#i am a touch inebriated

[pinkysberg]

Why do you think Dutch acts the way he does when he, Arthur, and John first meet Angelo Bronte? He kinda makes an ass out of himself and is really aggressive and makes me so nervous every time 😅

i won't lie to you friend i am on a bachelorette party weekend and celebrating accordingly (if you know what i mean) so maybe my judgement js clouded but i feel like he's aggressive bc like. jack's been kidnapped and dutch at this point still cares for jack.

if u mean when he starts like warming up to him, i think he just likes having his ego stroked.

[eddiesxangel]

Never Have I Ever… | E.M x Virgin!Reader

TJ’s 2K Request celebration!

@nailbatanddungeon : “I have a request for youuu. Okay, this is Eddie x Virgin!reader, reader is still new to everything, but there is one thing that the reader needs but is scared to push because the reader is TOUCH STARVED (So am I)”

Cw: reader and Eddie are in their mid to late 20’s, touch starved virgin!reader, angst, fluff, alcohol, throwing up(too much alcohol consumption), hangovers, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, protected sex. Friends to lovers

WC: 3.1k

I hope you enjoy!! 💗

“You’ll get there; you’re just a late bloomer, is all”

A late bloomer, you’ve heard it your whole life- and you’re sick of it. Sick of feeling behind in life? You’re in your twenties now and getting absolutely shit-faced because you’ve never done anything in this game of never have I ever.

You, Nancy, Steve, Eddie, Robin, Jonathan, and a few others were at the block party, and you somehow ended up involved in the juvenile game.

“Never have I ever kissed the same gender,” you drank.

“Never have I ever dumped anyone,” you drank.

“Never have I ever smoked weed,” you drank.

“Never have I ever said the wrong name in bed.” That’s rich because you’ve never been in a bed with anyone to begin with.

You hadn’t relized how much you’ve had to drink until you stood up.

“Woah, you okay?” You hear Nancy speak as you wobble.

You had wanted to get up and get more to drink because, unlike the others, your cup was empty.

“Yeah.” You tried to get out, but it sounded more like a grunt to the others.

Ignoring their protests, you stumbled your way back to the kitchen, feeling sorry for yourself.

You fumble with the lid of the hard liquor bottle until a strong ring-clad hand clasps over yours. You freeze, pissed off and embarrassed, knowing who the hand belongs to.

Even in your inebriated state, you get that same feeling whenever he is around you. You feel the heat in your cheeks instantly as the butterflies in your stomach irrupts.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sweetheart.”

You look down, not wanting to see the look on his face.

“I don’t care” you slur. God, you will hate yourself in the morning.

Of all people, it had to be Eddie to come and check on you?

That’s how he was—always worried, always babying you because you “weren’t experienced in life,” according to his words, and it made you mad! It made you seem like a child, and you were sick of people treating you as such. You were a grown woman, you had a 9:00-5:00, an apartment, and a degree, but none of that mattered—not when it came to dating and love.

“Sweetheart, please, you need to slow down.”

“Why?” You rolled your eyes. “I’m a big girl I can handle my alcohol.” You huffed.

“I just think— "

"IM TIRED OF WHAT YOU THINK!" you've had enough. No one took you seriously, and you couldn't help that Eddie happened to be the only one to feel your wrath.

"Woah, okay-okay, I’m sorry."

“I’m sick of everyone treating me like a child!" the dam broke, and streams of mascara fell down your cheeks.

"I don't think you're a child." Eddie timidly reached out his comforting hand.

"Yes, you do."

"When have— "

"ANY TIME WE ARE OUT, EDDIE! Like last week at the bar, I was so close to getting that guy's number and you swooped in acting like my father!"

"Sweetheart I—"

"Don't sweetheart me!" You cut him off once again. "It's demeaning."

"y/n. Let me take you home. We can talk about this tomorrow."

"I don’t want to."

"Too bad we are going." Eddie no longer gave you a choice. He took your hand and started to pull you along with him.

You stumbled, tripping over your feet because your balance was gone completely.

“Woah, see my point exactly.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, and Eddie can’t help but stifle a laugh. You were so cute.

Eddie didn’t mean to make you think you were juvenile…. He admired you and wanted to protect you; you were a woman to him, all women. He liked you; he really liked you. The only reason he swoops in is because he doesn’t want you with anyone who isn’t him, not because he doesn’t think you’re not capable… He dreams about how capable you can be. He just didn’t have the balls to say it to your face.

The thought of you not having any experience never even crossed his mind. He still had no clue you’d never been intimate with someone; he didn’t even know how inexperienced you were until the game. He watched and raised an unknowing brow each time you took a gulp.

Eddie took your keys from your hands and unlocked your front door for you. The whole car ride had been eerily silent. You didn’t dare speak a word without the threat of vomit coming up with it.

You silently stumbled into your home. Eddie followed closely behind. He helped you take off your sneakers. He led you to the bathroom and found some makeup wipes to help you take off your makeup, but halfway through, you turned to the toilet as the tequila made its way back up.

That’s when you broke; you were so embarrassed. “What’s wrong with me?” You cried.

“Nothing is wrong with you, swee-.” But he cut himself off, remembering that you scolded him earlier in the evening.

“Yes, there is something wrong with me! Nobody wants me.”

“That’s not true.” Eddie stroked the back of your head as you emptied out the contenders of your stomach into the porcelain bowl.

“Then why am I still a virgin?!” You sobbed.

Eddie was stunned, speechless. He had no idea. He just thought you didn’t like sharing your sex life, not that you didn’t have one.

So he let you cry into his chest. Your tears stained his shirt, but he didn’t care; he was here to take care of you.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he guided you after he helped you ride your mouth out.

You crashed as soon as your head hit the pillow. Eddie thought of leaving but was worried you would need him if you woke up, so he took the couch.

You awoke with a throbbing pain pounding in your head. You were never drinking again. The night was murky; you started remembering bits and pieces but not everything. You get up and notice the bottle of painkillers and a glass of water you definitely didn’t put there.

Then you remembered Eddie bringing you home and let out an aggravated groan. How could you have been so messy? And in front of Eddie, out of all people? Why couldn’t Robin and Nancy bring you home? What did you say to him? Were you mean? Did you yell at him? You remember crying, but the reasoning was foggy.

You begrudgingly take the water and pills and almost gag, trying to get them down, but you manage. You also smell like a minibar, so you strip and walk to your bathroom.

After a long hot shower, you get dressed and must put some food into your empty stomach.

You walked past a sleeping Eddie, not seeing him curled up in the living room, and started noisily making yourself some breakfast.

“Is that the way you wake up all your guests?”

You screamed as you threw the fork you had in fright.

“Eddie, what the fuck?!” You clench your chest as you take big breaths to calm your racing heart.

“Sorry, Angel”

Angel… that’s new? It’s always been sweetheart.

“I didn’t know you stayed?”

“Yeah… you um. Were in pretty rough shape last night, I didn’t want you to be alone... so I slept in the couch. I hope that’s okay”

“Thank you, Eddie, I’m sorry I ruined your night.” You looked down, ashamed.

“You didn’t ruin it.” He shook his head.

“Well, I owe you one,” you giggle awkwardly. Eddie and you hardly ever hang out one-on-one.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like absolute shit.” You hand Eddie a black coffee.

“Yeah, well, you really went hard in that game of never have I ever.”

You met out a moan of embarrassment. Your memory came flooding back.

Mortification consumed you as you didn’t want to look Eddie in the eyes. You cried in his arms last night after you puked your guys out.

“Oh god”

“It’s okay, Angel. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What happened to sweetheart?” You tried to change the subject.

“You said it was demeaning…”

“Oh god, I did?” You peek up and see Eddie silently nod his head yes.

“I’m sorry, it’s not… I like the nickname. I just…. I was feeling so emotional last night, and the alcohol.” You tried not to gag at the thought.

“S’all good.” He shrugged. But he was replaced to hear you liked being called sweetheart. It suited you; he didn’t call anyone else that, either. It was reserved just for you.

“Um, so about last night, you mentioned nobody wanting you….” Oh god, was he really doing this now? “I don’t think that’s true.” Yes, he was.

“Huh?” You sit up, taking a sip of your coffee.

“You cried about how you didn’t think anyone wanted you, but it’s not true… I want you.”

Did you hear that right? Did you get water in your ears from the shower?

“You do?” Your eyes widen.

“Yeah,” he looks at you sheepishly.

“Oh?” You were in shock.

“Shit-I-I’m sorry, I ruined everything.” Eddie stood up, but you stood up with him, not wanting him to leave.

“No, Eddie, wait!” You grab his shoulder and turn him to face you. You couldn’t let him leave, not now.

“Sweeetheart, please let me be mortified in peace.”

“Kiss me.”

Eddie stares at you before you tell him one more time.

“Kiss me, Eddie.”

Then you feel his hands grip the back of your head and pull you in.

You didn’t think anything could cure your hangover but this comes pretty damn close.

You melt into his touch, his hands cup your head, your hands find his waist. It feels right, so right you think you’re floating.

No one had kissed you in what felt like years, and maybe it had been, but it was worth the wait.

Hands danced around one another’s bodies, and tongues and teeth clashed. It was messy; it was needy.

“Woah woah woah, sweetheart, hold on.” Eddie pulled back breathlessly.

“What’s wrong?” You look up at him, concerned…. Had he changed his mind?

“I think we should slow down.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. We have time.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I’ve waited long enough.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think—"

"No! I need this, I want this." You look him dead in the eyes.

"You tell me if you want to stop, okay? Promise me."

"Okay, Eddie."

Eddie waists, not another second to take you in a feverish kiss. His hands roam your body, landing on your ass. It excites you so much you can feel the familiar tingling ruminating lower and lower.

You moan his name and press your whole body into his; you need to feel him, all of him… and you can. His hard cock is digging into your hip bone, and you connect your bodies.

Stumbling back without breaking the kiss, Eddie leads you to your bedroom. You fall backwards onto your bed with a gasp.

hovering above you is Eddie. You can see the lust behind his eyes as he scans your body.

"If im doing anything you don't like, tell me. This is about you, okay?"

“Okay,” you breathe as he lowers down to his knees. You watch his hands run up the tops of your thighs before spreading them wider so he can have access to where he wants you the most.

Running his fingers down your centre, you can’t help but moan at the feeling. You are greedy; you want to feel everything all at once.

Wasting no more time, you pull down the stretchy waistband of your pants and yank your underwear down with it. No time to be self-conscious- the need to feel Eddie fueled your desire.

“Beautiful,” Eddie whispered as he left a trail of kisses up your thigh, hovering just above your mound.

“Can I taste you?”

“Yes, please. Take care of me, I want it so bad,” You whine desperately. If you weren’t so horny, you’d be embarrassed by your words, but with Eddie, everything felt right.

Eddie’s lips latched into your soaked pussy, and you watched as his eyes rolled back in enjoyment. He didn’t hold back; he wanted this to be the best head of your life, even if it’s the only head of your life. You grip his hair in your fist, not expecting the pleasure to ripple through you so quickly.

“Taste so good, sweetheart; I wanna live in this pussy.”

“Oh god!” You cry as a single digit breaches your wanton hole.

Slowly, with his tongue and his finger pumping into you, you’re nearly there. Considering how long you’ve waited for this moment, it doesn't take much more. You’re cumming within minutes.

“Good girl, you okay?” he slaps the inside of your thigh and your body jerks.

“More,” you beg. It wasn’t enough; nothing would be able to satiate you until his cock was deep inside you.

“You sure? We can stop if you’re not ready”

“Need you now.” You grab him by the shirt collar and pull him towards you for a searing kiss.

“Okay,” he mumbles into your mouth, crawling up your body.

You loved the feel of his weight on top of you, consuming you with every kiss.

“Want you, Eddie” you moan as your hands toy with the hem of his shirt.

“You have me.” He dips his head lower to caress your throat with his lips.

Your breath hitches when you feel his teeth scrape across your soft, delicate skin.

Eddie didn’t lift his head until he was satisfied with the dark mark left on your neck.

When he unlatched from your throat, you demanded he take his clothes off.

Eddie loved your eagerness; he saw a spunk in you that he could only have dreamed of.

You also removed the rest of your clothing as he stripped.

When Eddie removed his last layer over his head, he couldn’t help but ogle your body, the way your head sunk into the pillows, your breasts, your soaked pussy on display for him. He was devouring you with his eyes.

You motion him to you with a single finger, breaking him out of the trace you put him under.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Eddie was like a feline the way he crawled up on the bed to you.

The heat rushed to your cheeks; somehow, this felt more intimate than what he was doing between your legs a moment ago.

“I want you,” you repeat yourself.

Eddie cups your face, and you cup his in return. His eyes bore into your soul, leaving not a trace unturned as he searched your entire being before kissing you one more.

You moan into his mouth, and Eddie’s cock grazes your mound collecting your slick as his hips ground into you.

“Ready?” He asked desperately; he needed to be inside of you.

“Yes.”

He quickly got up and you moaned,

“What are you?- oh,” you blush

You see him reach for his pants pocket for his wallet as he pulls out a condom.

Quickly he rips it open, and your mouth waters as he rolls it over his cock. This is the first time you’re seeing what he looks like down there, and you’re getting nervous because how is that supposed to fit?

“Sweetheart? You'll be okay.” He smirks.

Cocky, shit.

“If I have to ask you again, I’m going to do this myself.” You huffed.

“Oh really? How do you suppose that?” He pounced back on top of you.

“I have my toys.”

Eddie’s head drops back. “We will get back to that later. Now I’m going to fuck you.”

“Finally”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He just slowly slides his cock through your slick folds collecting your natural lube before inching his way inside of you.

“I need you to relax, sweetheart.” You naturally clench around him. He was so tickled and long. Never had you felt so full, but little did you know Eddie was only a quarter-way in.

“Fuck you’re big,” you gasp.

“No need to stroke my ego, baby girl”

That made your pussy clench down again.

“Oh, you like that?”

You nod your head, yes, unable to speak.

“Noted”

You could kill him if he wasn’t making you feel so good.

“Eddie!” You scream as he finally reaches the hilt, gripping him like a koala you don’t want to let go.

“Fuck, this pussy is so tight” Eddie slowly works his hips in and out of you; with each thrust, you can feel his bush brush against your clit, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

You moan in response; everything feels like it is on fire; never had you expected this level of sex. No wonder everyone is obsessed with it.

“Harder”

“You sure”

“Yes, god yes!”

Eddie's hips snap into you with such force your head almost hits the headboard. The bed is rocking; you have never experienced something so wanted, so needed, so absolutely taken over by someone else.

“Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!” You chant his name, which only makes him go harder. His fingers dug into your hips, gripping you so hard, not ever wanting to let you go.

“Fuck me, this pussy s'good.” He spits through his teeth. His primal side is showing, and you can't get enough.

Nothing can again amount to this amount of pleasure; you're ruined for life.

"You close, baby girl?" Edie smirks when he feels you clamp don't on his cock when he spits out the words.

A guttural moan is unleashed from your throat in response because, god, you're so close.

The pressure building inside of you is about to burst as Eddie's calloused fingers find your sensitive clit.

"Come on baby, I know you gotta another one for me. I know you do."

Eddies words tipped you over the edge. Your body seized as his thick cock continued to pump into your greedy pussy. Your orgasm took over, and Eddie watched you silently scream for him.

Before you became overstimulated, Eddie also came shortly after, only a few more pumps, and he spilled himself into the condom.

With Eddie beside you huffing and puffing, you couldn't wipe the stupid grin off your face.

"That good, huh?"

"I don't want to stroke your ego, but yeah... fuck me" You hid your face.

"I just did." Eddie rolled over to kiss all over your face and you can't help but giggle.

"I hope we can do that again," you shy away.

"Oh, we are one thousand percent doing that again. "

Tagging some mooties: @littlexdeaths @xxbimbobunnyxx @voyeurmunson @rowanswriting @lofaewrites

@starkeysprincess @strangerstilinski @taintedcigs @mmunson86 @paybacksawitch @stardancerluv

[yoongsriverandme]

✩︵ 주문 — MIROTIC!

❝ You want me, you've fallen for me You're crazy about me, you can't escape me I got you under my skin (Ooh) … ❞

⤑ pairing: like crazy!park jimin x shy fem!reader

⤑ genre: smut, fluff, angst, rom-comy vibes, friends-with-benefits, s2l2f2l (they did some things out of order), idiots to lovers, college!au, fuckboy!au, reverse harem, mutual pining, "unrequited love," she fell first but he fell harder.

⤑ wc: 9.3k

⤑ summary: sleeping with your long-time crush was not how planned to confess your undying love to him, but if it was the only way you could be close to him then so be it. jimin's had a lot of lovers, and you're one of them, but why the fuck is he so bothered by the thought of you being with someone else?

⤑ rating: nsfw/explicit - proceed with caution!

⤑ warnings: fuck boy!jimin, popular "it" boy!jimin, shy "loser" girl!reader, lowkey toxic!jimin (i'm not sorry!), making out, bathroom sex, public sex, exhibitionism, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, A LOT of dirty talk, kinda shitty aftercare sorry, protected sex (pocket condoms 😓), JEALOUS jimin like holy shit, possessiveness, angst for a min, heavy pining, feelings realization, miscommunication, arguing, emotionally constipated!jimin, love confessions, angst with a happy ending (sorry nammy :/), not everyone gets a cameo this time sighs sadly.

⤑ date posted: march 9, 2025

⤑ authors note: HEY HEY HEY!!! bet you guys didn't expect this one!!! (i didn't either, random inspo struck me), but literally every single idea i've ever posted about IS sitting in drafts, and this one has been halfway done for weeks, so i figured i'd put it out there as i work on some of my other bigger pieces!

i ALSO just wanted to pop in here and say WOW, thank you so much for your support like... the feedback for my account has been phenomenal, and i want you all to know how touched i am!

with that out of the way, i hope you guys enjoy this fwb!au because wow was this a big one!

𓈒 ꪆৎ masterlist

⁘ preface: i only use bts as face claims! they are my muses, so anything they say or do, do not reflect their real life character!

The first time you ever talked to Jimin was when you had sex with him.

Now you know that sounds bad! 

But you had no idea what to do when he had come to you as you hovered awkwardly against one of the walls in the house party you had been forced to attend.

You were the designated driver for all intents and purposes, so the red solo cup that you had clasped in your hand was nothing but plain sprite, which was used as a mixer. 

‘Quite the devilish combination’ You couldn’t help but think as you swirled the carbonated liquid around boredly.

The room was stifling, filled to the brim with inebriated, sweaty bodies.

You were surrounded by sex, drugs and alcohol, some couples impatiently groping each other in the corner closests to you, and you forced yourself to look down, your cheeks warm at the blatant show of… affection.

It stunk, the music was too loud, and there were so many places you would rather be than here, like back home in your dorm studying, or watching an episode of your favorite show.

You didn’t fit into places like this, and you were one-hundred percent sure you had that fact stamped to your forehead.

The only pleasant part about this whole experience had been being able to see Jimin.

He was quite popular, and worlds away from you, but you couldn’t help but harbor a school yard crush on the pretty boy. 

He was just… tantalizing, with the way he spoke to the way he always held himself with a slight air of seduction. Boys and girls alike were ready to drop to their knees with so much as a word from the man, and you’re ashamed to say that you’re no different.

It was embarrassing, really, with how hard and fast you fell in love with somebody you barely knew, but he shared so much of himself, you felt as though you knew enough.

You know he’s funny, and kind, despite the… whorish, reputation that precedes him.

You’re in no place to judge, truly, because if he were to come up to you right now asking you if you would like to have sex with him, you would say yes.

“Lame party, right?” Sounds a voice from beside you.

You jump ten feet in the air, a bit of your drink spilling out over the edge of the cup as you fumble to keep the damn thing still in your hand.

“Uh – yes?” You answer with a slight grimace, your stomach drops to your ass when said host appears next to you.

Park fucking Jimin.

This was not what you meant! Not so suddenly! Not like this!

You stare at him dumbly as you spiral, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his plush lips.

“You think?” He asks teasingly.

You instantly stumble to recover from your mistake. “No! Yes, no, I… I just –” You’re blubbering like an idiot, and Jimin seems to take great pleasure at reducing you to a flustered mess, but he relents with a laugh.

“”M just kidding.”

“No! I just… I’m not used to going to this sort of thing.”

“Oh?” Jimin questions with a raised brow. 

You put your drink on the small refreshment table next to you so you can wring your hands together as a nervous tick.

“I’m my friend's designated driver for the night, and they knew I wouldn’t be doing anything, so…”

“That’s selfless of you.” He compliments, and warmth spreads from the roots of your hair all the way to the tips of your toes. “Ah,” You try to wave him off. “It’s… it’s nothing. I don’t mind.”

“But also that makes sense.” Your brows furrow. “What makes sense?” You ask.

He bombards your space, hooded eyelids giving you a once over.

You’re suddenly very aware of how dirty and scruffed your converses are, and you fidget a bit under his scrutinizing gaze.

“That you haven’t come to one of my parties before, because I’d recognize your pretty face anywhere.”

Your eyes widened.

Holy shit. Was he hitting on you?

“Oh!” You laugh nervously. “That’s… that’s very sweet of you.” You gulp.

His smirk only gets deeper, and he leans closer so that his breath caresses the shell of your ear. If his intention is for you to be able to hear him over the music, he’s doing beyond a wonderful job at succeeding.

Your eyelids flutter rapidly, and your hands shake, and you have no idea where to put them as you lean back slightly.

“What do you say we go somewhere else?” He asks with a purr, pulling away just enough to gauge your reaction to his proposition.

Now, you’re not an easy girl. Jimin may sleep with anyone he wants, but you’re just not into that sort of thing, and you know better than to –

“Yes, please.” It comes out as a slight whimper, but he hears you nonetheless, because he takes you by the hand and pulls you through the throngs of people.

Your stomach is tied up in knots, and you’re not even sure if you’re still connected to reality.

Instead of taking you upstairs and into his room like you thought he would, he redirects you into the hallway and into the door, and your stomach drops slightly when he turns on the light to reveal a bathroom.

‘It’s nice’ You try to convince yourself, but your train of thought is cut off when a pair of heavy hands lay themselves on your jean-covered hips, pulling you closer to his body and trailing his lips up the side of your neck.

Your breath hitches and you let out a small, “Oh.”

“Do you still want this?” He murmurs into your ear once more, and you find yourself nodding rather enthusiastically, much to your embarrassment. Jimin just chuckles.

He spins you around, and your eyes land on the slope of his neck that disappears into his leather jacket. Fingers tuck themselves under your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’re a shy one.” He coos, and you shiver when his thumb caresses the corner of your mouth, dipping into it just a bit.

“I’m not used to this.” You admit with a self-deprecating grimace. “What a shame.” Is all he says before tilting your head back and connecting your lips.

The kiss is soft, softer than you would have expected from your soon to be hookup.

You’ve heard through the grapevine that he’s rather ferocious with his kissing, with spit and teeth, but somehow still making sure it's nice for his partner.

He cups your wrists and guides your hands to tangle themselves in his black mullet, and you’re relieved to be able to do something with your hands.

A whimper escapes you when his palms press you to him by the lower part of your back, turning you to the nearest wall for balance.

Soon, the kiss turns hungry, and you can feel the strain of him against his tight black pants, and you tremble, like putty in his hands.

You try your best to keep up with him, kissing back with a lot more fervour than you’ve ever done before.

You’ve had sex once, and that was just because you wanted to lose it before college, just so you could say you did it.

It was awkward because it was with one of the guys from your English class, and he looked like he didn’t know what he was doing either. It was stiff and it burned, and you weren’t sure if you were even turned on enough to participate in penetrative sex.

Well, the same can’t be said for you now, because you can feel the material of your panties grow damp with arousal, sticking to your folds and causing slight friction.

It’s when Jimin finally rolls his hips into yours is when you finally let out a true, loud moan.

“Thought you were going to be quiet all night.” Jimin teases, and you flush. “I - I’m sorry.” You mutter against his lips. 

He pulls back and strokes your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Relax. ‘M just teasing.”

“Right, right.” You laugh demurely.

He lowers his head to the skin of your neck where he takes the skin of it between his teeth, and your hips buck into his on accident.

“Shit!” You curse, and you slap a hand over your mouth. “You like pain.” He says almost to himself. “Definitely noted.” 

You’re not sure what he means by that, but your mind seems to blank when his hands sneak their way to the button of your jeans, fiddling with the metal. That cursed thumb presses into the skin above the hem.

“Do you still want this?” 

“Yes, please.” You whimper. Jimin grins and you can feel it, because he places a gentle kiss on the surface. “How polite.”

You swallow a whine at his praise.

He pops them open with practiced ease, and pushes a hand into your pants, hissing when he comes in contact with your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re this wet just from kissing?” He asks in awe.

Jimin finally finds himself in your panties and you gasp when the tips of his fingers press on your clit.

“There it is.” He says to himself triumphantly.

He’s quick to flatten his hand, replacing the tips with the pads of his fingers, drawing quick but fast circles over the pleasurable bud.

“Jimin!” You cry, and your nails rake themselves through his hair, drawing him into you.

You hold him close as he rubs at you, and his free hand keeps himself balanced on the wall just above your hand, completely enveloping you with his body.

“Feels so good.” You mewl, and he nearly growls.

“God, you’re so cute.” He groans.

He takes his hand away and your eyes furrowed in confusion. Was it something you said?

You don't have much time to think because you’re being spun around and bent over the counter, and you’re face to face with your debauched features. 

“Jimin?” You ask, but you’re cut off by him snatching your pants and underwear down your hips and they pool at your ankles. 

You threaten to turn a scarlet red when he spreads your legs as far as they can go and just stares at your sex.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He rasps and you shiver.

He looks up and meets your gaze in the mirror, making to take his leather jacket off.

“‘M gonna fuck you with my fingers, then I’m actually gonna fuck you. Sounds good?”

“Amazing.” You squeak.

He presses his hand on your lower back to keep you anchored to the marble counter, while the other slips a finger in till he reaches the knuckle.

Your jaw drops in a silent moan, the slight stretch of it hurts for a moment, but your body soon adjusts to it, because he draws it out, no wonder noticing how it glistens in the dim lighting.

Then, he thrusts it back in, over and over and over again until a second one finds its place next to it.

The sounds that escape your cunt are disgusting, and you cross your arms to bury your head in them. 

You’ve never felt pleasure like this before, and when he curls his fingers just right, you all but wail.

“Found it.” 

He abuses your g-spot with a certain kind of cruelty, and an arm slips out from under you to scratch at the surface of the counter. Of course you don’t leave any marks, but the bluntness of your nails make it a makeshift anchor to this earth.

“Just listen to you.” He huffs. “She’s so sloppy.”

“Don’t – don’t say that.” You whine in humiliation. 

“Why not?” There’s amusement in his voice, and you hate how it makes another of arousal leak around his digits.

“‘Cause that’s dirty.” 

Jimin laughs. He actually fucking laughs and all you can think about is crawling into a hole forever.

“There’s a lot about me that’s dirty, sweetheart.”

You shake at the nickname, and he notices.

“Oh? You like it when I call you that?”

The condescension in his voice pushes you closer to the edge, and you can feel that familiar knot form in your stomach, the one you’re only able to create by yourself.

You clench around him and he gawffs.

“It seems like I’m not the only one that’s dirty.” He remarks. “What else should I call you?” He acts like he’s thinking as he twists his wrist into you without mercy, your legs shake.

There’s tears threatening to stream down your face.

“Hm. What about babe, or baby? Oh! Better yet, how about darling? Hm? Would you like that darling?”

Hearing him call you such sweet names does something to you, because before you know it, you’re catapulted over the edge. You spasm around him, and he just hums.

“There you go, good girl. That’s it.”

You shake as you come down from your high, and there are hands stroking the outside of your thighs, up your hips, and back down again.

Your eyes flutter open from where they squeezed themselves shut to find he’s already looking at you. His gaze is dripping in dark black molasses sticky with lust and want.

“Can we keep going, or are you at your limit?” Jimin checks in ever so gently. 

It makes you feel good knowing that he likes to make sure you know you’re still in control, and despite just having orgasmed, you find yourself painstakingly empty.

“‘M really good.” You slur, and a proud smile takes over his face.

He fumbles with the back of his jeans, and retrieves his wallet where he pulls out a condom from it. You eye it warily.

“I just put it in there yesterday, I promise.”

He makes work of his jeans, and you notice that he’s so so hard, and you almost feel bad for the poor man. Almost being the keyword, because when he releases himself from the confines of his boxers, you gape.

He’s averagely long, maybe even a little moreso, but god, is he thick.

He catches you staring and winks.

“Think you can take it?” He pokes and you huff. “Of course I can.”

He raises a brow at you, but rolls the condom on in a tortuously slow pace.

“Hurry up.” You whine, and he swats your ass.

“Be patient.” He chides with a hiss, but you’re still reeling from the sting of the slap to even comprehend what he just said.

Jimin settles a hand on your shoulder, the other helping him line himself up to your sopping wet entrance.

“Ready?” 

“Mhm.”

You both watch each other as he splits you open on his cock, and his head falls back as he groans through his clenched teeth.

“Oh!” You quiver on his length, reaching back to grab one of his hands and breathing out a sigh of relief when he meets you halfway.

He’s twitching inside of you, and you appreciate the few moments to gather your bearings.

“Move, please.” You mewl, and he doesn’t hesitate to listen to you.

Jimin drags himself out, breaking your eye contact to look down at where you’re wrapped around him. You’re so wet, the velvet of your gummy walls are making him feel a little faint.

Then, he thrusts back in until his hips are to your ass, and then he repeats, just for a few slow moments before picking up the pace.

The hand on shoulder pulls you down to meet his thrusts, and you cry out.

“Shit, Jimin!” 

“I know, I know – Fuck, you feel so good.”

His plowing is brutal, the tip of his cock spearing and bullying your g-spot with a pace that you can’t quite keep up with.

He releases your shoulder to grab each arm to help his leverage, and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You’re sure you’re drooling, but you can’t find much shame in it because it feels so good.

You know that Jimin has ruined you for anybody else, mind, body, and soul, and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to escape him now.

His grunts and groans are guttural, and you know he’s close. You encourage him by clenching around him.

“God – what happened to the shy girl I met in the living room, huh?” He pants. “All I see now a cock hungry slut.”

You let out a surprised moan at his words.

“Oh, yeah? You like when I call you that? Like when I let you know exactly what you look like?”

“Y-yes.” Is your garbled reply.

“Aw… is my baby too cock drunk to even respond?” Jimin tuts meanly. “That’s okay, because I’ve got you, right?”

He’s giving you whiplash with the mix of his words, and you miss the way he calls you his baby.

“Oh, shit I’m close.” He announces. “You gonna let me cum in this tight little cunt of yours?”

“Mhm! Mhm! Gonna –” You hiccup. “Gonna let you do whatever you want.

That seems to soothe something possessive inside of him because he finally cums, and the pulsing of him against that spongy spot inside of you grows to be too much, because you follow right behind him.

It’s quiet in the bathroom as you both stop to catch your breaths, but he pulls out after a few moments of silence, tying up the condom and tossing it into the trashcan next to the toilet without a care.

“You okay?” He asks as he makes to pull up his jeans, and you’re kind of just… stunned.

Is that it?

“Uh… yeah, I’m alright.” You try not to let the disappointment show on your face as you reach down and tug your pants on as well.

Your arms ache from the strange position they were forced into, as well as your stomach from where it had been digging into the ledge of the counter.

“Good.” Gently pushes you out the way so he can wash his hands.

You just stare at him flabbergasted, kind of at a complete loss at what to say.

Do you ask what you are now? Did this mean anything? Were you just another hookup? Were you –

You’re cut off by soft lips meeting yours, and your stomach flutters something pleasant.

Maybe he did like you back and this was a complete misunderstanding, maybe he –

“Call me if you’d like to have some fun again, yeah?”

He speaks against your mouth.

Somehow he’s managed to scribble down his number and hand it to you, which you take somewhat blindly.

He’s already out of the door before you can blink, sending you a cheeky wave as he disappears into the crowd once more.

Your experience with him already feels like a dream when one of your friends drapes themselves over you.

“Finally found you!” She says with a giggle. “Where were you? Me and Sana have been looking everywhere.”

You cringe as you remember your duty, but before you can respond, her nose scrunches up.

“God you stink. Did you have sex?” She asks in disgust.

“No.” You say with a few blinks. “It’s probably because of the party.”

“Oh… okay.” She giggles.

You’re ashamed to say you’ve met up with him a few times after that, finally having the courage to give him a call after a particularly hard day of finals.

He sure did fuck the stress out of you.

This wasn’t how you imagined yourself finding your way into his world, but if sex was the only way you could have him then so be it.

But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He still met up with other girls, still blew you off, still kept you as a secret from his friends. You were just another notch on his bedpost, and it made you almost sick to think about.

Time spent with him after sex was just… confusing.

Someday’s he would allow you to stay over afterwards, maybe even asking you to watch a movie with him, or sometimes he would talk around you leaving until you eventually caught the hint.

It was such a push and pull relationship, and you had no idea what all of this was for.

Were you friends? Acquaintances? Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits?

You had no idea what you were or who he wanted to mean to you, but it was slowly ripping you apart.

He had invited you to another party after a particularly long session, and maybe it was just the sleepiness in him talking, but it almost sounded as if he wanted you to be there.

He nuzzles his face into your shoulder, the black of his hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat.

You nibble on your lip, tugging the duvet up to cover your bare breasts.

The tips of his fingers graze your arm gently even though his eyes were closed, and goosebumps rose under his ministrations.

It was moments like these that you grew fond of because of how few and far in between they were, when Jimin allows that vulnerable side of his to peek through. You found him beautiful.

You couldn’t stop staring at him, even when the muscles in your neck protested the awkward angle.

You could count every freckle on his cheek, every eyelash he had, and you had to bite back a smile at the sight of his crooked front tooth peeking out through his swollen plump lips.

“Mm.” He groans, and forces himself to crack an eye open. 

Your eyes flutter in embarrassment at almost being caught, but he seems none the wiser. 

“(y/n).” Jimin mumbles. You find a way to wind your arm around his neck, settling a hand in his hair, rolling the ends of the damp strands between your fingers.

“Come to this party ‘m throwing.” Jimin slurs.

You finally allow yourself to smile then. “Why? I’d like to think last time was a bit of a mess.” You tease. He just grumbles. “Never feels like a mess when I’m with you.”

Your smile quickly falls.

It was crowded once again, but you felt a sort of superiority at your fucked up relationship with him.

You went searching around for him; maybe you guys could actually talk this time! Maybe share a beer and talk about your favorite music!

Your body thrummed with all the different types of things you could do when you found him, but not in the way you wanted.

He had another girl pushed up against the wall, just like he had you in the bathroom on that fateful day.

‘But he wasn’t kissing her how he had kissed you’ You tried to reason with yourself, even as tears began to form in your eyes.

This was embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing.

You were so much better than this. You were a smart girl, you had things going for you, your life shouldnt revolve around a man who could not give any less of a fuck about you.

You find yourself stumbling away - backwards might you add - and you accidentally bump into someone, their liquor spilling over and down the back of your shirt.

You yelp, and it’s loud enough to catch Jimin’s attention, but you don’t notice because of how fast you spin around to face the person. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

You and the stranger speak at the same time, and you look up to find that he was quite… handsome.

He was tall, broad shouldered and obviously thick under that sweatervest he was wearing - which fuck it was too hot for that, even for you - and dimples settled into his cheeks and glasses that were raised high on his face, perched on his nose.

“No, no!” You wave away his apology nervously. “It’s fine! It’s my fault, I didn’t see where I was looking!”

“I shouldn’t have been carrying so many open drinks at the same time when I knew how crowded this place was, so it’s okay.”

You just watch as a genuine smile seems to spread on his face.

“How about this: we're both at fault, and we're sorry. Does that sound good?”

You find yourself nodding with a small smile. “Yeah… that sounds good.”

He stares at you, and you stare back, but then your eyes fall on a dark stain on his vest. His eyes seem to follow your gaze because he tries to wave you away this time.

“Hey, listen, it’s fine, it happens all the time! I’d say you took the brunt of it. How about you come with me, and I’ll get you a new shirt?”

Going with a guy that you’ve never met before to “get a new shirt” doesn’t seem like a good idea, but the image of Jimin plastered to that girl is all but tattooed on the back of your eyelids.

“Okay, yeah.”

The man’s smile gets bigger, but then falls as his gaze flickers to something behind you. Your brows furrow in concern, but before you can turn around, an arm slides itself around your waist.

“I think I’ve got it from here. Thanks man.”

You’re surprised to see Jimin next to you all but glaring at the tall man’s face, and there’s a prickle of irritation in your gut. The weight of his arm on you feels like a hot iron with the way it burns, and you step out of his grip just slightly.

The guy seems to notice, because his gaze narrows right back at him.

“Is this guy bothering you?” He asks.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the dog fight that might happen before you, and you just sigh.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure…” You let your voice die out, and the guy seems to make the connection.

“Namjoon. Kim Namjoon.”

You grin slightly. “(y/n).”

“Great. Bye, Kim Namjoon. Thanks for ruining her shirt.”

Jimin tugs you along behind him, and he’s silent the whole way to his room, and you’re half tempted to snatch yourself from his grip.

“What’s your problem?” You ask once you’re finally safe behind closed doors.

“What do you mean what’s my problem?” Jimin’s voice is hiding a thin layer of anger that you can hear clearly.

“You were such an asshole to him! And he didn’t “ruin” my shirt by the way. It’s just beer. It’ll get out.”

“That doesn’t matter. You were about to fuck off and go with some guy you didn’t even know!” He throws his hands up in the air like it’s obvious.

“Okay? It’s my business on who I go and “fuck off” with. The guy looked nice, so I trusted him.”

He scoffs. “Oh yeah, so you just trust any guy that asks you to leave with him? It’s so obvious he wanted to fuck you, and you were just going to do it with a smile on your face.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious right now.” You breathe.

“Very.” He says flatly.

You encroach in his space, getting in his face and settling him with a glare.

“I came to look for you at a fucking party you invited me to, and then I find you with your tongue down some random girl’s throat.” You sneer. “So forgive me if I’m a little peeved that you’re bothered by who I might go fuck.”

Jimin doesn’t know why he’s so bothered. ‘Doesn’t know why seeing you laughing and smiling with that guy makes something in his gut twist in disgust.

“I don’t like him.”

You lean your face away from his.

“That’s what you’ve taken away from this.” You let out an incredulous laugh, and the amusement behind your eyes is fake.

“I…” You shake your head. “I can’t believe this.”

“You are not who I thought you were.” Something in you wilts. “You are a grade A asshole, Park Jimin.” You spit his name like it’s a slur, and something inside him dies.

“What?” It’s his turn to scoff. “Don’t tell me you like me or something?” He knows he’s being mean, but he’s hurt, and he feels as though he has nothing else left.

“Excuse me?” You look like a kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Guilty.

There’s a sickening pleasure that takes root in his heart knowing that you want him like that.

“You’re doing this whole weird, possessive girlfriend thing.” It’s his turn to step in your space. 

“Well, sorry to say, but were just fuck buddies. I don’t want to be with you. All I want you for is a booty call, nothing more, nothing less.”

His words are like a knife to your heart and you deflate.

The tears burning behind your eyes finally fall, and your hand twitches at your side.

“I fucking hate you.” Is all you can say.

You push him out your way and he lets you, watches as you leave.

��Good’ He thinks.

He tries to convince himself that the quicker he cuts this thing off, the easier things will get, because he doesn’t like you like that.

Right?

Right.

Your head was pounding by the time you had found your way back to your dorm, your shaking hands made it near impossible to get the key in the lock, but you managed it.

You hadn’t expected Sana to be there, bed engulfed by books and different studying utensils.

“Hey.” She greets mindlessly, flicking through papers in a certain folder before huffing and closing it when she clearly doesn’t find what she needs.

Your grip on your keys grows weak and they clatter to the floor, and she looks up in alarm, just as you take in a loud, pitiful sniffle.

“Oh, (y/n).” 

She scrambles to get up and you fall forward, trusting her to catch you, and she does, even if she’s extremely confused.

You’re sobbing into her shirt, and your chest twists and everything just hurts.

Jimin’s words feel like a slap in your face, and your heart burns like you had actually been slapped. You would have preferred that if you were going to be honest.

“(y/n), please. You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I liked him.” You sob. “I liked him so much, and, and, and –” You’re close to hyperventilating at this point, and Sana just seems to grow more anxious, because she pulls away from you and cups your cheeks.

“You need to breathe for me.” She says with a nervous albeit reassuring smile. 

You attempt to take a deep breath. 

“Good, that’s good, just keep trying.”  

Eventually, your breathing evens out, and she leads you over to your twin bed, seeing as hers is a bit of an organized mess right now.

“Now, can you finally explain to me what happened?”

Your hands shake as you make to pick at your cuticles, but she catches the habit before you can get to it, encasing your hands in hers.

“There’s a lot of things that you don’t know.”

“Okay…”

“But you know I like Jimin, right?”

“Mhm, like… big time.”

“Well, do you remember that party that you and your friend forced me to?” 

“Mhm.”

“Well… while I was waiting for you guys to be ready to go, Jimin approached me.”

“Oh my god?” She says excitedly, but you give her a sad smile.

“Don’t get excited just yet.”

“Anyways,” You continue. “He talked to me, then invited me to… you know, sleep with him.” Your cheeks burn as Sana stares at you dumbfounded, but you keep going. “The sex was great, don’t get me wrong, but he was so distant after everything was done.”

“He gave me his number and asked me to call him if I ever wanted to hook up with him again.”

“Douche.”

“Sana.”

“Sorry not sorry.”

You laugh a bit and she grins, relieved.

“Well, I did.”

“(y/n).” She sighs, releasing one of her hands to rub at her forehead.

“I know, I know! I also know I’m gonna sound really stupid when I say that I thought he actually liked me, but he… but he said some things to me tonight that really broke my heart.”

“Before we get to that, what made you think he likes you back?” She wasn’t trying to be mean by asking the question, you knew better. 

“Because there’ll be moments after we are done hooking up where he’d be super sweet. Like, sometimes he would cuddle me, or ask me to watch a movie, just things outside of the common hookup aftercare.”

“But then tonight,” You sighed. “I went to the party he invited me to, and caught him making out with some other girl, and so I went to leave but then I bumped into this guy.” You smile a bit at the memory.

“His name is Kim Namjoon, and he was super sweet – spilled a fuckton of beer on my shirt though.”

“So that’s why you smell like that.” 

“Yep.” You laugh. “And then Jimin came up and acted all… jealous and possessive and shit. Took me up to his room, we argued, he accused me of liking him and laughed in my face and called me just his fuck buddy after I didn’t deny that I did.”

You look up to find Sana seething.

“I’m going to call Taehyung.”

Taehyung was one of Jimin’s best friends, and he was currently groveling at Sana’s feet trying to be with her. Though she likes him, she wants to make him work for it just to see if he’ll lose interest, even though you know it’d kill her if he actually did.

“Why?”

“To break it off with him in solidarity.”

“What?!” You asked incredulously. “No, absolutely not. Taehyung is a good guy. You don’t need to do that for me.”

She regards you with a raised brow.

“Are you sure?”

You find yourself nodding. “Kinda need some roomie time right now.” Your eyes fall to her studying materials. “But if you’re too busy, I –”

“Nope. Let’s go.”

You laugh joyously as she begins to put her things away, and you make for the small fridge in your room where your sweet treats are held. 

Maybe things are going to be okay.

The next week is like a living hell.

You’ve basically made it your life’s mission to avoid Jimin as much as possible. You had already blocked him after a few encouraging words from Sana.

She still ended up calling Taehyung in the end, putting him in the dog house until his friend got his shit together. You could almost hear his pout as he begged her not to. She hung up on him.

The weather was nice, with early spring wandering around, you could finally start to wear flowier clothing, as well as study outside again.

Your head is so immersed in your book that you don’t see someone approach your table until a finger gently breaches your line of vision and taps the page.

You startle a bit and look up, and you're greeted by Namjoon’s sheepish face.

“Sorry, I didn’t know another way to get your attention, you looked really focused.”

“That’s sweet, but it’s okay. You could’ve interrupted me.” He gestures to the seat across from yours. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah, yeah! Go ahead!” You begin clearing things out of his way, and he smiles gratefully.

“I didn’t see you again after you left.” With that guy, is what’s unspoken, but you caught it anyways. “Yeah… uh – something came up, so I had to leave early.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape and he nods. “I see.”

“Yeah.” You grimace.

“Well I –” Namjoon swallows nervously. “I wasn’t able to tell you, but I think you’re beautiful.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.” You breathe in surprise, and the man visibly deflates. “Unless that guy was your boyfriend, then I’m sorry! Oh, God, I should have asked first.”

“No, no! He’s not my boyfriend.” You reassure him. “‘M surprised, is all; and very, very flattered.”

You know you should reject his advances, but you’re hurt, and he’s just… so sweet. A complete contrast to Jimin, and you think he’s the change of pace that you needed.

“I think you’re handsome if that makes you feel any better.” The words feel wrong coming out of your mouth, but you grin nonetheless when his cheeks warm an admirable red.

“I…” You meet each other's eyes, and look down at the same time, laughing shyly.

Maybe Namjoon could be good for you.

“You look pathetic, man.” Taehyung speaks through a mouthful of instant ramen disgustingly.

Jimin hits him upside the back of his head, and the poor boy winces.

“Ow!”

“Don’t forget you’re in the dog house too, idiot.” Jungkook mumbles from his side of the table.

“So what you’re telling me is that you want me to beat your ass?”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugs. “Hyung fucked up, and now you’re being punished by association. No (y/n) means no Sana.” 

Jungkook’s right.

Ever since that night, Jimin’s desperately been trying to forget about you, about how hurt you looked. He almost feels sick thinking about it.

He admits that he could have handled that situation a lot better, but it was like something had taken over him. As soon as he’d seen you with Namjoon, and how willing you looked, something inside him just… snapped.

“I’m just waiting for hyung to admit that he was jealous and go and fix it.” Taehyung says simply. “It’s obvious that he’s in love with her, and I have no idea why he won’t just go and tell her.”

“I’m not -” Jimin hissed, “In love with her.”

“Yeah man, you are.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed, but his attention was stolen by your laugh.

You were laughing because of him.

You looked so sickeningly demure talking to him, wringing your fingers together and kicking out your legs as a nervous tick. You usually only ever did that when you were with him.

Jimin liked the effect that he had on you.

He liked how your eyelashes fluttered when he complimented you, how you held on to him when he fucked you, how you kissed him back like you meant it. Sure, your body was nice, but so was your personality.

You were kind, studious, selfless, and he wasn’t sure what drew you to him the first night he had met you.

He thought that your hidden affections were all for him, but it proves that he was mistaken. That’s fine. You could be with anybody that you wanted to.

‘Just not him’ Is supplied unhelpfully.

The thought shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

It’s just… Jimin doesn’t do the whole commitment thing. The last time he had a partner, it blew up in his face, so he just finds that casual one night stands was just the easier way to go.

But things between you and him were never casual to begin with, huh?

“Listen,” Taehyung starts once more, and points his chopsticks at Jungkook. “Jimin-hyung, he'll realize what he wants when it’s too late. Girls like (y/n) don’t come around as often as they should.” Then, he dives back into his noodles.

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed. Were they right?

He turns his head to look at them. “Was it ever casual between me and her?” He can’t help but ask.

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Wow, okay.”

“I mean, you let her sleep in your bed, hyung.” Jungkook basically scoffs. “You’ve never let any of your hookups stay the night, or cuddle with you; yet somehow she’s different.”

Different.

That was the key word here.

You were different.

The last few weeks with Namjoon have been nice.

The man was smart, and kind, and overall just a sweet, gentle giant that deserved everything in the world; but you knew deep down in your heart that you couldn’t be the one to give him that.

You saw it in the way that he looked at you, starry-eyed on his worst day, and heart-eyed the best. You can’t find it within yourself to feel flattered by it anymore, because you know that you don’t deserve it.

You don’t deserve his chivalry, his affection, and maybe - hopefully not - his love.

You’re ashamed to say that this whole rebound business blew up in your face like you went ahead and personally strapped the bomb to yourself.

You didn’t know how to tell him you didn’t like him like that, just how you had no idea how to tell Jimin you loved him after months of sleeping with him; exactly how that fateful night you said yes instead of no.

The words on the pages in front of you bled together like a big blob of ink, and Namjoon’s large foot snuck over to yours under the table and trapped it playfully.

You tried not to allow the grin you gave him to look like a grimace, even as he acted like he was reading as well. You were sure both of your reasons were entirely different.

You needed to put a stop to this, you needed to tell him you didn’t see him that way and you just wanted to be friends.

“Hey, Namjoon –”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Of course.”

Fuck. 

The look that Namjoon gave you was beaming, and you felt tears sting at the back of your eyelids.

You said yes to a date like the stupid, idiotic, selfish, terrible person you are. 

Namjoon had offered to walk you back to your dorm after your study session was over, but you couldn’t look at him anymore, the guilt crawling around in your stomach becoming something almost too much to handle.

“No thanks, Nammy.”

“Okay.” He pouts a bit. “But you be safe, alright?”

For the first time today, you gave him a true smile. “I will!”

The walk back to your dorm was slow, and heavy hearted, and you were so lost in your head, you couldn’t see that you were about to walk into someone until their hand shot out and caught you.

“Oh!” You squeaked, your head shooting up.

Your eyes widened at a very disgruntled looking Jimin.

He didn’t look as put together as he used to; his black mullet ruffled out of place and his black leather jacket rather wrinkly. 

“(y/n).” He spoke.

It had felt like forever since you heard his voice, and it took you everything in your power to not shut your eyes and bask in it.

You swallowed heavily. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“But I do.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“(y/n) please.”

You stare at him before huffing and crossing your arms. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” He breathes, and you finally notice how close you are, because you stumble back to finally put some space in between the two of you. If Jimin’s hurt by the action, he doesn’t show it.

You hate how much that bothers you.

“I fucked up.”

“No.” You instantly put a hand out to stop him. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

“What?”

“You started this whole thing, Jimin! I… I admit that I do like you, and I’ve liked you for a long time, but you don’t get to be the one to say you “fucked up” and regret everything you did.”

“Why not?” He asks, almost offended.

“Because you’ll never change!”

Jimin looks taken aback by your outburst. 

“You’ll tell me you’re sorry, we’ll fuck, and then it’ll be this process all over again. You don’t get to just do that! I need full commitment, and that’s not something you’re able to give me.”

“Plus,” You continue, taking in a deep breath. “I’m seeing someone right now.”

Jimin fucking snorts.

“Don’t tell me you have a date with the Namkim guy.”

“It’s Namjoon, and yes, I am. He’s nice.”

“Oh, is that it? He’s just nice?”

“And… and he’s smart too!” You exclaim almost petulantly. “He gives me flowers and tells me how much he likes me all the time, unlike you, who’s so emotionally constipated that not even laxatives would be able to help you!”

“Wha –” Jimin laughs in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! I’m gonna go on a date with a guy who actually likes me!”

You straighten your tote bag on your shoulder and brace yourself, straightening your posture.

“Now if you excuse me, I have a date to plan for, and homework to do.”

“What? (y/n)! Come back, I’m sorry!”

“No!”

You’re not going to lie and say you didn’t replay your entire interaction with Jimin for the rest of the week.

There was something about talking to him that gave you the energy to get through class, the haunting realization that maybe he was worth a damn. 

Wondering what would have happened if you had allowed him to apologize instead of cutting him off, of accepting his apology and allowing yourself to be with him in that way.

But you know, you know that if you were to go back to your old routine with him, it’d kill you. It’d kill you to watch him flirt with other people, or watch him take them home.

You fiddled with the strap of your dress, staring at yourself in the mirror and feeling awkward at the fact that the material only looked good if you didn’t wear a bra.

You were going to a restaurant with Namjoon; it was a nice, original first date idea. You’d talk over food, and get along just fine!

Namjoon was a nice guy. He was sweet, and he wouldn’t try to fuck you on the first date.

Oh, God, would he?

You really hope not.

“Damn girl.” Sana whistles from her spot on her bed. “You look sexy! You’re gonna blow that nerd’s socks off!”

“Sana.” You warned. “Be nice! He’s not a nerd. He’s just studious.”

“Sure. Every Philosophy major is studious.” She giggles to herself.

“Oh! Do you think he’s a virgin?!”

“Sana!” This time it’s a whine, but your arguing is interrupted by a couple knocks on the door.

“Oh, God, it’s him!” You whisper in a panic. 

You continue to mess with the front of your dress, pulling the hem up at the top to try and hide as much boobage as possible.

“Stop!” Your roommate hisses. “You look great!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Now go!”

You waddle over to the door and pull it open, your heart melting at the sight of a good looking Namjoon in front of you.

His hair was tastefully rumpled, a button up shirt tucked into a pair of slacks that hugged his thighs deliciously.

Wow, you were really hogging this man for yourself.

There was another stab of guilt when his eyes fell on your figure and he swallowed, his cheeks painting themselves an adorable pink. 

“W – wow, (y/n). You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” You say shyly. “Should we go?”

“Oh! Of course, of course!” 

He offers you his arm and you take it.

The conversation between the two of you was kept light, even as you got into the Uber that he had paid for.

“I uh – I don’t have my license.” Namjoon had sheepishly admitted to you one day.

He usually rode his bike to places, so you were surprised to see that he had splurged for today.

Shame burns in your gut once again.

(y/n): 0, Guilt and shame: the winner.

The restaurant was nice as you were led to your table, and very quiet.

You shuffled around in your seat, sheepishly ordering water as Namjoon looked over the menu.

“I’m so happy we're doing this.” Namjoon says after you get your drinks, and you sip on the freezing tap water.

“Yeah…” You speak after a few hefty gulps of your drink.

“I meant it when I said you looked gorgeous tonight.”

“Ah…” You fluster. “Where did all this confidence come from?”

“It comes from me wanting to ask you a question that you’ll answer truthfully.”

Instantly your heart falls into your ass, because you know exactly what’s coming.

“I might be a bit of a stick in the mud, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind, (y/n).”

“I can see that you haven’t really been in any of… whatever we have going on. And I’m not even going to lie, I don’t even think we’ve had anything to begin with.”

“What gave it away?” You ask with a grimace. “That.”

“That?”

“That thing you do with your face when you lie.”

You blink at him in surprise.

“Oh.”

“And you’ve done it every single time I’ve tried to flirt or compliment you. I’m surprised you even agreed to go out with me.”

“I…” You feel like you’re going to throw up. “I swear I didn’t mean to lead you on! There’s just been this thing, and I can’t tell you what it is –”

“Yes you can.”

“Pardon?” You ask in surprise.

“You know exactly why you can’t commit fully to this.”

“I…” You deflate in your seat, fiddling with the napkin. “You’re right.”

“It’s that guy, right? The one from the party?” 

Namjoon’s words aren’t hurt, judgemental, or angry, they’re just factual. Like how he gets when he breaks down a piece of difficult text in one of his ancient little books he likes to read.

“I should start from the beginning shouldn’t I?”

“We’ve got all night.”

So you do. You start from that night at the party, over how you’ve felt these last few weeks, even as the food had come and gone, you two hadn’t stopped talking.

You had refused to let him pay at the end of the night, and you literally almost had to fight him over splitting the bill.

“This was supposed to be a date.” He speaks with a pout, and you just laugh. 

You two worked well as friends, because you nudged his foot. “Yah! We can go on another date soon, okay?”

He just laughs with a shake of his head.

When you guys leave, you offer to pay for your shared Uber when you spot someone you weren’t expecting.

Jimin’s in the parking lot, leaning against his car and looking around. When his gaze lands on you, his slouched position straightens, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“This guy is like the fucking boogeyman.” You murmur, and Namjoon laughs once more.

“I uh… may have sort of called him here.”

Your head whips around and you stare at him in betrayal. “What?!”

“Listen. You and him have some shit to work out, and - bless your heart - we both know you don’t have a backbone, so I think it would be better if you both fixed this, or ended it for good.”

You can’t help but just stare at him. “Where did you even get his number?”

“Taehyung. The poor man’s been practically begging me to leave you alone and let Jimin fix this because he’s been sexiled.”

You sigh, glancing over at a waiting Jimin who’s watching you hopefully.

“You won’t be here for solidarity, will you?”

“For both our sakes, I think you know the answer to that.”

You swallow, turning your attention back to him. “I really am sorry about how everything went down between us. You’re a great guy, and I’m sure one day another person will be able to see that. I’m sorry it’s not me.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s alright, I need to worry about my studies anyways.”

You smile sadly at him, and he just chuckles and shakes his head, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“I mean it (y/n),” He starts when you separate, “It’s okay, but you need to go, because Jimin looks like he’s about to throttle me, and I’m not really interested in fighting someone tonight. I have a test in the morning.”

Your smile is a little less sad this time, and he waves you off.

The walk to Jimin feels like a walk to doom; it’s silent, tense, and you’re unsure about where you’ll end up at the end of the night.

“Hi.” You breathe awkwardly. You grasp onto your clutch purse like a lifeline.

“Hey.”

“Uh…” You begin, but Jimin just sighs, opening the passenger door, and gesturing for you to get in. “We need to talk.”

Your shoulders deflate. “Alright.”

Even though he said you needed to talk, the car ride is silent, even as you watch yourself being pulled into a parking lot, the man stopping and turning his car off.

“So, are you going to let me speak this time, or are you just going to cut me off again?”

You scowl. “Is that really how you want to start this conversation?”

“No, no, fuck I’m sorry. I’m already fucking it up.” His hands grip the steering wheel, twisting them around nervously.

“I’m not used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“Dating, feelings, that kind of thing. And I thought that if I hurt you, and never had to see you again, that those things would just go away, but they didn’t.”

He slumps back in his seat, casting his gaze out the window before turning his attention towards you.

“When I saw you with him –”

“Namjoon.”

“Yes,” He all but hisses, “With Namjoon, I felt sick to my stomach. Like something was wrong, like he was taking something from me.”

“But I was never yours to begin with.”

“Yeah,” He sighs. “I know, and that’s the issue.”

“You were right about me being an asshole, because I was. I projected all of my weird, little possessive feelings onto you and totally flipped out when I should have just talked to you.”

“But instead I pushed you away, said things I didn’t mean, and you still went with that guy, and I felt horrible.” Jimin hesitantly reaches out a hand – an olive branch of sorts – and waits for you to take it.

He hopes you take it.

You look at him and back down to his hand, before lifting yours and intertwining your fingers.

“What are you trying to tell me, Jimin? Because… because if we do this friends-with-benefits bullshit again, I think it’ll actually kill me.”

“I don’t think I could handle that even if I tried.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that seeing you with the other people that aren't me makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I’d rather have you all to myself like the nasty, greedy bastard I am.”

“Like a boyfriend.”

Jimin finally smiles.

That beautiful, eye closing smile that makes your heart skip a beat too many.

“Yeah, (y/n), like a boyfriend.”

“Does that make me your girlfriend?”

“I would sure hope so.”

You grin as well, happiness painting over your features as you watch him.

“What does this mean for us now?” He leans forward into your space, and this time you don’t move back, just gazing up at him with wide, curious eyes. “This means that you’ll hopefully let me kiss you.”

“Well lucky for you, I’m feeling nice tonight.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, yet connects your lips together. Your eyelids flutter shut.

Euphoria. That’s the only feeling you could describe after feeling the plushness of his mouth after so long. It’s felt like centuries since you’ve touched him, and every nerve in your body lights aflame.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and his hands cup your jaw, tugging you to him over the center console.

“I can’t go that far.” You pant with a chuckle, and he huffs a small smile.

“Backseat?”

“Please don’t tell me you want to have makeup sex in the backseat of your car in the middle of the park.”

“You want to have makeup sex?” His eyes glimmer. It’s your turn to snort. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Then no, we're absolutely not doing that here.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

“Yes ma’am.”

© yoongsriverandme 2025-26

[muqingslover]

[ im back pookies and today I bring the LADS boys with alcohol! disclaimer: This is based purely on my opinion so don't get your panties in a twist. Or do. They're not my panties anyway ]

Sylus holds his alcohol the best out of everyone or anyone really. He will purposely challenge others to a contest knowing full well he will easily drink them under the table.

I believe he'd need some type of special liquor to actually get drunk because his body processes alcohol differently than humans and the usual is not enough.

Drunk Sylus is the most heartwarming thing you'll ever witness. He gets drowsy a few glasses in and sloppy enough that some of his dragon features will pop out. When the alcohol rushes to his head he turns into a mushy mess that wants to hold you like a teddy bear, softly purring against you all happy as long as you're in his arms.

Better pray that it's not summer because he gets soooo damn HOT when he's drunk it's like a very large oven.

As a result of the liquor he speaks a lot slower and quieter, but he sounds so gentle when telling you how much you mean to him, how much he's missed you while waiting all those years and confesses he's afraid you don't want him by your side anymore.

"Am I still your dragon?" His words are laced with apprehensiveness and his eyes resemble puppy dog ones when gazing down at you, hoping with all his might for anything besides a rejection.

+ Bonus: His hangover is only a mild headache when he wakes up and a bit of sluggishness during the day. He might not remember everything he said, but he knows he did say something based on how you act around him.

Rafayel is next. I think he used to drink periodically and actually does enjoy the taste of alcohol, specifically old and sweet wines, so he has a good tolerance built up. On the other hand, he holds back on ingesting heavy quantities nowadays because of how he is when drunk.

Walk with me bc in this blog I preach heavy angst for the fishie.

His tongue will get very loose once he is significantly inebriated, but most definitely not in a fun way— All the ugly feelings, frustrations and sorrows Rafayel keeps bottled up in his chest would come pouring out at once.

That might prompt some old grudges his heart still holds on to over the past the two of you share to come to light in a not so kind manner and cause all sorts of misunderstandings.

Rafayel will definitely regret his words in the morning and desperately try to apologize to you. Please sit down and actually talk.

+ Bonus: His hangover is more similar to "seasickness" than an actual hangover. He throws up even on an empty stomach and just lays on the floor of his bathroom because he has no energy to move at all.

Xavier is a similar case to our neighborhood dragon, but he fits more into a healthy middle category. I think he is rather neutral towards alcohol (not being particularly fond of it nor despising it altogether) and prefers when it's used as aromatic/enhancer for food instead.

He will usually have one glass, always on a full stomach, and then focus on stuffing his cheeks with food for the rest of the night since he claims it "dulls his senses".

H o w e v e r, when the booze hits him it hits him hard. Make sure you two are home because Xavier passes out right then and there and there's absolutely no waking that man up for the next three hours.

Another reason as to why I advise you to do this at home is because he WILL wake up exactly three hours later and the first thing he does is find and grab you regardless of where you are, what you're doing or who you are with.

This is Xavier's second phase of drunkenness: The hazy stage. He functions on impulses alone and all he wants to do is touch you, be it sexually if you're willing to indulge or simply holding you hostage for cuddling until his battery runs out again.

He won't really speak besides one syllable words answers if he reaaaally has to and communicates by acting on what he wants then looking at you for a reaction.

+Bonus: He has no hangover. At all. Man's as good as new the next day after a good nap.

Caleb is a weaker than the one before but still stronger than the next. This man is not a fan of alcohol in general, neither does he like if you drink, especially if done frequently. Not surprisingly the one preaching about how bad it is for your body is him.

If he did drink often though I believe he'd actually have a high tolerance so it's really just a matter of his body not being used to it. He's the type that takes longer to get buzzed but by the time he's one and a half glasses in it's game over.

PATHETIC MAN ALERT ‼️

His drunkenness has three stages:

We start off strong with his extroverted side receiving a big boost and suddenly he's the life of the party. He needs a literal leash because you blink and he's just gone ALNST reference!?. You'll find him outside doing the most random activity you can possibly imagine like finding something to show you (he might have stolen someone's dog without meaning to) or singing while laying down on the grass.

When you firmly tell him to stop and come along we hit pathetic dog stage. He is kneeling in front of your seat while holding you tightly by the waist, face buried into your lap as he asks you to not be mad at him because he hates fighting with you. Not even ten minutes later you'll feel your clothes getting damp from his tears because he feels dejected now that you're "all grown up and don't need him anymore" and how you apparently "hate him".

Finally, his unmatched self-control is the last one to go and, given the right opportunity, he will kiss you until both of you are out of breath and then pass out on top of you.

+Bonus: He does get a hangover, but only for the first few hours of the morning while his body is still waking up. For the rest of the day his muscles just feel really stiff and he's more irritable than usual.

Zayne is the biggest lightweight of all history and should have a sign around his neck that says "Do not give me alcohol". I believe he has a critical view on it— He knows it has both upsides and downsides so, unlike his bestie jk, he will tell you to drink with caution and follow the same advice though he leans more towards avoiding it completely for most the time.

While he will usually measure his words and only act after a certain amount of thought is given this man has absolutely zero control over himself when intoxicated.

He won't appear drunk at all, except for the flushed ears, until you talk to him and realize the filter between his brain and mouth is gone with the wind. You also need to keep Zayne far away from stores otherwise he will come back with six to eight different bags of sweets, plushies and some pet items because he's decided tonight is the night he gets a cat.

After chasing him, that was chasing a cat, around the neighborhood for an hour he will give up and looks so defeated while just sitting there it's both hilarious and endearing.

Please put him to bed and reassure him that all animals are not, in fact, plotting against him nor is he a "naturally bred cat repeller".

+Bonus: He has the biggest hangover known to man. The sound of his own voice makes him feel as if his head is being pounded like a church bell and the mortifying memories, oh yes he remembers every. single. thing, do not help him at all.

[appocalipse]

heyy if ur taking requests could u maybe do like bestfriends steve + reader where steve, eddie, nancy and robin have to pick up reader from a party and she’s like REAL drunk and just idk super clingy w steve and doesn’t wanna not be touching him. maybe eddie, nancy and robin all make fun of him for it but they acc find it rly cute.

thank you for your request! ♥♥♥ | 2.2k words

"Stevie!"

You collide into him suddenly, nearly knocking him back a step or two with the force of your momentum; there's a smile on Steve's face when you look up at him through eyes that are more than a little hazy with inebriation. You're drunk. Probably way past drunk, if the way the world won't seem to hold still is anything to go by, but you don't care. There are other things vying for your attention—like how warm he feels against you, how safe he makes you feel, how pretty he looks from up close...

"Whoa," Steve says as you lean even further into him and loop your arms around his waist in a tight hug. "How much did you have to drink, exactly?"

He doesn't mean it in a mean way, which is why you grin up at him from where you've got your cheek pressed firmly to his chest. You can feel his heart beating under the palm of your hand now, a steady and calming rhythm that soothes something inside of you.

"Dunno," you reply, grinning stupidly when you catch sight of maybe three copies of Eddie Munson standing off to Steve's left; all of them have identical amused looks on their faces. "Might've had, like, a couple..."

Steve sighs deeply, though there's no exasperation or disappointment to be found in his expression when he tilts your face upwards to look you over properly. You just beam dopily at him, because he's so pretty right now you don't know what else to do.

"Dude," Eddie speaks up, drawing Steve's gaze away from you while your own attention goes back to pressing yourself even more snugly into him, "she is totally sloshed."

You frown, shaking your head in fervent disagreement.

"Am not!"

"Sure you aren't, sweetheart," Eddie agrees placidly, but you get the impression he doesn't really mean it.

Before you can point this out, however, the blurry shape of Robin Buckley steps forward. The room is dark with flashing strobe lights and smoky with incense and cigarette smoke, but you'd recognize her voice anywhere.

"Who let you drink this much?" Robin asks as she lifts a hand up to brush some hair back from your forehead.

It's oddly soothing and so you lean into the contact with a happy hum. Robin and the others laugh — but then again, it sounds kinder than mean, the kind of laugh that bubbles up when you find something unexpectedly endearing, and so you don't mind as much as you maybe should.

"Nobody," you mumble as you press your face into the side of Steve's neck and take a deep breath in; his scent is the same as always, earthy and warm with an underlying hint of that stupid spray he likes to use sometimes. "I'm here alone. 'Cause Steve here blew me off for you guys, but that's okay," you say, even though, to be fair, it sort of isn't true — he didn't blow you off.

"Hey," Steve starts, sounding half-indignant and half-apologetic all at once. He's got an arm around your shoulder now, supporting you and keeping you upright, which makes you want to tangle yourself up in him completely. "You didn't tell me you wanted me to come hang out with you tonight!"

You sigh mournfully against his skin, feeling wistful all of a sudden. It's true. You hadn't told him. That was partially due to the fact that you had been trying to prove to yourself that you weren't so desperately and helplessly infatuated with him that you needed his presence constantly, but that plan had obviously backfired on you spectacularly.

"No," you mutter unhappily as Steve moves the two of you towards a nearby couch. "But I missed you. Don't wanna miss you."

Nancy, Robin, and Eddie, who are watching the two of you with expressions of varying degrees of amusement, exchange looks. Steve pretends not to notice, probably because he knows he won't like what they have to say if he hears it, and instead guides you down onto the cushions next to him. "You're drunk."

"You're pretty," you reply without hesitation, even though you're very clearly changing the subject. "It's unfair, y'know?"

You hear Robin snort, followed by a quiet thud like someone's just been slapped on the arm, and you know it's her who laughed, and that it must have been Nancy who'd shut her up. You don't know where Eddie is; you're not even sure when he wandered off, to be honest. You're too focused on Steve and the way his face looks under the colorful flashing lights.

"Oh yeah?" he asks, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely at your comment. His eyes are bright with laughter when you meet his gaze and nod confidently. "How do I get 'unfair', exactly?"

"'S all in the face," you say matter-of-factly, your own fingers trailing down his cheek in an almost absentminded gesture. "Kinda makes it hard to think about anything else sometimes, if I'm being real here. Like, it's not really fair, 'cause then what are we supposed to talk about? Oh, oh—and then there's your hair!"

"My hair?"

Robin wheezes somewhere behind you, which would have made you giggle if you were still paying attention to the people in the room besides Steve, but you're not.

"Mmhmm," you hum, your eyes running over the soft brown locks on top of his head. "Love it. Wanna touch it all the time. Y'see, Steve? You see? This is why it's not fair at all. And, and—" you trail off here for dramatic effect, squinting at him theatrically before leaning closer with your hand cupped to the side of your mouth, as if you're about to share something private. "���the way you make my insides feel? So, so unfair. Totally your fault, buddy."

"Wha-" Steve croaks out, looking alarmed and caught off guard by your drunken confession. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh," you regain your serious tone, frowning at him in a somewhat bemused manner when he continues to gape at you. "Not 'sposed to tell you. S'not the rules."

Eddie barks out a laugh somewhere off to your left, but Steve ignores him. "Rules?"

"Yeah, 's against the rules, dummy," you say, like he should've already known that. "Gotta follow the rules! Duh. Steve."

"Yeah, Steve, duh," Robin pipes up, earning herself a glare from Steve as well as a smirk from Eddie. "Oops, sorry. Please, continue."

"Can I touch your hair? Like, please, 'cause I might die if I don't, 'kay? If that's okay. Gotta test the theory. Just a little bit, though." You can tell by his expression that he wants to laugh, and that he's also mildly worried that you've lost your mind. "Please?"

Robin, Eddie and Nancy have their hands clapped over their mouths to contain their laughter. You're too drunk to notice, but Steve narrows his eyes at them in warning. "Yes," he says. "Just—yeah, go ahead."

With a little noise of excitement, you reach out to card your fingers through his hair. He smells really good — like clean laundry and fresh pine trees — and the feel of his hair in your palm is exactly what you had imagined, though you're loathe to pull your hand away now that you've felt it.

Steve goes unnaturally still as you press your face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, a move he should have expected but didn't, and you sigh happily when the scent of his cologne hits you full force. He's like a living, breathing, cuddly teddy bear, you think, a combination of warmth, softness, and comfort all rolled up in one gorgeous, handsome, unobtainable package.

"You're warm," you mumble, feeling like you could fall asleep right now. "So, so warm. 'S like you've got a space heater in your chest, 'n that's like, so awesome."

He blinks a few times, momentarily speechless as he tries to come to terms with the fact that you are, in fact, drunk enough to be saying whatever the hell comes to your mind. "Uh, thanks?"

"Smell nice too," you murmur, hugging him tighter to you. "Like, wow. Love your hair, like, love love."

His cheeks are burning hot now, his heart beating erratically in his chest when he notices Eddie staring at the two of you with a knowing gleam in his eye. "That's—thank you, but, hey, come on now," Steve says, his voice faltering a little. "Let's get you home, okay?"

"I don't wanna."

"Don't you wanna sleep in your bed?"

You pause, considering his words, and eventually concede that, yes, your bed does sound lovely right about now, so you give him a brief nod in response. "I guess, but can you come too?"

He chokes on air, but manages to play it off by clearing his throat. "What—to your bed? No!"

"Why not?"

Steve shifts a little under your intense, alcohol-addled scrutiny; he feels strangely guilty, as though he's letting you down by saying no. "Because you're drunk?" he says, feeling flustered and unreasonably nervous all of a sudden.

You scrunch up your face in a pout. "Oh, that's a dumb reason."

Steve chuckles and you sigh happily again, because you love his laugh and everything else about him, and he seems to realize this, given the way his expression softens. "Come on, you drunkard. Let's go home," he says gently, tugging on your arm in an attempt to get you to stand.

You resist at first, shaking your head stubbornly as you hold onto him. "Can't. My legs don't work anymore. They're all wobbly."

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, huffs out a soft laugh, and you can't help but grin up at him. He's so pretty that, like, how is that even allowed? How can you be around him and not spontaneously combust or something?

"Well, what if I carried you?"

"Like a princess?"

Steve looks at you with an expression you can't decipher — it's halfway between incredulous and endeared, and it makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.

"How romantic," Nancy observes.

"So long as she doesn't throw up on him," Eddie adds, nodding sagely in agreement.

"Oh, I hope she does," Robin says, with a devious smile, "he'd deserve it for being such a coward."

"I'm...right here, guys, and I can still hear you." Steve finally says, throwing them a scathing look that only makes them laugh. "If you're not going to be helpful, you can wait in the car."

"As if," Eddie counters.

Steve opens his mouth to tell him where exactly he can stick his opinions, when you grab the front of his shirt and drag him closer.

"Steve," you say, the smile falling from your face as a sudden thought occurs to you. "Are you mad at me? Because I can go home by myself. That's okay."

"Hey, no," he replies softly, "I'm not mad at you, sweetheart. Not ever."

"'Sweetheart'? Really?" Eddie mutters to Nancy, who elbows him in the ribs when he doesn't lower his voice in time. "Ow, okay, okay—just saying. Don't want them to keep dancing around each other forever, is all."

"I'm not dancing," you tell him, completely unaware of Eddie's snickering, "I don't have any shoes on, Eddie. Wouldn't be able to dance without shoes on. Silly."

"My bad," Eddie says, his lips twitching with badly concealed laughter, "forgive me."

Steve scowls at him before turning his attention back to you, his face so close to yours that you can momentarily feel the tickle of his breath against your skin. "Okay, come on," he says, "up we go."

And then, in one swift movement, he slides his arm under your knees and scoops you up into his arms. You let out a squeak of surprise and automatically wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

"Oh, oh, oh," you say excitedly, "you really are gonna carry me."

"Told you so." Steve adjusts his grip on you and makes his way towards the exit. "Are you good? Am I hurting you?"

You shake your head slowly, grinning as you stare at him from a whole new angle. "No," you tell him, feeling much more awake than you were moments before. "This is...this is like, actually kinda cool."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you repeat, smiling shyly back at him. "Feel like a real life Cinderella now. Whoa, you're, like, super strong."

"Yeah, Stevie, you're 'super strong.'" Eddie teases, waggling his eyebrows when Steve sends him a quick glare. "Aw, don't look at me like that. It's cute. The two of you."

Nancy doesn't tease like Robin and Eddie do. She walks behind Steve, making sure to stay a couple steps behind to give the two of you some privacy. Even so, when you look over your shoulder to make sure nobody's listening, she gives you a wink and a small thumbs-up that makes you smile.

The parking lot is filled with teenagers all wandering aimlessly in groups, so it takes Steve a while to navigate his way through the crowd. By the time he finds the spot where he parked his BMW, you've grown drowsy enough to rest your head on his shoulder.

Eddie immediately pops open the door to the backseat, slapping it a few times as he looks over at Steve and grins. "Hurry it up, lover boy," he drawls out, "she looks half-asleep already."

"She's fine," Steve shoots back, frowning in annoyance when Eddie and Robin both pretend to yawn exaggeratedly, "shut up. I hate you guys."

[luveline]

Hi Jade!! I love your writing so much! you wrote a few fics of postprison!reid with kinda shy!reader like the one where she faints and I loved that dynamic and that Reid, do you think you could write some more? pls pls pls <3333333

cw non-consensual drug use /reader is spiked 

Spencer is quite gorgeous. He has a great smile, soft and a little shy without teeth, exuberantly bright like a commercial with teeth. He’s smiling like he can read your mind now, fishing for your hand, and taking it into both of his. Your pinky in one hand and your index the other, he wriggles your hand back and forth and laughs softly. “You don’t handle inebriation well.” 

“What?” you ask, startled. You can’t believe he’s touching you like this, casual, like he’s your boyfriend. Your hot boyfriend.

“You think I’m hot?” 

You squint at him. “What?” you ask. 

He covers your hand gently with both of his. “Nevermind. Do you want something to eat now?” 

“No.” You’ll throw up. Chunks, probably, your breakfast. And it wasn’t even a healthy breakfast. It was waffles and whipped cream and then a donut on the way to the office, Spencer will be able to tell, he’s too smart, he’s too everything. 

“I’m not that smart,” he says kindly. 

That’s a straight up lie. 

He laughs heartily, at odds with his quiet talking, and you’re so confused because it’s like he’s reading your mind? Can he read your mind? There’s so much stuff about yourself you don’t want him to know, your chest hurts thinking about it, you don’t want to tell him anything—

“I think I’ll go find you a hot chocolate,” Spencer says, the sleeve of his shirt falling down unbuttoned to his wrist as he stands. He pushes it back up. He is surprisingly underdressed today and you’ve no idea why. “Does that sound nice?” 

“I don’t think you should leave.” 

“I don’t want you to tell me stuff you don’t want to tell me,” he says. 

“But if you leave I’ll be by myself.” You sound strange to your ears. Crackly, like a garden fire.

Spencer perches himself on the hospital bed next to you. You’re sitting cross-cross on the tight white and blue sheets, waiting for something? Something was supposed to happen, you know that. A doctor was going to take your blood. You look down at the crook of your elbow to find they already have, a cotton pad medical-taped to the skin. 

“I’m not going anywhere if you don’t want me to go,” he says, taking your arm into his hands with the same care he’d shown your fingers. He lifts the corner of the tape and begins to pull it away from the direction it had been stuck in, stretching it, and removing it from you without any pain. 

“Where did you learn that?” you ask. 

Spencer holds your arm in his hand now the cotton ball is done. “Learn what?” 

You’re not interested in asking him again. Weirdly, your throat feels dry, but you won’t tell him because he’ll offer hot chocolate again and you don’t want him to go. 

“Hey,” he says, “not going anywhere until it wears off. Not if you need me.” 

How does he always know what to say? 

“You know, why don’t you get into bed and lay down for a little bit? You must be tired, sitting up. It’s so late.” His voice is a sheet of silk. 

“I thought we were going home?” you ask. 

“We can’t, bub,” —that’s a new one— “not for now. But we will tonight, I promise.” 

“Why not now?” 

He smiles sadly. “‘Cos you’re coming down, Y/N.” 

You frown. “Oh.” 

“I know.” Spencer wraps and arm around your back. “But you’re not alone.” He ducks in until your faces are almost touching. “You know? It’ll go away soon.” 

You don’t know why you say it, but you say, “You’re so nice to me. Even when you’re scary.” 

“Am I scary?” he murmurs. 

You look at him long and hard, feeling the warm rub of his thumb as he smooths a short line into your back. Spencer is intimidating, maybe, because you hadn’t known him when he got out of prison, and he's pretty like a model, or a movie star. But he isn’t scary. That’s not the right word. 

“No,” you say. “I guess not.” You pause. “I feel weird.” 

He doesn’t laugh like you, just hugs you tighter. “It’ll get better.” 

[allyricas]

one of my favorite scenarios is when person a gets wasted and starts spilling secrets about how much they loooove and want person b

and its gotta be like... steve would usually keep his feelings pretty bottled up tight with a general air of aloof bitchiness. make em think you don't care right? but he is so head over heels for eddie that when he lets loose and gets too inebriated, he starts babbling all sorts of delicious things

eddie you're so pretty bambi it's not fair ugh i've got such a big, dumb crush on you pretty boy and ugh i just can't get you out of my mind i fucking dream about you like how am i having wet dreams as a full blown adult and i love your hands and your rings and your lips even love the nerdy shit you say wanna smell you, you always smell so good how do you do that? can i touch your hair?

and he'd be handsy and snuggly with no filter, so every mushy, horny thought that pops into his head, he says with no shame.

and eddie, who is usually pretty un-fucking-flappable, is bright red. he's sputtering and blushing, but enjoying every single minute of steve's drunken affection even if all of his friends are barely holding it together. robin would be literally laughing herself silly but trying to hide it.

steve would be so mortified the next morning as he remembers every single moment.

steve: robbie, i sniffed him. repeatedly. robin: you called him bambi. steve: it's his big, sexy doe eyes- oh my god i told him i have wet dreams about him. take me out and kill me old yeller style, i cannot go on. eddie, literally giddy with joy: you guys know i'm in here right? steve: oh my god, i will never emotionally recover from this. eddie: babe, i have a big, dumb crush on you too. the biggest actually. also, you were very, very cute last night. steve: i am always cute thank you very much. robin: oh god you two are going to be unbearable.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Gentle Touch

Installment 1 of The Catlike Tendencies of Matthew Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Matt doesn't know how to ask for physical affection.

warnings: none that I can think of!

a/n: long story short this is inspired by my wife’s orange cat. He loves her but only tolerates me most of the time, unless I’m the only one home when he wants attention. However, he doesn’t really know how to cuddle with me since we don’t do it often so he just awkwardly lurks wherever I am until I invite him closer. It happened earlier and I thought it was hilariously Matt-coded so I wrote this. (It’s set in the Of Oak and Ivy verse because I love them, but you don’t need to read that story for this)

w/c: 2.3k

You were absolutely enthralled in the story Foggy was telling when the noise caught you off guard. A small puff of air, sounding almost like a voiceless sigh. Glancing toward Matt who was the closest to you, one look at his stony expression told you it had come from him. He was clearly irritated, despite his face being blank. You’d known him for long enough that you could tell when something was on his mind. 

Maybe he’d heard this story too many times? You leaned more heavily into his arm, which was parallel to yours. 

Turning your attention back to Foggy, you flinched with a laugh as he gestured wildly when concluding his story, spraying beer at you from his mostly full bottle. 

“Geez, Fog. Reaching your limit already?” Matt smirked, his icy exterior fading away as you giggled beside him. 

“He is, he’s all flushed. This is just like that party at the Beta house sophomore year.” You shook your head, looking at Karen with an exasperated expression. “Have they told you the possum story?” 

Smiling gleefully, Karen shook her head. “The possum story?” 

Both Matt and Foggy groaned, protesting and blushing furiously, but Karen was adamant. And who were you to not indulge her?

“In the fall of our second year at Columbia, Matt and Foggy got absolutely plastered on some disgusting concoction of cheap alcohol and Hawaiian Punch,” You began, rolling your eyes as Foggy gagged across from you. 

“God, even the thought of it—“ The blond mime-retched. 

“Yah the smell of Hawaiian Punch still makes me nauseous.” Matt shuddered next to you. 

Karen stifled a giggle as you continued to illustrate just how inebriated you’d found them when you’d come to pick them up. “I was studying and had sat the party out, but offered to drive them home when Fog called me screaming at someone to chug alcohol. I figured they’d both be in no shape to get home.”

“You were correct.” Foggy nodded. 

“I don’t remember anything from that night, but I assume I was the one chugging.” Matt grimaced, laughing sheepishly. 

“So I drove over to the house, somehow got ahold of Matt and managed to convince him to herd Foggy and himself into my car. When they get there, they’re holding this bundle, right? I figured it was dirty clothes or something. But as we were driving home the clothes start hissing.”

“Oh, NO!” Karen cackled, propping herself up on her elbows as she listened to the story. 

“Oh yes. Naturally, I ask Fog what he’s holding and he says ‘my dog’.” 

“We didn’t have a dog,” Matt clarified, looking incredibly guilty. 

“No you did not.” You squeezed his arm, hoping he could hear in your voice that you had no resentment over the incident. “Foggy unwraps the thing a bit and introduces it as ‘Spot’. But instead of a dog,”

“It’s a possum.” Karen finishes for you, nearly in stitches over her coworkers’ mortified faces. 

“An angry one at that. I have no idea where it came from or how they managed to catch it, but there it was.” You shook your head, still amazed at their ability to wrangle the creature while piss-drunk. 

“What happened to it?” Karen asked, and the men erupted. 

“That’s classified.” Foggy stated firmly, lips pressed together. 

“A story for another time,” Matt rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“Don’t tell me you killed it!” Karen gasped, whirling to look at the out of them sternly. 

“Of course not! No possums were harmed in the making of this story, just mildly inconvenienced.” You assured her. “They’re just clamming up because they can’t remember whose fault it was that it got loose in the science hall.”

Trailing off into a fit of laughter, Karen was quick to follow you as the two men started arguing, pointing fingers. Sitting back and enjoying the show, you shot Karen knowing glances as Matt and Foggy fought, no real heat behind their words. 

You’d had so much fun that night, reliving one of the funniest moments of your college years, that you’d completely forgotten about the aggravated sound. Until about one month after, when you were sitting next to Matt on a bench in the courthouse. 

The case he and Foggy had been working on was tedious and full of metaphorical landmines that threatened to ruin any shot your client had at escaping her abusive husband. The entire firm had been on edge, struggling to keep everything in order. Given your lack of steady employment at the moment, you’d been helping out wherever you could, and had been working this case from day one, right alongside Matt. Which is how you’d ended up beside him rather than Foggy. 

The blond had flown out of town a few days before to attend an extended family reunion, leaving the rest of you to man the fort, so to speak. Usually, that wouldn’t be an issue, but Matt had been increasingly temperamental leading up to the ex parte hearing. His normal reserved demeanor had rapidly been replaced by a moody, antagonistic version of him–driving poor Karen to her wit’s end. 

After Matt had incited a screaming match over a spilled cup of coffee, you’d told her to take her lunch early, giving her a couple hours where she didn’t need to walk on eggshells. The plan seemed to be working so far, Matt responding with less hostility to your persistent support rather than Karen’s eager suggestions for an aggressive approach. Something about this case had rubbed Matt the wrong way. His invisible hackles were standing on end, posture almost bristling as he sat beside you, twisting a white-knuckled fist around his cane. And, though you understood why Karen was pushing for another solution, you agreed with Matt that this needed to be handled quickly and quietly. 

Scowling at the floor, Matt’s joints rolled beneath the delicate skin of his hands. His jaw was clenched, shoulders curled inward, as if he expected the judge to request a fist fight to grant the protection order. Christ, that could not be comfortable.

Carefully, slow enough to not spook him when he was in this state, you slid the pads of your fingers over the back of his hand. Prying his firm grip off the handle of his cane, you cradled his massive, calloused hand in your lap. He visibly relaxed at the touch, twisting to face you as you traced gentle patterns over his skin, careful to avoid the line of freshly healed cuts on his knuckles. Your curiosity would have to wait for now. There was no way he was in the mood to explain those.

A breathy rumble sounded in his throat, akin to a sigh but less obvious. The same noise he’d made all those days ago at Josie’s–the quiet indication that something wasn’t right. 

Bottom lip jutting out in sympathy, you squeezed his fingers with your own. “It’ll be ok, Matty.” 

He swallowed roughly, hazel eyes darting around behind his red lenses. You could practically see the thoughts forming in his mind before he buried them, the stress forcing him back into bad habits. Sweeping your fingers over his wrist, you studied him, satisfaction thrumming in your chest when his breath hitched. “Hey, talk to me, trouble. What are you thinking?”

“It’s not going to go well.” His voice was pitched low, angry, but there was a brief undercurrent of fear within it. 

“We don’t know that.” You chastised lightly, knowing this pessimistic streak was a coping mechanism and not confirmation he’d become a nihilist. 

“I can feel it. Can’t you feel it? It’s like every officer is laughing at us. We’ve already lost.” Watching Matt, the perpetual optimist, crumble at the thought of things not going the way you’d planned nearly broke your heart. 

“Oh trouble, don’t say that.” Threading your fingers with his, you knocked your knees together. “It’ll be ok. Even if the judge doesn’t grant the order today, we won’t stop trying, right?”

“No but she needs legal protection now. Truthfully, she needs an armed guard.” Matt spoke bitterly.

“We can get her temporary protection.” You suggested.

“They’d never grant that for a simple DV case. Besides, those are his coworkers. Do you really trust them to keep her safe from him?” Matt scoffed, raising a brow at you. 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you jabbed your pinky into the flesh of his palm. “I wasn’t suggesting we go to the police, Matthew. You and I both know how little good that would do.”

Deflating as he realized you weren’t being as naive as he suspected, Matt frowned. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Not everyone knows the flaws in the system.” You reassured him. “But I do. To some extent, at least.”

He hummed in agreement, but said nothing. 

“What’s really bothering you?” At your insistent question, Matt’s face flashed with rage, his spine straightening as he tried to pull out of your grasp, but you held fast. “Don’t you dare, trouble. Please, talk to me. It’s eating you away, I can’t sit here and let that happen.” 

Sighing harshly, Matt ran a hand over his face. “I just..this case feels different. I don’t know why. But if we can’t help her…”

“All we can do is try our best.” You reminded him. 

He let out a single humorless laugh. “I suppose that’s true.” 

When you let his hand drop, he made that pitiful, choked noise again. 

“What?” You asked, slightly worried. 

“Nothing. Just tired.” He lied, wrapping his hand back around the handle of his cane.

It was only once you were truly together that you realized what that specific sound was meant to signify. 

Since you’d officially started dating, or rather labeling whatever you two had as a relationship instead of dancing around each other, that stupid noise had cemented itself in your life. It seemed like Matt was making it every damn day and it was driving you up a wall. 

Not because Matt wasn’t entitled to his feelings or to expressing said feelings. But because your brain registered that the sound had a specific meaning, and you could not for the life of you translate it from a mere Matt-ism into a language you actually understood. Every little quirk and charm about Matt inherently made sense to you, they always had. Yet this little growling exhale seemed out of your reach. Not to mention, anytime you tried to ask him what was up, he shut down faster than a computer chip dunked in pool water.

Sitting on his couch as he typed on his laptop, he snarled out that sound, eyes darting towards you and away before you could blink. Brows furrowing, you peered at him over the top edge of your book. A muscle in his cheek twitched, a blaring omen that he was holding himself back from saying something. 

“You ok?” You asked, nose scrunching as Matt brushed off your concern. 

“Yep. Hungry.” He grumbled. 

One word answers. Great start. Really breaking down his walls there, champ. 

“Oh, gotcha. I’ll order something. Have a taste for anything in particular?” Setting your book across your thighs, you opened up a delivery app on your phone. 

“No.” 

“Okay...” You drawled, stifling an eye roll at his grouchiness. “How about that Lebanese place we liked?” 

Receiving nothing but a thumbs up in response, you submit an order before Matt reached another stage of hangriness. 

Once Matt had eaten half of his shawarma, he was more agreeable. Smiling and chuckling sweetly as you read him cheesy snippets of your romance novel. Crawling across the couch until you were seated beside him, you stretched over his lap to snatch a piece of pita bread for your plate of hummus. Matt blew out a breath, tickling your ear as he grunted. Now that you were close, you could hear the shrill, whimpering undertone. Hidden, nearly silent, as if the growl was to compensate for the whine, to conceal it. 

Craning your neck towards him, you planted your free hand on your hip. 

“Alright. Out with it.” 

“Out with what?” Matt gave his best ‘befuddled’ impression, but you saw past his feigned innocence. 

Snorting, you prodded his firm chest. As your finger connected with his solid pec, he whimpered again, this time almost moaning. Something clicked. 

“Matthew Michael Murdock,” You gasped. “You are not making that sound instead of asking to cuddle.” 

Blushing furiously, Matt dipped his head, ashamed–though he made no attempt to deny the allegation.

Laughing incredulously, you tossed your plate aside and settled into Matt’s lap, threading a hand into his hair. “You are a ridiculous man.”

Matt rumbled happily, leaning into the touch until his head landed against your chest. Clutching his face between your palms, you trailed soft touches over his cheeks, around his ears–scratching tenderly down his neck when he practically melted beneath your fingertips.

“You could’ve told me that’s what you wanted, all this time…” Shaking your head, you planted a kiss atop his thick hair. “Why suffer in silence?”

“Didn’t want to force you. It’s been different. Since..everything.” 

Snuggling in close, you maneuvered his chin with two fingers, kissing him deeply. His stubble brushed over your skin roughly, making you smile. “You can always always ask, trouble. No need to be a martyr with me.”

“Sorry,” Matt murmured against your lips, chasing your mouth with a mournful noise as you pulled away. 

“Don’t be sorry. Now come here.” Tugging him on top of you, you laughed brightly as he squirmed over you, finally relaxed when his face was tucked against your neck. “That’s it. Better?” 

“Much better.” He whispered, going limp under your touch as your fingers stroked up his back.

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @shouldbestudying41

[stellamarielu]

I would love if you could write something about drunk Declan coming home all horned up 🙂‍↕️ or meeting Declan in a pub on St Patrick’s day and there’s shameless flirting/ dirty mouth on this man 🍀

pls and ty 🫶🏻

you had me at drunk horny declan!!!! i’m going bezerk rn, like fully screaming a praise of hallelujah from the mountaintops.

quick smutty drabble about horny declan and his dirty mouth after one too many drinks

Declan had been out with rupert and freddie all night celebrating, and you didn’t mind one bit— you liked it when he cut loose from work and had a little fun with his friends. but tonight he’d had more than just a little fun.

You were cuddled in bed, your nose deep in a book when you heard the front door open. The rustling in the kitchen followed by heavy footsteps up the stairs revealed Declan leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom, all disheveled with a love-drunk smile plastered across his face.

“There she is.” His voice held a more-than-tipsy tone as he admired you from across the room.

“Here I am.” You giggled as you closed your book setting it down on the bedside table.

Declan hastily tore his already loosened tie from his neck and shed his jacket, letting it fall on the floor as he waltzed over to the bed. He climbed up next to you, crawling over and pulling you in for a sloppy, impassioned kiss.

“Been thinkin’ bout you all night.” He let his lips wander to your jaw, sucking a spot right underneath your ear— something he knew drove you wild. A sigh fell from your lips causing him to smile in satisfaction.

“Woah there big guy,” You were using all of your strength to create space between the two of you, pushing gently on his chest.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

You could smell the whiskey on his breath and hear the way his words stumbled into each other as they left his lips.

You knew drunk Declan when you saw him, and you were also well aware that if he didn't have a glass of water and a full night of sleep he would spend the following day in complete agony.

“Since when does that matter. You keepin’ tabs on me?” He sat back on his heels, a goofy smile playing on his lips as he waited for your response.

“No I just-“

“My sweet girl worried about takin’ advantage of me?” His smirk grew ten times wider as he watched you roll your eyes at his words.

“You need sleep Declan. And a shower, you smell like a distillery.”

“I’ll shower… just let me have a little fun first.” he was grabbing at your thighs and pulling them apart, moving his body between your legs.

You were writhing in his touch, attempting to push him away as his hands pulled at your pajama shorts. You were trying your best to put on a stern face, but you couldn't keep a soft chuckle from your lips at the feeling of his mustache against your stomach as he placed long sloppy kisses on your skin.

“C’mon love, need ya so bad.” His voice was gravely, full of infatuation and alcohol fueled lust.

You gave in, acting in compliance as you let your fingers lace through his curls while he pulled your shorts and panties down your legs.

“Been thinkin’ bout this perfect little cunt all night.” His voice was muffled by the flesh of your thighs as he pressed his face against them, kissing and licking your skin in his inebriated haze.

“Just let me have it baby then I’ll shower and go to bed. Swear, I’ll do whatever ya want, just wanna taste ya first.”

Hearing his words reminded you that Declan had two habits that emerged without fail every time he was drunk.

The first was an unrestrained pattern of affection. He would be all over you. It didn't matter when or where, he just wanted to be near you— touching you. After he got a few drinks in his system Declan became completely and utterly obsessed, shoving the rest of the world away to keep all your love for himself.

And second, he wouldn't shut the fuck up. The incoherent mumbles and run-on sentences that would leave Declan's whiskey-soaked mouth were damn near impressive. He would talk about everything and nothing at the same time, never letting you get a single word in.

So in moments like this; when the two drunken traits came out to play at the same time, you were always amused and a bit turned on. Being the target of his affectionate rambles was a weakness of yours and you would surrender to him every single time.

“Baby…” The word was partially a warning but held the cadence of a beg as you dug your fingertips further into his hair.

“Just wanna make you feel good, s'all I want. All I’ve thought about all goddamn day.” His breath landed right on your core as he pushed his tongue flat against your center, licking a thoughtless stripe through your folds.

You moaned at the sudden contact, your head falling back on your pillow as little hums of approval left your lips with each messy kiss he placed on your clit.

“That’s it sweetheart, just relax.” His praise was laced with feral desire as his mouth worked between your legs. He was so caught up in it— your pleasure. Getting off on the little whimpers bubbling up out of your throat and your hips softly bucking against his face.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” His voice came through in a slur as he sucked on your clit.

You peered down at Declan watching as your hands held onto his dark curls, his head buried between your thighs. It was impossible to miss the movement of his body as his hips bucked into the mattress.

He was grinding against the bed, using the friction to aid in his own release. The sight of it had the pressure in your body pounding— fighting to snap.

“Christ I just love you so much.” His mumble held an insatiable amount of devotion, as did the way his lips and tongue worked you toward your release.

“Wanna stay right ‘ere all night.”

Between filthy words and the sloppy wet sounds of Declan’s mouth against you, his hands gripped harder at your thighs pulling them further apart and giving him even more access to your body.

“Declan” It slipped past your lips in a delicate whisper and he couldn’t help the way his hips rutted against the sheets at the sound of his name, so angelic and perfect on your lips.

“Say it again.” He demanded, hips thrusting into the bed and tongue pushing at your entrance.

You obliged, his name tumbling from your mouth yet again, sending him into a state of pure primal instinct.

In a mess of dirty, muddled, carnal inclination, Declan let his mouth bring you to your release. A deep groan escaping him as felt your core soften and your back arch off the bed. He wanted to do it again and again. He didn't even let up as you came down from your high, your hands pulling at his hair and his name repeatedly whispered from your mouth in surrender.

"One more? Please sweetheart" His voice held a hint of laziness but his movements persisted, messy and desperate.

You sighed in defeat as you let the stubborn irishman below you have his way. After all who were you to deny him what he wanted when he asked so politely?

[yesimwriting]

Armand: you are cheating

Louis: HOW ? WE DONT HAVE SEX I TOLD YOU

Armand: YOU SLEEP IN THE SAME BED, HAVE EACHOTHER AS EMERGENCY CONTACTS, YOU PRATICALY MANHANDLE HER AND YOU DRUNK KISSES AT THAT PARTY-

Louis:IT WAS JUST A PECK AND IT WAS ONE TIME

i love how messy this is, i am going to make it messier <3

----

Even now, everything remains fully focused on you.

Louis's sitting near the edge of the bed you're passed out in, his own inebriation apparent in the way that he tugs at the comforter. Armand supposes that Louis, in his own way, is trying to tuck you in and failing miserably. Armand might have thought to pity you if your positioning mattered. You've already given into unconsciousness, your thoughts too open and empty for you to be awake.

Armand straightens, his shoulder pulling itself away from the guest room's door frame. Louis grins, turning his head as he tries to look at Armand without moving from his spot on the bed, "Hi."

The coolness of Armand's demeanor isn't enough to impact Louis's easy mood. "Did we wake you? I told her to be--be quiet, but she remembered we had cereal, and for whatever reason--that was really exciting." The story is delivered through laughter.

Armand doesn't ease. "Something woke me." When all Louis does is blink at him, Armand continues, "I have allowed this friendship--this girl--into our home, into our lives, because you swore that it was platonic."

Louis's eyebrows draw together, his head tilting as the accusation settles. "It is." The defense is much flatter than it would be if he was sober.

"Really? With the way that you're always holding onto her when you're out drinking--"

"She goes out in heels." Another argument that lacks the urging structure a more sober version of Louis would have tried to emphasis. "I hold onto her because what am I supposed to do if she trips and--and scrapes a knee?" This is the closest he's come to making a genuine point. "And you've seen how she gets--always trying to run off without a single thought or warning."

Armand steps further into the room. "Really? Is that why you kissed her? Because you were worried she was going to run away?"

Louis's entire expression morphs into one of total confusion. "What?" His uncertainty is so sharp, so all consuming, he doesn't even think to defend you, to try to redirect all thoughts of potential jealousy away from you the way he usually does. "I did not kiss her--"

"Then why did I have to look into her thoughts to see the two of you at that party--"

Scoffing with a cavalierness that doesn't suit the accusation, Louis interrupts him, "Why are you looking into her thoughts at all?"

The question digs at Armand more than it should. He's quick to replace uncertainty with the anger he's entitled to. "That's all you have to say?"

"Yes, because it wasn't a kiss--it was--it was nothing. We laughed about it so hard people started looking at us."

Armand scoffs as he begins to pace across the room. "Well, as long as you say it was nothing, and as long as the two of you found some amusement in your betrayal!"

Louis frowns at the elevation of Armand's voice, his arm stretching towards you awkwardly as he tries to cover the ear you haven't pressed against a pillow with the palm of his hand. He's too out of it to do it properly, the side of his palm finding your temple instead of your ear, his fingertips touching your eyelid in a way that doesn't seem comfortable. You shift in your sleep slightly, eyebrows pulling together in discomfort.

"There was no betrayal!" The reaction is expected and still terribly boring. "If what you think happened actually happened, do you think I would have brought her back here?"

Armand stalls, his attention shifting onto you. Sleep has lulled you back into complicity, but something about your positioning still seems too rigid. Maybe if you were awake...if you were also telling him how out of context his interpretation of tonight's events were, it'd mean something more to him.

"I don't know," the response is harsh, poignant in its sarcasm. With no warning, Armand turns towards the bed. One of your arms is still above the comforter. He reaches for your wrist, the warmth of your skin nearly scalding as his fingers settle into place. "Maybe we should wake the darling thing and ask her."

Louis pulls his hand away from the side of your head in favor of grabbing Armand's arm. "Don't." His touch is firm, leaving no room for argument. "I love you, and if that's not enough for you to believe me, at least believe that she isn't the type of person to do what you're implying." Armand's deeply aware of your morality. You'd have very little interest in participating in infidelity. "You can be mad all you want, you can--you can take it out on me if you have to, but you don't touch her."

Armand's hold on you tightens. Louis can run off with you and do whatever he pleases, but when he so much as dares to touch your oh so delicate wrist, he's regarded as a monster. "You can kiss the beloved saint, but I so much as place a single hand on her wrist, and it's enough to ruin her?"

Louis narrows his eyes at the wording, his expression morphing into something much too pensive. Armand presses his lips together in an attempt at dismissing the unease burrowing itself beneath his skin.

Louis straightens slightly, something overwhelmingly knowing etching itself into his features. "Does she not regard you kindly enough?" The words are delivered with a sympathy so synthetic and mocking, Armand is briefly left incapable of reaction. "Is that what this is about?"

The heat of your skin, the weight of Louis's stare. Armand cannot escape it. He forces himself to release you, his fingers prying themselves away from you before he pulls his arm away from Louis. He steps back, distance returning his clarity.

"This is about loyalty!" The silence that follow only amplifies his lingering irritation. "I have no interest in her existence beyond your relationship with her!"

"Really?" The smugness in Louis's voice is intolerable, and Armand cannot give into his anger without unintentionally validating Louis's accusation. "So you don't care about what she thinks of you?"

"She is insignificant," he begins slowly, forcing himself to feel the weight of his words, "Her only relevance comes from you, and you alone." His gaze flits away from Louis and onto you. The realization that you've slept through this entire ordeal is more grating than it should be. "The nature of her love for you is extremely apparent in her thoughts." He allows his focus to shift towards the floor. "That is a fortunate thing."

Armand turns, moving towards the bedroom's door.

----

Daylight is just beginning to find its hold, the warmth of it tinging the sky an orangey pink. He doesn't have many hours left before he's forced to find his own darkness.

Louis has likely already found sleep, either in the bed you're resting in or his own. Though this solitude is one that invites unnecessary thought, there's a tranquility to the silence he can't bring himself to mind.

This sense of serenity is stolen from him by the sound of footsteps. Armand sighs. Of course you'd find him here, too.

You appear with little warning, drowsiness's weight heavy against your features as you look at him. "Hi," the greeting is little more than a rasp.

He turns his head slightly, doing all he can to avoid your stare. "It's early for you to be awake," he begins flatly, "Go back to bed."

You take in a deep breath before exhaling tiredly, as if to tell him that you'd love nothing more than to be able to go back to bed. "I was--I was gonna get some water."

He watches you for a moment, taking in the stiffness of your posture and the way that your arms remain crossed in front of your chest. You're likely still drunk.

Armand lets out another sigh before moving to stand. The sooner your needs are met, the sooner you can pass out in some other room and he can go back to pretending that you don't exist. "Sit." Instead of moving towards the couch, you blink at him. "You look like you're going to fall asleep while standing, sit."

Instead of waiting to see if you'll listen to instruction, he turns towards the kitchen. He finds a glass and then opens the refrigerator to retrieve the filtered water. Armand fills the cup before returning to the living room.

You're waiting on the couch, head already angled towards him. He sits down, making a point of keeping more distance between the two of you than usual. He turns enough to face you.

At some point in the night, you changed out of the outfit you wore to the party and into an oversized shirt and pajama shorts. However, remnants of the night you've had are still clinging to you. Mascara residue is smudged beneath your eyes and glittery product is smeared across your cheeks. And--and the skin surrounding your lips are stained a reddish-pink.

What could have done that to your lipstick? Was it the drinking? Or sleep? Or perhaps Louis? Or was it something less chaste? Armand dismisses the thought, extending his arm towards you. "Here."

You take the glass, taking a few sips of water before moving to rest your chin against your elbow. "You're in a mood."

You're staring at him with an openness that makes him wonder if his physical form is still capable of nausea. "I haven't fed yet."

"Hm," you mumble curiously before straightening. You take another drink of water before turning over your wrist with a level of focus the action doesn't warrant. "I'd offer you some, but my blood's probably too insignificant to be filling."

Armand stills. You heard his response. Were you conscious enough to hear Louis's accusation?

When he doesn't respond, you let out a soft laugh. "Relax, you've said worse to my face."

At least you're not joking about him harboring a secret fondness for you. "Cruelty's wasted when I can't see your wide eyed reaction to it."

You roll your eyes at the comment. "My, aren't we sadistic?"

"Only to those that invoke a certain feeling in me." He gives the sentiment a moment to stand on its own, allowing a brief silence to stretch over the two of you. Then, once he's sure the words have impacted you sufficiently, he continues, "Like those that eavesdrop."

You gasp in genuine offense. "I did not eavesdrop. I slept through too much of it for it to mean anything."

"Of course you did," he mumbles, his posture relaxing as he moves to rest an arm against the back of the couch. "You sleep too thoroughly, you have no sense of self preservation."

The response makes you frown, but there's a pensive quality to your expression that prevents the look from feeling overly sad. "Seriously. Why are you upset?"

Your ability to accurately make assumptions about him has to be one of the most grating things about knowing you. "I'm not."

"Are you not getting enough attention?" He turns his head towards you, glaring in a way that warns you against continuing. "I didn't mean it in a weird way. Sometimes when I'm upset for no reason, it's a no-attention thing."

He scoffs. "I've noticed."

Your nose wrinkles at the implication. "No, you haven't."

The argument lacks any real significance, and yet he can't help but continue it, "Yes, I have."

"No, you haven't."

"Fine," he states, straightening slightly before continuing, "Then let's talk about what I have noticed." You tense at the change in his demeanor, eyebrows drawing together sharply, but you're not certain enough about the shift to do much beyond that. "You and my companion, together at your party."

Your tilt your head curiously, staring at him with a wide eyed innocence that makes his chest feel hollow. "You--you knew about the party. We invited you, and even though you didn't want to go out, you still made us drinks."

"Yes, and none of that implied that I'd allow you to kiss my companion."

Instead of appropriately begging for forgiveness and mumbling half thought-out explanations, you give him a look that indicates more concern for his mental well being than for your physical safety. "That's why you're upset?" You press your lips together in a way that feels like an attempt at suppressing a laugh. "No, it wasn't like that at all. I was very drunk--"

"That seems to be the excuse of the evening."

The reaction seems to hurt you, the set of your mouth pulling itself into what almost feels like a pout. "It--it lasted like two seconds, and we laughed about it for so long, the group of guys next to us started looking at us weird." When Armand doesn't ease, you continue, "I would have kissed anyone."

Armand angles his head to one side in mock contemplation, "And yet it wasn't anyone, it was Louis."

You let out a small sigh, the sound low and tired. "But it could've been anyone. It could've just as easily been you."

The thought washes over him with the overwhelming suddenness of a rogue wave. He recovers quickly, cautiously raising an eyebrow at your phrasing.

"Not--" You cut yourself off, shaking your head in a silent dismissal of his reaction. "Not in a weird way, just in a totally-meaningless-way. Like I could kiss you in the same way right now, and it would mean just as little." Armand's far from unaccustomed to your alcohol-fueled ramblings, but they usually don't directly involve. "Wait--we should do that."

"What?"

"Yeah." You nod once in a way that feels much too determined. "I'll kiss you the same way, and then you'll see how meaningless it was, and then we can move on."

Armand allows himself to dwell on the idea. It would be such a small, deniable thing. The proximity, however, would not be. By the time you wake up again, it'd mean just as little to you as your earlier Kiss. By sunset, you'd be laughing about it with Louis.

He extends an arm, placing a hand against your shoulder.

"Come on," you gently prompt, "My logic is so good."

He offers you an unconvinced look. "Debatable."

"I don't see you coming up with any solutions."

Armand drags his thumb against your shoulder. You ease slightly at the display of affection. "That's because I'm not the one that created the problem."

The response seems to only make you further committed to your point. "Then let me fix it."

"No--"

"Why?" It's a relatively fair question. Perhaps emphasizing your mistakes isn't worth the satisfaction of forcing you to confront the fact that you're not perfect. "Is it Louis? I don't think he'd mind, but we can wait until tomorrow and ask, if that's better."

He's almost completely certain that Louis would mind, but not for the reasons that you're thinking of. He can't even threaten to wake you up without Louis acting like your life is on the line. "It isn't Louis."

"Okay, then let's just get it over with--"

"No," he repeats, voice a little firmer. Your lips part, and Armand can sense the questions that are to come. His grasp on personal restraint is starting to slip. "Not like this."

Armand feels you pull away from him, your back straightening as you digest the implication of his reaction. He allows you to, his hand leaving your shoulder. An uneasy warmth drags itself up your skin as you stare at him.

"You're drunk," he begins carefully, "I'm not."

The defense, though a weak one, seems to work. "Right." You nod slowly, the gesture directed more to yourself than to him. "I just--I don't want to be in a fight with you."

"We're not," he's not sure if he's willing to give up the moral high ground just yet, but he needs this conversation to end. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

You frown. "Your tomorrow is hours away from my tomorrow."

"There will be something for what I'm sure will be an impressive hangover on your nightstand when you wake up." The response lacks any particular warmth. "I haven't fed yet."

The dismissal takes a second longer than it should to register, but once it does, you move to stand. "Okay." You walk forward a few steps before turning your head to look at him again, "Thanks for the water."

You don't wait for him to respond before turning again, moving down the hall and towards the guest room.

----

a/n this is lowkey based on the new girl episode where nick and jess have their first kiss <3 also armand's reaching his chill persona limit

[meowzfordayz]

when you’re inebriated and don’t recognize them — gyomei, kyojuro, sanemi, giyuu

Author’s Note: a lil lighthearted (+hopefully humorous) fluff for tn. 🥰

when you’re inebriated and don’t recognize them — gyomei, kyojuro, sanemi, giyuu

Himejima Gyomei x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~1,400

CW: alcohol, explicit language

Suggestion Fulfilled: how do you think the hashira will react when you're clearly drunk and they want to help you, but you push the away, clearly not recognizing them, and then you say something along the lines of, " No I have a S/o, don't touch me”

~faqs~

“Don’t touch me! You! Gigantic! Oaf!”

*big sigh* 🥲

Smiling gently to himself, Gyomei takes another slow step forward

Thank goodness we’re home he thinks to himself, well aware of how this current situation would appear to unknowing onlookers 🙃 

“I’ll bite you!” 😤

Newsflash: slapping at his outstretched hands is doing next to nothing 🥴

The man is a wall 🧱

“Please,” he tries again, “Let me help you.”

You huff, eyes rolling, “I don’t need help.”

“Your shoes are still on, as is your coat, and you’re heading in the opposite direction of the bedroom.” 🤨

Somehow, the calmness of his voice riles you even further 😒

“How do you know?” you scoff, “Maybe I’m taking the long way around.” 🙄

“Love, I live here,” he can’t help the fond exasperation creeping into his tone, “I live here with you.”

“No,” you snort, “You wish you lived here with me, but that honor belongs to my amaaazing boyfriend.” 😌

“And where might he be?” Gyomei asks politely

“He-” your eyes narrow, confusion clouding your vision as you frown slightly, “I’m not sure.” 😖

“Well how about you call him?”

Glaring at the looming (actually, Gyomei is standing quite casually and relaxed) man in front of you, you tug your phone out of your pocket

“Hey Siri, call The Love of my Life.”

Interesting Gyomei’s heart flutters —> you’ve never actually showed him his contact info

—Fortunately for you, he’s too much of a sweetheart to ever hold this secret against you

—What happens when you’re drunk, stays with when you were drunk 😉

“NO WAY!” you exclaim as his phone begins ringing, “YOU’RE HIM?!” 😳🤯😭

“Yes, love,” Gyomei chuckles tiredly, “I’m him.”

“I’m sooooo sorry,” you whimper, suddenly falling willingly and clingy into his arms, whining now as you pout up at him, “I’m going to have the worst hangover eeeverrr,” gasping dramatically, “Gyyyomeeeei!!!!!”

“As flattered as I am by your interest, I have a boyfriend,” you say, politely brushing off the warm hands of the stranger attempting to help you as you sit haunched on a bench 😮‍💨

Aforementioned stranger’s brow furrows, mouth pursing before stretching into a bright grin, laughter ringing through your ears 🤗

The hell is this guy on? 🧐

“I promise your boyfriend would be okay with me helping you,” Kyojuro chuckles, arms crossed as he watches you carefully 

“Oh yeah?” you mutter, hiding your confusion beneath a cool tone, “What’s his name then?”

“Rengoku Kyojuro!” he immediately answers, still grinning, “Not many people look like him…” ❤️‍🔥

Your face crinkles as you take in the man’s appearance once more, eventually shaking your head as you huff

“Nice try,” you smirk, “But if I was really drunk, then my Kyojuro wouldn’t think twice about getting me home, no matter how difficult I was being.” 😌

*cue a particularly fond memory of Kyojuro carrying you all the way home from the bar when you refused to get in a cab but didn’t want to walk and definitely wasn’t sober enough to sit on the handlebars of a bicycle* 😝

Kyojuro blames the blossoming warmth in his stomach at your my Kyojuro for his next actions

Aka scooping you into his arms and hoping his cologne does the trick 😅

(it usually does — he assumes his sweatshirts go missing for this exact reason 🫢)

“PUT ME DOW- 🤬 BAAABYYY! 😍” you squeal as soon as his sweaty, familiar scent hits your nose, “You do love meee!!!!!”

“I absolutely do,” he murmurs adoringly, unfazed by your sudden switch in demeanor, “After all, your Kyojuro always gets you home, right?” 🥺

“Right!” you beam up at him, your hostility all but dissipated as you nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder, “M’gonna sleep now, ‘kay?” 🥱

Kyojuro thinks about how long the walk home is, flexes his forearms, and smiles 🥰

“Of course. Sweet dreams, my heart.” 😴

Send help pls and ty 🙃

This man is at his wit’s end

On one hand, you’re refusing to Uber home with him 😕

On the other hand, he can’t just leave you at the bar 😒

And the last thing he wants is to order two separate rides home, and then have to patiently explain that he isn’t stalking you, nor is he breaking in, because 

“For fuck’s sake, I’m literally your boyfriend!” 😐

“My boyfriend would never speak to me like that!” you retort, eyes narrowed 😠

Actually Sanemi thinks wryly to himself Your boyfriend doesn’t know how to speak in any other way

“Because your boyfriend’s so damn perfect?” he growls, “Doesn’t ever cuss or lose his patience?”

“Well,” you begin pertly, “He is perfect! He brings me breakfast in bed, holds open doors for me, mends the holes in my socks, washes my back when we shower together…” ☺️

Sanemi is very pink rn 😃

He’s torn between wanting to kiss you square on the mouth and never doing a nice thing for you ever again 🫠

“... but he,” you trail off, tears abruptly brimming as you come to a startling realization, “But he’s so ruuude,” wailing as Sanemi simply watches you unfold, “He teases me whenever I stub my toe on something, pushes me off the bed when we wrestle, and, and, and-”

“And what?” he asks dryly

You gulp, refusing to meet the gaze of the handsome, persistent man still standing in front of you — despite your resolute rejections of him, “I think you might actually be my boyfriend.” 😭

He actually laughs, arms opening as you barrel into him, sobbing into his embrace, thin olive shirt sticking to his skin as you squeeze his sides

“Sanemi,” you whisper, embarrassment coating your voice

“Mmm, darling?” his own rich with amusement

“I want to go home,” you mumble 😔

“You sure?” he smirks fondly, “Even with me?”

Groaning loudly, you press your face harder into his chest, eyes closing as you focus on the steady warmth of his heartbeat 💓

Dismay might as well be Giyuu’s middle name

Because he has no idea how he’s going to get you home 😓

Shinobu abandoned you guys earlier, flitting from one bar to the next

And for the sake of his dwindling dignity and pride, Giyuu is not about to interrupt Tengen and his wives at their table to ask for ~assistance 😬

Kyojuro would be an option, if he wasn’t the lightest weight of all, and already home in bed (he left over an hour ago) 🙃

Shit

“Hey,” he waves at you, heart in his throat

“Hey yourself,” you glance up at him, frowning, “I told you like five minutes ago, I. Have. A. Boyfriend.” 😒

The urge to curl up into a ball and cry has never been stronger 😃

For Giyuu, that is 😭

“I know, I know,” he holds his hands up in a careful surrender, awkwardness in his movements as he ponders his next words, “I just… I think you should go home.”

“As in, go home with you?” 🤨

“Uh…” yes 😞

“Look, you’re super attractive and all, but you’re not my boyfriend.” 🙄

Giyuu is hitting his forehead against a brick wall 😵

Repeatedly 😵

Internally, ofc 💀

“What if I was?” he winces as his voice cracks at the end 🥲

Damn it 🫠

“Well that would mean breaking up with my boyfriend…”

He’s staring at you equally exasperated and in love 😖🥰

All you process, unfortunately, is deadpan 😐

“Speaking of which, where is he?” you mutter 😕

I! AM! RIGHT! HERE! 🫨

Giyuu is still hitting his forehead against a brick wall

+screaming every time he makes contact

Internally, ofc

“Can I at least give you my number?” 🥺

“How about this,”  you snap, “You find my boyfriend for me, and ask him if that’s okay.”

Regret isn’t an option as Giyuu immediately spins in a circle, striking a Tada! Pose when he faces you again 😎

🧐🧐🧐 <— you rn

“It’s me, your boyfriend. Tomioka Giyuu.” 🥳

You blink

He holds his breath

“Y’know what,” you finally say, “I believe you.”

Giyuu doesn’t bother digging for details

He grabs your hand (and exhales when you promptly intertwine your fingers with his, hugging his forearm to your chest 💞), and heads toward the exit

—

“Why did that convince you?” he asks the next morning, breath soft on your skin as he sprinkles soothing kisses across your forehead

You smile slyly—despite your pulsating headache—all four limbs squeezing tighter around his body to keep him in place as you murmur quietly, “Because only my boyfriend could make me cringe that hard.” 😌

“Heyyyyy,” he whines, pouting as he squirms in your embrace, exchanging his kisses for gentle bites as you shriek playfully, “That’s not very nice.” ☹️

[mt-oe]

𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴…—𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘻𝘶

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

Here's a fic that I hope I post just in time for Valentine's day. I am currently writing this inebriated out of my shit. My cheeks are so hot and my world is spinning like I'm a dishrag in a bucket of water. I pray that my quality of writing doesn't plummet because all of you deserve so many good things and the world, and none of you deserve a shitty fanfic.

Every one of you deserves to be loved as softly as you need to be and as rough as you want to be.

I hope everyone will enjoy and I hope that everyone continued to love Mizu this day dedicated to love <3 Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, i do not know, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

What is love?

Even way back then, when you were still young, you've always wondered about what love is. You've heard it all over the teen magazines you bought monthly, on the newest romance film, and even in your parent's old film cassettes. Yet, still, you couldn't figure it out.

Your curiosity even reached a point when you'd pester your next door neighbor about it. The image of Mizu, your best friend, frowning at you as if you were asking her some kind of dumb insignificant shit would never fail to make you laugh.

"Could you stop pestering me about this and just go on," her annoyed voice would growl through the call. You distinctly remember her putting you on 'deafen' every time you started talking about it while the two of you were on Discord. But honestly, who could blame her? You were teens. Still kids. All she wanted was her LP and a new rank this season, not to hear you ask her what the hell love was.

There would be times when you'd ask your parents. But honestly, asking your parents about something that can give you incredibly subjective answers is never a good thing. You'd always be greeted with a ' just focus on your studied first' or a very vague try-hard-to-be-poetic-or-sentimental answer. They're answers were always either so lacking or so dramatic that it never quite hit the spot.

Searching on the internet was also an option. Your teen self would sit in front of your computer, searching and reading articles about love. Honestly, the answer varied so much it didn't satisfy you at all. More feel-y types of articles would tell you that it was a 'once in a lifetime special feeling that made you absolutely the happiest you'll ever be' while more logical sites would tell you that it was a chemical reaction in your brain.

You could remember Mizu scoff at them. Both of you were hanging in your house while her mother was getting high in their living room again. She walked up to your house one night with a small frown, tired from the smell of drugs and smoke.

Now, she had something else to be tired about. And that was you showing her all these articles were all the same level of ridiculous to her.

For the nth time that night, she rolled her eyes as you read out the contents of the article, both of you under the blanket with only the dim light from your phone illuminating your room. "We're almost done with high school and you're still hooked on this?" she asked, a rough huff leaving her throat. "Isn't this for kids?"

You immediately shook your head and let out a small whine, moving closer until your shoulders touched. "Oh c'mon, Mizu! Have a little curiosity in your life!" you grumbled, refreshing the website when the pictures wont load.

"I could think a hundred things more significant and worthwhile learning," she replied, hands adjusting the blanket, pulling it closer and making sure the chilly night breeze couldn't reach you. "This is nonsense."

"Reasonable nonsense, that is," you said with a slight smile. Her sapphire orbs scanned over your face, tracing over the excitement on your face and the twinkling in your eyes. A little part of her brain was filled with some sort of mushy happy feeling the more she stared. And before these feelings could take over, she rolled her eyes again, annoyance clear in the way she sighed.

"Whatever. It's your phone anyway," she grumbled, looking away. You giggled softly and shifted your weight further against her side, fully leaning against her shoulder. Mizu would never have admitted this during her teens, but your warmth, the feeling of your weight against her, and mutual feeling of comfort definitely made her heart beat faster than it ever did or could during fencing training.

Each article the two of you read together caused your curiosity to grow. Maybe, somewhere along the way, so did Mizu's.

What is love?

Love is a mystery, you thought to yourself.

In college, the two of you were still inseparable, attached by the hip as they say. Thankfully, both of you had decided to go to the same university under different programs. While you were buried in student debt, unsurprisingly, your best friend had managed to acquire a scholarship.

Everything was going well between the two of you. Both of you still hung out and still caught up with each other weekly or over a few games online. The frustrations and moments of joy mended your bond with each other every time. Each hour that passed the clock was worth the grogginess you'll inevitably feel for staying up too late. It felt like nothing could get in between the two of you.

That was until...

Some time during your sophomore year, Mizu's mother had waltzed her way into your lives. With her, she brought an arranged relationship for Mizu and another man. He was apparently an alumni of the same scholarship program Mizu was under and was pretty wealthy.

Both of you knew this was some ploy for her to get money, but whenever your best friend confronted her mother, she'd be greeted with excuses saying this was the best for her dearest daughter and how she knows what's best for her. You could only scoff at her words, knowing she never really cared for her past her childhood.

And for a time, Mizu believed you. She detested the idea of being forced into a relationship for money. Relationships in general were a waste of time for her. You thought everything was going to go well, that she'd still be by your side, that the fun would never stop.

But, somewhere along the way, your weekly gaming sessions turned into nights of doing your projects alone. Your best friend was apparently invited by her boyfriend, Mikio, to some new restaurant.

It didn't matter.

The weekly hangout sessions in either one of your dorms turned into a solo trip to the library to finish something or to mooch off of the campus wi-fi you paid for from your tuition anyway. Mizu was apparently going to go with the old geezer to some movie.

It didn't matter.

Your bot-support duo turned into you playing top or raging in jungle alone. He was apparently inviting her to play duo and she'd play with you some other time.

It didn't matter. It didn't hurt.

Just a pinch.

It was college anyway, people are bound to lose friends, right? Maybe you could go back to finding out what love is. Maybe the deeper academic pursuits in college and the wider range of educational materials could grant you a more extensive selection of literature regarding the matter.

You could drown yourself in writings from the library, books you've never even heard off, more knowledgeable goons trying so hard to explain love through neurotransmitters and electrical signals in the brain. Maybe the pursuit of this knowledge would allow you to move on from the person of your affection.

Affection? What a stupid word.

It was college and you've made new friends along the way. You'd get invited to parties and merriments and meet more people. Maybe this night, you'd take a shot more than the usual, a cig more than the usual, and you'd repeat that to yourself until the squeezing tightening feeling in your throat retches over to the toilet.

One more shot. One more cigarette. Rinse and repeat.

Over and over until you were in Akemi's arms crying about your blue-eyed best friend who she already seemed to dislike. Apparently, they'd known each other and Mizu had apparently wiped the floor with Akemi's boyfriend. A soft bitter chuckle left your throat.

"Yeah, that's definitely something she would do," you whispered, voice rough from vomiting the intoxication out.

One more shot. One more cigarette. Rinse and repeat.

Over and over until Akemi was starting to feel like comforting you was her own Sisyphus. You'd go on about how you were there first and how cruel the world was for making you realize your affection a bit too late.

"Affection? That's a stupid way of putting it. I think you're in love," Akemi would say, cringing as you buried your tear-stricken face against her hair.

Is love supposed to hurt?

You could not accept it.

Love tastes like pure coffee beans without any cream or sugar. Strong, bitter, almost tasteless, gives you migraines, could send you into palpitations, and can kill you. Slow and unknowingly.

Maybe it was the time to stop pursuing love. Maybe those old people in journals and books with a hundred million different titles from all the licenses they have were right. That it was all just neurotransmitters and electrical signals going the synapses in your neurons that'll inevitably deteriorate with age. It'll go away.

Is this really what love is?

What was love?

Love is a kind of bitterness that aches, you thought to yourself.

Semesters passed and you never got to bond with your best friend again—if you would still call her that.

The ache made you grow cold, but you preferred to call it mature. You continued on with your life, her name sounding like a distant song whenever the winds whispered. Every blue in your life felt like a strike of undescribed nostalgia. A memory that could have been a novel but ended a bit too early.

You weren't a god but you sure had the ability to summon a personal raincloud over your own moments of happiness. It wasn't bitterness. It was called choosing practicality over emotion, you said.

And maybe, that's how life works. Maybe you should just go on and be like those old geezers with a shit ton of masters degrees and doctorates who'd tell you that love was just hormones and your brain going overdrive.

Maybe you should grow old and into a boring life, not affected by the blue eyes that were staring back at your with a sad old smile.

Maybe you can be Ms. Practicality again and ignore how beautiful she was when she walked towards you.

Maybe you can finally control the electrical signals in your brain so your heart could stop beating so fast as she greeted you, placing a hand on your shoulder, feeling the warmth you missed so damn much. Her long hair against her shoulder and the cold aura of her eyes warming as her eyes squinted with that precious smile of hers.

Maybe the hundred million academic titles you planned to pursuit would give you an early lesson and tell you that you'd know what love was some day.

And maybe...that some day was today.

Maybe the crazy romance books and magazine articles were right. That love would waltz into your life one day and maybe love had already waltzed into your life from the very start.

You'd soon find out that your best friend had some how made a reputation for herself, getting into a fight with her ex over some betrayal. She didn't really want to talk about it since the wounds were still fresh. Rumors of her violent tendencies grew and now she was trying to lay low again.

They'd call her a dangerous fellow

Well...they were neither right nor wrong. This fellow was dangerous indeed.

Dangerously sweet.

Dangerously funny.

Dangerously understanding.

Dangerously charming.

Dangerously lovely.

After decades of asking the question, "What is love?", you'd finally get your question. The bells of heaven can finally ring now because your lifelong journey of finding out what this mystery was can finally end.

Love wears orange-tinted glasses. A gift she got from you before both of you went to college together. The sight and the knowledge of it being her favorite tugging your heart strings and warming your cheeks.

Love continued her fencing training and was somehow better than the instructors in uni. She'd be so cocky and call their techniques trash, so much so that they think of her more as a competition than a student.

Love doesn't laugh a lot but when she does, it sounds like what an angel would sound like. She thinks you're exaggerating but you could honestly drown in the honeyed sound.

Love incurs the wrath of her professors by passing projects late, but her work is so good, they could never give her a fail.

Love is called so many horrible things. They'd call her a demon, an onryo. You'd ask her if she was okay and she'd just look at you with a soft smile and tell you that she didn't mind.

Love was lying. She definitely minded and you could never figure out why she'd always act okay while she smile so genuinely at you.

Love always puts her hair in a bun and is lowkey ticked off about it going allover the place when she takes it out.

Love is always mistaken as a man. If she was a man, she'd be the prettiest man you've ever fallen in love with.

Love secretly likes stuffed animals but would never buy one for herself. Love likes to playfully rough house and lowkey beat the shit out of her friends.

Love wakes up before the sunrises and goes to the gym. All the equipment were available and it was quiet. She loves the peace.

But love also feels guilty whenever she accidentally wakes you up. Your groggy whine would make her heart beat faster and make her suddenly feel hesitant to go.

Love would get into arguments with you, but she'd still try her best to be understanding. Her patience wasn't big when it comes to anger and negative emotions, but for you, nothing was impossible.

Love was incredible. Love was all-pursuing.

Love made you realize that love wasn't a 'what' but a 'who'.

What is love?

Love is a person.

[joachimz]

TABLE ETIQUETTE

chigiri hyouma x gn!reader

includes: vampire chigiri. count chigiri. blood/drinking blood. kind of objective talk of humans as food/meals. heavily suggestive. reader is wearing a corset & suit.

notes: well. i’m back. and unwell lol. not proofread we die like men.

Chigiri Hyouma is a man of etiquette.

Doors held open. Announcements when entering a room. Eye contact while listening. Faint touches–when appropriate–during polite conversation. A bow of his head as he takes his leave. Taps of a napkin to corners of mouths. Over coats over rain puddles. Pristine hair in perfectly threaded plaits.

Polite. Charming. Charismatic. Poised. Elegant.

Even now, as his chilled palm presses to the warm bend in your lumbar, it’s proper. Not too low, not too high; just the right height as he leads you around the ballroom by the lining of your corset. A true gentleman, on full display.

“Chigiri.”

“Barou,” he greets, tipping his head in acknowledgement. A dashing grin pulls the edges of his mouth in a curve so delicious you have to glance away. “Good evening. I trust you are well.”

Barou hums. You smile.

“Shoei,” and you hold out your hand. He takes it–barely–and cants his head down to feign a kiss. His pale lips never quite press to the sanguine of your knuckles just like his eyes never quite catch yours. A display, an endearment.

A show of respect to the count on your flank.

“Evening,” he grunts, because he should, because he wants to. Only to you, only for your partner, but still. The thought is sweet. 

You giggle as you retract your hand and lace it with your other in front of your abdomen. Manners, etiquette. This man was not meant for a world like this and yet you think that's actually what makes it so becoming of him. Strong features and even stronger build. Waistcoats fit him well, even if he tugs at his color far more than a man of his rank should.

Chigiri never tugs at his collar in such a way.

Of course he doesn’t, because Hyouma, as you know him, is a man of class. He knows the footwork to every ballroom dance and the order of every dining room utensil. His lips glossed with a cherry tint and his cheeks to match, showing dignity. Head held up high but not haughty, chin raised but no look thrown down the nose.

Classy–in every right. Yes, Chigiri Hyouma is a man of class, a man of the utmost class. His fang catches on the corner of his lip, his hand presses more firmly to the base of your back.

“And the hors d'oeuvres?” 

You hadn’t noticed it until he asked, but at the collar of Barou’s shirt, hidden between the ruffles he keeps tugging at, is the tiniest speck of burgundy. Wine, perhaps. A dribble from a little too sloppy of a sip, one would think. Just something a little careless from a bulk of a man grappling for any sense of inebriation to deal with the stuffiness of the night’s events.

Chigiri reaches forward, slender fingers pinching the cloth between perfectly manicured claws. He inspects it, and you nearly miss it. 

There’s a slight twinge in his brow, a hitch in the bob of his throat as he combs over the drop with his eyes. Deducing, conspiring. It’s disdain, in the faintest form. Something out of order, something not quite right. Chigiri isn’t a freak about these things, but he isn’t a practitioner of them either.

A single wave of his hand as he pulls away and a service hand is gliding over a second later. Just as polite as ever, Hyouma greets him.

“Would you care to take my guest to find another blouse?”

“Of course, sir,” he nods, and gestures for Barou to follow him. The latter does, albeit begrudgingly and while mumbling muffled curses under his breath, but he does nonetheless.

“How kind of you,” you commend, half-taunting half-sincere, as you flash him a grin.

“I am nothing if not hospitable,” he counters, without missing a beat and with his full attention on you. 

Keen roseate irises tracing the outline of your own, your cheeks, your lips. You swallow. Chigiri’s hand slips to your elbow. 

“That you are,” you agree, because it’s true. Chigiri is oh so charmingly hospitable. Extravagant dinners, affectionate displays, endearing escapades. All of each so well thought out; all in celebration of you. Even this gala, right now, is thrown in your favor. For what occasion, you do not remember. But for you, it is, regardless–always. “Must be some tasty hors d'oeuvres.”

He laughs lightly as you take a sly sip of your wine–just wine. Grape only, for your taste. Or strawberry, or muscadine. You hear Chigiri’s selection is exquisite, but your stomach is not so.. inclined to your partner’s diet. Not so well acclimated. 

You nearly gag just thinking about taking a swig from his collection. 

“Yes,” he adheres. “I permitted Isagi to partake in the rumination of this lot. His choice of selections certainly tend to be more…” he pauses, catches a fang on the edge of his grin as he trails his fingertips down the length of your forearm, “Favorable, among the crowds. I thought it best he settle my indecisive debacle, since I do not indulge.” 

A chill claws its way up the slim crevice between your spine and bodice. A sharp inhale, a glance away. You feel the heat on the back of your neck before the swirl in your stomach.

“How hospitable indeed,” you circle back, daring a glance through your lashes. 

Of course he doesn’t indulge–how uncouth of an implication. Chigiri Hyouma, the count of such high esteem, does not need–no, does not want such privy finger foods. He reserves himself for better things, richer things; full of flavor things. Delectable and pristine and exclusive.

Chigiri Hyouma’s reserve means nothing to him because he reserves himself to you and you alone. After all, it is not proper etiquette to share one’s plate. 

And he is a man of proper etiquette. 

“My dear,” he addresses, and you cling. To his fingers that find their way to yours. To the sweet saccharine words that drip from his love laced lips. To his hypnotizing gaze that draws you a millimeter–two, three–closer. You cling and adhere and, oh.

Something about a rich man devoted to you makes you hot inside.

“Mhm?”

“I would also like to enjoy tasty hors d'oeuvres.” 

And he says it in a way that is so courteous. With a kiss to your knuckles and a thumb to chase it. A stare so intent it’s enticing. A grip so sure it’s unfair. He says it politely, gently–not pushy, never pushy. 

“If you would be so inclined to join me?”

Like such a fucking gentleman.

“Mhm,” agreeing before you can even think it over properly, before you can even chew it over. But it wouldn’t matter, would it? Because when have you ever, how could you ever, say no to him? Turn down such manners? Decline such a kind offer? So respectful. Well behaved. Well bred. 

Well trained.

“How hospitable.” 

It’s him, this time, saying this to you. Commending you for your acceptance of his invitation, for his outreach of privy. There's a bubbling in your gut, a giddiness biting back at the confines of your corset. He holds out his arm and you take it; lace yours through and allow him to lead. Skirting through petticoats and performers, acquaintances and aristocrats, towards the edge of the ballroom. The heel of your shoes click in a dazed symphony and Chigiri places his gloved palm over your arm.

A sense of security, an implication of trust. A courtesy–through and through. 

As you reach the doors they are pushed open by the two men standing guard at them. It isn’t until then do you hear them–the hors d'oeuvres. Faint whines and weak moans mingling with dancing viola and sonorous cello. You catch a glimpse as you pass the door; Isagi, mouth latched to a pretty brunette by the jugular, and Rin, tugging at dark wrist. 

You swallow, throat thick, and turn away. Tasty, you’ve heard. Delicious, it’s been countered.

Your eyes trail up to the man walking beside you. He’s already staring back.

“Delectable,” he supplies, as if he could read your mind; like he’s plucked the thread of your thoughts right out of the seams of your mind. “You are purely so.”

And, oh. You are far more than an hors d'oeuvre. 

A break away, a sidestep. You find yourself nearly shying away now, even though a comeback is on the tip of your tongue. Another chill, a deeper flush to your cheeks. You clear your throat and hope the great observer is not too mindful of you now.

(You know he is).

“That’s inappropriate,” you condemn, finally, as the bat unhooks its fangs from your cotton tethered tongue. “We are still in public, you know.”

The halls are empty, save for a few stragglers stumbling from back rooms and servers on their way to discard empty rimmed glasses. A weak attempt to stave off your embarrassment, but an attempt nonetheless.

You are simply lucky the count chooses to indulge you.

“You’re right,” he atones, grasps your hand again to place yet another kiss there. But this one lingers; a second too long to be considered chaste, a breath too chilling to be completely genteel. “Forgive me, my love. I do not wish to tarnish your compelling image. Will you?”

You nod, because what else could one possibly do when rose petals are staring heartfelt daggers into your soul. You nod and you sigh, contented.

A vicious slice of a grin cuts through you. “Wonderful,” Chigiri adheres as he pulls from you slightly to push open a heavy door. “After you.”

And there it is, the charm. He puts you first and places you second and loops you to third as is. He circles you, in everything, and keeps his priorities straight. Like a proper man–a count–should. You listen and step into the room. Pressing a palm to your stomach, you urge yourself to settle. 

You suppose you do, in a sense, at the familiarity of it all. The plush cushions of the couch, kissed by the curtains as they dance lightly in the breeze from the window. Cool night air tickles your warm cheeks as you make your way over to it, positioning yourself fittingly just shy of the middle. And you watch.

Chigiri is a man of etiquette. He does things just so and in the way they should be done. He closes the door behind him gently with not so much as a muted thud. He glides over to the vanity on the wall and stands in front of it, and the routine begins.

Sheer glove of his left hand tugged loose from thumb index, middle, ring, pinky, then off in one swift thring, only to be placed neatly on the hardwood. Then the right hand, the same way, until it finds its mate on the tabletop. Next, the cufflinks. Undone and refastened on themselves before being placed with a pair of clinks into their glass case. Then, the overcoat; shrugged out of and folded over once before being draped across the florals of the vanity bench. 

It is now, and only now, does he turn to you.

“How are you finding this evening, my dear?” he questions as his fingers find their way to the buttons on the front of his vest, undoing the first one.

You try to swallow again. “I’m finding it well.”

“And the dancing?” The vest is off now, placed on the cushion next to you.

“Tiring.”

“Ah, I imagine so. You must be approaching exhaustion,” he sighs as he steps in front of you. Fingertips to shirt collars–he still does not tug. No, he gently unknots the furrow of his tie and moves along smoothly to the pearls. One slips out, then two. 

“Yes,” you mutter, and find yourself gripping the hem of the cushion ever so slightly.

Chigiri kneels, now. Left knee down, then right to follow suit onto the plush of the woven rug in front of you. The buttons of his shirt are unfastened all the way down to the middle of his abdomen. Stone carved ridges peaking through, collarbones cutting out of the loose linen window. He reaches for his sleeves, now, and begins to roll. Neatly, of course. One fold over the other.

“Fraternizing can be so draining,” he contends through heavy lashes, deepened irises and laden lids. He’s wrapping up the last sleeve, tucked to his elbow, outlining the muscles of his forearm deliciously. “I, for one, am simply famished.”

“Y-Yeah?” You ask, and curse your voice for coming out so shaky. Like you’re nervous, like you’re scared. 

“Yes,” Chigiri says; you aren’t sure to correct your improper verbage or to agree, either way it has you sinking in the cushions, just a bit. Just enough that your knee grazes his shoulder. Just enough to be an invitation.

And yet, despite that, Hyouma is still such a gentleman.

“May I?”

You nod, because you’re too busy getting ready to bite your tongue to even attempt to use it for words. A cool hand skims by your ankle, then your calf. It trails its way along the inside of your knee, fingertips dancing in the moonlight seeping in from behind you. You peer through the candlelight, admire how Chigiri’s pretty face appears softer, here.

Once his hand raises above your knee, a shudder escapes you. Chigiri grins, you bite the corner of your lip, and he pushes your legs further apart, slots himself in between. And he looks at you, as he presses in with more fervor, now, snakes his way up to the corset that conceals the waistband of your trousers. His hand drifts back, past your hip and is met by the other as he leans in, reaches behind you to the ribbon laced there.

And now, only now, does he tug.

He does so just enough to loosen the knot of the bow, pull it until it’s undone–until you’re undone. He’s so close, his face inches from yours, his chest melding in, his torso to your thighs. He start to loosen the torque of your binding, little by little, bit by bit, until your breath starts to seep back into you. Until you are, finally, able to swallow down an inhale.

Your hot exhale fans across his cheeks and he grins at you. Sweet and soft and in a way that is so posh it makes you want to scream. But you fight it; the urge.

To lean forward, to reach out, to grapple. You fight and you wait and you sit still and pretty just like you’ve practiced so well to do. You do this because that is polite, after all. That is proper etiquette.

Your back is guided to the cushion behind you before you can even realize you had been leaning forward wantonly this whole time. You’d blush if you held more shame in your bones, but you long since gave that up. No need to tip toe when you can galavant.

You leave the tip toeing to Hyouma, after all.

Once it is loose enough, Chigiri slides his hands underneath the binding of your corset. He lingers there, on the plump of your abdomen, before he finds his end goal. He takes the fasten between his fingers and undoes it tantalizingly slow. You think you’re going mad. You feel this isn’t very courteous at all. 

“I thought you said you were famished.”

It comes out before there’s a chance of stopping it. Where you suddenly found the gall, you aren’t sure, but oh, does it ignite something. A gleam, a glimmer. Nearly enough to miss there’s a sheen that glosses over Hyouma’s eyes as he settles deeper on his knees before you.

A button pops loose out from the seam of your trousers.

“You’re far more chatty than Isagi’s hors d'oeuvres,” he notes with a sharp wrench of the waistband that has it settling at your hips, “My dear.”

A chuckle escapes you–from bewilderment, anxiety–you’re not quite sure the origins matter when there’s such a powerful man knelt before you. 

“Tastier, too,” you counter, fix him with a slow blink of your own. 

And that, oh that gets to him. 

“Tastier,” he agrees, pulls at your pants until they’re past your hips, thighs, calves. On the floor, tossed to the side, discarded as if they did cost an arm and a leg. (And you would know, you’ve seen the price of those). “More delectable.”

He leans in, presses an open mouthed kiss to the inside of your left knee. He slips his hand under it, while he’s at it, and hooks it over his shoulder.

“Piquant.”

Another kiss a little higher, this time paired with a nip of his teeth. Ever so faint, ever so light. A breathy gasp is snatched from you. Your fingers dig deeper into the cushion. Cool release, slick lips have you nearly quivering. Enticing, taunting. He’s so pretty.

“Delectable.”

He’s nearing the crease of your hip and thigh now. At the inner part where the few strands of hair that have slipped out of his braid tickle you just enough to make you restless. Though, if you are truthful, everything about this man makes you so. He nips at your flesh again, with a little more intent this time, a little more pressure. A tease, a taunt.

A warning, to be polite.

“My darling, you are just divine.”

And Chigiri digs in like a man starved. As he takes his first bite into the meat of your thigh, piercing fangs embedding themselves and staking claim. You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle the initial scream that rips its way out of the confines of your throat. You breathe hard–rapid and heavy for the first few seconds as your vision burns white hot.

And then, as cool tongue lavs over twin indents, it begins to settle. A slow burn, a duller sort of pain. It’s more of a throb in your muscles as Chigiri grasps at your hips. He tugs you to him, mouth still latched, and sucks. 

It's deep and hard and writhing; you can’t help it. Your hand finds the back of his head and you tug at the hair there, knocking more out of the plait as your other attempts to ground yourself to the sofa. 

And Hyouma is feasting.

He is a man of honor and class and elegance; but when he is here, on his knees before you and drinking from your supply like it is the manna from heaven, that is all gone. His table etiquette goes out the window and suddenly he is all smeared lips and matted hair and raunchy sacrilege in the name of dinner time.

And to think, he was so concerned with a speck of blood on Barou’s collar.

“Hyou-Hyouma,” you whine, fighting to keep your consciousness intact as every minute passes. 

A gulp is your answer, and another. And another. You tighten your grip in his hair, peer through batting lashes at the hair getting stuck to crimson coated cheeks. He pushes himself in, like he wishes he could bury himself here, between your thighs. You feel hot; and willing, and wanting, and oh.

You might just pass out. 

“Hyou..” It’s weaker, this time, your whine. 

And for a moment you think it falls on deaf ears. Chigiri gets in a trance sometimes, after all. Drinks a little too much a little too fast and gets himself a little too blood drunk on the high of it all. But after another few seconds the gulps turn to sips and the sips turn to sucks, until there’s only kisses being placed to your freshly made punctures. A salve over it, like a blood smeared band aid. 

Chigiri presses his cheek to your other thigh–slick and blood stained–and gazes up at you. He’s all dopey grins and lazy smiles as his thumb traces circles into your hip bone.

“My dear,” he adheres, affection dripping off of his tongue right along with your bodily fluids.

You gaze at him, glassy eyed and lethargic. Patting his hair down, a weak chuckle weasels its way out of you at the sight. How can someone so proper simply be so ravenous? Someone so posh be so besmirched?

“You’re going to need a new blouse,” you taunt, hand dropping to rest on his shoulder, where his once pristinely white shirt now drapes over his angular frame, now dyed a deep seeded scarlet. 

He laughs at that; hearty and kind and loving. He gives your hip another squeeze, closes his eyes in content.

“Yes, my beloved. And thank you,” a sloppy kiss pressed to you, “For this bountiful meal.”

liked & reblogs appreciated :)

[toomanyfandoms04]

To Be Loved (Yoonho Baek x Reader) 5

Under 18 and Ageless blogs will be blocked.

Content warning: Stalking, attempted assault, protective!Yoonho Baek

Chapter 5

Conventions are very loud, very crowded, and very expensive.

The convention center was split into three areas. The smallest area in the center of the mess was the food court. Many American classics were served, along with some exotic tastes.

Breakfast the first day consisted of an oatmeal bowl with fruits for you, and 5 corndogs for Baek. You teased your boss for his unique taste for breakfast food.

The two other sections were about the same size. One side was the weapons and the other side was armor. Scatter through the entire convention were booths with recruiters, technology specialists, and one weird religion booth.

Today, the first official day that the convention was open, you, Baek, Stanley, and Shane, all explored the weapons room.

You were shocked at the variety of weapons offered. There were hundreds of racks full of swords, axes, shield, daggers, bows, arrows, crossbows, and to your surprise, guns.

Apparently, the Government of the United States used a majority of their crystal resources from the mines in manufacturing special bullets that can take down monsters from the portals. After the initial appearance of the portals, the government prioritized the manufacturing of weapons for its military.

In the United States, there are many private hunter’s guilds. The most lucrative and dangerous path to take is to join the United States military. They are involved with all S rank dungeons and often secure the parameter around the portal. The humans in the military are armed with the specialized guns.

If only they got their shit together before my family died.

The weapons all had a varying amount of enchantments on them. Some added to the strength of the user, other took strength from the monsters. Fire, ice, and other enchantments were on the shields, swords, and arrows.

As your boss lead the group from booth to booth, you accepted all of the packets filled with descriptions of weapons and the manufacturers. You mark down which specific weapons or shields Baek showed interest in before storing the heavy amounts of paper in your bag. At booths that peeked your boss’s interest, he would gesture for you to exchange business cards with the booth owners.

During the entire day at the convention, you noticed your boss keeping you at a strict arm’s length away. You know both the conversations and actions from the both of you stepped over the professional to personal line.

You partially scold yourself for feeling hurt by Baek’s actions and behavior today. You had to actual reason to feel sad. Mr. Baek is your boss.

Granted, he was very protective of you and still acts like a total gentleman. You probably feel the way you do because of how long its been since a man had treated you right.

Yeah. That’s it.

Mr. Baek is just being a good boss. You’re just too touch starved and deprived of proper human treatment to the point of professional and personal lines get blurry.

Yoonho Baek is disappointed in his own actions. He knows that you have a boyfriend. Baek should not have touched you last night; he especially should not have touched himself last night.

I am an S-rank Hunter and the chairman of a guild. I should have more discipline!

Through his inner turmoil, Baek couldn’t bring himself to regret any of his actions.

You had consumed an entire bottle of wine last night. Your inebriated state (and possibly naivety) would have left you to be prey to those tow men last night.

Baek was simply performing his duty as a gentleman and protecting you from those creeps. He will admit he got a bit handsy, but in his defense, so did you.

As your group eats lunch (you devour deep fried mozzarella on a stick), Baek takes in your attire for today.

You had on a black pair of slacks, some name brand lace up shoe (he think the brand starts with a C), and a dark orange sweater.

Baek, Stanley, and Shane all opted for tee-shirts.

Maybe you get cold quickly?

As the day goes on, your bag gets heavier and the crowds get thinner. You continue to trail behind your boss.

Stanley and Shane are spread out, establishing a constantly changing parameter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of familiar long brown hair.

You turn to get a better look, and sure enough, Tyler and Alex were moving towards you and Baek.

You elbow your boss to get his attention. You smile and wave at Tyler and Alex, but Baek’s hand grabs yours and drags you away from the approaching people.

Practically sprinting, you both weave through the crowd until you enter a congested area.

Baek drops your hand and you look up to him, puzzled. His red eyes give you a silent warning, to not touch the subject.

You not the pronounced vein in Baek’s neck, throbbing against his tan skin.

Last night must have been worse than what I remember.

Your group gets tinner to take back to the hotel. Baek was unusually quiet.

It was almost like he was brooding.

-

Now, you are sitting in your room with Jean on Facetime. Officially, you are scanning all of the documents and sending them to Jean. Jean is on the phone with you to help you with the documenting process and to tell you when she receives your files.

Unofficially, you and Jean are talking about your boss.

“I’m telling you. A normal boss would never casually massage an employee’s neck. Unless the boss in question is a masseuse or chiropractor. But that’s beside the point.” Jean tosses her straight blonde hair over her should, readjusting in her office chair.

“Still, it was a very nice thing for him to do. Especially with how he stopped those men from staring at me.” You press send as you think back to his warm hands on your back.

“Well, that just proves my point that your bar of expectations is literally in Hell. Any decent man should preserve any woman’s modesty. Document 37 just came through/” You hum in acknowledgement.

“I do need to ask you something.” You look up from your work to see Jean grinning at your through the phone.

“Yes?” By her smirk you know what direction your conversation will be going.

“You have to have seen how big he is! Come on, he was in wet pants for goodness sake!” You shake your head, refusing to give her any more fuel for her inappropriate fire.

“Oh! What about when you were grabbing his leg? You happen to grab on to his third leg?” Your hands are covering your face to hide the deep red blush covering your face.

“I didn’t touch anything, Jean. Can we get back to doing our work? Please?” Jean cackles at your embarrassment, reluctantly agreeing to do her job.

You both stayed on the phone until all of the documents were scanned, sent, and organized in the database.

After showering, you drag your tired body to bed. You got some much-needed sleep that night.

On the other side of the shared wall, Yoonho Baek was doing work of his own. His primary focus was telling the security guards to keep those two men away from you.

Baek had a hard time falling asleep that night. His gut kept telling him that something was wrong. He hasn’t been able to shake that feeling ever since meeting Alex yesterday.

Stanley and Shane took shifts that night, guarding your door.

Neither of them could see the silent figure watching their every move.

Waiting.

Planning.

-

The second day at the convention started the same as the first day. After breakfast, you would follow your boss, accepting papers and handing out business cards.

The armor available came in just as much variety as the weapons. Cloaks, shields, shoulder pads, jewelry, helmets, pants, and even underwear were all made to protect the wearer in come way, shape, or form.

The enchantments all varied as well. Some simply produced a physical shield around the wearer. Others prevent extreme heat or extreme cold from affecting the wearer. Others can induce a wall of flames, make you invisible, or even affect the way you perceive your environment.

While at one of the last booths before dinner, Baek noticed your attention drawn to an amulet.

There was a small purple crystal (resembling an amethyst) surrounded by intricate gold pattern. The amulet was hung on a short gold chain.

The design of the amulet made it look like a normal necklace.

As Baek was searching for an excuse for you to move on from the table without him, you spoke up to save him the trouble.

“If you’ll excuse me; I need to use the lady’s room.” You step away from the booth and move to the restroom.

Baek locks eyes with Shane and signals for the security guard to follow you. His gut feeling from last night never went away.

I need to keep her safe.

“I saw ye’ woman eying up this here pendant. Would ye’ like to take a look at it?” Baek felt no urge to correct the booth owner of his mistake.

“Yes, please.” The amulet is set in Baek’s hand. “What enchantments does it have?” Baek questions, admiring the shine of the stone.

“The stone has a varying protection enchantment with an increased perception addition. If an S-rank hunter such as yourself would wear this, you would get an S-rank amount of protection.” Baek’s eyes grow in shock from being recognized.

“Aye, I do know ye’. I got a list of all the guilds, worldwide! I’d be happy to expand my trade into Korea, Hunter Baek.” The man behind the booth continues his sales pitch.

“If yer’ woman were to wear this, she would only be protected from human threats.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “The perception ability would increase her awareness to threats. That would be the most useful part for ye woman.” Yoonho Baek made the transaction with his personal card, thank the booth owner by exchanging business cards.

As you finish up using the bathroom, you fix your hair in the mirror. Today’s time at the convention took less time than yesterday. Mr. Baek knew what type of protection he was looking for today; yesterday he was looking at every weapon type.

Maybe you’ll have enough time to get ice cream tonight. Dairy Queen’s cupcake counds really good right now.

Your eyes catch movement by the closed door of the restroom. You turn around and look to see who was there, but there is no one.

These movements have been happening all day. It first started when you left your room this morning. The weird movements continued to stay in your peripheral vision while walking around the convention center.

You refrain from telling Mr. Baek, he seemed stressed enough as it is. His attitude hadn’t improved.

I don’t need to make him worry more about me. He has already done enough.

You try and shake the weird feeling as you return to Mr. Baek. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Shane following you.

You assume Mr. Baek told Stanley and Shane to follow you because of what happened with Alex and Tyler last night.

The four of you meet at the food court and get your dinners. Mr. Baek suggests taking the food to go and eat in your rooms.

You agree with your boss’s decision, but you wanted to spend some more time with him. He has been acting cold towards you all day.

Surely it wasn’t from something I did last night?

Regardless, you take your dinner (steak kebab with French fries on the side) and walk back to the room. Mr. Baek says in front of you while Shane and Stanley follow behind you.

As you unlock your room, a hand on your shoulder stops you from stepping inside.

“Wait. I got you the necklace you were looking at earlier.” Mr. Baek holds out a velvet sinched bag for you to take.

“You didn’t have to do that!” You exclaim, as Baek practically shoves the gift into your open hand.

“Please, I insist. Consider it an apology for what happened last night.” He shuffles back to give you space.

“The way you acted last night didn’t bother me at all. It was those men that sent me the creeps. And besides, they were fighting with you for the most part.” You shrug your shoulders, try to not make a big deal over what happened.

“But I shouldn’t have acted like such a dick in front of you. I especially shouldn’t have touched-“ Yoonho Baek was interrupted by his phone ringer.

He sighs and checks the caller id. Chairman Go.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, I need to take this.” Yoonho’s guilt turns worse when you smile at him and usher him to his room.

“It’s okay, I understand. Enjoy your dinner!” You enter your room.

After you finish eating your dinner, you face time Jean to send her the documents you received today.

Your rhythm is the same. You focus on scanning documents, Jean focuses on setting you up with your boss or asking inappropriate questions about the man.

Eventually, you get done with your job and say good night to Jean.

You had enough time to get some ice cream.

You glance at the bag holding your gifted necklace, debating on putting it on.

Deciding against it, you pull on your coat and text your boss for the business card to get ice cream.

Yoonho replies, saying that Shane already has the card, and to go with him.

So you do. You both venture from the hotel and walk to the Dairy Queen a block away. The brisk air almost deters you from getting your sweet, but you power through for the nostalgia.

Waiting in line for your ice cream was short, but you received many questioning looks.

Probably because of the man who looks like secret service beside you.

You successfully secure your ice cream and make the cold trek back to the hotel. You take note of any interesting stores along the way, just incase you get some time during the day too look around.

Once you arrive back at the hotel, Shane escorts you to your room, leaving you to devour your sweet treat.

You savor the flavor as you watch a random movie on the tv. The nostalgia floods your memories, bringing you back to the days when your family was alive.

You got your sweet tooth from your dad, who would always find an excuse to have something sweet. Your mom was a bit more health conscious, but she couldn’t say no to ice cream.

Dairy Queen knew your order by heart when they would hear your young voice through the drive through speakers.

You tear up at the happy memories.

I miss my family. I wish they were here now, maybe they could visit me if they were alive.

Shaking your head, you clear the negative thoughts.

Once you finish your ice cream, you throw away the container.

You want to get showered, but the necklace bag catches your eyes.

Maybe you’ll put it on, see how it feels.

You pull the delicate chain from the velvet bag and feel its weight on your palm.

This is too much.

You unclasp the chain and place the necklace on yourself.

Turning to the mirror, you look at your appearance.

The purple crystal sits in the middle of your chest, just below the hollow of your neck. You like the way it looks. The gold chain and decorative metal around the crystal complement your skin tone.

Like it or not, the necklace looks good on you.

That still doesn’t justify Mr. Baek spending money on me. Even if it is just an apology gift.

You decide to keep the necklace on until you get undressed for your shower.

As you are sitting your pajamas out on your bed, you suddenly feel a cold chill run down your spine.

There is no AC running or windows open.

Your head whips around as you look around your room.

An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

You try and shake off the feeling as you move into the bathroom to start your shower.

You trust your gut and check the closet in your room and under the sink in your bathroom.

No one is in my room. I’m just paranoid.

You turn on the water for your shower and leave the bathroom, letting the water heat up.

Moving into the main room, you go to pick up your pjs when you hear it.

The latch on your door just shut.

Your head whips to the door, your heart is racing.

I got back to my room 30 minutes ago. I know I shut my door and it locked because Shane did it for me.

What the fuck is going on?

You walk towards the door slowly.

Step by step the feeling of dread in your stomach increases along with your heart rate.

The voice in your head is screaming for you to get out of your room.

Your hand rests on the handle and you jiggle it.

Yeah, it’s shut. Maybe I’m going insane?

The gut feeling keeps getting worse, but you shake it off.

You turn to go back into the bathroom and that’s when you see it.

The movement that you have been seeing all day.

It’s in your room.

Your hand immediately goes back to the door handle and you wrench it open as you feel something brush against your back.

Slamming your door shut, you sprint to Mr. Baek’s door and start slamming your fist against the wood.

Seconds later Yoonho Baek is standing in front of you, concern written all over his face.

You get flustered by his appearance and forget how to talk for a second.

Mr. Baek has a very short towel around his waist, water dripping from his hair and down his chest.

He says your name, a hand cupping your flushed face.

“Someone is in my room.” As you say those words, you watch as your bosses eyes turn bright yellow and he turns to face your room.

“I’ve been seeing movement out of the corner of my eye all day and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to be more of a hassle than I already am and –“ Yoonho stops your rambling by pushing you into his room.

“Stay here. Don’t open the door unless it’s me. Throw the dead bolt.” His left hand grips the towel tighter around his waist as he moves to your room.

Listening to your boss, you quickly move into his room and slam the dead bolt locked.

Seconds later you hear the sound of your door slamming open, the percussion echoing through your room.

You pace the room, your hands running through your hair as you listen to the painful grunts and shouts entering through the walls.

It’s a small chance that Mr. Baek is on the receiving end of those blows, but you still worry since it is a chance.

The grunts turn to whimpers until you can no longer hear the commotion.

A knock sounds at the door and you run over to look through the peep hole.

Mr. Baek is standing there, his chest heaving.

Your hands move the dead bolt and open the door. Baek is quick to move inside. You immediately notice the blood speckled across Yoonho’s face and chest.

Both of his hands cup your face and then quickly move to feel both of your arms and legs.

“He didn’t touch you, did he? Are you hurt?” His yellow eyes scan your body, looking for any injury.

“N-no. I felt something brush m-my back when I ran out of my room.” Your body is shaking from the adrenaline rush, your vocal cords are no exception.

“I dealt with him. Security will handle him where I left off. From now on, you’re staying with me, got it?” Yoonho cups your face, making sure you make eye contact with him.

“Understood.” He nods his head, taking in your shaking body when his eyes land on the pendant.

“Don’t take off this pendent. Ever. It saved your life.” He touches the purple stone, his hand resting on your chest.

“Oh, okay.” Your body continues to shake and your teeth chatter, breaking Yoonho’s train of thought.

“I’ll get your things. Wait here.” Your boss moves out the door again, the towel sagging low on his waist.

If it weren’t for the shock of what just happened, you would be taking in the sight more.

Mr. Baek returns with your bags and all of your clothes in a few minutes. He sets all of your things along side his own on top of the desk.

“Go shower, I need to make sure things are taken care of.” Mr. Baek ushers you into the bathroom with your toiletries and pajamas.

You spend a long time under the hot water. Eventually your body stopped shaking and exhaustion hit you all at once.

Stepping out of the shower, you dress in your pj’s and brush your teeth.

You walk out of the bathroom to see your boss sitting on the bed, typing furiously on his phone.

He looks up as you approach the bed. You notice his eyes finally shift back to their normal red.

Yoonho stands and you noticed that he changed into a pair of shorts.

“I’m sorry, but the hotel staff is dealing with the broken door and can’t get a separate bed in here tonight.”

“I don’t mind sharing a bed.” You hum as you move to the other side of the bed.

“Oh, okay.” You lay down in bed, pulling up the covers.

You’re eyes are heavy as you lull into a deep sleep.

The last thing you remember is a heavy warmth slipping around your waist.

Chapter 6

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Moves

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: loosely based off Suki Waterhouse's Moves. It was also supposed to be SMUT, but apparently that wasn't meant to be.

Author's note 2: y'all I meant to post this earlier but got distracted.

Summary: Y/n has had feelings for Andrew for a while now, and she's pretty sure he feels the same. Can one night change everything?

Warnings: unrequited love, but also, more requited than not.

She likes him – maybe its a little more than like, at this point. She adores the colour of his eyes, the way they’re green when its bright out, but then when they meet at dimly lit pubs or he hangs around late at night and neither of them bothers to turn on an overhead light, they’re this dark, hazel hue. She is thrilled by his laugh – not the polite courtesy chuckle he spares when someone tells a joke that isn’t even funny – she means that full bodied sound that erupts from his throat when they’re watching that one episode of that one show, the way he rocks backwards a little and rests his hand over his chest. And there’s something about the way he says her name too, that makes Y/n giddy inside, especially when she picks up his call late at night, while he’s on tour and the rest of the band is asleep but he can’t seem to keep his eyes shut without her voice being the last thing he hears before doing it.

Andrew told her that once;

"I don't think I could sleep if I tried....I need to talk to you first. Hear your voice so I can just...."

"Just what?"

He paused, hesitating, "nothing, I just like the way you sound. That's all."

Y/n could have sworn that it would have been the call that changed everything. She'd held her breath until around two am, when he finally yawned and said he was going to try to get some sleep.

He must feel the same, Y/n determined shortly after that. Because friends don’t sling their long arms around your shoulders, or kiss your forehead right after pulling you against them.

Friends don’t have moments where their lips get so close to the other’s that it won’t expend any real effort to make them to touch.

Andrew was the one to pull away that night and apologize profusely before blaming it on the liquor. She’s never told him, but she wishes he hadn’t. She thinks about it so painfully often that she swears the memory is burning a hole into her heart – the ache of what could've been, but isn’t.

Y/n is thinking about it tonight. They’re sitting on Andrew's back porch, a bottle of wine shared between them. The backyard is illuminated by the light over the wide, glass door that separates his kitchen from the deck, and the blue hued, inground lights that give the pool that sits between his house and the foliage bordering the woods a glacial glow. Off in the distance, she can hear crickets and the occasional rustle of some other, nocturnal creature moving through the trees.

The mood would be entirely romantic if it weren’t for the smell of barbeque and booze clinging to the thick, humid air. It's why they’re outside; its unusually warm and sticky for an Irish October, but Andrew has informed her its becoming typical for this time of the year. He also said that being outside helps, but Y/n thinks that was just an excuse for them to sit outside in hopes that the fresh air would sober them up.

But she doesn’t particularly mind – even if she’s been bitten by a couple mosquitoes.

Everyone else is long gone, and he'd asked her to stay back for a few more drinks while she helped him cram leftovers into his fridge. Its not unusual for her to be the only one left at his place – or vise versa – so Y/n is used to being alone in Andrew’s presence. In fact, she thinks she prefers when its just the pair of them, occupying a quiet space saying nothing but whatever pops into their somewhat inebriated minds;

“I read this poem that made me think of you.”

“I bought you a jacket, but I forgot to pack it.”

“Have you read that book I told you about?”

“Would you read this thing I wrote?” He asks after a couple hours of them going around in circles of menial chatter. Of late, everything Andrew writes is about her, and while he’s thought of telling her that more times than he can count, he can't seem to force the words out of his mouth. It isn’t even that he’s intimidated by her – that would be far too uncomplicated for an overthinker of his caliber. No.

He could never be intimidated by Y/n anyway; he’s known her for too long, too well. She’s the person that puts him most at ease; his heart doesn’t quicken when she touches his arm the way she’s touching it now as she says, “Of course, I’d love to.” In fact, the tick in his chest slows when she does that, he isn't nervous or worried or anything, he's just…. happy. And though her hands are usually so cold, Andrew swears there’s a tingle permeating the thin fabric of his grey Henley when she touches him.

Their eyes meet as Y/n promises to read what he’s written and she finds herself drawing in a shallow breath. There’s something else on the barest top of her liquor-stained tongue, but its refusing to break past her lips;

“I’ll read anything you write. I’d do anything for you, really.”

“Great, great,” Andrew beams suddenly, straightening his back before standing with purpose. “I’m gonna get it, wait here.” He doesn’t wait for Y/n to respond, not even with a nod, before disappearing into the house.

While he’s gone, Y/n tops off those sleek, stemless wine glasses with the remainder of the chilled Sauvignon Blanc and takes a sip of hers, hoping it’ll help combat the sticky heat that’s surrounding the property. She knows she probably shouldn't have anymore; her head is already fuzzy and there’s that tell tale film over her eyes. The one that makes lights stretch out like shooting stars and makes you feel like you're walking through a dream. Andrew must not be any better either, because he stumbled over all too familiar steps on his way back into the house.

“Got it,” he announces as he returns to the patio, raising the notebook over the head in triumph. Andrew is less than graceful when he retires next to her again, dropping the book into her lap. After a lengthy sip of his wine, he leans back onto his elbows. “It's the last thing in there,” his cheeks heat up, the dusty red colour creeping up his cheeks, towards his ears.

He’s a funny sort of drunk; chatty and able to make a joke of literally anything. He’s flirty too, yet somehow retaining his usual reserve. When they venture to pubs, he’ll flirt his way right into a one night stand without even realizing it, and then slink back to her side, rattling off an excuse involving the words, “ehm, well, she isn’t really my type.”

“Yeah? What is your type?” She’d ask, eyes challenging him.

He’ll look at her for a bit longer than usual, squirting his eyes a little as his waning smile fades completely. “Doesn’t matter,” he’ll eventually say dismissively, covering his words with a swing of his drink before changing the topic.

“Its not finished yet,” he mumbles as Y/n finds the page.

“It looks finished,” Y/n frowns, looking down at the way he’s signed the bottom of the page, the way he usually does after scrawling out the final words.

Andrew shakes his head, “ehm, I mean….the idea. I’m not done with the idea.”

“Oh.” They lapse into easy silence when she starts reading, meticulously scanning every line, barely restraining herself from ghosting her thumb over his hurried, untidy penmanship. Y/n can feel Andrew’s eyes on her as she reads. He's still laid back and propped on one elbow as he steadily sips his wine while she tries to get her hazy mind to comprehend everything on the page.

Its a love song or a profession – or she’s pretty fucking drunk and has lost all ability to to comprehend words.

No, its definitely a confession. A beautifully written one. Of course everything he writes is always much akin to poetry; but with this, every word is strung together like tiny bulbs in a reel of fairy lights. Each one in perfect harmony with the other. They’re carefully chosen, as if just one were missing its entire, delicate balance would be pitched into uncertainty.

“Andrew….” He sits up, draining the last of his wine as she lifts her head from the page.

“Is it bad? The worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ever written?” He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he flashes her a lopsided smile.

“It's beautiful,” Y/n rasps, suddenly feeling like the air’s been knocked from her chest, or like she’s been running too fast. There’s something besides the night’s oppressive heat surrounding them, something fragile and precious. Part of her wants to say something else, she can see on his face that he’s aching for more, but Y/n is absolutely terrified that if she does, it’ll be the wrong thing and the moment will be shattered into a million little pieces, scattered across the forests behind his house by an unexpected breeze, the way it happened on a night all too similar to this one.

“But?” Andrew is the one that dares to speak, the word uttered softly and with the weight of reproach clinging to its single syllable.

God, what if he’s ruined everything? What if the reason he’s never been able to tell Y/n the way he feels is because a morsel deep within him knows she doesn’t return his feelings. Andrew doesn’t even know if she’s interested in a relationship – or anything adjacent – right now, she doesn’t talk about going on dates and or fancying anyone.

What if the reason she never talks about other men is because she’s somehow gathered how he feels and is trying to protect him from the hurt? That would be awfully cruel, but he supposes it's the kindest thing she can do without ruining their friendship.

“But….” Right before her, in a matter of seconds, a dozen emotions cross Andrew's face and Y/n realizes that, if she’d been in front of a mirror the night he told her he likes hearing her voice before he goes to sleep, this is what she might have seen reflected in it. That cautious hope, with a bit of fear sprinkled in.

Upon realizing that there's no ‘perfect’ thing to say, Y/n hastily leans forward and rests her lips on his, in a chaste, close-mouthed kiss. He’s shocked at first, she can feel it in the way he stiffens. But after another couple breaths spent like that, Andrew wraps an arm around her, flattening his palm on the center of her back. As he relaxes, Y/n deepens the kiss, deserting the book in her lap to cup his face. His beard tickles the inside of her hands, just like she’s always imagined it would, and his tongue and lips are sweet with the wine’s fruity notes.

When they break, faces only inches apart, Andrew lets out a shaking breath while Y/n holds onto hers. “God….I don’t think I would’ve ever done that,” he admits, shoulders rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths.

Sometimes he wishes he had her courage, but most times, he’s glad its hers.

A hint of a smile tugs at her kiss-swollen lips. “I know,” she laughs softly, the sound airy and musical.

Her eyes are twinkling, like two stars plucked from right over the vast bed of darkness hung over their heads. Andrew is certain that no two stars have ever shone brighter, so its fitting that they belong to her – the most dazzling person he knows. Setting his glass down, he lifts his free hand to her cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing her lips. “I’ve been thinking about it for a damn long time,” he admits. It's hard for him to put a definite number to it, it might as well have been very soon after they met.

“Me too,” Y/n rests her hand over his wrist, offering it an affectionate squeeze.

“I think…..” he trails off, struggling to keep a firm grip on his thoughts. His imagination is running a little wild right now; his mind is already churning out thoughts of his future as it changes shape. It's funny to him how one thing can change everything else.

One kiss, and he swears he’s seeing the rest of his life. Holding it.

“Sshh, we don’t have to talk about it tonight,” Y/n whispers. Talking complicates – they’ve been talking for too damn long anyway, and knowing Andrew, his brain is already three weeks ahead of him. Its sweet actually, because every plan she’s made for her future has been built around him, and now suddenly, he’s doing the same thing. “Lets just….”

“Just what?”

“Do this,” in an instant, Y/n closes the space between them again and seals her lips over Andrew’s. That time, he responds immediately, pulling her against him until the only thing left for her to do is slide her leg over his thighs and shuffle into his lap, pressing her chest to his and draping one arm over his shoulder while she keeps her other against his cheek. The way his beard scratches the area around her mouth makes her smile, and she thinks its something she'll get used to quickly.

All of it is so close to being as commonplace his arm slung around her shoulders and the sound of his voice coming through her phone while there’s a timezone and entire ocean between them. The way his mouth moves against hers, the heat of his hands as they hold onto her waist, the sound of his voice as he says;

“I’m glad you stayed.”

[jeonginstulip]

Mine ♡︎

Pairing: Felix x Fem reader

genre: soft smut?

wc: 3.2k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a/n: hey, guess who’s back! Told myself to not continue to finish this ff, but here I am posting it. I’m also thinking of making this into a series (hopefully) dude, I swear I think that when I started making this I was half asleep and horny. But anyway please enjoy my smut debut! -🌷🎀

(Sorry in advance if any errors!)

"It's amazing.." Hanji says caressing her cheek. “She leaves me speechless." Felix says as he tucks your hair behind your ear as he admires you. Changbin, Seungmin, I.N, Hyunjin,Minho watch. Felix's fingers brush against your skin, the touch sending a shiver down your spine.

You slowly stir and open your eyes, groggily realizing you're the center of attention. You're still somewhat inebriated, which leads to a goofy smile that appears across your face. You then yawn, “Hey... guys... what are you staring at?” Chan chuckled as you slowly woke up, his eyes filled with admiring affection. "You fell asleep on the couch last night after the club. We were just admiring how beautiful you look even when you're asleep."

Hyunjin nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on your smile. "You look like an angel." They still are in awe at your beauty. After you wake up Felix can't help but to pull you up into his lap. Felix's eyes lit up with affection as he eagerly pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you with a smile. "You look even more beautiful up close."

Hyunjin chuckles at Felix's eagerness, a hint of playful jealousy in his voice. "Hey, don't hog her all to yourself now." As you adjusted in his lap you felt something in his pants and whispered to him “Felix, are you okay?” Felix's face suddenly reddened, realizing what you had felt. He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to play it cool. "O-oh, that? Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

Changbin, who was nearby, couldn't help but smirk at Felix, noticing the situation. Jeongin, who was sitting next to Changbin, nudged him and snickered. Meanwhile, Chan, Hyunjin, and Seungmin watched with varying expressions of amusement. She then whispered again “baby, you’re hard..” Felix's face somehow turned an even deeper shade of red, now clearly embarrassed. "I-I... um... I can't help it, okay? You just look too beautiful and... yeah..."

Hyunjin and Jeongin burst into laughter, unable to contain themselves at the situation. The other members watch the exchange with a mix of amusement and surprise. She then said in his ear “I’ll help you tonight, just the two of us. Nobody else okay?” Felix's eyes widened at your offer, his heart racing with anticipation. He nodded eagerly, his voice shaky with excitement. "Yes, please. Just the two of us, tonight."

The other members exchanged glances, some surprised, some amused, and some clearly slightly envious. Chan chuckled, shaking his head at Felix's eagerness. Seungmin chimed in with a grin. "Looks like someone's getting a private session tonight." Hyunjin and Jeongin teased Felix, making jokingly envious comments, while Minho chuckled at the situation. Changbin couldn't resist adding a comment of his own. "Just make sure you don't break her, Felix." Felix rolled his eyes, his cheeks still flushed.

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle." She then blushed and carried on with the conversation of the rest of the members. The conversation continued, the other members continuing to talk amongst themselves. However, the atmosphere remained tinged with a hint of flirty energy, with occasional glances and playful comments thrown in.

Felix attempted to join in, but his mind was clearly preoccupied with the thought of what was to come later that night. Later, everyone went to their rooms and luckily you and Felix shared a room together in the dorms, As the others headed to their rooms, you and Felix entered yours. The tension was palpable as soon as the door closed behind you.

"It's just the two of us now.." he said, stepping closer to you, his eyes filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. “It looks like it still hasn’t went down, were you waiting?” She says with a smile. Felix chuckled, his cheeks reddening once again at your comment. He nodded, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"Yeah, I was waiting... ever since we talked earlier, I've been thinking about you. I couldn't... calm down." He stepped closer to you, his eyes locked onto yours. "You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this, being alone with you." You both then locked lips, Felix taking the lead as always. Felix's lips met yours in a passionate kiss, his hands gently cupping your face.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with eager desire. His body pressed against yours, the intensity of his touch a testament to how much he had been waiting for this moment. You then feel his hand on your inner thigh and trying to get into your shirt. Felix's hand moved up your inner thigh, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand began to slowly lift your shirt, his fingers tracing the edge of the fabric as his lips continued to explore yours. He broke the kiss to whisper in your ear, his voice low and husky.

"I want to see all of you.. feel all of you." “I want you Lix, please…” she cried softly as she let him take her shirt off. Felix's breathing hitched at your words, his eyes roaming over your exposed skin. He quickly removed your shirt, his hands gently caressing your bare skin. His touch was soft and reverent, as if he was worshipping your body. "You're so beautiful... so perfect."

He whispered, his lips moving down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone and down your chest. He continued trailing his kisses down your body, his hands exploring your curves, his touch soft and deliberate. He wanted to commit every inch of you to memory, every reaction and every sound you made.

He looked up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and adoration. "I want to make you feel good, only want to make you feel good..." “I need to take care of you first..” she says going down trying to get him out of his bottoms. Felix's breath hitched as he saw you moving down towards his pants. He let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Please..."

He was clearly enjoying your eagerness to take care of him, his hands clenching the edge of the bed as he watched you. He helped you slide his pants down, his eyes never leaving your face. His hands reached out to hold your shoulders, gripping them lightly as he watched you, his body tense with anticipation. She then started to move her hand along his length letting him enjoy himself before anything else happens.

Felix gasped softly at the feel of your hand on him, his eyes shutting momentarily as the sensation overwhelmed him. He leaned his head back, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as you began to move your hand. "This feels... so good... don't stop..."

He mumbled, his hands clenching in a fist as an attempt to contain himself. His body trembled slightly under your touch, his head rolling back by the pleasure. He looked down at you again, his eyes darkened with desire and need. He reached out, his fingers running through your hair as he tried to maintain some measure of control, even as his body responded to your touch. "You're... so good at this... so good to me..."

He whispered, his voice strained with pleasure. His hands gripped the sheets tighter, his body tense with anticipation as his pleasure built. He was lost in sensation, his focus entirely on the feeling of your touch and the building pleasure. *He bit his lip again, stifling a moan as he tried to contain himself, his breaths coming in shorter and quicker, his body arching slightly in response to your touch.

"I... can't... hold back much longer..." *The tension coiled within him, his breaths coming in shorter, shallower gasps. He was getting closer to the edge, the pleasure building with each movement of your hand, with each stroke of your touch. He gripped the back of her head tighter, as if holding on for dear life. "I'm... close... don't stop... don't stop..."

He panted, his eyes meeting yours, his pupils dilated with pleasure. A smile then appears on her face as she still looks up at him and puts his mouth on his length, he closes his eyes as a wave of pleasure hits him, and leans back, grabbing a tuft of her hair. He feels a bit of his soul leave his body as she starts using her tongue in unexpected ways.

Felix then starts to groan as a sign that he’s getting close to finishing. She then notices and goes back to using her hand on his length. “You can do it, I believe in you baby..” Felix then proceeds to finish and come in her hands. She then licks the warm come off her hands “you taste so good my love..” Felix looked down at you, his eyes still darkened with pleasure, but now a hint of disbelief mixed with desire.

"You're so... so amazing. That... felt incredible... I can't even find the words..." He panted softly, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths. He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before pulling you up into his arms. "Now it's your turn..." He wrapped his arms around you, gently maneuvering you so you were lying on your back, his body looming over yours. His hands were now free to explore your body, his touch reverent and gentle.

"I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel... no, even better than that.." He pushed your hair away from your face, his eyes raking over your exposed skin and curves with hunger. His fingers traced along your collarbone, then down to your chest, lightly caressing your skin as his gaze flicked back up to meet yours. "You're so beautiful... I don't even know where to start..."

Felix then decided to undress you and only have your undergarments on. Felix took his time undressing you, his fingertips running lightly over your skin as he slowly bared you to him. His eyes roved over your exposed body, taking in every curve and contour with a mixture of admiration and desire. "You're... absolutely perfect..."

He whispered, his voice low and husky with need. You softly whimper at his words, Felix leaned down, his lips ghosting over the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of light kisses in his wake. His hands continued to roam over your body, his touch becoming more insistent, more deliberate. He wanted to memorize every inch of you, to explore every part of you that he could access. "I want to hear you... I want to hear how good I'm making you feel..."

You then say softly “I don’t wanna wake the guys” Felix chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. "We'll have to be quiet then... can you do that for me, my love?" He murmured, his lips gently nibbling on your earlobe, his hands continuing to caress your body with a possessive touch. He moved his lips down to your neck, pressing soft, gentle kisses to your skin. His tongue grazed over your collarbone, his teeth lightly nipping at the sensitive spot where your shoulder meets your neck. He wanted to taste every part of you, to make you forget about everything else except him and how he was making you feel.

“Felix…” You moan his name as he hit the sweet spot on your neck. Felix smiled against your skin, pleased with himself upon hearing you moan his name. He continued to focus on the sweet spot on your neck, his tongue and teeth working together to elicit more of those sweet, sweet sounds from you. "You sound so good when you say my name like that... moan it again for me... I want to hear more." He moved his lips back up to your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. One of his hands moved down to your hip, his fingers gently grasping the edge of your underwear, as if he were contemplating taking them off.

"Can I take these off, my love? I want to touch you... everywhere..." She nods quickly wanting to have Felix all over her. Felix lifted his head from your ear, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He sat back on his knees, his hands moving to the edge of your underwear. "You're so eager... I love it. You're so responsive... so beautiful."

He grabbed the edge of your underwear, slowly sliding them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. Then you two pull each other in a kiss before he started your pleasures. “You can do anything you want to do with me Lix..” He looked a little surprised that you consented before he could even say anything. “Okay love, are you sure?” She then nodded “Yes I’m okay with everything” He of course would never wanna hurt her so he said one more thing.

“You remember the safe word right?” Felix said reassuring. “Lavender..” She said with a smile. As that happened they continued. Felix nodded, a serious but affectionate look in his eyes. "Lavender. If it gets too much, or if you want me to stop for any reason, just say the word and I will. I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay?"

He caressed your face, his gaze soft and loving. Then he went down to her entrance and let his tongue go in lightly pressed against her. Felix's tongue softly pressed against her, his touch gentle yet deliberate. "You taste so good... so sweet... I could do this forever…” She hissed at the feeling and started to enjoy the feeling. Felix continued, his tongue pressing deeper, his hands holding onto your hips to keep you still. "You sound so beautiful when you moan like that... I love how responsive you are... how you respond to my touch."

He mumbled against you, his words sending small vibrations up through your body. “Felix..” She moaned, Felix continued his onslaught with his tongue, the feel of his name on your lips spurring him on. He wanted to hear more, to hear every gasp and moan he could pull from you. "Say my name again... I want to hear how good I'm making you feel..."

He said, his voice low and heated, against you. His hands gripped your hips tighter, keeping you in place, holding you, as he worked your insides. She then started whimpering, Felix noticed your soft whimpers and took that as a sign to continue, his tongue relentlessly working against you, his touch growing more deliberate, more intense, as he drank in every sound you made.

"That's it... don't hold back... let me hear how good this feels, my love..." He whispered, his lips so very close to where he wanted him to be, making sure it sent another wave of vibrations through you. You are to your climax “Lix I’m gonna..”Felix heard your warning and slowed for a moment, lifting his head slightly to look up at you, his eyes filled with heat and need.

"I know... i know... but not yet... not yet, my love... hold it for me... just a bit longer..." He whispered, his voice dark and low, his eyes roaming over your naked body with need, but also a hint of a challenge. She whined as she moaned “Felix I’m going to come..” Felix smirked up at you, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of a challenge. "Not yet, my love... I want to see how long you can hold out... can you be good for me, and wait just a bit longer?" Felix then inserted his digits into her, she then gasped, Felix smiled against you. "Just a little longer, my love... you're so close, I can tell... but I'm not ready for you to finish yet..." He said, Felix inserted two digits into you, moving them slowly, his other hand steadily holding you. Felix's fingers continued to work you, his pace steady and relentless.

"Can you be good for me and hold on just a little longer? Can you do that, my love?" He asked again, She nods. His words soft and gentle, but with a hint of command in them, as if daring you to see how much longer you can hold out under his touch. He knew he was pushing you to your limits, but he also knew that you wanted to please him, that you wanted to be good for him, and that you would try. His pace with his fingers picked up, his other hand moving to your hip, his grip just a bit tighter, as if he was holding you in place, his touch both possessive and authoritative.

When you finally reached your climax, Felix's lips curled into a satisfied smile, his hand still moving gently, slowly helping you come down from the high. "Good... that's a good girl." He murmured, his voice still low and dark, but with an affection and tenderness. He removed his fingers from you, his touch gentle as he traced them along your thigh, his eyes on your face, watching your expressions as you came down from your high. "You were so good for me, my love. So good. How are you feeling?" Her body squirmed, Felix leaned forward, gently placing kisses along your neck, his hands gently roaming your body, caressing and soothing you, as you came down from your climax. "Shh... breathe for me, my love. Are you okay? How are you feeling now?" She gives a reassuring smile.

He continued to place soft kisses on your neck, his hands still gently roaming your body, his touch still affectionate and tender. He wanted to make sure you were okay, that he hadn't been too rough with you or pushed you too far. “Your never dominant my love, what changed that?” She says softly out of breath, Felix chuckled softly against your neck, his lips still gently kissing your skin.

"Nothing's changed, my love. I just wanted to try something a little different tonight. I wanted to see how you would respond. And I have to say, I enjoyed seeing you this way, so eager to please me, so responsive to my touches..." He murmured, his hands still roaming over your body, his touches still gentle and affectionate. He pulled back slightly, so that he could look at your face, his eyes roaming over your features, taking in your flushed cheeks and slightly disheveled hair, a satisfied smile on his face.

"You look beautiful like this, all flushed and satisfied. You make it so hard to resist you, you know that?" She says finally catching her breath “Well you and only can make me feel like this, don’t tell the rest of the guys..” She then giggles. Felix chuckled, his voice low and affectionate.

"Oh, don't worry, my love. I won't tell the others a thing. This side of you, this submissive side, is for my eyes only. I don't want anyone else seeing you like this, all flushed and satisfied, my touch all over your body. Your mine, and mine alone."

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