#fitness blender warm up

[ribbonprincess]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

"Do a lil twirl for me,yeah...your ass looks so good baby." Rafe chuckles,fixing his pants as they tightened around his crotch,the sight of you in a tiny white mini skirt the reason.

"You like it rafey? I bought It thinking of you" "yeah,no shit- you used my credit card" he chuckles. Moving from his spot on the bed,he walks over you,laying his hands on your hips as he squishes the skin. "You should wear it today while I go golfing,you can look pretty in the cart and if you're good enough daddy will buy you a drink."

He smiles before tilting his head down to press his lips against yours as you whine almost immediately,slapping his chest "my lipgloss! you just smeared it all over,daddy." Turning around to face the mirror as you try to deescalate the situation of your almost ruined makeup,dabbing at the area around your lips with a beauty blender.

"Yeah yeah,'s just lip gloss,it's nothing serious." Gasping dramatically you turn around,hand on your chest as if you've been shot as you point a finger at his chest "'s not just lipgloss.."

Chuckling to himself Rafe presses a kiss against your shoulder "I'm sorry cupcake, daddy's being mean yeah?" Nodding as you run your manicured fingers over his jawline,pressing your chest against his,making your tits more visible as you smile softly- a tragic contrast to your action.

꒦꒷︶°꒷︶°︶₊˚ʚɞ˚₊︶°︶꒦˚︶꒷꒦

As you sit prettily in the golf cart,sipping at your drink while watching rafe play with his friends,you can't help but feel lonely,so you decide to approach as he stands a few feet behind the others. "rayray?"

Turning around almost immediately Rafe's expression softens a bit before turning hard. "What are you doing here,told you to sit in the cart" "Yeah... I know,but I missed you" Emphasizing your words you run a hand over his chest,playing with the button of his slacks.

"Missed me huh?" Looking over his shoulder he shouts a quick "Little lady is feeling sick!" Before dragging you over the Golf cart and driving over a more secluded area of the field,covered by trees and bushes.

"Since you've been missing me sooo much,might as well show it. C'mon get on your knees" Taking one last look around you move to your knees on the moist grass,quickly unbuckling his belt as you pull down his pants and boxer just as much needed. Wrapping a hand around the base of his shaft you kiss the vein that runs on the underside of it, resulting in a harsh tug of your hair. "Don't fucking tease me."

Wrapping your lips around his tip before slowly moving down,twisting your hand around what you couldn't fit "Deeper...I've trained you better than this,kid" Rafe mumble from above you,shoving your head down until you gag harshly,tears already pooling at your lash line. "Yeah,there you go...nice and warm for me." Looking up through your clamped wispy lashes you start to move your head again,twirling your tongue around his length like a popsicle as Rafe groans from above you "Got myself the best girl,right? Sucking my dick like this where everyone can pass by"

Nodding as best as you can,you pull off him with a loud "pop". "Wanna make you feel good,daddy." Smiling to himself, Rafe wipes at your saliva coated lower lip before bringing your mouth back on him with a satisfied moan,brushing some strand of hair that have fallen over your face away. "Fuck,keep doing that and I'm gonna cum. You want daddy to cum in your mouth? Yeah,you do."

Meeting you midway as he thrust into your mouth,giving you no time to react or even understand. "shit- 'm cumming" As his rhythm gets sloppier,you suck around his tip holding onto his thigh as you feel a milky substance flood your mouth. Breathing loudly he pulls you away from him as he smirks "Show me your tongue,angel" showcasing your tongue with a proud smile you look up at him in search of praise. "good girl,what do we say now?" "thank you daddy!"

[retroaria]

hiiii >.< i saw ur event and RAN to make a request... could i request the dialogue “I do love you, you know…even if i’m shit at showing it.” with rinnie (i wouldve chosen him even if u didnt ask for it because it fits him SO well and i love him dearly) with a fem reader?? i hope i understood everything right and thank u in advance!!!!! take care (⁠ ⁠/⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠)⁠/⁠♪⁠♪

yaaaay rin brainrot!!! thank you sm for requesting!! :)

⋆.˚⟡ Rin Itoshi x fem!reader ⋆.˚⟡

a/n: so many people requested this one! this is very soft and fluffy, i hope you all enjoy :)

˗ˏˋ written for aria’s 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗

“Do I remind him? I feel like I shouldn’t have to but I also feel like he just isn’t the type to care about superficial things so maybe I should just-” you were cut off by a rather striking groan on the other end of the line.

“For the love of god, just tell him! He probably doesn’t even know it’s something you’d get so worked up about.” your best friend protested to you over the phone. “What’s the worst that’ll happen? If he feels bad then good, he should be a better boyfriend. And if he gets mad then RUN!”

“Oh my god you’re so dramatic, neither of those will happen. We’re both off today so I’m not gonna say anything, I just want to enjoy my day with him and not make it a big deal.” you sighed out, trying to be content despite the subtle stab to your heart. “I’ll text you later ok? Byeee!”

As soon as you hung up the phone you found yourself prancing out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, your eyes falling on the subtly slouched figure of your boyfriend standing over the kitchen counter. He was making a smoothie as he does every morning - strawberry, banana, protein powder - average boring Rin activities, unfortunately not appropriate for today’s occasion.

You’ve skillfully avoided much interaction with him since you both got out of bed, and at this moment you realized you aren’t sure if you could enter a normal conversation with him in your frantic state. Instead of blurting out the first thing that came to your mind which was, “TODAY IS KIND OF OUR ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY AND YOU TOTALLY HAVEN’T SAID ANYTHING ABOUT IT SO I FEEL LIKE MAYBE YOU HATE ME!”, you decided to go with something casual, so you say, “Mmm, protein powder”

“What…?” Rin turns around to face you and raises his eyebrow at you, looking more concerned than confused. It quickly dawned upon you that you were in fact not looking or sounding cool, calm and collected right now.

“It uh…looks like a yummy smoothie!” you hoped deep down that your girlish charms could save you from deepening the awkwardness of an awkward situation with the most awkward guy you know. You twirl around on your feet a bit with your hands behind your back, flashing him a warm smile.

“Are you having a stroke?” Rin asks, and he’s being fully serious by the way. Was everything impossible with this guy? You begin to ask yourself how you’ve managed to survive a full year of his cluelessness, but then you remember you should probably respond before he actually thinks you’re having a stroke.

“No Rin I’m not having a stroke I'm just trying to start a conversation, jeez.” you snap at him with an attitude that must’ve come from the punch of him not falling for your attempt at cute girlie gestures. Rin sighs and turns his attention back to the blender. Great, now you’re sitting in the kitchen with him in silence except the blender is obnoxiously loud which somehow makes it all the more awkward. Finally it stops and he pours the smoothie out into two cups, setting one down on the table in front of you as he leans back against the counter with his in hand.

Two cups? He never does that. Is this his way of showing he remembered? Is this one of many sweet little gestures he’ll deliver to you throughout the day before the big anniversary surprise? Your wishful thinking is practically bulldozed as Rin opens his mouth.

“There’s something wrong and you aren’t telling me.” he states, his deadpan expression felt like it was slicing you up into little pieces. Rin knew you well enough to know that you were holding out on him, and he was having a silent little panic attack of his own at the moment.

“Nope! Nothing, what could possibly be wrong?” you said nervously. A part of you knew that you could hide your feelings better than this, but the thought that he might pickup on your feelings and somehow read your mind kept you on your toes.

“Was I supposed to take you somewhere today?” he asks, tilting his head at you slightly.

“Like I said, it’s nothing!” you chuckle, it’s a weird chuckle though, definitely not soothing Rin’s worries at all.

He flashes you an odd look, his eyes are narrowed and he’s pouting slightly, almost like he literally is trying to read your mind. He chugs the rest of his smoothie and makes his way over to you. His expression turns back to his usual plain face and he lifts your chin slightly before placing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m going to the gym ok? I’ll be back in a few hours and then we can hang out, I promise.” he coos at you before grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.

He left before giving you anymore time to embarrass yourself with your incomprehensible ramblings - he’s a smart boy. That sweet moment coupled with the promise of quality time together was almost enough to make you forget whatever grudge you were holding against him. However, it wasn’t enough to fight off how shitty it feels to not have your boyfriend there on your anniversary.

You spent the next two hours frantically preparing yourself for Rin’s return. Rin spent the next two hours not going to the gym and driving around aimlessly because he totally lied about that as an excuse to think of a way to make it up to you. While he was blending his smoothie before, he let his eyes wander to the calendar you had hanging on your fridge door - today’s date was highlighted with little green heart. The pieces clicked in his head rather quickly, and instead of speaking up and saving you from your nervous ramblings, he took the opportunity to think up a surprise.

Rin is awful at surprises, not to mention he also isn’t the most creative guy. He ultimately decided it was pointless for him to think so hard about it when he could just go home and apologize. He swallowed his pride and stopped at a flower shop before making his way back, after all, who better to help him decide how the day should be spent than his partner in crime - you!

By the time you heard the front door of your apartment open you were barely half dressed and still losing your mind a bit. Somehow Rin’s two hour gym session turned into forty five minutes and your anxiety was at an all time high. You threw on the closest pieces of clothing you could find and walked out of your bedroom to see him standing in the hallway with a bouquet of flowers and a rather pouty look on his face.

“Hey…so uh, I saw the calendar before…I know I kind of forgot about our anniversary…and uh…I'm really sorry.” he said as he held the bouquet out towards you. His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze. You took the flowers from his hands and let out a sigh of relief.

“I was so worried all morning you wouldn’t remember.” you said as you smelled the flowers with a content smile on your face.

“I was so worried you were going to kill me for forgetting.” Rin looked down at you, his pout still lingering as he relaxed a bit, seeing you weren’t so upset with him. “This is just the first year you know, I’ll have like fifty more chances to remember after this.” he chuckled.

“You think we’ll be together for that long?” your eyes widened and you beamed up at him.

“probably.” he said slyly, taking the bouquet from your hands and setting it on the table. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him, his hands moving up to cup your face softly. “I do love you, you know…even if I'm shit at showing it.”

“I know, I love you too.” you cooed at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tender kiss.

dividers by: @toastray

[violetsiren90]

The Light of Your Eyes

Pairing: best friend's younger brother!Changbin x f!Reader

Genre: one-shot; friends to lovers; smut and fluff; hurt/comfort

Summary: Can the gentle touch of an unexpected pair of hands on your body heal the wounds of your soul?

Sequel: Arms Around Me

Content warnings: 18+ (minors, dni), age gap romance (consenting adults); mentions of break-up and unhealthy past relationship dynamics; depression and anxiety symptoms (mild); MC has self esteem struggles, some are body-image related; the ex was low-key emotionally abusive tbh 😒; depictions of alcohol consumption (no drunkenness); depictions of food and eating (MC has a moment of negative thought patterns in regards to food consumption); gaming/watching movies; emotional breakdowns; kissing (so much kissing, guys); Fluffy fluffy FLUFF 💕; making out; interrupted shenanigans; cuddling; shirtless Binnie 👀; strong and gentle Binnie 🥺💘 ; working through FEELINGS 😅 ; breast play; nudity; oral sex (f. receiving); feedbag position; confessions and new beginnings.

Word Count: ~9300

Author's Note: Well, here it is - my first Binnie fic! I wanted to make it as sweet and sexy as he is...which, I know, is impossible, so I gave it my best shot! Hopefully, it's something worthy of his face-claim. I'm not going to make any judgements as to whether I feel it fits the bill, but rather like the man himself, tell you to be the judge of your own opinions! Jutdae!! 😂💗 But in all seriousness, if you decide to read this story, thank you! I hope it brings you something warm and fuzzy!

*The poem at the beginning is an original, and is what inspired this story!

Acknowledgements: I cannot thank @moni-logues enough for beta reading this for me, and for all her hype and humor and general human decency - this story wouldn't be what it is without her! 💖

As always, if no one has told you today, please know that you're loved, and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

    

the

Bright color of my laughter and the

Melody of the curve of my hips and the

Soft velvet of my irises

     seemed

To have taken their first breath,

Opening gently - like flowers perfuming my soul

- When bathed in the light of your eyes.

"Changbin? What are you doing here?"

     "I could ask you the same question," he says with a little smirk, whipping a dish towel over his shoulder as he shuffles back to let you in.

     Fair enough, you suppose. You are showing up without notice. Not that you ever need to give his sister any notice - as your best friend, there's a key with all the others in your purse that unlocks the door you're closing behind you. You wouldn't have even knocked had his car not been parked in the driveway.

     "Where's Nari?" you ask, glancing at the gaming console hooked up to the massive flat-screen, and a bullet blender cup half filled with something thick, pale and probably protein-packed sitting on the coffee table.

     "She went out of town for the weekend," he calls, heading back toward the dining area. "Last minute work thing." 

     Damn. 

     Your apartment is boring and barren and lonely. You wanted to hang out. You've been coming around more than usual – almost as often as when you were in grad school together. But Nari had her own life, you understood. You had your own life too.

     And then three months ago, on New Years Eve, your long-term boyfriend called it quits. It wasn't as if you were heartbroken. Not really. The relationship had been sick and slowly dying. But returning to a life lived in solitude was proving a difficult adjustment – especially navigating the new and constant stillness which left you the mental space and dexterity to run up against the shadows of wounds unhealed. And you didn't feel like growing into your EQ. You felt like distracting yourself. So you ended up at your bestie's place more often than not, these days.

     You sigh, trailing toward the kitchen. You won't stay long - if her younger brother is house sitting, he'll probably have people coming over. It's Friday night, after all, and he's twenty-four years young.

    The sound of running water, and music from a little speaker playing a catchy beat laced with fast-paced rap draws you into the warmly-lit, open kitchen. You recognize the voice on the track.

     "This new?" you ask, dropping your bag on a barstool and rounding the island to where Changbin is up to his elbows in suds at the sink. He's in a black band tee and bright blue joggers, his curly dark hair unstyled.

    He looks over his shoulder and nods.

    "What do you think? Wait, no, lemme start it over..."

     You smile to yourself as he hastily dries his hands and whips out his phone, pulling the track back to the beginning. He braces himself against the edge of the sink, gnawing on his bottom lip as he bobs his head with the lyrical punches and runs. 

     You smile to yourself, leaning your back against the counter beside him.

     "This is good, Bin," you nod earnestly. 

     "Yeah?" he asks, returning to his soapy task.

     "It really is. Hyunjin's pretty damn fast. Not as fast as you, but who is?" 

You grin, bumping your hip into his side.

     He smirks down into the bubbles.

     He's wanted to make music for as long as you've known him, and even fifteen years ago he could spit out a diss track that would have you wetting yourself laughing. He and his buddy, Hyunjin, met in high school and started messing around with music senior year. They committed to the dream, and both worked full-time gigs - Hyunjin as a tattoo artist and Changbin as a personal trainer - while promoting their artistry in their spare time. Production was a tough road to take when they were counting on nothing but raw talent and guts, but you'd always been an unflinching supporter.

     "We've got a gig next Saturday...at The Eight Ball," he remarks, looking over at you as a proud smile presses a tiny dimple into his bread cheek.

     "What?!" you squeal, turning to smack him on the arm. "Dude, that's fantastic! Oh my god, congratulations!"

     "Thanks, and ouch!" he replies, rubbing his arm with a pout that you ignore. It couldn't possibly have hurt him, not with those biceps.

     He moves to the fridge, a grin still plastered on his face.

     "You should come!" he urges over his shoulder as he appraises his sister's stash before grabbing an energy drink. "I know the boyfriend isn't into rap, but you could come with Nari..."

     You scoff softly.

     "Doesn't really matter what he likes anymore," you mumble bitterly.

     Changbin freezes as he's about to crack open the beverage in his hand.

     "Wait, what? Did you guys...is that over?"

     You purse your lips and nod. Changbin looks completely taken off guard in a way that surprises you. 

“When did that happen?”

You reach back to clutch at the cold tile of the countertop.

“Beginning of the year.”

He scratches his head.

“Nari didn’t…why didn’t you say something?”

You shrug, your eyes falling. For reasons you'd never considered, you’d rarely brought your ex around or even brought him up to Changbin. 

He turns to the still open fridge and swaps out his energy drink for two beers, opening both and sliding one across the island between you.

     "How you holding up?" he asks in earnest concern, a little furrow appearing between his dark brows.

     You want to tell him that you're fine - it's what you've been telling everyone else - but from the way he holds your gaze before letting his eyes search your face, he's looking for a real answer. You pull your lip between your teeth. You're not ready to form the words that spell the truth. He sees it.

    "Ah," he waves dismissively, "Fuck that guy. You're too good for him anyway. What an idiot."

      You blink, a little smirk tugging at your lips.

     "You don't have to hate on him just because we're-"

     "I'm hating on him because I hate him," he stares at you unflinchingly, taking another swig of his beer. "He wasn't good to you, didn't make you happy. I'm glad he's gone. Seriously, fuck him."

     You didn't expect that sort of reaction out of Changbin. Not that you expected anything, but the strong, certain tone he took in regards to your ex's unworthiness has a tiny little warmth glowing in your chest. It was like him to feel strongly and take a stand, but to have his conviction aimed at you...

     "Thanks, Bin," you murmur softly, hiding your smile behind your beer.

     The young man nods, and his lips part as if to speak when his phone buzzes in his pocket. As he answers the call - clearly, from the nature of his greeting, one of his buddies - you're reminded that you’re trespassing on his Friday night. Draining your beer, you grab your bag and slip out of the kitchen. 

     You huff a little sigh as you pull on your shoes, lingering listlessly for a moment before pulling open the door. The thought of going home has your stomach churning. You can't go back and be alone there. 

You can't.

     You have to.

     How pathetic could you possibly get? you consider sickly, staring out into the darkness. Your self-loathing and mounting anxiety battle for dominance as you will yourself to take the step over the threshold that will carry you to your car…

     Click.

     The door swishes shut, and you blink in confusion before you note a bulky arm stretched over your shoulder, hand pressed to the wooden frame below the peephole.

     You turn into Changbin's frame and he jostles backwards, hand dropping to your shoulder.

     "Where do you think you're going?" he asks, a little smirk playing on his lips.

     You try to get your bearings as you resurface from the flash flood of inner turmoil, blinking up at him in confusion.

     "Uuhh...home?" you answer, jerking a thumb back toward your intended exit.

     Changbin shakes his head. 

     "You just got here."

     "Well...I came to see Nari but she's gone, so..." 

     When the faintest shadow of hurt seems to flicker over his features at your words, you stammer to clarify.

     "Bin, it's Friday, I- you've got plans, right? I don't want to be in the way...Like, it's really nice seeing you don't get me wrong, but, it would suck to have one of your sister's random friends underfoot if you're...if..."

     You trail off. He's watching you in amusement now, arms crossed and bottom lip pulled between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked just a little higher than the other.

     "What?" you press him, now a bit self-conscious at your rambling and still on edge from the surging anxiety of moments ago. 

     Damn, what was with you? You'd been a mess lately, and now you couldn't even get your words out with Nari's kid brother?

     "I do have plans."

     Changbin's words interrupt your muddled self-assessment. You glance up at him.

     What? Okay, that's what you had been trying to...

     "I plan to kick your ass at Super Smash Bros Brawl," he quips, turning to round the couch and settle in front of it before reaching for the blue controller discarded on the coffee table.

     Huh?

     You watch him start up the game and move through selections. Shuffling toward the back of the couch, you place your hands on it. He wants to hang out? Now that he found out you'd been dumped. Nari's away, so he's falling into stride, you think to yourself. You sigh. You should be grateful. Instead, you feel like a burden.

     "Um, Bin..." you murmur, "You don't have to do this..."

     "Do what?" he asks without looking back. "I'm not going easy on you, if that's what you mean. And I'm using Kirby - nonnegotiable."

     Your heart melts a little as your eyes rest on him. He's always been a good guy, and it was like him to do this sort of thing - look out for someone when they were feeling low. Leaving simply because you don't feel worthy of his care and attention risks hurting him more than you.

     You slowly slip out of your shoes and cross into the living room, retrieving a red controller from atop the console before sinking onto the carpet beside him. You toggle through your choices before landing on Link. Changbin glances over at you disparagingly. 

     "Link sucks."

     "Kirby sucks."

     "Hey!" Changbin, practically shouts in your ear, "Don't insult my widdle cutie guy..."

     You grimace theatrically at the baby talk.

     "Don't ever do that again."

     "Or what?" Changbin challenges as he immediately unleashes a combo move that has your character hurtling toward the edge of the battle stage.

     You hop around, avoiding him and trying out different button combos. It's been forever since you played this game. Your ex had been a Halo enthusiast. You were never big on first person shooters, but you tried to get into it for his sake. He hadn't the patience to help you learn, though, and after a couple of sessions of grimaces and apologies on your behalf mumbled into his headset, he'd stopped taking you up on your offers to join him. 

     Kirby darts back and forth across the screen after you on stubby pink legs. Eventually you get the hang of things and are returning his attacks, though he easily bests you in an embarrassingly short sequence of moves.

     "Sorry, I'm no good at video games," you mumble apologetically. 

     The smug look falls from Changbin's face.

     "Why are you sorry?" he raises a brow, dropping his controller into his lap, a little smile still playing on his lips.

     You shrug. His smile fades.

     "Who says you're no good?"

     Shit.

     You shift your focus to the screen and toggle for a new character.

     "Best two out of three."

     You can feel his eyes still on you as you opt for Princess Peach.  

     Two out of three turns into five out of eight, and around eleven out of twenty, the doorbell rings. When Changbin turns in surprise toward the sound, you take the opportunity to deliver a critical blow, winning your first match of the night. He rolls his eyes as you giggle wickedly and moves to answer the door.

     You pull your phone from your pocket reflexively to check the socials you've deleted, before sighing and tossing it across the room to land on the carpet with a thud.

     "Did you just throw your phone?" 

     Glancing over your shoulder, you catch him shooting you a quizzical look over a stack of pizza boxes tall enough to feed a small army. Clambering to your feet you trail after him into the kitchen.

     "You do have plans, you liar!" you elbow him as he opens the top box and pulls out a slice, hissing as the melted cheesy overflow burns the tips of his fingers.

     "Ow!" he snaps up a napkin and cradles it under the steaming piece of pizza, shaking his other hand before holding up his fingers in front of you.

     "Blow on 'em," he whines.

     You raise your eyebrows.

     "You're joking."

     He pouts and you want to laugh. This big, grown man is seriously going to give you the lip right now?

     "That's what you get for having no patience, Bin..." you tsk disapprovingly. 

     He lets out a little disappointed sigh.

     "Meanie..." he grumbles, and lets his hand fall.

     You return your focus to the obscene amount of food now stacked on Nari's kitchen table. 

     "So, I'm sure people are going to start showing up, so I'm just gonna..."

     Changbin hands you a paper plate with two slices of pizza and heads to the fridge where he fishes out two more beers. You stare at the plate in your hand.

     "I...Bin..." 

     "What, you don't like sweet potato?" he asks with a smirk, cracking open a can and handing it to you. 

     You blink at him in confusion. 

     "Please enjoy this meal compliments of Han Jisung, who never remembers to update the address on his delivery app. Now, load up on pizza and let’s get back to it because I'm not trying to let you act like you came out on top from winning that last match on a fluke."

     You scoff at his last remark. Watching him pile several slices onto his plate, you take a bite of yours. It tastes good, and you realize as it hits your stomach that you haven't eaten all day. When was the last time you ate a real meal? When was the last time you wanted one? 

     "Noona?" 

     Changbin's voice makes you realize you had zoned out and when you blink up at him, there's just nine inches of disposable dinnerware between you. His lips are pursed and his eyes trace your features, their gaze gentle but searching. 

    "You alright?" he asks.

     There it is again; the concern. He isn't just checking in. His voice is soft and low, like his eyes. As a rule, Changbin's voice is strong, resonant - saying everything from his chest without even trying. So when he's gentle, when he pulls himself back...

    "Do you miss that guy?" he murmurs.

     "No!" 

You say it so quickly.

     Changbin nods.

     "I'm just..." Fuck, why are you suddenly so emotional? "I think I'm...adjusting. Y'know?"

     He nods again slowly. Then he reaches up and touches your face, dragging his thumb over the side of your mouth and suddenly your brain waves flat-line. Your eyes widen and your lips part, but before you can even process what's happening, he drops his hand to swipe it on a napkin.

     "Had sauce on your face," he mumbles, and you can't read his.

     His mouth is tugged up in a small smile but somehow it looks sad, and his eyes look like they're still asking a question that was never really answered. Before you can consider any further, he picks up his plate and heads back toward the living room.

     You follow him, still half in your head.

     When you sit down next to him, there's something hanging unspoken in the foot and a half of space between your bodies. Something has shifted, gone taut. 

     Shit, had you made him uncomfortable? Why had you stared at him like a weirdo when he...wait, he touched you...

     Your eyes shift over to where he sits beside you. He runs a hand through the wavy hair over his ear. Has he always been so beautiful? He turns quick enough to catch you staring and you put your plate out of your lap. The pizza smells so good but suddenly you can't touch it.

     Changbin initiates another round, which you lose in record time. Your stomach grumbles.

     "You better eat if you're going to have any hope of beating me again," he goads, finishing off his third slice to abandon the crust with the others on his plate before launching another game.

     "I had enough," you deflect, pushing your plate toward him.

     "You took two bites."

     "I need to cut back."

     "Like...go on a diet?"

     "Yeah."

     His brows furrow and his tongue slips between his lips as he sends Kirby into a hammer flip that lands as a critical hit and you wince.

"What have you eaten today?"

"What?"

     "You heard me."

     "I...I don't know. I..."

     Your stomach twists. The hunger is there, but so is the anxiety. The fear of being judged for eating too much or too quickly or...

     The game pauses. Your plate slides back toward you over the carpet.

     "The rest of that piece. Or whatever else you want. But something." 

     His voice is gentle but firm. You sigh.

     "Fine," you murmur, grabbing the half-eaten slice.

     You take a bite, and slowly raise your eyes to his as they regard you patiently.

     "Sorry," you mumble, covering your mouth, shifting away from him.

     "Why now?"

     "I make gross noises when I eat."

     "What? No you d-" 

     A hand tugs at your elbow. When you look back toward him his handsome face holds so many things, and you watch as they take turns seizing his features. Horror...pity...anger.

     "Who told you that?" he asks lowly, but it doesn't sound like a question. "Noona..."

     He squeezes your elbow.

     You feel everything you've been shoving down in your chest begin to well up. 

Fuck, no! 

Your lip trembles.

He's shifting to face you.

You shake your head and press your eyes shut.

Your hand is encompassed in a larger one.

     "It's lies, all of it," Changbin whispers with desperate conviction...and your dam breaks.

     He pulls you into his arms as you sob with abandon. One of his hands encircles your waist tugging you against his broad, warm chest, and the other slips to brush tenderly over your nape as you tuck your face into his neck. 

     "He's a liar...shhhh...he's a lying piece of shit," he insists earnestly, into your hair. "You're perfect. He's the one who needs to fix himself. You're so, so perfect." 

     Perfect? You let your heart hold the word in its palm for one precious moment before pushing it away. Your heart had never been one to accept gifts it didn't think it deserved.

     You weep and weep in his strong arms until you run out of tears, and then he holds you while you breathe. As the catharsis of your breakdown begins to settle in, you wonder at the comedown - a softer, warmer one than you've ever known – and you consider the loveliness that has broken your fall.

     Soft and firm, everywhere he touches you. And warm. So warm. Not just the heat radiating from his body like a furnace – the velvet rasp of his voice, the absolute and unfaltering nature of his embrace.

     Your hands move tentatively against his back. Soft cotton stretches and bunches between your fingers over his sturdy frame. Where your face is pressed to his collar every breath draws in a comforting combination of detergent and cologne. When you close your eyes and sigh, letting your weight sink against him further, you feel his arms tighten in response. 

     "Sorry," you croak feebly.

     "Stop," he implores you, "Every time you apologize, I want to sock that guy in the face."

     "I...I'm so stupid, I didn't even really realize..."

     "No," his arms squeeze you again, "He had your trust. It was his job to protect you."

     Protected. That's how you feel right now. Safe. So, so safe. Letting him hold you and reassure you felt good...it felt right. But yet again, the voice in your mind that liked to remind you how much of a burden you always were speaks up in a sickly whisper.

     You pull yourself slowly from his arms and off his lap. Drawing yourself up to stand, you wipe your hot cheeks, puffy red eyes finding his like the needle of a compass. Unprepared for what awaits you in his gaze, your knees nearly give out beneath you.

     Changbin is looking up from where he kneels before you, the yearning in his eyes unchecked as they burn with  an unasked question and an unspoken promise.

     "I should go," you whisper, barely able to form the words.

     "Don't," he says, standing.

     "If I stay I'll just wreck your night," you mumble.

     "You could never," he insists, lips tugging into a little smile. His eyes are still pleading.

     "Changbin..." you breathe, suddenly drowning again in the fizzy serotonin his words ignite in your chest. "You don't want..."

     "You let me be the judge of what I want."

     His hands find your arms and he pulls you in. There are centimeters between you. His eyes rest on your lips. Your heart hammers in your ears as your brain begins to malfunction the way it had when he touched your face...

     "D-do I have something on my-"

     Mouth? His.

    The whole of your being floods with something beautiful and ineffable at the touch of his lips and no voice, no doubt, no force in the world could be stronger than the one that pulls you into him. Your arms fly up to wrap around his neck and tug yourself impossibly closer. His hands drop to your waist, pressing desperately in kind, and your bodies mold together. You flush with heat, sparks igniting in your belly and skittering through your veins as his lips move against yours. He stumbles back, pulling you with him as his knees buckle at the edge of the couch, and your body spills over his lap.

Your fingers card into his hair.

His hands drop to the back of your hips.

Your tongue brushes his bottom lip.

He moans.

     At the gorgeous, deep sound from his chest, you pull back, fighting the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth. What the fuck is happening right now? You don't get much time to consider as his head falls against the backrest and his eyes flutter open.

     "Sorry," he grins bashfully. The tips of his ears burn pink.

     "Now who's apologizing for no reason?" you tease, pressing your hands to his chest.

     He smiles so sweetly in return you feel you might physically melt. And then the smile fades and the lids of his eyes grow heavy and he leans up to claim your mouth.

     His lips taste the same as a moment ago, but their press is slower, hungrier. His hands are powerful and assertive as they hook under your thighs and pull your hips flush against his own in a single tug. You gasp softly against his lips and you feel his smirk. You feel his smirk and something else - something beginning to press up into your ass through your jeans.

     Licking into his mouth, you push down, grinding your hips over his in a slow, deliberate undulation. The groan that falls from his lips unlocks something inside of you that needs to know every sound he makes and how to elicit them. Your mouth drops to his neck.

     Suddenly, he's gripping your waist and pivoting to lay you on the cushions, slotting himself between your legs. You're still dizzy from the sudden rush of movement, when your legs curl around his hips and over his ass and–

     A loud buzzing from the coffee table has you mourning the press of Changbin's lips to your throat as he glances at the caller ID. 

     "Shit!" he scrambles to sit up, hand still gripping your thigh above your knee when he presses the phone to his ear.

     "Hey," he runs a hand through his hair. "What? Nothing. No, I didn't forget. I will, I will."

     You recognize his tone of voice. There could only be one person on the other end of the line. You sit up, your head beginning to clear as the reality of the situation washes over you.

     "Okay, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Be safe. Love you." 

Changbin presses the end-call button and tosses the phone onto the cushion beside him. He leans back against the couch and claps his hand against your leg with a sigh.

     "She really knows how to wreck a moment for me."

     You crack a wry smile.

     "I mean, it's probably for the best that we don't desecrate your sister's couch."

     His eyes widen as horror, disgust, and amusement wage war across his features. You burst into a fit of giggles. He feigns a gag. You laugh so hard that you snort.

     "S-sorry," you clap your hand over your mouth, still tittering while your ears heat in embarrassment.

     Changbin's face softens again. He reaches for your hand and pulls it from your face, threading his fingers through yours.

     "Cut it out."

     "What? I can't be embarrassed about snorting like a pig?"

     "No. It's cute," he smirks.

     "It is not!"

     "Mhm. Everything you do is cute."

     He glances over at you, a lopsided smirk on his perfect lips, his eyes sparkling. He means it.

     You fluster, gaze dropping to your enjoined hands, and concentrate on tracing little patterns on the back of his with your thumb. He sighs.

     "Wanna watch a movie?"

     The request takes you by surprise and your heart squeezes. If it was any other guy, the night would have been over. For the fourth time tonight, you had been about to head for the door, and for the fourth time, Changbin makes you feel wanted. So you stay.

     You grab a big, fluffy blanket from the basket in Nari's room, and when you return, Changbin has the lights dimmed and Your Name ready to go on the TV. You smile as you settle in beside him, tossing half the blanket over his widespread legs.

     "We don't have to watch this just because it's my favorite, you know," you insist, but he shakes his head.

     "Taki's ma' boy," he smirks, shooting you a glance as he presses play on the remote.

     You're not quite sure what it means, but you feel your heart skip a beat just the same.

You love this movie. You love that you've seen it enough times that you can talk through it. You love that Changbin is more than willing to talk over the film himself. You're not certain when it happened, but by halfway through the movie his arm is stretched out behind your shoulders and your head rests on his bicep.

     "Do you remember seeing this together in the theater?" he asks suddenly, tilting his head toward yours.

     You grin.

     "You cried and Nari gave you shit about it," you recall.

     "You bailed me out. Told her all the sniffling was you. Never even teased me about it either."

     Changbin smiles down at you, his eyes sentimental.

     Butterflies flutter their delicate wings in your ribcage. How does he make you feel this way?

Your eyes dip to his lips for a moment. Sighing, you nuzzle into his shoulder, hiding your face as much as seeking his warmth. His arm slips off the back of the couch to curl around your shoulders and pull you into his side. The movie plays on.

     When the credits roll, Changbin stretches and yawns, and watching him it dawns on you that, working at a fitness center, he's an especially early riser.

     "We should call it a night," you offer, standing and stretching yourself, but you're tugged back down into Changbin's lap, yelping as you topple onto him.

     His arms encircle your hips as he regards you with a sleepy grin.

     "What, do I live here now?" you tease.

     "Stay the night," he urges, tightening his arms around you. "You really want to drive back now?"

     You chew your lip, eyes tracing over his face. This is all more than a bit unreal, and you haven't given yourself even one second to process what's happening, lest you utterly panic. All you know right now is that your little ship had been sinking and he had hauled you into a lifeboat. Everything outside of him seems like a raging sea.

     You nod.

     "Okay," you whisper, combing his hair away from his forehead. “I’ll stay.” 

     His eyes dip shut at your touch and the butterflies flutter gently once more.

     A few minutes later, you take Nari's room and slip into a pair of her cotton shorts, which do basically nothing to contain your ass, and tug on a plain white tee that stretches snugly over your torso. How a big guy like Changbin could have emerged from the same genetic pool as his teeny tiny sister was beyond you. As you glance in the mirror, your heart sinks. You don't like how the tight fit is pressing you out everywhere you're most self-conscious. But, they are just pajamas, and they're all you have at your disposal.

     As you're about to head into the master bathroom to finish your nightly routine, you remember that the toothbrush and toiletries you keep on hand at Nari's are in the little half-bath attached to the guest room. You groan, glancing at yourself again in the mirror, and pull a blanket around yourself before crossing the hall.

     Hoping Changbin hasn’t yet fallen asleep, you knock hesitantly on the door. You hear the bed creak before the door opens to reveal a head of mussed hair and hands scrubbing over bleary eyes. But it's not what you notice. Your apology for rousing him dies on your lips as your eyes glue themselves to his bare chest. Blinking dumbly, your eyes climb from his soft stomach subtly rippling with the presence of strong abdominals up to a pair of impressive pecs with wide-set, dusky nipples. His flannel pajama pants settle at his hips, accentuating how his body broadens as it rises from his waist to his full chest and wide shoulders flanked by bulging biceps. Thick. He's so fucking thick you could bi-

     "...Noona?" he rumbles, his voice husky from sleep. "What's wrong?"

     "Nothing...sorry..." you rush out, ripping your gaze up to his. "My toothbrush is in your room – I mean! in your bathroom. That's where I usually stay, so...but I didn't think you'd be asleep. Sorry, I can just..." 

     He rubs over one of his eyes with his palm as he steps aside.

     "You can grab it."

     Right. You shuffle in awkwardly, trying not to step on the blanket dragging around your feet. As you cross the dark room, you try not to dwell on the rumpled sheets of the bed that speak of his body having lain between them, or the soft smell of his cologne hanging in the air. You quickly retrieve the little toiletry bag and, as you move to squeeze past Changbin at the door, he eyes the fluffy shroud you're clutching to your chest.

     He raises a sleepy eyebrow.

     "I'm sure Nari has pants you could..."

     "I'm wearing pants!" you bluster, "They just...don't fit."

      You move out of the doorway to make your way back to your room, but a hand cups the side of your face and turns it as soft lips meet your forehead. 

     "Good night, noona," he murmurs with a little smile before retreating back into his room.

     You stand in the hall, staring at his door, the butterflies absolutely aflurry.

     Despite your best efforts, you can't sleep. Your mind is full of the last five hours. Full of Changbin.

     He had kissed you. You had kissed him back. And it had felt...

     You roll from your side to your back, sighing up at the dark ceiling. You chew on your lip as you remember breaking down and his arms around you. You would usually feel regretful and ashamed after baring yourself like that to someone. You despised moments of weakness. But you couldn't bring yourself to hate the moments in his arms. You didn't regret them. In fact, you wanted him to hold you again. You wanted to feel vulnerable in his hands, and you wanted him to keep you safe.

     You feel heat rush up from your neck as you recognize these feelings.

     You must be absolutely shameless, you conclude in wonder. You should be freaking out right now - this was Changbin, for Christ's sake – Nari's brother! You should be wondering what happens next, and what all of it means...but even so you can’t bring yourself to care. All your mind can focus on is how his arms felt like waking up after a nightmare to song birds and soft sunlight.

     After an hour or so of tossing and turning, the salty pizza from dinner has you parched and slipping out to the kitchen for a drink. You pull a glass from the cupboard and fill it at the fridge, gulping down the contents to refill it again. Suddenly, you feel two strong arms snake around your waist and you start, sloshing your water and smacking the back of your head into the man holding you. You hastily set your glass down and turn in his arms as he lets out a groan, one of his hands releasing you as it flies up to cup the front of his face in pain.

     "Bin, oh my god! Are you okay? You scared me!" you chide with a chuckle as you reach up to push his hand away and brush the tips of your fingers across his nose. 

    He pouts down at you and you smile.

     "Did I wake you?"

     He huffs.

     "Yeah. To get your toothbrush. Then I couldn't go back to sleep."

     "Sorry," you groan, still stroking over where you had struck his face. "Does it hurt?" 

     He nods.

     "Kiss it better," he mumbles cutely.

     You roll your eyes, but lift your lips to comply when suddenly he interrupts the motion with the soft press of his mouth to yours. It's slow and sweet, and you're struck all over again with how quickly you melt at his touch - a sensation you cannot imagine ever growing accustomed to, but to which you are fairly certain you are in danger of growing entirely addicted.

     "Bin..." you whisper against his lips, "Bin, what are we-"

     "Liar," he murmurs, pulling back.

     Your mouth parts in confusion as you stare up at him, still drunk on his lips.

     "You said the clothes didn't fit. You should wear this all the time," he smirks as he squeezes low on your waist.

     Your cheeks heat as you remember what you're wearing, but you don't have long to be anxious over it as he presses his lips to your nose...the corner of your mouth...your jaw. You tremble as you lean into him, fingers splaying over his warm, bare chest.

     "Let me show you," he whispers against your skin.

     "Sh-show me...what...?"

     He draws back, pressing his forehead to yours.

     "How perfect you are."

     You still, eyes flicking up to his. They're dark and tender and pleading. You let out a little shuddering breath.

     "I...you don't have t-"

     His arms hold you closer, gentle but insistent.

     "Let me," he whispers, the tip of his handsome nose brushing over the dip of your cupid's bow. "Please. I want to."

     You swallow, eyes dropping to his lips. You want it too, you find. You want his hands and lips and eyes all over you, bringing warmth everywhere they meet your aching body. You nod and take his lips again with yours. 

     "Yeah?" he murmurs against them.

     "Yeah," you breathe, slipping a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair.

     He groans in response, deepening the kiss as he licks at your parted lips and when your tongues brush, sparks burst in your belly. You feel it all slipping, the masks, the walls - every barrier you hold up to shield yourself from not being enough. His arms are strong and his lips are tender and you can't focus on anything but the perfection of being so utterly held.

     His mouth moves to caress your jaw, under your ear, down the column of your neck, and suddenly you feel the edge of the counter pressing into the small of your back. His hands grip your waist and he hitches you onto the tiled surface with ease. It's cold against your bare legs, but you don't have more than a second to register the discomfort as Changbin nudges his way between your knees. He runs his hands over your thighs as his eyes trail from your panting lips to your lightly heaving chest.

     You feel your nipples pebble under his gaze and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his eyes glinting with mischief as he runs a hand up your side, over your shirt, to rest under the swell of your breast. He flicks a thumb over the hardened bud and you whimper and jump. He laughs softly, his smirk spreading into a full smile as he squeezes your breast and brings his eyes to yours.

     "Your pretty body likes me, noona," he puffs proudly, massaging you deftly through the soft cotton of the tee.

     You don't have a witty retort. Your body likes him so much that it frightens you. And with the deep affection you already feel, have long felt, for him...

     You reach to gently tangle your hand again in his coarse, dark curls. He glances up, a sweet little smirk tugging at his pretty lips again. 

     "Bin..." you sigh.

     "Hmm?" he hums as he slips his hands to your bottom and tugs you forward so that you're flush against him.

     You dip your head and your lips ghost his.

     "Nothing," you whisper, and you kiss him again. Again and again.

     His hands slide from your ass to slip beneath your shirt at your lower waist and he kneads the soft flesh above your hips.

     "So soft. Feels so good," he groans into your mouth.

     You moan as the walls of your pussy contract. You're beginning to ache, beginning to drip – and his words seem to affect you as intensely as his touch.

     He moves his lips to latch onto the soft skin of your neck and suck, his hands bunching your shirt up and up until his mouth pops free from your skin and he's pulling the thin garment over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air pricks your skin and you become keenly aware, for the briefest moment, that you are sitting on your best friend's kitchen counter, stripped down to her sleep shorts, with her brother between your thighs. As your brain races to decide whether to find that incredibly arousing or absolutely panic-inducing, Changbin's cherry lips rewire your neurological pathways in favor of the former when they close around your right nipple. Your head lolls back, colliding with the cabinet door and it clatters. 

     "Shit..." you hiss softly, threading your hands into his hair and gripping it by the roots.

     Your eyes slip shut and you focus on the sensation of his warm tongue slipping over the peaks of your breasts, his strong, smooth palms cupping and caressing. And then you feel his little puffs of breath and the nudge of his nose at the valley of your chest as he groans and smushes your tits up to meet his face. 

     "I fucking live here now," he mumbles into the globe of your breast, and despite the heat of the moment, you softly laugh. You laugh and you feel his smile pressed to your skin.

     Then suddenly he's pulling you into his arms in a bridal carry. You know he's strong, as you wrap your arms around his neck, but can't push away a pang of self-consciousness as he bears your weight. 

     "Bin, I'm so heavy..."

     "You're not."

     "I don't want you to..."

     "Stop it," comes his voice in a soft, deep command as he halts in his tracks to kiss you.

     He kisses you and kisses you until you believe that he could carry you until the end of time, and then he takes you into the guest bedroom and sits you gently on the bed. The bed with the mussed sheets that smell like him. The sheets that he's leaning you into as you push yourself to the middle of the bed while he hovers over the top of your body, his lips never leaving yours.

     As he sinks down over you, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress has warmth licking through your veins. You move your hands to caress over his broad back, feeling his muscles ripple beneath your fingers as he shifts to prop himself up on his elbow. You use the free space to trace your hand down his chest and abdomen until you reach the waistband of his pants. If he'd just push himself a few inches up you could...

     He pulls away, just barely breathless, and his eyes find yours. He reaches down with his right hand to pull yours gently from between your bodies and to his lips, before threading his fingers through yours and pressing your joined hands into the sheets beside your head.

     "I want to eat you out."

     He says it so simply, so confidently, and you can feel more arousal gush to join what's already begun to paint your inner thighs. 

     "Fuck..." you breathe, your fingers trembling in his grasp.

     "Can I?" he asks, kissing your lips softly again.

     For a moment you're afraid of what saying yes will mean, of the intimacy of it all, of the possibility that you won't measure up, someway, somehow, or maybe...that you will - and what in the world you would do with that level of acceptance...

     You let out a shaky sigh, as you hold his gaze. It arrests you and washes over you. You remember his eyes as he knelt on the living room floor, and all they pleaded with you to disbelieve, to unlearn. 

     Yes. Yes...If it's him, you want it, whatever it means.

     You surge forward, pressing your lips to his, your hands weaving through his hair, pulling him in. He lets out a tiny whimper as you devour him, kissing him with determined abandon until you have to come up for air.

     "Yes, Bin, yes," you shudder into his mouth as he pants over you. “Yes I want you to.”

In answer, he presses one last tender kiss to your lips before moving to kiss down your body. He moves slowly, but with purpose, pressing an adoring mouth to every part of you that’s bared. He kisses your ear, your neck, your collarbones…he moves over your shoulders and down your right arm to the tip of each finger. He kisses your breasts and down your stomach. He kisses your belly button, and over your hips and down your left thigh. He kisses the inside of your knee, and bends your leg to kiss over your calf and down to your ankle. 

You can barely watch him, as he brushes his lips over you, but he flicks his eyes up to yours so often you don’t dare look away. There is something flickering in his gaze, something like a challenge - daring you to contradict, to doubt what he seeks to impress upon you - and you begin to feel something strange and new. Something you’d never found at the touch of a lover, blooming in your chest and unfurling like a proud little flower under the sun: the strong, heady beauty of esteeming yourself worthy of his desire. It terrifies you a bit, and the ugly voice that has heckled you so often tries to cast doubt, but Changbin’s lips and hands are too persistent and assured for the harbinger in your mind to linger long. And the tidal wave of lovely feelings crashing over you threatens to destroy the shabby prison your heart has lingered in for so long.

Changbin lays his head on your thigh as he brings his hand off the other to cup your pussy over the softness of your shorts. His groan is nearly as loud as yours when he rubs over your mound, and it makes you impossibly wetter. He’s so unabashed and liberal with reacting to what he enjoys, and he is clearly enjoying you as much as he ever has anything.

He moves to bring his face to your clothed cunt, hovering over you for a nanosecond to catch your eyes as he mouths down over you. Your jaw drops open, and when his teeth scrape dully over your clit, your hips jerk and you fist the sheets. Changbin pulls back with a smirk, and sits back on his knees between your legs. He pulls one of your legs up to lean against his shoulder as his hands instinctively knead over the muscles of your calf and thigh.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, with a little smile.

You nod with one of your own.

“I’m gonna lift you, okay? You can hold onto my legs, but I’ll have you, so don’t worry.”

You bite your lip and nod, suddenly a little shy. Look at him. Where did he get all this confidence?

He drops your leg briefly to tug off your shorts and panties, cursing at how wet you are, and gently slipping two fingers to brush between your glistening lips and over your clit. You gasp at the sensation - his fingers deft, his touch soft but firm where you ache for him. And then, suddenly, he is sliding your legs back up to rest against his chest and shoulders. His hands slip down to your hips and he effortlessly tugs your ass over the incline of his thighs and flush with his abdomen. Your heart starts to thrum in your chest. His body is warm and sturdy against the soft plush of your ass. Heat floods your cheeks when you sense a slickness against him where your arousal has begun to smear against his stomach. He, however, is far less bashful. Widening the gap between your thighs, he dips his head down, inhaling deeply.

"Fuck…" he murmurs, squeezing your legs where he holds them. 

When he raises his eyes to yours again, they’re unlike you’ve ever seen. They’re dark and hungry and hooded in a way that nearly intimidates you. His expression is full of heat, and manly in its sudden gravity. He watches you as he slips his thumbs under your waist and, slowly with strong hands, pulls your hips up beneath his chin. Your legs bend at the knees and drape around the crown of his head. Your spine curves where your upper back is flush with his thighs, your arm on either side of his kneeling form, and as he embraces you tightly around the hips and waist, you feel nearly every ounce of your weight suspended in his hold. The blood rushes to your head where it lays against the mattress, your neck curving just shy of his knees, offering a clear view of his gorgeous face as he wastes no time in pressing his open mouth to your labia. 

Your core muscles flex in response, hips pressing higher against him as you feel ripples of exquisite pleasure trickle through your body from above. The smooth muscle of his tongue slips past your entrance and begins fucking into you. Your head swims, the slightest dizzying restriction of oxygen dampening your ability to focus on anything but the bliss of his hot, wet mouth. Being tasted has never felt this intense. You whimper, your hands reaching around his body to find purchase on his muscular ass. You feel the press of his throbbing erection into your back as his tongue fucks unhurriedly into you. He’s rock hard, and all for you. From the sight of your naked body, the feel of you in his hands, the taste of you on his tongue. From the sounds pouring off of your lips as he worships your sex. 

Your legs begin to shake. You’re so totally in his hands. He holds you, lavishes you, consumes you. Nothing stands between you and ecstasy, and you can feel your climax fast approaching as pleasure ebbs and flows like a crashing tide on the rhythm of his firm, languid strokes.

"Ch-Changbin! Nhhh!" you mewl, you voice throaty and muffled from your position. 

He growls against you and you nearly cum then. One of his hands drops to squeeze the soft mound of your right breast. Your cheeks burn, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead and neck. You can feel your pussy throbbing - hot and sticky and swollen with stimulation - as he devours it like the flesh of ripened fruit. His lips encircle your clit and suckle as the tip of his tongue flicks over the erect peak of your bud.

And then it all goes white. You lose all sense but feeling as you rock your hips up to meet him, the tension in your abdominals adding sinfully to the fluttering pulsating of your pussy. There’s nothing but you and him and his arms around you and his mouth against the most intimate parts of you as your orgasm washes over you in electrifying slow-motion, pulling you under a tidal wave of bliss for what seems like an eternity. Your lips part in a silent scream of his name, your eyes pressed shut, as he works you through the longest and most intense climax your body has ever experienced.

You feel him place one last sweet, gentle kiss to your cunt before moving the hand on your breast to one of your thighs as he guides you back down onto the bed. You’re panting and boneless as you watch him draw an arm over his cum-slicked chin and cheeks. For a moment he simply looks down at you, a victorious air about him as his eyes trace your sated features and his gorgeous chest heaves with labored breath, then he crawls forward on the bed, stretching himself out on his side next to you, his body flush with your own. He slips his hand over the soft skin of your belly and rubs it soothingly as he watches you with a little grin.

“You good?” he asks in a raspy murmur.

You reach for his face, bringing it to yours as you kiss him with what wherewithal you have. You pull away, still breathless.

“Am I good? Seo Changbin, I think I could fly.”

His answering smile is so filled with joy and pride and affection that you think you truly may have sprouted wings. You roll to your side to press yourself against him, your hand tugging at the waistband of his pajamas, but he takes your hand again in his.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Tonight is yours.”

“Bin…”

“I’m yours.”

You blink up at him, his head resting on his hand, his eyes sparkling and soft.

“If you’ll have me,” he raises your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “You don’t have to answer right now. I know you’re going through a lot, and this is all…new.” 

He smiles again, glancing down as his features take on a boyish shyness.

  “But I care for you. And, however things work out,” his eyes lock with yours again, “I’ll always protect you.” 

Your heart stands still. There are things that are too deeply lovely for words to be wasted on them. Any words but three - three that are already deeply true, but which have begun to mean something beautiful and different tonight, burying themselves like a little seed in your heart that needs time to grow. So for now you let yourself cry tears that fall like raindrops in the sunlight, and drift to sleep with the steady beat of Changbin’s heart.

“Ay!” Nari’s voice cuts through the din of chatter as her hand shoots out to narrowly prevent a fellow patron from snagging the chair beside her. “Sorry, seats are taken.”

She takes a sip of her beer and stretches her short legs as far as they will reach across the two empty chairs beside her.

“The guys are gonna have to hustle if they’re gonna sit with us,” she says reproachfully, dark brows rising as her eyes scan the venue for the bodies that belong in the seats you have been desperately attempting to reserve for the last hour.

The Eight Ball is crowded to bursting, and you scan the stage for signs of the evening’s openers. Checking your phone, you find that it’s nearly eight. You also find a text that brings a smirk to your lips.

“What?”

You glance up at Nari, who’s staring at you suspiciously.

“Nothing…” you mumble, flipping your phone back over onto the table. You sip your cocktail through a straw.

“Are you texting him?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“What? Who?”

“You know who,” Nari mocks, narrowing her eyes at you. “The jerkwad.”

“Oh my god, Nari, no!” you sigh, as your phone buzzes again. 

She glances at it.

“Then what was with the look? Who are you…”

“Are these for us?” a voice belonging to a smiling, dimpled young man in a black hoodie with a matching beanie pulled over his head saves you from further explanation.

“Jesus, Chris, finally,” Nari admonishes as he takes the seat next to you, pulling her legs off the remaining chairs to free them up for the other two men that follow behind him. 

The freckled blond pulls Nari into a side hug which she returns, booping his nose before leaning across him to peer menacingly at his friend.

“Yo, Jisung,” she barks, “If you’re gonna order several hundred pizzas, how about taking some with you next time? My fridge is still stuffed.”

The young man blinks wide, surprised eyes at her before his brain catches up with her scolding.

“Sorry, but it wasn’t my fault!” he insists poutingly. “I ordered them because Changbin asked me to and then he canceled gaming weekend ‘cause he had a girl over.” he grumbles, causing the other two to snicker.

“Nice,” Chris giggles.

This time you do choke.

Your eyes fly to your best friend, watching the barrage of questions bubbling up on her face when a voice cuts through the din, silencing the crowd and unknowingly saving himself for the time being.

“Good evening, Eight Ballers!” Changbin rasps into his mic as Hyunjin waves, as ridiculously beautiful as ever, beside him.

You look at Changbin’s eyes.

They’re bright and confident and determined. You smile and cheer when he finishes introductions. As the band hits the first few notes of the opening number, his gaze finds yours, and it’s full of so many things.

His eyes sparkle with seven days worth of secrets – of waking up to your eyes and arms, of a weekend of nothing but bare bodies and hearts, of weeknight phone calls until the wee hours of the morning…of a new way of caring for each other that you’ll eventually tell the others, but that is just yours for now.

As you look at him, so full of adoration, you hope you can offer him even a fraction of the new world he’s only just begun to share with you – and the reflection you see a little more beautifully each day in the light of his eyes.

-Fin-

[chvnnie]

my baby fever… its not going away…. help

Chan bought one of those little baby bathtubs the second he found out you were pregnant. It fit so perfectly in the kitchen sink, as if the house were constructed for the little life inside your belly. When he got to bathe the baby for the first time, using a tiny yellow wash cloth to gently clean her skin, tears stung his eyes. Though he bought this with every intention of using it, he never thought the day would actually come. Little, bright eyes blinking up at her father. A tiny hand reaching for his large fingers. He savors every second he gets to use the tiny tub, the day she’ll grow out of seeming impossibly far away.

It’s no surprise that Minho spends too much time in the kitchen, chopping away at veggie and fruits and pouring them into a blender. Different mixes based off your daughter’s preference. She just decided she loves the taste of peas, so he’s been putting them in all her food. It helps her explore new flavors, and there’s nothing that brings him more pride than watching his daughter enjoy the food he made for her. All the extras are spooned into jars, tucked away in the freezer for later use. Or to give to his friends — they really need to start making their own baby food, and stop stealing from Minho’s supply.

The twins see Changbin’s arms as a jungle gym; gripping onto his biceps tightly, squealing when he starts to lift them up. Their little legs kick out, the copy/paste versions of your husband overjoyed every time they’re lifted up higher and higher. Changbin’s arms are really sore today (he went a little hard in the gym) and honestly, he doesn’t love two three year olds clinging to him and begging him to lift them up over and over and over again. It’s another workout in itself. But he won’t stop until they’re tried of it — it’s worth the exhaustion.

It was Hyunjin’s idea to paint his daughter’s bedroom like this. Together they sit on the ground, the plastic of the protective wrap crinkling underneath them. Her hands are face up, pointed towards her father. Occasionally she giggles, telling him how cold the paint is on her bare skin. But she stays still, waiting until he covers every inch of her hand with the pale pink paint. Once he gives her the okay, she starts to place her hand on the wall. Over and over, leaving little marks until the paint has come off. Then, she sits again, asking for yellow paint this time.

Jisung couldn’t escape the studio today. There was too much work to do, and as much as he tried to push it off, eventually he had to go in. Your daughter is only about three months old, her head so tiny in the center of your partner’s chest. The black strap keeps her close to his body, his hands over her ears as he raps into the microphone in front of him. He doesn’t want to wake her. He doesn’t want to put her down. This is what will have to work. He runs the lyrics over and over again, her tiny breaths fanning across his t-shirt. Not once does she stir until he has stepped out to edit the track, whimpering softly. It’s time to focus on her — the track can wait.

Felix loves how warm his bed is when the kids are sleeping with you guys. He gets it, this is a hard habit to break. But there’s something about the way his daughter is tucked into his side, your leg reaching across to lay on top of his. It’s crowded, he’s teetering the edge. Honestly, he hasn’t slept that well tonight either. Ideally, there wouldn’t have been a storm, scaring his five and three year old into your shared bed. Felix would have been asleep a long time ago, hands all over you as he kept you close. But the second he starts to regret it, he hears his son’s snores. Feels his daughter shift in bed. Then he remembers how lucky he is to have this problem.

Seungmin’s son is gripping the rail in front of him for dear life. Brown eyes blown wide, looking out the window of their Ferris wheel seat. The five year old begged and begged until the two of you finally gave in — and what a shocker, your son who can barely get on a playground structure without complaining about the height hates it. Seungmin runs a hand over his soft hair, reassuring him that it’s safe. Mama and Papa are here, nothing bad can happen to him. He repeats that under his breath — Mama and Papa. Safe. Mama and Papa. Safe. Though, it doesn’t sound like he’s too convinced of it. That is, until you reach the peek. The ocean laid out before you three, sun making the water sparkle. His little hands relax, lips parting as he takes in the sight. That’s the day he fell in love with the sea, safe in between his Mama and Papa.

Jeongin turned his head for less than thirty seconds, just wanting to get a drink from his water bottle. That’s how long it took for his son to fall off his scooter, bare knees hitting the concrete hard and sliding. His sons cries bring his attention back, the water bottle hitting the ground. Rushing over to his son, Jeongin helps him up. Brings him in for a hug. He cries into his father’s shoulders, knees burning and bloody. It was scary. He went over a rock and lost control. It hurts. There are so many things going on in his little head right now. Jeongin picks up his son, carrying him inside the house and straight to the kitchen. He places him on the counter, cleaning the wounds as his son eats a popsicle. No stitches are needed thankfully — just a wipe and a bandaid, and it should clear up in a couple days. Though, his fear of the scooter is a little harder to shake.

so did that help or—

[worldsover]

Hourglass ft. Saerom

length ✦ 15.6k

genres ✧ anal; fwb!Saerom

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, lips parched. Though you asked Saerom for water, you didn’t need to be directed. You remember the important things. Cups in the third cabinet from the right. The water pitcher in the fridge. Everything else about her home is slightly off in your memory. An experimental flick of a switch, so she has yet to replace the lights in the range hood, and now they blink instead of being merely dim. Turn that back off. A different blender, no doubt more robust for all the shakes she makes. New polaroid photos of Saerom and her members on the fridge. Even pictures with Gyuri, but nothing recent as nine as you expected. So that’s what one year looks like.

"Are you gonna hang out in my kitchen all night?" Saerom asks as she walks in, arms crossed and smirking. For all that's changed in Saerom's home, how little has changed with the woman herself? The blunt bangs are new and of course, you’ve never seen this outfit, the flattering blue tube top and denim skirt, but you expected as much with all the clothes she went through. Beneath it all, though, was the same supermodel-esque Saerom. Emphasis on beneath. Beneath, what you were most intimately familiar with. Beneath, what you’re imagining at this very moment.

"Wasn’t planning on it. just taking in how long it’s been," you say. "I like the new painting in your living room, the one with the flowers."

"Thanks. I made it, actually. Little hobby I picked up in our… downtime. But yes. You're right. It has been long." Her words are sharp. The next one is sharper: "Bedroom." 

Saerom’s eyes fill in the rest of the directive. Now. We’re going to fuck. Stop wasting time. Dumbass. You didn’t realize how many words could fit in a gaze. Or some of those meanings are conveyed through her narrowed eyelids. You weren’t fluent in the language of the unspoken, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying.

In the time it takes to decrypt the whole one-word message (she’ll at least let you grab that drink, right?), you realize you’re gazing back. 

Saerom shakes her head and laughs to herself. "It’s like you’re doing this on purpose."

She walks away, but this lingering look of yours is deliberate. Saerom knows it as she looks back and now her smile is much naughtier. She might not know that you’re first staring at her bare shoulders. You want to touch them, massage them, lick them, kiss them, everything. 

Water wouldn’t help your thirst anyway, so you follow Saerom to the bedroom. The familiar last room of the hallway, on the left, its location is seared in your brain. You’d know it sober but horny, and drunk but hornier, so you path in the same footsteps you always did. You only lag behind Saerom for self-evident reasons, your eyes on the target of desire, her pert rear. This time, with the close fit of her skirt, you can make out the shape of your favorite shape to make out with. Her cozy, pillowy thighs look perfect as ever to rest your head upon as well.

The mere act of walking into the room stirs heat in your core. You can’t help but associate this room with the carnal. The only lights in the room are the moonlight filtering through the window and the warm lamp in the corner, and the dimness reminds you of your many restless nights.

Saerom sits on her bed, those thighs settling down and squishing in just the right way. Heat turns to pressure, in turn, turns into a cock imprint on your pants.

"I still don’t like how you just stand there," she says.

Her words make you shift weight from one foot to the other. You should sit, approach, anything, but no, you continue to stand. "You leave me speechless sometimes. I can’t help but watch."

"That’s sweet." Saerom gets up and walks up to you until there’s barely any space between you and her. "But I need you to do more than watch. Especially since you’ve taken this long to see me again."

"You changed your number," you say. But you already knew this was a flimsy excuse.

"And you could’ve DM’ed me. Texted any of the other members." Saerom scoffs. "You could’ve tried. Anything. Apparently it took us literally bumping in the mall to meet again."

A centimeter from making out, minutes away from sex, this wasn’t the time or place to bring it up. However, you had to bring it up at some point. When you hold her hand, Saerom freezes, caught off guard. 

"I’m sorry," you say. "You know me, how I overthink things. It’s not like we were dating or anything. just, you know, friends that did a bit more than friend things."

"In that case… " The vexing half-smile, half-frown on Saerom confirms your self-awareness—at least you know that you’re overanalyzing the shape of her lips. "You could’ve been a better friend."

Why do you talk at all? What a mistake speech can be. As you look down, away from Saerom’s eyes, your grip on her hand loosens. Despite being in this beautiful and blatantly horny woman’s bedroom, you think about walking away in shame—

But her fingers clasp.

"Not this time."

Words into actions, Saerom grabs your shirt with the free hand and pushes you toward the wall. No, there is no escape, when you look down into the intoxicating image of her cleavage, when her breasts press up against you. Your cock hardens in your pants and pushes up against her waist, turning the rest of you into a melting painting (in which you’ve become modern art and don’t care to debate your artistic merits). All the worries disappear in a heartbeat as you recall this exhilaration. At one point, this was an addiction for the two of you: you were both in the middle of promotions and found time to fuck every day for a week straight. You learned her body inside and out.

Time to relearn.

It’s 9:03, the clock above her bed.

You gently place your hand on the back of her head, the other hand between her tube top and skirt, feeling the warmth of her back. 

You lean in.

The lesson starts with the taste of her lips. It might be sweeter than usual, or it could be time twisting the taste, though either way, the flavor honeys you in deeper. The focus of your touch is split between melting into her mouth and gripping, relearning, the various parts of her perfect body. What was a gentle hold becomes a clingier clasp of her hair, and she does the same to you. Another pull, Saerom grips the neck of your shirt, clamoring for you to somehow get closer (space between the two of you is at a premium). Your hand on her back follows the groove of her spine—no, make a detour to get a feel of the muscles in her lean back, lats, and all that. You end up under her top where you tempt to pull it off, but no, not yet, you’re getting a feel of things, reacquainting yourself. Warm skin becomes warmer, becomes the canvas for subtle beads of sweat. Get used to that too, because you’re guaranteed a full-body workout tonight.

Warmth spreads to her breath, or at least you gain a keener awareness of its heat on your lips, its subtle nostalgic taste. Awareness becomes a small thorn: you and Saerom need to breathe, so you draw back. 

9:07, but it feels like 9:03 and thirty seconds give or take leaning on the side of give. When you look into her eyes instead of the clock, it’s not a matter of seconds or minutes—months that have passed you are coming back in these familiarly firing nerves, where spikes of bliss rewind you to the visceral parts of your memories.

With how Saerom’s hands are latching onto your clothes, under your clothes, she might as well rip them off now. While your lips return to hers, your hands are taking a more subtle approach, your fingers drawing and memorizing the lines and curves of her body. Starting at her forearm, you track her muscles, from her svelte but sturdy biceps to her firm delicious shoulders, the sum of her efforts working out. You remember her habits as a welcome contagion that’s spread to you, the stretches she’d do after an intense session of fucking, the ungodly huge jug of water she’d gulp down—simple things in your daily life that you took for granted. Then, her eager tongue slides into your mouth and you’re back in the moment, your digits moving toward the crook of her neck. She always had a particular sensitivity here, a simple press of your fingertip into her skin earning a surprisingly loud moan, though it might also be your tongue pushing back into her mouth. 

You want to pretend that you can keep up this momentum of appreciating the small details, want to remind Saerom of your dexterity; however, your hands find themselves on her tits, over her tube top. Your squeezing and groping are only recompenses for Saerom’s mounting lack of restraint. She’s rubbing her crotch against your erection—does she want to make you unload in your pants? Because she could, easily—she has one leg hooked around you, and she’s making your massaging of her breasts seem tame in comparison to the nails starting to dig into your back.

Saerom and you have never kissed like this. Never kissed like you were trying to escalate from a little scrap to an all-out battle royal. It’s not tongues sliding, but tongues dancing, not hands feeling, hands taking and sinking and grabbing as if you might lose yourselves another year—why bother with what was lost, but instead, the things you will lose. The time, your mind, all control. Don’t try. Let go.

You’re only kissing, so why is there so much saliva? Each escape for air is made a mess by more and more thin bridging strands of spit between your lips, and more is exchanged when your mouths converge again. And you only take breaks for Saerom’s jaw or her cheek or her nose, giving each sculpted feature the kisses they deserve, and Saerom only takes breaks with her thumb on your lip—she sticks out her tongue, showing off the bubbly spit she’s pooled in her mouth, and you’re happy to receive before these breaks have to take a break: you need to kiss her again/she needs to kiss you again.

You’re only kissing, so why is there so much noise? A deep guttural noise nearing growls from out of your mouth meets the unexpectedly cute high-pitched moans out of Saerom at the lips’ points of contact, maybe amplified by the meeting of tongues or the lewd exchange of spit. But the erotic makes way for the romantic, and the two of you resonate in a shared low hum as you slow your pace, control your breathing, trade smiles and giggles and longing looks, no need to rush.

But then, there’s no need to rush, and you’re only kissing, so why is your heart racing out of orbit? And this isn’t close to the first time you’ve kissed, so why can you feel Saerom’s heart beating the same hurried way? The answer is obvious in hindsight. The past is an eternity and the present is infinitesimally small, contained to a single point; that is, your hearts are making up for the lost time.

(Only kissing, yet pulses inside you already threaten to end it here, how embarrassing. (But then on second thought, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of with Saerom's unfair allure.))

All this in a kiss, in a pair of lips upon another. Two selves are reduced to two bodies, flesh and all. Look at Saerom when you pull away, and you’re back to two selves, mind and all. Swipe away the long hair that’s fallen on her face, and help fix her thick bangs. She smiles at you.

Glance at the clock again, and it’s 9:18, closer to 9:04 in your mind. You might have discovered time travel.

She pulls you off the wall—you didn’t notice that you were sagging against it, that you’ve lowered yourself nearly face to face with Saerom—and then she brings you toward her bed. A light push knocks you off balance, though you land on her mattress.

"Smooth," you say, and Saerom giggles.

You reposition so that you’re sitting on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesn’t make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspension—you remember all that well. The sheets always dried surprisingly quickly if you hung them outside overnight. Plus, it’s the exact height for you to place your feet on the ground, and for Saerom’s head to lean against your thigh. There, kneeling, as if home inside her home, she watches your cock twitch under your pants when she paws at it experimentally.

"And you’re frustrated when I watch," you say.

"Hey, you can’t say I’m just watching." Saerom rubs you up and down over your pants and your jaw clenches. "But you’re right."

When Saerom gets a hold of your shirt, you raise your arms.

"You’re still in good shape," she says, smiling proudly.

"Thank you. I definitely don’t miss the diets, but I’m happy they got me in the habit of working out. Plus, you gave me plenty of motivation."

"Mhm." She traces your abs. They aren't washboard muscular (read, photoshopped) since you’re not lifting your shirt for audiences anymore, but they are decently taut, hinting at a six-pack. As you said, you were over the sort of daily sweet potato diet to keep that up. But for this reaction, Saerom's half-lidded eyes gazing at your midriff, you’ll gladly keep up your other routines.

Saerom then tugs your waistband, taking both your pants and boxers an inch down, then another, teasing you with the incremental progress. You can only sit still and keep your hands on the mattress’ edge. When your cockhead pokes out, she smiles, then forgoes any inhibition, stripping you straight down to your ankles. Your shaft springs free, and it nearly hits her face, but Saerom instinctually dodges it. Saerom ducks under your dick, centering it over her face, and she lets out a long exhale. Warm air flows around your length, though the jolts racing up your body are cold. 

"I miss this cock. None of my toys compare." With a light frown, Saerom rests her head on your thigh again. She lightly and playfully traces your shaft with one finger.

"You really know how to boost an ego—ahh." Your jaw is wide, breaths ragged when her fingertip circles around your frenulum, the spot sensitive to her agonizingly light touch.

"Oh. Is that precum? Already?" Saerom’s narrowed eyes change focus from the slight pulses of your cock to your transfixed gaze, and that alone earns another white drop. Her finger traces up, and now she’s drawing circles at the top of your cockhead, smearing stickiness around.

"God, Saerom. You’re so fucking hot." Her touch pulls the truth out of you. It didn’t need to be spoken, but by her smile, it’s always worth stating the obvious.

She licks her lips, cleaning a bit of drool. Breathily, Saerom says, "Fuck. Should I just make you cum like this? With my fingers? It’s only fair. It’s only been me and my fingers all this time."

As much as you want to fuck her every hole open, you can’t deny that the prospect of being brought to the brim with her deft touch alone is tempting. "I said I’m sorry."

"Maybe if you say sorry enough, we can fuck." Saerom puts one hand around your cock and she’s barely doing anything, a lazy twist here, a half tug there.

"Sorry," you say, your upper teeth latching on to your lower lip. "Seriously. I miss you. I should’ve at least tried a little harder."

"Oh, we’re getting sappy now?" Saerom adds another hand—one isn’t enough to wrap fully her fingers around you—though it’s still awfully insignificant motions, sending erratic sparks throughout your body.

You shiver, hiss, and tense up. "Sorry. Please."

"Fffuck, I like the sound of that. the way your voice catches in your throat." She reaches down for your balls, jumpy at the faint graze of a nail. "What if I just milk out everything? I know how much you can cum. That would be so hot. When was the last time you came? Were you thinking about me?"

A week ago, and yes. Of course. You don’t want to admit those, and neither will you admit that a whine is coming out of you, yet even if you were silent, your hips are bucking on their own as you fuck yourself into Saerom’s hand.

Saerom says, "Oooh, are you—"

"I can’t take it anymore." You pull her up then push her back down onto the mattress, then you’re on top of her. You support yourself above Saerom with one arm and look at her carefully. Her face is a masterpiece, her body the work of a master craftsman. At your obvious overflowing lust, she looks to the side, bringing her wrist up to her mouth in a gesture of embarrassment you’ve never seen from Saerom.

Saerom’s reactions renew your confidence as if time never happened, so doubt’s seed could not have grown how it did, and you carry a sure smirk inspired by the cockiness once found on stage. You’re reminded that despite your indecision everywhere else—why the two of you never progressed past mere acquaintances—you were a man of action in the bedroom. That’s what Saerom wanted out of you. Saerom being shy might be an act, might be sincere, but it works either way. With this new upper hand, you grab Saerom’s wrist to unblock her face, too pretty to be shy about.

"We’ve done this plenty of times," you say, pinning Saerom’s arm to the bed.

She turns her head toward you but she can’t make eye contact. "It’s been a while."

"You're right. It has been long." You go in for a kiss, and she closes her eyes; however, you dodge her face.

"Fuck you." Saerom hits your chest and pouting. Then, her lips transform to a different contortion when you go straight for the neck. "Hnn, not too much. Remember last time you left hickeys on me? My makeup artist wouldn’t stop teasing me about it."

"Maybe I should mark you enough that makeup won’t be enough," you say, and her eyes go wide. "I’m kidding. Just a little payback for teasing me with your hands." 

So instead, you aspire to leave your small marks on the other parts of the body. Where no one else but you will see. First, a softer kiss on the end of her collarbone right under her neck. With the floral notes of her shampoo mixed with the fainter sweetness of her body wash on her soft skin, your nose is tempted as you kiss along the rest of her collarbone up to her shoulder; from there, you’re led down to her armpit.

"Your body is perfect, Saerom." 

She’s already ticklish from the playful kisses of her armpit and her ribs, but something about that crook under her arm compels you to lick—it’s the scent of her body wash once again, as well as a hint of vanilla, possibly from deodorant. Saerom is also starting to sweat, lending a barely noticeable musk and salty taste, and that only fuels your tongue further.

"Stooop, nh, nuh, no, why do you keep licking there? It’s dirty," Saerom says, squirming and laughing. This high-pitched tone is unfamiliar, easier to imagine coming from one of the maknaes such as Jiheon or Nagyung instead.

"It’s not." You’ve slathered her armpit in saliva by now. "Kisses aren’t enough. Every part of you deserves to be worshiped. What if I worshiped your whole body with my tongue? Gave you a tongue bath?"

Saerom can’t look at you anymore, yet she can’t stop smiling. "Wh-whatever you say."

You soon leave her armpit to fulfill your promise. You’re leaving a light trail of saliva down her arm, you suck each of her fingers, the knuckles, the interdigital folds, leaving no stone unturned. Returning up to Saerom's shoulder, you realize your folly of asymmetry, having only licked and kissed the right side of her upper body. You swipe your tongue across her neck.

"I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about your neck or your shoulder or your collarbones. Should I take my cock out right now and jerk off onto them?"

She bites her lips, and her thighs rub together.

"Just imagine your neck and shoulders all drenched with cum. Dripping down to your tits. I swear I could leave a whole river of thick white semen down your cleavage, make a mess of your tits just as collateral damage," you say as you finish your job of licking up Saerom’s left arm, shoulder, armpit.

With your rising initiative, Saerom’s hands can’t lie inactive by her sides. She first adds to the rubbing of her thighs with her hands—not enough—reaches between her legs—not enough. You know this, have seen this, enough to understand she’ll be on a tortuous brim for as long as you’re not inside her. And so be it, her decision to make, because you’re happy to let her dance on that dizzying outskirt as you pull her top down to her midriff and kiss and lick her breasts. Going in a circle around each one, you find yourself lingering much longer here, again covering her skin with saliva as you sense every goosebump with your tongue. Here, on her sizable tits, you’ll leave the marks that she’ll think about when she’s on stage. Under whatever stage outfit she’s wearing will lay your claim, your worship, and no one else will know but you and Saerom. Sweet secrets, another unspoken language.

The noises that come out of Saerom when you suck on her nipples aren’t speech but they’re too loud to count as unspoken. Your tongue, lips, teeth, and every part of your mouth partake in playing with the nubs as they harden but before long, you pull the top back up. You’re carefully slow because you want to see her breasts squish against the deep neckline of the clothing before it’s hidden.

Slow breaths and raised brow, Saerom glances at you with your sudden intermission.

You tell her frankly, "It’s a cute top, and I want to watch how your tits jiggle when you ride me."

Her quiet, acknowledging "mm" becomes a longer hum when you move downward. You take time leaving a kiss on each rib before worshiping her perfect abs with your tongue. Though you can feel Saerom writhing under you, you’ve been too focused on your task, so you look up to see her reaction. However, as you tongue at her belly button, she doesn’t look down at you in return; instead, Saerom is arching back and looking straight up at the ceiling. Her hands flatten on the bed, right by her head, elbows up. Every muscle is stretching, tensed.

"I didn’t think you’d like this as much as you do."

At your words, Saerom finally looks at you, her eyes unfocused, and she only nods, lips tight.

When you’re done with the upper half of her body, you decide to multitask. If she could form words, she’d be begging for you to move up instead of down from her thighs, but you’re also removing her skirt while you move down to her feet. After you unbutton and throw the skirt off to the side, you give her toes the same treatment as her hands. A thorough tongue washes each ridge, each sole, until her body is tongue-bathed top to bottom as promised.

All except for one part. Looking at the dark spot on her blue panties, it’s safe to say your mouth has plenty of cleaning left. You don’t mind doubling back with your trail of kisses up her leg, especially since it earns more cute strained noises from Saerom’s lips, and then it’s a third and final path down her legs.

"Saerom, watch."

She mouths "fuck" as you bite the waistband of her panties and gingerly pull.

From her waist to her knees, the panty-pulling with your teeth was careful and teasing. You want to say you kept your eye contact the whole way through like a suave playboy, but a glint in the corner of your vision steals your attention. Saerom is immersed in the whole range of light’s temperature, the cool ambiance of the moon, the dim yellow of her small lamp, yet it seems all of light has collected onto her dewy slit. The thought of tasting her nectar hurries you. You stop using your teeth, your now feral hands damn near tearing them off from her ankles.

"Woah, careful with—" 

Then Saerom’s mouth seals when you seal your mouth around Saerom’s pussy without hesitation. This feels right, home, the past in the present, between Saerom’s thighs with your face right at her crotch. You don’t feel a drop of shame because there’s too much dripping already. Two dark pink wavy folds—you set your thumb on one, index finger on the other to hold them in place. The destination of your voyage of kisses and licks, you give plenty of passes of your tongue to the swelling nub of her clit, passes of your lips to her lips. Are you drooling? Or is that Saerom’s boundless juices? Either way, they mix in your mouth, the salty flavors, the addicting musk, and the slightest metallic tinge.

"Fuck, that’s delicious," you say while you gauge her response. You didn’t notice until now that Saerom has two hands in your hair, or that she’s pulling and pushing you to return to your station. You delay a moment to tell her: "Am I remembering wrong? I’ve never seen you this wet."

Saerom first works through her ragged breaths before she can talk. "Yeah, agh, I haven’t cum in a couple of months. You’d be surprised. How busy I’ve been. And, I guess, I was hoping, this exact thing would happen."

"You know you could’ve called too, right? DM’ed me, whatever." You’re surprised you had the wherewithal to bring it up while Saerom’s slick is on your chin and lips.

Saerom whispers, "I’m sorry." Then she closes her mouth. Her grip on your hair loosens. 

Of course, it’s too late for regrets and apologies now. You revisit your favorite place to taste in the world—fuck a restaurant, fuck a bar, everything you need to taste and drink is right here. And quickly, there’s no way Saerom can keep her mouth closed or her hands off your hair with all the oral pleasure you give.

"So, so good, good, ahh, fuck." Saerom’s tongue can’t stay in her mouth, dangling casually as her jaw opens wider in bliss.

As your right hand spreads her folds again, your lips suction and your tongue laps at the top of her cunt, servicing her clit, as well as below, digging deeper at the source of all the wetness. You lick exhaustively, collect every drop you can—you can't. Too much leaking fluid to avoid making a mess of her sheets.

"Fuck, fuck, goddammit, fuck."

Though your free left hand is mindlessly on your cock, stroking, there’s no actual need to touch yourself. You could be as hard as steel as long as you’re eating Saerom out. You heighten Saerom's stimulation, sinking your fingers into her thighs, kneading and massaging—earn a few giggle-infused moans—then you move to where your face is being turned into a canvas, a girl-cum rag. There, you add a finger, then two into her slit. Now your mouth and digits are working in tandem, pumping in and out, exploring her pussy, relearning, to turn Saerom’s brain into mush.

You could’ve been doing this for two minutes or two days, fuck the clock, fuck worrying about time and its immaterial decay on the world. It’s only when you hear Saerom’s profanities die down that you slow down too.

She works up the ability to talk again: "S-stop. I love how you eat me, but I need to ride you. Now."

One last kiss on her pussy lips. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

In honesty, you were also thinking about how your jaw is tired or how your neck is strained, but those would’ve been fine sacrifices to make for Saerom. If you needed to stay there an hour to make her cum three times, you would’ve done it—maybe that would’ve made up for a lost week? So just over two straight days to make up for a whole year? No matter.

Saerom nudges at your shoulder and gestures for you to get up. It takes a while for you to reorient yourself—right, she’s just lying in her bed as if it were any other night, except you’re in between her legs. She sits up and scooches over so that you can replace her reclined position. Listening to Saerom recollect her breathing and watching her stare at your erection pointed straight at the ceiling, you realize she’s also reorienting herself. Don’t give her time: you grab Saerom’s hand and she falls right on top of you, hands at your sides. A mirror of your stances moments ago. She’s surprised at first, her mouth in a circle, and then her smile grows. This smile deserves awards, and more light, if only you had a floodlight on your face. All you get in this room is a dim ambiance, but you’ll take every photon you can get. 

Traveling in time, you think about when you and Saerom fucked the first time. Five years ago, you were both rookie idols without the luxury of a bed. Far bolder back then, Saerom was riding your cock in the dark corner of an empty sound stage, and your hands and back were meeting the cold hard floor, the two of you risking your careers for a spontaneous fuck.

Now the two of you are in different places in your life, yet you end up in the same place regardless. 

Guess it’s 9:34:40—you can’t actually look at the clock above and behind your head as you lay in bed, and Saerom’s hair is in your face.

A breath, and then you’re overwhelmed by Saerom, her tongue in your mouth, her hand on your cock. You’re happy to lose control at this moment. For the rushing thrill of the idea of this beautiful idol fucking you, or for the physical manifestation of this desire, her pussy embracing your cockhead in the first penetration and the weight of her body and her kiss all crashing into your heart, you gladly sacrifice this exact minute for the compressed eternity to compress further, too much to contain, and it uncollapses—what was a single point containing all the beauty and warmth in your head becomes a cascading chasm, a pointillistic cloud, each little dot a snapshot of all the sensations. Beyond thrust for thrust, your thoughts flash ripple by ripple.

Saerom’s cunt slowly slides down as she pushes against the girth of your cock. Your hands are trying to compete for tightness of grip on her asscheeks, but they’ll never compare to the closeness with which her labia grasps around your cock. The tangy taste of her juices lingers on your tongue, mixes with her mouth's taste when you kiss—mostly the saltiness of saliva at this point, though you’ll drink up every last drop. You smell sweat and the trace of sex against the sweet scents of her skin and her hair. Listen to the slow squelch of her soaked hole because for once you’re both silenced by this kiss, deeper than before; open your eyes, watch Saerom’s need in action, and take in that every stimulated sense is but a small part of the single motion of Saerom lowering her ass into your crotch.

It was never that deep was it? It was just sex, just a basic carnal act. There was longing, there was the low light of the room, there was a closeness you forgot, and none of it mattered. For all this thinking, there is no real thought or purpose. There’s nothing so profound about it except for how much happens all at once, and in that inundation of self, the simple profane is newly profound. Balls slap against her ass. It is that deep.

Guess it’s 9:34:45, and it doesn’t matter what the time really is for the rhetoric either. The seconds have been stretched like Saerom’s pussy around your dick. The dots have danced.

She takes in the feeling of your length all the way inside of her, her eyes wide when she looks at you as you stop making out. You have to resist the urge to spank her ass, to start pounding up, upside-down jackhammer, so your hands slide up to her waist holding her.

Saerom feels her midriff, and you notice the slightest bulge of your cock against the slimness; she rubs it. "Fuck. I miss this. I miss you."

Somehow you find it in yourself to snark: "We’re getting sappy now? While I’m this deep in you?"

She growls quietly and holds your jaw. "Shut up." And if her words weren’t enough, she’s back at it with her tongue finding residence in your mouth. 

Saerom then pulls away from Earth’s gravity, lifting her ass. It isn't nearly as slow as the insertion, but it's just as serene a sensation. All the pulling and pushing, it’s everything you remember with Saerom—it’s more. Riding your dick becomes effortless for Saerom, gravity barely a nuisance as her bouncing hastens. Second nature returning in seconds.

You’re becoming less of an active agent, more of a recipient of pleasure, barely holding on by Saerom’s waist. While you certainly feel like you're pounding her pussy, she’s the one putting in all the work. You can imagine it’s tiring for Saerom, but if it’s half as good as it feels for you, then any amount of exhaustion doesn’t matter.

Her unbridled passion eventually subsides though, replacing the forceful slams of her butt with slower and more conscious motions. Though she still has her lips on yours, it’s a lazy placement. Not as much of a kiss. You'll take it. Saerom also isn't bothering to support herself with her arms by your sides, opting to lay on your chest instead. Your cock goes in, tick, tick, tick, out, tock, tock, tock. Many beats, many seconds, and many breaths between each plunge. Then, even the slick sliding of Saerom’s cunt on your cock gives way to more of a grinding motion. She twists her hips, bringing her ass around in erratic ellipses. A whole new host of euphoric sensations on your cock. You’re reacquainting with her tender inner muscles, clenching on your shaft. Your fingers around her midriff press into her skin, your eyes roll back, and you have to tense your jaw.

A grinding halt. 

Saerom is inert, warming your cock. Her head is on your shoulder, mouth on your neck (while not actively suctioning, the sensation of her plump lips sends shivers throughout your body regardless). She stirs, straightening her back again. There’s no way you want to let go of her waist, want to have her stop kissing you, want to remove the weight of her tits and whole body on top of yours—Saerom’s curves are ergonomic with how well they fit on you—however, she sits up, her knees on each side of your waist, back straight. Your dick is a stanchion, its tip poking at her entrance, and you don’t mind trading the feeling for the image.

A grinding start.

Instead of only feeling the twisting and the back-and-forth movements of her hips, now you get to watch it, doubling the thrill. Saerom’s eyes are filled with lust and she’s biting a finger, her other hand on your shoulder. Everything about Saerom hypnotizes you, and you can’t keep your hands idle. You return to sinking your fingers into the mass of her ass, then you’re exploring her curves again in this new context.

There's a large mirror leaning against the wall across from you, right in position to show off Saerom's backside. This is the first time this year and this night that you've got a good view of her bare butt. Perfectly round (you'll redefine circles to be second place if you have to) and ample enough for your digit to make a significant crease. Her ass is a famed masterwork, lusted over by many but not seen in true pure form except by the incomparably fortunate you.

Upon your renewed vigor and thirst, Saerom restarts her ride, the chaotic grinding becoming a focused lifting and dropping of her whole self. She has to hoist her knees up to squat on your cock. The image is accompanied by sounds, making the trade worthwhile. The flesh of her ass slapping and slamming against your crotch echoes her bedroom, some slick noises in there too. Her hands clench into fists by her side as she savors the stretch of her pussy.

This brings you back to the last time you fucked: a year ago, in a love hotel, a careless drunk hook-up. Saerom rode you cowgirl expertly then, and it seems she’s only gotten better now. You’d think the self-admitted lack of practice would show—but once more, she proves that time hasn’t passed between this year and last.

While Saerom seats herself into your perfectly plumb penis repeatedly in her cowgirl ride, not missing a beat or bounce, you get exactly as you wish: the hypnotizing view of Saerom's tits jiggling in the confines of her blue tube top. You get the most beautiful demonstration of physics with each bounce of her breasts. Then you take physics itself into your own hands, grabbing each breast and squeezing over the fluffy fabric. At your rough fondling, Saerom lets out some higher-pitched whimpers in between her constant pleasured groan. She rides down into your cock harder, and you let go to see how wildly her breasts can bounce. Saerom's mouth is open in bliss; yours is more in awe, her breasts bouncing up and down as if wanting to be freed of the top themselves. You'd be inclined to agree.

Thus, with a grunt that gets Saerom's attention, she stops bouncing and lets your dick rest guts-deep inside of her. She shudders. You sit up, a burn in your abs that you cast aside. Saerom raises her arms and you pull upward, watching her boobs squish, then pop out from under the tube top. You're tempted to re-clothe her just to see that again (squish, pop, boing, immature sounds accompanying the sight in your head). However, with the article of clothing already around her elbows, you might as well finish the job. No more hesitation, you toss the blue top right into her laundry basket (nice shot).

Saerom pushes your chest, returning you to your recumbence. You don't mind her forcefulness—in fact, you cherish whenever Saerom handles you roughly. You know exactly what that leads to. She lifts her entire body up, unsheathing your glistening cock, then drives herself back down. This first bounce is deliberate. She's watching your reaction, no doubt giving you a satisfied smile because of your weak groan or your face twisting with pleasure before she restarts her ardent riding.

Yet again, all these places for your eyes to land upon—her thighs jiggling as she springs up and down, your cock appearing and disappearing inside Saerom, the thin sheen of sweat covering the entirety of her flawless skin—yet there was only ever one possibility after flashing through those equally addicting sights. You're fixated on Saerom's soft tits, unrestrained by the shackles of clothing. They freely ripple, rise, fall, rise again, her nipples drawing some invisible erratic path in the air like the chaos of a double pendulum. There is no predicting the movements, but you're staring as if you're trying your damnedest, knowing that you'll fail. Happy that you'll fail.

"What do you like better, hmm? Watching my tits bounce with or without clothes?"

What an intriguing question. (You're jealous of her ability to form cogent thoughts in this situation.) You're not sure. Obviously, seeing her tits completely exposed, her brown nipples in plain view is a sight you never want to relinquish. However, the bounce of her tits within the tube top is oddly compelling. It's the sort of view you could get equally as an audience member or as an average fan replaying the same three seconds of a fancam—you get the privilege of getting to see this Saerom from a whole new angle.

Not even the most advanced camera can capture the full extent of your senses being. The perfect POV video of Saerom riding cowgirl will never convey the heat of Saerom's core, the constant clamping of her cunt around your cock.

But then, if you had a camera and had to hold it right now, you'd have to let go here in confusion.

Saerom leans forward and places her hand palm down on the bed by your sides.

You're surprised at her action and, at her hitherto wordlessness, you're also surprised at her saying "I'm going to ride you as hard as fucking possible."

What an intriguing declaration. Wasn't she already doing that?

She lifts her ass and does not lie and rides you as hard as fucking possible. Never doubt her. You knew intensity came in the form of horny Saerom, didn't know it could lift your soul past the stratified layers of atmosphere above this very home, where jet streams blew past and didn't compare to her speed or didn't compare to the air knocked out of your lungs.

Wanting to hold back from cumming, you slow down—well, you want to slow down, but it's not really up to you, judging by Saerom staring off into space with a slack jaw, by the insistent motion of her hips. Maybe she'll ride your cock until you both die or neither of you may die and she'll be fucking you cowgirl until heat death? She's in a trance, cock-drunk, lust clouding her brain, and you have the same fog, though the fog is also pulsations that you want to delay. Now a dynamic duo, heat and pressure cook inside of you, and you could unload and breed and fill Saerom any second now. You have to physically hold her from fucking into your cock.

It isn't until your fingers grip hard—you might even be leaving traces of nail marks—that Saerom is pulled out of her rhythm, panting. She whines and pouts and after brushing her long hair aside, looks at you with an empty-headed expression. "Wh-what?"

You try your best to maintain composure, but really your whole body is dedicated to clenching every muscle so that you don't orgasm on the spot, despite her now sitting still. "Reverse cowgirl," you say, keeping up your false resolve.

Saerom nods mindlessly, raising her ass. It's more honest of her, commendable, to eschew the pretense that she had anything in her mind. She gets into position for reverse cowgirl, kneeling with her legs hooked under yours, her ass placed right in your lap. Instead of a reflection a few meters away through the mirror in her prior cowgirl stance, now you get a perfect close-up. Sweat, pores, goosebumps, all that texture in the dim lighting of her bedroom. More than ever, you want a spotlight—having no such device, you aspire to paint bright red with your hand—smack, a loud one, like a whip on her right cheek, and at once you get the vividness you want.

She gasps and looks back, the vixen smugly grinning as if to say "one more".

It's too easy to fall in, to give her what you want, and her left cheek recoils nicely in the same way. It's tempting to keep going, to keep submitting to the little diversion that makes this moment and night last forever. But if the shape of her ass is tempting, her tight asshole is a drug to an addict, and you've unknowingly abstained for far too long. Right now, do it, take your cock, align it with the entrance, and thrust into her. You want to… but you also know better than that.

Besides, Saerom takes the matter into her own hands—hand, as she reaches back to hold your cock. She softly places your shaft between her supple cheeks and after a quick wiggle of her hips to situate herself, she starts sliding her ass up and down your length. This buttjob alone is enough to make your balls twitch, to make you jumpy at the prospect of cumming early once again.

Her rhetorical words don't help—"You know how many times I’ve thought about you and fucked myself in front of this mirror?"—because now, you're picturing it, and the images overlap in your mind. In the mirror and in your imagination alike, her deft fingers are teasing herself, crawling between her legs, and rubbing her clit. In this imaginary world, the juices from her cunt are being wasted on the floor or on the sheets or on a towel if she were so poised; in the real world, there is no waste, as this nectar finds its way onto your cock, whether it be dripping right into you or by her moist hands reaching back to keep your shaft in place.

The undulation of Saerom's hips is much gentler than her previous ride—she must have recognized why you wanted her to stop in the first place. You'll happily take the sparks of pleasure that this lazy friction gives you, your cock neatly nestled in the crack of her backside.

"I can even show you later," Saerom says.

"Show me what?" you ask.

"Ahh, don't worry about it." Once more, she grabs your cock behind her, but this time she's twisting her whole upper body to look at you. There are so many targets for your inevitable cumshot: her arched back has the perfect valley for your seed to run down, toned muscles to paint white; the thought of cum streaking down her tits could make you bust on the spot; and sullying Saerom's alluring face is naturally a favorite pastime of yours, especially making her sharp jawline drip with cum as you feed your load right onto her lips, or maybe you should make a mess of her bangs.

Anyway, what were you supposed to be worrying about? Whatever it was, it wouldn't matter compared to Saerom aligning your cockhead at her entrance, plunging your whole length at once, at twice, at thrice, and then it's a blur of bliss.

You want to say it's the same as a few minutes ago—after all, what's the difference except turning around—but her velvety walls surrounding your cock feel completely novel to the regular cowgirl position. Your shaft is pointed at an angle different enough to give you whole new sensations of pleasure, and if not for the momentary reprieve of the teasing buttjob, you'd climax in the first few thrusts. That doesn't include the whole new visual stimulation of her perfectly perky ass lifting and dropping in rhythm, its fleshy weight ricocheting with each downward collision.

Again, you feel inert, more like a toy being used than a person having sex. In a way, it's fine, natural even with Saerom's eagerness. There's only so much touching and fondling you can do until it seems a waste of energy—you don't need to do anything to keep Saerom bouncing on your cock as long as it's hard. And for your part, you're getting sweat and moans and jolts of pleasure extracted out of you without any effort. However, naturally, you want more participation, to feel more involved.

Therefore, your first course of action is to sit up, breaking Saerom's rhythm, and she looks back at you, her breaths heavy and sporadic. It reminds of you the classic ending fairy, her chest rising and falling, but you get to watch her breasts in their full bareness moving with each exhalation. Then, you grab her with two hands by the waist—by now, a gesture you've repeated a hundred times, and thus you know exactly where to put your fingers to have her held still, like her hips are handles. Keeping up this tight grasp and never fully unsheathing your cock, you reposition the two of you until you're both kneeling, with you behind Saerom.

Her back rests against your chest, and her long hair is right in your face. You take a moment to smell Saerom. Maybe her shampoo is lavender or rose—you're a Flover, not a florist—but for certain, you haven’t smelled it before. Then, you brush her hair with your fingers, all disheveled by the continuous bouncing and riding.

You take a nibble of her ear, and you can see the whites of Saerom's eyes for a moment in the mirror, your face next to hers. "My turn," you whisper into her ear.

Saerom gulps, barely maintaining eye contact in the mirror.

This position, inspired by JAV, is perfect for your goal: repay Saerom's passion by getting the leverage to piston into her pussy as hard and fast as possible. It starts by taking her arms, hanging listlessly at her sides, and pulling them behind her back.

Caress her face one last time—call it the moment's final tranquility. The silence save for the air passing your lips. The darkness save for glimmers of light, the night in the window.

Your hips snap into place, back and forth, cock going in and out, rhythm accelerating all at once, drag racing. You're already at your top speed, your peak strength, fucking your whole soul into Saerom. Clap, clap, clap, the audience and the performers on the stage of the bed are the same. The uproarious applause cannot be conceited because neither of you has your hands free.

Saerom yelps and moans, and you can't tell which is wider between her mouth and her eyes. The observational task through the mirror becomes harder as her hair swings wildly, long dark strands haphazardly strewn about her face, plus you get distracted by her breasts swinging even more wildly.

At least you now have an answer to Saerom’s previous open question.

Each of your words is punctuated by one or two or three thrusts (actual punctuation omitted for readability): "Can’t believe I haven’t fucked your tits yet or your throat or your tight little—" Well, these plunges are powerful enough—CLAP, CLAP—to merit the interruption, as it completely breaks the flow of what you were saying "—asshole. Fuck!"

Asshole, fuck—you want nothing more than to do that Saerom right now, temptations and jitters and dry throat as you look down and see that vulgar entrance, and it completely breaks the flow, slows down your thus-far dogged pace.

Her hands are shaking so you let her wrists go, and you expect her to fall forward (you’re looking forward to that, aren’t you? Saerom face down ass up, a lucid dream’s image); instead, her limbs limp at her sides, and she leans into your chest, returning the warmth and sweatiness and softness of her back—firmness of her lats and shoulder blades. 

She takes a deep breath. You nuzzle your chin onto her neck, and Saerom giggles—then she’s silenced when you wrap your arms around her: one arm around her tits, compressing them while you toy with a nipple in your hand, with the other arm around her neck in a stranglehold. You aren't aiming to asphyxiate Saerom (the force of your cock can make her as light-headed as you want her) but rather, to have her whole body in your complete control, manhandling her like a plastic sex doll.

It’s fair play to how she rode you mere moments ago (or maybe it’s been much longer; the clock might tick above you, but its count is worthless in this situation). You didn't need words to know how much she enjoyed this push and pull. You could hear it, see it, every sense attuned to your mutual pleasure. You’re not just fucking Saerom’s plush cunt. You’re pinching and rolling her nipples. You’re sucking on the back of her neck.

Emboldened by the few weak moans that escape Saerom, you’re back to that ardent rhythm, though long and deep strokes of your cock are replaced with quicker and shallower drives. Two people can’t get any closer than this. Your dick is repeatedly entrenched in Saerom’s cunt while the rest of Saerom’s body is held tight in your embrace. Close but there’s distance: she can’t look at you, her pupils rolling up.

This hold becomes tedious, even with Saerom having the defined abs to give her core strength for days. What would be a relaxed position—the two of you kneeling, Saerom in your lap—becomes tiring when it involves the exercise routine of sex. You take all the pillows from behind you, place them in front of her knees, then push her down with a hand on her back with the pile of pillows for support. You're positioned perfectly so that her face is at the edge of the bed, more importantly, visible to the large mirror opposite to the bed.

Look at yourself. You're exhausted, crease lines on your face, sweat on your brow.

Saerom's exhaustion is more beautiful—if not beautiful, compelling (it is beautiful, don’t philosophize now). It makes you want to pump harder, to find out if you can drain her of her stamina first. A tall task, you've seen the woman's more intense workout sessions too, experienced it first-hand in your past marathon weekends of fucking.

Hissing, you carefully extract from Saerom, then smack her reddened sore buttcheeks with your shaft. Her fucked cunt gets some cock-slaps too, a tactical delay that earns a few cute yelps from Saerom. If you’re going to cum, you’ve decided it’ll be here, with Saerom face down, bent over pillows, her ass up for you to squeeze, watch jiggle, and plunge into. Doesn’t mean you’ll cream her cunt in one more stroke. Savor this as long as you can. 

One more hit of her pussy lips with your dick. A dripping string of her juice flicks off.

A fistful of hair, you pull while you begin slamming your hips forward. You shove your cock inside, again and again, a slow rhythm, no rhyme, like there's a point you're trying to make by fucking Saerom into the bed. If there had to be a point, it’s that your dreams materialized too easily because even your lucid dreams didn’t go this well. And further, though not much further, following this logic, you fuck Saerom’s pussy with thoughts of another hole. An even tighter hole, somehow. Too tight. Visions of Saerom’s anal grip have your fingers digging into Saerom’s back, have you pushing too hard for this denouement. You have to be measured about your penetration, needing to pull her into you. If nothing else, ensuring she doesn't slump past the edge of the bed. Saerom is the pile of pillows underneath her, soft and lifeless and you wouldn’t mind spending all day in her.

Burying and unburying yourself into Saerom, your dick is soaked in slick and raw, sore. All this pounding is getting to you. A heady mix of hormones and heat. You’ve done your job. Saerom can barely keep her eyelids up, her every breath heavy and slow. She doesn’t even move.

This is your final ramp-up, the pace almost numbing, and then the internal throbs come out of nowhere—you can’t delay your end much longer. These past few minutes have been completely devoted to your stimulation, so it was only a matter of time. You push your knees down into the mattress now, having to hold onto yourself as much as Saerom. (What part of self you’re holding onto is a question you won’t or can’t answer.) feeling the familiar pulses of climax in two of your strokes, you're tempted to clamp down on her waist and keep your cock buried inside.

But then, you look at her ass. The roundness is so perfect and, like with her face, the only thing worth doing to perfection is to flaw it.

Here begins the end of all journeys.

Here, in this beautiful moment, you understand, the dots, tiny prickles of pleasure were grains of sand. They return in an overbearing way. Your mind is an infinite beach, where time stands still and then gives way to waves and the tangy orange sunset. This is sweet and fruitful perfection, the orgasm temporary but more real than any existence can claim. The shape of Saerom’s body, the sandcastles, the nostalgic memories, you’re damn near tears at the thought, but this is a cry of bliss as you moan and let everything out.

A long first short of semen lands on her back, creamy white streaking down the dips. With Saerom bent over, the cum runs down toward the back of her neck in the central valley of her spine. You're tempted to keep unloading there. But, after seeing her ass rise and fall, you then aim for her buttcheeks, giving each one an equal amount of love, mixing sweat with seed. You watch them clench as Saerom feels the warm sticky load, watch them ripple as heavy breaths make her whole body lurch back and forth. How hypnotic the pendulum. You cum more ropes than you expected, absolutely drenching her backside. You only know that Saerom is awake because she brings her hand to her neck, where your semen collects, then licks her hand to taste.

The two of you catch your breath. You want to sit against the back of the bed, your body slack and lacking energy, but you take the initiative to grab a big handful of tissues and clean the mess you've made on Saerom's backside.

Eventually, you and Saerom lie on the bed. She holds your hand. You look at her and let quiet wash over you both for a while.

To break the silence, you ask, "You okay?"

The end of the journey is only the start of a new one. Cyclic. Possibly infinite. Saerom’s answer to your question is a question: "Do you want to fuck my ass?"

You pause. Definitely infinite, judging by time's nonmovement. The answer is obvious, your "yes" breathless and nearly the neediest you've found yourself.

"I’m gonna shower," she says. "Also, I’ll need you to get hard for me again." 

"I’ll help you clean up then." After all, what could re-spark your erection more than soaping Saerom down, watching water drip down her curves? But when you get up, she places a hand on your shoulder. 

"I have a different idea." Saerom grabs her phone, opens up photos, and goes to the hidden album.

Your jaw drops while she smiles, stands, and heads to the bathroom.

Top left of the screen, 10:04, but never mind the time. You’re not sure where to begin, so you open the latest. A simple selfie in her bathroom with naught but a towel around her waist, the steam of a hot shower in the air. You didn’t think a selfie could be art, and then you see her wet hair and the droplets of water making trails down her tits, and you’d proudly have a print of that hanging in your living room.

Careful, don’t go crazy stroking yourself—wait, when did you even start doing that?—keep a casual pace of your hand up and down your shaft.

Spoiled for choice, you tap the gallery at random and find a video of Saerom on her bedroom floor. Her clear suction dildo is attached to some large book, weighing it down. Clever. (Note that the proxy cock is about the same size and shape as your real one.) She aligns its silicone tip, looks at the camera, wasn’t lying—your name’s but a whisper as she sinks down into the toy. Then she starts riding, and you understand her practice was studious. It’s like a dance perfected, how she makes her body move on her knees, tits bouncing, eyes unwavering. The same way she was riding your cock earlier. So that’s where she got the practice.

There are plenty more racy images, particularly artful ones of her nude silhouette as a shadow against her wall and less than artful pictures of fingers spreading her perfect pussy lips. Other short videos arouse you equally: a 2-second video of Saerom pulling her jeans down to her thighs, enough to show off the squish of her butt cheeks; an 8-second video of Saerom taking off her shirt in a public toilet to flaunt her bralessness to a mirror before running to a stall at the sound of the door opening; and an hour-long video of a cheerful Saerom dancing to various songs, nude in her living room. Actually, that video was only 7 minutes long. Felt like an hour though.

The sound of water flowing from the bathroom stops. Saerom should be coming out soon. You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping your shaft.

It’s unbelievable the sheer number of pictures and videos there were in the phone’s gallery. Had to be at least one for every day since you last met her. It’d be difficult to quantify which was your favorite, and which one you would masturbate to the most.

However, the answer was clear. The hottest video, or set of videos, was yet another dildo. This one isn’t as girthy as the clear suction dildo, as she holds it in her hand. Two key differences. First, this pink phallus had little marks on it. Each subsequent video had another mark, a centimeter deeper. In some of the videos, she’d be fully nude while in other videos, she’d have a hoodie or oversized shirt on, but nothing else, leaving her bottomless. Sometimes it’d be daytime, birds chirping, sun shining into the room, and other times, it was at night, dimly lit as the room is now. Second, and more importantly, is that every video had the same format: she sat comfortably in her bed, legs spread, then she took lube, coated her fingers (initially one, but then it became two, three), and slid them in her ass—the fingers were only the start though; afterward, she kept her anal entrance relaxed as she spread lube onto the pink dildo, then slid the toy inside herself at an extremely gentle pace.

She had already been able to take your dick in her ass, though it wasn’t the most pleasant experience back then. You enjoyed it visually, but seeing the strain and discomfort on Saerom put you off of it (not to mention the wrenching tightness for you, barely inserting a third of your length). You thought you’d have to save the anal experience for another day. Didn't think it'd be today. Plus, the mere concept of progress here, the enjoyment she’s having, is somehow making you harder than ever, as if you didn’t just cum five minutes ago.

You can even find where Saerom hit a plateau in the middle of the collection of anal training videos. She had a pout on her face and rolled her eyes when she couldn’t push the pink dildo deeper inside her asshole. In the next video, she tried the same length but with a bullet vibrator on her clit—even used tape to hold it. Not only did it help, to get the toy deeper inside, but she also squirted all over her phone camera.

The door opens, greeting Saerom to the sound of her moans from her phone until you quickly pause it in surprise. Nothing on but a towel. Picturesque. In her hand, a bottle of lube.

"Oh, hey. I remember buying that," you say, pointing to the bottle. "Did it expire?"

"I didn’t think about that." Saerom examines the bottle. "January 2024. Should be fine."

She stands in front of you, drops her towel, and you thoroughly examine her figure. The hourglass curves, you want to make her toss and turn, forget the time. The sole sure sign of the time's passage is that night falls differently, moonlight mixing with the small lamp—now on the ground, not sure when that got there—casting subtly new angles of shadows on Saerom. In all lights, she looks ethereal, contrasting her casual attitude. A light smile, she dusts off her bookshelf. A light step toward her desk, she readjusts a potted plant. Like she forgot you were here for a moment, a light giggle as she remembers your presence and takes her phone back. 

"I take it you liked what you saw?" Saerom declares, rhetorical.

Right, you should nod here. So nod. But you’re holding your breath too, nodding emptily. You’ve decided she doesn’t look ethereal; she is ethereal, immaterial, of another world. You can’t touch her even though you did, consequences of ethereality you can hardly endure. Endure you shall because you must. Her nude form is unmatched. Her ass is unmatched. Your hands on her ass were a ghostly dream.

Saerom walks around the room, cleaning more. You’d offer to help but you’re simply awestruck, your eyes like a hawk. She fixes the lamp, the pile of pillows, and the clothes laying around on the floor.

Returning your gaze, she eyes your erection. Saerom points, and you’re back in position, and she's back to the floor, lube still in hand.

You sit on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesn’t make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspension—now you're sure of it. With the wet mess, hopefully, the sheets dry as you remember. Your feet are right on the ground, but there's something different this time. The tension and doubt of earlier are silent; if you had to take a stab at it, you've never seen this sort of raw hunger from Saerom as she's kneeling between your legs. Your cock twitches, free in the air, when she licks at it experimentally.

"You don’t have to do this. Your pics kept me hard as a rock." Look, a statement as dumb as not contacting Saerom.

You're fortunate that Saerom is set on getting your dick in her mouth. "Shut it," she says, "you know how much I love sucking this dick."

"Right… but remind me."

A smirk tugs at the corner of Saerom's lips, then a soft exhalation. The warm breath sends tingles through your cock to the rest of you. What is there in the rest of you? You can only wonder when Saerom starts to give the same licking worship to your cock as you did to her whole body, spending as much time bathing you in her saliva. Her tongue is soft, wet, and all over your shaft, and the smooches on your cockhead plant your feet down into the ground. Your fingers curl. Five into the air, five into her hair. Let her go. She has work to do.

Saerom, relinquishing her momentary trance, opens the lube bottle. She squeezes a dollop onto her hand, can barely match the amount of saliva that she’s already drooling. Saerom tries her best to go to work, to give you a blowjob while applying the lube at the same time. Her palm rubs the cool lubricant onto your shaft, fingertips work all the half-viscous fluid around your whole cock—makes sure plenty is under your tip (does that part even need to be lubricated like that, or is she just toying with you?)—then she uses her dextrous tongue to spread the lube further. Pulling back, Saerom seals her lips on your cockhead, cheeks hollowing as she sucks and uses both hands to stroke you up and down. She’s diligent, but all that lube ends up being washed away by the excess of spit from her eager mouth bobbing down into your length, impulsively taking you into the back of her mouth. A waste, though you’re going to buy new lube for her soon. She has work to do, and you’re not stopping her for now.

You can tell that taking you into her throat isn’t on purpose; however, Saerom is so captivated with sucking your cock that she ends up gagging a couple of times. You're worried at first, pulling your hips back, but Saerom looks at you with puppy eyes and a pout on your cock—as if to ask why you took away her favorite toy, and imagine a harrumph for theatrical measure. At the unexpected, unspoken brattiness, you raise your hands. If she wants saliva streaming down her chin to get your full length into her throat, so be it. So be it that she wants her eyes to water.

A question Saerom won’t answer, too busy: you've already given her what she wants, so why is she whining and humming on your cock like it isn’t enough? Then you realize she knows what she's doing, knows how the vibrations are getting from your cockhead to your real head. knows how the foamy slobber makes her lips feel extra soft and pillowy. Amen to all the fluids, holier than water can get.

Having eaten her out however many minutes ago, you empathize with how tiring oral service gets. When Saerom finally pulls back from your dick, she exercises her jaw, moves it side to side, and stretches it.

Fix the thick strands on her forehead, putting the bangs back in place. She might have just showered, yet you could easily have mistaken her damp locks for being wet with the mess she’s made in her blowjob.

Saerom wipes the excess of saliva and licks her palms, then grabs the lube. This time, she’s more careful. More handiwork spreading lube than mouthy work as she kisses and tongues your tip with greater restraint.

In such a sensitive state—your previous orgasm wasn’t that far in the past—even the faint grazes of Saerom’s tongue draw out involuntary moans from you, and your mouth is a tight contorting curve. Something of a smile, something of a frown. You manage to ask regardless, "How does it taste?"

"The lube? It’s a little sweet, but not the best flavor. Here." Saerom squeezes a drop onto her hand and offers her finger to you. 

You wrap your lips around her middle finger, and you forget you were supposed to be tasting something as you made eye contact with her. Saerom smirks back. Is it a fruity flavor? Maybe it’s flower yet again, to match her shampoo. Doesn’t matter. You keep her finger in your mouth, and she laughs when you give it a soft bite before she takes her hand away.

"I, for one, prefer the taste of this cock." Saerom licks in a circle. "It’s musky and sweaty and salty, and I love it. Especially when pre-cum comes out like this—" she tongues at your cock’s slit, and you shudder.

Pretend that time is unwavering, a force inerrant, yet your mind can do so much to trick you, to make the past/present/future all toys in the same room converge. Turns to dots, to visions. You could be sitting here as you are, a passive man for the rest of your life (for all you know, this night will be the rest of your life), or you could be making good on promises.

You have work to do. This is the unthinking reverie of a man possessed by visions of a single thing you’ve been waiting for, for a year, for a lifetime, for dreams eternal. Don’t call it a reverie. Your actions are not light. You pull Saerom up from her kneeling stance, a hint of unnecessary rabid strength. This force is used in place of words, forgoing language in a new way. Your grip on her hand says something. If only you could say what it is. And she never liked when you just stood there silent, but her mouth is open and her eyes are needy.

Her brows are raised when you shove, and her yelps are unsurprisingly filled with surprise when you bring her to her desk, unforgiving in how you lever her arm back, grab wrist, animal thoughts, smack, one, two, the orbs of her ass jiggle. You’re in a human place, a human still. Posthaste, clearing the haze in your head, you clear out the stationery from the middle of the desk. There’s the rest of her, perfect, yet it middles to the true perfection of her asshole. You lay your cock between her asscheeks, left hand cupping their heft.

Saerom needs something from you, but she’s so beautifully compromised. Her arm is bent back, her wrist tight in your grip. Her legs are straight, but you see the buckle in her knees—it’s taking active effort from Saerom to keep her ass lifted in the air for you. All the while, her face is right on the desk, and she twists her head to look back. She’s pleading with her eyes. Put it in, put it in. Why say it out loud when the soft whimpers tell you as much.

Despite all the primal force and exhibition, you’re no animal. As much as you want to dive straight in and impale your whole length at once, she needs to acclimate even with her diligent practice with toys. Besides, it gives you an excuse to admire her ass when you push your lube-covered cock’s tip against her tight sphincter. Leave it there, for a breath, for two. Deep breaths. Long breaths. Breaths that let you stare at Saerom’s ass until time ends because you’ll never tire at the shape outlining sublimity, the weight so perfect, the firmness of the glute muscles, the smooth and light skin marked red by your hand and beginning to bead with sweat, the crease into her equally ample thighs. Your tip is at the start of anally penetrating Saerom, and all you can think about are the two surrounding cushions. You will never tire of staring at Saerom's butt.

You do tire of having only your tip in the chokehold of Saerom’s tight entrance. So eventually, you push in, a glacial rate, a tectonic rate, eras, timescales for scientists. The minutes dilate like you’re pushing against a law of physics, a speed limit, even if your length is plunging into Saerom’s ass as slow as it can. New paradoxes, record it. The waves propagating throughout your body, at one inch, at two inches, three, four, five, etc, record them. The snug ring of her asshole is almost at the base of your shaft, yet there’s a complete saturation of bliss, record it. All this pleasure must be recorded rigorously in your mind as charts and tables flash by in an attempt to put numbers down to the innumerable.

Saerom’s back arches on this first penetration, her eyes rolling up into her head, where she isn’t thinking about anything, and now you aren’t either. Saerom’s anal walls are built like a cocksleeve to hug and clamp around your shaft. With this inexorably tight hold, you can’t move, a statue, marbled by pleasure.

Looking back at you, Saerom frowns, her thinking returning. She doesn’t speak but she says why the fuck aren’t you totally inside, and you can hear it out loud in the bedroom only filled with ragged breathing. In frustration, she lifts her ass higher by tiptoeing, and you have to grab something, the edge of the desk, her waist, whatever you can. You look down, and her legs are trembling now. Long groans escape you and Saerom when you’re finally guts deep, finally inside her ass with your whole length. Never have you gone this deep inside Saerom; the last anal attempt was more half-assed. Now you're stretching Saerom in places she didn't know she had, content with her warming your cock.

You pull back, squeeze a bit more lube on your cock for good measure, and begin anally fucking Saerom in earnest. Can’t let patience rule you. Her pussy is tight; this ass has a complete throttlehold. To ram into Saerom’s asshole means you succumb to the constriction and thus what would be a torrid rhythm is turned spasmodic—fierce, yet subject to fits of paralysis, where you return from fleshly lust to scientific observation. Metrology in mind, you measure the precise amount of your dick inside of Saerom's butt, calculate the forces with which her asscheeks jiggle.

Nothing so surgical about your hands as you pull by her hair bundled in your fingers, enough to lift her head off the desk. Saerom looks at you with a nearly crazed frown—no, that’s her smile upside down—mad lust in her eyes, and teardrops every time her asshole is impaled by your shaft, down to the balls.

As much as you’re fucking Saerom, Saerom is fucking you. Regardless of her submissive position bent over the desk, she backs that ass up into you, and her smile shifts from smug to wild to docile and pliant with every thrust.

Thrust back and you see her gaped asshole, the width and consequences of your cock's pounding. It’s winking, at a rapid rhythm somewhere between her breaths and her heartbeat.

Who cares that you're in the middle of fucking Saerom’s unmatched ass—you can't help but get on your knees.

"Oh, fuck," Saerom says, "what are you—ohhh." 

Your tongue finds itself in Saerom’s used and stretched-out hole. One hand is holding an asscheek with a firm grip while the other hand is teasing her pussy lips. You drive your tongue deep enough that her asshole can’t just relax, can’t just ungape itself from being this well-fucked—it’d be a waste of effort and time, and you haven’t eaten out this perfect ass yet. The flavor is foreign but welcome, or whatever. Your lips refuse to release from her widened hole regardless of taste, and your tongue will rival Gluttony’s sin in your relentless analingus. If you do release, it’s only to kiss each of her plump cheeks, to give them the love they deserve, but her anus deserves more love with the bliss it sends to you. Give that love, and romance is returned in a thrumming moan, vibrating through the wood of the desk on which Saerom’s head lays.

In search of deepening that pleasant noise, you fully focus your hands’ attention on her leaking cunt. There were already clear strings leading from her slit to her thighs, from between her legs to the floor, but when you begin to insert fingers into her untongued hole and circle her clit, the leak becomes a whole-hearted drench. Saerom near crumples, slumping at the desk, your active hands keeping her from totally sliding off. The pitch of her voice heightens, and her whole body shakes.

"I’m f-fucking, cu-cumming!"

Your fingers are battering into her pussy, your tongue is sloppily tending to her asshole, and you’re kneeling next to a puddle growing as the spray from her cunt reaches its maximum pressure—

Catch her. As she shudders and limps into the floor as you envisioned, you hold Saerom as you two sit and inhale and exhale and inhale and—and slowly now, exhale.

"Slowly now, exhale," you say.

Saerom turns her head, eyes like a stray cat fed. Look deeper, and it’s more like there’s nothing there past the sclera’s white, the iris’ dark brown, dim of her pupils. The colors and shapes are all in the right places, sure. Nothing. Stroke her cheeks, its high bones, and her nose and her jaw. Be careful with those. Don’t get a cut on their sharp edges. The thought evolves: how sharp can she be? Her words and glare can cut, at times. Here, she’s feathers. She’s clouded; no, she's clouds. She’s fur. Looks back at you, the quietest smirk, like this one doesn’t say anything—she can be a cat, sure.

Though your breaths are now steady, you have to carry her as you relocate your two bodies to the bed. While Saerom’s orgasm has racked her, you are not faring much better. Truly flagging, it takes a whole minute until you’re both lying on the mattress—the clock you forgot or pretend not to care about said 10:28 with its longest hand up, then 10:29, longest hand up again when you look again.

Your arm under her neck, Saerom looks at you. "So we’re done for the night?" she asks.

You laugh weakly. "You’re asking like we’re not."

Saerom rolls her leg over your waist, hooking your erection between her calf and thigh to make a point.

Again, your laugh has little air to it. As much as you want to go on forever, spend all the moonlight fucking Saerom’s ass, you don’t have the energy left to move. You close your eyes, sorry in your heart for ignoring her succubine advance for a final round.

You’re going to sleep. One or five or thirty minutes pass. Can’t tell. The internal hourglass is too tired. Sand won’t even fall. There should be an ending here regardless.

Weight. Instead of an ending and empty darkness of sleep, weight, and heft, the now intimately familiar but always welcome warmth and plushness of Saerom’s butt against your crotch. You feel her hair scattered on your face, tickling and itching, and you half open your eyes, but you stay stock-still. Instead of next to you, Saerom is lying on top of you.

You should’ve known this would happen. It’s not the first time she’s done this to you, not even the first time on this bed. When you were stressed from the responsibilities and the changes of your new non-idol occupation, you answered a Saerom booty call, expecting to have fucked out your tension and worry. However, the moment you lay on her bed, you fell asleep—then woke up to Saerom sliding down onto your cock like it was a bomb that would explode at the slightest bump.

You didn’t complain then, and when you watch Saerom apply lube on her thighs, making them shiny and wet, you don’t complain now. The muted glimmer of her pale skin, her thighs giving way to your cockhead as it pokes out with each slide, yet those don’t compare to the loving caress of her flesh on your shaft.

Saerom must know you’re awake. There’s no way you can ignore the coolness of the lube on your tip, or her finger smearing the small beads of seed on your slit. She carries on yet, the sluggish up-down motion of her legs becoming a back and forth: she moves forward to slide your length against her pussy lips, then moves back to give your shaft her thighs' full embrace.

You buck up into her labia, her thighs, and that’s when she gives up the game, a chuckle as she shakes her head, moving hair off your face.

"Look at you," she whispers, "pretending to be asleep."

You groan when she grasps your shaft carelessly. "I didn’t want to interrupt."

She sits up, grabs the lube, applies more to your length by stroking and twisting, then guides your cock into her asshole before leaning back into your chest.

Kiss her neck. Lightly, with pecks, you didn't forget. It matches the verve with which Saerom fucks her ass into you.

That is to say, none.

Unlike with the desk, this is the laziest anal sex you’ve ever had. Every few seconds, a deliberate rolling of her ass. In, out, this piston couldn’t drive a toy car. There’s purring like a car anyway: guttural sounds from deep within your throat, Saerom matches them, still not used to the brute stretching of her asshole. If her pussy is a natural moist velvet that enveloped your cock, her asshole is the closest thing you can imagine to a sex toy, made to wring your cock out, lube fully necessary for the tightness. She's almost stuck on your shaft, making each act of pulling out a whole grippy ordeal.

After enough of this lethargic penetration, you endure the ordeal and unsheathe fully.

There's only one way this can end. You truly understand how this night is a cycle. The giver becomes the receiver; the subject becomes the agent—the push and the pull are bound in sequence.

Never any words to communicate the time to switch where they aren't needed and are a waste of oxygen by now. (You, the liar or the fool, must know you're fluent by now.)

You peel Saerom off your cock, setting her aside on the bed. You're not so gentle when you flip her over. She sits up, kneeling, facing away from you (facing the dear enemy, the clock, above the head of the bed). Hands on knees, she wiggles her ass and looks back at you. The soles of her feet are equally inviting, toes wiggling. (You want to bite them.) She bites her finger. Never fails to make you act.

You're quick to your feet, standing by the edge of the bed, and then grab Saerom's waist and pull her toward you. Falling forward, she gets on all fours.

Push.

If the rest of your life could be defined by pushing and pulling with Saerom, that would be fine by you.

Cock in her asshole, nothing more.

Fine, there's a little more. You're holding your shaft, your thumb on your tip, and you tease Saerom's anal entrance one last time. even if this hole has acclimatized to the exact mold of your dick's shape, evidenced by its continued gape, you can't help but savor a final time. You rub your tip around in a circle.

Enough of that. You push an hour into a minute, pull a minute into a second, push a second to the wayside. There is no truly timing in the animalistic act of doggystyle, especially not with Saerom. Hands in her hair, hands on her back, hands spanking hard against her ass, hands cupping her breast as you bend over and kiss where your fingers dug in, every thrust consolidating into one. You're under some self-made thrall, and Saerom is in that same complete thrall. With her feet keep kicking up at the sheer bulldozing force into her very guts, you take one moment of not having her ass in your hands to knead her soles. Then you're back inside, making sure that mold-tight hold of her asshole is perfectly set, or whatever was there is being rearranged. How you're fucking Saerom on all fours, it's like you're rushing for an ending, and you get what you want soon enough.

A single fiber of your being and your soul (in other words, hormones and nerves) becomes a quivering fire, then two fibers, then four, and the pretty pattern flowers into something equally pretty in its chaos.

As this night can't last forever, the doggystyle position can’t last either.

She falls back down, face onto the mattress, and she spreads her legs in a split. You keep pounding, your false energy like the retreating soldiers of a battle sounding off their final shots, and as you do, you massage her ass. Saerom shouts into her pillow at your throes, though it's equally spaced with satisfied hums at your unfailing handiwork. Hands are the only part of you that fail to fail. You want to fill her insides with cum, to destroy the crumbling dam of your restraint. Want to paint her guts white. Want becomes need. You’re fucking her hard enough to turn the necessary into the truth. 

"Saerom, I’m…" Finish your sentence. You can’t.

Saerom has her own idea about this ending anyway.

She pulls herself off you. Her tight anus is reluctant to let go of your pulsating cock (you empathize). Saerom rushes to your waist, crawling down to the floor and onto her knees in front of you. It gives you a second to breathe—no, it doesn’t; Saerom’s lips are sealed around your cock already. By the look in her eyes, she wants to suck your soul out. All uncertainty thrown aside, she pushes herself down into your length with a repeated rhythm. Each loud and forceful gag of her self-throatfucking comes with a mess of spit that stains her bed, waterfalls onto the floor.

However, you have the final say.

Grab her hair, pull your cock out of her mouth, and stroke yourself as you aim down.

The first shot hits her chin, dripping, but the other jets of cum cover her neck, her shoulders, and her collarbone, exactly as promised. There are no revelations in this orgasm—unfortunately, you haven’t been superhumanly recharged. The edge of your sight blackens and your knees halfway give out. For this is purely physical. Pure hormones and static sparking pleasure to your body as you stroke your cock to Saerom’s visage and form, and quivering fire is jittery lightning when you cover all that unblemished skin in sticky cum, vulgarizing, fulfilling promises sexy.

Your mouth is dry. Everything else too.

A phone is handed to you. A picture is taken. A smile is on her lips. (A final lesson, smiles don't drip the same way cum does.)

There should be an ending here, but see, climaxes are the true ending, and the true ending is just a necessity. As you and Saerom cuddle, there is an understanding. Comfortable, but uncomfortable. The future, a future, between the two of you exists in some uncertain state. The two of you might find something deeper in this bond, or might never know anything more than friendship and sex. Don’t think too hard for now. It exists unspoken, for now. Whatever would exist is far away from the confines of this bed, and this hold on her body, and eyelids lowering with the understandings between you intertwining—not solved, but trying; if it were solved, then you would just say it right now. We’re together. We’re not together. We’re just fucking. Who cares. If it were solved, there would be no ambiguity to the ghost touch of Saerom’s fingertips on your back and a breath trying to let a word out but letting that warm air become past sand in the glass bulbs and the upper bulb is damn near empty.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

[lokisprettygirl]

Close Ties (Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Modern AU) (Non canon) (18+)

Read Chapter 10 // Series Masterlist

Chapter 11

Summary : Your relationship with Daemon grows but how long will the secret remain a secret?

Warning: 18+, smut, dad's best friend trope, canon (we don't know her..don't like don't read), feeling of hopelessness, uncle Daemon kink (you don't have to squint), familial uncle niece sort of relationship but he's not really her uncle, there will be more smut later, significant age gap but reader is in her mid twenties, mention of infidelity, divorce, smoking and alcohol drinking, physical violence implied

“Okay this one or this one?” You asked Rhaenyra, she was currently lounging on your bed as you had invited her to your dad's barbecue eve.

You really wanted to look hot tonight because first of all you wanted to rile up Daemon so he'd at least put you aside to spank you for your insolent behaviour, it's been two weeks now and as much as you enjoyed and respected his gentlemanly approach to dating you also needed him close and physical not just in sexual ways but you craved his touch, he had such warm big hands and you needed them to be all over yourself.

The other reason was that your actual uncle and his family had been here for more than a week now and last night at the dinner table you saw Trisha, the older cousin, giggling at everything he said and giving him eyes.

Okay Daemon was hot, he was an incredibly attractive man. But what frustrated you was the fact that your friends and cousins all seemed to be drawn to him as well.

“That red dress is beautiful but damn that black one is going to look super sexy on you”

Rhaenyra said to you with a warm smile so you looked at both the dresses again, the black one was indeed sexy, it was a basic but elegant thin strapped fit and flare sort of dress.

She wasn't like Cassandra at all, she wasn't self obsessed to the point where she didn't care about anyone else. Luckily since the Japan trip you hadn't heard from Cassandra but via your stalking skills you found out that she has been talking shit about you to your mutual friends, however that didn't really matter to you for now.

“Black it is then” you mumbled as you walked towards the dresser to put your makeup on.

“You know red is uncle Daemon's favorite color?” she smirked as she said that and you began to blend your foundation even more aggressively.

“Soooo?” You asked her in a nonchalant manner as you tried to keep your voice casual to not give away your feelings for your sweet sweet uncle.

“Just saying..you know”

“Rhae I don't have a crush on him still..i'm a grown up now”

Big lie but also not exactly a complete lie because you were way past the point where you just had a crush on him.

“Mm hmm so you don't want him to marry you now?” her voice had a teasing tone as she spoke,

“Shut up..it's not funny” you turned around to look at her before you pretended to shake your head in disbelief and went back to fiddling with your beauty blender.

“I feel bad for him at times” she sighed as she spoke again,

“Ummm why?”

“You know…Stella n all, I'm glad he's back home but he's just so lonely..it hurts to look at him sometimes” her voice turned serious and the look on your face changed as well. He wasn't lonely anymore, you won't make him feel that way.

“He will find someone I'm sure, he's a good man” she noticed how zoned out you seemed as you said that as if you were lost in his thoughts “One of the best..the best” you mumbled in your mouth and it made her smile.

“Mhmmm he deserves a good woman”

You and Rhaenyra made your way downstairs and towards the room where your father had set up an indoor barbecue for the winter. As soon as you entered the room, your eyes scanned the area for Daemon. You spotted him by the grill, laughing and chatting with your dad, and it brought back memories of the old days. It was clear that they were getting along well now and the old bond they shared had resurfaced, and it made you feel hopeful that this truce would last longer this time and maybe forever.

However, you couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty, wondering if this time would be different or if it would all fall apart again considering there was this forbidden relationship flourishing between you two now.

As Daemon looked at you, his eyes nearly gave away his feelings for you, the dress fitted you perfectly and his mind filled with the images of you in several obscene positions with the dress still on your body and then on the floor.

He quietly excused himself and walked towards you to greet you but most of all Rhaneyra because he didn't really get to see her much because of his busy schedule.

“Pixie” he said so you nodded,

“Uncle”

You both started at each other and Rhaneyra cleared her throat so he smiled and pulled her closer for a hug.

“Princess…you owe me a conversation” he kissed her forehead as he said that, hus voice sounded low and serious. You watched her go pale as a ghost as she realized what he wanted to discuss. You probably should have given her a heads up that he knew about Harwin.

“Sure uncle..uhhh I'll go get…get a drink” she excused herself and hurried out of there before he could say anything else.

“Remember to not go all Dadd on her, she really looks up to you” you told him so he chuckled in response.

“You think you're old enough to give me such advice?” He asked you, there was a smug smile on his face but his voice sounded as if he was offended by the very notion of you giving him an advice.

“Mmmm no?” you mumbled meekly, making him sigh in response.

“Never let a man talk to you like that Pixie, especially not me”

That habit of him teaching you to stick up for yourself was creeping in your personal life, while at work he'd often put you in situations where men would try to dominate your viewpoints and make you crumble in front of them and he'd teach you how to deal with them without coming across as too emotional or overworked.

It was as if he was preparing for you to take over the business but you weren't really sure if you wanted that but you did feel grateful for his guidance . You never had much confidence in yourself, you could have gone your whole life without it because you were served everything without asking and you never had to impress anyone before.

“Well that goes for other men but I'll let you do anything to me..uncle”

You smiled a little as the little flirtatious tone you held turned him on immediately,

“Anything Sweet Pixie?” he challenged you equally,

“Things you won't dream of doing to any other woman”

“Bloody hell pixie ..you can't speak to me like that in public” he lowered his voice even though there was no one around you two.

For a moment you thought he was upset because he cursed and his jaw clenched in anger but he wasn't upset, he was just hard and truly uncomfortable.

“Hey don't talk to me like that”

You pretended to be upset by his comment and walked away, your heart racing as you made your way towards your parents, trying to act nonchalant. Daemon watched you go, his smile curving as he realized it would be challenging to find alone time with you in your parents' house.

You couldn't keep your eyes off him, he had a black t-shirt on that snuggled against his thick body, hair was a curly mess and he smelled divine like always.

“This dress isn't appropriate for a barbecue don't you think?”

Your aunt Polly said to you right in front of your parents while her own daughters were in tank tops and shorts.

“It's fine, it's just a dress” your dad chimed in so you hugged him before you pressed a kiss on his cheek, you were always thankful to your parents for never putting you down in front of others.

Speaking of the cousins, you saw Trisha striking a conversation with Daemon and it made you jealous so you took your phone out and texted him.

He put his phone inside his pocket after that, he was turned on and he was definitely thinking about you in obscene positions underneath him, he had been trying to take this thing as slow as possible but it wasn't easy, especially because you loved to rile him up at the most inopportune times.

As you all sat down to eat, you chose the seat in front of him on purpose. Throughout the dinner, he watched you lean forward on purpose so he could have the perfect view of your cleavage, then you took your sweet time sucking on the dessert spoon.

To be fair he didn't really think you had it in you and it wouldn't really have mattered to him if you were pure vanilla in the bedroom, he'd have wanted you just the same. Since he came back he found himself digging a deeper hole for himself, the more he got to know you, the more it made sense, despite the age difference and the familial relationship he shared with you he felt so connected to you on a deeper level that went beyond just physical attraction.

He did wonder how deeply you were into him though because at your age he was mindlessly hooking up with women until he found Stella, at times he had a fear that you were just infatuated by him and would get bored of him as soon as you'd realise that he wasn't an angel sent from heaven.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he felt your bare toes rubbing against his shin, eyes pierced into you as he glared at you but you just gave him a sly smile.

Rhaenyra wanted to make a phone call so you excused yourself as well and made your way upstairs, he looked around carefully and everyone seemed a bit tipsy, especially your parents so without saying anything he went upstairs as well and knocked on your door.

The moment you opened he walked towards you so you took a step behind as his strong stride intimidated you in all the good ways. He then slammed the door shut, pulled you closer to him and then flipped you around on your front to press you up against the door, only a gasp escaped your throat as you felt the heat of his body and his lips on your neck.

“Daemon” you moaned his name as his hands wandered under your dress and fingers looped around the waistband of the underwear,

“Not going to call me uncle anymore hmm?”

No words came out of your throat as one of his hands cupped your mound, a part of you suddenly felt so shy and all the boldness you had showed him just now dissipated slowly.

He could feel the warmth radiating from your core, fingers rubbed over the drenched fabric and he pressed his thumb over your clothed clit.

You pressed your hips against his bulge and he groaned in response

“That's what you wanted hmm?” he whispered in your ear, his voice was low and tone husky,

“Mmm did I upset you uncle?” Your head lulled backwards on his shoulder and as the sensation grew with every flick of his thumb only the constant whisper of his name spilled out.

“Wouldn't treat you so sweet if I was upset”

“Daemon pleasseee”

“Keep whining babygirl ..love the sound of that”

“Am i your good girl still?” You asked him softly and it made him smile, even amidst the throes of pleasure you wanted to be his good girl.

“You're my best girl sweetheart”

“Mmmm are you sure..we have been dating for like two weeks”

“And it has been good two weeks love..don't ever doubt how much I care about you, you can be an insufferable brat as long as you're being that way solely for me”

You suddenly turned around and your arms flung around him as you kissed him passionately, your hips rolled back and forth over his palm. If he wasn't holding you so tightly with his other arm your knees would have given out.

Your hands trailed down and as you cupped his bulge he pressed you against the door again with your arms next to your head where he held them in place while his other hand continued to fondle your soaked cunt,

“You won't let me please you?” you asked him with heavy breaths,

“Oh you're going to please me. Don't fret darling, I'll take the double of what I'm giving you”

Godd now you understood Cassandra's obsession with him, sure you had been touched this way but you had never been pleased with words like this before and his touch was like no other, in that moment you knew no man would be able to please you the way he would,

"Look at you.. so dripping wet and for whom hmm? Your own fucking uncle"

Damn he really enjoyed the uncle-niece play.

“Go on..cum for me darling, soak my fingers my sweet little niece”

Your body convulsed almost instantly as he whispered filthy words in your ear. He couldn't keep his eyes off you, fingers continued to rub over the soaked fabric as you rode your high.

Beautiful was the only word that came to his mind at that moment, you looked so beautiful to him.

As you finally opened your eyes he pulled his hand out from under your dress and grabbed you by the waist as he kissed you deeply and ever so lovingly. This is what you needed, you were getting addicted to the way he touched you and how he seemed to be so into you, you had never had that from a guy before, never had a man's whole attention on you because their eyes always wandered and they seemed to only like you because of your father.

“You alright Pixie pie?” he asked you as pleased his index finger under your chin and made you look at him, your face was warm and flushed and he knew he'd have to relieve himself in the privacy of his bedroom later, you had given him enough to work his imagination with.

“Mmmm has anyone ever told you how good you are at this stuff?” you asked him so he chuckled

“Mmhmmm.. but would love to hear it from you, keep my ego intact if you will” you chuckled as he said that.

“You ruined my underwear” you mumbled against his mouth

“There's a lot more I want to ruin then just your clothes darling”

After changing into fresh underwear, you made your way downstairs ahead of Daemon to avoid appearing suspicious. As you entered the room, you noticed that Rhaenyra had returned as well and she was wearing an amused expression. Your father had turned on the projector and was playing an old video from a trip to Morocco.

You remembered the trip, you were thirteen, that's where Daemon had proposed Stella, your uncle and his family was also on the trip, you looked so little in those pictures and Daemon still looked the same, just younger, he had Stella hanging on his arm in every picture but there was one picture of just you and Daemon taken in front of a monument.

Daemon stepped downstairs soon after and as soon as he saw the old pictures his whole demeanor changed.

“I should put something else on” your dad mumbled under his breath as he seemed to realize that it must have been difficult for Daemon to watch himself looking so happy in the photos with Stella. As you looked at him he averted his gaze, you noticed that he didn't seem to be doing fine.

“I never understood why he was so sure about Stella, he has always been a sensible guy and it never made sense” Rhaenyra said to you, her voice held a tinge of frustration,

“Mmmm people can be deceiving .. sometimes they pretend to be something they're not and we are only able to figure them out with time”

“Makes sense”

“That reminds me..he knows about you and Harwin”

“I figured” she chuckled nervously,

“He'll keep your secret don't worry"

“Yeah I just don't want him to judge Harwin”

“Even if he does initially once they get to know each other he'll understand..like you said he is a sensible man”

You put your arm around her so she smiled and hugged you. As the night grew, everyone got more and more drunk and then people started to leave for bed. Rhaenyra wanted to go home so Daemon decided to drive her himself since he didn't have a drink all night.

You knew he'd have the conversation with her on the way, he also seemed a bit sullen, you understood really well Stella bothered him still but you didn't like seeing him that way. After showering and changing late at night you decided to go see Daemon to make sure he was fine, you wanted to knock on the door but standing outside his room for so long didn't seem like the smartest thing to do so you turned the knob and the door wasn't locked so you entered in and he was already in the bed,

“Daemon ?” You called out his name as you closed the door but you didn't lock it.

“I'm up pixie” he propped himself on his elbows as he looked at you, he seemed tired. He had a white loose t-shirt with a pair of sweatpants.

You crawled on the bed and he tilted his head to watch your movement, the lace night dress you had on was tantalizing, you shouldn't be in his bed looking like that.

“How was the talk with your niece?” You asked him so he tilted his head backwards as he sighed,

“It was alright, I'll meet him soon”

“Good.. and how's your mood?”

“Alright ..why” he smiled a little as he noticed the concern in your voice.

“You just seemed sad after those pictures –Dad can be a bit dense at times”

He chuckled as you said that.

“You think I'm sullen because of Stella?”

“You are not?”

“No it wasn't her that bothered me”

You looked at him confused so he sighed before he laid down on his back with a thud,

“It was you..us..our photo together and you were just a child back then”

You crawled up on him as he said that, his voice sounded meak and defeated. When you saw those pictures you saw yourself with your uncle/ man you had a stupid unrequited crush on but when he looked in the past he saw a little girl he had treated like his own child, all of this just seemed fucked up to him at times.

“It's weird, when I'm with you, i don't think about that little girl..it's like she was just a child I used to know and care for” he cupped your cheeks for a moment before his fingers brushed through your hair "But you..are different, not the girl i remembered or looked forward to meet when I had planned to return” he mumbled so you placed your hands on his shoulders and made him sit back up,

“I am different, i have grown and changed”

“Mhhm but eventually I'll have to acknowledge that you're the same precious girl I called my niece once but wish to have in my bed now” he said to you so you nodded before you grabbed his hands and placed it on your chest, his breathed hitched as he cupped your bosom, they fit perfectly in his hands.

“You are all good daemon i promise” you leaned in to kiss him softly “Like i said I'm all grown up now” he kissed you back as you murmured against his mouth “I know you want me now..you want this" you moaned as he gave them a squeeze, your body felt so soft and natural to him unlike Stella or Cassandra "I know your intentions, i always did, even when mine were not so innocent for you i know yours were absolutely pure when I was a child”

“When did you get so wise?” He smiled as he laid down with you on top of him, he kissed your forehead and then your lips.

“Cuddle with me please” you mumbled against his mouth and his brows furrowed, as much as he wanted to have you sleep in his bed, it was a risk he wasn't willing to take just yet, your relationship had just began with him and getting caught by someone was not in his agenda especially considering your relatives were here too at the moment..

“i can't Pixie pie..we can get caught”

“I'll set an alarm..pleaseee” you mumbled as you snuggled against him, every inch of your skin felt tingly as your body pressed into him, he felt so thick and cushiony, you wanted to stay in his arms forever.

“Let me make you feel better you sad sad boy” he chuckled as you said that,

“Well I do enjoy the thought of you warming my bed in more ways than one”

“Naughty”

“Says the girl who has been in love with me since she was twelve” you gasped as you looked at him.

You weren't in love with him, well that was a lie, you were completely and hopelessly in love with him but you weren't going to admit that so soon

But before you could snap back in response you both heard the sound of his door knob twisting.

You had left the door unlocked.

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Taglist

@serving-targaryen-realness @annoyingsweetsstranger @anukulee @mcufan72 @insertsomethingsillyhereple-blog @silentf @ajthefujoshi @stupidthoughtsinwriting @ammo23 @shuichiakainx @daddylokisqueen @ipostwhtifeel @anehkael @madlyinlovewmattmurd0ck @dixie-elocin

[sugareey-makes-stuff]

A Feb/March update is here! Winter into (almost Spring) hasn't been too bad, since it's been super warm. Anyway, here's what these two idiots have been up to:

>>> As a tea blender, it's been a hot minute since I've made new teas. If this wasn't already a big hint, yes, I'm making Teen Wolf teas. Yes, both Stiles and Derek each have their own blend. They might each get one more if my muse is ambitious enough. My guinea pig (aka my partner) has already tasted these blends with me, and all I'm going to say is they're very particular but super yummy! >>> Glad that Sterek approve of both teas! When I do figure out artwork and all that fun jazz, are TW teas something people want in their lives? Hmm...do I attempt to make a Sterek tea? That could be fun. Let me know if you'd like me to make that happen!

>>> A while back for the hols, a friend who knows me all too well got me a dumpster fire pencil organizer. It's a smol dumpster with flamey notecards to write on. And these boys really like it. This is probably how they feel about a lot of things anyway. >>> They sorta fit in, right? I think Stiles thought this was funnier than Derek did (If he fits, he sits).

>>> Loookk, spring outfits (@mrkgrl, I guess I'm dressing them up seasonally now)! Derek is in his mechanic and let's-fix-everything mode. Meanwhile, Stiles wanted overalls so he can be a b-boy and show off his dance moves. He also made Derek pop his collar. Want more Sterek mini adventures? Make sure to stay updated by following the #stereksmolshots tag!

[kiankiwi]

"Dance Party"

A cg!jacob elordi x little!reader fic

Summary: You spend the morning with your daddy and he makes you laugh, a lot.

Jacob LOVED getting you up in the morning. Especially when you're little. He loved how sleepy and warm and cuddly you are in the morning. He woke up that morning and jumped out of bed when he heard you calling for him over the baby monitor. He ran to the nursery, eager to get an early morning cuddle.

He found you standing in your crib, holding onto the rails with a pacifier bobbing quickly between your lips. "Hi sweetheart! Hello, little one!" You bounced a bit, elated to see your favorite person in the world and giggled. You also loved when he talked to you in the morning. Mainly because his perfectly delicious Australian accent came out pretty thick when he was still tired. "Here, can daddy have that, you know it's only for night night time!" Jacob smiled as he grabbed onto the handle of the pacifier and pulled it from your mouth, making a popping sound with his lips to make you laugh. "That's better munchkin!" He swiftly picked you up and hugged you close, rubbing your back as you snuffled into his neck, still a bit sleepy. "Oh good morning sweetheart!" He pulled back to look at your face, "Did you sleep good, have nice dreams?" You nodded, hugging tightly onto his neck. "Yeah? Should we go get you some brekkie?" You nodded like a bobblehead. "Nanas!" You yelled, sticking your tongue out. Jacob couldn't help but laugh. "You want 'nana's? Should we do a big fruit bowl?" You nodded.

"One fruit bowl for one little munchkin!" Jacob said theatrically as he gave you your bowl of cut up strawberries, blueberries, grapes, oranges and of course bananas. "Thank you!" You said before you dug in, eating with your fingers.

Jacob smiled and let you eat, grabbing the left over fruit to make himself a fruit smoothie. He grabbed all the leftovers and poured them all into the blender, popping the cap on. He prepared to push the buttons but looked over to you who was still eating. "Heads up baby, loud noise." He said, warning you so you wouldn't get scared. He waited till you plugged your ears before he pressed the start button to make his smoothie.

When you and Jacob were done with your breakfast, he laughed at how messy you are. "You are a mess, bub! Should we go get ready for the day?" You nodded, shoving your fingers in your mouth. Jacob brought you upstairs and at the end of the hallway, he turned to you and asked, "Should we run? Should daddy run?" Jacob jogged down the hallway to the nursery, bouncing you all the way, making you erupt into a fit of giggles. "Was that fun?" He asked, bringing you over to the closet and looking through it.

Picking your pale pink onesie with the strawberries on it, he laid you down on the changing table, pulling faces at you as he undressed you, peppering kisses all over your face and belly. You erupted into giggles, pushing your hands at him as the laughter stole your breath. "Daddy! Daddy stop it! Stop it!" You pushed him off and he zipped up your onesie. "Okay okay, I'll stop. What shall we do today baby? Should we play, watch movies or just laze around a bit?"

"Go outside?" You asked, watching his hands as they snapped the buttons on your onesie. "Um, I think it's a bit too cold to go outside today bubby," You pouted up at him, not because you wanted to make him feel guilty but because you were genuinely sad you couldn't play on your playset that was currently covered in snow. "Wanna go on my swiiiiiide!" You whined a bit. "I know baby but it's all wet from the snow, right now! Daddy's so sorry. But we can definitely have some fun today inside where it's warm!"

You whined a little, pouting a little longer as Jacob picked you up and you snuggled into his shoulder once again as he brought you back downstairs. "I know baby, daddy hates the snow too."

Now downstairs, Jacob could sense you didn't want to be put down just yet so he soaked up your snuggles. You pointed outside to your playset. "Where my Side go??" You asked, pointing outside. "It's covered in snow baby, you can't even see it!" You pouted looking longingly out the glass door at your covered play set.

Jacob hated seeing you sad, he had to think quickly to put a smile back on your face. He spun around and pointed to the Alexa device. "Hey baby, should we dance? You wanna dance with daddy?" You didn't say anything, still pouting about the snow outside.

Jacob marched you over to the device and bounced you as he loudly declared "Alexa Play Baby Shark!" His accent made the word shark sound like "shock". Hearing his accent pop out, you giggled, wiggling. Your wiggling was your little way of dancing. "Yeah, get it, bub! Go go go! Baby Shark do do do do!" You laugh as Jacob dangled you from his arms and spun you around making you laugh and scream. "Mommy shark do do do do!" Jacob yelled, as you clung to him, laughing your head off.

You loved today because it was just a day with your guy.

*****

MY FIRST JACOB ELORDI FIC!!!

I hope you like it!

@elvisthesillygoose @mooodyblue

[yarrystyleeza]

Fixing Ties

Chapter Two snippet under the cut!!! 💕✨

In the other room, the heat was rising up his neck, he was nervous, his hands are shaking. The sound of her heels softly clicking on the wooden floor is making his heart tick faster with each step she takes. She takes a sip of her coffee, her heart beats faster and she's smiling. He's jittering with each breath she takes, she's looking outside the window and tucking her stray bangs behind her ear, her earring swings to the movement of her hand, and his heart sways with it.

He regrets not answering the phone, he wouldn't have to shake like a broken blender despite her standing in a completely different room—yet he couldn't leave her waiting downstairs.

He couldn't tie his necktie, no matter how hard he tried, his hands kept trembling and his mind kept straying. "Damn it..." he cursed under his breath, but it was loud enough for her to hear it.

"Are you okay, Matt?" she asked, still giving him privacy. He walked out of his room, tie in his hand and face is flustered.

"Couldn't tie it," he sighed. She approaches, his heart is burning and the blood is pumping wild in his ears.

"Can I help you with it?" she asks, her fingertips are softly touching his. He nods. She feels his hands shaking beneath her touch. "Are you alright?" she asks with a smile, her voice is warm with worry, "you're shaking..."

He knows, oh Hell—he knows. "I... I don't-- I don't know..." he blurts, "maybe I'm just... Tired... Yeah."

She takes the black tie and starts wrapping it around her arm. "Learned this trick a while ago," she says, "you spread the thick part along your arm and wrap the thin part three times around your wrist," she explains, "then you pull the second loop through the first loop... And we're done. You're just gonna have to put it on."

She smiled proudly at herself. "I'm just gonna adjust it a bit..." she fixes the length of each end and widens the loop. "Can I help you put it on-- unless you want to--do it yourself--"

He shook his head, "of course—you can... Thank you." he smiles with his red face as she passes his head through the noose.

"You're welcome," she responded with a grin, fixing his collar around the noose before fitting it around his neck. "It looks good," she addressed, smiling.

"I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night

But now I see daylight, I only see daylight" 💕✨

Close-ups:

I can't emphasize how much I love this piece, I'm really proud of myself 🥺🥺🥺 I tried new things like working on lighting and shadow 😋 I need to study for my next exam on Tuesday tho 😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

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

Chapter Seven

The room was still dim, the faint glow of dawn crept in through the cracks between the curtains, but Jungkook hadn’t moved an inch. He lay flat on his back, one arm sprawled behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as though it held answers he couldn’t seem to find.

His mind wouldn’t shut off. It hadn’t for hours.

No matter how many times he told himself to stop thinking about her—about the way she’d felt in his lap, her body temperature rising as his hands roamed all over—his thoughts kept looping back to it.

His jaw tensed as the memory unfolded again, unbidden and vivid.

Her body, soft and warm, pressed so tightly against his. The way her legs had tangled with his, skin brushing against skin, making it impossible to tell where she ended and he began. Her curves had molded to him like they were meant to fit.

He could still feel the weight of her, the way her chest had risen and fallen with each slow breath, steady and calming, yet so dangerously intimate. And her scent—light and sweet, like vanilla and honey—had lingered, sinking into his skin long after she’d left.

He closed his eyes, but it didn’t help.

All he could see was her—flashes of bare skin, smooth thighs, and the hint of lace peeking out beneath her shirt when she’d shifted on his lap.

And now he was picturing her like that all over again—wondering what her reaction would’ve been had he slipped off her shirt from the delicate slope of her shoulder and attached his lips.

Jungkook groaned, dragging a hand down his face like he could physically wipe the image away.

“What the fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

His voice echoed in the stillness, snapping him out of the haze he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He sat up abruptly, pushing the covers off and running a hand through his hair. He needed to get out of his own head. Out of this room. Away from her.

She wasn’t supposed to get under his skin like this. She was supposed to be a challenge—an annoyance, even. Someone to keep at arm’s length while he had his fun and moved on. But now she was everywhere. In his space, in his thoughts, in his goddamn bed.

No.

This had to stop.

Before he could overthink it any more than he already had, Jungkook reached for his phone. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for and hit call without hesitation.

It rang twice before a sultry voice answered.

“Well, well... look who it is,” Jade purred, her tone dripping with suggestion. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

Jungkook smirked, leaning back against the headboard. The sound of her voice was grounding—predictable in a way that soothed the mess in his head.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he shot back, though his voice lacked the usual sharpness.

She hummed knowingly. “Right. So you’re just calling me at seven in the morning for no reason?”

“Not no reason,” he admitted, his voice lower now. “I’m coming over.”

There was a pause, and he could practically hear the smirk in her reply.

“Give me fifteen minutes,” she said, voice thick with promise.

Jungkook hung up without another word.

It was exactly what he needed—distraction. Something easy. Something that wouldn’t make him think or feel too much.

Because the last thing he wanted to admit—even to himself— was that she had already made him feel too much.

And that scared the hell out of him.

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

I pulled myself out of bed and immediately started my morning routine. The first step: making a protein shake. I mixed the powder into the blender with the usual fruits—banana, blueberries, a handful of spinach for good measure—and a dash of almond milk. I pressed the button, listening to the hum of the blender as it whirred to life. The sound felt like it was drowning out the racing thoughts in my head.

Taking a deep breath, I let the familiar routine settle me. I tried to get into a positive mindset, reminding myself that today would be different. Today, I was going to focus on the task at hand, take on the design work, and push back any distractions.

But as much as I tried to clear my mind, Jungkook kept creeping into it.

Shaking my head, I pushed the thoughts aside. Focus. Work. That’s what I needed.

Once the shake was ready, I downed it quickly and decided a jog would help clear my mind even further. The weather was perfect, crisp but not cold. I slipped on my sneakers and stepped outside, letting the fresh air hit my face. The world felt so still, so peaceful, and for a moment, I allowed myself to lose myself in the rhythm of my footsteps.

With each stride, I focused on breathing, not thinking about the mess of emotions swirling inside me. I thought about the project instead—the design, the possibilities of what could be, the future of the work we were doing.

But even as I pushed myself through the jog, the image of Jungkook flashed in my mind again. His face, his hands, the way he held me in place on his lap.

By the time I finished, I was sweaty and breathing heavily, but my mind wasn’t any clearer.

I went back inside, took a quick shower, and tried to ground myself under the hot water. As the stream hit my skin, I scrubbed with purpose, attempting to focus on anything but him, but the thoughts of Jungkook had begun to sneak their way into my mind again.

His hands, those strong, warm hands, were all I could think about.

I let the water run over me, imagining it was his hands washing me instead of my own. I thought back to when he’d touched me, the way his fingers had dug into my thighs, kneading the muscles, working his way up. My breath caught in my throat as I remembered the way his hand had trailed up my stomach, higher, and higher, until I was convinced he was going to touch me in ways I hadn’t yet allowed myself to acknowledge.

I swore under my breath, shutting my eyes and turning my face away from the water. “What the hell was wrong with me?”

I could almost hear the voice in my head screaming at myself to stop—stop letting my mind wander, stop falling into these fantasies.

I cursed again, shaking my head and pushing the thoughts away. No. I couldn’t let myself get lost in them.

Determined to get a grip, I grabbed my phone and quickly typed out a message to Jungkook. I kept it short, businesslike—“Hey, do you want to move on to the digital part of the design process today?”

I hit send and waited.

And waited.

It had been more than half an hour, and still no response. My fingers hovered over the screen as I tried to think of what he might be doing. Was he busy? Or was he just ignoring me? I was sure he said we were meeting today.

I stared at the screen for a moment longer, debating whether I should call him. And then after what felt like a long few minutes, I mustered the courage to hit the call button. What did I have to lose?

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Nothing.

My stomach twisted, irritation building inside me. I tried again. I needed an answer. I needed something from him.

Then on the fourth ring, he finally picked up.

“Finally,” I muttered under my breath, trying to hide the frustration in my voice.

But the words that came next were not at all what I expected.

The phone crackled slightly before I heard a soft, girly moan—one that sent a shock of discomfort straight through my chest.

I recognised the voice almost immediately, it came out whiny and entitled, just like it had been when I’d encountered her at the design office. It was the blonde.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, her voice dripping with desire. “Go harder, I want to feel all of you.”

My stomach sank, and I could practically hear the smirk in her words. I clenched my fists, my pulse picking up in an instant as I fought to keep my composure.

Then without even thinking, I ended the call.

I couldn’t breathe. The sting of humiliation hit me faster than I could process, but the thing that hurt the most wasn’t the disgust I felt for her—it was the reminder of how easily he could be distracted by someone else.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t known, but hearing it was a different thing altogether. Jungkook had options. He had people who could give him everything I could, and even more.

And I was just one of them.

A toy. Someone to play with when he got bored.

A pit of sadness settled in my stomach as I stared at my phone. The weight of it pressed on me, suffocating me in ways I hadn’t expected.

With a deep, shaky breath, I pushed the phone aside and tried to ignore the sting. It was just a moment. Just a reminder of what I already knew.

But for some reason, it hurt more now.

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

Jade laid beneath me with her back arched and nails digging into my shoulders as I moved against her, her moans echoing faintly in my ears.

I gritted my teeth, my focus slipping as sweat beaded at my brow. I wanted this. Needed this—or at least, that’s what I’d convinced myself when I called her.

But even as my body moved, my mind drifted.

It wasn’t her I saw when I closed my eyes. It wasn’t her body I wanted under me.

It was hers.

The way her legs tangled with mine. The softness of her skin. The way her breath had hitched when I’d run my fingers up her stomach.

I shook the thought from my head, trying to lose myself in the moment. But then Jade let out a breathless laugh, jolting me back to reality.

“Stupid bitch” she said, her voice sharp and laced with annoyance.

I blinked down at her, barely processing the words. “What?”

She reached toward the nightstand, where my phone was. Her lips curled into a smirk as she glanced at the screen showing me the missed calls I received.

“That dumb girl you interviewed about the design job,” she said, tossing the phone back down like it was contaminated. “Who does she think she is, calling you?”

My stomach twisted.

I froze, my body suddenly rigid as her words hung in the air.

I reached for the phone instinctively, my fingers fumbling as I unlocked the screen. Her name was there, staring back at me—3 missed calls and a text.

My chest tightened. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but the sight of her name hit harder than it should’ve.

I’d called Jade to clear my head, to get her out of my system. But now? Now it felt like I’d made things worse.

“Jungkook?” Jade’s voice broke through my thoughts, but it sounded distant, like I was hearing it through water.

I pushed off her suddenly, my movements sharp and purposeful.

She sat up, confusion flashing across her face. “Where are you going?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

I climbed off the bed, grabbing my clothes off the floor and tugging them on quickly.

“Are you serious right now?” she snapped, scrambling to follow me. She reached for my arm, her nails grazing my skin as she tried to stop me.

“Don’t.”

I turned, my eyes locking with hers. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t have to.

The look I gave her was enough.

Her hand fell away instantly, and for the first time since I’d known her, I saw something close to fear flicker across her features.

“Jungkook—”

I didn’t wait for her to finish.

I grabbed my jacket, slung it over my shoulder, and stalked out of the room without looking back.

Once I was in my car, I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. The engine roared to life beneath me, but my pulse was louder.

“Hey, Siri,” I said, my voice rough as I gripped the steering wheel. “Pull up AJ’s address on Google Maps.”

“Searching for address,” Siri replied, and within seconds, the route was on the screen.

I floored the gas pedal, the tires screeching slightly as I sped down the street.

My knuckles turned white against the steering wheel as the city blurred past me, my mind more clouded than it had been all morning.

I didn’t know what I was going to say to her when I got there, but I knew one thing for certain. I couldn’t let her slip. Not before I was done with her.

Please check out my Ko-fi💞: https://ko-fi.com/s4svnn

[moccahobi]

Cafe Amore [Jimin x Taehyung]

Summary: Taehyung and Jimin live two opposite lives only connected by their work at a coffee shop. Yet Jimin desperately wants more. Can they bond over coffee despite Taehyung disliking it?

Personal Prompt: How does Cafe Amore make such good coffee? Simple! They make regular sacrifices to coffee gods.

Paring: Jimin (BTS) x Taehyung (BTS)

Genre: Coffee Shop AU, Fluff

Warnings: Light mention of human sacrifices

Word Count: 2.5k words

A/N: This is part of @thebtswritersclub project "heating up"! I also got the prompt "coffee shop au" which I am a sucker for. And I had an old prompt I wrote that I could use! Also. Normally I use photos from BTS's facebook for my banners. Today, I used ones from the BTS World Wiki. I remembered Jimin having been a mochi maker and just knew the vibes would fit.

In a world of darkness and frustration, what is the one thing that can brighten it all?

For Jimin and his world of darkness ( the morning rush at Cafe Amore), the answer is the boxy and warm smile of Kim Taehyung (his coworker and the only person working the front with him). The morning rush had started sooner than he was scheduled though, and Jimin was flooded with coffees, drowning in an aroma he previously loved. It was a bad idea for the coffee aficionado to work here, cursed to explain over and over again what a piccolo and a (real) macchiato are.

An hour into the rush and Taehyung finally enters. Bless his heart but he knew nothing about coffee before working at the cafe. He didn't even drink it. Instead his mind was on the specialty drinks and fun flavors he could make. It was endearing and scary how much sugar Taehyung could consume when practicing his drinks. Cafe Amore has amazing beans that shouldn't be ignored, yet here Taehyung was, almost always ignoring it. It did mean that Taehyung took Mr. "Cat" when he came in asking for a "macchiato" which Jimin was forever grateful for. 

He was Jimin's best (work) friend, and Jimin always found himself thinking about how he might become real friends. The ocean between work friends and real friends felt insurmountable though. Nothing in sight and mapless.

Instead Jimin tried to find comfort in being work friends, to savor their laughter and treasure the smiles. Taehyung didn't seem like someone who'd be friends with Jimin anyways. A jazzy free spirit didn't seem to mesh well with an uptight perfectionist. Jimin spent all his freetime locked away in a dance studio while Taehyung explored the city and found niche places all around. They seemed to live in separate worlds bridged only by their work.

Jimin tapped Taehyung's calf as he rushed to get changed in the back. The rush was no where near done but now at least the rush would feel better. Taehyung was a magical salve full of small comments and smiles that fueled Jimin to keep going. 

"I went to a jazz bar this weekend. It was so fun! When we have a chance, I'll show you pictures." Taehyung said as he signed into the next register, his warm hand patting Jimin's shoulder.

Jimin nodded, swallowing the silly feelings of jealousy over being able to see these events but not be let in. He chose being a busybody, but sometimes he wished for more. Taehyung made him want more. 

"I had to work all weekend," Jimin forced a laugh, "Jazz sounds so much nicer."

With that, the two slid into a silent dance, rushing around to feed and fuel the 100+ coffee (and non-coffee) lovers who filled the rush. Not infrequently, they'd brush against each other, the barista bar space a glorified gap between the counters. Jimin felt himself relaxing when they bumped into each other, Taehyung's warmth a kind break from the fire of customers and the boil of the barista machine.

Two hours later, Taehyung was able to finally make himself a smoothie and the two could take a breather.

"One of the songs made me think of you." He started, the blender screaming over him, "I mean, I don't know how to dance well, but it seemed like one that would have great potential for dancing."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Do you dance to jazz much?"

Jimin shrugged, "Not really. I'd be down to try though."

Try for you. His traitorous mind supplied, And then maybe you can come watch me perform.

"What do you dance to then?" Taehyung asked as he filled his cup and grabbed a straw.

"Contemporary and ballet. But I've not had much time lately," Jimin sighed and looked down, "My dance studio cut the classes I'm teaching so I've been picking up more shifts here."

Taehyung nodded, "Lot's more?"

"I mean... My pay here is much worse than my pay at the studio so yeah. I get to see the place at much quieter hours now though."

"That sounds creepy! I didn't think this place ever wasn't busy."

Jimin laughed, "There's a time between 3am and 5am that is near dead!"

Taehyung shook his head, "Sounds like a brutal time to be working. They should just close the shop then."

Jimin shrugged and took a sip of his latte.

"Were you working Saturday night?"

He nodded.

"That's when I went to this jazz bar. Want to see some of it now?"

Before long another rush came.Jimin was swept up in the hectic rush of the day,  one song in the backtrack of his mind. It hung over him and he found himself stealing away to his mind to choreograph it. It totally wasn't because of the cute video of Taehyung dancing to it surrounded by old couples. The song was just good.

It would be three more days before Taehyung and Jimin were scheduled together again. Their days off just slightly overlapped and left an awkward day when one was working and the other wasn’t. *It also meant that there was a day both had off.* Jimin was asked to take his break early that day, finally getting a moment off his feet to sit and breathe. Given… early meant 4 hours in rather than 5. One of the few things he hated about the cafe was never being able to breathe while working. There was almost always work to do and if there wasn’t, a manager could find more. Sure he and Taehyung spent their fair share of time talking, but if there wasn’t the threat of more work to do soon they were working on something as they talked.

Jimin took a deep breath and looked out of the shop, imagining what he'd be doing now if bills weren't such a threat. Maybe he'd be dancing. Maybe he'd be spending more time with his cat. Maybe he'd be with friends. It was times like this that made Jimin frustrated that he had to work to live. The world was cruel and unfair and his jobs weren’t lucrative. Even with a roommate, money could get tight. The stress of living sometimes weighed on Jimin more than it seemed it weighed on others. If only he didn’t need to work. If only he could leave and not work ever again.

Jimin sighed, not liking the upset he felt at the thought of working, wanting to focus on the fun he had with Taehyung at work. He spent so many hours of his life here, stuck in the cafe with a smile. Would he be happier if he didn't work here? if he was doing other things?

"Try my new drink!" Taehyung bounded over, a neon blue beverage in his hands like a neon blue light breaking Jimin’s dark thoughts.

Jimin laughed and felt some tension leave him. He refused to think about how many spoonfuls of sugar were in the drink but at least it looked unique. 

"It's a blueberry pie milkshake. One of my neighbors back home gave me a ton of blueberries that I'd been keeping in the freezer for a good time. Inspiration struck me so here it is!"

Jimin nodded, taking a slow sip the sugary sweetness coating his tongue and only barely cut through by a small hint of acid, "Mhhh. I imagine the customers who like dessert drinks will love this."

"What about you?" Taehyung asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"Yeah. I think I would prefer it to be a bit tarter, but it's good." Jimin said, trying to think of how much more of him he could stomach of the sugary drink. His latte will help cut through the sugar so maybe a few more sips.

Taehyung nodded before going back behind the counter to continue working. Tiny cups lined upon the counter made Jimin worried. Was he going to offer free samples to customers? Jimin cut his break a bit shorter to toss the half-drunk milkshake out when Taehyung was in the back after watching Taehyung offer a tiny bit to anyone who passed the counter.

The rest of their day flowed uneventfully aside from one customer who spat out Taehyung’s milkshake and called it the “worst thing ever imagined”. Taehyung thankfully just laughed it off but it did mean more cleaning and Jimin took to doing it when Mr. Cat came in and his eyes zeroed in on the final batch of samples Taehyung had. That’d make the whole “worst thing ever imagined” ordeal disappear. 

Jimin was first to sign off and he found himself struck by the urge to stay later if only to get off at the same time as Taehyung. Theoretically he could stay and talk with Taehyung, but he had hours of housework to do and he didn’t want to be at this cafe longer than needed. Curse modern media for making it seem like grabbing a drink after work was a common thing.

With staggered shifts at the cafe, it meant that often only one person left at a time. Yet often it felt like the only thing he could try to branch the ocean of distance between work and life. How else would one become friends with coworkers? Sure Jimin had Taehyung’s number from the work chat… but was that really something he could use? No. Jimin sighed when he got into his car, taking a few moments to breathe before driving away.

Taehyung was at work before Jimin the next day, his eyes wide as he sipped a black drink.

"What ya' got there?" Jimin asked as he clocked in.

"Americano."

"Sugary?"

"No. It's black."

"Thought you didn't like black coffee," Jimin said with a laugh as he walked back to grab his apron.

"I didn't think I did. But Mr. Cat had some after getting a whiff of someone’s latte. Don’t ask me how or why he smelled someone’s latte. Made me decide to try one."

Jimin nodded but didn't know what to say. All their coffee smelled good to him and as he brewed himself a cappuccino, it didn’t smell different. Nor did it taste different when he took a sip. Well the milk did, but that was because they got a different brand. He watched as Taehyung reached for a second cup of americano and eventually a third.

"You might want to slow down on your coffee." Jimin finally said, reaching out to take the cup from Taehyung.

"Why? I'm enjoying the coffee."

Jimin nodded and laughed, "Yeah. But this has a lot of caffeine, especially if you've not had much caffeine before. Maybe switch to a decaf one? Or water? Maybe some food."

Taehyung sighed, "Wow. Ok, dad. This has water in it," But he did grab something to eat from his bag and started sipping on his water.

"The coffee here is really good though. You might really like it in a latte or cappuccino. The milk mellows out the bitterness."

Taehyung nodded, his cheeks filling with his breakfast bar, "How do they make it so good? This batch smelled better than others so maybe they changed a supplier?"

Jimin shrugged, "Not that I know of."

The conversation died down as a rush came, the usual caffeine junkies and work-in-cafe people coming and going throughout the two hours. Jimin was glad that Taehyung didn’t have a chance to make another drink for himself. The dude was definitely shaking from how much he already drank. 

"Omg! what if they started sacrificing people to make their coffee better?" Taehyung said, jumping from the chair he was lounging on during his break, his eyes wide. Jimin was thankful that Taehyung wasn’t holding his latte as he started swinging his arms around. 

Jimin laughed and shook his head.

"I've read stories of people investigating similar stuff, "Taehyung continued, coming up to the counter to whisper conspiratorially, "I once heard of someone... I think his name was Namjoon and he went searching into a coffee shop because their stuff suddenly got good but people were going missing. Do we know of anyone who went missing recently?

Raising an eyebrow, Jimin tried to think of where this story might have come from "I don't think so. Besides, I've been working 50 hours lately, when would they have had time to kidnap people? How would it even make the coffee better?"

Taehyung threw his hands up, his eyes widening with dramatics, "There are gods you can sacrifice people to, duh."

Did this come from a book Taehyung read? 

Jimin nodded, sipping his tea, "Sure. So this Namjoon dude went and investigated?"

Taehyung nodded, "Yeah. Apparently in the attic, there was a whole ass cult!" Taehyung shivered, "Imagine if that was happening here!"

"We have an office above us and no basement."

"You never know! What if they just told us that? Anyways Namjoon went missing apparently."

Jimin nodded, his mind finally landing on a book that fit what Taehyung was talking about. *Dungeons and Dry Cappuccinos.*, "Maybe Namjoon ended up being sacrificed. Maybe the missing people were a lure for people with no life who spent too much time online."

That last part wasn’t part of the story but it always seemed true to Jimin. 

Taehyung hummed, deep in thought, "I saw pictures of him somewhere. He's hot. I think he actually wooed this god named Seokjin. They, like, lived happily ever after. What if he and this god married and have coffee orchards?"

Jimin laughed, thinking back on the promotional material for the book, "I don't think coffee orchards exist."

"You know what I mean."

Jimin nodded, "If that's the case and no one has gone missing around us,how do we keep the coffee here so good? Clearly it’s good for the bank."

“Well our dessert drinks are more expensive so I don’t know about that. But…” Taehyung got quiet, his eyes focusing on nothing as he thought, "If Seokjin has blessed us then I think there has to be more love here. Not enough romance happens. That has to change."

Taehyung looked serious, his eyes burning with passion. Jimin felt alive with the intimidation and curiosity. What was Taehyung playing at?

Jimin laughed and shook his head, "How?"

"Go on a date with me."

His breath caught in his throat, unable to believe that Taehyung was asking this. Searching Taehyung’s face, Jimin saw no mirth anymore. Was he serious? 

"What?"

The sureness left Taehyung’s face and he looked down, scraping at some dried coffee grounds, "To appease the coffee gods, of course."

Was Taehyung just as unsure about getting closer? Jimin smiled, trying to calm the excitement in his stomach.

"Of course. It’s vital we appease Seokjin. When?"

[dairyminki]

elle congrats on 300!!

i'm thinkin about cooler weather at the moment; could i give you autumn with mingi for a prompt? tysm and congrats again!! <33

✨️part of my 300 milestone event 🪄

title: pumpkin spice and everything nice

pairing: song mingi x gn!reader

genre: slice of life, coffeeshop au

warning/s: none

wc: 888

a/n: hello orion!! ♡ tysm for requesting ahhhh i rlly enjoyed writing this one esp the descriptions. i hope this one is to your liking tho ><

* reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated!

—

The sky is quite gloomy as you saunter through the wet asphalt road. A mix of yellow, orange, red, and brown leaves are scattered all over, the previous downpour having them glued to the pavement.

You got quite lucky that the rain stopped when you got out of work, or else you've been stranded at your workplace with nothing but the smell of leather and the sight of your almost robotic-like coworkers surrounding you.

It's a good thing you're out of that hellhole now, and approaching a quaint coffee shop, instead.

The bell by the door jingles as you push it open, the warm and nutty aroma of coffee and sweet caramel welcomes you, beckoning you towards the counter where the barista stood donning a brown apron over his head, his hair, a striking yellow and orange ombre.

The shop was bare, and you're betting, with all of the pennies currently in your pocket, that it had been this way since earlier today and the barista himself wasn't expecting any customers anymore to suddenly pop up.

You, being that unexpected customer, offer him a small smile as you proceed towards the counter.

"Hi! May I please have one pumpkin spice latte?" You state after carefully reading through their menu.

"Anything else?"

"No, that would be all, actually."

The barista merely nods in reply, and as he starts punching buttons on the register, you can't help but stare at him. Now that you think about it, his overall fit including his hair color actually resembles the colors of autumn. A giggle slips out of your mouth all of a sudden, making the barista give you a look.

Fortunately, he doesn't comment on it and just simply hands you the receipt, saying that he'll have your drink ready in a few. And so, you went to pick your seat by the shop's glass windows.

The sky is looking a lot gloomier than before, you take note. Although, not long after you've sat down, the rain came.

The sound of the barista's movements and the whirring of the blender and espresso machine accompanies your view of the falling rain and the dropping leaves from one tree branch to another.

The scene of the colorful leaves gradually forming a carpet on the road seemingly occupied you to a great extent that it took you a while to notice someone clearing their throat.

"Uhm, excuse me?" The barista, who was now standing by your table, says, finally earning your attention.

"I've been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now but you seemed to be engrossed with whatever's outside," He says while he puts your pumpkin spice latte on the table. Embarrassed, you mutter an apology.

"Thanks. It looks pretty, by the way," You tell him with a smile after admiring the aesthetically pleasing drink in front of you.

"Thank you, please enjoy," The barista says, mirroring your smile and then off he goes back to the counter.

—

"Hi, I don't want to bother you but-"

"Oh my god, have I overstayed?" You panic, glancing at your wristwatch and finding out it's already been over an hour since you've sat down in this coffee shop, your drink perfectly empty. "I can leave now, I'm sorry. You probably have to close up already, right?"

It's not like you didn't plan to leave after finishing your drink. It's just that the rain is still pouring hard, you didn't get to bring your umbrella with you, and your house is quite far from here. You're not sure if you're ready to go out and battle it out with the ongoing wetness outside.

"Oh, no, no! I can't let you leave in this weather," The barista had the same panic lacing his voice and he's quick enough to make you take your seat once again.

"And, uh, I actually came here to ask if you'd fancy a few slices of this apple galette…" The barista rubs at his nape, giving you a sheepish smile.

For a minute you look taken aback, and just when you were about to say something, he speaks yet again, exclaiming, "This is on the house, by the way!"

"Wow, that's so…sweet of you."

"Nothing biggie, really. Just figured you'd want something to accompany you since your drink's already finished and I don't think this rain's about to stop any sooner, so," He shrugs, placing the galette in front of you. An aromatic mixture of cinnamon and baked apples wafts through the air, and it awfully smells like home, fall, and everything warm.

"What's your name?" You ask just when the barista makes an attempt to retreat into his spot at the counter.

"My name is Mingi," He answers, pausing for a little bit before he asks you the same question, quite politely.

"I'm Y/N, and if you don't mind, would you like to accompany me, Mingi? We could share these pastries while we talk or something," You say, already standing up to pull up a chair for him, because you're not one who takes no for an answer.

"Well," Mingi drags out the word while he looks down at his feet, one foot lightly tapping against the floor. "Alright, I guess there's no harm in doing that." He gives in finally, taking the additional chair from you.

"Good choice."

[whateveryouiguess]

in the wee, small hours of the morning.

Miguel O’ Hara x Fem Reader

Summary: Miguel invites his girl to his early morning run. you can guess how that worked out for him.

Warnings: none! fluffy and fun, im not fluent in spanish but i’m getting there, native speakers u r 100% invited to critique me !! lmk what u think :)

if the sun wasn’t up, then neither was she.

few things got in between the girl and her beauty sleep. the grinding cacophony of the blender as miguel made his pre workout smoothie wasn’t enough to shake her from her sleep, but the absence of his warmth beside her in bed did cause her to stir. wiping the sleep from her eyes, her blurry vision took in the looming shadow of his broad shoulders, casted by the lamp on the nightstand beside her. the sight of his muscular back was enough to keep her awake as she sat up in bed, watching him get changed into his favorite dry fit high neck shirt.

“were you gonna say good morning?” his still raspy voice cut the cozy silence between them. “or just sit and stare at me, like a pervert?” he turns to face her with a half smile as he pulls his sweatpants on, hands on his hips.

she smiles and leans forward in the bed. “i was waiting for you to finish, actually. i didn’t wanna interrupt.”

“is that so?” he quirks an eyebrow, making his way towards the bed. she stretches her arms out and wraps them around his trim waist as he leans in for a kiss.

“mhmm.” she pulls him against her and hugs around his middle as he places kisses on her hairline. “you get dressed in a very particular way, it’s a process that can’t be disturbed. an art, some might even say.”

“who?” he laughs gently and sits beside her in the bed, pulling on his compression socks. he wraps a heavy arm around her waist and she lets her hands fall on the shoulders she’d just been admiring. his head seeks the crook of her neck like his brain is on cruise control and his lips freckle all their favorite spots, her fingers carding through his hair. “come with me.” he suggests before stamping a kiss below her ear, pulling away when she snorts out a laugh.

“you’re kidding.” a kiss on her cheek, the corner of her lips.

“nope.” he chimes.

“where, on your five am run?” she brushes a loose curl behind his ear, cocking an eyebrow with a smile. “now, you and i both know that would not end well.” he rolls his eyes and kisses her again, sitting up.

“well, you said you wanted to work out more! i was just putting it out there.” he gestures with a dramatic hand as he defends himself. she can’t help but laugh in response, to the chagrin of a very unamused miguel.

“yes, i do,” she kisses him back, only teasing him a little bit. “but inducing cardiac arrest at the asscrack of dawn isn’t exactly my idea of working out.” he wants to tuck his tail and pretend to be upset, but he can’t help but snicker at her dramatics. accepting defeat, he returns to the task of kissing, moving his arm from her waist to hold her hand and kiss down her arm.

“dios mío, querida.” he laughs out, warm breath trailing down the skin of her bicep, tickling the crook of her elbow. “cómo se dice hoity-toity?”

“oh, shut up!” she barks out a laugh and tickles at his armpit, coaxing him off of her. she gives him a gentle push as he stands. “you little shit.”

he returns the shove with a very gentle push against her shoulder, to which she dramatically flops over in the bed, folding herself in half at the waist and remaining still, poking out her tongue to seal the deal. with another dramatic eye-roll, he leans down to brush the strewn about hairs out of her eyes and kiss her on the cheek. she doesn’t kiss back, fully committed to the bit. “be back soon.” he slips his tennis shoes on and slides his cellphone into the pocket of his nike sweatpants, being sure to throw a blanket over the very dramatic, very awake, angel in his bed. “i’ll be sure to have LOTS of fun without you!” she snorts at that but stays still, only humming in reply. he stops himself at the door to watch her readjust her position, curling the bedsheets up over her neck and smelling them unashamedly, smiling at the scent of him.

maybe she didn’t wanna run with him today, but she would certainly be running circles in his mind as soon as he walked out the door.

.

i liked writing this one 🤭

[mittensmorgul]

Kitchen Nightmares

That's what Mr. Mittens has dubbed the day i have been having. And it's fitting.

Important to know before I begin this tale, though not actually part of the tale:

Our heat pump has been awaiting repairs for about a week now. The heat works, but not WELL. It's painful knowing we're paying like 3x what we should be to keep the house warm while waiting for the Very Expensive Part needed to fix the thing. The part has been received by the repairdude and he's coming out tomorrow to complete the Very Expensive Repair, but in the meantime, we're trying desperately not to run the heat as much as possible. It would kinda suck to break it even worse (and even More Expensively) right before it's scheduled to get fixed.

Okay, now back to the actual Kitchen Portion of this essay...

Last night, I thought it would be fun to make dutch babies as a late night snack. Wednesday is Mr. Mittens' night off every week, and we always have some sort of pastry or other sweet treat with our coffee and then watch bad tv together for a few hours. It's a tradition! So my sister gave us a recipe for dutch babies made in a muffin tin... tiny dutch babies! What a fun idea, right?!

Well I got the ingredients all measured out into the blender, go to turn it on, and... the motor whirs and it SOUNDS like something should be happening, but nothing is actually happening! the ingredients remain a congealed mass in the bottom of the blender.

When I lift the pitcher to make sure i got the blades in securely or whatever, a bunch of heavy plastic nubs go skittering across the counter. These are the nubs on the blender base that engage the blades inside the pitcher. And they are very clearly no longer attached to the blender.

Now, this is a fairly old blender. I've probably had it about 20 years. I don't use it very often, but when I do, it's because I specifically need a blender for that task. And it's a Good Quality Blender! It's a Kitchen Aid! It's not supposed to do this! But it did... with a cup of flour, a cup of milk, and four eggs rapidly turning into something resembling wet concrete in the bottom of the pitcher.

Well, luckily i also own an immersion blender, but I'm not dumb enough to jam it down into the big blender pitcher to engage in some sort of hand-held spinning blades duel, so I scrape all that pseudo-batter into a mixing bowl and have at it. All the while, the muffin tin has been pre-heating in the oven and is starting to smell a little strange.

I pull it out, drop a pat of butter into each well, and pour in the batter, which i'm already not sure retains the correct proportions of ingredients, since it was truly impossible to get everything out of the blender. I was doing my best! I WAS DOING MY BEST!

My best was truly sub-par...

So i get it in the oven, and toward the end of the bake time, it was getting a little smokey in there. Ah, crap, some of the batter overflowed and splatted on the bottom of the oven, but the dutch babies actually turned out pretty tasty! So at least there's that... Aside from being like three times as messy as they should've been, and requiring a lot more cleanup than it should've taken, and my now destroyed blender that I'm pretty sure can't be repaired... well... it was almost one in the morning, i was tired, the oven was still hot, I figured I'd just clean up the spilled mess in the oven in the morning.

That... was a mistake.

Because by morning, I'd totally forgotten about it.

Until Mr. Mittens decided he'd make himself a frozen pizza. So he turned on the oven.

The kiddo was in the kitchen toasting a bagel, I was in the living room typing on my laptop, and when he went in to put the pizza in the oven, the kid was like "uh i think something's smoking a little in there?"

And they opened the oven door only to find it was literally on fire!

so... they closed the oven door and called out to me to alert me to this fact.

"uh, hon... i think the oven's on fire..."

and since this is apparently an event beyond the comprehension of my spouse and my adult kid, I put down the laptop and drag my ass out of my chair and go in the kitchen.

Mr. Mittens and kiddo are just standing there, staring at the smoke now pouring out of the oven vent, like... okay what do we do now?

I was like "wait, you saw fire and just closed the oven door?"

they shrug

I began by turning off the oven, as you do in circumstances like these, then opened the door and started... trying to blow out the fire. as you do... ?

when that quite obviously failed, i grabbed the fire extinguisher and had the fire out in like half a second.

But then I had twice as much mess to clean up as I would've if I'd only remembered the stupid dutch baby spill before the oven got turned on again.

So... mr mittens dejectedly put his pizza back in the freezer and i waited for the oven to get cool enough to clean. I couldn't even air out the house, because it's below freezing outside, and my poor heat pump would've likely exploded trying to counteract having all the damn windows open. So we sat in our smoky house while I made us grilled cheese sandwiches and waited for the oven to cool off.

Then I cleaned out the entire damn oven, and it's fine, nothing truly damaged, just a little bit gross. Thank heck. If anything else breaks, I might start screaming and not be able to stop.

I also don't want to clean anything else. But unfortunately I need to do laundry next... At least I had a nice grilled cheese, and some dutch babies. And the oven's clean.

[panie-wanie-dean-bean]

“Hey you! Yes you! Do you want money? Do you want stability? Do you want to go to hell? Well boy do I have the job for you! Here at Rosey Posey Cafe it is our pleasure to serve a variety of guests magical drinks that you could only dream of!”

“Any human above the age of 18 may apply!”

“You don’t need any experience!”

“I’ll teach you how to read if I have to!”

“If any of this has interested you please call this number and we’ll schedule your interview for as quick as tomorrow! Hope to hear from you!”

You half expect this to be a scam. A weird, furry based scam due to the talking anthro cat from the commercial, but a scam nonetheless. Still, you do need a job, even if it’s fake there’s no harm in trying, right? Right. The start of the number is weird as, well, hell, but that’s to be expected from a hell run business you guess. You’ve yet to really visit hell since the rifts opened up last year but you’ve heard it’s actually pretty nice

You grab your phone from your bedside table and give the weird cat-lady a ring “HELLO!?” Ow, hi, you’re calling to ask about the job position “Oh, my ad worked?!? Yes! So, when can you come down for an interview?”

And the rest is history, well, recent history you guess, seeing as this is your first day. Turns out the cat-man-demon who runs this place was being super legit. Actually, what is his name? “Oh, I don’t think you could pronounce it, but in english I go by Evelyn or Ms. Rose! It’s so so nice to have you as a part of the team!” You’ve heard, repeatedly, ever since she hired you on the spot “Well it never hurts to say something twice!”

Your new boss is more than a bit odd, the whole human sized tabby cat thing aside she’s just, really friendly? To the point it almost seems like she’s fucking with you but…you don’t wanna be rude but there doesn’t seem to be a lot going on behind those eyes. You ask Ms. Rose if your training will start soon “Yes yes yes! Ok, question before we start. Do you know how to read?”

Yes “Perfect! I have a little booklet on how to make all the drinks we serve here. You don’t have to memorize it by any means though, I want this place to have a nice relaxed vibe so there’s no rush. I mean, don’t make a demon wait 10 years for their drink but aside from that you can take your time. Here’s the booklet! There’s rules at the top and two lists below it. One is alphabetical so you can search drinks by name, and the other is based on flavor profile so if someone wants to spice it up a little you can search by the flavors they like”

“If you have any questions you can let me know, but there are a few things I need to show you” He walks me through how to use the Fizzer, which is just a carbonator, the hot plate and sauce pan used for warming, and the blender, each explanation coming with a long warning about how it could interact with my “frail human body” After Ms. Rose finishes telling me about all the tiny pieces I could wind up as if I could somehow fit my entire body into the blender he takes a moment to think

“I’m pretty sure the rest is self explanatory but I’ll be here to chaperone you your whole first day, and never be afraid to ask me for help!” You thank him and ask when the store will open “Hm? It’s been open this whole time!” …Aren’t those open and closed signs supposed to say the opposite of what you are on the back?

“.”

“.”

“.”

“Fuck” Your boss walks dejectedly to the front door and flips the “we’re open!” side of the sign to face outside “Well, I guess we just opened!” She laughs as she springs back over to stand beside me. While we wait I take a second to really just admire this place, it’s a small cafe but it’s incredibly cozy. There’s a lot of dark wood work and fluffy pillows, even a few blankets in a basket with a “please return after use” sign above an empty one beside it, and the whole place just smells…warm?

You’re knocked out of your thoughts by the front door bell chiming “Hello! How can we-oh, it’s you” Ms. Rose’s voice drops all cheer as she greets…Oh my god, it’s Jean Laurent, why the fuck is your first customer a movie star!?! Jean fucking Laurent saunters up to the counter “Hey Evelyn~” “Laurent” Jean laughs “So cold” his gaze shifts over to you, looking you up and down

“Who’s this?” You feel like a deer in headlights, you were ready to serve weird demons not Whole Ass Human Celebrity Jean Laurent “They’re my new employee, and I’ll thank you not to fuck with them” The venom in your bosses voice snaps you out of your little trance, looking over to him you see that his eyes have strained into small slits and his ears are angled back against his head

Ok! Um, you ask what Mr. Laurent would like, he chuckles “Oh please, there’s no need to be so formal. I’ll have my usual, cutie” You can feel your face betray you as all the blood in your body seems to drain into your cheeks. Ok, focus! He wants his usual? Oh, here we go, Jean’s order. Ew. It doesn’t look good but if that’s what he wants then you guess so

You glance back up at your boss. She really doesn’t seem to like him. Huh, you know you probably shouldn’t but you have a feeling she’d get a kick out of seeing him gag a little bit. You fain a bit of cluelessness as you look through the drinks you could make. A Sucker punch looks like it could get a reaction out of him, it’d probably piss him off though. What should you make him?

[prairiefirewitch]

I’m hagging out a day early because I’m headed out of town for a couple of days, but I was not about to miss this month’s hag party. I love making infusions and have managed to turn infused witch things into my full time job, so this is my strawberry jam. Strawberry vanilla hibiscus infused mead, specifically.

I try to make at least 2 batches of mead a year; one at Yule to be shared at Midsommar, and the other made at Midsommar to be shared at Yule. It’s a nice way for me to slow down and apply patience (I’ve got zero) to a project, and eventually reap the delicious benefits of waiting for the mead to mature. And it’s very sweet to taste the labors of summer in the middle of winter, and then to taste the warm spices of winter in summer. It’s alcohol-fueled time travel.

This mead is my favorite of all the batches I’ve made, so I made 3 gallons instead of the usual 1 gallon batches I make.

Mead is incredibly easy to make; once you toss everything together, it’s just a waiting game. Here’s the down and dirty but there are many good recipes online if you want something more complex. Sanitizing your equipment is the most important step and you can use San-star from a homebrew supplier, or make your own with a gallon of cool water and about an ounce of household bleach. Everything you use here needs to be sanitized.

You need all this stuff to make a gallon:

2.5 - 3 lbs honey

1/2 pack sweet or dry yeast mead (I used champagne yeast because I like it bone dry)

1 gallon spring or purified water

2 cups berries

Vanilla bean, split and scraped

10 raisins

1/2 cup dried hibiscus flowers

You’ll also want a gallon sized glass carboy, a big funnel, a large cooking pot, a small cooking pot, an airlock, a sieve, a rubber stopper that fits your carboy, and a big spoon to stir with.

Put your honey in your large pot and add about half a gallon of water. Warm it on low just until the honey dissolves. Watch the heat, honey scorches quickly. While it warms, put your clean chopped strawberries into the small pot with about 2 cups of water. Bring it to a low simmer and use a potato masher or an immersion blender to make a purée. Add your hibiscus flowers, heat for a few minutes to let them soften and turn off the heat. When it’s just barely warm, use your sieve to filter out the seeds and flowers.

Once your honey water cools to about 100 degrees, pour it into your clean carboy. Add the other half gallon of water, and your sieved strawberry purée. Top up with additional water if needed, leaving about 3 inches of head room. Add your vanilla beans and raisins. Raisins provide nutrients for the yeast. Sprinkle the yeast on top, but be sure your mixture is 90 degrees or cooler or your yeast will die.

Pop your rubber stopper into the carboy and insert the water filled airlock. Now you wait. Let it ferment for 2 weeks. Most of the activity will have stopped.

Now you need to filter the mead into a second carboy. If you don’t have one, use a sanitized pot or bucket while you wash your carboy for the secondary fermentation. You want to pour or siphon slowly and carefully, using a fine mesh strainer, so you leave most of the settled yeast and bits of strawberry out. Once it’s carefully filtered, add it back to the carboy, put the stopper and airlock back in. Now wait for a long time. This mead should be ready to drink in 6 months, but it’ll be a bit rough and unrefined. You can bottle it at this point, which is what I do, but lots of people just let it age in the carboy. I like heavy duty swing top glass bottles, but wine bottles work too.

If you’re patient, save a few bottles to age for a full year. This is when your mead becomes a nectar fit for gods, with all the roughness gone, and the delicate honey flavor gets complex. Keep your bottles in a cool dark place.

Thank you @msgraveyarddirt for hosting!