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peachversace · 3 months ago

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calvins or nothing?

[nsfw-ish] ; bakugou katsuki x reader — domestic fluff, slight horniness, bakugou katsuki being a cute little bean (but also a sexy phenomenon), slight humor <3

♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖📸.𖥔 ݁ ˖♡

notes: this is inspired by the bad bunny x calvin klein ad that came out a few weeks ago. i’m ovulating and had this in my drafts. enjoy 😃

Your grumpy Pro Hero boyfriend—the one who hates cameras, hates media circuits, hates anything remotely resembling a brand deal—somehow got talked into doing an ad. That, in itself, is already enough of a shocker. The man rolls his eyes at the mere mention of Instagram. His idea of PR is grunting his way through one-word answers at press conferences.

So, yeah. When Katsuki says he’s doing a shoot, you're caught off guard.

The announcement isn’t even some grand confession—it’s a casual mumble, like he’s commenting on the weather. He says it while washing the dishes, fingers soapy, sleeves of his tee pushed up to his elbows, the evening news humming in the background. You're sitting on the counter, half-listening to the TV, half-watching the muscles in his back flex through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Gonna do a shoot in a couple days,” he mutters like it’s nothing. Like the sky’s blue. Like he’s not about to detonate your entire sense of reality.

You pause mid-sip of your water. “A shoot?” you echo, blinking at him.

He doesn’t even look up. “Yeah.”

You slide off the counter and walk toward him, disbelief coloring your voice. “Wait, seriously? You? Doing a shoot? Like… willingly?”

He finally cuts you a glance, eyes narrowing. “What the fuck would I joke for?”

“I don’t know! Because you hate this stuff?” You raise a brow. “Last week you growled at a guy just for taking a picture of you at the market.”

He scoffs, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Agent wouldn’t shut up about it. Said it’s a good deal. Said it’d make my numbers spike.” He grinds his teeth. “S’bullshit.”

You grin, stepping even closer, your hands brushing against the hem of his shirt. “So what is it, huh? Sportswear? A cologne campaign? Let me guess, something with black-and-white aesthetics, all ‘I’m brooding and mysterious and I could kill you but also model for Givenchy.’”

His glare sharpens. “I ain't tellin’ you,” he mutters, and then smears a soapy hand across your face.

You yelp, eyes widening in shock before laughing, pushing him back with a dish towel, and just like that, the kitchen descends into a sudsy, chaotic mess—water splashing, laughter echoing, and your annoyed, grumbly boyfriend cracking the faintest smile as you attack him with bubbles.

You forget about it after that.

He goes to the shoot a few days later, grumbles about how stupid it was, comes home smelling faintly of sweat and photo studio, and promptly takes a nap on the couch with his face buried in your thigh.

End of story—or so you think.

Until the ad airs.

And the entire world explodes.

You’re not even the first person to see it. You wake up to six missed calls from Kaminari, seventeen texts in a group chat with Amanai and Hanari, and three DMs from stylists you’ve only ever worked with once, all saying something along the lines of:

IS THAT BAKUGOU??? Please tell me that’s YOUR man. why didn’t you warn me???

You groggily pull up the video link with one eye open, barely processing the thumbnail—just muted greys and harsh lighting—and then hit play.

And then the world stops.

The screen fades in, and the first thing you see is concrete—cold and industrial, metal beams and stark shadows. The lighting is sharp and stylized, the kind of aesthetic that screams high-end minimalism, and then—

There he is.

Katsuki.

In nothing but tight black briefs, leaning against a concrete wall, one arm behind his head, the other resting on his thigh. His scars catch the light. His tan skin looks like it's been kissed by some god. His abs—hard and defined, with that perfect cut down his sides—flex slightly as he breathes. There’s sweat glistening faintly on his collarbone.

And his expression?

That look. The one he gives when he’s about to fight someone and knows he’s already won. That heavy-lidded, lazy gaze that screams dominance and confidence. His jaw is tight. His mouth is parted just slightly, teeth catching on the fabric of his own tank top as he lifts it with one hand, revealing the full line of his torso—slow and unbothered, like this means nothing to him.

You gasp. You physically clutch your phone like it might explode in your hands.

Is this a fucking fever dream?

The ad keeps going. Transitions shift—now he’s outside, in some open-air gym setup, hanging from a pull-up bar in white briefs, his body tense and glistening, thighs flexing as he hooks his legs around the metal, inverted and still steady. The camera pans slowly, sinfully, down the line of his waist, his back muscles moving with effortless control.

You are floored.

And then—then—he’s sprawled in a plush lounge chair, still in briefs, arms behind his head, legs spread in that arrogant, casual way that only he could pull off. He’s completely relaxed, like he doesn’t know the entire planet is watching this ad and forgetting how to breathe.

You drop your phone on the bed and bury your face in your hands.

“What the fuck,” you groan into your palms. Your heart is pounding. Your thighs press together on instinct.

Katsuki, your grumpy, camera-hating, blunt-as-hell boyfriend… just dropped the hottest underwear ad of the year. And you had no idea what he was shooting until now.

You scramble to your feet, pacing your bedroom, mouth still open, heart pounding in your chest like war drums.

Your phone still lies face down on the bed, but you’re pacing like the floor might cave in. Your heart is slamming against your ribs, your body thrumming with something between disbelief and desperate, carnal desire. There’s a burn low in your stomach. A buzzing heat behind your eyes.

Because the ad isn’t done. It gets worse—so much worse.

The music shifts, something darker now, heavier—bass rolling like thunder. And then the screen cuts to him again. Katsuki. In jeans this time.

Low-rise. Washed-out. Loose around the thighs but slung criminally low on his hips.

And those goddamn white briefs are peeking out above the waistband like it was staged in a dream. His hand glides lazily over his stomach, fingers tracing the defined V of his hips, brushing right past the thick trail of hair under his navel. He stops there—lingers there—just barely grazing the hem of the briefs before his thumb tucks in, teasing the edge. His gaze flicks to the camera.

And he smirks.

Not his usual cocky grin, no. This one’s lazy. Lopsided. Something slow and dangerous that makes your knees buckle. Like he knows what he’s doing. Like he planned this moment for you and you alone.

You gasp. You clutch your chest. "Oh my God."

And then—as if that wasn’t enough—the music picks up and the scenes start layering: cuts of him against the concrete, muscles flexing under the strain of his pose; transitions to the gym, his thighs clenching, his expression loose with exertion; cuts to that plush chair, where he’s lounging like sin incarnate, and finally, back to the jeans, with his hand still teasing that waistband.

It’s not an ad anymore. It’s a weapon. A visual threat. A public sex dream.

You stand there, completely dumbfounded, eyes wide and mouth parted, blinking like you’ve been smacked upside the head with a wet towel.

And the comments?

Oh. The comments.

@takxmi291_: raw. next question. @abersiw.3: Good lord what a great day to be alive. @BIGPAPA.EJI: FLASH US ‼️‼️‼️ @numbber1.lemilionnn: giggling at 3am @angelzkiss: GOOD GOD IM GIDJDJFNNFHDNDNDJDNCN🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 @hyurhio008: YEP IM GETTING HIM PREGNANT @Cello_Zumazz: damn now my screen's all sticky :/ @bpxrndeku: I FEEL LIKE A MAN IN THE 1800S SEEING AN ANKLE FOR THE FIRST TIME. @lennysqqie: don’t be scared. take em off. @dynazaddy98: i wanna GAGGGG on that huge COCK— @stareandfanfic: look at em TITS AWOOGAAAA

You can’t even think. You’re vibrating. Your brain is gone. You’re standing there, still in pajamas, while your very private, very grouchy, very hot boyfriend just broke the Internet in his underwear.

You can’t let this slide.

So you bide your time. You wait until he’s home from patrol—freshly showered, hair damp and messy, wearing his black hoodie and sweatpants that clings to him a little too well. He’s sitting at the kitchen table now, chopsticks in one hand, steam rising from the shabu shabu you made. His brow is furrowed as he eats, and he's grumbling about how some new sidekick forgot to file a report properly.

You sit across from him with your phone in hand, not saying anything.

And then, casually, you clear your throat and say in a bright voice:

“Explosively warm, and snug. Dynamight wears the new Iconic Cotton Stretch. Now in stores.”

Katsuki freezes mid-bite.

His chopsticks pause, a slice of beef and mushroom still dangling, and you see it happen—the moment it registers. His shoulders stiffen. His jaw tightens. And then slowly, as if the food can save him, he stuffs it into his mouth.

You try not to laugh. You fail.

“What the hell, Katsuki?” you grin, voice breathless with amusement. “Why didn’t you tell me?! That ad launched three hours ago and I’ve seen your dick print more times than I’ve seen my own reflection today.”

He grunts. Doesn’t look at you.

“Honey, you looked insanely good. Like… I’m not even sure it was legal.” You lean forward over the table, voice dropping slightly. “You were so hot. And that grin?” You tap your phone. “That was cute, baby.”

His ears go bright red. A slow, creeping crimson that crawls up his neck to his cheeks.

He finally glances at you, scowling faintly. “S’just a stupid ad. Ain’t that important.”

“Oh, it’s important to me,” you murmur with a knowing smirk.

He huffs and looks away again, stuffing another bite in his mouth. But his jaw’s twitching. He’s so clearly flustered, you can barely take it. A tiny, pleased smile tugs at his lips even though he’s fighting it with everything he has.

And you realize—this is why he didn’t tell you. Because deep down, Katsuki knew. He knew how hot he looked, how big the reaction would be, how much people would thirst over it.

But more than anything, he knew you would look at him like this—like he hung the goddamn moon. And he wouldn’t know what to do with that.

“Sh’ddup,” he mutters under his breath, cheeks now fully flushed.

You grin like a wolf, biting your lip as you lean over the table, eyes glinting.

“No. I’m not gonna shut up. In fact, I’m gonna print out a poster. Hang it in the hallway. Right across from the bathroom.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growls—but it’s soft. There’s no heat behind it. Just embarrassment and affection and that little smirk he only wears when he’s happy in spite of himself.

And you?

You’re head over heels in love with this absolute menace of a man. Horny and obsessed and ready to make him flustered for the rest of the night.

Later, the apartment is warm, and quiet, the soft hum of the city alive behind the windows—but in here, it’s just you and him.

The scent of the shabu shabu still lingers faintly in the air, and the clinking of dishes is rhythmic, almost soothing. Katsuki stands at the sink, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, forearms slick and glistening. His hands are buried in a sink full of suds, scrubbing out the plates he insisted on washing since you cooked.

You’re perched on the counter next to him, legs swinging slightly, phone in hand, face lit up with mischief and fondness. The grin on your face is damn near criminal. You can’t help it—you’ve been giggling all night. Ever since the ad dropped, you’ve been glued to the internet, reading every unhinged, thirsty, downright feral comment about your boyfriend. And oh, they are so good.

Katsuki grumbles under his breath every time you so much as snort at your screen, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. Not really. Because he secretly loves the sound of your laugh—especially when it’s because of him, even if it makes him wanna throw himself into the damn sink.

You scroll through your phone, eyes twinkling, then grin wider. “Should I read you the comments next?”

He groans. “No.”

But you’re already doing it. “@yoqnoak24 says: i’m wet, ready, and stretched out to g—”

Before you can finish, a wet, soapy hand slaps gently but firmly against your face.

“Katsuki!” you squeal, laughing in full as the bubbles smear across your cheek and jaw, eyes crinkling with delight.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he growls through a grin of his own, already tugging you off the counter with one hand on your waist.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders instinctively as he leans in, pressing a messy, grinning kiss against your lips. It’s hot, breathless, teeth clicking together for a second before he pulls back just enough to murmur against your mouth, “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

You’re smiling so wide you can barely kiss him back properly, giggling like a teenager. “Probably fuck me stupid, since you’ve already got half the world begging for it.”

“Jesus fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the way his ears are burning where they brush your jaw. But he’s smiling. You can feel that too. It’s hidden, buried in the press of his mouth against your collarbone, but it’s there. That secret softness only you get.

“You’re the worst,” he mumbles.

“No,” you say, tugging gently at his hair as you press a kiss behind his ear. “I’m the best. I’m your number one fan.”

“Damn right you are.”

You laugh again, and he chuckles too—quiet, low, warm in your chest.

This. This is your life with him. This ridiculous, heart-melting mix of domesticity and chaos. You and him in your kitchen, covered in soap and laughter, still buzzing with the aftershocks of an ad he didn’t even want to do. You and him trading kisses like secrets, teasing and tugging, wrapped around each other like you’ve always belonged this way.

God, you love this man. More than anything.

And the best part?

He loves you back just as hard.

#esta’s drabble corner :p #[fashion killa]#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bnha #mha

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yungistiny · 5 months ago

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camgirl ═ chapter two

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter two: spike

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summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 3.5K

chapter one

chapter three

masterlist

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Mingi was sat in the cushioned and actually really fucking comfortable pink computer chair as y/n grabbed everything she needed for this particular livestream. His eyes never left her, taking in the toys she sat on her bed, the two white towels she went and grabbed from the bathroom.

He never looked away from her until his phone alerted him of a new message. Mingi was tempted to ignore it but grabbed his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and rolling his eyes at the name that stared back at him.

woo: are you with y/n??

mangi: I’m gonna kill you

woo: please you love me right now

mangi: 🖕

woo: 😣

woo: I got a bet with y/n on how long you’ll last 😌

mangi: how much?

woo: just $100

woo: she thinks you won’t make it before the first orgasm but I bet her you’ll go all the way hard and all 🫡

Mingi looked back at y/n as she pulled her thick pink comforter blanket off the bed, folding it and placing it on small pink cushioned stool she moved from the end of her bed to the side.

She thought he wouldn’t last?

Y/N turned around, why was she suddenly nervous under Mingi’s gaze? She’s literally had thousands of strangers watch her get herself off but the dark heat in her new cameraman’s eyes flustered her. “You ready?”

Mingi removed his glasses, sitting them on her desk behind him as he stood, grabbing the camera back up and turning it on. He connected to the streaming site she had showed him, ready to go live on her signal with already over 300 viewers waiting for it to start.

“When I give you this signal,” y/n gave him a come here movement with her index finger, the almond shaped black nail, a stark contrast to the pink, much like Mingi himself, very tempting. “zoom in, or if I use my middle finger that way, change the angle a bit.”

Mingi darted his pierced tongue out, distracting y/n a brief moment as he wetted his lips. “Got it.” His voice was almost unrecognizable from how deep it had gotten and y/n had to pretend like it wasn’t him the cause of the arousal slick wetting her underwear.

“Just a second..” She sat atop her bed, legs crisscrossed and Mingi briefly caught the glimpse of the wetness soaking through her pink Calvin Kleins. He bit his lip to keep from smirking. “Ok, start it.” Y/N looked so innocent with her hands placed in her lap and all the pink and fuck Mingi wanted to ruin her and he didn’t care how many watched.

The second they went live, Mingi had to get a hold of himself because he knows she was looking into the camera but the smirk she sent directly towards it, towards him, he could already feel his dick twitch.

He watched her read comments that viewers were leaving from the stream on her phone, she did that for a few minutes before sitting the phone down and pulling herself up onto her knees.

Mingi followed her movements, zooming in as she reached for the pink silicon dildo she had decided to get out for this stream. It wasn’t big but it also wasn’t too small and he briefly wondered if she could take him? One thing Mingi would always be cocky about is having a big dick.

And he was certainly bigger than the dildos and vibrators he’d seen in her cabinet.

Mingi glanced back towards the computer monitor where the livestream was also being displayed, the views already growing over a thousand quickly, the chat and comments section spammed by all the horny anonymous fans and viewers.

“I feel like today you all deserve to be teased.” Her voice was so dominant when she said it, so sultry and hot that Mingi knew this was gonna be a difficult situation to keep his cool. Though he had no control over his dick getting hard. “I have a new cameraman….” Her lustfull gaze stared right at him, smirk growing as the viewers spammed even more comments at the mention of Mingi being there too. “and I want to see how long he can last.”

Fuck. Mingi clenched his jaw and followed her with the camera as she slowly removed her shirt, a pink lace bra kept her breast hidden still but Mingi was already hard as hell and he didn’t care if she noticed the prominent bulge in his baggy jeans or not.

Y/N reached for the small pink vibrator, something she always used during her streams, it connecting with the streaming site so viewers who paid a little extra could control the settings however they wanted. She held it by the long little tail, never breaking eye contact with Mingi. “What do you all think…” she bit her lip, looking directly into the camera. “should I play with him?” She giggled, feigning innocence. “Maybe next time?”

Next time? What the fuck did she mean play with him? Mingi watched her pull her Calvin Kleins off, feeling as if he were being tortured as she gave him the signal to zoom into her naked, bare, soaking wet cunt. He had to bite back a deep moan at the sight of her leaning back, spreading her legs open and pushing the small pink vibrator inside of her, the little pink tail the only part left visible.

It took everything in him for Mingi to not just join her in the livestream right then and there at the sound of the moan that left her.

“Spike..” it took Mingi a long moment to realize y/n was talking to him, masking his real name with a false one that had him curious as to why Spike? He didn’t speak, looking at her with an arched brow. “Get on your knees.”

What? Mingi furrowed his brows together as y/n gave him a commanding stare. “Now.”

Fuck.

Did she act like this with the others? Did she do this to Wooyoung? Mingi steadied the camera, kneeling to one knee first then the other, never breaking eye contact with y/n as he went. “Come here.” She gave him that come here movement with her finger but it was certainly not a signal to zoom in.

Mingi slid across the carpeted floor, his jeans snagging slightly before he stopped right directly in front of y/n at the foot of her bed.

“Do you want to help me?” She held a teasing tone but her question was meant to ask for his consent and Mingi was nodding so quickly he almost gave himself a head rush.

Mingi was sure this wasn’t part of the actual job but shit, at this point he’d work for free. “Show me your hand.” Y/N bit her lip as he held up his free hand to her, his right hand that had a chunky metal ring on the index, middle finger and thumb. And fuck they were long.

“Go ahead,” She smiled sweetly down at him and Mingi was so hard, almost achingly so, as he glanced down towards her aching cunt right in front of him. “while I see what our viewers are saying.” Y/N picked her phone up to start scrolling and occasionally reading out comments.

Mingi looked at the camera in his other hand and frowned for a second before reaching his long arm out to place the camera on top of the blanket on the little cushioned pink stool.

“Fuck…” Y/N gasped, eyes wide as Mingi dived in, tongue already flat against her clit, his piercing a new sensation she had never experienced before as it added an extra little tickling sensation that was causing that familiar tightness and heat to pool in her lower abdomen.

Mingi didn’t give a shit who saw him. Who was witnessing him eat her like a starved man. Because it was him having her suddenly a moaning mess. He was practically growling into her as he tasted everything he could. And fuck he was already becoming completely pussy drunk.

Y/N threaded a hand into his hair, grinding herself against him, the camera angled just perfectly on them. The views grew, the comments spammed madly, all demanding more of Spike.

“Mi…. Spike…” y/n felt her legs wrap around him, shaking slightly as he sucked her clit into his mouth, reaching a hand up as multiple donations came through sending the little pink vibrator on a constant high as Mingi grasped the tail, thrusting it into her deeper, pulling it back out only to do it again.

“I’m… fuck…” y/n couldn’t even form anything remotely coherent, her walls clenching around the vibrator and an actual scream leaving her, mumbling into a whimpering moan as she came the second Mingi thrusted the vibrator against her g spot.

Mingi pulled his head back, smirking when he snatched the vibrator from her, y/n gripping his hair hard as she rode out her orgasm.

But he wasn’t done and y/n certainly wasn’t reading comments as Mingi stood up, flipping her over and pulling her up against him, back to his chest as Mingi lifted her, facing them directly towards the camera.

Mingi kept most his face hidden in the crook of her neck, one sharp eye gazing into the camera as he spoke. “I’m not done helping you yet.”

Y/N knew fucked dumb already because the livestream was the last thing on her mind when Mingi’s arm wrapped around her and his hand cupped her before sinking two of his long thick fingers into her, curving them and poking at that spongey spot that had her moaning again, head thrown back against his chest and whimpering when she felt his thumb start rubbing at her slightly overstimulated clit.

Was she fucking crying? She knew she was being loud because she could hear herself though it sounded as if she were hearing under water.

And then she was coming again, definitely whimpering and crying from the high of it as Mingi fucked her through it with his fingers. Y/N gripping at his arm wrapped around her, nails digging into him as she shook and started squirting on her carpeted floor and all over Mingi’s hand, some of it even spraying the camera lens.

And now she owed Wooyoung money but she didn’t care because it had been a while since anyone else made her come and having Mingi have her like that in front of who knows how many viewers had y/n on an adrenaline high.

She’d never had anyone else with her like that during a stream. Y/N didn’t really think Mingi would do anything when she teased him but now she could kiss Wooyoung for sending him to her.

Mingi waited until she relaxed in his hold, sitting her back down on the edge of her bed as he walked over to pick the camera back up, sucking his fingers clean and snatching one of the towels y/n had gotten in case of a mess to wipe the lens off.

Y/N looked into the camera, the stream letting everyone see her dazed and fucked out expression and Mingi was smirking, his tongue poking out as he waited for her to continue.

He looked back at the computer and his eyes widened at the views. Over 5000 and counting. 5000 people just watched him make a mess of y/n and he briefly wondered if anyone he knew was watching too….

Y/N reached for her forgotten phone where it lay beside the little pink vibrator Mingi pulled out of her.

The views were a new high for her, the comments begging for more of Mingi, or Spike. Donations were plenty and y/n knew then that Mingi was about to become a permanent fixture in her streams.

Mingi was surprised and shockingly a little disappointed when y/n ended the stream after promising everyone that Spike would be back.

“Well,” Y/N grabbed one of the towels wiping herself dry before pulling her Calvin Kleins back on, followed by her shirt. “they love you.”

Mingi sat the camera back on the desk, grabbing his glasses. “I didn’t like….” He pushed the black rimmed frames back up the bridge of his nose. “overstep anything, did I?” He had certainly got blindsided by lust for a moment.

“No.” Y/N was swiping away at her phone, pulling up her contacts. “Took me off guard a little though.” She smiled at him and Mingi felt his heart flutter. What the fuck was that?

“What’s your number?”

They exchanged numbers and y/n also sent him his payment to his account.

“I’m doing another stream Friday,” Mingi followed behind her back downstairs, the city life now dark out. “same time, get here a little early though.” Y/N watched him slip his combat boots back on.

“Also….” She bit her bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth. “what do you think about a blowjob next time?” Her gaze lingered down to the prominent bulge in his jeans.

Her question had Mingi freeze with his hand on the doorknob. “What?” She wanted to give him head? She wanted to take him right in front of everyone? “You sure you want everyone to see how much of a mess I’ll make you?”

Mingi grinned at her, opening the door, biting back a smirk at the way y/n stood speechless behind him.

“See you Friday.”

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It was getting colder out, his long sleeved shirt not doing much for Mingi against the chilly night wind as he stared down at the atm receipt in his hand.

With the money his mom sent him and what he had just made from helping y/n, 1.2 million won sat in his account. Mingi grinned, the broody and moping mood he had been in now gone. He sent his mom back the money she had given him earlier that day and went to his weed man’s contact.

Johnny Suh had been Mingi’s dealer since freshman year of college. He lived only a couple of blocks from Mingi’s own apartment building. He had just gotten back to his side of the city after leaving y/n and really needed a blunt. He had smoked all his stash earlier.

Johnny let the call ring four times before he answered it. “Well, well, well…” he sounded amused, a bit teasing. “I’m assuming you’re coming over? How much?”

Mingi told him what he needed, ending the call and shoved his phone into his pocket and starting the walk over, just passing the convenience store Wooyoung worked at, gasping when someone snatched him pulling him inside.

“What the fuck?” Mingi glared at Wooyoung as he turned the stores open sign off, staring at Mingi in shock. “I should be asking you that!”

Wooyoung was grinning crazy at him, giggling. “That was the best stream y/n has ever done!”

“You watched it?” Mingi shoved Wooyoung off of him. “Of course I did! I had to make sure I won the bet.” He smirked at Mingi, loving the fact he had been right. He knew if there was one person that could match y/n freak, it would certainly be Song Mingi.

“You were the one that said I’d be perfect for the job.” Mingi was giving him that crooked grin of his, Wooyoung eyeing his hand as Mingi fixed his glasses. The same hand and fingers that deliciously had y/n fucked out only a little time ago.

“Are you going back?” Wooyoung saw the way y/n gaze had watched Mingi in the stream, saw the want and need in her eyes. “Friday.” Mingi answered, moving past Wooyoung to grab some munchie food for later while he was there.

“Y/N never let anyone join her before like that.” Wooyoung followed him around the store as Mingi picked up numerous ramen, some chips and a few sodas. “She usually puts a rule down beforehand.”

Mingi dropped all his stuff down on the counter, Wooyoung going back behind it to ring everything up. “Not once?” Now Mingi was curious, why was he the exception?

“Nope.” Wooyoung smirked as Mingi pulled his phone back out to tap to pay. “Well, I still have a hard on and I need to go pick up my weed…” it was true too. His bulge was no longer prominent after the taxi ride back but it was certainly still aching and all Mingi wanted right now was a blunt and a cold shower.

“Ok, ok,” Wooyoung was done messing with him, turning the open sign back on. “but don’t I at least get a thank you?”

Mingi flipped him off on his way out, grinning the entire time as he gripped the shopping bag with all his snacks inside.

Wooyoung pouted, feigning hurt.

“Rude.”

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“Well,” Johnny opened his apartment door, grinning at Mingi. “if it isn’t Spike!”

Mingi’s eyes widened when the name registered. “You watched it too?” Wooyoung was enough but Johnny too? They were never gonna stop pestering him about it. How many more of his friends were fans of y/n?

“I’d recognize your ass anywhere, Spike.” Johnny smirked at him as he let Mingi inside where Johnny’s best friend and roommate, Jaehyun, was sitting on the couch, bong in hand, smoke blowing from his mouth and coughing a little.

“Aye,” Jaehyun grinned at Mingi and Mingi already knew he saw it too. “Spike!”

Johnny laughed as he grabbed Mingi’s baggy, the weed concealed inside a solid neon green ziplock. “Jaehyun tried it once, didn’t last ten minutes.”

“Hey!” Jaehyun glared at Johnny. So Jaehyun had tried to help y/n before? Mingi assumed with Johnny being Wooyoung’s dealer too, that his friend must of been the one to send him. “It’s not my fault she’s hot!”

Mingi played with his tongue piercing, contemplating. Jaehyun was a very attractive guy with a voice to match so again, why was Mingi the exception for y/n to let him join her?

“So everyone knows it was me?” Mingi really didn’t care, something in him awakening and loving that y/n only let him join her. Loved that everyone knew how good he could get her off. How much of a mess he could make her.

“You’re the only 6ft emo we know with pink hair.” Johnny snorted as he sat down beside Jaehyun, grabbing the bong and repacking the bowl. “And you weren’t exactly discreet.”

Mingi stayed at Johnny’s long enough for Jaehyun to interrogate him on how he got y/n to let him join only to answer him with a shrug every time as he got in a few hits from the bong before shoving his bag of weed into the waistband of his underwear and leaving.

San was watching a cooking video on tiktok when Mingi got home, standing in the kitchen with a bowl of something red that Mingi did not want to know what it was. San was a horrible cook. Byeol hopped onto the kitchen counter, sniffing the red substance in the mixing bowl before hissing and jumping back down.

“What the hell are you cooking?” Mingi reached down to pat Byeol as she rubbed against his leg, sniffing him. “I’m trying to make kimchi.” San didn’t remove his gaze from his phone. Mingi snorted. “Good luck with that.” He went to his room, dropping his bag of snacks onto his bed before walking across the hall to the bathroom.

His shower started out cold, Mingi slowly easing it to warm after his hard on had subsided but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get y/n out of his head. Her moans. Her scent. Everything was invading him and refusing to leave him alone.

The shower head poured over him, steam enveloping the bathroom as Mingi gripped himself in his hand, closing his eyes and picturing y/n on her knees in those little knee high socks. It was only Tuesday and he wouldn’t see her again until Friday.

Mingi slowly started to stroke himself, his imagination giving him the perfect image of what he wanted Friday. Y/N had practically asked if she could give him head and he was certainly not going to deny her.

“Fuck…” he bit his bottom lip as his strokes grew faster, pants leaving him as he could only imagine how heavy he’d feel on her tongue. Ached to see how far she could take him. How long she could go while he fucked her mouth, make her gag and become a complete ruined mess.

He came just as San knocked on the door saying he was ordering Chinese instead after giving up on his attempt at kimchi.

Mingi couldn’t care less.

He just needed it to hurry up and be Friday already.

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permanent tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411

#mingi #song mingi #mingi smut #mingi x reader #mingi x y/n #ateez #ateez fic #ateez fanfic

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kxsagi · 3 months ago

Note

hellooo!! can i request rin itoshi oneshot. and like somebody wants him to sponsor calvin klein brief! ofc at first he doesn't want to do it but he had no other choice. and the reader (his gf) is the one who's gonna take pictures of him (who else). and if you're not uncomfortable with it add a scene where the reader stare at the bulge and he caught the reader staring. thank you, i love the way you write rin it's so *chef kiss*

“𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 (𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤)”

a/n: woah this request was spicy (also thank you so much!!!)

but rin itoshi in calvin kleins YESSS GAWDDD KANESHIRO PLSSSSSSS

(you were literally caught in 4K here… get it? lmao i’m so funny kxsagi pls stop)

(don't know art credits :((()

you’ve done this job a million times. professional photographer, high-end campaigns, editorial spreads, you’ve seen it all. bodies sculpted like statues, faces that belong in museums, models who strut in nothing but leather jackets and confidence.

but none of that prepared you for your boyfriend, rin itoshi, stepping onto your set in only a pair of black calvin klein briefs.

no shirt. no socks. no shame.

just six feet of toned, impossibly built soccer star muscles and the most unreadable expression you’ve ever seen because he doesn't want to be here.

he doesn't look nervous. doesn’t look flustered. just folds his arms across his chest as if he should be the one judging you.

“ready?” he asks, voice flat, eyes already trained on the lens.

you nod dumbly, forgetting to actually pick up your camera.

“yeah,” you croak, though your brain is currently out of order. you watch the stark lighting catch along the lines of his abs, the dip of his hip bones, the taut stretch of the waistband hugging him so low on the hips it should be a crime.

you've shot shirtless athletes before. but this? this is a whole war on your professionalism.

rin shifts slightly, hands dropping to his sides. the briefs do not shift with modesty. they shift with intent.

your eyes drop instinctively. and then freeze.

oh.

oh, that’s what we’re working with.

your brain goes quiet. so does the set.

you forget what aperture is. or how to breathe.

“you’re staring,” rin says, flat as ever.

you jolt like you’ve been caught stealing state secrets.

“i-i’m not– i mean, yes, but, professionally.”

he blinks. slowly. “… professionally staring at my dick?”

“no! i mean– yes?! but not like that– okay, just– can you stop being built like a greek god for five seconds so i can do my job?!”

he tilts his head. “not my fault you can’t focus.”

his tone is calm, but you swear there’s something flickering in his eyes. amusement? smugness? danger?

you finally lift the camera, trying not to scream into it.

click.

rin doesn’t pose dramatically, he doesn’t need to. his entire existence is a pose. strong arms at his sides, legs slightly apart, torso angled just enough to flex muscle and highlight the v-line carved by genetics and probably a billion crunches.

and damn it all, he’s still looking directly at you, like he can hear your every sinful thought echoing between your ears.

click.

you get a few decent shots in. enough to prove you’re trying to be normal.

but then rin stretches his arms behind his head, muscles tightening, abs rippling, briefs dipping just slightly lower with the motion…

and your finger slips off the shutter.

you just stop. cold.

camera mid-air. jaw somewhere on the studio floor.

“…”

you blink at the screen.

“you okay?” rin asks.

you open your mouth.

no sound comes out.

you try again.

“… you’re huge,” you blurt, before your brain throws the emergency brake.

oh my gosh, you did not just say that.

rin doesn’t even blink.

“… so you’ve noticed.”

you want to dropkick yourself into the sun.

“i meant, like– your presence. very… commanding. intimidating. tall!” you laugh nervously, sweating bullets. “definitely not referring to the… uh… yeah. okay.”

he steps toward you slowly, one bare foot after the other, like a lion who knows the prey isn’t getting away.

you don’t move. can’t move.

he stops right in front of you, close enough to smell like clean skin and cedarwood, close enough that the only thing between you and disaster is a camera you suddenly forgot how to use.

“camera,” he says calmly, nodding toward it. “you gonna use it, or keep drooling?”

you fumble it upright with trembling hands. “right. yes. using. working. definitely not drooling.”

he hums low in his throat and steps back again, turning toward the light, letting the shadows frame his sharp jaw and collarbone like a sculpture.

you finally take a picture that isn’t blurry.

barely.

halfway through the shoot, someone offers him a leather jacket as a prop. he shrugs it on, still shirtless, still in briefs, and you swear calvin klein’s stock price just shot up 20%.

“we’ve got it,” you mumble after a while, cheeks sore from holding in expressions you can’t show on a professional set. “we’re good.”

rin doesn’t move right away. he just looks at you, again. quiet, calculating.

“you’re not used to being flustered on set,” he says.

you freeze. “… excuse me?”

“you’re good at your job. confident. clear direction.” he shrugs. “but you couldn’t even hold your camera straight today.”

you want to melt into the floor.

“i… look, to be fair, you showed up in underwear and ruined my life.”

he does smirk then. just a tiny twitch of the lips.

“so next time,” he says, turning as a staff member brings him a robe, “i’ll show up in jeans. wouldn’t want to distract you.”

“next time?” you blink.

he pauses. glances at you over his shoulder. “if there is one.”

and with that, he disappears behind the curtain.

you stand there, camera in your hand, heart in your throat, and morals in absolute shambles.

rin itoshi might be a menace.

but oh my, you hope there is a next time.

#was blushing while writing and editing this help #this sounds more like you guys are strangers lol sorry #but i hope it still fits with the plot #i would melt before hitting click on the camera #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #rin itoshi blue lock #itoshi rin blue lock #rin blue lock #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #not safe for work (but this is work)

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venusincleo · 8 months ago

Text

Time. ii.

Part One [i].

Warnings: MDNI • Explicit • Aaron Pierre x Black!Reader, teasing, edging, tiny bit of impact play, fingering (fem receiving), p in v, creampie, DDLG kink/BDSM (bondage), self!insert, omniscient POV and more...

Summary: You and Aaron have been in a long distance relationship for three months, as you reside in your cozy home in Seattle, and he stays in Los Angeles for work. Only ever having a quick day trip for quality time between your busy schedules, a long awaited break comes up on both of your calendars; three days and two nights at the end of a long week. Finally having the opportunity to see each other face to face, you enjoy a weekend of deeper, more intimate moments.

Word Count: 4.8k❣

A/N: I got a couple other ideas for this mini series in the tuck... so tell me how you like Part Two 🤭🤍

• • •

In the deep of the night, a single sliver of champagne light glows from the cracked bathroom door adjacent to your bed. As your eyes flutter all the way open at the sight of such a stark contrast to your dark bedroom, a lingering cool fills the empty space beside you.

You glance at this lack, seeing disheveled sheets and you rub the sleep from your eyes to recount the events of the night that led you to such a deep slumber. Almost instantly, you are reminded of your short session with Aaron from the night before. He had you screaming to the top of your lungs with how nastily he was devouring your pussy, and you came twice, from just his mouth and his fingers.

Now you lay here alone as he seemingly freshened up, his last words of the night filling your mind.

“Imma let you rest, but we’re not done, princess.”

As his return to your bed took longer than you thought it would, you reached to your bedside table to turn on your lamp. In the dim glow of the golden light, you tap the middle of your phone screen to be met with your favorite picture of yourself. Once blue light pushed through the space surrounding your small device, you navigated to the control center to adjust your brightness before you looked at the time. 1:33.

Shuffling sounds echo through the bathroom and then, the light switch clicks off. Soon the gorgeous statue of a man that you called yours was stepping back into the room and a smile played at your lips.

“Hi beautiful.” His tone is husky due to him catching some z’s right beside you, and heat rises in your face at the sound.

“Hi, Papa.” A hum strums from the depth of his throat as he looks at your naked body, barely shielded by the covers that you’ve since pushed off of you. You take this time to examine his body as well, your eyes traveling down his honey-toned athletic build. Following his v-cut and happy trail your eyes navigate all the way down to the black fabric of his Calvin Klein briefs. Sooo fine.

Aaron watches your eyes as they trail back up to his, and a grin tugs at the edge of his lips.

“Like what you see, princess?” He already knew the answer to that.

“Yes.”

“Then come here.” You quickly process your prompted movements, and your feet carry you out of bed and in front of his tall frame. One of his hands reaches down for yours, and brings it to his peck, his warmth undeniably comforting yet taunting to your core.

He guides his hand to all the places your eyes just scanned, and then he glares into your eyes with those threatening leo orbs.

“Below the waist is off limits, understand?” Your eyes damn near glow with the boundary he sets, as you realize you have your own little power over him. A smug grin raises your cheeks, and you bat your pretty eyelashes in his direction.

“Yes, sir.” Sensing the inkling of sass in your silken tone, Aaron bites his lip as he removes his hold on your hand to allow you free reign. Eye contact still strong, you run your hands over his pecks yet again, slower this time, as you let your manicured fingertips graze his nipples just lightly.

Your palms are heated now, as they run along his nice skin, rippling over his hard abs and up the side of his torso.

Four challenging eyes peer between each other, as you both pondered on what you would do next. As your hands explore the sensitive skin of his neck and then the back of his head, Aaron smiles at you playing one of the only cards you had so soon. But you would learn more of his spots this weekend, you were sure of it.

Him knowing what you would do didn’t change the effect it had on him though, and his breath hitched in his throat as your hands rubbed the nape of his neck in circles. Your other hand palpates his toned abdomen as you hear his stuttered breathing continue.

Suddenly, his strong hands grasp onto your ass, pulling you into his body with the force at which he squeezes at your flesh. A breathy moan leaves your lips as your eyebrows furrow at the sensation of his firm grip, eyes still connected. Now that he’s handling you just the way you like, Aaron can tell you were more than ready for what he had to give you.

With his hungry, lasting kiss to your full lips, you can feel your nectar easing from your center, and slowly beginning to drip down your thigh. You suck at Aaron’s bottom lip as he moans lightly at the unexpected feeling, allowing you to go on as you pleased. Once you returned to his lips for a passionate lip-lock, he appeased you and raised his hands to deliver a synced smack to both of your ass cheeks. A gasp leaves your lips at the divine sting that met your thick flesh and Aaron looks at you knowingly.

“Stay right here.”

His hands leave you cooling against the room’s lax temperature, your patience beginning to run thin as the sting he left radiates still. Soft thuds of his feet against your hardwood floors carry him to your dresser where his bag is still open with easy access to his satin bag of toys. He pulls a thick leather collar from the bag and glances over to your nightstand to see that he left the matching wrist cuffs near your bed.

You watch intently as he takes his time to gather his toys for you, your body on fire from head to toe at the thought of him touching you again. You nearly reach for your pearl to soothe its throbbing but you remember your rule, and your hands tremble with anticipation. Your mind is simply no help, as you try and predict what else will happen tonight, visions of where else Aaron hasn’t touched yet flash behind your eyes. A gloss sets over your sight, and your breath grows short in your waiting.

Aaron places the collar over his hand momentarily as he walks over to you with the leather cuffs, quickly unbuckling them to make way for your empty wrists. Just as your head begins to lighten, your breathing grows slow and shallow. Recognizing the gloss of your eyes, he realizes that you have begun floating off into subspace and he reaches his hand to your face to bring you right back down.

“Not yet, baby. Look at me.” His thumb caresses your cheek as your searching eyes meet his, focusing on his intense glare. His eyes drop to your lips momentarily, and then he grabs both of your hands and places them in front of your belly.

“I need you to breathe, three seconds in, three seconds out. Let me hear you.” Your shoulders rise and fall gently as you bring air in through your nose. One…two…three. And then exhale. One…two…three.

Once he witnesses you take three steady, deep breaths, he starts to wrap the cuffs around one wrist at a time, mindful of the tightness of the first one so that the restraint would be balanced. After both cuffs are on, he glanced his softened eyes into yours, as he opened the collar and put it around your neck. As he puts the end of the strap through the buckle, he leans down and kisses your cheek, and then, he speaks.

“Tell me when to stop.” Slowly but surely, he pulls the strap further through the buckle, and you can feel the pressure on your throat heighten. Your breath gets caught on the second to last notch of the strap, and your fingers press into the leather that is cuffed around your wrists.

“Stop.” You whimper, alerting Aaron of which hole to feed the buckle through. He pulls the strap from the buckle just slightly, and feeds the prong through the third to last hole, ensuring your comfort and then, he reaches a hand up to your face yet again.

Another light thumb to your plush skin sends feather light tingles to your temple, and your eyes flutter in levity.

“Your hands stay above your head unless I tell you to move, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, he takes his hand from your face, and hooks his forefinger around the chain of your cuffs, pushing you backward until you bump into your bed. Unyielding, he pushes you further until your legs give way to the firm mattress and you fall back into the plush bedding atop it.

Almost instantly, you obey his instruction and move your restricted hands to the space above your head, watching for what Aaron had in store. His sure hands lift your legs slightly, bending them on either side of your hips as he sees the glistening treasure between your plump thighs. He sends a lick over his full bottom lip, remembering how he lapped you up just hours ago. Though he wasn’t going to make the mistake of getting too wrapped up in the indulgence that seeped from your yearning, he did want a taste.

Bringing a finger to the trail of your essence that dripped down your thigh, he collected just a small sample, bringing it to his tongue to savor. A moan left his lips at the sweet, natural taste and he could feel his dick growing in his briefs.

“You taste so fucking good, baby.” He teasingly sucked the rest of you from his own skin, and then he stepped back, taking in the sight of your bare body, all prepped and exposed for his pleasure.

“Hmm.” He hums in observation of the natural lubrication that dripped from you still.

“You know what I learned about you, yesterday?”

Aaron’s deep English accent taunts you ever-so-lightly. A burning deep in your core doesn’t allow you to look away from him as he stands at the edge of your bed, hands at his sides. Cool air circulates around your heated, throbbing clit, clinging to the slick that has eased from your opening.

His shadowed eyes turn an oceanic blue as he steps forward and sets a knee beside your body, leaning down just slightly. You see his hand go for your sensitive folds and your eyes begin to flutter closed at the thought of him touching you. Feeling you up, inside and out, rubbing your climax out of you.

A moan leaves your lips as you feel the heat radiating from his palm and just as you exhale the deep breath that previously filled your lungs, you realize that he isn’t even touching you. Your glossy brown eyes open to meet the deliberate man before them as your fingers grip onto the leather cuffs along your wrists. Fuck.

Aaron’s eyes are low with desire as he watches you squirm against your bedding at just the thought of contact. A pointed grin of his closed lips matched with his shadowy orbs made his gaze so tantalizing. And he knew it.

“Mhm.” He hums cockily, moving his hand from where it was still hovering over you. Getting back off of your bed, he steps back to view you clearer, glazed over eyes planning his next moves.

“You like when I play in this pretty pussy, huh?” In small, delicate touches, his knuckles caress your thighs menacingly close to your quivering sensitivity, causing a whimpering breath to leave your lips. No words could come to the surface of your mind as you held on to the last pieces of it you had left.

He liked to see you this way; barely able to grasp a thought, let alone speak it. It was the whole point of his plan: to fuck you senseless in every sense of the word.

Determined to continue, he moved his hands from your body for a moment, and walked around the side of your bed. A large hand reached to the dangling handle of the leash attached to your collar, and held it loosely as he crouched down beside you. You weren’t sure of what was next, so you just looked in front of you, waiting for some direction.

“Look at me, princess.”

You turn your head toward him willfully, your lowered eyes trailing from his large lips to the windows of his soul. Every inch of him was so beautiful it was hard for you to keep focus.

With a taut, yet intentional hold on your leash, Aaron pulls you closer to him, until you are both just hairs away from the other’s lips. He leans in as if he is about to kiss you, but his mouth just sits atop yours in a way that would be awkward if you weren’t already so desperate to feel the contact.

“You didn’t answer me, baby-girl. And I don’t like repeating myself.” He breaths against you, as he tugs on your collar. As you lick over your lips, you breathe him in through your nose.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what, baby? I need to hear you say it.” Though you are too close to him to see his full smile, you can feel his lips raise against yours and you shiver at his control.

“Yes, I like when you play in this pretty pussy, Papa.” Aaron takes a deep breath, as he bites his lip at the sight of yours. Plump, perfectly two-toned, ready for him.

“Good girl.” His free hand guides your chin down so that he can kiss you properly, a short, triumphant battle of his lips against yours. Then, his hand trails down your neck, brushes past one of your nipples and lovingly caresses your belly before it lands below your hips at the spot you needed him most.

Lax, only for a moment on his overarching teasing session, Aaron strokes your clit with his middle and ring fingers, effectively tending to the ache you had begun to feel. A certain pulling, needing, yearning begins at your core, and though he had just started, you could feel your climax rolling in quick.

“Oh, shit.” You moan, your chest heaving up and down as the pleasure is fast-tracked through every vein, in every limb of your body. As Aaron continues stroking his thick fingers through your enhanced moisture, your eyebrows turn upward at the overwhelm, your thighs snapping shut instinctively.

He didn’t miss a beat of anything your body was saying. His intent glare left the space between your thighs, which was covered now, to meet your pretty little love-face.

“I need you to open your legs, baby.” He coached you gently, being sure to keep his cool. It was clear between the two of you that this was your first time exploring a relationship like this and he didn’t want to punish you until you knew exactly what you were doing, and the consequences that your actions came with.

Panting breaths sound from your lips as you try to gather yourself, opening your legs in slow motion. The feeling of his fingers still on your pussy was enough to make you cum right now, but you stay as composed as you possibly can, wanting to hear him tell you that you could.

His fingers begin to circle your clit yet again, and this time you breathe deeply through this feeling, your back naturally arching as he took you all the way to your oblivion. Strategically, Aaron begins to let go of the leash, kissing down your chest and swirling his warm tongue along the sensitive skin as you try to keep it together. Your eyes roll back as full, melodic moans fly from your mouth at his efforts. Nothing has ever felt as good as his hands and tongue on you. Nothing.

“Oh my Goddd…” You call out, your body beginning to convulse with your imminent waterfall. Just as quickly as you had made it to the edge, Aaron’s soft voice was threatening you to step back from it.

“Mnh, mnh. You better not cum, hold that shit Y/N.” As he stopped his tender hand from stroking against your folds, you let out a weary breath. Slow, torturous kisses played at your breast that was closest to his lips, and as he laid his flat tongue against your nipple, you bit at your bottom lip. That motherfucker.

“Hm’my God, Papa.” You purr, a moan lacing your lips as he begins to suck at your plush bosom. Feeling your pulsating clit along his fingers, Aaron lightens his hand on you, teasing an airy finger along the silhouette of your plump pussy lips. Popping your boob out of his mouth, he looks into your eyes with nothing but desire.

“Mmh,” He gravels in his low rasp. “You ready for this dick, princess?”

You nod your head quickly, though you know he wants words, but when you open your lips to answer, all you can give is a trembling moan. With a dark laugh, his large fingers are back at your clit, rubbing you to your end. A drawn out moan fills the air around you as you close your eyes, taking in the continued dopamine hit.

Like clockwork, your body begins chasing that zenith that you were told not to go towards, and your hips grind into the fingers of the man pleasing you. The extra friction with his steadily moving fingers causes you to turn your head to the side, hiding your blissful face with your arm. This time, even with every whimper and every fractal of breath, Aaron continues to caress your burning core, watching your torso as your lungs expand with air, and then contract on your release.

“That’s right, cum for Papa.” He coaxed, not breaking the rhythm he had as fingers grew stickier with your natural elixir. Once you got your permission, it was like your body pulled from reservoirs and released every ounce you could muster. Your legs trembled as you cried out for more? Less? You didn’t really know. Everything was so blurry now, your eyes barely open as you continued to drip your juices all on Aaron’s willing hand.

His hand coated in your clear honey now, he stroked your clit a few more times, and then, he stood from where he had crouched beside your bed. Looking down at just how spent you were, he gives you a moment of breath as he walks around your mattress, making sure to grab a pillow as he makes his way to meet your hips.

Silently, he sat the pillow beside you, and used his free hand to hook a thumb into the side of his briefs. He pushed the dark fabric off of his hips slowly and stepped out of them when they circled his feet, letting his thick, long shaft make its introduction to the room. Just as you caught your breath, he brought his slick covered hand to his girth, stroking his dick with the lubrication of your essence.

With a soft, breathy moan at the sensation against his rock hard growth, he continued readying himself for what he was about to do. When your eyes finally flutter open after processing such a steep climax, you are met with the view of him stroking himself zealously. He had to be about 8 inches…maybe more? Definitely more.

“Oh, fuck.” You curse yourself for being so ready for it earlier. For a moment he makes note of your reaction, and a faint grin tugs at his lips as he watches your eyes follow his hand up and down his length. He frees his hand to handle you just a bit, turning you to your side so that he can position your pillow underneath your hips to match the height of his, his muscles flexing with the movement.

Once you are positioned perfectly for his intention, he steps closer to you and lays his warm shaft along your abdomen. A breath hitches in your throat at his size in comparison to you, and you tense just slightly though you are curious, and needy. A bad combination.

“No need to be nervous, baby-girl. You know I’m gonna take good care of you.” His hands trail up to your thighs, rubbing his thumbs along the plump flesh in an attempt to pull you back in. Aaron’s eyes soften as he watches your body calm under his touch, and he can’t help but bite his lip at the delight he felt in being able to do that for you. Creating and calming your storms.

“Use that safeword if you need to.” His voice is velvety in its depth, assuring you that he would only take tonight as far you wanted it to go. With lowered, adoring eyes, you nod your head as your center yearns to feel him now.

“Yes, sir.” You nearly whisper. A deep breath raises Aaron’s shoulders as he keeps his mind together despite the sounds you make for him. On his exhale, he trails his heavy hands up your thighs to meet the bend of your legs, holding you in place for the unforeseeable night.

Acute breaths sing through your lips as you await Aaron’s penetration. Angling himself at your wet entrance, he pushes forward, feeling your warmth envelop him until the give of your walls becomes unyielding.

“Ugh, fuck.” He moans heartily, a jump in his stomach alerting him of the effects of your juicy, wet pussy.

The pressure of him begging at a depth you hadn’t had in too long causes a certain levity to reach your legs and they begin trembling in his hold as you groan at the feeling. He just stays there though, stroking half of his length into your tightness, his dark eyes gazing at the way your slick covered his dick.

“So tight around me, baby.” He breathes out, his chest rising and falling slowly as he regulates himself, seeking a slower pace than what his body was agreeing to. Your wetness sounds around his thick shaft, his soft thrusts readying you for even more of his length.

As soon as you feel like you can take more, you try to control your moans so you can request what you need in your nicest voice possible.

“Deeper, Papa.” A moan follows your demand, and then your pussy squelches around his lovely thickness. “Please.”

Hesitantly, Aaron takes in your body’s reaction to him, and as he sees the true bliss your body is in, he fulfills your request, slowly though. As he goes just an inch or so deeper, he watches as you release a throaty moan, loving how he felt inside you. A couple more inches, a couple more pants at how he is filling you up so easily. And then as he gives you all of him, you clench your teeth over your bottom lip, your eyebrows upturned as you muffle a groan at the pressure.

He strokes slowly, trying to allow you to get used to him, but as he sees your face relax again, and your hips begin to rock into him just a little, he goes a bit faster. The heightened speed with his gentle, deep strokes was enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head yet again. The little pinch of pain at his size was driving you just a little wild.

“Ahhh, mmh.” You cried out, a moan reaching your lips as tears welled in your eyes at the many different sensations of the night. Aaron was steady breathing hard at the intensity of your tightness clamping around him, huffing out a husky moan here and there. He was definitely enjoying himself, but your soft cries had him worried he was going too deep too quickly. The last thing either of you needed was for him to damage something.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.” He squeezes at your thighs for stability as he feels a telling levity in his core. A silken moan is all you can muster at first, and then you look ahead of you at his piercing gaze.

“Mm, hurts…so good, Papa.” As if your words gave him permission to feel the full extent of his pleasure, his shoulders drop as he feels himself twitch within your walls. His plump pink lips part to release a hearty, drawn out moan and he continues stroking to your continued gratification.

“Ohh, shit.” He can only keep it together for a couple more steady strokes, then he gets a little sloppy as expletives fall from his lips in an attempt to hold on just a little more. Aaron could tell that it’s only a couple minutes, if that, until he releases his load, so he brings a thumb to your clit, rubbing softly to get you right where he is.

You squirm at the added pleasure, and soon, those tears that were glossing your eyes overflowed onto your temples as you threw your head back.

“Fuckkk!” You scream out, your eyebrows furrowed as Aaron digs every bit of this orgasm out of you. Every last stroke is accentuated with each of your breathy, succinct moans and his abdomen expands as he watches his honey-tan dick get coated in your glorious juices, and his trimmed pubic hair is decorated in the musky luster.

“Papa…” Your whisper is hoarse, as an uncontrollable wave of emotions comes over you. Your whole body moves in tandem with the breath that dances through your body, and then it exits through your lips, shakily.

“Go’ head and let it go, baby. I won’t stop until I get all of it.” Your chest warms at the accented vowels in his speech, and you heed his instruction, focusing on nothing else but him and your nut. Rendered speechless from the snug feeling of his thick shaft between your wetness, you begin to shake, your hips bucking forward as pure energy shoots through you.

“That’s it princess, give it to me.” Aaron coos, rubbing his thumbs in circles along your tender skin. Another breath in is all it takes for your love to come down, sticking to both of you like glue.

Unable to contain himself, Aaron shoots his warm load into you, his groans loud and gruff. He thrusts forward a few more times as he empties himself, made even more sensitive by your continued whimpering. When he finally pulls out, the combined evidence of both of your pleasure eases out of your opening, causing you to moan softly.

Breathing heavily as he gathers himself, he takes a moment to walk into your on-suite bathroom and begin a bath for you, using your Dr. Teals Lavender soap.

You lie there, the distant noise of the running water hitting the ceramic of the tub, lulling you to a calm space. You were already exhausted, and your legs were beginning to throb lightly at how long you’d had them in the same position.

Aaron walked back into your bedroom with a purposeful stride, stopping at the side of your bed to tend to your obvious needs. He takes the connecting chain between your leather cuffs and pulls you to sit up gently, undoing the collar first and setting it on the bedside table behind him. Then, he gives you a soft once over before he focuses on the small straps on your wrists, unbuckling them as quick as possible and setting them on the bedside table as well.

He sits down beside you and brings both hands to your face, wiping away the wet streams of tears that fell. Quietly, he places a soft-hearted kiss on both of your cheeks and then on your lips, his gentleness bringing a whole other level of comfort to your mind. As you pull away from the kiss, you wrap your weakened arms around his neck, and he nestles his face in yours as he litters your skin with barely-there kisses. His large hands expand across your back, and he rubs them along your skin, lovingly.

“You were such a good girl for me, baby.” He tilts his chin down to kiss your shoulder and you move your hands down to caress his shoulders and back, to which he hums in satisfaction. Eager, passionate kisses are delivered from his lips to yours as you rub his back, realizing that you had indeed found another spot of his.

“You’ ready for your bath?” He asks against your lips. You nod your head slowly, giving him a last peck until you are lifted in his strong hold. With a sigh of happiness in reminiscence of the whole night, you lay your head on his shoulder as you get ready to be taken care of by your gentle, dominant giant.

• • •

I do not condone any translations, replications or plagiarisms of my original work. Please do not repost as your own. Reblogs and comments/notes welcome. ♥︎

• • •

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superblysubpar · 1 year ago

Text

Everyone say thanks to @palmtreesx3 - I owe her and the request for the prompt "we're not really just best friends, are we?"(which isn't even used in this, but you get the picture) and The Breakfast Club for this fic 💛

Sincerely, Yours:

bestfriend!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: A movie night, a confession, an offer, your Calvin's bunched up on the floor of your best friend's BMW...and other places | my blog and this fic are 18+ Only, NSFW

the song: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds

words: about 6,600

warnings: "inexperienced" reader - in the form of never really making out/receiving none/not great foreplay | mentions of masturbating for comfort/ease before sex | SMUT (public - in the back of Steve's car - "caught" by Hopper when you're done / oral / fingering / steve cums in his levi's cause I'm a sucker for doing this to him, what can I say?)

He didn’t hear it at first, over the last remaining popping kernels.

“What?” He called around a mouthful of the snack he was already dipping into before it was finished.

In the other room, your attention was strictly on Judd Nelson, but you tried again, with no real power or meaning behind the words.

“Want me to pause it?”

“No,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes to no one but himself in the kitchen, “Don’t think you need to pause the movie I’ve seen three times…this week.”

“I’d love one, thanks!”

Steve snorted at your response that made no sense, it becoming apparent you weren’t listening to him at all. He should have known this was his fate after the way you acted when it was showing at The Hawk. You saw it with him, then Robin, then Nancy, and Steve put his foot down when you tried to drag him down there for a fourth time.

Now here he was, dumping the popcorn into a large bowl and watching it again. He didn’t even know what number of views he was on with you, which had him worried about your sanity, ‘cause you had to be watching it without him too.

Steve snagged two cans of Coke out of the fridge, assuming that’s what you’d love one of, and kicked the door closed with his heel.

He cradled the popcorn bowl against his side and held each of the cans with one hand and spread fingers, socked feet slipping on the hardwoods when he rounded the corner and saw you again.

Despite becoming incredibly bored by the movie, he did love watching you watch it, because somehow, it’s as if you’re watching it for the first time every time.

Your white tube socks were stark against the dark wood of the coffee table, bunching around your ankles that led him to the exposed skin of your calves. Which led to the way your blue skirt fanned over your thighs all nice, then the Queen shirt he got you for your birthday tucked into it, your thumb between your teeth with your eyebrows bunched together.

His best friend was really fucking pretty.

He almost said it out loud, which had him flopping onto the couch a little quickly, a little too heavy with his fall. Careless in his aim of the cushion and causing popcorn to spill from the bowl into your lap as his shoulder jostled yours.

Before he could even say sorry, you were grabbing the popcorn from your lap like it was the bowl, blissfully unaware it wasn’t, all the while making heart eyes at dreamy Bender.

“Thanks,” your appreciation came out heavy around the buttery and salty handful of the snack, the Coke you’d love sitting on the coffee table, already forgotten.

Steve hummed, his amused lips twitched in a losing fight against a smile at your captivated stare fixated on the screen. He suppressed an eye roll at the scene about to happen, as he swiped condensation off the cool metal of the can with his thumb.

He popped the drink open with a loud hiss, slurping his first sip - a habit you’d normally swat at his chest for - but you were too busy focusing on the words about to leave Judd’s mouth.

“Have you ever kissed a boy on the mouth?”

They sort of just tumbled out of Steve too, while his eyes glanced over the popcorn bowl, searching for a perfectly buttery piece. Which is why he didn’t see that he, your best friend, quoting the scene that has dialogue that got you all hot and bothered more than others, had your entire body freezing.

Steve tossed the acquired piece into the air, catching it in his mouth before he turned to face your profile. He found you with widened eyes, chest rising and falling a little too quickly, and he grinned.

“Have you ever been felt up…over the bra…under the blouse…your shoes off, hoping to god your parents don’t walk in?”

He’s simply delighted when he quotes the scene again and your body shifts, toes curling as you arched your neck away from. You kept your eyes on the screen, not giving him the satisfaction of eye contact because of what he was slowly, finally, realizing.

You were totally turned on and he couldn’t wait to tease you about it forever.

Steve leaned in closer, whispering along with the movie, “Over the panties…no bra…blouse unbuttoned…Calvin’s in a ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night?”

He’s gearing up, about to tease you, make some dumb boy comment about being hot for the school freak, when your quiet, barely a breath response had him pausing.

“No.”

Did you just say that out loud?!

Your head turned to find Steve blinking at you, creases in his forehead deepening beneath the stray locks of hair that fell forward.

Looks like you did.

“Ste-”

“What? What do you mean no?”

Your eyes closed when you both spoke at the same time, avoiding his curious stare. Hands roamed to your cheeks to hide your face as your head fell towards your knees.

As you shook your head no, your response gets muffled into your skirt. “I meant no.”

Steve’s hand nudged at your shoulder, prodding for clarity and for you to sit up. He failed to sound casual when his question came out incredulously.

“No, you’ve never kissed a guy?”

Your hands still covered your face as you fell back against the couch with a groan, “No, I..I have. I just…”

Steve pulled at your hands, his heart racing like it was overtime. All these years, he thought you’d been with all these other guys, his quiet jealousy seething under the surface of his tinged green from envy skin.

A breath, well, more of a huff really, slipped past your lips as your gaze dropped to the hands holding yours in your lap. “I’ve never really made out with anyone? Just like…a quick kiss or two. I don’t even know, can you even count it as kissing? Over before it starts kind of thing…”

The ramble trailed off, the room silent save for the movie still playing and the giant, loud, big, fat, zero response from Steve. You counted the threads in the carpet, the pieces of popcorn in the bowl as your skin grew hotter and hotter from the reveal he’s left just hanging there until he finally sputtered out a sorry excuse for one.

“Are you shitting me? We’re like…old.”

It doesn’t come out how he meant it to at all, he’s just shocked. He’s wincing almost immediately as the words reach his ears and brain, he knows how it sounded. He wishes he could take it back when your head whips up, hurt eyes meeting his as you ripped your hands away from him.

“Yeah, Steve,” you scoffed, jaw pulsing as your voice dripped with sarcasm that tried to cover the embarrassment, “I’m shitting you. Thought it’d be real funny to trick you into thinking your best friend is a loser who’s barely been kissed even though she’s so old.”

Pieces of popcorn fell from your lap as you stood, not letting yourself wonder where they came from as you stomped around the coffee table and towards his entryway.

“No, honey, wait-” he stumbled after you, spilling Coke down the front of his shirt as he did, “Shit.”

He patted at his chest like it’d do anything, shirt damp and sticking to his skin as he rounded the corner and found you lacing up your converse and shaking your head.

“It’s fine, Steve. I’m fine. I just don’t feel like talking about it. I’m gonna go home. Don’t worry about it. Girl stuff.”

“No, please, I didn’t mean-”

His words stopped just as abruptly as your body, when the front door swung open to reveal an out of nowhere downpour.

Your head fell as you started to ask, and he was already one step ahead of you.

“Can you please-”

“I’ll grab my keys.”

He was tripping up his stairs by the time he finished saying it. When he returned, it was in a clean shirt, jumping from the second to last step as he swirled the keys around his pointer finger.

The light blue fabric of his new shirt pulled at his shoulders that hunched when your glare remained unwavering despite the apologetic puppy dog eyes he had going for him.

You understood Steve didn’t mean for the comment to start the hole he was digging, and you knew you weren’t being fair for being so upset. It’s not like it was his fault, it was just your own insecurities manifesting in an anger towards him.

The nagging feeling of being some sort of freak who’d never made out while even the little twerps who clung to Steve were, while your best friend was Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High only grew stronger. The thought of Steve thinking you were some sort of weirdo for being old and never making out had something in your gut churning, had a familiar sting behind your eyes forming that you tried your best to ignore.

When Steve opened his mouth, about to try to make it all better again, you simply turned on your heel and stalked out into the rain. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at the way you stomped through it, pretending to not be drowned.

He quickly rushed behind you and got to the door first and swung it open, to which you rolled your eyes at, but slid in and got comfortable while he closed it for you nonetheless.

Unsure why he went and changed as he raced around the hood and shot into the driver’s seat, totally soaked through to his skin now. He cranked the heat before swiping fingers over his eyes, a large hand ran through his hair and pushed it back only for it to fall into his eyes again. Steve reached over with wet and shaking fingers at the same time you held yours up, both of you pausing and glancing at the other’s hands.

Steve was about to cup your fingers between his and blow warm breath onto them, just like he always did, but you ripped your hands down to your lap, and curled your body against the door, like you needed to be as far from him as you could be.

Your damp forehead touched the cool glass of the window as he sighed, “Please don’t-”

“Just take me home, please?”

The tone in which the words were said has something in his chest breaking. Like you were really fucking sad, embarassed, it was a real plea to just take you home and leave you alone.

So he wasn’t gonna do that, ‘cause he never was a great listener, so why start now?

He pretends though, he backs out of the driveway and heads in the direction of your apartment. He lets the radio fill the space and he turns the heat down when the air inside the car is heavier and warm despite your cold shoulder. The orange glow of the street lights slanted inside the car in a soothing rhythm as his wheels spun over the pavement until he was coming to the last four way stop before your apartment.

It unfolds just as he had planned, when he’s still stopped at the deserted intersection, as your breath fogged up the glass when you asked, “Harrington, you planning on leaving the intersection anytime soon?”

His bottom lip wobbled as his teeth continued to press into it, thick fingers rubbing at a scruff dotted jaw as he thought out loud in an attempt to sway you.

“Well, you see, I could go straight and take you home-” he started.

“Right. Let’s do that.” You waved your hand towards the direction of the apartment that held the ice cream you were desperate to eat and wallow with while watching Pretty In Pink.

“Or,” Steve interrupted right back, tapping on the steering wheel with his finger as he did, “I could go to the right. Pull into the diner. Buy you a milkshake and say sorry?”

The thing was, he was gonna go to the right regardless of your answer. He knew once you pulled into the parking lot there was no way you’d not at least go in and get fries and a shake, if not a whole burger. You’d done this dance before, him putting his foot in his mouth was not a new occurrence.

Your lips twitched, but your arms stayed crossed as he hummed and whispered, “Tough choice…tough choice…”

Shoulders fell in defeat, but your mouth stayed downturned in a forced frown as you grumbled, “And fries.”

Steve smiled, turned on his blinker and nodded. He cleared his throat.

“And fries. Definitely.”

“And none of that you order yourself a vanilla shake and I order strawberry and you drink half of mine because it’s better and eat all the fries shit.”

“Of course,” Steve scoffed, “I would never do that.”

Steve slipped his straw into your shake, pulling the glass across the sticky tabletop as you did the same with his. He tried not to smirk around the straw when you did, dipping a fry in his vanilla he ordered for a reason despite the strawberry being better.

“Do you think Claire is a prude for never doing anything?”

He shook his head no almost immediately, swiping at stray ice cream from the corner of his mouth with his tongue.

You fiddled with the straw wrapped between your fingers and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Would your answer be the same if, say, Eddie was sitting here asking you? Not me, your best friend, who you have sudden pity for?”

He blinked at you and sighed, “I don’t have pity for you.”

“Your mouth and your eyes are telling two different stories Harrington,” you waved a fry at him as you spoke, gesturing to his face with it.

Your gaze stayed on the fry you were ripping in half, focused on watching it sink into the sweet vanilla as he dared to say, “I just don’t get it.”

“What, that I haven’t done that and I’m so old,” you tried to tease, to move past it.

But the way you were licking salt off your finger had him wondering if he swiped his own through the salt on the tray and pushed the pad against your lips if they would part like they were now, if he could taste it on your lips if he just leaned forward and-

“No, ‘cause you’re so fucking pretty.”

He definitely said it out loud that time.

You blinked at him, cheeks suddenly too warm for the cold and damp Spring that had been surrounding you all day.

“Ste-”

“And so smart,” he licked his lips, leaning forward, unable to stop now that it was out, “And funny. And…and sweet, you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know, I just don’t understand how guys aren’t falling over themselves, unable to do anything but make out with you, or more or-”

“I never said I didn’t do more,” you whispered, ignoring all of his compliments that made your chest feel all tight and sticky and choosing to argue with him instead because that was easier.

“But you said…if you haven’t made out with anyone…”

Your body slipped lower against the squeaky seat, embarrassed as you shrugged and Steve felt too hot in the tiny little booth, thinking about all those guys’ hands on you again, and then what you said, what it meant, really clicked.

“Hold on…how…how’d…you didn’t, build up to it?” He asked softly, eyes bouncing over your face with worry.

“Steve,” you grabbed for the other shake, and sat up straighter, “We don’t need to talk about this. It’s not import-”

“It’s so important,” he grabbed your hand and squeezed your fingers lightly, “Half the fun is all the build up to it. And,” he swallowed, forehead creasing with deeper worry, “And then it, it doesn’t hurt. ‘Cause tell me if I’m wrong, but if they weren’t making out with you, were they doing anything to make sure you felt good?”

You squirmed in your seat, fingers pushing up against his mindlessly, aimlessly, as you shrugged again. “It’s only hurt a few times. I learned that if I…um, If I got myself ready beforehand, that I was, uh, more comfortable.”

Steve’s fingers let go of yours with the excuse of grabbing a fry, because he was trying not to be a gross guy, but all he could think about was you in your bedroom, with your fingers between your thighs now. Did you play music? What song? Did you have underwear on? What color? With a shirt that your nipples were visibly hard through as you touched yourself and maybe it was his shirt or maybe you said his name or-

“Right,” Steve nodded, “Um, right. And that’s great, lots of people do that for a date, so like if you need or want to beforehand that’s not…that’s great. It just shouldn’t be the only thing, you know? They should be putting in the work, they should be wanting to. And dates! They should watch a movie with you, and dinner and drive around and then kiss so much you feel dizzy and then if you want, more.”

He finished his rambling speech and you smiled softly, unsure of what to say, because you knew he wasn’t wrong, it’s just that they had.

“They did,” you sighed, “Well, not Paul.”

Steve scowled at the table, “Yeah, well, I’m sure you weren’t missing much. Who wants to yell out Paul?”

“Oh,” you laughed, “And Steve is so much better?”

He looked up at you, your smile sweet and kind and your eyes a little sad, but trying not to be and he wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell you that if it was those lips and that voice saying it, it was better, because how could it not be? Like his name only had the best letters, like it belonged to the best guy in the world, one that belonged to you and no one else.

But you were swiping at ice cream on your lips and sighing, saying something that made his chest ache instead.

“They were nice dates. And it’s not like the sex was bad. But,” you looked out the window, eyes tracking the droplets of rain twinged neon from the light hanging above you both, “The kissing till I’m dizzy sounds nice. Is it…is it fun?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, admiring the way the red and blue lit up your profile before you turned to face him.

And then he was saying something before he really thought it through, because god you weren’t just fucking pretty, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever met and no way in hell was he letting anyone treat you the way you’d been ever again. So this was his chance, and he was taking the leap.

“I could…” he blew out a breath and smiled. He sat up straighter, and he searched for some sort of lingering king steve confidence he could latch onto without all the douche as he asked, “I could show you?”

To both of your surprise, you’d said yes, and he paid and you were in the car, driving, and parked somewhere in what felt like seconds. Now your best friend sat across from you, both of you facing the center console, but not daring to do more.

The rain beat against the roof of the maroon car, each drop a punctuated tick of a nonexistent clock - a meter for how much time was passing without movement, without words. Just both of your breathing filled the space. First exhaling, then desperately inhaling for more air as your chests rose and fell ragged. And then, like in some unspoken agreement only best friends can have, you both started to lean forward cause you just knew.

Your heart’s thrum threatened to drown out the rain, building and building, screaming to break out of your chest, pounding in your ears while your cheeks grew warm and your stomach dipped as Steve’s tongue slipped out quickly and wetted his lips.

But then he leaned and his eyes started to close and you giggled, fingers slipping over your lips as his eyelids shot open.

“Sorry,” you gasped and shook your head and your hands out as you tried to be serious, “Your ‘I’m about to kiss you’ face is real cute, Harrington.”

Tried being the definitive word.

“Cute?” He groaned, smiling, “Not sexy?”

You leaned in, faster this time, a smile matching his as you shrugged, “It’s nice. Never thought I’d be on the opposite side of it, is all.”

It’s easy to tilt your head and welcome the hand that reached up to cradle your jaw as he softly promised, “Your ‘I’m about to be kissed face’ is really cute too.”

The pad of his thumb brushed over the apple of your cheek in the tenderest touch you’d ever felt, before his fingers curled under your jaw and tilted you gently, slowly, up so his lips were right over yours.

It felt like he was handling you like the most precious and fragile thing, like a prized possession that he’d only ever hold with care and never let another soul touch.

His breath fanned over yours, warm and sweet smelling, vanilla and cherry just out of reach for you to taste as you dared to quip back again. “Alright, I’m gonna have to cross reference these lines with other girls you’ve promised to make dizzy, Harrington, cause if that’s the first time you’ve used that, I’m afraid it’s far too smooth…”

Steve’s heart felt like it was trying to claw out of his chest as you laughed, smiling at him when he responded, “And, I think that’s enough out of you.”

Which you couldn’t help but reply back to with, “Yeah? Have some fancy trick to get me to stop talking?”

He laughed, low, muffled and deep in his chest. “A few.”

A sharp inhale slipped past your lips when his nose bumps yours, not realizing how close he’d gotten while you joked back and forth nervously. There wasn’t a protocol on how to let your best show you a proper make out, on how to just dive in and start, you just knew you wanted to.

Steve’s swallow bobbed his adams apple as the leather beneath you creaked from shifting weight, needing to get closer. And as you did, his eyes found yours, mossy and dark in the low light, the browns and golds washed away in the rain. Their gaze flitted down to your lips, back up to fluttering eyelashes, and then his own eyelids were closing.

All it took was another breath in, an exhale out, and his lips were on yours. A simple, slow press, holding your top lip between the both of his. Strawberry and vanilla teasing you, and soon he was moving, now bottom lip between his and you got it. Your mouths parted together, lips slotting in a rhythm that came naturally, that clicked.

Something in your stomach fizzled and crackled like the sparklers you lit every year in his driveway on the fourth as the sigh from his nose hit your cheek. Body warm and sticky in a way that was usually reserved for Summer when his fingers skated over your jaw, up and around your ear, until they were cradling the back of your neck and pulling you closer. His mouth moved with yours in a way that could only be described as frantically graceful - needing more, hurried, hungry, but with the promise and precision of someone who knew what he was doing. It had your stomach dipping, like a freefall, like the greatest and scariest thing you’d ever felt.

If he’d have opened his eyes, he’d have found you with your hands suspended between your bodies though. Fingers not quite brave enough to reach up and get lost in his hair, but not content to just sit in your lap and do nothing either.

And if you'd opened your eyes, you’d have found his other hand gripping the center console like he was hanging on for dear life. ‘Cause holy shit was he trying to go slow, but kissing you was like chasing the last few minutes of sunlight in July - sweet and fleeting and magic - something you needed to make last, to soak up every last drop of until you couldn’t any more, not by choice, but because the sun has to set and he has to breathe.

In a shared gasp for air, you parted, but his lips were back on yours immediately, making your stomach swoop even more, like an entire family of butterflies had decided - hey, we live here now and we’re gonna make a ruckus so get used to it.

You didn’t mind.

Steve’s fingers found yours and without breaking his rhythm, he tugged, guiding them to his shoulders that were practically on your side of the console now, which wasn’t doing something great to his already somersaulting stomach.

He slowed down as your fingers brushed over and back on the collar of his shirt and his hands cradled both of your cheeks, pulling you off of his lips regretfully. You were both breathing like you’d run a marathon, his forehead pressed to yours as he gasped out, “Dizzy yet?”

“No,” you lied.

He grinned, tip of his nose tracing the bridge of yours as he admitted, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like that.”

You couldn’t even respond, couldn’t tell him you wanted that too, couldn’t tell him that it was something you only dared let a daydream or two convince you it could happen before you were shutting it down, cause he was still talking.

“And now that I have,” he swallowed, his thumbs glided down opposite sides of your neck as he shook his head, “I’m never stopping.”

Then he was kissing you again, and if you thought he was frantic before…

You had this feeling that even if those other guys had made out with you, kissing them wasn’t and never would be the same as kissing Steve Harrington.

Soon one of your feet was on the seat, the other bracing yourself in the footwell. He had a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your neck and yours were finally starting to dare to journey past their spot on his shoulders and then your skirt was caught on the gearshift and he was stopping you again.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

“So was that ‘never stopping’ just a nice sentiment or are you planning to back it up with action?” You huffed, distracted by pink lips that twisted into a crooked smile as he looked at your pretzeled body.

Your shoulders fell as you nodded your head towards his side of the car and admitted, “I just want to be closer.”

“Oh, right.” Steve swallowed, and you wondered if it’d be weird if you kissed every freckle and mole you could find on his throat. Something told you he wouldn’t mind when he asked, a little more eager than you’d heard tonight, “Backseat?”

And you clambered out of the car, the slowing rain soothing to heated and flushed skin under the mussed clothes, and then you were both meeting in the backseat, but the nerves returned. The way you both glanced at the space between you and were immediately and acutely aware of the lack of anything between you except doubt and fear. Was this a mistake? What about your friendship?

Steve looked at the space, at you, and then held up his finger in the symbol for one sec as he said, “Hold on,” and half climbed back into the front seat. His torso draped over the console as he loudly opened the glovebox and rummaged around inside, before he was fiddling with the radio, and falling back into the seat.

His cheeks pink, but his smile wide as he looked at you again. “Hey! I’m so glad we could do this tonight. You look beautiful. Ready to watch your favorite movie?”

“Wh-what?” You laughed, totally and utterly confused.

He tugged on your fingers, and pulled you to the middle, until you were slouched next to each other, shoulders touching as he shushed and said, “The Breakfast Club is starting.”

And the music playing over the radio,Simple Minds, a cassette he must have put in, had your chest swelling with something that was sure to burst and explode and kill you, because the boy was actually pretending you were on a couch, on a date, in a living room, watching a movie - it was perfectly Steve and you, and the best first date you’d ever been on.

His left hand picked up yours, resting it on your thigh and played with your fingers. The pads of his traced up and down and over your hand as he stared at the windshield, his temple resting against yours. The music played, and his fingertips swooped between the curves of each finger aimlessly, the sides of his fingers running down yours and back up making it really hard to concentrate on the non-existent flick.

When you finally relaxed into his side, when you flipped your hand over so he could draw little loop de loops on your palm, he quietly asked, “Who’s your favorite?”

“Brian,” said without hesitation.

Steve groaned, in pain, “Ugh, you would like him the best.”

You laughed, turning to look up at him a bit from where your head had fallen to his shoulder, “Don’t knock him Steve,” you spoke softly, fondly, “You’re a lot more of a dork like him than you think.”

Steve made a pft noise, fingers now interlaced with yours as he turned his head, the tip of his nose touching yours as he looked down at you with the sort of look the guys give the girls in the movies, one that should be illegal from the way it had that family of butterflies shouting about their presence again and fluttering around.

“Hey Steve?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, eyelashes fluttering as he sighed when your thumb brushed over his knuckles.

“This is a really great…first date?” You asked, hopeful that it wasn’t just an offer, that you weren’t some game, that the guy next to you was just as crazy about you as you were him.

“Yeah?” He smiled, proud, and then bragged, “Wait till the second one.”

It was your turn to hum, to look into his eyes and get a little lost as his mouth parted and you both scooted closer, waiting, as he squeezed your fingers wrapped around his.

“You’re making the ‘I’m about to kiss you face’ again, Steve,” you whispered, lips brushing his as you did.

“Right,” he whispered back, bottom lip catching yours as he suggested, “Which means you should probably stop talking again.”

This kiss wasn’t as easy and smooth, made difficult by grins of fools who were totally in love but wouldn’t admit it just yet, but how could you both not be after years together?

But you smoothed it out quickly, and soon he was swiping his tongue over your bottom lip as his hand gripped at your waist a little tightly. He traced over your top lip as your entire body turned towards his, like a plant in search of sunlight, his body on yours fundamental to your survival.

He gasped as you straddled him, your mouth swallowing the sound as his hands roamed up your sides, taking the hem of your shirt with it so his fingers could scrape at the skin just under your ribs before they dared to drift along the band of your bra.

You let out a sound that he’d never forget as long as he lived when you finally lowered yourself, skirt fanning over your laps so the sinful way he pressed up against your pristine soaked Calvin’s was slightly hidden. The unclip of your bra and the removal and toss over the seat was fluid, and you couldn’t think about it because the way his hand on your chest felt, the thumb over a pebbled nipple was something you’d only let yourself think about in moments of need before a date that wasn’t him.

Steve was wrong, the build up was more than half the fun.

The way his hands buzzed against your spine like the air after fireworks, the way his tongue brushed yours, the way he couldn’t help but guide your hips to rock against him. Denim hitting cotton in the exact right spot so the nerves underneath it got the friction they were aching for, while your mind ran away from you, thoughts about how this was just getting started. How there was more.

His lips left yours and his smile pressed to your jaw when the action got a soft whimper to fall from you. He tutted into your neck, lips grazing over an erratic pulse as he whispered, “Can I touch you?”

“Is that,” your breath hitched around the words as his tongue licked a thick stripe over your neck that extended, “Is that a part of making me dizzy or the more, when I’m sufficiently so?”

“You’re not yet?” His teeth scraped at where his tongue had just been. “I like when you say words like sufficiently, ‘s’hot.”

You laughed as his lips kissed the same spot, and then he was sucking, skin beneath his tongue warm and sending a message to your brain that you liked that a lot.

“Yeah,” you hiccuped, eyelids fluttering in their view of the car’s roof as you arched and his hands gripped your hips, “Yeah, touch me.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, arm around your waist holding you steady while the other traveled under the hem of your skirt. His mouth moved to below your ear and as his fingers glided up your thigh. He sucked and kissed, and sent that message to your brain again, having you say his name and god’s in the same desperate sentence.

Steve wasn’t gonna last much longer.

Especially when his fingers met the wet cotton and you moaned, so much filthier than he’d have thought possible. Especially when he circled over your clit through the fabric and you rolled your hips with the movement, far dirtier than he thought you were capable of.

“Fuck baby, you’re soaked.” He mouthed at the collar of your rucked up shirt, looking down at the way your hips rolled over his but he couldn’t quite see what was underneath.

You hid in the crook of his neck, hot, and you didn’t know if it was because the windows were fogged and Steve was so fucking good at this or because you were embarassed by how turned on you were from his next words.

“Please, I gotta,” he slipped a finger under the fabric and you shuddered as it ran down your slick and back up, “I gotta taste you. I need to put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

You were on your back, Calvin’s in a ball on the front seat, with Steve crouched between your thighs not even a minute later.

Thick fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt from his spot, blown out pupils taking over his stare up at you. One of your converse pushed to the other side of the car against the door as your fingers curled around the base of the sweating window above you.

Steve kissed your knee, and made his way higher between your legs slowly, until he was flipping your skirt up and swallowing as he stared at the space like it was a fucking artwork.

You giggled, nervously under the intense awestruck stare, squeezing your eyes shut as he strained to get out, “Fuck, honey, you’re trying to kill me.”

He was mesmerized, the way you clenched around nothing, his thumbs spreading you so he could see just how wet you were for him.

He was really not gonna last much longer. Straining in his jeans painfully like a teenager.

And that was before you whimpered, before you said:

“Steve, please.”

“Only,” he swallowed, leaning down so his breath hit your cunt in a way that had your hips wiggling, and him closing his eyes, “Only cause you asked so nicely.”

His thumbs held you open, massaging the sides as his tongue licked once, slow and broad, following the path of his nose up to your clit. He did it again, and again, and again. Until his fingers were slipping inside of you, pumping in and out of walls that held him tightly and his mouth sucked at your clit. Then you tugged, forcefully at the curls at the back of his head and practically screamed his name. Like it was full of only the best letters. Like it was yours.

Your stomach burned, the butterflies angry and in your chest now too, on fire, but happy about it. Steve’s fingers inside of you and mouth on your clit better than any orgasm you’d ever had, and you couldn’t help it when you came without warning, toes curling inside of your converse that kicked at the door and his thigh, while your fingers slipped on the window and your chest ached for a breath as it yelled his name in a way that the whole world would have to know how you felt when they heard it.

He didn’t pull away until you were gasping and your thighs were shaking and your fingers loosened in his hair. His cheek pressed to your thigh as he stared up at you and gasped out a proud, smug, “I’d like to see Bender of Brian do that.”

You laughed, tired, but happy, and he crawled up your body, kissing any part of it he could find while he ignored the uncomfortable wet patch in the front of his Levi’s.

Except you noticed and raised your eyebrows at it, a little smug yourself as you said, “Bet Claire couldn’t do that.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but then you were both flinching as a loud smack of something hit the back window. He glanced up and cursed under his breath, rolling down the window slightly as he called out from on top of you, “Hey, Hop.”

There was a loud, deep, sigh from outside as you both sat up with apologetic faces and Steve rolled down the window further.

Hopper’s cigarette smoke wafted in as he looked at the pair of you with a touch of surprise when he saw it was you next to Steve in the fogged up beemer. He shook his head, frown under the mustache forced. “It’s past eleven. On a weeknight. Have some decency and do this at home in front of a movie like normal people next time, yeah?”

You both nodded, your teeth pulling at your lip in a terrible attempt at not smiling.

He walked away, and you and Steve slapped hands over each other’s laughs and snorts, but you still managed to catch the quiet, “Bout damn time.”

And when Steve dropped you off at home, with a kiss to seal it all and a promise of a real date tomorrow that he’d pick you up for, you shoved the bunched up Calvin’s in his front pocket with your own promise, whispering in his ear the words “Sincerely, yours” before you left him with his mouth open on the front steps, watching you walk away.

*if you liked this fic, the minor follow up is: Risky Business

#superbly subpars writing #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic

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dreamersparacosm · 3 months ago

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jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part two)

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; thank u all for the love on part one!!!! eep!!!! it’s so sweet and fuzzy and… my heart 🥀 this part really delves into the dynamic of our beloved girlboss!reader and cocky ass idol!jk who just really annoys the shit out of her #freeher (the poor woman needs an escape after this one) all ur comments and asks are so cute and feel free to leave any thots in my inbox, let’s chat!

playlist here

series masterlist here

There’s no escaping him.

Not that you ever expected to, not when Calvin Klein’s biggest campaign of the year has his name attached to it. From the moment the deal was signed, your schedule became intertwined with his. Brand meetings, strategy calls, shoot planning sessions… he’s plaguing your every thought.

You’d known, of course. You’d signed off on it yourself. You oversee every aspect of this campaign, and that means oversight of him, how he’s presented, how he moves through the brand’s world, how the final product will be shaped.

But, knowing something in theory and experiencing it in reality are two very different things.

If he’s not on your Zoom calls, he’s on your email threads. If he’s not in your email threads, he’s being discussed in meetings. And now, he’s here, in the flesh, right in front of you, not making your job any easier.

The first photoshoot is set against the backdrop of a high-rise studio in downtown Seoul, a sleek industrial space with floor-to-ceiling windows,

You arrive early with Daniel and the rest of the brand’s creative team, immediately slipping into work mode. Lighting setups are checked, wardrobe racks are lined up, the creative director goes over the shot list with the photographers.

Everything moves with calculated efficiency, and you navigate the space effortlessly, clipboard in hand, scanning every detail.

You are, by all accounts, a menace with a calendar. A tyrant with a timeline. If something isn’t color-coded, cross-checked, and confirmed twice over, it doesn’t exist. You’ve planned weddings you weren’t invited to. You once scheduled a breakdown and it started early, which pissed you off. So this shoot? This shoot will run like a Swiss train: on time and terrifyingly precise. Every outfit and even a coffee break has been slotted into an airtight agenda that could withstand a nuclear winter. If spontaneity knocks, it will be turned away at the door and escorted off the premises.

Yet of course, all that goes to absolute shit when Jeon Jungkook steps onto the set twenty minutes late like he owns it.

In a way, and you hate to admit it, he does.

Dressed in black denim, a crisp Calvin Klein shirt hugging his frame, and an open jean button-up that hangs off his shoulders, he looks every bit the part of an icon. His dark hair is perfectly tousled, his tattoos stark against his skin, silver jewelry catching the studio lights with every movement.

Now, you don’t necessarily care for men. Or well, scratch that, ctrl, alt, delete. You do. Unfortunately. Against all better judgment and with mounting personal regret, you do. It’s offensive, really, how good Jungkook looks in the outfit you personally styled (and fine… you’ll admit it. The fashion team did work on all final touches.)

You genuinely feel ill. Nauseous. Your own taste is betraying you in real time. You picked this look for the goddamn aesthetic, not to have your brain short-circuit and your stomach drop like you’re 13 and doomed.

He’s spent over a decade being watched, dissected, and adored. He walks like someone who’s long made peace with the fact that all eyes will follow, that entire rooms shift on their axis the moment he steps in. He has the kind of confidence born from years of people telling him he’s extraordinary and him deciding, yeah, I’m the shit. The kind that makes you want to slap it off his face, to put it so nicely.

His gaze finds yours immediately and you do your best to barely acknowledge him.

A simple nod. A professional, detached greeting. Then, you turn back to your notes, flipping a page as if you care about the pencil scratching in your journal pad.

Jungkook doesn’t like that. That’s saying a lot, because Jungkook likes a lot of things. Expensive clothes, pretty girls, the sound of his own name trending at number one; he’s not exactly hard to please. But being ignored? That’s a different beast. Especially by you. During his photoshoot? The one where he looks like sin incarnate in head-to-toe Calvin Klein and you’re barely giving him a glance, busy scribbling like you’re allergic to his existence? Please. It’s offensive. Insulting, even.

Jungkook thrives on attention the way plants need sunlight, except he doesn’t wilt without it; he gets petty. Because really, who do you think you are? Some executive with a headset and God complex? Okay, yes, that’s exactly what you are but still.

You hear it before you see it, the amused exhale, the small click of his tongue against his teeth. “Come on. Not even a ‘good morning’?”

You don’t look up. “I assume you know what time of day it is.”

“Still so cold,” he muses, arms lazily crossing over his chest. “I was hoping we’d warmed up to each other by now.”

Daniel, standing beside you, doesn’t even glance up from his phone at his taunts. You roll your eyes, “It’s been two days, Jeon. Relax.”

Jungkook ignores that, tilting his head slightly. “Maybe I should make it my mission to see how long you can keep up this whole ice queen act.”

You finally look at him then. “It’s not an act,” you say simply.

His lips part slightly, maybe expecting you to play along, to give him something to work with. But you’re already turning back to the shoot, eyes scanning the set.

Jungkook shifts beside you, and you catch the slight twitch of his jaw, the way his tongue rolls against the inside of his cheek.

He’s irritated. Good. Maybe now he’ll shut up and do what he came here to do: stand in front of the camera, look pretty, and let the professionals handle the rest. You don’t need his commentary or whatever flirty nonsense he’s cooking up. You need him silent and in frame. You want five minutes of peace. Five. Is that so much to ask from the most attention-starved man in South Korea?

The photoshoot begins, and you remain exactly as you were before, analytical, focused on the execution rather than the man at the center of it.

Jungkook, however, is not handling it well.

He does his job because he did sign a contract, after all. He’s flawless in front of the camera, shifting effortlessly between intensity and ease. But in between takes, his eyes keep flicking toward you, searching for something — approval, irritation, anything.

There are small, almost petulant glances he throws your way. He exaggerates his movements, as if daring you to react. His mouth tightens slightly every time you remain unaffected.

You’re standing a few feet away with Daniel, eyes trained on the monitors, deep in conversation with the photographer about lighting and angle ratios like Jungkook doesn’t even exist. He’s used to being the center of gravity, the one pulling attention without trying. But you? You’re immune. Or, pretending to be, which makes him want it more.

Daniel eventually notices too. He exhales beside you, muttering under his breath. “I think you’re actually pissing him off.”

You barely blink. “He’ll live.”

Jungkook stretches lazily. “I can hear you, you know.”

Daniel shrugs. “Wasn’t exactly whispering.”

A stylist steps forward to adjust Jungkook’s shirt, but his eyes remain on you. A slow smirk creeps up on his face, “Bet she’s more fun outside of work.”

You don’t react. Not even a flicker of amusement, or a twitch of annoyance. You just turn a page in your notes.

You’ve worked with celebrities before, countless of them. Models with impossible cheekbones, actors who appear in photoshoots as stoic as they do on screens, musicians who spend half the time singing more than speaking. You know how this works.How they work.

They are charming when they need to be. Calculated, even when they pretend not to be.

You’ve seen the way they shift in and out of personas, the way they make the world fall at their feet without ever having to try. And above all, you know not to get attached. Not to care too much, not to mistake proximity for something personal.

At the end of the day, this is your job. A carefully structured exchange where both parties win.

Jeon Jungkook is no different, no matter how many times he tests you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Luxury brand trips are a logistical nightmare. You’ll shout it from the rooftops.

The world sees the polished, effortless veneer: the private jets, the accommodations, the effortless blending of celebrities and influencers. What they don’t see is the meticulous orchestration that happens behind the scenes.

It’s not just you and Jungkook. It’s his team: managers, stylists, security. It’s your team: brand executives, PR strategists, creative directors. It’s an entire machine moving in sync, ensuring that when the cameras flash when you touch down in Los Angeles, everything looks flawless.

The airport in itself is even controlled chaos.

Jungkook’s security detail moves like clockwork, clearing pathways, keeping him shielded from prying eyes and eager phones. Your team works around it, checking baggage, confirming schedules.

Jungkook, as per usual, is unbothered.

You catch glimpses of him as you navigate through the VIP terminal, dressed in loose gray sweats and an oversized hoodie, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his inked forearm. Dark hair ruffled just enough to look effortless, AirPods in, hands tucked in his pockets.

You don’t acknowledge it. Not when fans outside the terminal scream like they’ve seen the second coming of Christ. Not when his security team moves like a highly trained boyband of their own, parting the chaos with eerie, synchronized precision. Please. You don’t get starstruck. You don’t get flustered. You’ve survived Milan Fashion Week on three hours of sleep and a juice cleanse.

It’s a commercial flight, but first-class, of course. Private travel was considered, but Calvin Klein, ever so strategic, prefers the occasional glimpse of their brand ambassador in the wild. A silent PR move.

Your boarding pass has you in 1A, which would have been fine…

Except Jungkook’s is 1B (and you’ll never forgive your assistant for this, you make a mental note of it.)

You stare at the seat next to you for a half-second longer than necessary before placing your carry-on in the overhead compartment, sinking into your seat, and immediately pulling out your iPad. Noise cancellation on. Work mode engaged.

Jungkook arrives minutes later, dropping into the seat beside you with zero urgency.

“You work too much.”

You’ve heard that before. You’ve also gotten that your laptop should pay rent for how often it’s attached to your side. It’s nothing new. Friends say it with concern, colleagues say it with admiration. It really doesn’t phase you anymore.

One hand taps against the digital screen in front of you, scrolling through a campaign brief. Your AirPods are in., and you’ve confirmed that when you tapped against your ears. There is no reason for this conversation to be happening.

But Jungkook, as you’re coming to learn, is persistent.

He leans slightly toward you, not enough to invade your space, just enough to be impossible to ignore.

“Come on,” he drawls, “At least pretend to be excited. We’re going to LA.”

You finally glance at him, expression unreadable. “I’m working.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “I can see that.”

You blink once. “Then why are you talking to me?”

He exhales a quiet laugh, leaning back against his seat. “Because it’s fun watching you pretend you don’t like me.”

You don’t even flinch. “I don’t pretend.”

He tilts his head, assessing. Like he’s some kind of airport therapist and you’re a particularly fascinating case study in emotional repression and overachievement. Then, he does one slow, infuriating nod. As if, in the two seconds he’s been sitting next to you on this plane, he’s cracked the code. Solved the mystery. You don’t even have your seatbelt buckled and he’s already looking at you like ah, yes. This one’s never known peace.

“Right. Just like you don’t take breaks.”

You return your focus to the screen in front of you, ignoring him.

He stretches out slightly, legs shifting closer, tapping a lazy rhythm against his armrest. “So what’s the plan?” he asks. “We land, and then what? Straight to fittings? Or do we get one of those ridiculously overpriced hotel dinners first?”

You sigh through your nose. “We land, go to the hotel, and get some rest. Tomorrow, all business.”

Jungkook hums. “Of course it is.”

You turn a page on your iPad. “What else would it be?”

Silence. You think you’ve got him to finally pipe down. Then, with zero warning, he reaches over and pulls out one of your AirPods.

You blink at him, genuinely caught off guard.

Jungkook grins, twirling the small white earbud between his fingers. “Maybe a little fun.”

You stare at him for a long second. Without a word, you take the AirPod back, place it in your ear, and turn the volume up.

Jungkook watches you with a look of amusement head tilting slightly like you’re the most entertaining in-flight movie he’s ever been assigned a seat next to. He might as well have said challenge accepted with the way he chuckles at you.

It starts small with some light taps against the armrest, exaggerated sighs, subtle shifts in his seat as if he’s just trying to get comfortable.

You wedge your elbow against the armrest like it’s a shield. The glow of your screen bathes you in a holy light, a divine protection against the man seated beside you. You highlight key notes in yellow, underline them in red, even bold them for good measure, like the sheer force of productivity might drown out the weight of Jungkook’s gaze burning holes into the side of your face. You pretend not to see him. You pretend so hard, you could win an Oscar for Best Actress in a Scene for a new movie starring you, Ignore the Menace. And you’re doing so, so good, until the clown opens his mouth once more and peace dies before the wheels have barely left the asphalt.

“So what’s your playlist?” he questions innocently, turning his head toward you.

You keep your gaze fixed on the iPad. “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely to your AirPods. “What are you listening to? Classical? Productivity podcasts? White noise? Oh wait..” he smirks, “Let me guess. Something cold and terrifying, like a stock market recap.”

You exhale slowly through your nose. “It’s none of your business.”

Jungkook hums, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “It’s gotta be classical, right? You give off the vibes of someone who looked up what music is the best for work.”

You don’t even care anymore. “And you give off toxic male rap.”

He gasps dramatically, pressing a hand over his chest. “Wow. That was uncalled for.”

Finally, you tilt your head to him, raising a brow. “Was it?”

Jungkook bites back a grin. “You wound me.”

You let out a long, slow breath, dragging your fingers across the screen of your iPad with as much patience as you can muster. “I’m trying to work.”

“I can see that,” he replies smoothly. “And I’m trying to help.”

“By doing what, exactly?”

Jungkook leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to be intentionally annoying. “By making sure you don’t die of boredom.”

Your jaw clenches. “I’m not bored.”

“Oh no, of course not.” He gestures to your screen. “I mean, who wouldn’t be riveted by… spreadsheets?”

You slam your iPad down onto the tray table with a sharp thud.

The passengers in first class don’t react because they are far too wealthy to acknowledge petty mortal noises but Jungkook? He grins widely, entirely too satisfied.

You turn in your seat, glaring at him. “Do you have an off button?”

Jungkook pretends to think about it. “Mmm. No.”

You inhale deeply, pressing your fingers to your temples. “This is a 14 hour flight.”

“Oh, I know.”

Your lips press into a thin line. “You can’t possibly be this annoying for the entire time.”

Jungkook leans back, stretching his arms over his head, biceps flexing slightly as his shirt shifts against his skin. “Wanna bet?”

You deadpan. “I will throw you out of this plane.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You can’t. We’re already too high up.”

“I’ll find a way.”

Jungkook’s laughter deepens, amused. “I like you.”

You sigh, grabbing your iPad again. “Tragic.”

“Oh, come on,” he teases, nudging your knee slightly with his. “Admit it. You’d be bored without me.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. “I was fine before you sat down.”

“Were you?” His voice is teasing but with just the faintest edge. “Because you look a little different now.”

You glance at him. “Different how?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Less ice queen. More… alive.”

For a split second, you pause. Not because what he said was particularly clever — Jungkook’s never been burdened by the weight of originality — but because being called an ice queen is somehow both insulting and weirdly flattering. He smiles, clearly pleased with himself, and you wish you could throw him out the emergency exit without violating FAA regulations.

Nonetheless, you turn the volume up on your AirPods and go back to your screen.

Jungkook sighs dramatically. “So heartless.”

Still nothing from you. There will be no reactions until the wheels of this plane touch down on United States soil.

“Honestly, it’s kind of hot.”

You don’t know what possesses you, but suddenly, you rip out one AirPod and shove it into his ear.

It takes him all of three seconds to realize what’s playing.

“You’re listening to The Weeknd?”

His voice is so scandalized that you finally let the tiniest little smile onto your face, barely.

Jungkook blinks at you, processing. His face is laced with pure betrayal, considering you’ve just shattered every preconceived notion he had about you.

You barely suppress a smirk. “What? You really thought I only listened to stock market updates?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “I mean… yeah.”

You throw your head back against the seat, “That’s rich coming from you. You probably only listen to K-pop.”

Jungkook’s jaw drops in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

You lean back slightly, giving him a slow, assessing once-over before narrowing your eyes. “Let me guess… Stray Kids?”

Jungkook lets out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on. That’s too obvious.”

You pretend to think harder. “Fine. TWICE? ATEEZ?”

He exhales sharply, squinting his eyes at you, “Jesus. Just say BTS and get it over with.”

You raise a brow. “I feel like that would be cheating.”

Jungkook grins, adjusting his posture slightly so he’s angled toward you. “Okay, since we’re making assumptions… what else do you think I listen to?”

You tap a finger against your chin, pretending to study him. “I don’t know… something angsty. Definitely some 90s hip-hop to feel cool. Maybe, on a rare occasion, some lo-fi beats when you’re trying to be different”

Jungkook stares at you, slow-blinking. “Are you stalking me?”

You snort, shifting your iPad to your lap. “I just have basic critical thinking skills.”

He exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re dangerously good at this.”

You hum, turning slightly to face him more fully. “Alright, then. What do you think I listen to? Besides The Weeknd, of course?”

Jungkook bites his lip, eyes glinting like he’s been waiting for this challenge. “Oh, that’s easy.”

You fold your arms. “Try me.”

He leans in slightly, voice low. “You pretend to like jazz.”

You gape at him. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah.” He nods, far too pleased with himself. “You tell people you listen to jazz to sound cultured, but secretly, you have a playlist titled ‘girlboss rage’ that’s just early 2000s pop punk.”

You burst out laughing before you can stop yourself. “I do not—”

“Be honest,” he interrupts, smirking. “When was the last time you listened to Avril Lavigne?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Kinda like a fish gasping for air, fresh out of water. You narrow your eyes, pressing your lips together. “…Mind your business.”

Jungkook laughs loudly, shaking his head in victory.

Just like that, your work is completely forgotten. The conversation shifts, and you talk about concerts, about the way you never had the money to go to them growing up, and how he barely remembers a time when he wasn’t the one on stage.

You tease him about his tattoos. He teases you about being chronically online. Somewhere along the way, you tell him that you hate in-flight meals. Somewhere along the way, you also manage to forget why you were working in the first place.

It’s when, and only when, a flight attendant interrupts, clearing her throat politely, that you both snap out of it.

“Excuse me,” she says, smiling professionally. “Would you both like to order lunch?”

You blink. Lunch?

You glance at your iPad. The screen is dark, long since untouched. A fresh wave of nausea rises in your chest, not from hunger but from the horrifying realization that you, in all your hyper-disciplined glory, have just spent over an hour talking to Jungkook. Talking. Laughing, even. Worst of all, enjoying it. You swore you’d use this flight to catch up on work, to review the final media strategy deck and highlight the client notes that were due yesterday. Instead, your iPad went to sleep sometime around his third remark, and you let it. You stare down at it like it personally betrayed you. Honestly, it probably did.

He looks over at you, voice filled with fake innocence. “I thought you were busy working?”

You inhale deeply, dragging a hand down your face. You are going to kill him. Is this even in your pay grade?

After the flight attendant leaves, you immediately straighten in your seat, ignoring the look Jungkook is still throwing your way. Without a word, you pick up your iPad again, drowning yourself back in work.

Jungkook hums, completely unbothered. “That was fun.”

You don’t even peer up. “For you.”

He chuckles, then sighs, sinking deeper into his seat. “I think I’m gonna nap.”

You hum noncommittally. “Good idea.”

A few minutes later, you dare to peek, just to make sure he’s really out.

The heavens above have answered your prayers — he is. Blessed, blessed silence.

For the next few hours, the world is right again. You manage to finish multiple reports, respond to three emails, and revise a campaign strategy without interruption. It is peaceful. It is productive. Everything your heart has ached for.

And really you shouldn’t have gotten so cocky, because disaster strikes. Just as you’re finally settling into a focused rhythm, Jungkook stirs. You hear it first; the quiet inhale, the slow stretch, the rustle of fabric as he shifts beside you. You brace yourself for impact.

“Did you miss me?”

Your eye twitches. Goddamnit.

“No,” You say flatly, not looking up.

Jungkook lets out a hoarse, sleep-heavy chuckle. His voice is groggy, unfairly attractive (and you hate to see it.) “Damn. What time is it?”

You exhale through your nose. “Time for you to continue not talking.”

Jungkook beams, “Wow. You missed me, huh?”

You turn back to your screen. “Not even for a second.”

He stretches again, rolling his shoulders, sighing loudly. Does the man have any concept of personal space and inside voice? Probably not, but you keep typing anyway.

Then, to your point, he starts talking again.

“You always this fun on flights?” he says, tapping absentmindedly against the leather of his chair. “Or am I just special?”

You still don’t look up. “If by special, you mean insufferable, then yes.”

Jungkook laughs, then shifts slightly closer just enough to be impossible to ignore. “So where are you from?” he asks casually.

You blink at him.“What?”

He shrugs, like it’s a completely normal question. Like he hasn’t spent the entire flight annoying you. “I’m curious.”

You resist the urge to sigh. “Why?”

“Why not?” He smirks. “Maybe I just want to know what kind of environment produces someone so…emotionally unavailable.”

You glare at him. “I’m not emotionally unavailable.”

He tilts his head, considering. “Mmm. Jury’s still out on that one.”

You press your lips into a tight line. You do not have time for this. Maybe if you give him the answer (and you should know better), he’ll quit it. So, without thinking, you say, “Busan.”

Jungkook stills, brows lifting slightly. His mouth parts just a little, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. The thing about Busan is it’s the kind of place where you feel like you know everyone, and worse, everyone thinks they know you. You were the girl who worked two jobs in high school, the one with a mother who never quite forgave the world for how hard her life turned out.

His entire expression softens. “Me too.”

There’s something about the way he says it. His usual cockiness fades for a second. There’s no teasing lilt, no smug amusement. Just quiet, a little familiar. Jungkook says it like it means something. Like it’s a revelation. Like this shared detail is suddenly supposed to bridge the vast gap between you.

So, before he can say anything else, you shake your head, turn back to your work, and bury the moment beneath the weight of reality. Jeon Jungkook might be from Busan, but he’s also unbelievably full of himself. You are not going to fall for it.

You let out a hum “That’s nice.”

Jungkook stares. “That’s it?”

You keep scrolling through your notes. “What else do you want? A hometown reunion?”

Jungkook exhales a short laugh, “I don’t know. I just thought you’d find it cool.”

You peek at him through your lashes, “Why?”

He leans back, studying you for a moment before shrugging. “People usually do.”

There it is again. The ego. The casual arrogance. The absolute, unshakable certainty that the world is interested in him.

You sigh, tapping your stylus against your iPad. “I hate to break it to you, Jungkook, but not everything about you is a special trait. ”

Jungkook gapes at you. “I— what?”

“You heard me.”

For the first time since you met him, he looks genuinely, completely thrown, like his brain just hit a blue screen error and forgot how to reboot. It’s almost touching, really. He can’t decide whether to be offended, impressed, or propose on the spot.

Jungkook leans in slightly, narrowing his eyes. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna go back to ignoring me?”

You shrug. “That was always the plan.”

His tongue rolls against the inside of his cheek, a telltale sign of frustration. He sputters for another beat before going, “Well, I think you secretly like me.”

You exhale sharply, slamming your iPad down for the second time on this flight. The man is unbelievable.

And just like that, the momentary amnesia clears. You remember exactly why you can’t stand him.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Los Angeles is warm when you land, almost too warm for how tired you are.

The descent into LAX had been smooth, but the exhaustion settled in almost immediately after stepping off the plane. The weight of fourteen hours in the air, the unfortunate stiffness of first-class seats, the unrelenting ache of schedules waiting to be met, it all clings to you.

And judging by the low murmurs and sluggish movements of the team around you, you aren’t alone. By the time you make it through private customs and into waiting black SUVs, Daniel sighs dramatically beside you. “Food. We need food.”

There are collective murmurs of agreement.

Jungkook, lazily lounging beside his manager, half-asleep but still annoyingly composed, lifts a brow. “We eating somewhere fancy?”

“No,” you say immediately, before anyone can even think of pulling out a Michelin-star reservation. “We’re in America. Let’s eat something that actually reminds some of you of home .”

Daniel hums, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”

You barely have to think about it. “Korean barbecue.”

You take them to your favorite spot, a tucked-away, no-frills restaurant in Koreatown, where the air is thick with the scent of sizzling meat, sesame oil, and open flames. It’s loud inside, the hum of conversations overlapping, the occasional clang of tongs against grill plates.

“You come here often?” Jungkook muses as you lead the group toward a long booth in the back.

“When I’m in LA,” you say simply, flagging down a server with an easy nod. “It’s the closest thing to home you’ll find in this city.”

Daniel slides into the booth first, followed by Jungkook’s team and yours.

“Wait.”

Jungkook’s voice cuts in immediately, halting Daniel mid-slide.

Daniel eyes him, suspicious. “What?”

Jungkook gestures vaguely toward the booth, expression all innocent. “I just think.. since she picked the place, she should have a good seat.”

You blink, watching this madness unfold.

Daniel scoffs. “And you think that seat just happens to be next to you?”

Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “Who’s to say?”

Daniel narrows his eyes, clearly weighing his options. Jungkook raises a brow, challenging. You exhale, too tired to deal with the absurdity of two grown men engaged in a silent battle over seating arrangements (which apparently you have no say in. Like who made that rule?)

“Just sit,” you mutter, sliding into the booth before either of them can argue.

For a second, you think you’ve won.

Then Jungkook moves quickly as he slots himself beside you, the movement so smooth it barely leaves room for protest.

You don’t have time to react before Daniel groans loudly, sliding in on the other side with a deep scowl. “I hate both of you.”

Jungkook just grins. “Love you too.”

The booth is long but cramped, packed with bodies and shared plates, bottles of soju sweating condensation against the wooden table. You, however, are acutely aware of one thing. Jungkook is too close. Not enough to be obvious, but just enough for the heat of his body to radiate against yours, for the barest brush of his knee against yours beneath the table.

You keep your expression neutral, ignoring the way his thigh shifts slightly closer every time he adjusts his position, or the way he leans back against the booth, arms stretching along the backrest, fingertips just grazing your shoulder.

When the first plates of pork belly hit the grill, sizzling on impact, you pretend you also don’t notice the way Jungkook smirks when you finally pick up your chopsticks. You really don’t get what his interest in you is. It’s not like you’re doing anything seductive. You’re literally just eating dinner, holding your chopsticks like a normal, well-adjusted adult. At this point, you’re convinced you could sneeze and he’d find a way to make it flirtatious.

The conversation flows effortlessly around the table and you sip your water, nodding along, almost relaxed, until your phone buzzes quietly in your lap.

Your mother’s name flashes on the screen, bright and insistent. You don’t hesitate. Thumb to the red button. Declined. You tell yourself you’ll call back later, maybe after dessert, maybe tomorrow. Maybe when the timing feels easier.

No worth dwelling on it now, you’re busy anyway.

While you try to re-enter the conversation, your elbow bumps Jungkook’s under the table, barely skin on skin, but you recoil like you’ve been burned. Not subtly either. You yank your arm back with the kind of reflex reserved for hot stoves and childhood memories of being told boys have cooties.

You swear he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Daniel is the first to catch on. He watches you and Jungkook, brows furrowing slightly before he lets out a low snort. “This is painful to watch.”

You glance at him, expression flat. “What is?”

Daniel smirks, picking up a slice of grilled pork with his chopsticks. “You. Pretending you’re not about five seconds away from flipping the table over just because Jungkook exists.”

You exhale sharply, reaching for your water. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jungkook hums, propping an elbow on the table, gaze flickering between you and Daniel. “I don’t know. I swear she’s about to crack.”

You nearly choke on your drink while Daniel barks out a laugh, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, sure. And I think you’re capable of shutting up for more than two minutes.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue, “Wow. I just got here, and already I’m being disrespected.”

His manager shakes his head, amused. “You’ll survive.”

Jungkook grins, then nudges your shoulder. “You still haven’t denied it, though.”

You set your glass down, exhaling slowly. “Denied what?”

“That I’ll crack through your icy exterior.”

The booth goes silent. Jungkook’s team is watching now, entertained. Here’s the thing: you’re not necessarily the frigid ice queen he’s mentioned 40 times in the past few days you’ve known him. No, you have feelings too, you swear. You’ve cried at movies, once teared up at a perfume ad, and you even pet a stray cat last week. But what you don’t do— what you refuse to do —is bend to men and their silly little habits.

Absolutely not.

You are not going to be undone by an elbow. You will not dignify that smug flicker in his eye. He needs to be humbled. And if the universe won’t do it, then congratulations, it’s your new personal mission.

You pick up your chopsticks calmly, unfazed. “Jungkook, I deal with Fortune 500 companies, hostile celebrities, and CEOs who have tried, and failed, to intimidate me. You.. don’t even make the list.”

Low snickers erupt around the table.

Jungkook smirks, leaning in slightly. “Damn. I think that was the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Daniel groans, reaching for the soju bottle. “I cannot do this sober.”

Jungkook’s manager shakes his head, muttering, “Neither can we.”

You ignore them. You ignore all of them. But what you can’t ignore is the small twitch of Jungkook’s lips, the flicker of amusement, intrigue, like he’s watching you under a microscope and finding the results fascinating. No, because why is your heart picking up speed? Why is your skin warm? He’s not even doing anything. That’s the problem. He’s just there, annoying and bothersome and stupidly attractive, and somehow your entire nervous system is reacting like he declared war on your self-control.

And well, you also certainly can’t ignore the way his knee presses just a little firmer against yours beneath the table.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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