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lovieku · 5 months ago

Text

OBVIOUS ⋆ 정국

you lose your virginity to jeongguk, the only boy you’d ever trust with such weight. and what you both feel for each other couldn’t be more obvious.

୨ৎ from the grande series

pairings: bookstore employee!jk x virgin!fem reader

genre: smut, strangers to friends to lovers

ratings: +18 / mdi

warnings: based on this ask, lower case intended, porn with some plot, mutual pining, age gap (21 n 25), first time, dry humping, tit play (small boobs lover jk!!!), oral (f receiving), fingering, hand job, size kink, protected sex, missionary, cowgirl, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, sooo much praise, and pet names, jeongguk is so so loving and caring, sm fluff hehe, bit of angst maybe? but lovey dovey confession <33

word count: 12.9k

a/n: aaaa this is so silly and rushed but theyre so cute and i had to do something about it. ps: this is my first time writing smut, hope it’s not embarassing Help ..any feedback is appreciated 👩🏻‍💻

────୨ৎ────

you met jeon jeongguk at your favorite bookstore. the one tucked away in the quieter part of town, hidden in the shadow, squeezed between a small café and a vintage shop with an unassuming facade. it’s not the kind of place that draws crowds, most people passed it without a second glance, without paying it the attention it deserved.

but you always did, too attentive for your own liking, too curious for your own sake. you had always been the type to notice the quiet places where stories seem to breathe.

there was nothing not to love about the store. it felt like a refuge in tones of deep brown wood and soft amber light. it wasn’t flashy, but that’s why you loved it. stepping inside always brought a sense of calm, brought you closer to feel the whisper of worn leather bindings, the smell of old pages. it was being understood, accepted, seen.

meeting jeongguk wasn’t fate. it wasn’t some serendipitous moment ripped from a movie script. you didn’t bump into him while too immersed in your favorite novel. you didn’t reach simultaneously for the same book and argued over it, only to end up in the café next door.

jeon jeongguk was simply working there. he was an employee at the bookshop, stocking shelves, checking inventory. he just so happened to be charming, and the only one who came up to you after you’d been standing in front of a high shelf for what felt like an eternity.

“looking for anything in particular?”

when you turned to follow the source of the honey voice, not too low but still smooth, you had to fight hard to keep the gasp that was threatening to escape locked in your throat. he was tall. way taller than you. his dark hair fell in soft curls, brushing the nape of his neck, framing his face with carefully crafted, but effortlessly beautiful curtains. and when you managed to escape his wide eyes, seemingly storing all the warmth the shop could offer, you found it even harder to contain the surprise as you spotted a trail of intricate ink designs starting from his hand and running up his muscled arm, only to disappear beneath the short sleeve of his black polo.

he was still staring, expectantly. and you just kept standing there, mute. observing like a maniac. you stumbled over your words, trying to steady your voice, “oh— um. i was looking for the japanese author, kawamura?”

the way his eyes lit up at your request was unmistakable. and after that, the same spark would flicker in his gaze every time you stepped foot in the shop.

you later found out that he was new, which explained why you hadn’t noticed him before, all the times you’d gone and searched for books. which weren’t a lot, but enough for the other staff to know your face through the years. and now, certainly enough for jeongguk to become acquainted with your presence.

you started finding excuses to go more often, week after week, convincing yourself that you needed new books to accompany your tea as the colder months approached. truth be told, it wasn’t just the books pulling you in. your friends kept teasing you about the real reason why you’d always hurry there after your lectures ended, and deep down you knew you just had to accept it. you were developing a silly, little crush.

jeongguk didn’t seem to mind the growing frequency of your visits. if you had to guess, you’d say he was just as eager to see you. or maybe he was just exceptionally good at his job. if that were the case, you hoped he was crowned employee of the month every single time.

there was always a line he never crossed. his professionalism remained intact. he greeted you like any other customer, offering his help when you needed it. and you always seemed to need it, didn’t you? yet, there was something in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the way his lips curved in that subtle, almost hidden way when you left with a new book in hand. you’d walk out of the store, clutching your latest literary find, grinning like a fool, and jeongguk would watch, his own smile lingering long after you were gone.

deep down, you knew this couldn’t last forever. you were just a student, miserably scraping by in the tiniest flat imaginable, your waitressing part-time job barely paying enough to make it through the month. but you’d feel bad, wasting hours of jeongguk’s shift, monopolizing his time with your indecision over paperbacks, keeping him off his tasks, just for it to be a waste. you needed to show him your gratitude, in a way. contribute to the income of the bookshop. so, you kept buying books. you weren’t sure you even had more space to fit them in your own shelf.

yet no matter how much you tried to convince yourself to stay away, you couldn’t help it. books were your escape, your joy, and the fact that they were sold to you by jeongguk was just an added bonus. the problem wasn’t him— it was your wallet. your poor, overworked wallet that kept reminding you of the price of each novel and how your little crush was becoming financially unsustainable.

it was one of those afternoons after your morning lectures, where the crisp autumn air made you even more eager to slip into the bookstore, feeling that familiar rush of warmth as jeongguk greeted you with his usual smile. this time, he surprised you with a book he had found just for you, claiming “you’d enjoy it. feels light and genuine, just like you.”

when it came time to pay, cheeks still flushed after the sickly, sweet grin he flashed your way, you sighed as you rummaged through your bag for your card.

he scanned it, only to glance up at you with a hesitant expression, “huh… it declined.”

“what?” you laughed, though it was shaky, disbelief lacing your words, “no, that can’t be right. try again.”

he did, but the outcome remained unchanged. he met your eyes with a worried frown, and you felt your face flame in embarrassment, not the one that made your insides swarm with butterflies minutes before this.

you groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead in mortification, “fuck, this is so humiliating.”

jeongguk chuckled softly, his voice soothing, “hey, it’s really not. it’s okay. i’ll pay for it.”

your jaw dropped, and you looked at him like he had lost his mind, “no, what? are you crazy? don’t— don’t do that. you don’t need to. i’ll just come back another day.”

what followed was a ridiculous, playful back-and-forth. you refused, he insisted, and soon enough, the two of you were locked in a silly tug-of-war over the book itself, laughing despite the situation. he finally threw his hands up in surrender, his smile impossibly wide, the kind of grin that made your heart skip a beat.

“alright, alright,” he relented, shaking his head, “but i’m still not happy about this. if i can’t pay for your book, at least let me buy you a coffee. i’m clocking off in 15. will you wait for me?”

you couldn’t contain your eyes from widening, your smile to dumbly paint your features as you eagerly nodded. you didn’t trust yourself to speak, afraid that if you did, some ridiculous teenage squeal would escape. he was grinning just as hard, though.

and so, you began seeing jeongguk outside the confined space of the bookstore, in a world beyond the shelves and spines of novels. his attire was always simple, dark tones that exuded comfort and warmth. his sweaters seemed soft enough to curl into, and his presence felt just as inviting.

but you pushed those thoughts away, trying to remind yourself that he was becoming a friend. one of your closest, even. you tried. you did! but you just couldn’t help the way your mind wandered, imagining what it would be like to lean just a little closer, to feel the warmth of his embrace. god, get a grip.

still, it was impossible to ignore the flutter in your chest each time his eyes lingered a little longer than necessary. outside the bookstore, jeongguk was different. not in a bad way. he was just more relaxed, more himself. his touch came naturally, a hand at the small of your back guiding you through a crowded street, his arm slung casually over your shoulders like it belonged there. he was playful in a way that hinted at something deeper, his jokes sometimes drifting into uncharted territory, leaving your stomach in knots, your thoughts spiraling down paths you hadn’t dared explore.

and then there was the way he looked after you. he was older, just by a few years, 25 to your 21, but it felt like a gulf of experience separated the two of you. he’d seen more, lived more. experienced more. knew more. about all that stuff you’d been scared to explore, the stuff that happened in the intimacy of one’s bedroom. you knew he had his fair share of girlfriends, he told you about it. just how you’d told him you never got close to a relationship. you just flirted around with a boy in high school, messily making out in the corners where no one could see you. but it never went over that.

jeongguk’s protectiveness over you came naturally. you didn’t mind. it was reassuring, the way his hand tightened around your wrist in a crowded space or how his gaze followed you across a room, always making sure you were safe.

you found yourself spending more and more time together. walking through the city, staying up late at cafés, or just wandering aimlessly in his car, talking about everything. you told him about your classes, the stress of exams, your dreams of becoming a teacher, and the uncertainties that weighed you down. he listened, really listened, in a way that made you feel seen, like every word you said mattered.

jeongguk shared his own story too. he’d dropped out of college a year ago, deciding that the path everyone else had planned for him wasn’t for him at all. now, he was drifting, trying to figure out where he belonged. he took inspiration in the way your eyes sparkled at the prospect of your future. little did he know, your eyes just reflected the galaxies in his that you loved getting lost into.

it terrified you. because with each passing day, your feelings for him grew stronger, more undeniable. it wasn’t just a crush anymore. it was something that had its own weight, pulling you closer to him. the lines were blurring, but you let them.

one night, after a long week of classes and stress, you went out with a few friends. jeongguk hadn’t been able to join, caught up with work, but when your tipsy self had dialed his number later that night, he picked up right away. your voice was soft, your words slurred. they echoed through the bar’s bathroom, followed by your uncontainable giggles as jeongguk playfully scolded you on the other line. the same softness was painting his face, and he only hung up when he started his car, showing up within minutes.

by the time he arrived, you were well past tipsy and leaning dangerously toward drunk. you didn’t notice him sheepishly greeting your group of friends, their eyes lighting up with interest at the image of the renowned jeon jeongguk, until his low voice called your name, slipping his arm around your waist and helping you up from the bar stool, “come on, let’s get you home. say bye-bye.”

you glared at him, face slightly reddening at his tease. he just loved treating you like a little kid. loved poking fun at you. still, you leaned into him, the scent of his body wash wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, banter ready on your tongue, “i’m fine, grandpa,” you slurred amusedly, but your legs wobbled as you tried to walk.

he chuckled under his breath, guiding you out of the bar, “yeah, sure you are. you’re barely standing.”

the night air was cold against your skin, but jeongguk was warm, his body solid and steady as you clung to him.

you didn’t mean to say it, didn’t mean to let the words slip, but in your hazy, alcohol-fueled state, you genuinely wondered, “why are you so good to me?”

he paused for a moment, glancing down at you with a small smile, “because you deserve it.”

the car ride was silent, in a comfortable way. you got lost in the way the city flashed past you, and jeongguk stole sneaky glances at you from the corner of his eye, his hand gripping the steering wheel a little tighter each time he let his eyes linger.

when he reached your place, he helped you inside, gently guiding you to the couch. you were too dazed to fight him when he insisted on getting you some water and a blanket. he moved around your cramped flat with ease, having memorized where every single thing belonged after his countless stays at your place, watching movie after movie or simply keeping you company while you revised.

he sat beside you for a while as you rambled on about your night, how the music was slightly disappointing even with the drinks being overpriced.

jeongguk listened attentively, even with your words stumbling out in messy fragments, jumping from one topic to another. his eyes traced the way your hands moved in wild gestures, the way your lips fumbled for the right words, the glaze in your eyes reflecting the soft glow of the room. he didn’t realize it at first, but his body instinctively followed your movements, leaning closer with every excited wave of your arms, his knees brushing against yours, his head nodding in time with your words.

only when you stopped talking, turning to face him and catching his gaze in the dim light, he was made aware of the little distance between you. it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to be this close. always sneakily seeking for one another in booth seats of the pubs you’d visit every so often, his hand lingering on your knee for longer than needed when calling for your attention, your arms locking together when walking through the city.

but this moment was different. it was heavy with something unspoken. and so tender, fragile.

your cheek rested on the back of the couch, your body slouched, your eyes half-lidded. he sat straight, his torso turned towards you, his head bending down to study your face better.

you didn’t think when you blurted his name out, your gaze falling on his lips, “jeongguk.”

he hummed softly.

“i want you to kiss me.”

the words tumbled out before you could stop them, but you didn’t take them back. you couldn’t.

jeongguk didn’t seem startled by your unfiltered words. he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. he only tilted his head slightly, the corner of his lip inching up sweetly, “you want me to kiss you?”

you hummed, with the same softness, only tinted with uncertainty. fear of rejection. you were suddenly aware of what you asked him now that he repeated it back to you. and you realized how much you meant it, just now.

but his tone wasn’t condemning. it was seeking for confirmation that he heard right, that it wasn’t just your drunk thoughts talking. still, he didn’t lean closer, nor let his eyes fall to the lower part of your face.

he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “i’ll kiss you. just not now.”

”what? why not?”

your eyebrows were cutely furrowed, the blush the alcohol painted you with only making the pout on your lips even more irresistible.

jeongguk hissed amusedly, ”because you’re drunk. and when i’ll kiss you, i want you to be sure about it. want you to remember it.”

”but i am sure about it. i want you.”

once again, your blunt confession didn’t seem to faze him. he smiled, kept his tone low, ”i know. i want you too.”

your breath hitched at the unexpected sincerity of his words, your eyes roaming all over his face. you subtly shifted closer, your lips parted slightly with desire. the flame that lit up your body burned all the alcohol from your system, and suddenly you were more awake than ever. you were alert. your heart pounding, your core pulsing. he looked so inviting, so pretty in that light.

he wet his lips, darting his tongue out to play with his piercing. you could feel your head spin. you didn’t just want him. you needed him. and it wasn’t the alcohol. you were sure of it.

you could only dumbly lean closer and hope for the best, but he chuckled softly, his large hand framing the side of your face and forcing you to stop your path towards him, look at him, swim in the intensity of his gaze.

his tone was gentle, delicate, understanding, “if you don’t change your mind, we’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay? when you’re sober. hm?”

his eyes searched yours, waiting patiently for your response. you only managed a small nod, your eyes glossy with frustration and a bit of shame. you bit your lip, muttering a small okay and letting him fix your hair with the fondest look in his orbs.

he left your flat only after tucking you in your bed, because you begged him to, and after much more pleading, you even convinced him to stay beside you until you fell asleep. you didn’t feel him slip out of your hold on his hand, the weight of his body leaving your bed, and with it, the warmth of his presence going as well.

but the following day, after downing the glass of water you assumed he left by your nightstand, you bore through your headache and searched for his contact in your phone first thing as you woke up. you were instantly hit with flashes of the night before, and you remembered exactly what you told him, what he promised. that if you still wanted it, you would talk about it. and you just needed to hear his voice, as soon as possible.

you’re not sure what there was to talk about. you asked him for a kiss. his lips on yours. it’s not like there would be much space for talking.

with your phone to your ear, the ringback tone was the only sound filling the space between your thoughts. you felt a twinge of anxiety in your stomach. you should have probably called later, let yourself adjust to consciousness. maybe rationalize yesterday’s events and find a better way to move around them. give yourself more time to think it over. the wait stretched on, and it only gave your doubts more space to spiral, turn into little monsters whispering evil things in your ear.

he probably wanted to talk to you about it because he thought it was a stupid idea. he didn’t really want it, was just lying to get you to shut up. he thought you were foolish, childish, not his type at all. or maybe, he was seeing someone and didn’t know how to tell you. wow, that would be humbling. you wanted him so bad and he was just—

“hello?”

his voice sounded muffled through the line. you clumsily adjusted your device to your ear, sitting up, still in your bed, last night’s makeup smudged under your eyes, “jeongguk?”

”that would be me, ma’am.”

“hi,” your voice was low, thick with sleep and the remnants of your hangover, and it sounded weaker than you’d intended to reveal.

”hey. feeling better, miss?”

his playful tone was laced with affection, and it instantly put a smile on your face. you didn’t realize it, but your mind was clearing, your body unconsciously easing back into the covers, “i am.”

jeongguk hummed, and you heard the faint sound of movement on his end. he was probably getting ready for the bookstore, but still found time to pick up your call. it made you alert, awkwardly aware of what both of you were probably expecting out of this conversation.

you cleared your throat, smoothing some of the morning grogginess and sounding lighter, softer, “come over after your shift? i miss the office. and your ramyeon.”

when he chuckled in your ear and teased you for that one time you said his cooking was average, you felt your shoulders relax. even more when he agreed and shot you a quick see you later, followed by the exaggerated sound of smacking lips.

it was his signature goodbye, always ending your calls with that. it would usually make you roll your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. but this time, it made you blush like a pubescent teenager. get. a. grip.

jeongguk noticed the slight shift in your demeanor right away. he could taste the tension, smell it in the air, feel it in the way you’d become stiff, even when his fingers barely grazed your skin. it was a stark contrast to how things had been between you two.

you still moaned around the first bite of his ramyeon, still giggled with your mouth full as he mockingly mimicked your voice, playfully downgrading his cooking skills from months ago. but you blushed a little harder at the smirk that followed his usual tease. subtly ran away from his hand seeking your contact.

with time, both of you had grown comfortable with the casual touches, playful proximity— tickling at each other’s sides, poking jokingly, or simply brushing hands when no one was looking. it had become a natural part of your dynamic.

but after your earlier slurred confessions, he could tell that it was affecting you more deeply now, your body reacting differently to his touch. the way you startled at his closeness, the small breath catching in your throat. it all made his head spin, his fist tighten in restraint. you weren’t the only one affected.

on your couch, you found it hard to relax in his familiar embrace, an arm around your shoulders, your head resting on his chest. the steady rhythm of his breathing usually soothed you, but tonight, your heart was fighting its way up, dangerously close to spilling all over his neat clothes. you exhaled shakily, the office playing quietly on the tv doing a weak job at distracting you.

and jeongguk couldn’t take it anymore. lust wasn’t the only feeling simmering under the surface. he was scared. that he may have read it all wrong, that you only blurted it out because you were drunk and not in control of your thoughts. he was terrified of stepping the wrong way, doing something that would determinately scare you away, end whatever you two had for good. and he didn’t want to lose you. wanted to keep you. and that went over the need to taste your lips.

through the corner of your eye, you could feel him stare down at you intently. his other hand reached to move your hair out of the way, and you let him. you turned to meet his gaze, and relaxed slightly at the fond look on his features.

“what’s going on in that pretty, little head of yours? will you tell me?”

you blinked. gulped down loudly. the reassuring smile on his face grew bigger. you shifted slightly in his hold, moving your body to face him, and the arm that was around you naturally fell down your waist.

you tried to word it differently, tried to suppress it just a bit longer, find another way around it, but his blown out pupils lowered all your inhibitions, “do you— do you still want to kiss me?”

“i do. very badly.”

his response was immediate, and it came through a whisper. it caressed your face sweetly, and it made you aware of the natural gravity that pulled you even closer, to the point of your noses almost touching.

you were unable to move, to initiate anything, to be truthful to your desires. your orbs jumped on every corner of his face, widening. he let his palm close around your hip, then he spoke low, “will you let me do that?”

jeon jeongguk kissed you slowly. his lips lingered on yours, tasting, moving with intent. his hands framed your face, traveling down your neck and holding you gently by the nape.

it was sweet, and delicate. he took his time becoming acquainted with your pace, letting you control the movement of his doings. when he darted his tongue out to trace your lower lip, you granted him permission to explore the insides of your mouth.

with tongues intertwined, the kiss gradually became sloppier, more desperate. your fingers found home in his long curls, tugging at the base of it, and supporting yourself while arching your body into his, pressing yourself against his chest, seeking for confirmation that he wanted this just as badly as you did.

he welcomed your proximity by letting his palms fall to your waist, keeping you close, and tracing his touch dangerously close to the curve of your ass.

you whined lowly, but the sounds became ingloriously louder the more he pressed your body against his hard one, his touch wandering, squeezing, feeling.

you messily straddled his lap and sat with your knees on both sides of him, your desire deepening with your kiss, devouring his lips harder, twisting his hair in a confused tangle the more you got lost in them.

his hands went to hold your hips, and you soon felt a stronger weight on them, gently pulling you away and giving you a minute to catch your breath. though it was taken out of you the moment you took in the man in front of you, his lips swollen, his eyes half-lidded, his curls all over the place.

he let out an amused chuckle, combing through your own mess on your head, “hey, pretty. it’s okay. there’s no rush. we can take it slow, hm?”

in that small moment, you were made aware of your own eagerness slipping out of your control and rushing your actions, insatiable with wanting more, but not even being sure if jeongguk wanted that more just as much.

instead, you were sure your whole face was a crimson shade with the way the boy under you fondly grinned, his hand guiding you by the nape and letting your lips meet again in a small peck, before he focused on your face again.

jeongguk never left your eyes, and you were too hypnotized to even think of looking elsewhere. his gaze was steady, magnetic, thirsty to drink in your reaction as he guided your hips against him, letting them drag over his clothed bulge. you moaned, unshameful, your eyes rolling back.

”yeah? you like that?”

you could only nod dumbly, repeatedly, using your hands on his shoulders as support while you kept grinding on him. slowly at first, just how he had suggested. but the stimulation was too good, your clit deliciously meeting his hardness, spreading the embarrassing amount of wetness you had already collected all over your panties. you tentatively picked up your pace, his hands immediately stopping you.

”you need to be patient, doll.” his scold was only playful, the smirk spreading on his features letting you know he enjoyed the effect he had on you, the way he bit his lip communicating he was just as affected. but you liked the feeling of him guiding you through this.

you didn’t know what to do, weren’t sure how to please him, too shy under his adoring look. you sheepishly smiled, falling onto him and hiding yourself in the crook of his neck.

he laughed, his chest moving with it, and you could feel his heart pumping, his warmth meeting the side of your face. he took the hand on your waist and dragged it up your back, soothingly, “you’re doing so good, baby. okay?”

it was sweet, and the praise made you pulse around nothing. you nodded, your nose brushing against his neck as you timidly let your lips leave a trace of wet kisses along his adam’s apple, going up his jaw. he hummed, the sound reverberating in his throat and against your mouth.

you left small pecks on his cheek, to his nose, retreating after laying a quiet one on his mouth. you looked back at him, jumping between his eyes, confession tumbling out your tongue, “sorry. i just want you so bad.”

he chuckled, moving your bangs out of your face, “i want you just as much. but i don’t want this moment to be fast. want to make it special for you.”

his whispered words tugged at the strings of your poor heart. you felt it begging to be ripped out of your chest, banging on your rib cage, maybe trying to find another way up your throat. but its repeated, quick pumping also matched the need pooling down your lower belly, staining your panties.

you nodded, finding his lips again and deepening the kiss, adapting to a slower rhythm as your tongues fervently explored each other. he grabbed your sides and grinded you closer to him, moaning in your mouth as you matched his gentle guiding, meeting the involuntary buck of his hips.

the almost too tender drag of your clothed pussy against his clothed, hard cock soon became torturous for the both of you, reduced to panting, eager messes. you felt unashamedly close just from the repeated action, and if he hadn’t decided to lay you on your back just then, you were sure you would have cummed already.

he was gentle as he positioned you on the couch, your body sprawled while he was mindful not to put too much of his weight on you. when he left your lips, you instinctively whined. your head subtly lifted off the sofa to try and follow his mouth, bring it back on yours, but he only smirked and darted his tongue out to lick off your taste.

he didn’t give you time to protest, to miss his touch, to be left unattended. because he quickly moved to work on your neck, his tattooed hand tentatively seeking its way under your t-shirt.

you let him wander. let him leave wet traces from your jaw down your collarbones while his fingers left goosebumps along their path, and rose up to your chest. he hummed at the feeling of your bare breasts, smirking at the absence of a bra.

he felt the skin under it, only for his palm to cup your boob and knead at it. it was a perfect fit in his large hand, his thumb teasingly slicing over your nipple and making you mewl, arching your back and pushing your front into him.

he moved himself from your neck and hesitantly lifted up your shirt, searching your eyes for permission. you put your hands on his and led them to take it off you, discarding it on the ground.

he sat back on his heels, admiring your figure laying between his legs. in his eyes, you found something you were never met with until that moment.

he looked starved, his pupils blown and following every curve of your body, his hands hovering only to end up caressing your sides delicately.

you blushed, hard, using your hand to cover your face and throwing an arm over your chest. his palms squeezed your hips twice, his thumbs stroking the skin under your ribs, “don’t hide from me, pretty. let me see you.”

you shook your head stubbornly, a small whine escaping your throat. but he could tell you weren’t starting any fight, he could make out your smile, barely concealed under your fingers.

jeongguk moved your wrists and laid them on top of your head, his face nearing again to leave an adoring kiss on your lips. when he found your eyes again, the fondest smile was painting his features, “you’re beautiful.”

“my boobs are small,” your voice was muffled, shy, hidden behind your childish pout.

“i fucking love them,” with one hand still keeping your wrists together, he used the other one to play with your breasts once more, his gaze hypnotized by the way he could make them fit in his large palm, squeezing them together and kneading at the softness.

you moaned, loud and unashamed, when he guided his smooth lips to your nipple, his gaze never leaving yours while he attempted small, kitten licks at it.

when he saw how your eyes lustfully rolled back as his fingers went to play with your other boob, rolling it and letting his thumb slide over the sensitive center, he took it as his go-ahead to wholly engulf your wet nipple in his mouth and suck on it, lick around it, kiss it.

jeongguk was hastily making out with your tits, giving both of them the attention they needed, reducing your nipples to soaked, hard messes.

you felt your soul ascend high and leave your body when, as you unconsciously thrusted your hips up in desperate need of friction, you found that in his knee, the one that was positioned between your legs, the one you now grinded into with no control over your pace, bringing yourself closer to the edge.

“fuck, jeongguk,” you didn’t have time to feel ashamed over how delirious you sounded, or looked, the lewd noises of his sucking taking you even higher, his hands massaging your boobs with intent.

you only got louder the more you let your cunt rub against his leg, a motion you were unable to slow down, too eager to get to the finish line. and this time, jeongguk let you, even spurring you on, “let go, angel. cum on my thigh.”

it was all the encouragement you needed to fully loosen, his own whines resounding against your chest and blending with your high-pitched moans, eyes rolled back, head thrown to the side, fingers clutching around jeongguk’s locks and guiding him further into you as you lost control on his thigh, “gonna cum!”

your orgasm took over your whole body, shaking with overwhelment at the stimulation. all the sensations you were feeling were new to you, but nonetheless welcomed in the way your eyelids drooped with relaxed pleasure and you worked to catch your breath, your muscles untightening, your arms falling by your sides.

jeongguk left one last kiss around your nipple before lifting himself up to admire your fucked out state, your cheeks flushed and sweat adorning you with an angel-like glow, the lazy smile on your face as you stared at him making his heart skip a few beats.

he let his eyes wander, his own expression incredulous at what had just happened, “that was so fucking sexy, baby.”

the way you sheepishly chuckled was contagious, his giggles filling your ears as he lifted you up and pulled you against his chest, your still weak body falling onto him with ease. he smiled fondly, looking down at your face, “if you want to stop here, it’s totally okay. i won’t—“

“no!” your energy came back to you as quickly as it left your body minutes before, sitting up straight in his embrace with your eyes wide and worried. you fumbled with your words, “no— no. i want to keep going. please.”

the grin that took over his features adorably caused his nose to scrunch, and he had to put his lips on yours and let them blend together in a sickly sweet kiss to keep himself from saying the words that were so dangerously close from spilling, on the tip of his tongue. he hoped, as he slid it against yours, that you could still feel them, and accept them.

he retreated to cup your cheek in his palm, your eyebrows still unconsciously drawn up in agitation, but easing as he reassured you, “you don’t have to beg, angel. i’ll give you anything you ask for.”

”okay. couch is uncomfortable. take me to the bedroom,” your arms stretched out, teasingly expecting him to pick you up.

you squealed when he did, taking your legs, wrapping them around his tiny waist and getting up the sofa, leading both of you to your room. he didn’t have to watch where he was going, his feet automatically guiding him, having adjusted to your flat long ago. but even if that weren’t the case, he would still not look, too caught up in your glossy orbs.

he pinched your sides before laying you on the soft surface of your bed, legs still tight around him, “bossy much, hm?”

you shrugged, a naughty grin accompanying the playful glint in your eyes, “you’re following my orders flawlessly.”

he scoffed amusedly, kissing his teeth, “ah, is that right?”

you hummed, eager with taking the back and forth further, see where it takes you, “such a good boy.”

the giggle that tumbled out of you as he narrowed his eyes betrayed you, breaking into a full fit of laughter as he tickled your sides, your legs leaving his waist. he tauntingly bit your neck, not enough to hurt you, grinning mischievously, “i’m letting you get away with too much. need to teach you a lesson.”

the laugh died in your throat the second he lifted his shirt up, showing his body to you for the first time. michelangelo would have loved to sculpt him, that’s the first thought your slowed down brain could come up with as you let your eyes wander all over his upper body.

he was toned, his eight pack abs glowing effortlessly for your mouth to water, his nipples a brownish color and so inviting, making you lean on your forearms for a better view.

the arm that wrapped around one of your legs and pushed it on the side was the one inked with those intricate designs you spent boring, lazy afternoons analyzing, and now they were the reason why you could feel a familiar buzz down your core again, coating your panties with even more of your sticky juice.

“cat got your tongue?” there was no way you could even think of a witty come-back with the way he lowered his pretty face between your thighs, his cocky smirk never leaving his expression as his eyes fixated on your own, challenging you.

but you were long gone, willing to let him do whatever he wanted to your body. you stared intently as his fingers hooked under the hem of your shorts, pulling them down in a sensual motion, until they fell on the floor.

your head fell backwards as he let his nose trace your soaked slit, still hidden underneath the layer of cotton panties, “is this okay?”

he only needed your eager nod to leave a subtle kiss on your clit, then lap at your slick through the thin material, “taste so good, doll.”

jeongguk repeated the motion, licking at you through your undies and letting his big nose brush against your clit torturously, his saliva and your wetness causing the fabric to dig between your lips uncomfortably, showing yourself to him.

you unconsciously bucked your hips up, eagerly demanding to set you free, but he held you down by your waist, “patience, baby.”

you whined loudly, and you couldn’t believe how delirious you sounded already, only moments after your earlier climax. he seemed to enjoy your reactions, the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance and ripping a desperate moan out of you, trying to push yourself into him further but being held down by his strong palms.

you fell on your back, your hair sprawled over your pillows, suddenly too weak to fight against him. he chuckled darkly, speaking against your core, “you’re so cute. so eager for me, angel.”

when he lifted himself up, his mouth glistened with your juice, and you couldn’t help but blush at the image. you were so wet, the liquid stained him even through the layer of clothing still keeping you from fully feeling him.

the silent plead in your eyes was listened to. jeongguk slid off your panties in one swift motion, his eyes hungry at the sight revealed to him, “fuck. so perfect. the prettiest.”

he didn’t show mercy at your weakened state, returning his starved mouth on your cunt, slurping at your lips and sucking on your clit, the stimulation making you see stars under your eyelids.

your eyes snapped open the moment you felt something tentatively poking at your entrance, and as you lowered your head you saw his finger playing with your virgin hole, going up to collect your slick from your slit, then returning on where you were starting to need him.

but you were anxious. he immediately saw it in the way you got up on your forearms again, instinctively closing your legs around his hand. his eyes found yours, reassuringly, “baby. you alright?”

you nodded sheepishly, “yeah. i’m just— scared. don’t want it to hurt.”

the hand that was playing with you now laid on your lower stomach, rubbing it in a sweet manner while he sought for your mouth with his, leaving a honeyed peck on it, “it will hurt a bit, pretty. but i’ll try and make it feel good, hm? if you’re not sure, we can always stop.”

you could only bite your lip as the both of you searched for security in each other’s eyes. he tilted his head, waiting for your approval, the grin spreading and making his long dimples visible infectious, and you stumbled on your words, “can you— kiss me while you do it?”

he hummed fondly, his lips immediately finding yours as he positioned himself between your legs, spreading again and granting him access to the spot you were anxiously eager to feel him.

his tongue slowly moved with yours and lightly lulled your racing heartbeat, instilling some needed tranquility in your system as you felt him close to your core again. his middle finger repeated a circular motion around it, spreading your stickiness, only to bring it on your hole before delicately pushing his digit inside.

a choked out moan escaped you, captured promptly by his lips, keeping you somewhat distracted from the slight burn you felt. it grew the more he slipped himself inside you, and you bit his lip to conceal the pain.

he growled at the action, retreating his finger only to push it in again, this time tentatively deeper. he went over the movement a few times, enough to get you adjusted to the foreign presence, and the more he did it, the more the sharpness turned into pleasure.

”feel good, princess?” the pet name was whispered against your swollen lips, and you kept your eyes closed as you nodded, basking in the newly welcomed feeling.

when he started curling the finger inside you, you involuntarily bucked yourself up against him, your body spasming with your hole and he groaned at the feeling of your tightness, unconsciously grinding on the sheets.

he couldn’t help himself from breaking your kiss to look down, getting lost in the way his digit got sucked inside you, only to come out soaked in your juice. without warning, he slowly added another finger, and you arched your back, searching for support in his shoulder.

jeongguk’s eyes kept jumping between your wet cunt, where his fingers worked in and out, and your pleasure-contorted expression, your mouth agape and unleashing your every moan as your eyes squeezed shut.

he felt deliriously close only from the image, his hard dick desperate for friction and insatiable with the way he was still constricted in his jeans. but this moment was about you and you only. once he felt the way you gripped his shoulder tighter at one particular curl of his digits, he kept hitting that spot repeatedly, faster.

you didn’t notice his face retreating at first, too lost in the bliss of his purposed touch, but you gasped harshly, your eyes tearing open the moment you felt his lips enveloping your clit again and sucking at it, lapping all around it, tasting it as if it was his first meal after ages.

when you looked down, you found him already staring at you through half-lidded eyes. you wailed, feverish, “oh, shit. gguk, don’t— don’t do that.”

he hummed questioningly, and the sound reverberated against your sensitive nub.

you rolled your eyes back, ”gonna cum again if you— fuck.”

“cum around my fingers, baby. cum on my tongue,” the words came out slurred, his mouth full of you, the drenched sounds of your pussy making his encouragement even more erotic as he added a third finger.

his digits kept digging relentlessly inside you, that spot that made your legs weakly squish jeongguk between them being hit repeatedly and bringing you close to your second climax.

what completely undid you were his eager cries against your cunt, and when you managed to lift your head to look down at the boy working so desperately to make you cum on his lips, you saw his hips rutting frantically against your sheets.

you didn’t even have time to announce it, the way your hole spasmed around his fingers and your high-pitched moans doing it for you as you fully let go for the second time because of jeongguk. it was more intense, your body moving with it and unconsciously running away from the touch once it became too intense.

jeongguk cleaned you as best as he could, slurping your juices and licking you off his fingers, climbing up to find your lips and share your own taste with you, his chin coated with your slick.

your pleasured sounds mixed together, the both of you panting and soon laying in silence, one beside the other, staring at the ceiling. you laughed breathlessly, “fuck, gguk. i almost died.”

he only chuckled along with you, the sound strained and dying soon in his throat. with your heartbeat and your breathing settling down, you turned to the side to find jeongguk with his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenching. his fists were clutching the fabric beside him, and his knuckles were white from the effort.

it wasn’t complicated to understand why, the next thing you spotted being the hard outline of his cock looking completely suffocated by his pants. you gulped, “gguk. you seem hard.”

he let out a delirious scoff, his eyes finding yours with an intensity you were only then noticing, ”i am hard, baby. so hard for you.”

you tentatively guided your hand to the button of his jeans, undoing it along with the zip. your words were hesitant, but so sincere, ”let me touch you. wanna make you feel good, too.”

jeongguk watched with his mouth agape as you straddled his lap, sitting on his legs only after sliding his pants down to his ankles. you looked so innocent, timidly playing with the hem of his boxers, and he tried to be patient, but he couldn’t.

he groaned, his head thrown back. “___. please, do something.”

his eyes were glossy with frustration, and you had to fight the urge to kiss him stupid, focusing on the task ahead. a big one, indeed. you weren’t going to lie, you were already intimidated by the outline of it.

now that your naked body sat on top of him, being faced with his almost totally bare skin, you realized how much bigger he was compared to you. of course, he was taller, always towering over you, teasing you for your height and pretending he didn’t see you, bumping into you purposefully or asking how’s the weather down there?

but with his large palm resting at your side and almost covering your entire tummy, you realized the implications of such difference. he could totally wreck you, if he wanted to.

ogling at his dick didn’t make it better. it looked huge. a wet patch stained his underwear near the tip, and you salivated at the sight of it.

you tentatively let your finger run along the covered length, and he hissed, slightly thrusting his hips, making you slide closer, “baby. don’t tease.”

the apology was ready and fast on your lips, genuine concern written in your eyes. you didn’t want to keep his suffering going, but you were also hesitant with how exactly you were going to please him. you’ve never seen a real-life dick, and you’ve certainly never touched one.

it was like jeongguk could read your every thought, your wide orbs like an open book to him, reassurance slipping out of him naturally, “doll. you see this?” he took your wrists and laid your hand on his hardness, gulping at the contact, “you feel this? this is what you did to me. there’s no reason why you should doubt yourself, okay?”

you nodded, still unsure, but surely smiling at his sweet tone. he grinned himself, “you’re so hot, and i literally almost came just by looking at you.”

the giggle that escaped you was lively and it eased your nerves with the way it mirrored in his eyes, fondly jumping all over your face. you bit your lip as you escaped his attentive gaze, finally freeing his cock from his confines and making him release a shaky sigh.

it was perfect. pretty. it touched just under his belly button, the tip angry and wet with precum, the pulsing veins running along its length making it throb.

you took it in your hand delicately, jeongguk hissing, and you gasped under your breath. it felt thick in your hold, your fist barely closing around it.

you weren’t sure what to do. your only examples were pornos, and you knew not to fully trust them. but as you started letting your wrist tentatively flick up and down, slowly, you eagerly drank in his reaction.

jeongguk moaned lowly, his eyelids fluttering shut, focusing on the feeling of your smooth hands taking care of his boner. he got louder when you unexpectedly played with his tip, your thumb swirling around it and spreading his wetness down.

your movements were messy, stutteringly uncoordinated, but the concentrated look in your eyes as you stared at his member intently made his head spin, wishing he could fill your slightly agape, watering mouth with it.

in your own mind, you wished his length could be stuffing up your cunt, instead. you slowed down your doings, ending up haltering them as he found your face again, a protesting whine ready to escape him, but you were quicker to surprise him, your voice shy, ”wanna feel you inside me.”

jeongguk groaned deliriously, eyes rolling back at the simple request, ”fuck. you sure?”

you whispered, ”please.”

”of course, angel. been waiting for so long.”

your mouths found each other quickly, starving, both your heartbeats picking up at the prospect of what was going to happen. he combed through your hair to move them behind your ears, rolling the two of you and making you the one laying under his weight.

in between kisses, you asked, impatient, “do you have a condom?”

”yeah, got one in my wallet,” he was panting with effort just as you were, moving from you only to fully free himself from his clothes and then search in his jeans pockets.

as he took the condom out, ripping it open, he stumbled on his words, suddenly awkwardly self-conscious, “it’s not like i have it because i was— expecting us to, huh—“

”jeongguk. it’s okay,” your sweet voice interrupted his overthinking, pulling him to be on top of you again by his arm, “i’m glad you have it, ‘cause i need to feel you. right now.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. you watched, eyes glossy with want, need, as he rolled the condom along his length, huffing out at the sensitivity.

jeongguk brought you closer to him by your thighs, wrapping them around him. he lowered himself on his forearms, his forehead touching yours, eyes swimming together, the proximity making the both of you smile sheepishly.

he exhaled, “are you still sure about this, doll?”

you nodded, the subtle but growing anxiety making your words get stuck in your throat. jeongguk was gentle, patient, his large palm cupping your cheek, “need to hear you say it.”

”yes. i’m sure. want you so bad,” the confession was slurred, shy under his adoring gaze. he kissed along your jaw, slow, intentional.

“okay. just know we can stop whenever you want. let me know if it hurts. i wanna hear you, hm?” his eyes searched yours, frantically, making sure you were good.

as you nodded again, he grasped your hand to hold it, letting your fingers intertwine and lay by your head. with the other hand, he took his length and positioned it where you needed him the most.

jeongguk made it all feel so intimate, special, and safe, that you sensed your eyes water with a feeling stronger than the words you could allow yourself to say. you felt eternally grateful to him for turning a moment you used to dread into something so delicate and precious.

you felt adored. you felt seen, and heard. you felt protected, understood. you saw your reflection in his eyes, in a way that made you want to hide in there forever, maybe travel a bit further down and find home in his heart.

as he started easing himself inside you, both of you gasping at the feeling, his hand gripping yours harder, a tear ran down your cheek. it was a mixture of emotions, sensations. the fullness of his cock entering you, the burn that came with it, his eyes widening alarmingly as he noticed the tears welling along your bottom lashes.

he stilled inside you, his tip now nuzzled in your warmth, his breath hitching, “does it hurt? baby, what’s wrong?”

”no, it’s just—“ it was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t say it. not now. maybe never? you swallowed it down your throat, “it hurts a bit but it feels so good, gguk.”

”yeah? fuck. you’re so tight, princess. taking me in so good,” his praises replaced the hurt, both emotional and physical, with a familiar fuzzy pleasure, pooling in your lower stomach and releasing more of your wetness on his dick, making it easier for him to slip inside you.

he groaned as he bottomed out, your moan higher than intended. you felt him throb inside you, just how he could feel you pulse around him. a string of curses followed as he repeated the slow action, pulling back to his tip only to push back in, making sure you grew accustomed to the feeling.

”gguk. i feel so full,” you cried, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, forcing him to stay still inside you. he growled, kissing along your neck and leaving small bites to contain himself from snapping his hips against you.

it was complicated, with the sounds escaping your lips resounding sweetly in his ears and your hole tightening around him in a torturous manner making him release precum inside the condom.

”baby, can i please move? i’m gonna go crazy,” his voice was strained, whiny, muffled in the crook of your neck as your fingers combed through his hair, unconsciously searching for comfort.

your granting hum was more of a high-pitched whine, but he took it positively as he attempted one first thrust inside you, followed shortly by another. your moans got stuck, the air cut from your throat the more he picked up his pace, lifting his face from your neck and straightening up to admire the scene.

it was better than anything he’d ever witnessed, his thickness stuffed in your tight, virgin hole and taking him in so perfectly. he took his free hand to hold you still by your hip as he pushed himself deeper.

you were a mess underneath him. legs squeezing around him, you barely gave jeongguk space to move. you wailed, his name tumbling out your tongue repeatedly as he fucked into you faster. he’d been so gentle with you until that moment, but now his roughness made you impossibly wetter.

when you let your eyes flutter open, you could feel yourself spasm around him at the sight in front of you. his abs contracted with the effort of his pushes, his cock slammed into you relentlessly, his nipples hardened and called for your touch.

you threw one hand to his pec and felt his firmness under you, gripping it for support as he pounded you with intent, your nails scratching his skin, the sounds of your bodies slapping together overtaking your pleasured moans.

he panted, rambling, “fuck, love this pussy. love fucking this pussy. wanna fuck it forever.”

“made just for me. such a perfect fit.”

“that’s how you’ve been waiting to be fucked, huh? nice and deep, you fucking love that.”

his praises and dirty comments made your head spin, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, letting your mouth hang open and release your cries into the stuffy room.

the sight of your fucked out state underneath his control was going to torture him for the following weeks, he was sure of that. he’d see you, sprawled out on your bed for him, your tits moving up and down with each thrust, your pleasured tears staining your face as his name left your pillowy lips like a mantra, every time he’d close his eyelids.

he had to physically hold himself back from releasing already, his length too sensitive and eager, but he wanted to make this moment last for as long as he could possibly handle. he closed his eyes, but he couldn’t escape you. you were loud, and the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

and then, the challenge became harder when you stuttered, unexpectedly, “wanna ride you.”

he threw his head back, a feverish groan rising up his throat, “fuck. you do, pretty?”

you hummed, just as unhinged, your legs untightening around him and weakly pulling at his arm to try and bring him to lay on the bed. he pulled himself out of you slowly, making you cringe at the emptiness, and as he let his back fall on the soft surface, he lifted your figure effortlessly and led you to straddle him.

now on top of him, you weren’t so confident with your earlier claim anymore. underneath you, jeongguk was panting, his pupils blown out, lips agape, cock laying unattended on his stomach. he stroked your sides comfortingly, subtly pulling you closer, and the action caused your slicked pussy to grind against his balls.

the two of you moaned at the contact, and he immediately took his length to pump it a couple of times, gently tapping it against your tummy. you lifted your hips up, positioning yourself on his tip, looking down at jeongguk for support.

the lazy smile you were met with made your heart stutter in your chest, and you put your hand on top of his, still tightly gripping your hip, as you sank down his dick.

your head was thrown back in pleasure, your back arching into him, and jeongguk had to fight with himself to keep his eyes from fluttering shut, wanting to bask in the image of you.

as you fully took him in, you leaned your weight on the palm that fell on his chest, his hands steadying you promptly by your waist, praise ready on his tongue, “doing so amazing, princess. making me feel so good.”

you attempted moving subtly, trying to adjust to the more intense stretch, and the hand that was still holding his led it to cup your boob, instructing him to knead at it.

he moaned shakily, playing with your tit while you lifted your hips only to sink them down again, tentatively repeating the action and gaining confidence the more his whines got louder.

soon, you lost control. the way your clit would brush against his skin every time you bounced down made you pulse relentlessly around him, grinding into the sensation and rotating your hips on him with intent.

you tried to prevent it, to hold yourself back, but all your resolution dissolved in a second the moment you felt jeongguk’s thumb teasing your nub. you jolted forward, still balancing yourself on his chest, his hand on your breast working to keep you straight.

”gguk, i think— i think i’m close again,” you admitted ashamedly, your cheeks flushing but your desire unable to make you stop rutting your hips against his touch, his cock throbbing around your walls.

”yeah? then cum around it, make me feel it,” his low voice spurred you on, the thumb that was teasing you now slicing on your nipple, spreading your slick on your boob.

and that made you let go, for a third time, convulsing on top of him, your cries louder as you spasmed around his thick length, your cunt hugging him impossibly tighter, and for a moment you genuinely feared he’d get stuck.

the strength taken out of you was enough to make you fall onto him, your face in his neck as you panted frantically, his heartbeat matching the speed of yours under your palm laying on his chest.

jeongguk’s voice was weak as he spoke in your ear, his fingers stroking your back comfortingly, “that was amazing, baby. so good.”

you appreciated his constant praises, a lazy grin spreading on your lips, but you couldn't ignore the way he kept thudding inside you, quiet whines stuck in his throat as he tried to conceal them by clutching your sides tighter, stilling himself.

jeongguk wailed feverishly when you lifted yourself up again, resuming your earlier actions, the ones that were bringing him to the point he badly wanted to reach. he was breathless as he took in the determined glint in your eyes, “fu— fuck. doll, what are you—“

”wanna make you cum, gguk.”

he physically couldn’t hold himself from rolling his eyes far deep, bucking up to meet your hips, and the force of his thrusts threw your weak body back on him again, your hard nipples brushing against his equally stiff ones.

”i’ll fuck you, baby, hm? you already did so good for me,” his words were hushed, whispered, delirious, the sound of them overtaken by the sharp pounding.

but he made sure you could feel every syllable, his lips close to your lobe as you held yourself tightly on his shoulders, “so perfect. letting me fuck you good and deep. gonna make me cum so hard, doll.”

your brain couldn’t process any other kind of response other than loud cries, your cunt being relentlessly abused. the waves of your last orgasm still flowed inside you, the buzz coming back to life as the new position gave him perfect access to your sweet, needy spot, hitting it at an inhumane force.

his effort was translated into deep, raspy growls only pushing you closer to the edge, and you swore you could pass out from the overstimulation. but you basked in it, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision.

”you wanna cum again? i know you can, c’mon. i know you got it in you, pretty. just another one. cum with me.”

his pleading, delirious tone undid you. the way you both released with harsh moans was perfectly synced, his hips jolting you forward as you chased your high against his lower stomach. with a few more pushes, he let go fully inside the condom, all the energy being ripped from him at that moment, his hands freeing your waist from the sharp grip while his head fell weakly on the side.

the two of you were almost wheezing, your exhales shaking in your panting chests as you lifelessly rested on him, slowly being lulled by his breathing.

you didn’t even notice yourself slipping so easily into slumber, and if it weren’t for his delicate touch tracing your closed eyelids and moving your hair behind your ear, his sweet voice preventing you from fully falling unconscious, you would have enjoyed just staying in that position forever.

“sweetheart. you sleepy?”

you only hummed, the sound rough and thick.

he removed himself from you slowly, both of you still gasping at the overstimulation, and he gently laid you on your back before tying the condom and throwing it in the bin next to your nightstand.

as soon as your head hit the pillow, your eyes fluttered shut again. the room spun faintly, and your body, exhausted, ignored every request your mind was screaming at you. you were cold, goosebumps rising on your naked skin; your thighs still trembled, a mess of wetness and slick. but you were too tired to move. you could only lay there, sprawled on the sheets.

luckily, jeongguk thought of everything. his mind was full of you, his only thought being taking care of your figure and making sure you were safe, comforted.

he had taken your virginity. it wasn’t just a physical act— it was a gift you had entrusted him with, something you had kept close to your heart, even through all the fears and anxieties you’d shared with him. you had always been afraid to let go, to give such an intimate part of yourself to someone.

but you trusted him, fully and deeply, in a way that you hadn’t trusted anyone before. that knowledge bloomed in his chest like warmth spreading to every corner of his body. he felt a deep sense of responsibility and gratitude. he wanted to honor that trust.

with care, jeongguk slipped away from your side to retrieve a warm, damp towel. the cool air hit your skin as he left, and you stirred slightly, though not fully awake. when he returned and began gently wiping you down, you startled at the sensation, your eyes slowly fluttering open. you were met with his grinning face, his eyes crinkling at the sides, that same boyish smile that always made your heart skip a beat.

“we should clean up, baby,” he said soft, his voice warm and coaxing as he continued to gently clean the slickness between your legs.

“tired,” you murmured in response, your voice thick with exhaustion. “tomorrow.” the word came out as more of a sigh than anything else. you stretched your arms out toward him, your lips forming a small pout. “cuddle. now.”

jeongguk laughed fondly at your sleepy demands, shaking his head as he tossed the towel to the floor. without a second thought, he slid back into bed beside you, pulling the covers over your naked bodies. the warmth of the blanket and the weight of him beside you immediately soothed the lingering shivers in your body, and you sighed in relief.

instinctively, you reached for him, your leg curling around his, your hands seeking the familiar comfort of his waist. your head rested on his chest, where you could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your cheek. his arm wrapped around you naturally, his fingers tracing gentle circles along your spine.

it wasn’t unusual for you to cuddle, especially during movie nights, or simply when the other needed comfort.

but this was different. there was a new weight to the way your bodies pressed together, your brain grasping around the reality of what had just happened.

your first instinct faced with that thought was to chuckle lightly, your sleepy brain struggling to come up with any more reasonable reaction. when he hummed and moved to look down at your face, you hid yourself further in his chest, your voice muffled, “i can’t believe you fucked me.”

he sounded tauntingly cocky as he moved your hair from your forehead, “now that you put it like that, well, i did.”

your drowsy state lowered all your inhibitions, your eyes fluttering close as you spilled your honesty, “i’ve been fantasizing about this moment for so long.”

“yeah? what a naughty girl,” his playful tone made you blush, the low voice and the hand grazing at the small of your back making you clench around nothing, still sensitive.

you lightly pushed at his chest with a weak smile, “you literally said you were waiting for it to happen, too.”

jeongguk’s eyes gleamed with amusement, his tone dripping in mock shame, “did i, pretty? did i do that? oh god, how indecent of me.”

the taunting banter went on for a while, your fond grins almost breaking your faces in two halves as you started a quick tickle war. it was almost surreal how easily the two of you slipped back into the habituality of your dynamic, as if nothing had changed at all. and in a way, nothing had. you were still you, and he was still jeongguk— the boy who teased you relentlessly and made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

as the laughter faded, your body began to relax completely, your muscles loosening as you sank further into his embrace. your head rested against his toned pecs, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek. his fingers continued their gentle caresses along your back, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely at peace.

but jeongguk, even in the quiet comfort of the moment, couldn’t let it end just yet. his mind was still racing, still full of thoughts of you.

he wanted to hear your voice. wanted to be soothed by its melody. he spoke quietly, almost hesitant, his breath warm against your hair, “don’t fall asleep so soon. i’ll miss you.”

your voice was rough with weariness, but you were quick with your answer, “i’m literally lying on top of you.”

“i know,” he whispered, his thumb brushing softly against your waist. “but i wanna talk to you.”

with great effort, you blinked your eyes open, lifting your head just enough to look at him through half-lidded eyes, “it’s your fault if i can’t talk right now.”

“damn, i got a magic stick,” his voice sounded oddly proud of it and you groaned, hitting him weakly on his stomach and causing him to giggle.

“you’re so gross.”

“you hurt me!” he whined dramatically and it made you roll your eyes amusedly.

chuckling softly, you took his face in your hands and pressed your fingers gently against his lips, “shut up.” your voice was playfully fond as you nestled back against him, your eyelids growing heavier by the second, dozing off again.

at least trying to, because only a minute later his soft voice resounded again.

it was barely audible in the stillness, “___.”

“hmm?”

“i’m so happy.”

his whispered voice tickled your ear and you giggled, brushing it on your shoulder with a sheepish grin on your lips.

you looked up at him through droopy eyelids, both your orbs swimming in a deep feeling you couldn’t name, “i am too. i don’t think i can feel my pussy anymore, but i’m very happy nonetheless.”

your wittiness even after being completely drained of all your energy surprised him, the laugh escaping him moving in his chest and reflecting in your own fond smile.

he left a peck on your forehead, bringing you to lay down on him again, “you’re so silly. i love you.”

the words left his lips so naturally, as if he had always known them to be true, and they sounded so right that it took both of you another moment to realize their implications.

your heart stopped, and both of you froze. your breath hitched and your eyes widened, but you stayed still, too startled to look up at him.

you felt his heart beat impossibly faster in your ear, and you perfectly pictured the shock that was painting his expression right now.

his hands clutched your sides tighter, trying to find a way to keep his running mind from spiraling, your silence not helping whatsoever. he stuttered, “i— i mean. i— oh god, i’m so sorry.”

the hurt in his tone immediately made your chest clench, panic flushing in your veins. you met his eyes alarmedly, jumping between them, “jeongguk. don’t be sorry. you love me?”

he wasn’t sure what to do, couldn’t figure out if the feeling was mirrored as intensely in you as it was in him. it had been building inside him for weeks, lingering beneath the surface, making his heart race and his thoughts blur every time you were near.

the realization hadn’t come to him in a grand, sweeping moment but in the quiet of the bookstore one random afternoon. he had been stacking shelves, mindlessly organizing the rows of novels, when he caught sight of you. you were tucked into a corner, absorbed in a murakami novel, your fingers brushing the edges of the pages with care.

he hadn’t expected you to show up that day. he was sure you’d mentioned having lectures and that you couldn’t meet up with him, so seeing you there, completely unannounced, had startled him.

he remembered standing there for a moment, frozen in place, just staring at you walk through the door. and then you had lifted your head, and your eyes met his across the quiet, sunlit room.

the smile you gave him was sheepish as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your confession tumbling out softly, “i skipped my classes. i wanted to be here. needed to see you.”

it was shy, and said with a feeling in your gaze that he was scared to decipher.

but he couldn’t help the way it settled in his heart. stubborn, unmoving. the truth was clearly in front of him, and it took the semblance of your face.

you were the truth. he was in love.

so, he could only be truthful to you, “i— yes. i love you.”

the words sank into your skin, filling you with warmth and a sense of completeness that made your chest swell. you exhaled deeply through your nose, trying to steady the burst of emotion building inside you, but your eyes softened, and a tear slipped down your cheek as you smiled, wide and genuine.

“i love you too, gguk.”

it was a simple reply, but the weight behind it carried everything. you didn’t need to say anything more. you couldn’t even if you wanted to, your lips immediately eating at each other, gulping down your furious flow of thoughts and accepting. hearing. feeling. seeing.

all the times you forced to keep shut and convince yourself that what you saw in him and all his care towards you was just coming from a place that would forever see you two as friends. all the secret touches, the shared meals, the warm nights on your couch. all the books you read for him, all the lines he highlighted for you.

it was love. all along. and you felt its power against him, your heartbeats syncing.

when you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing softly in the quiet aftermath of the confession. jeongguk’s arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward or uncertain. it was peaceful. comfortable.

and lulled by the quiet, jeongguk ended up being the first to fall asleep, his nervous energy fading away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment. his breathing became slow and steady, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his muscles relaxing.

despite your earlier exhaustion, you were too wired to sleep. you were still flowing with excitement. the night’s events hit you with great force, and kept you wide awake.

quietly, you reached for your phone on the nightstand, careful not to disturb jeongguk. the screen lit up, showing the time. 3:47 am.

even though it was late, you couldn’t resist. you pulled up jimin’s contact and pressed the call button. waiting. he was always awake at this hour.

jimin had been your best friend for years. your loyal confidant, the one you could splutter all your feelings to and never be judged. he had been by your side all along this particular ride, going from a silly, little crush to feeling raging love for the boy in your arms.

you smiled wide at the prospect of jimin’s reaction at the news you were about to share with him. he was the first person you wanted to inform, he deserved to know.

“bitch, don’t tell me you’re crying over jeongguk, ‘cause—“

those are the first words that came through the line, and they made you silently chuckle at the irony, immediately engaging in his banter, “well, sorta kinda. he said he loves me.”

there was a beat of silence on the other end, followed by jimin’s amused scoff, “wow. crazy news. would have never guessed.”

you were stunned, to say the least. your mouth hung open as you whisper-yelled, “bitch! is this seriously all you have to say?”

you were mindful not to wake jeongguk with your conversation, looking down at him with care. his cheek was squished on your small breast, his mouth pouting and releasing heavy puffs. one of his hands rested protectively over your side, and his thumb brushed your under boob.

he was cozily nestled between your legs, his wavy hair brushing your chin, and he looked so peaceful it was like he was made to be held by you.

you couldn’t help the tears from welling in your eyes as jimin’s next words accompanied the view of the boy you loved, now finally yours.

“babe, c’mon, it was obvious.”

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little-jana · 2 months ago

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"Not A Secret Anymore"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: light teasing, use of Y/N

Words: 1.3k

Summary: Spencer Reid’s carefully hidden relationship with his girlfriend is exposed when the BAU accidentally meets her.

I always knew Spencer Reid was a man of secrets—worn-out book covers hiding chapters of untold stories. From the moment we started dating, nearly a year ago, he’d made one thing clear: our relationship needed to remain private. Not because he was ashamed, or unsure about us—he wasn’t. No, it was because of his job, his team, the life he led with the BAU.

“I’ve seen what can happen to people we love,” he’d told me one night as we lay tangled together in the sheets, his voice soft but heavy with a weight I couldn’t fully understand. “If they knew about you… if someone used you against me, I couldn’t—” He’d stopped mid-sentence, his throat tight with emotion. I didn’t push. I knew enough to know his fears were justified.

And so, we stayed our little secret. A quiet life in the small apartment we shared, where we read books late into the night, cooked terrible meals together, and danced to old records in our socks. He loved me here—behind locked doors, between whispered I-love-you’s, and in stolen glances that made my heart pound.

I loved him too, so much so that I never questioned it.

But secrets don’t stay secrets forever.

---

The day started like any other. I’d woken up to find the bed empty, the scent of Spencer’s coffee lingering in the air. He’d already left for work, as usual, leaving behind a scribbled note on the kitchen counter.

“Case came in early. I’ll call you when I can. I love you. – S.”

My heart swelled. He always did little things like that, never forgetting to remind me that I was loved, even when he was miles away chasing monsters. I kissed the note like a fool and went about my day, deciding to treat myself to a trip downtown for some shopping and a coffee.

I’d just stepped into my favorite café when it happened.

I noticed him before he noticed me. Spencer, standing just inside the entrance, wearing his FBI badge and a crisp suit that should’ve made him look unapproachable, but didn’t. The rest of his team flanked him, men and women I recognized only through Spencer’s stories. There was the confident Agent Morgan, the effortlessly glamorous Agent Prentiss, and the intimidating figure of Hotch. I didn’t need an introduction to know who they were.

Spencer was talking to one of the baristas, probably asking questions for the case they were working. For a brief moment, I thought I might slip past him unnoticed, ducking out through the side door before he could see me. But as I turned, coffee in hand, fate had other plans.

“Y/N?”

The sound of his voice froze me in place. I turned back slowly, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar. Spencer’s wide eyes landed on mine, and I watched as a mixture of surprise, panic, and something softer flickered across his face.

“Hi, Spence,” I said sheepishly, as though running into my secret FBI-agent boyfriend was the most normal thing in the world.

“What are you doing here?” he blurted out, his voice a little higher than usual.

“Buying coffee?” I offered, raising the cup in my hand for emphasis.

The team was watching now, their eyes bouncing between me and Spencer with obvious curiosity. Agent Morgan was the first to speak, a sly grin creeping across his face.

“Wait, wait, wait. Reid, you *know* her?”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. I bit my lip, suppressing a laugh. My poor genius. Utterly out of his element.

“Um,” he started, fidgeting with his tie in that adorable way he always did when he was nervous. “This is… uh… Y/N.”

“That explains absolutely nothing,” Prentiss teased, crossing her arms over her chest.

I decided to help him out. “I’m Spencer’s girlfriend,” I said matter-of-factly, taking a small sip of my coffee. The room seemed to freeze.

“Girlfriend?” Morgan echoed, his grin widening. “Reid, *you* have a girlfriend? You’ve been holding out on us!”

Hotch gave Spencer a look that was somewhere between amused and stern. “Reid, how long has this been going on?”

Spencer swallowed hard, his face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. I’d never seen him so flustered. “Uh… about a year,” he admitted, barely audible.

Prentiss whistled under her breath. “A year? Reid, are you kidding me? And we’re only just now finding out?”

Spencer looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. I took pity on him, stepping closer and slipping my hand into his. I felt his fingers relax slightly in mine, though his entire body was still tense. “He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want me to get caught up in… well, the dangers of his job,” I explained softly, glancing up at him. “He just wanted to keep me safe.”

His eyes met mine then, softening as he squeezed my hand. For a moment, it was like we were the only two people in the room. “I just couldn’t risk anything happening to you,” he murmured, his voice low so only I could hear. “You’re everything to me.”

My heart melted. God, I loved this man.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Spencer Reid,” I whispered back, smiling.

Morgan groaned playfully. “Okay, okay, that’s enough of the lovey-dovey stuff. I still can’t believe Reid had a girlfriend this whole time.”

“Believe it,” I said with a smirk, leaning into Spencer’s side. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Spencer looked down at me then, his eyes shining with a mixture of affection and relief. I could see the tension leaving his shoulders, the weight of the secret finally lifted. Maybe this wasn’t how he’d planned for his team to find out, but I knew it didn’t matter anymore.

Because now, we didn’t have to hide.

As the team ribbed Spencer and made jokes about meeting me sooner, I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, feeling his skin burn under my lips. He shot me a look, a mixture of affection and exasperation, but he was smiling.

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” he muttered.

“Never,” I replied, grinning.

And as Spencer Reid’s team finally welcomed me into the fold, teasing him relentlessly while secretly happy that their beloved genius had found someone, he squeezed my hand and smiled at me in that way only he could.

I was his secret for a while, but now everyone knew. And as Spencer looked at me like I was his whole world, I realized that I didn’t mind. Because to him, I was.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #mgg #spencer reid x reader

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kateksmallcuteowl · 8 months ago

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June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU

Your mark shows how old will your soulmate be when you fall in love with them. (Meaning both romantically and sexually)

For an event by @bagginshieldweek24

More headcanons after the cut. Seriously, there’s a lot, as I developed a whole idea but had no time to write a fic because of exams.

— Dwarfs come of age in around 80 y.o., having a soulmate from another race is a very rare occurrence; throughout the history of Middle-earth, there have been at most a dozen such cases, so most dwarves are unaware of this possibility. Having a mark with a number younger than the age of majority is a lifelong shame, essentially an admission of pedophilia. Unfortunately, this happens more often than having a soulmate from another race.

— Thorin spent his entire adult life, from the moment the mark appeared, wearing an extra layer of bandages under his bracers to prevent anyone from seeing the number. Fortunately, among dwarves, it is not considered inappropriate to hide the marks, as many value their privacy.

— The mark and thoughts about it were the reason why Thorin often appeared especially gloomy when the topic of romance came up.

— He truly tried to compensate for his "defectiveness" with his virtues.

— Of course, Thorin is a virgin.

— Bilbo, on the other hand, didn't think much about this; hobbits don't see anything wrong with living without their soulmate or seeing their soulmate as a friend. They are generally a loving people and don't worry about the concept of "the one and only."

— Although the topic of soulmates is considered highly romantic in hobbit literature, Bilbo was somewhat disappointed when he realized he would likely never meet his soulmate. (Hobbits are also unaware of inter-racial soulmates.)

— I tried to make young Bilbo look more like Frodo, so here he has smaller curls and a different style of shirt.

— Thorin and Bilbo both hid their marks, so when they felt an attraction to each other, especially after the Carrock, both were initially upset, thinking they weren't soulmates. Thorin, of course, was much more upset.

— During the two weeks they stayed with Beorn (yes, I'm mixing the movie and the book, what are you going to do about it? Slow burn needs time to be slow), they managed to reach the point of kissing near the river or something like that. But when Bilbo tried to unlace Thorin's tunic, Thorin stopped him and said that, unlike hobbits, for dwarves, sexual interaction is a very serious step in emotional attachment. It wouldn't be fair not to tell Bilbo what kind of monster he was getting involved with, because after seeing what Thorin had to show him, Bilbo might not even want to look him in the eye. Bilbo was honestly frustrated. (It is implied that Thorin used some term characteristic of a pedo... ahem)

— With a terrifyingly serious face, Thorin unwrapped the bandages on his wrist, and Bilbo, with a sinking heart, prepared to see a number like 5 or 12. Instead, there was a very respectable and completely normal age. Thorin turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in the hobbit's eyes. Bilbo spent a few seconds calculating how long dwarves live and how old Thorin actually was.

— Thorin thought Bilbo wanted to shame him for having the audacity to enter into a relationship at such an age, knowing his soulmate's extremely young age. With closed eyes, he forced out that he was 195 and knew how disgusting he was because of it.

— Instead of a slap or something worse, which Thorin wouldn't have opposed, thinking any normal person had the right to treat him like that after seeing it, Bilbo reached for his own wrist and, with suspicious enthusiasm, pulled off the leather bracelet he had worn since the Shire. On the pale skin was clearly marked Thorin's age, written in dark ink with characteristic dwarvish notches.

— Some time passed in silence as they both realized that such a coincidence simply couldn't be.

— They were in for a very pleasant evening away from the company🌚🌝

— Later, when the entire company gathered by the fire, Bilbo and Thorin would come to them, holding hands, the hobbit nearly glowing with happiness in front, and a red-to-the-tips-of-his-ears Thorin slightly behind. This would be the first time anyone in the company saw Thorin without bandages, and if not for the matching age on Bilbo's wrist, now also not hidden by a bracelet, they wouldn't have believed Thorin could be normal with such a number on his skin.

— And the dwarves would realize how young Bilbo was by their standards.

— Truly, the ways of the Valar are mysterious.

— At the very end of the night, Fili would nudge Kili with his elbow and hint that since their uncle had an inter-racial mark, he might not be so angry and yell when he finds out that his brother has a four-digit number on his wrist.

#fanart #bagginshieldw24 #bagginshield week #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #thorin x bilbo #thilbo #fandom event #art challenge #artists on tumblr #lotr #middle earth #the hobbit #soulmates #soulmate au #miscommunication trope #cultural misunderstandings

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k1ngpin42 · 3 months ago

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Fucking during a “no talking” fight with Abby

It was no secret that you loved Abby. You had been friends since you were children and she had always been the most loyal, caring, funny woman you could ever ask for. It was the other parts of her personality that sometimes got you mad enough to get into situations like this in the first place. Her impulsiveness, her lack of…agility, perhaps, and then still refusing to take the necessary precautions on patrol.

She frustrated you. At the very least. There were some nights were she’d caress you and care for you, after the essential multiple rounds of “stress relief” of course, and tell you, “don’t worry, I won’t be on patrol tomorrow, I can spend more time with you” only to switch places with people to get more assignments and it fucking killed you. She loved it, the life we have now where it’s normal to kill fucking monsters, even fully non-mushroom kind. You felt comfortable with it too, you supposed, and you loved all your friends and the freedom of the WLF base, but sometimes you felt like an intruder in your own relationship, like all the times where you would hang out and relax was taking away from gym time and fucking up scars.

You knew it was wrong to feel like that, she loves you, anyone with eyes can see that, but when she went out on a high risk assignment after already being gone a week beforehand and not even asking you first, that was your final straw, and instead of lashing out at her, you gave her the mercy of skipping straight to the post fight silence. A strict “no talking rule.”

Unfortunately for the both of you, the silence lingered on a little too long for comfort, and while you knew deep down you could wait, life, especially with the kind of lifestyle you lived, was too short not to spend with your own girlfriend, and your body certainly agreed.

Abby returned from the assignment and immediately sprawled herself across a lounge chair. She knocked off her shoes and grabbed a book she had read 5 times already. One of her favourite uses of down time, other than being with you. You spotted her there, rolling her stiff shoulders. Her muscles where slightly more defined from the tank top and the very light trickles of remaining sweat on Abbys body, though by some miracle she still smelled amazing, and that made the situation all the more difficult.

“That book again.” You speak with caution, the first word you had said to her in 3 days. She opens her mouth to speak but you shake your head.

“Don’t talk.” She nods, watching you with those deep blue puppy dog eyes.

Disregarding everything, you walk over to her, positioning a leg on either side of one of her thighs. Her already dilated eyes widen and she wants to talk but you stop her again.

“I said no talking.” You remind her, hips grinding ever so slowly forward on her thigh.

“Mmm…fuck.” You gasp, a small smile on your lips. She puts her hands on your hips and you’re not surprised by just how quickly Abby got on board. You quicken your movements, moaning more at the feeling of your bare legs on Abbys jeans, the feeling of your cunt, separated only by the fabric of your panties. Abby enjoyed the dress you had put on. There had been a few times you had worn this short black dress for “comfort” around the base, but you and her both knew it was for Abby’s benefit.

You continued moving, rocking your head back from the pleasure. She starts rocking her leg and god the sounds you made left Abby soaked. You revel in the sensation a little longer before you’re seeing stars and can’t avoid it anymore, grabing Abbys face and moaning into her mouth deeply between kisses, tasting her tongue, feeling her large hands on your cheek. When you finally cum you’re gasping for air, as if someone has stolen all the oxygen you previously owned before this moment. You pull away, getting off of her promptly.

“Well, um…thank you.” You blurt out. Abby’s smile is wider than the fucking universe. You laugh softly.

“You…can talk…but I’m still not fully over our fight.” You say, still catching your breath.

“I’m so sorry about everything.” Says Abby through a desperate plea. “God that was so hot I….I wanna get off so bad…”

“Oh yea?” You ask, walking back over to her and kissing her deeply again.

“As I walk away, remember this feeling. This is how I feel when you don’t allow me to come on your last minute assignments.”

“What- you wouldn’t-“

“After this we’re square.”

“Love…love please-“

“God I love hearing you beg. Thank you again for the orgasm.” You tease with a provoking smile. “Later.”

The door closes.

#tlou2 #abby anderson #ellie williams #abby tlou #smut #abby x reader #tlou #abby anderson smut #abby x fem reader #ellie williams 18+#abby tlou2 #joel miller #ellie tlou2

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ylangelegy · 5 months ago

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all of the while, it was you ꩜ hyunjin x reader.

── .✦ 💌 reader uses she/her pronouns. includes: idol!hyunjin, café owner!reader, feelings realization, freeform, time skips, fluff, coffee shops & cafés, slice of life, skz ensemble.

── .✦ 🚏 i know the "i-had-no-idea-you-were-an-idol" trope is one of the oldest, most worn clichés in the book, but sometimes you have to release the corny fic into the world so it can stop haunting you 🙂↕️ the title is from landon pigg's falling in love at a coffee shop. originally posted on ao3, but then i orphaned it (lol) so here's its new home! ♡︎

── .✦ 📟 wc: 4,000+

She doesn’t admit this to Hyunjin until much later on, but when he walked into her café the first time, she had thought— as one usually does— that this ethereal boy should be a star of some sorts. A model, an actor.

Where others might have spoken up, she chose to keep it to herself. (A good choice, too. If she had said anything, Hyunjin would have never returned.)

He is shy, at first. He sits at a table far from the door and spends most of his stay doodling in his notebook.

Outside, snow begins to fall.

Hyunjin gets on his phone to call Jeongin over. She steps out from behind the counter and lingers by the window.

Separately, they admire the sign of the times. Hyunjin thinks of romance that can be painted. Her mind goes to warm drinks that can be sold. Briefly, the two share a glance.

They exchange no words— not a single pleasantry about the weather— but Hyunjin does offer up the smallest of smiles, which she returns.

He goes back to his phone. She retreats to the kitchen.

Neither of them have any idea of what was ahead.

That day, they witness the first snow of the year together.

Hyunjin becomes a regular.

He’s never done that before. The most he’s been to an establishment is probably twice, thrice, before the place is overrun with fans and he has to find a new hiding spot.

He doesn’t want to sound ungrateful. But there are some things he wants to keep to himself, and this café is one of them. He doesn’t realize how often he’s gone until, one evening, the barista at the counter says, “Your usual?” instead of waiting for him to speak.

“Yes, please,” he says. He slides over the exact payment and sits at the table he likes the most.

Through trial and error, he figured that the café had little to no people nearing its closing time. And so he only ever stopped by in the evening, usually after practicing stages and before heading home.

She serves him his drink, his ‘usual’, and Hyunjin blurts out something that’s not his average ‘thank you’ and ‘please’.

“What’s your name?” he asks, because this is not the type of café where the barista has a name card on their apron. He flushes and goes on. “It’s just— I don’t think I ever got your name.”

She laughs kindly and answers. It’s a pretty name, Hyunjin thinks to himself.

“And you?” she inquires politely.

There’s a seed of suspicion in him, a flicker of doubt. Did she really not know him? He had been tricked before by people feigning ignorance.

But her expression is curious, and earnest, and he decides to give her the benefit of doubt.

“Hyunjin.”

“Hyunjin,” she repeats, as though testing the name out on her tongue. A fleeting thought passes his mind: My name sounds safe with her.

She smiles. “It’s nice to finally know you, Hyunjin. Thanks for always coming to my café.”

“This is yours?” he says, a little dumbstruck. He had assumed she was just an employee.

“It is.” There’s a proud gleam in her eyes. “It’s always been my dream to own one, and here I am.”

“It’s one of my favorite places,” says Hyunjin. He’s not even exaggerating; he means it. He adores the floor-to-ceiling windows, the intricate woodwork, the potted plants in every corner.

Her smile brightens, widens. She thanks Hyunjin and is about to say more when the bell by the door chimes. “Oh, a customer. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no problem. Go ahead.”

She rushes over to the counter. Hyunjin sinks a bit into his seat, doing his best to avoid the newcomer’s gaze.

That day, Hyunjin learns how a name can make a world’s difference.

One evening, Hyunjin asks her, “What kind of music do you like?”

She looks up from bookkeeping and tongues the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. She names a handful of genres, none of which might fit the bill for Stray Kids.

Over the past weeks, Hyunjin had gotten to know her. Her love for coffee and baked goods. Her impulsive decision to move to Korea. Her loneliness, dulled only by the steady flow of patrons visiting her shop.

There are still some weeks where he thinks it’s too good to be true. To be undiscovered this long, to meet someone who didn’t know a thing about his industry, to strike up a friendship that had nothing to lose but everything to gain.

She asks a question of her own. “Do you have any pets?”

Hyunjin brightens at the opportunity to talk about Kkami.

That day, he remembers what it’s like— to be curious, to be known.

It occurs to Hyunjin, quite suddenly, that he won’t be seeing her for a while.

The thought only comes as his plane is taking off.

He had seen her over the weekend. She sought his honest opinion on drinks she planned to add to her menu.

At the time, he hadn’t thought of bringing it up. What would he say, anyway? I’m going on a worldwide tour.

Miserable, he fiddles with his phone until Changbin levels him a firm look.

“There’s in-flight Wi-Fi,” he says. “Do you want me to get the password for you?”

“Yes, please.”

Once connected to the internet, Hyunjin searches up the café’s socials and finds its number, which is effectively her number. His heart leaps out of his chest.

He stares at the blinking cursor in the KakaoTalk chat. He had never given out his socials to her out of fear she would realize who he was, what type of life he lived. Now, he was considering using his personal number to message her.

It feels like too much. Hyunjin places his phone face down onto his lap. He wasn’t going to text her. He shouldn’t. Right?

In the next two hours, he probably checks and puts down his phone a dozen times. Fed up, Changbin eventually groans, “Just do what you have to do already!”

Hyunjin, red-faced, picks up his phone. Changbin is right. He keys in a quick message to the café’s account and hits send before he can overthink it.

Hi, this is Hyunjin. I usually come on weekday nights. I might be gone for a while; I’m heading abroad for work. I’m just letting you know, so you don’t think I hate your coffee or anything. Stay healthy and don’t work too hard.

He exhales in relief, only to be startled by a notification mere minutes later.

Hi, Hyunjin, she responds. You’re so funny, but also right. I would have been sad if I thought I lost my favorite customer. Stay safe, okay? Send me photos of nice cafés during your travels!

Another notification pops up. It’s weird to be messaging on the shop’s account. LOL. Here’s my personal number.

Hyunjin can feel his heart hammering underneath his chest. He’s ecstatic to have her number, sure, and an excuse to message her while he’s away, but he’s mostly flustered by a small phrase in her text. ‘My favorite customer.’

It might be something she says to everyone; Hyunjin doesn’t care. He suppresses a wide smile from a Changbin eyeing him with open curiosity.

That day, Hyunjin remembers what it feels like to have a crush.

Hyunjin makes good on her offhanded request.

She receives numerous photos of coffee shops and bakeries across the world. Look at this catacomb concept, he says of a café in London. I thought the menu here was good, he notes with a picture from Hanoi.

I want whatever job you have, she texts back after he sends a video of a patisserie in New York. You’re always going to such cool places.

He doesn’t respond for a couple of hours. She worries, briefly, if she had said something wrong. She brushes it off as the timezone difference.

He texts as she’s trying to whip up a new batch of croissants. It’s nice, you’re right, but sometimes I wish I had a job where I could just stay in Korea, he replies. I’ve been to all these places and I think your coffee is still the best.

She wipes the flour off her hands so she can shoot back, You’re just saying that so you can get free drink next time.

He sends a GIF of a cartoon cat crying. I mean it, he texts. I miss you.

She nearly drops her bowl of batter when she sees what he said. Thankfully, he follows up with, LOL, sorry, sent too soon. *I miss your lattes.

Riiight, she types, then erases.

If you miss me, just say so, she types, then erases.

I miss you, too.

She erases that and sends instead, LOL. I’ll be sure to perfect it by the time you come back.

That day, she burns a batch of croissants as she tries to figure out how she feels.

The answer reveals itself to her soon enough.

She’s just about to pack up shop when she hears the front door’s bell. She begins to instinctively apologize about being closed for the night when she sees who the guest is.

Hyunjin, with two paper bags in his hands.

“That’s too bad,” he says dramatically. “I guess I’ll have to give these away to someone else, then.”

She laughs; he grins. He places down the bags on a table and asks, “Think you could spare a few minutes for your favorite customer?”

“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “Give me a second.”

She flips the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’, turns off online deliveries on her phone, and leaves all but one light open.

“I’m only willing to stay overtime for you,” she laughingly tells a Hyunjin who is watching her do her closing routine. “I can make you a drink, though…”

“No need.” He waves her over. “I got you some stuff.”

“You didn’t have to,” she says as she tries to peek into the bags. “When did you get back?”

“Yesterday. I went straight to my parents, though, before coming here.”

“How was all the traveling?”

“Tiring, fun. I’m glad to be home.”

She offers him a gentle smile. “I’m glad you’re back, too,” she says. In the sparse light of the café, it’s hard to tell for sure, but she thinks she sees Hyunjin blush.

He shoves one of the bags forward. “Here are some decorations for the café. They’re nothing fancy, and it’s still up to you whether you want to put them up…”

Hyunjin trails off as she brings out one decoration after the other. She’s overwhelmed. They’re all gorgeous and fitting of her café’s aesthetic.

“Hyunjin,” she says, awed. “I can’t possibly take these.”

But Hyunjin is shaking his head and already gesturing towards the other bag. “This one has a bunch of coffee packets I got from different places. I thought you might like them.”

The thoughtfulness of it draws a disbelieving laugh out of her. “That’s it. You’re getting free drinks for a month,” she says seriously.

Hyunjin laughs, too. “That’s not necessary.”

“Oh, it is very necessary. This—” She gestures at all of Hyunjin’s gifts. “Is a really nice thing for you to do. Thank you, Hyunjin. Really.”

The smile on his face makes her pulse race.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “Anything for my favorite barista.”

That day, she concedes: She may have romantic feelings for this particular customer.

It takes Hyunjin a few weeks after that to work up the courage to ask her out.

When he found out her favorite Disney movie was putting out a sequel, he knew this was a golden opportunity. So, one evening, he asks if she’s free that weekend.

She says yes, because it’s her favorite film, but also— because it’s Hyunjin.

Neither of them refer to it as a date. It goes unspoken, is undeniable in its implication. They are two friends who are obviously attracted to each other. This was supposed to be the first time they meet outside her shop.

Hyunjin chooses a small movie theater and buys the tickets in advance. He texts her the details and she says she’ll be there.

Since immigrating, most of her time has just been going back and forth to her café and her apartment. She took cabs more often than not. She avoided tourist spots and malls, and only ever went out to do groceries or buy supplies.

So, that evening, when she decides to try taking the bus, it is her first time at the stop. She sends a text to Hyunjin saying she’s on her way, looks up from her phone, and sees him.

Except it’s not him in the flesh. It’s him, on the bus stop’s LED screen. Nearly unrecognizable.

The Hyunjin she knows wears dark hoodies and unbranded caps. The Hyunjin on the screen is dressed from head to toe in designer. She stares, slack-jawed, as text appears. ‘Hwang Hyunjin: Our Shining Star.’

A student sitting near her claps their hands. “Oh, are you a STAY, too? Is Hyunjin your bias?” they ask.

She clears her throat. “Yes,” she lies, and the student nods excitedly.

“My bias is Felix,” the teenager raves. “I guess we’re both danceracha fans, ha-ha!”

The student boards the next bus that comes. It’s the same bus that’s supposed to pass by the mall where she has to go, but she stays rooted in her seat.

She finds herself doing inventory on what she knows about Hyunjin. He didn’t like talking about his job, only ever mentioning it in vague terms. It involved a lot of traveling. It was tiring, he said. But fun.

Her phone dings. Hyunjin’s message reads, Getting us popcorn. What flavor do you want?

She looks at the text, then back up at the LED screen. Could it be a twin, maybe? No, she thinks. They had the same name.

Instead of answering his question, she replies, Who are you?

Hyunjin responds with a sticker of a whale with several question marks over its head.

What’s a ‘STAY’? Who’s Felix? What’s a ‘danceracha’? Why do you have a poster at the bus stop?, she asks in a succession of texts.

She repeats, Who are you?

In the cinema lobby, Hyunjin feels his blood run cold. He can’t breathe, suddenly. In his excitement to invite her out, he hadn’t accounted for the dozens of birthday banners around the city.

He practically bolts out of the mall. He flags down a taxi that takes him back to his apartment, where Chan, Changbin, and Jisung are starting a new Netflix series.

“Hey, Hyune. I thought you’d be back—” Chan falters, then gets to his feet. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Hyunjin hadn’t realized there were tears streaming down his face until Jisung pauses their show and Changbin rushes to grab a box of tissues.

“I think I messed up,” Hyunjin says, his voice barely above a whisper.

She goes home that night and resists the urge to search him up. She wants to hear it from him, who he is, and why he had been so keen to hide it.

Hyunjin, meanwhile, fights back sobs as he admits to his friends what had happened. How badly he had wanted to be normal, for once, and how it was now blowing up in his face.

When she falls asleep, she dreams of a darkened movie house— one bucket of popcorn, shy fingers dancing around each other’s touch.

Hyunjin tosses and turns in bed for hours. Her texts glare up at him, unanswered. Who are you, Hyunjin?

That day, the weather forecast is dreary. The rainy season has come early.

She hardly has time to think of Hyunjin.

The rain brings in more customers. Those seeking shelter from the downpour, those in need of a warm drink.

On Monday, two boys swoop in with ridiculously oversized umbrellas.

“Your blueberry cheesecake looks good,” the smaller of them says. “Can I have a slice and an iced coffee too, please?”

“An iced coffee in this rain?” The taller sniffles dejectedly. “Jisung-ah, that’s impractical.”

Jisung glances at her for support.

“I think iced coffee can be enjoyed in any weather,” she offers.

Jisung looks pleased. “See, Minho-hyung?”

Minho rolls his eyes but smiles slightly. “I think I’ll stick to my hot coffee. One espresso, please,” he says, and she punches in their orders.

The one named Jisung shoots several looks at her throughout their stay. Minho is mostly indifferent. (Or, rather, more discreet in stealing glances.) They leave a tip in her jar on the way out, and talk about her on the way home.

On Tuesday, a boy wearing a baseball jersey comes up to the counter.

“Do you make all these yourself?” he asks while looking at the menu.

“I do,” she says. “I came up with most of the recipes, too.”

His eyes shine. “Can I have an iced Americano with syrup for takeout? And—” He pauses, as though deciding on whether he should continue. “Do you mind if I watch you make it?”

She grins. She enjoyed customers like this. She invites the boy across the counter and walks him through the machinery, the procedure, the ingredients.

“Thank you so much,” he says once it’s all done, when he has his to-go cup in his hand.

“It’s no problem. If you ever want to learn more about making coffee, my door’s always open.”

He smiles. “Thanks.” Another thoughtful pause. “I’m Seungmin, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Seungmin,” she says as she gives her own name.

On Wednesday, three boys come in at noon.

They all don name tags over their chests.

“Binnie,” she reads out loud. The three boys balk, as though surprised. She smiles sheepishly at their reaction and points at the tags. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to shock you.”

The one with the tag that says ‘Chan’ flashes her a lopsided grin. “We came from an event. Must’ve forgotten to take these off.”

“No problem. What can I get you guys?”

‘Lix’ scans the display of pastries and asks, “How much for everything?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Pardon me?”

“We’re going to be feeding a lot of people,” Binnie explains. “Will it be an inconvenience if we take all of your food?”

“No, not at all,” she says quickly. “But it should cost around…” She does the numbers, lets them know.

Chan nods. “That’s alright. We’ll have it all for takeout, please.”

Bewildered, she begins to pack all the food into containers and paper bags. This had never happened to her. She would have to close shop early.

“Please choose three drinks,” she tells them. “I’ll throw them in for free.”

They look surprised. “You don’t have to,” Lix says sheepishly.

“You guys bought out my stock for the day,” she says. “I’m very grateful, and I’d love to make you a drink in exchange.”

After more of her insistence, the three reluctantly pick out their beverages. She sends them off with bags full of pastries, and large coffees for each.

On Thursday, a familiar boy chats with her about the rain.

As she’s making his order, she tries to place where she saw him. She serves him his coffee and tentatively asks, “Are you Jeongin?”

He draws back a bit and cautiously replies in the affirmative.

“You came here once,” she’s quick to explain. “It was snowing.”

Jeongin nods. “Right. I’m surprised you remember.”

“You were with Hy—” She falters. “Your friend.”

He looks almost amused. “Hyunjin,” he finishes, and she nods.

“Hyunjin,” she repeats through the lump in her throat. “Well, excuse me.”

“Sure.”

She ducks back over to the counter and opens her KakaoTalk. Still nothing. She considers messaging him, but decides against it. She wants answers. If Hyunjin can’t give her any, then how can their relationship progress any further?

That day, Jeongin makes a beeline for Hyunjin’s apartment.

The rain is so bad that barely any customers come.

She contemplates closing early when the bell rings, and in comes Hyunjin.

Despite his umbrella, he is drenched from head to toe. He tracks mud into her café and drips rainwater onto her floor. She stares, mouth agape, at the audacity of this man to show up after a weeks’ worth of radio silence.

She’s about to tell him off when he blurts out, “I’m Hwang Hyunjin.”

“I’m part of a group called Stray Kids. Our fans are called ‘STAY’,” he says. “Felix is my friend, and ‘danceracha’ is the subunit we’re part of. I love dancing. It’s what gives me life.”

He goes on, “I paint. I’m trying to get into photography, too. I like cold coffee, romance films, and you.”

She starts at the sudden confession. “What?”

“I really, really like you,” he says breathlessly. “I want to keep coming to this café. I want to watch a movie with you. But— if we’re going to do that— you need to know who I am.”

“You’re a dancer,” she repeats awkwardly.

“Yes. I sing and rap, too.”

She feels dizzy. “And you like me?”

He’s suddenly nervous, can’t meet her eyes. “Yes,” he says, his voice barely audible over the downpour beyond them. “I do.”

The rain falls heavily on the roof, and it is the only sound for a few precarious moments, as the two people in the café hang in delicate balance.

She makes a choice, then and there.

“Let me get you a towel,” she says. “And what coffee do you want? Your usual?”

He smiles so wide that the storm outside becomes nearly irrelevant. “Yes, please.”

That day, they sit at his favorite table and make plans.

When she finally, properly meets all of the boys, she reels backwards in abject shock.

Hyunjin places a hand on the small of her back to steady her. The seven boys laugh at her reaction, though not unkindly.

“For the record, we hadn’t planned it,” Jeongin says. He passes her a drink.

Felix— whose tag had said ‘Lix’, then— helps take her coat. “I really liked your scones! Maybe one day we could bake together,” he says cheerfully.

“Yes, of course,” she stutters.

“Hey, Felix.” Hyunjin wags a finger in his friend’s face. It’s not threatening at all. “That’s my girlfriend!”

“I just wanted scones,” Felix says defensively, and more good-natured laughter ripples through the room.

The attention shifts away from the new couple as the boys begin to lay out food onto the table for Changbin’s birthday celebration.

Jisung notices her dumbstruck expression and gives her a reassuring smile. “Are you surprised?” he asks.

“A little.” She grins back at Jisung. “You’re the one who likes cheesecake.”

He laughs at the comment. “And your cheesecake is one of the best! I’m glad you brought it today.”

Hyunjin interrupts their conversation to steer her towards the kitchen.

He juts his lower lip out in a pout. “I don’t think bringing you here was a good idea,” he says, half-serious. “I’m worried they’re all madly in love with you.”

The absurdity of it makes her giggle. “You’re insane.” She stands on her tiptoes and presses a cheek on to her boyfriend’s cheek. “I love you, though.”

“Damn right,” Hyunjin says. He tries to steal another kiss but she laughs, ducks away.

“We have to go back to your friends,” she says pointedly as Hyunjin wraps his arms around her waist.

“Five more minutes,” he whines, and she can’t help herself. She smiles.

“Five more minutes.”

That day, they are happy. They are known. And it is more than enough.

#hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #( just me and a whooole lotta backposting )#(🥡) notebook #(⚡️) page: skz

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luvyeni · 6 months ago

Text

ANGEL OF MINE ,, 박성훈

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ criminal!sunghoon x fem!reader wc. 4k

genre. smut

🦢◞ includes ... public sex, unprotected sex, oral ( m & f receiving ), car sex

「 authors note 𖹭 」 this was a prison break fic , but i ended up changing and just did criminal hoon!

❪ masterlist! ❫

most people could say you met sunghoon in the worst possible place possible; but growing up, your mother always told you that as long as you love each other it shouldn't matter where you meet the love of your life — except your mother didn't mean a prison like how you met sunghoon.

at first you thought it was odd; you were a well established college student, jobs lining up for you after graduation all thanks to your dads connections, many suitors waiting for you to finish your studies with the hope of marriage after graduation; even though you had no interest, a group of friends, much like you; and the best part, more money you could ever dream of… so the whole penpal thing was odd to you; why would you talk to some random person who is in prison nonetheless? that was until you started talking to sunghoon.

sunghoon was used to prison; he'd been there before, many times before and it's the same thing everytime, he'd try to keep his head down— he always failed , outside of prison he'd made a lot of enemies , so he did end up knocking a few heads around and he ended up spending the rest of his sentence in solitary confinement. this time he fucked up and he was facing a longer sentence; a much longer sentence. that was until he received a letter from you; little precious you, his saving grace.

the first letter was the just the introduction; and that was all he needed to become obsessed with you; he knew what you looked like because you sent him a photo , he also knew you weren't old cat lady; you were college student, he would've been a college student too, had he not taken the other route. he also knew that although you were extremely book smart; you were innocent in so many ways, and sunghoon loved that; he didn't need your money, he just needed your love and devotion.

by the fourth letter you were already telling him you'd wait for him and when could you see him; at first he told you a sweet thing like you didn't need to come to such a bad place and that all you had to do was be a good girl and wait for him.

by the sixth letter you were telling him you can't wait to see him and that you'd be there that next weekend; and for the first time ever since he'd been to prison, he was happy.

“park!” the guard yelled, making direct eye contact with him as he banged on the gate. “i can't fucking see you.” the boy hissed. “yeah well , get up.” he stood from his bed in his single cell; that he got after he went through the entire cell block of cell mates; everyone was too scared to share with him. “you got a visitor.” he said flatly as they opened the gate , they dragged him out of his cell and down the hall. “let's go.”

you nervously picked at your skirt; your mother bought it from her travels in some glamours country, maybe you should've worn jeans , would he like this? would he like your makeup? would he like you? for the past week that was all on your mind, sunghoon, this was your first time meeting him so your stomach was churning as you were waiting for him. “angel?”

you turned around to face the boy; the man who'd you think whenever you had free time, you no longer went out with your friends , instead you stayed home and waited for his call , writing multiple letters to, you were obsessed with him. “sunghoon.”

he sat down in front of you, taking in your outfit. “nice outfit angel, you wore that just for me?” he smirked. “do you like it?” you asked, waiting for his approval. “of course i do, finally something pretty to look at in this ugly fucking place.” you cringed at his foul language. “sunghoon, language.” he threw his hands up. “sorry angel.” you nodded. “it's nice to finally meet you in person.”

“angel i have thought about this day since the first time you sent me a letter with that pretty face of yours.” he surely had his way in charming you. “you’re too cute angel , what are you doing here?” you shrugged shyly , you definitely didn't belong here , but you wanted to be here , you want to be here with him. “i like you, i guess.” he smirked. “yeah?” turning around looking for the guard who was barely paying attention. “come closer then.” you nervously leaned in , your elbows now on the table. “good girl.”

“how much do you like me?” he said, his hand slipping under the table. “would you still like me if i tell you what i did?” he asked, hand now on your knee. “what if i killed someone?” your eyes widened. “you didn't, did you?” he chuckled , rubbing your knee. “no angel, no one died.” fortunately for him. “but i did hurt some people real bad,” he said. “not like they didn't deserve it angel.”

“what did they do?” you asked, voice shaking as his hand crept up your skirt. “don't worry about that right now angel.” he said, you nodded. “you still like me?” you nodded. “good.” he smiled , his hand cupping your clothes mound , you turn around nervously looking for the guard. “trust me dove they aren't worried about us.” he ran his finger up your slit. “you're dripping baby, you got this wet for little ole me?” he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. “sunghoon.” you whimpered , he put his finger to his lips.

“you gotta be real quiet angel , we can get in real big trouble if they catch us.”

he pushed a finger in, you bit your lip hard to conceal a moan. “look at you all cute , trying not to moan , if these guards weren't here i would take you right here , make you cum with my cock and not my fingers.” he added another, curling them inside you. “you wanna cum on my cock?” you nodded , your bottom lip was bleeding a little from biting it. “y-yes.” you whined. “i do.”

“when i get outta here dove , i promise, i'll make you cum as many times as this little pussy can give me.” you gasped , “sunghoon , i'm gonna cum.” you whispered , you wanted to kiss his perfectly plump lips , he was right in front of you , but you couldn't because of the guard who was standing a few feet away. “go ahead cum for me angel , our time is almost up.” your mouth dropped open , a silent moan came out of your mouth , as you came , he talked you through your orgasm , before pulling his fingers out of you. “he's coming over angel.”

“sorry miss time is up.” the guard said. “get up park.” they yanked him up. “see you angel , wait for me yeah?” you saw him bringing his fingers to his mouth as they dragged him away.

after that day all you could think about is sunghoon; not like it wasn't any different from before, but now you knew how he could make you feel; the way he talked to you about what he wanted to do to you when he got out; when he got out , that was the hard part, you didn't know the full details of his case , just that he was involved in some bad stuff and he ended up getting into a fight with a few guys and lets just say he came out looking a lot better than they did, and now he's sitting in a prison for maybe the next 3-5 years.

“what if i help you out?” you sat across from him the next visit. “what do you mean angel?” you shrugged. “help get you out of here?” he laughed, leaning forward. “angel i think you're watching way too much tv , it's not as easy as you think , to break someone out of prison.” you laughed , something he loved to hear , it was the only thing that kept him from going insane. “i didn't mean that silly.” he tilted his head to the side , his eyebrows lifting up in interest. “then what angel?”

“well daddy knows some people , in some high places.” you said , he folded his arms. “and maybe if i butter him up just enough, i could maybe get him to talk to some of these people.” he wasn't about to jump for joy, he didn't really want to have to owe your father one. “angel , your father is gonna take one look at my rap sheet and demand that those people keep me locked up just to keep me away from you.” he laughed. “i’m not necessarily a good guy.” he said.

“not if i butter him up first; buy him a new watch, get the chef to cook him his favorite food , tell him how much i love him , tell him that you'll do better if they just give you another shot.” at that moment sunghoon realized two things besides you being the cutest thing to ever grace his presence; 1. you were way more wealthy than he thought, and 2. your love and devotion to him could help him in the future. “angel you know that last thing isn't gonna happen.”

you pouted; of course you knew that. “well yeah, and although i'm not too happy with that, i want you out of here.” you whined , he smirked. “yeah and why is that?” you shied away. “because.” he leaned forward. “why angel?” you bit your lip , thinking about your previous visit. “is my precious angel thinking about dirty things?” you shook your head. “n-no.” but he wasn't buying it. “i think you are.” his words were now whispered. “want to me to fuck that little cunt so bad you're willing to do anything to get me out of here?” you nodded. “then go ahead angel , get me outta here.”

…

you knocked on the door of your father's study; you heard a muffled come in , before pushing the door open. “hi daddy.” you skipped into the room. “and i know that skip from anywhere, how much you need?” you pouted , sitting in the seat across from him. “actually i got you a gift.” you held out the small rolex bag. “a watch?”

“just a little gift to show my love, i also had the chef make your favorite; so if you'll just follow me.” you both made your way to the table. “this looks good doesn't it?” you sat down next to him , the chef leaving you both after you thank him.

“so.” you father finally spoke up. “you get me this expensive watch; pretty sure i’ll be getting the invoice on that soon.” you smiled. “you get them to make my favorite food , thousand and one compliments , i know what this means.” he said. “you want something , what is it princess?”

you sighed , you prayed for this to work. “you sure?” he laughed. “anything you want , you shall have , after this perfect night.” you decided to give it a go. “well you know that i've made a new friend.” you started , he moved in his seat; coughing uncomfortably, he was aware of your relationship with the prisoner, and he wasn't fine with it , but you were an adult and he couldn't stop you. “you know how i feel about that sweetheart.”

“i know and that's why you know i would never come to you unless i really needed to.” you said. “did he do something to you?” you shook your head. “of course not , he's a good boy.” your father scoffed. “he's a prisoner.” he took a sip of his whiskey. “daddy listen.” you held his hand. “please just help me get him out.”

“absolutely not.” he said , you whined. “he's a criminal yn! not once or twice; he's been in and since he was in highschool.” your eyes widened. “you checked his record?”

“of course i did , you know he's in there this time 3-5 years for assault with a deadly weapon, he almost killed two people.” well you didn't know that much. “he said they deserved it , they hit him first.” you defended him. “he has anger issues.” he said. “daddy he said he'd change , he promised.” you'd cross that bridge when you got there , you doubted he was gonna change. “you think he's telling the truth?”

“just ask?” you said , the best desperate face you can make; once you heard your father sigh , you had to force the smile down. “i'll make some calls and let you know what we can do for him.” you couldn't wait to tell sunghoon. “this is the only time i'll help him , he fucks up again and i'll make sure he gets the maximum.”

…

sunghoon was losing his mind in his cell; he needed you, he missed you , fuck that little taste he had of you in the visiting room — he couldn't think about anything other than that; you were better than any drug or alcohol he's ever tried. “park.” the guard banged on the cell. “get up!”

he grunted , getting up from his hard bed. “where to today paul?” the guard grunted , opening the gate. “let's go.” he was confused, his next visit with you wasn't scheduled until the following week , and it's not like his friends could just show up and visit him — most of them were probably supposed to be here right with him , so it couldn't be them and his family; those asshole completely washed their hands of him in the first place. “where are we going?”

he knew this route; he'd seen it many times before, but what he couldn't understand is why he was taking this route. “i know you dirty C.O’s like to play jokes , but this one is about to piss me off.” the cop threw him into the room. “asshole.” he growled. “undress.” the guard said. “you're going home.” he was confused. “what?”

you waited excitedly outside of your car, the driver waiting inside; you bounced as you heard the gates opening , the raven haired boy walked through the gate. “yn?” you took off, running straight into his arm. “it worked!” you laughed. “what worked angel , im so confused right now.” he said , you didn't answer him , instead you wrapped your arms around his shoulders , kissing him; you finally got to kiss the man you'd been talking to for the past 6 months. “my dad , he actually helped.” you pulled away. “you really talked to him?”

“mhm , he knows the judge assigned to your case, i asked him to put in a good word for you.” he grabbed the sides of your face. “this time , try not to get in trouble or at least don't get caught this time.” you slapped his chest. “angel.” he kissed you , holding you close; his tongue swiping across your lip , he nibbled down on , you moaned. “there goes those pretty noises.”

“is there someone in that front seat?” he asked. “my driver of course.” you said like it was normal. “angel , does that driver ask questions?” he smirked. “no , why?” you questioned. “because i can't wait until we get somewhere private.” he grabbed your hand , you smiled. “let's go , i never want to see this place for a long time at least.” you glared at him. “again angel , i meant again.”

you opened the car door; climbing inside grabbed your leg, flipping you over closing the door. “mrs?” your driver said , sunghoon was working his way down your neck , wrapping your legs around his waist. “my-my house.” you whimpered , neither one of you caring about the man in front. “don't you live with your family?”

“i have my own apartment.” he smirked , lifting your shirt over your head , you both were so into it , his shirt coming off , along with your panties , bunching your skirt up. “should i thank you angel?” he kissed your stomach , “eat your pretty pussy for getting me out of that hell hole?” you moaned out nodding. “pl-please.”

lifted your legs over his shoulders; your cunt on display. “so pretty baby , been thinking of tasting this pussy ever since that day in the visiting room. he kissed your cunt , licking a strip up your cunt. “so good baby.” you moaned out. “sunghoon.” he held your waist down , lapping at your cunt over and over , your hand coming up to his hair , the other one hitting the back of the seat. “su-sunghoon , im gonna cum.”

you groaned, feeling your grip his hair , cumming right into his mouth. “fuck angel.” he pulled away , letting out a dry laugh. “you taste so fucking good.” he moaned out , your taste alone made him go crazy , crazy enough he was willing to give up everything just to keep tasting you. “angel i need to fuck you now.”

luckily for the driver he pulled into your apartment complex right before sunghoon was about to take his pants off. “we're here miss.” sunghoon turned to you. “we've waited 6 months angel , i'm sure you can wait 5 minutes?” he handed you the shirt you were wearing. “get dressed for me love.”

you thanked the driver, sunghoon helping you out of the car. “wait dove.” he reached back into the vehicle. “you forgot this?” he smirked , pulling out your underwear, your ears heated up and you shied away. “oh angel , you let me finger you in front of 20 other prisoners and eat you out in front of your personal driver, i think it's time we drop this innocent girl act.” he pulled you close to him. “cause when we get up to that fancy apartment of yours , im gonna fuck you like the slut i know you are.”

the ride up to your apartment was innocent , sunghoons hand was under your skirt , toying with your clit. “pretty pussy is dripping , begging to be stretched out.” you moaned. “su-sunghoon the door is about to open.”

you finally reached your apartment; it was bigger than anything sunghoon would probably see in his life , but that wasn't his main focus as you guided him to your bedroom. “i wanna give you something.” you led him to your bed. “a welcome home gift.” you took your shirt off , sinking down to your knees. “you wanna suck me off angel?” you nodded , he cursed; you looked up at him with such innocent eyes , even though the current position is not so innocent. “naughty girl.” he smirked.

lifting his hips up, pushing his pants down to his ankles , the air hitting his leaky cock; he groaned. “come on angel , suck on it.” he guided your mouth to his cock. “open wide angel.” he guided your head down on his cock , he moaned , it had been a while , and you were working his cock like magic , your tongue running along his length. “fuck dove , i-i'm started to think you've done this before.”

“angel can you go deeper for me?” you hummed around him , vibrations making his eyes roll to the back of his head “shiiiiit , shit i'm gonna cum.” his hand came to the back of your head , pushing your head down. “fuck im cumming.”

he gasped letting your head go as he filled your mouth , spit dribbling down your chin along with his cum. “good girl , taking my cum like that.” you smiled , teary eyed.

he could've have gotten you on the bed quick enough, pushing your legs open , your cunt already bare for him. “you ready for me dove?” his hard length already prodding at your entrance. “pl-please fuck me hoon.” you felt his cock enter your body , you shut your eyes , hissing at the stretch. “to-too big.”

“i know , but you can take it angel.” he kissed your forehead , moving in and out of you. “good girl , take my cock.” he groaned , speeding up , your tits bouncing back and force. “been dreaming bout this cunt since the first time you came and visited me , remember dove?” his cock was now abusing your cervix. “you took my fingers during our first meeting.” you moaned and nodded. “i-it felt good.”

“i bet it did baby , that's how i knew right then and there you were mine.” he moaned. “my perfect angel just to turn into my perfect slut , just for me to fuck -shit- isn't that right?” you nodded. “a good girl letting a bad guy like me ruin you for other men , you like that don't you?” he rubbed your clit. “all mine right?”

“al-all yours , pl-please sunghoon.” you moaned out , the headboard banging against the wall. “I'm gonna cum.” your cunt fluttering around him. “yeah? gonna cum all over my cock?” you dumbly nodded. “go ahead angel , cream my cock baby for me.” his pace didn't falter , his thrust deeper even as you came. “fuck that's a good girl , came so much for me -fuck- im gonna cum dove, where do you want it.”

“i-inside , pl-please cum inside me.” you were gonna be the death of him. “fuck baby , such a perfect pussy.” he groaned. “fuck im gonna cum.” his hips began to falter , he was losing it. “sh-shit , gonna cum inside you angel.” he let out a loud moan , cumming. “fuck!” he cursed , emptying himself inside you. “perfect angel , perfect.” he slowly stopped trusting, pulling out of you , his cock resting on your abused cunt. “good girl.”

“you can stay here.” you said as you both laid in bed. “and do what? wait around for you all day?” he scoffed , his arm around you. “if you get in trouble i won't be able to help again.” you pouted , he smirked. “then i won't get in trouble this time.” you frowned. “i'm serious.” you said. “listen dove, if it makes you feel any better; i'll come back here every night , and hold you just like this.” he kissed the side of your head , because he really did want to be with you , but giving up this life he was so used to wasn't gonna be easy. “what about in the morning?”

“i’ll be right here to wake my pretty angel up by eating her pretty pussy.”

©LUVYENI

#enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen fic #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon smut #sunghoon fic #sunghoon fanfic #park sunghoon fanfic #park sunghoon hard hours #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut

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g3tj1nx3d14 · 3 months ago

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caitvi / violyn headcanons part two !! both NSFW and SFW !!! please do not read if past the warning after the SFW you are uncomfortable with NSFW topics !! as usual, will contain spoilers up to act three season two

SFW

• Post season two, Caitlyn helped Vi organize funerals/memorials for everyone she’s lost. Her mom and dad, Vander, Mylo, Claggor, Loris, and everyone else. Not Jinx because she’s not dead (i’m delusional)

• Vi rarely ties her hair up, but she’s gotten accustomed to putting a hair tie on her wrist for whenever Caitlyn needs it. She loves acting all smug when she hands it over, like she’s handing over the cure to cancer.

• Vi is NOT illiterate like some people claim. She has a genuine love for reading, although she didn’t get the opportunity to get her hands on many different books as a kid. So, when Caitlyn and Vi decide to begin using the Kiramman wealth for good, Vi takes a special interest in helping start a free library in Zaun. She loves reading to kids and helping them get the same love she has for reading, although she tries to keep it a secret because it’s “dork behavior”.

• Vi thinks that she’s really funny when she holds up something in front of Caitlyn’s blind eye and asks what it says. Absolutely hilarious. The bit never gets old. Never.

• Vi struggles to accept gifts, given that she’s sort of developed a “never throw anything away, my stuff is mine forever” mentality from her childhood of rarely having anything. So, Caitlyn adapted to doing things for her that didn’t involve anything monetary. One time, Vi caught Caitlyn sewing up a rip on Vi’s favorite jacket— something Caitlyn could’ve easily bought a hundred of, but respected that Vi had an intense sentimental attachment to it— and almost cried.

•They’re both stubborn, so communication can be difficult, but even when they bicker, they’re still wives. Even in arguments, Caitlyn makes sure that the fridge is always stocked and never looking a little empty, as the full fridge reassures Vi that she won’t go without basic necessities. Even in arguments, Vi makes sure to randomly hold and squeeze Caitlyn’s hand at random moments to let her know she still loves her. It’s the little, nonverbal things with them.

okay freaky time

NSFW

don’t read if you don’t like NSWF !!!

• Canonically, Vi is an eater. On certain days, she couldn’t care less if she gets any stimulation at all, she just enjoys eating Caitlyn out. The type to insist “C’mon- just one more time!” about seven times. (with consent, ofc!)

• They tried to roleplay once, but Vi said something really stupid and they both laughed so hard they ended up just cuddling and going to sleep.

• Caitlyn likes to try to impress Vi a lot with fancy, lacy lingerie. Vi likes that, solely because she likes ripping it off and destroying it. “Was it really good if nothing got destroyed?”

• You’d think Caitlyn would also like Vi in lingerie, but, the most attractive outfit ever worn was much different. One time, Vi walked into their room in just a tank top and sweat pants, sweaty from working out with Jayce. Caitlyn never pounced on her so quickly. Seeing Vi in a wife pleaser, casually man spreading on expensive furniture like she owned the place… Caitlyn learned a lot about herself after seeing that.

• Caitlyn tends to start out talkative, but end up going quiet, scarily focused on whatever she’s doing besides light moans and heavy breaths. Vi is loud the entire time- panting, groaning, moaning, especially some random dirty talk. She likes to talk her through it.

•Vi broke the bed once. Caitlyn was mortified. Vi bragged about it to anyone she could for months.

#caitlyn x vi #caitvi #violyn #vi arcane #caitlyn arcane #arcane #vi and caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman #vi x caitlyn #nsft.#arcane headcanon

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suunani · 3 months ago

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hello stranger ( jeon wonwoo )

▍ wonwoo, a shy poet, finds inspiration in the quiet comfort of a bookstore owner.

content : 1500 words, male reader, bookstore!owner!reader, fluff fluff fluff, wonie is a cutie patootie, requested here.

the soft hum of the bookstore was a kind of rhythm that underscored your life.

the shuffle of shoes on the old wooden floorboards, the distant murmur of the city outside, the faint rustle of pages being turned — it all blended together, wrapping around you like a favorite worn-in blanket.

it was a sound you’d grown to depend on, a steady companion to the otherwise quiet existence you’d cultivated.

you weren’t lonely ; you loved this life.

owning a bookstore was everything you’d ever wanted. people came and went, browsing your shelves, lost in their thoughts, and then disappeared back into their worlds.

and that was fine. you didn’t need much.

but then there was him.

jeon wonwoo had walked into your shop six months ago, though you could still picture the day as clearly as if it had been yesterday.

it was late afternoon, the sky outside a palette of grays and golds after a rainstorm. the bells over the door had jingled softly, and there he was — his dark hair slightly damp, his glasses fogged, and a scarf hanging loosely around his neck.

he’d paused in the doorway, blinking like he’d stumbled into a secret he wasn’t sure he was meant to find.

“take your time,” you’d said from behind the counter, offering him a polite smile.

wonwoo had nodded, ducking his head as if the weight of your words alone might be too much.

you didn’t think much of it at the time.

customers like him came and went — a little shy, a little unsure but most never lingered.

but he did. it became a habit.

every few days, the bells over the door would jingle, and there he’d be, that same tentative look in his eyes.

at first, he browsed without much of a pattern, drifting between shelves like he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. but eventually, he gravitated toward the poetry section, where he’d settle into one of the small tables tucked into the corner.

it didn’t take long for you to notice the notebook he always carried. he’d sit there for hours, pen in hand, scribbling furiously onto the pages.

sometimes he’d pause, his lips moving silently as if trying out words in his head, before crossing something out and starting again.

you didn’t ask what he was writing.

it wasn’t your business, and besides, you figured it was probably something personal — perhaps class notes or sketches of ideas for some creative project.

but what you didn’t know was that it wasn’t class notes or some generic scribbles in that notebook.

he was writing about you.

wonwoo hadn’t meant for it to happen.

when he first started coming to the shop, he’d been drawn in by its quiet charm and your gentle, unobtrusive presence.

you were a fixture of the place, sitting behind the counter with a book in hand or meticulously organizing the shelves. but somewhere along the way, he found himself looking at you more than the books.

it wasn’t just your calm demeanor or the way the sunlight hit your features in the late afternoons — it was something way deeper.

something about the way you seemed so comfortable in the silence, so at ease in a world that always felt too chaotic to him.

the first time he wrote about you, it was unintentional.

he’d been jotting down thoughts for a poem and realized halfway through that every line seemed to trace back to you.

he’d been mortified, at first, but the words kept coming.

so he kept writing.

every visit to the bookstore became a way to be near you, to soak in the steady calm you seemed to carry with you.

and though he wanted to say something, anything, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“wonwoo,” you’d said one day, surprising him as he passed the counter on his way to his usual table.

he’d blinked, startled that you knew his name.

“you left your receipt in a book last week,” you explained, holding up the slip of paper with his name neatly printed at the top.

“oh,” he said softly, adjusting his glasses. “thanks.”

he’d ducked his head, muttering a quiet apology as he took the paper from you and shuffled to the back of the shop.

after that, though, you made a habit of greeting him by name.

“hey, wonwoo,” you’d say as he walked in, and he’d always respond with a polite nod and a soft smile.

you’d exchange a few words here and there — nothing major, just small pleasantries — but he always seemed a little nervous, a little unsure of himself.

still, you’d noticed the way his eyes lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking.

it wasn’t until today that things shifted.

wonwoo had been sitting in his usual spot for over an hour, his head bent over his notebook.

from your perch behind the counter, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his pen moved furiously across the page.

he seemed different — nervous, almost agitated.

you tried not to stare, but something about his energy pulled at your curiosity. he kept glancing up at you, quickly looking away whenever your eyes met.

finally, you couldn’t resist.

you wandered over to the poetry section, pretending to straighten a few books.

when you were close enough, you spoke, keeping your voice light. “working on something?”

wonwoo startled so hard his pen skidded across the page. he looked up at you with wide eyes, his face immediately flushing red. “oh, uh… yeah. kind of.”

“kind of?” you teased gently, leaning against the shelf. “you’ve been scribbling away in that notebook for months. it must be something important.”

he hesitated, his fingers twitching nervously against the edges of the notebook.

“it’s nothing special,” he mumbled, closing it quickly and holding it protectively against his chest.

“you sure?” you asked, taking a step closer. “it seems like it means a lot to you.”

wonwoo swallowed hard, his cheeks darkening.

he stood abruptly, clutching the notebook like it was a lifeline.

“i should go.”

there was something in his voice — nervous, maybe even a little embarrassed that stopped you.

“wait,” you said softly, the word slipping out before you could think.

he froze mid-step, his back to you.

“you don’t have to tell me,” you said gently, looking at his back. “but… you don’t have to leave, either. you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

for a long moment, he didn’t move.

then, slowly, he turned to face you. his expression was guarded, but there was a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes.

“i was writing poetry,” he admitted quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“poetry?”

he nodded, his fingers tightening around the notebook.

“it’s not… it’s not very good. i’m still figuring it out.”

“everyone starts somewhere,” you said gently. “what’s it about?”

he hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip.

“it’s…about you,” he whispered, barely audible.

your breath hitched. about me ?

wonwoo’s hand shook slightly as he held out the notebook, his fingers reluctant to let it go. carefully, you took the notebook from him, as if it were something fragile, your fingers brushing his.

opening it, you found a page filled with messy handwriting, words scratched out and rewritten in the margins. the poem wasn’t perfect, but it was raw and honest in a way that caught you off guard.

the poems were beautiful. they captured the smallest details — the way sunlight fell across your face when you stood behind the counter, golden and soft. your hands, the way they moved over books with care, like they were something sacred. the sound of your voice as you greeted customers. the quiet grace with which you moved through the store.

as you read, you realized the poems weren’t just about you, they were about seeing you. noticing the little things no one else did.

your chest tightened.

slowly, you looked up, finding wonwoo watching you nervously, his lips pressed tightly together.

“this is… about me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded, his face flushing a deep shade of red. he stuffed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching as if he were bracing for rejection.

“i know it’s weird. i just… you’re just… i don’t know. you’re here, and you’re… yeah, i don’t really know how to explain it.”

he was rambling now, his words tumbling over each other in his rush to fill the silence.

“wonwoo.”

he stopped, his eyes meeting yours.

“it’s beautiful. really.” you said, meaning every word.

his lips parted in surprise. “you… you think so?”

“i do,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “you have a way with words.”

for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

the bookstore seemed to hold its breath, the quiet wrapping around you both like a protective cocoon.

“can i read more of it sometime?” you asked finally, your voice gentle.

wonwoo hesitated, then nodded.

“yeah,” he said, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “i’d like that.”

you handed the notebook back to him, your fingers lingering against his for just a moment.

and just like that, the silence between you didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

it felt like the beginning of something.

something good.

#. ✿◌ sunani❕#jeon wonwoo #male reader #seventeen x male reader #seventeen #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x male reader #seventeen x reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #fluff #fluff fluff and only fluff #wonwoo #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo x male reader

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the-well-known-scout · 1 year ago

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A Bride in the Eyes of Some

Tywin Lannister X Reader Fic 🦁

(nsfw!)

“The Lady (Y/N) Lannister”, a title that ran through your mind and rang in your ears as you heard it.

You felt a certain disdain run down your spine that day, a rattle in your soul like no other. The announcement was a shocking one to you, remembering the day you were declared as the newest woman to Tywin Lannister. You remembered the wedding, how he didn’t share more than the hardest of pecks on your cheek as the Septon declared you man and wife. You remember the silence, the groaning and worn down creaking of the bed of your wedding night. You forced yourself to like it, you forced yourself to muster out pseudo-moans as Lannister-bred seed poured into you. You forced yourself to embrace your life as a vessel for blonde-haired children, with eyes as green as emeralds with a stiff lip. He’d never love you like he loved Joanna, you would never replace the whole in his heart she left behind. You would never be his love, you’d never be her. Or so, you thought.

Over time, you had learned to navigate the Red Keep, you learned to navigate the people that resided there. And you especially learned to navigate your lord husband, of Tywin. At times you didn’t have much to go off of, a grunt or a mumble underneath his breath damning something to the Seven Hells. His cunning mind and how it worked its’ way around the realms of politicking and pursuits of power. It intimidated you, it made you question yourself and your intelligence. Which you knew for sure, was a purposeful act. You needed to be on his time, you needed his mind, or he’d cast you away as useless. You learned to keep your distance at times, the Great Lion a man you didn’t dare to want to upset. You kept your interactions to a tee, never wanting to overbear him with what he viewed as “imperfections”. He only needed you when he called you, whether it be an execution of such schemes, or to warm his bed. He didn’t love to embrace your flesh, you imagine he thought of Joanna as he rocked you against the sheets. But you were wrong in that behalf, at least, as he grew used to you.

To most of Westeros, and even his own flesh and blood, Tywin was a lonely, bitter soul that threw back at the world what it gave to him; ten times as harsher. A cold, calculating man that cared for the benefit of him and him alone. But, he remained gentle with you, becoming more than a means of his lust. He was as delicate as he could be, being the Great Lion of The Rock. A softer stare in your direction rather than the cold, brutish one he darted to his enemies, or even the politest of terms when he speaks of you. You could listen to the words “lady-wife” roll off of his tongue all day and into the darkest of nights. He learned to tolerate your differentiating antics over time, finding them rather comical as he grew to know you more. How you interacted with servants among the Rock, to how passionate you grew about something you were determined for. You watched as a connection blossomed between you two, no longer the glacial silence that you both slept through, begging for one of you to find the courage to speak.

He would watch you as you read in bed with him, occasionally making a few notes and sneers about your posture. He would poke at the Old Valaryian books you insisted to put your nose in, laughing at your naïveté of the past. You were on guard at first, ready to bite back at whatever you felt was an insult until you realized it. He was talking to you, he was jeering with you. He was loving you. What stared off as the burden of your existence, the dread you wished to hide from as you laid next to him, become passionate. You were making love to Lord Tywin Lannister. No longer hid pathetic tears you held back, became moaning, a desperation for flesh you shared.

You daydreamed of how he rocked your hips atop of him, his grunting and slight-growling. He never said much during the act of fervoring your cunt onto him, but he didn’t need to. You would have his children, you would make his heirs, hopefully to turn out better than the three he was given. He was strong enough to place you how he saw fit, whether it be upon your knees, lying on your back and holding onto your ankles, or below him. He wanted you to worship him, every inch and fold of his skin he gave to you. At times, he’d whap you across the bottom, leaving warm spots from where his hands struck. At other times, he would have you on your knees, pulling you by the shoulder back to the gracious inches he gave to you. Tywin’s hands were some of the most dangerous pair within Westeros, hands you were not exempt from in the bed. And he would fuck you, until he grew tired, or had had you well-filled with enough loads of his seed to give him an entire line of Lannisters.

As his seed would pool out of you when you turned over to find a smidgen of rest, you would feel him. A singular hand wrapped around you, his head not too far from your shoulder. It was no longer the political prison you so desperately wanted to escape, it was love. Love of the highest points, love that stretched from The Rock to Dorne. A love that could never be taken away from you. A love that would be seen and heard among the Gods and men, new and old. And a love, you would never want out of.

#game of thrones #got #asoiaf #tywin x reader #tywin lannister #tywin lannister x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #got x reader #house lannister #cersei lannister #jaime lannister #casterly rock

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writing-mlm · 9 months ago

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Hiii, can we please have more college!damian x male reader? Like a scenario where damian loves to draw reader but reader doesn't know this? Maybe friends to lovers? Idk your pick. The artist and his muse type of thing. Also, i LIVE for soft damian on this blog ong.

Forever my Muse

Summary: Damian has his finals coming up and he wants you to join-- at least that's his excuse to get you into the art venue. An artist needs their muse and for some reason, most of Damian's drawings include you in, naturally, he could fill museums with drawings of you. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.8k

Dust-covered fingers were always something you had associated with Damian. Graphite, charcoal, pastels— anything he used to draw or even paint would inevitably stain his hands. It wasn’t intentional, and neither were the fingerprints he left on your stuff, or the paint you could never remove from your favorite sweater, but that didn’t stop him from apologizing. From buying you cleaning products and a new sweater; never mind it has never been worn in the year you’ve had it, Damian felt terribly sorry whenever he felt he’d stained something of yours.

But never sorry enough to show you his drawings.

You’d ask, you’d beg, but he would never give in. He’d show you when he was done, sure. You’d see the finished still-life drawings of whatever object had been in the line of sight, the paintings he’d done of his pets whenever he missed them, and the random sketches he did to loosen his wrist. But, damn, sometimes you wanted to see an unfinished drawing that wasn’t a warm-up.

Even now, as the two of you are on the campus bus heading towards the music hall, he’s drawing. Sitting across from you on the bus, Damian easily adjusts himself to the movements of the bus as it jerks to a stop. He’s nice like that, you’ve never caught him off guard, he’s never fallen or stumbled in the time you’ve known him.

Studying him, you wonder if he’s naturally so agile. You’ve seen him in your dorm's gym, during all-nighters you can sometimes see him running around campus, and once you had caught him doing one of those athletic challenges for some guy's video. He won. Of course.

The bus comes to a complete stop and you look away, double-checking that it wasn’t your stop. It wasn’t. You knew that. But still. The need to check was far too great and you slipped back into a conversation with Damian. Only this time, you’re looking down at your phone to double-check the event and his eyes switch from staring at his sketch to staring at you.

His eyes flicker between you and his drawing, erasing and adding lines where needed. He catches your eyes traveling up and he looks back down, working from memory as you start up a new conversation.

Eventually, the bus reaches your stop and he carefully closes his book; he always worries he’d smudge his art, while he follows you out of the bus.

It’s the end of the semester, ergo, it’s finals week. And for one of your music finals, everyone was to prepare a song and perform it. Truthfully, Damian doesn’t understand why you’d picked him to accompany you. He knows he’s not the best comfort, his demeanor often being the reason people don’t stick around too long.

But, you reassured him. Telling him that his presence was more than enough for you. Knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd calms you down more than you ever cared to admit.

The walk to the music hall isn’t short, but you can see the large building in the distance. The size is daunting on you as you see the crowd forming at the entrance. People aren’t allowed inside yet, but performers and their guests can head inside before anyone else.

“I’m nervous,” You admit, wiping your hands on your shirt. “What if I fail?” You mutter, your eyes desperately searching to find solace in his green eyes.

“You’ll do as you’ve always done,” He nods, looking ahead as you approach the building. “Exceptionally.” His sketchbook bumps against your folder of sheet music and you sigh through your nose, trying to calm down.

“I’m so gonna choke,” Seeing your reflection in the glass, you feel as if you’d forgotten everything you learned. Every lesson, every mistake you fixed and learned from, the late-night practice performances with your friends. The song you’d composed nearly slips from your mind as you see yourself, walking in that suit and tie you’d worn several years ago. All of it left your mind and you felt like a beginner again. What even was a solfège?

“I'm trained in CPR.” He opens the door for you and gently encourages you inside, his fingers grazing your back. “You weren’t nearly as nervous for your accounting finals.” He notes, falling back into step with you.

That’s another thing. Maybe that’s why you were so stressed. Double majoring was hellish. Twice the finals, quadruple the headaches.

“Those were tests,” You scowl, showing the security your campus ID. “I’m going to be performing a live concert in front of nearly a thousand people. I cannot fuck this up, Damian. This is going to be posted for everyone to watch, too,” You ramble on.

“Which you’ve done before, no?” He presses the elevator button and your heart hammers. You swear you’re going to pass out. He notices, of course, he does, and digs in his bag to find the fidget cube he keeps in there.

“I have— thank you,” Taking the cube, he nods. “It’s just… I don’t know. Tests suck.” Rolling your thumb along the metal ball on one side of the cube, you stare at the numbers as they slowly tick down to the first floor.

“That’s true,” He steps inside the elevator and you follow suit. “But you’ve made it thus far, you can go further.” He squeezes your shoulder as the doors close. There’s a silence in the elevator as it goes up to the second floor where you see your teacher waiting at the door to the waiting room, talking to a pair of students.

“I can,” You affirm, dipping your head down as you smile.

“You will.”

—

You’re fifth in line to perform, watching a singer, dancer, another other pianist, and an opera singer go on before you go on did absolutely jack shit to help you. As you’re announced, you step onto the stage and try your best not to accept that there were thousands of eyes on you. Instead, you smile and wave as you walk across that large stage. Desperately looking for Damian in the sea of people.

He’s in the front, right in front of where you could see when you glance up from the piano, you find out as you’re standing next to the piano seat.

Damian’s eyes don’t leave yours, making eye contact with you as you fiddle with the buttons of your coat. He motions for you to stop and then does a breathe in breathe out motion with the same hand. Nodding, you blink away from him and hold your hands behind your back. Focusing on your breathing, you listen to the teacher as you’re done being introduced.

The applause settles as you bow in, take a seat, and flip the page where your music sheet is. Slowly, you start. As a general music major, you weren’t restricted to just playing the piano. As emphasized by the microphone taped to your cheek.

You aren’t the strongest singer by any means, you’re good for singing in the shower or on drives but you doubt you’d actually make a career off of your voice. What you hope will carry you is the piano, as you press each key your eyes flicker to Damian. He’s attentive, a smile on his face as you perform.

Testing the waters, you glance at the people around him and they seem… pleased. Happy. Moved, even. You grin and return to staring at the sheet music. All of the notes flood back to you as you reach the last bit of the song, your eyes closing as your voice reaches a peak, holding a note. Then it’s just the piano, your voice echoing in everyone’s mind as the notes get slower and slower until you end it.

Applause fills the hall and you stand up, taking a bow. Standing there, even if only for a moment, you can’t imagine why you’d been so nervous.

Collecting your sheet music, you exit the stage and hand the mic to the stage tech before leaving.

When you’re nearing the exit, you spot Damian holding a bouquet of flowers.

“When did you have the time to get these?” You laugh as he hands them to you. His eyes merely twinkle, refusing to give up one of his many secrets. “Thank you, they’re dope.”

“You did it,” Damian reminds you as the two of you exit the building.

“I did! Ugh!” Grabbing his shoulder with your free hand, you give him a little shake. “Thank you so much, you’re honestly the best. Was it good?” Falling into step with him, Damian doesn’t bother to fix his shirt. It’s hardly even moved, but you know he was detail-oriented in stuff like that. Hell, he hates it when he messes with his clothes.

“It was mesmerizing.” He promises. “I do believe the woman behind me was crying.” Grinning, you stand at the bus stop, suddenly buzzing with excitement. Wanting to do it again, you start to imagine creating your own side business. Wedding musician, you can see it now.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He avoids looking at you as he’s speaking. A rare occurrence on his part. But he does his best to look at you after building the courage. “I have an art showing next week. I understand the notice is short and you’re—“

“Send me the details.” You grin. His shoulders drop and he nods, clearly more relaxed. “I hope the attire is fancy. I got this fancy turtleneck I’ve been wanting to wear and slacks from my high school graduation just waiting to be worn!”

—

With all of your finals out of the way, you finally had time to start removing the items from your dorm. One by one you removed posters and trinkets scattered across your end of the room. Pack your clothes into boxes, and save for enough outfits to get you through your two weeks left on campus.

Damian was held up from finishing his art showing, unable to see you in person but he was more than happy with a Facetime call. With both your laptops placed in a space away from disturbing you, the two of you worked on your tasks.

“I do need to be at the showing two hours early,” He tells you as you’re dragging the anti-suicide chairs to the closet, trying to see the top shelf. “But I’ll have arrangements to bring you to the venue.”

“And my outfit is okay?” You ask, the chair wobbling as you stand on it. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But hey, you’re not the one who installed a closet tall enough that only Shaq could see the top. “Because I can always swap out the turtle neck for a green button down— the silk one that Maddison made,” Always gave a fashion designer friend. She had used you as a model for of her projects a couple of months ago and with your measurements being unique to you, let you have it after she’d gotten her grade.

“The button-down would be better suited,” He nods, leaning close to his painting before adding a tiny stroke. “The turtleneck is a little… on the nose.” Leaning back, he checks his reference picture before frowning. It goes away quickly as he picks up a bit of white and dabs it onto a dry brush.

“I was afraid it was,” You laugh, grabbing a first aid kit from the shelf. Listening to him lightly brush the paint over the canvas, you toss the kit onto the bed and grab what little items are scattered up there. “Holy shit! Do you remember when that frat dude lost his frat ring?”

“Unfortunately,” Damian glances at his screen, watching as you haphazardly get down from the chair. Nearly tripping, he wonders how you've made it this far in life without breaking a bone.

“I think I did take it! Look!” Showing the screen, Damian looks almost impressed as you hold up a fraternity ring. It’s a shiny gold, likely fake but engraved with the initials of the Frat house. The two of you remember the guy had been going around to every single campus building with a missing ring poster.

“What a thief,” He chides, setting his brush down and taking a physical step back from the painting. Harsh glares scan over brush strokes, ripping apart his painting bit by bit before he nods to himself. His glare morphs into a soft sort of gaze and he signs the back of it.

“Is that your final painting for the semester?” You ask, the ring forgotten about as it’s tossed in a box of trinkets and you’ve moved on to ordering food. Probably Panda Express. Or maybe Chipotle…. really it’s whatever is closer and cheaper.

“Hopefully,” He sighs through his nose, his paint box clicking shut. “I’ve been drawing and painting these past couple of days. My canvases take up an entire section of the art studio. I’m sure my professor cannot wait for them to dry and get glossed. Which I should probably start doing.”

“How does that taste?” Setting your phone down, Damian’s face goes sour as he looks at you. “Personally, I think the gloss would taste tarty.” You add. “Or maybe like the frosting for Toaster Strudel.” Picking your phone back up, you continue your order.

“Neither is correct.” He blinks. “It’s a toxin and filled with chemicals, it most likely tastes as good as acetone does, Hab—“ He pauses, and you look at him wondering what the issue is. “Habits of tasting chemicals shouldn’t be one you pick up.” He finishes his sentence with a bit of force.

“I just love chemicals. Violin resin is my favorite.” Making a chomping noise Damian huffs. As you’re finishing up your order, you look at him. He’s halfway across campus and judging by the rack of canvases he wheeled over, he won’t be back until well into the night. Eh, it doesn’t hurt to ask. “I’m ordering some food, do you want something?”

“No, thank you, though.” He shakes his head. “I have food from the court in case I get hungry.” He quickly adds. Humming, you place the order and scan over your room. The only things that need to get packed are things you’re still using. Now it’s just a matter of organizing the boxes and bins so you can still move around your room.

“After the glossing, what’re you doing?”

“I have to write short summaries for each painting. No less than one hundred words,” He explains as he’s putting on a pair of latex gloves.

“So, a breeze?” He laughs and nods.

“I’m afraid I’ll go over the word limit,” He admits, sparing you a glance as you’re lugging a box to a corner of your room. “My paintings harbor a lot of my emotions and they’re far from short.”

“Real as fuck.”

—

On the day of his art exhibition, you spend extra time in the bathroom. Making sure your hair is neat, and presentable, fixing your outfit, making sure you don’t stink. Anything and everything you could check over, you did.

This nervous feeling was different from your pre-show nerves. Especially since you don’t even know why you’re nervous. Probably because you’d never actually gotten to see his paintings, at least the ones he was showing. He’d been ultra allusive about those, citing the exhibition would be the best place to view them. But even he was nervous and that’s a lot considering he’s Damian fucking Wayne.

He texted you two minutes ago saying that the car was going to arrive within the next ten minutes and you rushed out to the front of the dorms. No need to lock the door behind you, since your roommate was busy sleeping and would stay in there until you came back. Plucking at your shirt, you watch a sleek black car pull up in front of you, and Damian texts you that the car is there.

The ride is long, far too long for your liking anyway. But considering it’s in the middle of the city, it’s not unwarranted.

The art… museum? What should you call it? The space where the exhibition was being held was a well-known art gallery— that’s the word! The gallery was well respected, talked about within art circles, and incredibly high-brow. Thank fuck you didn’t go with that turtleneck.

There’s a woman in front of the gallery, greeting everyone who enters. She sees you and there’s a flash of recognition across her face.

“It’s great to finally meet Damian’s muse,” She smiles as she shakes your hand.

“His what?” You ask but Damian pulls you inside.

“How was the ride?” He asks, his eyes darting between his professor and you.

“Good but what did she mean?” You ask, looking around to see the other people around. Like your performance, it was open to the public and with Bruce Wayne’s son being in attendance, many people had showed up. Including his family. “Bruce Wayne is here?” Your head whips to Damian as you spot him in the crowd.

“He is my father…” He trails. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Fuck no!” You gasp. “The knowledge of his wealth is burying me as we speak— but this is about you,” Turning to him, you smile. “Where’s your paintings? Those don’t look like your style,” Eyes flicker across the paintings and you can’t see Damian’s strokes, his colors or his lighting in any of them. A sort of pride swells within him, knowing that you’ve looked— studied his art enough to know that the ones around you weren’t his.

“It has its own section,” He tells you, guiding you through groups of people and halls. “It’s going to be revealed in around half an hour. My professor insisted,” He stops at a section of the gallery covered by a curtain and two security guards. You never knew it was that serious, but damn.

“Mr Fancy. Why don’t you catch up with your family? I’ll look around?” In truth, you were going to the nearest bathroom and making sure you didn't look stupid.

“I’m more than certain they’d be more pleased if you accompanied me.” He shakes his head as you raise your eyebrows. “If that’s something you’d be comfortable with, of course.”

“Sure,” Once more, he guides you past people until he spots his father and brother talking in a corner.

“Father, Richard.” He calls as the two of you approach. “This is (Y/n).” Richard’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile, the smile only furthered curbed by his brother's glare.

“Hello,” Waving at the two men, they reach to shake your hand instead. Bruce has a firm grip, probably tighter than it really needed to be but Richard is more than welcoming. He’s more than excited to meet you, although you can’t imagine why.

“My other siblings are still in Gotham,” Damian explains, physically taking Dick’s hand from yours with a pointed look. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t bring Cassandra, father.”

“She’s here,” He shakes his head, glancing around for the mop of black hair. “In the bathroom, probably.”

“Is that her?” You ask, looking at the woman in the corner. She’s standing there, downing a glass of champagne before returning to a conversation with a man. She looks like how Damian had described her, although he downplayed how intimidating she seemed.

“Oh boy,” Dick huffs. “Let me go help her,” Excusing himself, you’re left with Damian and his father. The two of them talking with their eyes.

“So, Damian’s told me you’re a double major,” Bruce breaks the silence and their weird eye conversation. He talks about you? Glancing at Damian, he’s making a point to look anywhere but you. That’s sorta cute— totally not in a romantic way, totally.

“I am,” You nod, wishing a man with drinks would walk past you. “Accounting and a performing arts major.” He hums and there’s another beat of awkward silence.

“From what he tells me, you’re excelling at both. That’s incredibly hard. Do you have any job prospects lined up for when you graduate?” He asks and you shake your head.

“Not yet,” You admit, picking at your hands. “Since I'm not sure where I’d like to settle after I graduate it’s difficult finding places.” Bruce nods, quickly making sure Dick and Cassandra are okay.

“Well, if your grades continue to stay or improve, Wayne Enterprises is always looking for accountants, especially one so esteemed.” He smiles at you, that sort of small smile that makes you feel more relaxed in his presence. A fatherly smile.

“Yeah, praise from Damian is a lot.” Dick grins, leaning his weight on his younger brother. Cassandra agrees, leaning against the wall Bruce was standing in front of. “And he talks about you a ton!”

“That’s enough.” Damian huffs, pushing himself away from Dick who frowns. “Let’s look at some of the artwork,”

“You talk to your family about me?” You grin as he’s hauling you away from his family. He looks at you, clearly licking the inside of his mouth before he blinks and gives one strong nod.

“Of course I do, it would be a shame to hide someone so talented.” He explains and then looks forward, his eyes swimming across the faces around him. “I do believe in your talents and my father is someone who can help them flourish; it would seem awfully cruel if I didn’t at least try.” You go to speak; to thank him but his attention is pulled away by the director of the show.

“It’s time!” She gleams, ushering the two of you after her.

There are already people gathered in front of his top secret exhibit, cameras and people wearing PRESS lanyards like the front and sides. Much like a moth drawn to a flame, they find Damian walking and try to hound him, only to be stopped by his family. They’re far more intimidating now but Damian pulls your attention from them and towards him.

The two of you are in front of the whole crowd, the two guards holding one piece of the curtain and waiting for a cue to open them.

“We welcome everyone to Damian Wayne’s very first art show,” The director says, her hand ghosting over his shoulder. He takes that as a sign to step forward, barely leaving your side as he explains his art.

“Through My Eyes is a collection of various pieces I’ve created over the course of two years,” He explains. “The music that accompanies the art are pieces composed by my muse.” His eyes find yours as the curtains are pulled aside and for the first time, you notice the way he looks at you. The way his eyes never seem to want to leave yours, how he takes you in the same way he takes in the art around him.

Then you hear it. More specifically you hear yourself.

You hear the piece you’d played during your final, hearing your voice fill the spaces where people aren’t talking. Each key, and each note floods your ears as you turn to see his art.

It’s you.

All of it. Each painting, each frame has something of you in it.

“Holy shit.” You breathe, moving to the closest one. It’s a painting of you, wearing clothes you’d only seen in shows like Merlin, holding onto a statue of an angel. It’s almost impossible to not know where the inspiration had come from. After convincing Damian to go exploring with you and some friends, you’d come across a newly abandoned church with a large angel statue. On a dare, you pretended to dance with it.

Sure, you’d seen the picture before but it was nothing compared to the painting. It looked amazing, you had never looked better. Your features were captured in the best way possible, you’d been posed in a way that made it seem as if you were guiding the angel in a dance.

The description catches your eye next.

One Last Dance wasn’t the first drawing of Muse, but it was the first drawing of him that I truly loved. He’d resparked a passion for painting for me. The painting had been on my mind for two weeks before I finally started to work on it, having it become my only focus for the two days that I worked on it became the norm for the next two years of my life.

Muse doesn’t personally care for the Renaissance era, but it seemed fitting for such a painting. The feeling of dressing Muse in modern clothes didn’t ruin the drawing but it didn’t make sense, in my head their dance is accompanied by the sounds of the wings and their feet gliding across the floor. Just outside is probably a mob, unbelievable of a true angel. Muse would probably say that he was dancing to the sounds of Sleep Token and outside was a bunch of ‘angel fuckers’, but who knows.

D.W

The next painting was smaller than the first, but it’s a close-up of your face. Your eyes are wide and you’re desperately pulling at your eyelids as a light twinkles inside of it.

Blinding Gaze came about when Muse had gone to the eye doctor, fearing he was going blind. Turns out he was just extremely stressed to the point of temporary blindness. When we spoke about it, he joked that he was developing powers from that time he drank a sports drink mixed with a crushed-up Tylenol and he could shoot lasers from his eyes. While Blinding Gaze doesn’t follow his original plan of lasers, I imagine developing eye lights could be frightening.

Blinding Gaze isn’t body horror, although I had intended it to be but I couldn’t bring myself to put Muse into that position. Even if it was completely fake. I did eventually remake the painting how I truly envisioned it, but I still prefer my Muse to the remake.

Drifting to the next painting, you see yourself, dressed in your favorite smudged hoodie, dancing amongst the crowd. The people are drowned out in the colors of the background, nearly blending in meanwhile you’re ever so present. The light shone down on you in a way that made you seem like the main character in some movie, all eyes meant to be on you.

A Night To Remember was undoubtedly one of the best moments of college thus far. Muse had been invited to a friend's party and insisted I come instead of remaining in the art room, drowning myself in oils and pastels. Although I’ve put his words in a more friendly manner. I hadn’t wanted to go, the noises and being pressed against unfamiliar faces was hardly something I ever enjoyed. But for Muse, I’d do anything he’d asked of me.

Glued to him for the night, I found myself unreasonably drawn to him. I do not remember the song, in truth, I don’t remember much from that night aside from him. The way he danced, how he looked at me. How he looked in the room. I resented not bringing my sketchbook, but I would’ve been more out of place than I originally had been.

Smoothening your shirt, you take a nervous glance around you. You’re unsure about how you feel, it’s a lot. You’ve never truly thought about Damian in such a light before, at least not to your knowledge. Sure, you’ve written compositions about him and sure, if you read between the lines in some songs they’re definitely about him. You and Him.

Perhaps, without realizing it, you had made him your muse just as he had made you his.

“I want you to see this one,” Damian says as he walks up behind you, finally free of people asking him questions. The music loops as he does and you count that there’s five songs on the set playlist. Each and every song was one you had created. Your song from the previous week plays again as you stare at him, smiling.

“I’m your muse?” You softly ask, unable to remove yourself from the spot until you have gotten your words out. Damian dips his head down for a moment and wipes his nose. “You’re nervous,” The small tease makes his eyes roll and he clears his throat, the red settling from his tanned ears.

“I want you to see this one,” He repeats and grabs your hand, gently guiding you past the people surrounding the room. They look at the two of you, watching as you walk up to a large painting in the center of the room. Clearly a last-minute addition but it seemed to be the focus.

“Woah,” Is all you can say when you see the painting of you during your final. It’s painted in the same style as your favorite art era. The romantic era where colors were soft, even if they were dark. The painting itself had you in the center, a sea of people at the bottom and there are several ghostly figures of yourself, dancing across the stage leaving streaks of yourself at the top. The floor of the stage was covered in candles.

“How long did this take you?” You ask, eyes darting between details and finding new ones each time you look.

“Two days,” He shrugs. Slowly, you look at him and he looks back at you, confused. “I couldn’t sleep until I finished the painting. The way you looked during your final.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “It’s truly beautiful— you’re truly beautiful,” He adds, looking at you.

“When you paint me like that I definitely am,” You laugh, looking back at the painting.

“I only painted you through my lens. Perhaps your eyes aren’t as good as you think they are because the paintings truly do not live up to their references. You’re captivating and the way you’ve consumed my thoughts is honestly intoxicating.” His eyes twinkle as you look at each other. You don’t know what to say, honestly. You can stroke your ego a little, you could crack a joke, or you could bear yourself completely to him. But definitely not in a room filled with people.

“Ah,” Dick breaks the silence. “You know he used to be a junior poet?” Grumbling, Damian looks over at Richard as he’s staring at the painting, sipping sparkling champagne from a flute glass while holding a cracker with cheese and jelly. Gross. Probably, you’ve never had it before.

“I do believe I asked for a moment alone,” Damian gives a half-snarky grin and Dick shrugs.

“A whole lotta people here, doubt you’d be alone.” With a sweeping motion, he gestures to the crowd around you. It’s not elbow-to-elbow crowded but you can hear at least seven conversations happening around you.

“I suppose you’re correct,” He nods, following his brother's line of thinking. “Fresh air?” He asks you and you nod.

There’s a park in front of the exhibit and it’s mostly empty, save for two kids and their parents but they’re clearly about to leave. Damian heads towards the benches but you pull him to the swings. There are three but one of them is tossed over the bar and you don’t feel like fixing it.

Sitting with your back to the exhibit, you look over the trees and the playground. The sandpit with someone’s lost doll sitting down, a bucket behind it.

“What did you think?” He spoke up after a minute had passed. The entire time he watched as you gently rocked back and forth on the swings, tempting yourself to actually swing.

“You’re amazingly talented,” You hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Although, I already knew that. You’re like Michelangelo with everything you pick up.” Glancing at him, you smile when you see his hands. “You still haven’t cleaned the charcoal from your nails.”

“No,” He blinks, his eyes staying closed for a beat longer than a blink. “Not of my skill level, (Y/n). Of the drawings. That you’re Muse.” He looks down at his fingertips and starts to pick at the bits of charcoal. “That you’re my muse.”

Softly you sigh before looking back to the trees.

“What is there to think about? You’re my muse, I'm yours.”

“You’ve written songs about me?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, refusing to look at him. “Which? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“Birds of a feather, I wanna be yours, and Golden hour. There’s more but they’re too embarrassing to admit,” Hearing him take a deep breath, you pick at your fingernails and slowly stop swinging.

“What now?” You ask, finally looking at him. He shrugs and starts to slowly swing. He thinks for a moment before he checks his phone.

“When are you free? I can make reservations to—“

“Applebees or Red Lobster,” You cut him off and he looks at you, confused. “Applebees is once every so often, birthdays or celebrations. But Red Lobster? That’s graduation or date.”

“You could’ve gone for a five-star restaurant, you know that, right?” He laughs and you shrug.

“I heard they’re pretty shit. And I want to fuck up a seafood boil. Oh wait,” Blinking, you try to remember the Red Lobster menu. “Never mind, I don’t think they have vegetarian options. We could do Olive Garden or whatever vegetarian places you like. I’m not picky,”

“And I am?” He teases and you roll your eyes. “Friday, at five. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Olive Garden. And then to the movies to watch that new horror movie you’ve been wanting to watch.”

“That sounds perfect,” You nod and nudge your swing into his.

“Can I admit something?” He slowly asks. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward but…” Watching as he licks his lip, you stop swinging. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes.” You nod. Trying not to seem too eager, the both of you stand up and you watch as he raises his hands to cup your face. His fingers are warm, gliding across your skin as you hook one arm around his waist while the other holds his shoulder. “Do you want to lead?” You whisper as he looks at you, unmoving. His eyes dart down to your lips and he nods before closing the distance.

His hands drag a little down your face, his pinky curving under your jaw before moving up into your hair. Slowly the kiss breaks and he dips back down for one quick kiss.

“He’s been waiting months to do that,” Dick announces and Damian groans. You snicker and look behind Damian. Dick isn’t even looking, looking off into the distance before he’s sure that you’re done kissing before looking at the two of you.

“Must he ruin everything?” He whispers to you before facing his brother. “I understand you have no concept of privacy, but this warrants that.” Dick frowns at the rudeness before he shrugs and points his thumb towards the venue.

“They’re asking for you, thought I should come and get you before they spot you.” He explains through a sigh. “Would hate for our little demon’s kiss to end up on the front page. But, yeah,” He sighs and looks over at you. He stares at your face for a moment before he chuckles.

“Take him to the bathroom, you got dust on his face.”

“It’s charcoal.”

#x male reader #x reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian al ghul x male reader #damian al ghul x reader

550 notes · View notes

goosewriting · 4 days ago

Note

Could I get a scenario for joaquin x reader: where the reader is an avenger (she was like a protege to clint and natasha) but her main job was designing the suits and gear for other superheroes that works better with their fighting styles. Sams nickname for her is Sketch.

Sam introduces her to joaquin at Isaiahs gym (she trains there but looks after him on sams behalf). She starts to study joaquin to better understand how to equip his suit. After one of their cases, joaquin wanted to make a note in their sketch book where their designs are but ends up finding a different notebook that are not suit/gear sketches, but sketches of everyday things and most of the sketches are of him. Reader walks in to see joaquin found their personal sketch book and freaks out and becomes a stuttering mess. They end up confessing to each other and please make it extra fluffy. Maybe throw in a kiss or two lol. Sorry if this is long, but I had some inspo and your work has been lovely 😊

Sketch

summary: Joaquín discovers that reader’s sketchbook features a lot of drawings of himself.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: none, fluff! kisses, maybe secondhand embarrassment lol

word count: 4.2k

A/N: i decided to use ‘sewist’ here as a gender neutral term instead of seamster/seamstress. i also changed it a lil bit so that Sam hasn’t seen the green suit yet. and i added a lil bit more at the end to lead up to the kiss, which i hope you’ll like!<3 tysm for requesting, this was such an adorable ask,, it took form in my mind almost immediately and i kept squealing at how tooth-rottingly fluffy this one would be 🙈🙈

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

For years, you’ve been in the Avengers’ orbit, helping out by designing their costumes and fighting at their side. After coming back from the blip and getting the news that many of your friends were gone, you decided to fully go into the designing side of helping out all heroes. You’ve made countless garments and weapons of all shapes, sizes and materials.

So while you still keep up with your training, these days you consider yourself more of a sewist and tinkerer than anything else. You mainly hang out with Sam, who introduced you to Isaiah Bradley, one of the few super soldiers still alive from back in the day. He’s let you claim one of the empty offices of his gym as your workspace. You like working there while there’s background noise, be it music or other people training in the ring or with the equipment.

In exchange for using the gym as your base of operation of sorts, you help Sam take care of Isaiah by taking walks with him and making sure he’s eating properly. He may not be physically frail for his age, given the serum, but he’s as stubborn as he’s strong. Since he’s gotten a bit of a soft spot for you over time, you try your best to keep him busy and content.

One day, Sam comes in with someone new. From where you sit in your office, which has a window to the main training area, you see your friend approach with someone you don’t know, so you get up and approach them. Immediately you come to the realisation that this new guy is extremely handsome and charming.

“This is Joaquín,” Sam introduces him.

“Joaquín Torres, Air Force Captain,” he says, stretching out his hand to you. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And this is Sketch,” Sam continues, pointing to you.

“Sketch?” Joaquín asks with a slight tilt of his head. You chuckle and tell him your name, shaking his hand.

“That’s just what Sam calls me,” you explain with a smile.

“Yeah, well, you’re sketching in your book all the time,” he says and elbows your side playfully, then turns back to Joaquín to tell him how you’ve helped design most of the outfits everyone has worn over the years, including his new Captain America suit.

“That’s impressive,” Joaquín says with raised brows and looks at you. A slight heat erupts on your face at the earnest look in his eyes. “Sam was so kind to let me have his old Falcon suit. You think I could run some ideas by you?”

“Of course,” you offer, pointing to your office. “Come by any time.”

From that day on, Joaquín drops by the gym several times a week, with or without Sam. He mainly uses the time to train with Isaiah, but he also enjoys visiting you and watching you work, chatting about anything and everything while you sew away.

One morning he comes in to train, and from where you sit at your desk, you can see Joaquín at one of the treadmills. Despite your best efforts, your eyes keep drifting to his figure doing some cardio, with his back to you. At one point he changes to another machine, where he pulls a bar up and down, with the weights lifting and sinking behind him, sitting so that he’s facing your office. Again, you find your gaze drifting to the window instead of focusing on the work on your desk. Risking taking a proper look, you lift your eyes and look to the side. To your surprise and shock, you find him looking at you as well. Both of you are quick to avert your eyes, cheeks prickling with heat.

That afternoon, you come out of the office to take some measurements. Sam puts on a mock-up of his new suit you’ve made, and you diligently measure everything, taking notes in your sketchbook that you use for designing. Joaquín stands next to you, arms crossed over his chest, following your movements curiously. As you finish measuring Sam’s arm in different positions, you turn back to your book, using some piled up boxes as a table, and jot down the numbers.

“Do you have all designs in there?” Joaquín asks, pointing to your sketchbook. You pause momentarily, caught off-guard by the question, then you turn to him.

“I mean, not all of them,” you explain. “There’s probably at least forty more books, all with previous iterations and ideas for everyone’s suits and gear.”

“Wow,” he says, looking at Sam and giving an impressed nod. But then he turns back to you with a mischievous smile, and Sam rolls his eyes, knowing what he’s going to ask. “Do you also have sketches of Ant-Man’s suit?”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully, then look over to Sam. He merely shakes his head with a chuckle.

“Unfortunately no. It wasn’t me who designed his suit,” you say, and Joaquín looks a bit disappointed at that. Now it’s your turn to look at him with a glint in your eyes. “That’s oddly specific. Don’t tell me, you’re a fan?”

“Of course I am,” Joaquín retorts, and Sam laughs, giving him a pat on his shoulder.

“I’m still not introducing you,” he says, and Joaquín pouts.

You laugh as well, then clasp your hands together, giving your sketchbook one last look.

“Okay, Sam, you’re all done, now it’s your turn.” You turn to Joaquín, who’s looking at you expectantly. “Your suit is in my office, there’s a changing room, you can go put it on there.”

“Hell yeah,” he says, starting towards the office, turning to Sam as he walks backwards. “You’re gonna love this.”

Sam looks at you with confusion and suspicion.

“Just wait and see,” is all you give him.

A couple minutes later, Joaquín comes out of the office donning his Falcon suit. Sam looks him up and down, recognising the design.

“Is that…”

“Yep,” Joaquín says with outstretched arms to show off his new look, doing a twirl.

“The new colour was his idea,” you say, walking all around Joaquín to check if the suit sits properly. You come to a short stop when next to him, and lift your eyes to meet his. “And I think green really suits him.”

As you continue checking him over, you miss the knowing look that Joaquín and Sam exchange.

“Oh, this doesn’t look quite right,” you say, noticing how there seems to be extra fabric at his waist, instead of sitting flush. You grab your fabric marker, drawing some lines where you’ll need to take in the sides. Only when you’re done do you realise how close to Joaquín you’ve been standing, and how his gaze is cast to the side, a flustered look on his face. You’re quick to take a step back, thinking you might have made him uncomfortable.

“So, how does it feel? Any pinching? Can you move properly?” you ask him, perhaps a little too quickly in an attempt to change the subject, and he starts moving his limbs in all possible angles, trying out the suit. “If there’s anything at all, please let me know.”

You pick up your sketchbook to take some notes as he continues trying out the range of motion.

“Nope,” Joaquín finally says, coming to a halt, and his smile makes your heart hiccup. “It’s perfect, really.”

You look away, feeling the heat prickling at your cheeks, and the look Sam is giving you is certainly not helping.

“Well if there’s anything at all, or any ideas you might have later, feel free to add them to the sketchbook,” you say, showing him the page where the Falcon suit design is. “Even if I’m not around, there’s post-it notes in my office. Feel free to write down any ideas you might have.”

“Will do,” Joaquín says.

“Alright, we’re done then. Thanks to you both,” you say, turning to Sam and then to Joaquín. They both nod in acknowledgement, and you walk back to your office with Joaquín to drop off your sketchbook and materials, leaving it all on your already cluttered desk.

You walk out again so that Joaquín can change in peace, and you see Sam get his phone of his pocket. He reads a text and announces he has to go, so you accompany him outside for a moment to see him off.

When Joaquín comes back out from changing, he finds the two of you gone. Since he’s still holding the suit, he leaves it on the bench in your office, where there’s piles of fabric and other materials. He lets his eyes roam over the space, strangely endeared by how much it contrasts with the rest of the gym. This corner really feels lived in, he concludes. There’s hints of you everywhere.

He scans the desk next, seeing little figurines, varying from various animals to faceless wooden people, probably used to design the suits. There’s also several bobbins with coloured thread, post-it notes all over, and the sketchbook.

A thought occurrs to him of a change for his suit that he wanted to ask about earlier, but then promptly forgot when you ended up so close to him. Since you offered earlier for him to write down his ideas, he decides to do that before he forgets again. Without really looking, he grabs the sketchbook and opens it, his other hand going for the post-it notes and a pen. However his movements come to a sudden stop when his eyes land on the open book. He flips to the next page and realises that is is not your sketchbook. Well, it is, but not the one he meant.

Joaquín quickly shoots another look to the desk below, only now seeing the other sketchbook peeking out from underneath some other materials which you had used earlier when he was trying on the suit. He knows he shouldn’t snoop, but when his eyes land back on the drawings in his hands, he can’t look away.

This seems to be your personal sketchbook, full of ink and pencil sketches of different daily objects, landscapes, the gym. He recognises the ducks in a pond to be the park nearby, there’s a couple of sketches of Isaiah, Sam, and then him. Joaquín’s heart flutters as he flips another page. Him again. His mind is screaming that he’s very much intruding in your privacy right now by looking at all of these, but he just can’t stop himself, as he finds that the more pages he flips through, there’s fewer and fewer landscapes and animals and almost every sketch is of him. From the back, pulling weights, smiling, laughing, focused while reading something. The strokes around his face start out a little unsure, a bit squiggly even, like they were drawn in a rush. But with every new sketch, your hand seems to have grown more and more sure, flowing over the page until you knew the shapes by heart, his eyes, the curve of his nose, where each and every mole and freckle sat on his skin. He swallows thickly as he flips one more page, his eyes landing for merely a split second on an unfinished sketch of him from behind with no shirt on, the contours of his nape and shoulders marked over again repeatedly, the lower half only sketched out softly, like you hadn’t had a chance to–

Joaquín looks up at the sound that leaves your throat, something between a shriek and a horrified gasp. You’ve appeared in your office again, but he didn’t hear you approach at all. Your eyes dart between the book in his hands and his face, your own beyond flustered as you realise what he just saw. With quick steps, you shorten the distance and snatch the book from his hands, snapping it closed with a forceful thud. He opens his mouth to apoligise profusely, but you’re quicker.

“You weren’t supposed to see that!” Your voice is squeaky, and the embarrassment and shock on your face shift to something closer to anger. “What were you doing?”

“I swear I didn't mean to snoop!” Joaquín says, raising his hands in defence, then points to his suit still on the bench as he rambles. “Sam and you were gone and I wanted to check the notes on the suit again, but I guess I grabbed the wrong sketchbook, and I’m so sorry, I swear it was an accident.”

You groan, your anger dissipating and making room for the earlier emotions again, and you lift your closed sketchbook to cover your face, shoulders tense as you hide behind it.

“I hope you don’t think I’m a creep or something” you say in a small voice, and he chuckles. That’s not the reaction you expected, so you open your eyes and peek over the book to look at him. An adorable blush starts dusting his cheeks.

“Of course not,” he says softly, fidgeting with some clutter on your desk before bringing his eyes to meet yours. You hide behind the book again. “I’m flattered, truly. I get why Sam calls you Sketch, there’s a lot of them. They’re really good.”

There’s a pause, and your hands tighten around the book. Surely he’s just teasing you.

“You really think so?” you risk the question.

“I do,” he says. You’re still not looking at him, and you think you hear Joaquín take somewhat of a sharp breath. “You know, I’ve been stealing my own fair share of glances at you too, I just lack any artistic skill, otherwise I would–” He stops himself abruptly. You dare peek over the book again, and he looks just as flustered as you do, which you find reassuring, but doesn’t really help you calm down. He lifts his eyes to meet yours, and you hold his gaze this time.

“What I’m trying to say is that some of the sketches seemed a bit rushed. I wouldn't mind it if you… took your time.”

“Are you offering to model for me?” you say after a moment. His blush darkens a bit, and he nods sheepishly. You need to force yourself to breathe normally. “I’d like that,” you add in a small voice.

In that moment, Isaiah enters the gym and calls Joaquín over. He excuses himself and joins the older man while you sit down at your desk, finally letting go of your book, and find your hands trembling. Did that just happen?

After a moment of just sitting there and looking down at the book, now slightly bent from your grip, Joaquín comes back to your office, and you look up.

“Isaiah is going home, and Sam already left,” he announces, then seems to think something over. “Would you like to grab some dinner? Right now. With me, I mean. Or in a bit. Whenever you have time.”

“Let me just finish up quickly here and I’ll be right outside.” The words leave your mouth before you can even process his request.

“Okay,” he shoots you a smile so radiant that it knocks the breath out of your lungs, and you hold onto the edge of your chair out of his sight, fearing you might collapse to the floor right then and there.

Without wasting a second once he’s gone, you’re quick to put everything away and place Joaquin’s suit on your desk so that it would be the first thing you work on tomorrow. You put the sketchbook with the design notes in the top drawer, and the one with your personal sketches you pack into your bag. Another wave of heat prickles at your cheeks when you hold it, thinking back to how Joaquín had seen your many drawings of him.

After you join him outside, Joaquín and you walk to a nearby restaurant, it’s small and there aren’t many people there yet as it’s still pretty early in the evening. Sam and you come here all the time, the atmosphere is cosy and the menu is really good. You guide Joaquín to one of the booths at the end and order some food, a pleasant conversation taking place while you eat.

Once you’re done eating, you wipe your hands on the napkin and take out your sketchbook and mechanical pencil, clicking it a couple of times to get the lead out.

“Oh, right now? Okay,” he says, and leans back into his seat. “What should I do?”

You flip the pages as quickly and nonchalantly as you can magange until you land on the last sketch, and you clear your throat.

“M-maybe we’ll leave this one for another time,” you say in a small voice, flipping to the next blank page. Joaquín unsuccessfully tries to bite back a smile at the proposition. You scan the room around you. “Just, uhm, lean your head onto your hand and look to the side for now, at that picture with the flowers for example.” You point to the frame on the wall.

“Okay,” he breathes, leaning his head on a propped up elbow and lifting his gaze to it, but it flickers back to you. “Should I like, smile, or something?”

“Whichever you prefer,” you say, and start sketching on the paper. Your eyes dart up to him and then back to the page repeatedly.

After a moment, when you look up, you find him with his face still tilted like you indicated, but his eyes are on you. Your movements stop and you feel a shudder climb up your spine, but it’s not entirely unpleasant, it makes your skin tingle. You hold your pencil to the page, unable to look away from him.

“You’re supposed to look that way,” you say, gesturing to the side with your chin.

“I like this view better than the flowers, though,” he says, seemingly completely unfazed, while your face is set ablaze. You can’t think of any good comeback, so as you look back down to your sketchbook, you mumble, “Suit yourself.”

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, save for the music and background chatter, where your flustered face shifts into focus, and you work diligently to translate his handsome features onto the page. All the while, he watches you work, enjoying the different expressions you make when you get something wrong and erase it, or when you finally figure it out and confidently place stroke after stroke onto the paper. As he comes to the conclusion that he could watch you forever and never get bored of the sight, another blush spreads on his cheeks, and he has to look away for a moment.

Once you’re done, you add final details here and there, then place down your pencil and hold up your book, checking the drawing over. He drops his hand onto the table, expectantly waiting to see the finished product.

“It’s done,” you say, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious, and for a moment you consider not showing him. But after he sat so still for you, how could you not? So, gathering some more courage, you quickly turn the sketchbook around, placing it into his waiting hands, and you bring your gaze down to the table while he inspects it.

“Wow,” Joaquín breathes, and warmth spreads in your chest. “This is… This is incredible.”

“You like it?” you ask, daring to bring your eyes up to meet his.

“Of course!” He looks it over once more, pink still sprinkled on his cheeks, then gives you back the book. “You’re a fantastic artist. Thank you for drawing me.”

He looks like he wants to add something else, but then decides against it. Your brows furrow slightly.

“What? What is it?” Your mind immediately goes to negative comments, like he was about to follow up with a ‘but’, saying that it didn’t even look like him, or that you brought out all his worst features and insecurities.

“How do I put this,” he says more to himself than you, propping up his elbows on the edge of the table and bringing his closed hands to his chin. It takes him a second to find the right words, and when he looks up to meet your gaze, your heart skips a beat. A warm smile starts spreading on his lips as he talks. “Compared to the ducks in the pond, I feel like you put more care and attention to detail into drawing me. Seeing myself through the eyes of someone who… You know. Someone like you. I kinda feel invincible right now.”

You can’t help but laugh heartily, not in a mocking manner, but more so in relief, as you feel exactly the same.

“Well, I’m glad I could give you a glimpse, then,” you say, and for a moment, you’re so lost in each others’ eyes, you don’t see the waiter approach.

“I hope everything was to your taste,” the guy says in a practiced customer service voice, and you both jump slightly. He starts taking your empty plates that you pushed aside. “Would you like to ordersome dessert?”

Joaquín and you decide to share some ice cream, and once you’re done, he pays for the meal despite your protests, insisting that it was him who invited you to dinner after all, and you walk back to his car.

“I’ll make sure to have your suit done first thing tomorrow,” you promise when you arrive, and your hand reaches out to open the door, but he takes it in his instead, interlocking your fingers, and you turn toward him with big eyes.

“I may not be an artist,” he says seemingly out of nowhere, stepping closer while still giving you enough space to back off if you wanted to. “But I can give you a glimpse of how I see you in other ways.”

Your brain short circuits for a second, taken completely off-guard by his comment. His other hand comes up to your face, softly brushing his knuckles over your cheek, which surely feels much too hot to the touch. You’re now somewhat trapped between Joaquín and the car, while he’s still making sure you can step aside, but you have no intention of doing that. So your own hands come up, trembling a bit, and you place them on this chest. He takes that as a sign to get even closer, and you can feel his racing heart through his shirt, matching your own erratic heartbeat.

“For example?” you demand, but your voice is so weak, you're not entirely sure if he heard you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and his hand fully cups your cheek. “I’ll admit I've been wanting to for a while now.”

Unable to produce a single word, you merely nod, your eyes fluttering closed as he leans in. It’s still pretty early and there could be people walking by and see you, but you don’t care. Once his lips are on yours, the whole world around you disappears. You’re glad the car holds part of your weight and you can partially lean onto it, since your legs seem close to give out underneath you. The hand on your face cradles the back of your head while the other snakes around your waist. Joaquín kisses you slowly, tenderly. He gingerly takes your bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a slight tug, and he swallows the shaky breath that escapes you, his mouth on yours again.

The kiss lasts forever and not nearly long enough at the same time, and when he pulls back, you blink a couple of times, looking up him.

“Wow,” is all you manage to say, and he chuckles, backing off you so you can stand properly again. He opens the door for you and you take a seat, still unable to form a single coherent thought.

Joaquín walks around the front of the car and climbs in as well, turning on the navigation system.

“Where to?” he asks, and when he turns to look at you, waiting for you to tell him you address, you grab the collar of his bomber jacket, pulling him close to you once more to give him another kiss. But before he can fully melt into it, you let him go, and quickly sit back.

“Sorry, oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, and he chuckles again. He gently pries your fingers away so you look at him, and gives your hand a squeeze.

“Don’t be,” he says, bringing your hand to his face and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

The way his eyes glisten in the dark, only illuminated by the street light outside the car, sends an explosion of butterflies straight through your gut and you have to look away. To distract yourself from the erratic pace your heart is beating at, you bring your attention to the console and enter your address, starting the navigator. Joaquín starts the car and you take off.

“Will you come back by the gym again tomorrow?” you ask after a while.

“If it were up to me, I’d be there every day,” he says, and you feel even more heat spread on your face, if that’s even possible. “I’ll try my best to come by, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Maybe you can finish that one sketch of yours,” he says with a smug grin, and you playfully hit his shoulder with an embarrassed groan as you remember the drawing of his bare back you had started on a whim but couldn't bring yourself to finish.

As Joaquín drives you home and you sneak another looks at his side profile, you realise that at this rate you'll need a new sketchbook, dedicated entirely to him.

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