’ll always regret when you told him he’s just like his father. His face fell. He went quiet. You’d never seen someone’s eyes lose their light quite like that.

Your eyes travel over Rafe’s text. You at Dec’s?

Your mutual friend Declan is the host of the ridiculously loud party you’re standing in the middle of. This is the first time since the break-up that you’ve felt okay enough to go out. And your stomach turns with anticipation that Rafe is somewhere here in the crowd.

At first, you wanted to text back that you are. But as your mind flashes through everything he did to you, every time he called you sensitive like it was ridiculous of you to be hurt by his mistreatment, making you feel crazy, you angrily respond: why tf do you care??

Your phone buzzes within a few seconds with his message. Lol calm down

It’s downright incredible how quickly he can piss you off. With that text alone, your blood is boiling.

Calm down. It’s what he always said whenever you brought up a valid reason you were upset. You would be completely collected, but he’d still tell you to calm down. He wanted to frustrate you.

You reply: fuck you. And you want to find him simply to chew him out.

You tell your friends you’ll be right back. You leave before they can ask where you’re going. After all the venting you did about Rafe, about what a toxic asshole he is, you know they’d give you shit for seeking him out.

Rafe’s heart is racing. From the coke, from the booze, from the way that missing you is still such a heavy fucking weight on his chest that isn’t going away.

It’s been weeks and he’s still pissed off about it. Life feels unliveable. When the argument started, he thought it was just going to be another bad night. You had threatened breaking up with each other a million times before. But this time, it was real.

And every time his phone vibrates, he hopes it’s you. He looks at your photos in his camera roll, wallowing in the hole you left in his life. He still has videos of you two fucking and he watches them late at night, touching himself and letting himself pretend you’re still together.

He even puts extra care into getting ready every time he comes to these parties so you’ll think he looks good if you run into him. But you haven’t been going out. At least, not that he’s seen, and he purposely searches every crowd for you.

So, when he saw you in the distance tonight, a sight he’s been dying to see, his heart stopped. And he texted you, pretending he didn’t already know you were here, because it’d be too much of a hit to his pride if he approached you and you brushed him off.

Good thing. Because your response told him what he needs to know.

When you find Rafe in the crowd, he’s knocking back what’s left of a beer. He had told you he was hoping to slow down on the booze back when you were together, but he continued to get shit-faced at every party.

He would disappoint you time and time again, and even now, as your ex-boyfriend, he still manages to do it.

You cross your arms as you approach him. One of his friends notices you, slapping Rafe’s arm to get his attention.

At that moment, you wonder what he told his buddies about you. Probably that you were a crazy bitch. He certainly didn’t have any problem calling you that to your face.

Rafe looks at his friend in confusion. Then, his blue eyes land on you. The same eyes that used to slowly flutter open after you kissed him, as if he was waking up from a good dream. The same eyes that pierced into you when he screamed at you.

“So much for cutting back,” you shout over the music.

Rafe swallows the bitter alcohol and the shock of your sudden presence. He was certain you wouldn’t talk to him tonight.

And of course you look stunning, like an angel that came down from heaven deciding it was worth the sin to torture him.

“Why the fuck do you care?” He’s wearing a self-assured smirk, purposely saying exactly what you said in your text just a few minutes ago.

You roll your eyes, remembering why you came over here in the first place.

“Can I not come to a party without you annoying me?” you mutter.

“You’re the one who came to find me.”

“Because you texted me.”

“So, you’re here to tell me not to text you? What happened to blocking me?”

This is exactly what it was like dating him. Infuriating, petty arguments that only go in circles.

“You didn’t this time, huh?” he adds just to embarrass you.

You had him blocked so many times before, but after the break-up, you just couldn’t do it. Because you had hope he’d reach out. And now he’s making you feel like an idiot for it.

It feels like he’s winning this argument. You shouldn’t care. But you do.

One of the things he said the night of your break-up was that no other guy would deal with your bullshit. So, you decide to lie just to hurt him back.

“I have someone else dealing with my bullshit now,” you say. “Blocking some asshole isn’t a priority.”

Your words have an effect on him. You can tell from the way his jaw tightens. You sink into this feeling all over again, the sick familiarity of playing mind games with him.

Rafe feels his chest twist with anger. Is that where you’ve been lately? Not showing up to parties because you’re with someone else?

He steps closer, ducking his head so that only you can hear his words. His familiar cologne washes over you.

You realize he’s wearing a button-up you bought him and you wonder if he doesn’t remember it was a gift from you, or he does and he doesn’t care to place any sort of sentimental value on it.

“Since when?” he asks.

“Since when what, Rafe?” you say his name with a sharp coldness.

“Since when have you been with someone else?”

You decide to provoke him and let the lie build.

“A while.”

Rafe’s lips thin. He takes your hand and you should pull away, you should want to, but you let him lead you through the crowd into a dark, quieter hallway.

You’re soon against a wall, looking up at him, his eyes darting across your face as the softened music reverberates through the air.

“What’s a while?” he says. “Did it start when we were together?”

You sigh and glance away.

“Don’t look away from me,” he orders. “Answer the fucking question.”

“For the millionth goddamn time, I am not a cheater,” you say. He used to accuse you of unfaithfulness all the time. You meet his angry gaze. “I met him after.”

“Who is he?”

“You don’t know him.”

Rafe plants his hand on the wall next to your head, leaning over, his intensity burning through you.

“I know everybody,” he mutters.

“What, ‘cause you’re so popular?” you scoff.

“You’re lying,” he says. He hopes.

“Sure, whatever, I’m lying,” you reply indifferently with a shrug. “Believe what you want. I’m going now.”

You start to turn, but he boxes you in, his other hand firm on the wall. You knew he’d stop you. It’s why you pretended to leave.

You look up at him through your lashes. His pupils are blown. Your entire body is buzzing.

You miss him. Of course you do. As toxic as you were, as many times as you told yourself this relationship was unhealthy, you miss him.

“Who is he?” he rasps.

“Why?” you say through gritted teeth. “You want to ruin another thing for me?”

“What the fuck have I ruined for you?”

“I lost friends because of you,” you say.

A smile of disbelief grows on Rafe’s face.

He always loved you more. He knows that. And you accused him of isolating you from your friends when all he wanted to do was spend time with you.

It’s not his fault you don’t know how a relationship works. You should want to be with your boyfriend more than your friends. Especially when those friends try to get it in your head that your boyfriend doesn’t deserve you. That you’re too good for him.

What guy wouldn’t want his girl to stop hanging out with friends who just shit-talk him?

“Those weren’t friends,” he says. “What kind of friends want to fuck up your relationship?”

“It was already fucked up,” you respond. “They just helped me see it. But I still cut them off. For you. For nothing.”

Rafe blinks a few times before parting his lips to speak again. Nothing. That’s what he is to you?

His chest aches. He wants to return the favor. He wants to hurt you back.

“You’re so fucking weak,” he says, tapping your temple. You slap him away. “You’ll believe anything.”

It’s a slam to your heart.

“There’s something wrong with you,” you say. “Anyone who can tolerate you for as long as I did is the farthest thing from weak.”

You managed to hit him back just as hard. The way he pauses is a clear sign of it.

“That’s all it was, huh? Tolerating me?” he mutters.

You nod, your breath unsteady.

“Was it tolerating me when I bought you every single fucking thing you wanted?”

“I never asked you to do any of that,” you counter. Your voice has lost its edge. The reminder of how he used to spoil you with gifts and spa days and getaways has cracked your armor a little bit.

“You loved it, though, didn’t you?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “And you loved thanking me for it.”

Your skin pricks with the reminder. The way your lips pressed against his, limbs tangled together in his bed, kissing and fucking and breathing out dirty praise.

He’s thinking of it, too. You can tell because when he brushes up against you, he’s hard. It makes your body go even hotter.

Rafe’s been wondering what you did with all the gifts he got you. His eyes sweep over your body, half-hoping he’ll see a piece of jewelry he bought. But he comes up empty.

He fucking loved it, the way your eyes lit up whenever he got you a gift for no reason. But right now, your eyes are full of hatred.

You still haven’t said anything. Your chest is rising and falling quickly. He struck a chord and he’s going to keep pulling the string.

“Gave you that princess treatment shit, didn’t I?” he murmurs.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You said that whenever he bought you anything or did something sweet. It had become a joke between you two. It’s almost unbelievable that the man towering over you right now is capable of doing anything sweet.

“What, you can’t talk now?” Rafe taunts in his typical frustrating way.

“I hate you,” you mutter.

“Yeah?” he laughs. “You said the opposite the last time I saw you.”

You tense up. It’s true. Albeit angrily, you had said you loved him after he accused you of not giving a shit about him during your last argument.

He didn’t say it back. He hardly ever did. He used his body and his credit card to show you his love. It was always a dark cloud that hung over you, the way he couldn’t just say those three words nearly as much as you did.

Even now, he can’t even say the word. He said the opposite. Because he’s so damn emotionally stunted.

You try to regain whatever power you have left.

“Things change,” you respond. “And I’m better off now.”

Rafe leans closer, eyebrows just slightly raising as he stares at you.

His heart is pounding. His legs are weak. He’s panicked that you’ll reject him, but he can’t control the pull you have on him. The fact that you’re walking around and existing and not being with him is agony.

He feigns confidence, his nose gently nudging against yours, his lips less than an inch away now.

“Can he fuck you as good as I can?” he asks. Your core aches with a hard craving for him.

“I just said I’m better off, didn’t I?” you reply.

Rafe’s stomach curls in pain. The thought of another man tasting you, hearing you moan, being inside of you… It actually fucking hurts. You’re his. You’re not supposed to be anybody else’s.

“You need a reminder,” he says tersely, “of how good I make you feel.”

Your breath catches. You’d be stupid to do this. You just bring out the worst in each other. Having sex will undo all the healing you’ve done.

But, because of this sick effect he has on you, you listen to the voice telling you that one last time will be a proper goodbye.

“You’re wasted,” you say. You already felt his hard-on brush against you, but challenging him is too addictive not to do it. “You sure you can even get it up?”

Instead of being pissed off, Rafe does the most attractive thing he possibly can. And it’s infuriating. He smirks, grinding up against you, his hard lust pressed right between your legs.

“When have I ever had a problem with that?” he murmurs.

And finally, finally, he leans forward, pressing his warm lips on yours, and tasting him is like coming home after a trip you never wanted to go on.

You sink into his touch, letting yourself enjoy this temporary high, letting yourself give into the impulse to drag your hands up his hard torso, palms running over the expensive fabric you bought for him.

You tightly cup the sides of his neck. He pushes you by your waist, up against the wall so hard that your back tinges in pain.

This is what this will be. A hard, angry, rough goodbye. One last struggle for power.

You push him off, your lips parting with a smack.

“Find a room,” you order him.

His grip on your wrist is tight as he takes you to a guest room near the back of the house. He shuts the door and pushes you down onto the bed, chest heaving as he looks at you on your back, propped up on your elbows, watching him as he undoes his belt.

You gaze up at him as he breathes heavily, unzipping his pants and letting the buckle fall to the floor with a thud. He palms himself over his boxers, shaking his head at you.

“You can’t take your own damn clothes off?” he mutters.

The fire in you blazes hotter when he leans over you, pulling the button of your jeans out of the loop, zipping down, roughly tugging the waistband down your legs.

Part of the reason you waited for him to do it is because you’re so struck by the way he looks, angry and horny and handsome. But mostly, it’s because if he undresses you, it’s proof of how badly he wants this, how badly he wants you, and you miss that feeling.

Rafe is light-headed simply at the sight of your bare thighs. How can you make him feel like this and not be in his life anymore, just like that?

Once your pants are off, you tug him down to you by his hips, using all your strength to pull yourself up over him.

Rafe could easily withstand you, but he doesn’t want to. This was the best part of your relationship. The battle for control. It’s always been intoxicating.

He’s on his back while you’re propped up on your knees, straddling him, looking down at him, at the way your fingers look splayed on his chest.

He dreamed about seeing you on top of him again. His ex-girlfriend, the only person who’s just as fucked up as he is, the only one who challenges him in such an infuriatingly perfect way. Now, you’re just another person who’s given up on him.

“I know you missed this,” he says with a craven refusal to admit that he missed it himself.

“Feels like you missed it more.” You grind against him, but your middle is hot and wet, and you’re sure he can feel it.

You tug at his shirt, undoing buttons but eventually getting impatient enough to rip apart the last two that remain.

Rafe expels a pissed off tsk. This is his favorite thing you gave him. It’s typical, your recklessness, your refusal to care about the consequences he’s left to live with.

Some of his anger dissipates when you bend to kiss him, your tongue running over his. He grips your ass, fingers dipping under your panties as your kisses grow in roughness, starting to nip at each other’s lips, rushed and hungry.

You pull at the sleeves of his shirt, tugging so he’s left in his boxers only. He pushes your shirt up as you remain bent over him, squeezing your tits over your bra. You hate to give him the satisfaction of your moan, so you keep it in, scrambling to take your shirt off.

His fingers move expertly as he unhooks your bra just like he always did before. You hate that your mind jumps to wondering if he’s taken off any other girl’s clothing lately.

You lied about having a new boyfriend. You know he’s not above lying, either. You wouldn’t dare ask if he’s done this since your break-up. Because it’ll show you care. And because his answer, lie or not, could destroy you.

Your bra is thrown onto the floor and rough hands dip to the backs of your thighs, pushing you so that your chest is right over his face, giving him a chance to put his mouth on you as you hover over him on your hands and knees.

His tongue is hot over your nipple and this time, you can’t stifle your moan. He smirks against you, locking his lips around the peak of your breast, kneading the other, just hard enough to hurt in a good way.

You’re so mad at him for ruining things between you. It’s unfair that someone who knows your body and soul so well is so fucking cruel.

You want to drown your anger in him, in the pleasure you know he can give you. You sit up to take off your panties and shift higher this time so that your knees are pressed against his ears.

You lower and the second you feel his mouth between your legs, you shudder. It’s even better than you remembered.

Rafe looks up at the perfect sight of you sitting over him, eating you out with fast, desperate licks and sucks, tasting you, savoring you.

Your thighs start to lose their strength and you sink slightly, putting more of your weight on his chin, and the groan that escapes from his mouth onto your clit makes you lose all composure.

His hands keep your thighs pinned so you follow his lead, fully sitting on him now, grinding against his mouth. Your fingers lace in his hair, pulling at the roots, every writhe of yours getting harder.

This is a fucking dream come true to him. You’ve done this before, but you’ve never been this rough. You were always afraid to hurt him even during angry sex. This is different.

You roll your hips and the sensation of his nose bumping against your clit sends sparks of pleasure throughout your body. You’re soaked from your own arousal and his spit, sliding over his mouth.

It’s impossible to hold back your moans now. You let the groans of how good you feel spill out of your throat, mixed with the sounds of his mouth on you and the music blasting from the front of the house.

Rafe’s fingers dig into your thighs, his tongue flattened for you so you can get the pleasure you need. You look down, meeting his eyes while you ride his face, the tension and lust and frustration you share thick in the air.

You slow down, arching your back so he’ll work your clit how you want him to. You don’t even need to tell him. He knows you so damn well, his lips locking around the most sensitive part of your body, sucking and slurping so hard that you start to tremble.

“Just like that,” you whimper. His jaw was starting to get sore, but your praise spurs him to keep going. You adjust your grip on his hair, throwing your head back as his suction grows even harder.

Your thighs press against his cheeks as you start to dissolve into your orgasm. Rafe’s not letting that happen. You’re not getting yours until he gets his.

He pushes your hips up and a frustrated whine tumbles from your mouth. He’s so hard it hurts, roughly guiding you onto your back, the mattress bouncing with how hard he throws you down.

Rafe stares at you with hard eyes as he pulls off his boxers, his cock springing out, holding himself at his base as he guides himself against your entrance.

His exhale is short and sharp as he plunges into you. It feels so damn right to have him inside you, on top of you. The way he sounds, the way he smells. It’s just right.

“You like that?” he mutters, thrusting hard with no build-up to his fast pace.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He revels in the feeling of your heat wrapped around him. Inside you is his favorite place to be. That’s never changed.

“Where’s that attitude now, huh?”

“I don’t have an attitude,” you argue breathily, your body jolting with his thrashes.

“Not when I’m eating you out,” he says. “Not when I’m fucking you.”

“I don’t have an attitude,” you repeat.

He grips your jaw aggressively, fucking you in a frenzy, fingers squeezing your cheeks so hard that your lips jut out into a pout.

“Yes, you fucking do,” Rafe says, panting. “You think you’re so fucking perfect, don’t you?”

“I’m better than you,” you reply.

“You’re insufferable,” he murmurs. “Fucking insufferable.”

The pressure of him thrusting into you, the way he’s holding you and breathing and groaning, pushes you into a mind-blowing orgasm, your entire body tensing.

You’re in a daze, knowing he’s close by the way his movements are starting to grow sloppier.

“Then why were you with me?” The words are out of your mouth before you can even think about if you should say them.

Rafe’s wet mouth is on yours, tasting like himself and like you, a combination of two people who never should have met. You’re sure that you’d both be better off.

He comes hard, going still on top of you, groaning against your lips. Once he pulls back, his breaths hot on your neck, he finally answers, echoing what you’ve said to him so many times. But this time, you’re the victim of the insult.

“Because there’s something wrong with me,” he says.

Your throat thickens with tears. It’s the truth. And the truth is painful.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you mutter, pushing him off. You promise yourself that tonight is the last time that you’ll ever feel him on top of you, feel him pulling out of you.

You can’t get your clothes on fast enough. Even though this is an old flame, it has the same amount of power to scald you.

“Thought you weren’t a cheater,” he grumbles behind you as you slide on your panties.

“This was a mistake,” you say. “And it’s the last time I’m making it.”

Your words sting. He thought this was make-up sex. That you had a little bit more fight in you for him, and then you’d walk out of this room on his arm. But you really are done.

You pull on your bra next, fingers trembling, knowing you’ll regret it if he hears you cry. You put your shirt on as he remains lying behind you, surely relaxed now that he got what he wanted.

You stand to pull up your jeans, finally meeting his eyes again.

“Why did you even text me?” you mutter. You loathe that a tiny part of you hopes he says it’s because he misses you.

But you’re glad he doesn’t. Because you two just start each other’s fires and douse them in gasoline, burning each other over and over. He simply says, “I wanted to fuck and I knew you’d let me.”

Rafe said it just to hurt you because you called this a mistake. The way you look down as you pretend to focus on buttoning your jeans tells him it worked.

“Don’t text me again,” you say. “Don’t call me. Don’t contact me at all.”

“You scared your new boyfriend’s gonna see?” he says, pretending to be unaffected, pushing past the hurt.

You cross the room and look at him one last time as you turn the door handle. You decide to say the most honest thing you’ve said to him tonight.

“I’m scared I’ll fall for your bullshit again,” you admit. “We’re bad for each other. If there’s any part of you that has a heart, you’ll realize that and you’ll leave me alone.”

For once, Rafe is rendered speechless. He gave you his whole damn heart and for you to insinuate he might not even have one is the last dig he needs to shatter him.

Just like the night this ended in his car, you leave. But you mean it this time.

Because something that was actually meant to be would not hurt this much.

(part two)

inspired by this ask and this ask by @diorjadore

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