#not sure where else to look i think at this point all my regular bras are aerie

[autumnrory]

man i ordered a strapless bra from aerie in my usual size and the cups were huge so i tried again down a cup size but it's still a little weird and i think the band is too tight as well like WHAT is this sizing and i went to see if they might have other sizes in store i could try and ended up looking at the reviews and maybe if i had seen them i wouldn't have bothered bc a bunch of other people report the exact same issue and that's the only style they have besides bandeaus and push up bras which i do not want

[sparkymalone]

the sdr2 class pretty much has a game where they try to catch fuyuhiko in casual clothing. hajime and peko were disqualified long ago. peko for obvious reasons and hajime because he claimed that seeing him naked counted as casual clothing. this was in fact, how the class found out they were dating. hajime’s over-competitiveness can outweigh his brain at times.

so far kazuichi is in the lead for the time he barged into the other boys cottage at some ungodly hour, and the door was answered by a very angry fuyuhiko wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants (both of which were hajime’s bc you know that man is a THEIF)

anyway, my brain is always filled with fuyuhiko headcannons ngl

-LB

Hey guys, I have a bunch of asks from February that I'm just now getting to~

I'm so timely~

Anyway, a drabble for LB!

Rating: Not smutty

Word Count: 1884

Class 77-B had been stuck on this deserted island for entirely too long. They had come here for a supposed “school trip,” but they had been here for weeks at this point. No one was sure why, and whenever they tried to question Usami, she always ran away.

Regardless of why they were still here, they were still here. It was frustrating and a bit disheartening, but it presented an interesting opportunity. The students had plenty of time to get to know each other, and to get to know all of the odd little quirks each of them had.

They learned little things about their classmates, like how Sonia collected horror memorabilia, or the very particular way Mahiru sorted clothes. They learned not to use the restroom right after Nekomaru, and not to mention fast food around Teruteru. They learned not to let Chiaki fall asleep in weird places or let Nagito get too deep into his “hope” spiels.

The students quickly realized that there were things they didn't know, also. No one had any idea what Hajime's talent was, or if Akane knew what a bra was, and there was definitely something a little off about Byakuya.

They also realized that no one had seen Fuyuhiko out of formal wear. They all had their regular outfits, of course, provided several times over in their cottages. Over the weeks, though, most of them changed up their look at least once. Even Byakuya had been talked into a swimsuit at one point, and Hiyoko, once Mahiru had agreed to help her get back into her kimono. Everyone got a bit more casual… except Fuyuhiko.

It got to the point that some of the students decided to devise a game.

“Guys!” Ibuki cheered loudly, practically diving into the restaurant. “Ibuki thought of something funny!”

Everyone was assembled except for Fuyuhiko, who had apparently retreated to his cottage to shower. They all turned to Ibuki expectantly. Her ideas weren't always very good, but they certainly were a break in the monotony.

“Sooo, Fuyuhiko never stops wearing suits, right?” the musician prompted, waiting for a response before she continued. “Has anyone actually seen him without one?”

There was a brief pause. Peko hesitantly raised her hand. She and Fuyuhiko had eventually confessed their preexisting relationship, so everyone knew that the two of them grew up together.

Ibuki pointed at the swordswoman. “Besides Peko-Peko! Obviously!”

Peko lowered her hand.

There was another pause, and Ibuki excitedly moved on. “Okay! So, what if we play a little game?”

A murmur ran through the crowd. Mahiru put her hands on her hips. “Just get to the point, Ibuki,” she huffed.

Unbothered, Ibuki continued. “Okay, well, Ibuki thinks we should see who can catch Fuyuhiko in regular clothes first! It would be really funny.” She grinned, proud of her idea.

The others mulled the idea over for a moment before most of them agreed to play. Byakuya wasn't interested, and Peko was obviously disqualified. But pretty much everyone else seemed up for the game.

The group quickly began laying down rules, such as not telling Fuyuhiko about the game, and no one forcing him into different clothes. They also needed to establish what counted as “casual clothes.”

“Does being naked count?” Teruteru asked with a sly look. “It doesn't get more casual than that, right?”

Hajime put a hand to his chin in thought. “Well, if that's the case, I think I already won.” Everyone looked at him in surprise and he blushed, realizing what he had just admitted. “Oh, uh… Fuyuhiko and I are… d-dating…”

“Hajime is disqualified!” Ibuki proclaimed, and everyone agreed.

“What?!” the brunette protested. He had been pretty excited to win, so he was rather disappointed to suddenly find himself disqualified. Still, he supposed that was fair, since Peko was also not allowed to play. Hajime moved to sit next to the swordswoman, sulking, trying not to think about how his boyfriend was going to kill him for telling everyone they were dating.

The class finished laying out the rules and agreed on a prize for the winner: three days off from collecting resources. Hajime was even more upset that he wasn't able to play, but said nothing. He briefly considered telling Fuyuhiko about the game, but decided not to be a spoilsport.

“Game on!” Ibuki cheered. The others agreed, all desperately in need of some fun.

“What game?”

Everyone turned to see Fuyuhiko walking into the restaurant, dressed in his usual pinstripe suit. The yakuza heir looked apprehensive about suddenly having so much attention on him, but he continued moving forward.

“Uh…” Ibuki floundered, caught off-guard.

Luckily, Chiaki cut in. “Seeing how many breadsticks Akane can fit in her mouth.”

Akane perked up immediately. “Hell yeah! I'm ready!”

As the others scrambled to accommodate the lie, Fuyuhiko raised an eyebrow. He clearly didn't buy into the act, and his eyes flicked over to where Peko and Hajime were sitting. Both of them gave him a subtle nod. Fuyuhiko frowned, still suspicious, but he sat down without asking any further questions.

The others breathed an internal sigh of relief. The real game was afoot.

***

Over the following days, the class started trying to catch Fuyuhiko in casual clothes whenever they could. The blonde certainly wasn't making it easy, though.

He refused to go to the beach, like he always did, so catching him in a swimsuit was out.

He generally refused to answer his door at night, so catching him in pajamas was out.

Teruteru fielded the idea of trying to spy on him in the shower, thinking that would count, but everyone else shut that idea down. Hajime had a personal word with the chef about staying away from his boyfriend.

As it was, the class was already running out of ideas. Nagito suggested that Mahiru “lose” Fuyuhiko's laundry, but she argued that that would be wrong. Nagito backed down with his usual self-deprecating talk. “Of course, I should leave the ideas to the Ultimates. Anything I suggest would probably just fail.”

About a week into the competition, Kazuichi had had enough. He decided to just ask Hajime for help, since he probably had a better idea of when Fuyuhiko might let his guard down.

Kazuichi knocked on Hajime's door one night. He figured that would be the best time to catch Hajime while he was alone.

After he knocked, he heard some shuffling from inside before Hajime finally called out, “Who is it?”

“It's me,” Kazuichi called back. “I need your help, man. Can you let me in?”

There was a pause, followed by what sounded like whispering, and then more shuffling. Eventually, the door opened, revealing a flushed Hajime dressed in sweatpants and nothing else. “Uh, hey. Come on in.”

Kazuichi didn't think anything of his friend's appearance. It was a pretty warm night, after all. He walked into Hajime's cottage and turned to him expectantly. “You gotta help me, Haj. I just gotta win this game.”

Hajime immediately frowned. “That's what you need help with? No way.”

“Come on, man!” Kazuichi pleaded, throwing an arm around Hajime's shoulders and lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Think about it. If I win, I can let Miss Sonia have the three days off, and then she'll have to give me a shot!”

The brunette grimaced and was about to explain that Sonia would absolutely not have to give him a shot, she wouldn't owe him anything. Before he could say anything, however, the sound of a toilet flushing could be heard from his bathroom.

Kazuichi’s eyes widened and he carefully removed his arm from Hajime's shoulders. “...You're not alone?”

Cringing harder, Hajime held his hands up. “No, but listen, Kaz-”

“Wait, so it must be-!” Kazuichi exclaimed, feeling overly excited by the prospect.

The bathroom door opened and a startled-looking Fuyuhiko emerged. He glanced back and forth between the other two boys, not expecting to see anyone besides Hajime. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

Kazuichi wasn't listening, though. He was too busy staring at Fuyuhiko's outfit. The yakuza heir was dressed in an oversized t-shirt (which was obviously Hajime's) and a pair of pajama shorts, and Kazuichi couldn't hide his delighted grin.

Fuyuhiko crossed his arms over his chest, face heating up at being stared at for so long. “The fuck are you looking at?!” he snapped self-consciously.

“Nothing!” Kazuichi chirped happily. He turned to Hajime and clapped him on the back. “Thanks for your help, man. I'll see you guys later!” With that, he swiftly exited the room.

Hajime rubbed a hand over his face in exasperation. He turned to his boyfriend, who looked completely bewildered. “I can explain.”

“You fuckin' better,” Fuyuhiko grumbled, moving towards the bed. “Or else you're sleepin’ on the floor.”

“You can't kick me out of my own bed!” Hajime argued.

Fuyuhiko glared at him. “Wanna bet? Just tell me what's going on!”

Sighing, Hajime finally just explained the game to his boyfriend. Once he was finished, Fuyuhiko flushed in embarrassment.

“W-Why the hell was everyone so interested in what I wear?” he asked quietly.

Hajime sat next to him on the bed. “It's just because you always wear your suit. Anyway, it was just a silly game. Don't worry about it too much.”

Fuyuhiko looked unconvinced. “I guess.” He paused. “Wait, how come you didn't win? You see me out of my suit all the time!”

The brunette shrugged. “Me and Peko were disqualified for having an unfair advantage.”

That made sense, Fuyuhiko supposed. He started nodding along, but stopped when he realized something. “Wait… How would the others know you have an advantage?”

Hajime cringed and turned away evasively. “Uh… well…”

Fuyuhiko blushed angrily. “You bastard! Did you tell everyone about us?!”

“It was an accident!” Hajime replied quickly.

The smaller boy grabbed him, trying to turn him back, but Hajime resisted. “I can't fuckin' believe you would just fuckin' tell everybody-”

“I wanted to win,” the brunette argued, voice wavering.

There were a few more choice words thrown his way before Fuyuhiko tried to shove him off the bed. Hajime grabbed his partner's wrists and the two of them grappled for a minute before falling back onto the bed.

Suddenly, Hajime knew exactly how to calm his boyfriend down. His hands slipped under Fuyuhiko's shirt, turning his squeak of surprise into a startled moan. The blonde was clearly still upset with him, but he certainly seemed willing to leave that for the morning.

***

Kazuichi won the competition. He attempted to give his prize to Sonia, who politely declined.

Fuyuhiko was extra grouchy with everyone for a few days, but eventually relaxed. He still wouldn't let anyone see him in casual clothes, if he could help it.

On the rare occasions where someone did catch him in something other than his suit, he would just sigh and tell them that they got a point. It was his own way of playing along.

Whenever anyone asked him who had the most points, he always answered, “Hajime, obviously. Fucker takes my suit off all the time.”

That usually scared whoever was asking off, but if anyone dared to ask who was in second place, Fuyuhiko would just shrug. “I don't know. I'm not keeping track of that shit.”

I hope you liked it! Hopefully I can crank out a few more of these old drabbles soon. Let me know what you think, and feel free to send more requests! It takes me forever to get to them, but I love having them lol.

[whatdoyouneedsugar]

3/3 (I completely forgot about the third reply, oops)

I'm glad you've also found clothes you love to wear! Honestly, after I tried the stockings and dress on, I felt so pretty! A few years ago, that would've made me super upset (at that point, my whole goal in being trans was to pass as a boy, which...was really hard for a while). But this time, I just felt super giddy! I even took a few videos of my showing off, teasing, and doing a little twirl 🥰

The stockings were a bit different, though. They had this weird plastic/rubber lining on the inside of the lacey part, and they wouldn't stay up all the way, which was disappointing. Plus, I spend like an hour re-threading the ribbons through the little holes so it would look more pretty. They're okay, but I probably won't wear them again just because they're kind of annoying to get on and they don't stay up :/

I was right about them going with the dress, though! They go very well with the dress :)

Oh, but another thing with the dress: Even as a small and making the strings as tight as possible, it still kept sliding off my shoulders! 😭 The universe always finds a way to remind me that I am a petite boy.

Hehe I would love to be collared and on a leash for you. Actually, as I was getting ready for bed, I kept thinking about how fun it would be to be taken apart so slowly that I can't do anything but beg for more. Until the point where I'm so overstimulated from being slowly built up over and over that I'm begging for the opposite 🤭

And same here. I've never actually done anything kinky in-person. I've only ever researched and had fantasies. I haven't even had vanilla sex yet!

Sigh...What's a boy to do? 😔

- 🐸

I'm so happy you felt pretty, baby, and you're giving yourself the freedom to put on whatever you like.

As for the stockings, normally that plastic rubbery part is to hold them up, like the glue on those strapless bras. So strange that it doesn't adhere. You could always get a garter belt in the future, maybe it would work to keep them up.

Regarding the strap of the dress, it sounds really sexy that it would slide off like that. Mommy just wouldn't be able to help herself and get her mouth on your neck and your shoulder. On the one hand, it's good you're on anon and don't send me photos, because that would do me in for like a week. I'd have the mental capacity for nothing else but my petite boy in a pretty dress waiting for me to get home and ruin him. I want to slip my hand underneath the dress like we're sneaking around, have you go around with no panties on, always so accessible for mommy to get on her knees and eat you out.

It's okay, love. I don't have a lot of experience with sex either, but i found it's given me time to be on my own, explore my pleasure, the things i like and how to communicate them when I needed. If I had a regular partner/partners since I was like 20, I am not sure I would have sought out learning about different kinds of sex and relationship dynamics... So I think there's an upside to sort of having or choosing to deal with things on your own for a a while. Although I gotta say, I kinda have enough of the theory now and just wanna use it 😂

But anyway, different experiences, different paces, it's all good.

[prettyboykatsuki]

please PLEASE write more abt bully bkg!!! what happened next?? what did kiri do omg

tw ;; mild toxicity, bully!bkg, kirishima being a shit, fem!reader 18+, spanking, oral (f!recieving), bkg accidentally worships your pussy instead of punishing you :/, unprotected sex, praise kink 

PT. 1

a/n ;; have i mentioned he makes me absolutely out of my mind yet? have i said that?!??#?$# 

i think we’ve established about the two of them enough by now so here’s how i picture it. 

like i said before - bkg is a campus athlete, popular and well-rounded and all around has that like image to him and so when he essentially confesses to you after fucking you stupid in the library, that’s basically him making you his girlfriend. you don’t know that for a long time but we’ll get there later. 

anwyays.. right after he fucks you nice n full of his cum, he slides your panties and shorts right back on and snickers as he watches you struggle to get to your feet before eventually helping you. he keeps your bra as a punishment and makes you keep his hoodie, almost biting you when you try and take kirishimas to return it to him. he’ll do it himself, don’t test him. 

when you’re all dressed - he makes you pack up and ends up walking you to your dorm room in the middle of the night (which you beg him to not do) but he’ll be fucking damned if anything bad happens to you. it’s his version of affectionate but you don’t know that yet so you’re mostly awkwardly trying to dodge him on the way back BUT he’s still bkg so when he notices that he yanks you. 

he makes you hold his arm and licks your cheek cause he’s such a fucking dick. hits you with a “get used to it, princess” with the most condescending tone. but he’s being so serious. you just think he’s teasing you but he’s not.. he means it. get used to him, basically because now he’s a constant presence in your life. 

he drops you off in front of your dorm and you’re about to wave him off but before you can go he grabs your waist and basically dips you for a kiss. and it’s so good - fuck, you wish you could say you hated it. but bakugou is experienced as much as he’s mean so he kisses you like his life depends on it, his fingers digging into your sides and his tongue in your mouth. you almost forget your in public until he pulls you back up 

he gives you a little breathless grin, patting your cheek with his hand and telling you “get cleaned up, dumbass” which is his way of telling you to get home safe. 

and you do get to your empty dorm. you take a shower and just kinda reflect on the actualy fuck transpired cause you were pretty positive he wanted you in a casket but?!?!?! you fucked him and he kissed you? so ???? 

youre in the middle of your exams and you’re honestly tired since you got fucked within in an inch of your life so you shower and just.. go to sleep. in his hoodie cause it smells good and it’s big and comfy and you’re like... thinking about it really hard but it just makes your headache. 

you conclude after a lot of tossing and turning that he’s probably still just trying to fuck around with you and maybe thinks you’re an easy lay.  you can’t say you aren’t since you were willing and ready for him (the thought of how easily you gave in has you flustered) 

you sleep, eventually. and you wake up the next morning not really expecting much. you don’t have bkgs number or anything so you just.. continue with your day as is. unlucky for you - you have classes with bakugou and kirishima 

but you don’t think it’ll be all that different. still so non-chalant. and you go to class that day dressed normally - with bakugous hoodie in hand. 

you sit in your regular seat that day and this is your first mistake. 

kirishima is in class before bakugou is. and he is.. as always, a little shit. so he pulls up right beside you because even though bkg is pissed at kiri - they are besties so he tells him everything. kirishima wont tease you abt it and u still think kirishima is quite nice and handsome so you’re pleased to greet him. 

ah.. another mistake on your behalf. this action WILL have consequences. 

kirishima gets so cozy with you btw. he loves that you’re so comfy w him - strokes his ego so good. and he chats you up for a better part of the hour before your morning class. 

he makes jokes and smiles and laughs and thinks about how easy it would be snatch you from bakugou and keep you to himself. he’s not good enough of a person to leave you alone. 

aaah kirishima is a sweetheart and he treats you well. so when you feel his hand on your thigh underneath the table - rubbing little circles into your knee, you don’t even notice. and when he gets super close to you to hear you talk - telling you your voice is too soft even tho a class is empty, you let him. 

and when you point out that ppl keep staring and whispering you, he tells you to ignore them and you do. you ignore the whispers and even the click of camera. 

it’s only when you hear bakugou that you get a strange feeling in your gut. he stomps into the classroom - vicious. his schedule is so busy he normally doesn’t get to lounge around before class making sure to keep everything tight 

but he got..  many messages about how you and kirishima were seating today. mostly from kami who likes to cause problems - he decided he should get there a lil early 

well.. lo and behold he does - and he finds you and kirishima looking incredibly cozy with each other. and kirishima being.. kirishima - is the first to see him and he shoots his beloved friend the most smug fuckin smile. 

bkg is pissed, naturally and stomps his way over to the two of you. he’s doing the thing again where he’s icy mad. he doesn’t even bother w kirishima and there’s a whole crowd around the three of you. 

“get your shit,” he demands, clearly seething. you give him a wild look, noticing the now obvious tension before being completely confused.  you’re about to protest w him but he sends you a spine-chillingly glare. 

your whole class watches as he yanks you by the wrist out of the classroom as kirishima sits back and gives u a little wave. ur lost. obviously. and once you leave the classroom ur like “where are we going?” 

the answer is to bakugous very nice car - a custom c3 corvette. he opens the door and stares you, grabbing your bags and taking them to the trunk. but u stand ur ground, cross your arms over your chest like 

“what are we doing out here?” 

bkg doesn’t hesitate in pushing you up against his car, his hands on your waist and his teeth nipping at your neck - sore from old bruises. and you gasp when you feel his fingers dig into your hips, all tongue and teeth. 

“the fuck did i say about you cozyin’ up t’ that shitty haired bastard yesterday,” 

this makes you swallow because bakugous mouth is travelling further and further and his hands are getting more bold. and you shiver, something hot and heavy in your core cause fuck he’s so possesive over you. it makes you dizzy, something sticky and warm in you. 

“i.. i d-didn’t think you were being s..serious yesteryday” 

he growls a little against your throat. 

“guess i’ll have to teach you another lesson. im gonna get in the car and then you are. easy enough, nerd?” 

you can’t do anything but nod and watch him open the car doors. when he gets in you follow and within the blink of an he manuevers you till your over his lap. you let out a loud yelp as his strong hands come down on your ass. still clothed. 

you let out a soft yelp - a noise of surprise at the sudden sensation and you feel bkg bend down to speak in your ear. 

“wanna act like a fuckin’ brat and flirt with your boyfriends friends? fine. i’ll fuck that shitty ass attitude right out of you,” 

the firs thing you think is “boyfriend?!” but your voice gets muffled when you feel bakugou pull down your bottoms along with your panties. his hands are so strong and so big - long thick fingers covered in callouses from playing so many games. you can’t help but squirm under his touch, a growing wetness making your stomach clench. 

he’s so so mean about it yk? a big strong hand smacking against your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. he chuckles when you whine, when your body shivers - bare cunt expose to him and nothing else. a wave of humilation floods through you. 

“‘s not my fault you’re like this y’know? all you gotta do is follow instructions - i know you now how to fucking do that, right? always bein’ so prissy,” ― bakugou tsks, smacking your ass hard before spreading your cheeks out. he admires the way your cunt trembles with mean laugh ― “but you wanna go flirt with shitty hair that much, huh?” 

you’re gonna protest and tell him it’s not even like that.. which makes you question why’re so eager to go with his demands. but the words get lost as the sound of spanks slowly drift and it’s just bakugou admiring your ass. he didn’t really get a good chance too when he was fucking you yesterday but now he’s got eagles on you n your pretty little cunt. 

“never gonna let anyone touch your pretty little pussy but fuckin’ me,” ― and he groans, sliding his fingers through your folds ― “fuck.. fuck” 

you’re not expecting much but within another few seconds you’ve got your cheek pressed to the glass window, ass up and body folded with your cunt directly in bkgs face. you’re not rlly sure why this was happening because you were sure you were getting punished. and maybe the humilation of having your face pressed to glass is enough 

but it doesn’t negate the fact bkg is tongue deep in your cunt. both hands massaging your ass - spreading your lips apart so he can get into fucking deeper. sliding his tongue against your folds and slurping on your clit until you’re jolting with pleasure like you’ve never known before in your life. you’re moaning so loud the whole campus could probably fucking hear but bkg doesn’t care and doesn’t stop 

and your thighs give out, he goes from eat it from the back to getting underneath you and has you sitting on his face. you just keep cumming and bakugou is rock fucking hard - but he doesn’t even bother jerking himself off. he spends all of his time n effort worshipping your sweet cunt  

you cum on his face so many times you’re completely limp by the time he sticks his dick in you. but it feels so good when he does that too - oversenstive walls stretched out his big cock, a hand on your sides as he shifts you into missionary. 

he doesn’t even intend to make you cum again but the position has him so deep in your cervix that you do and he’s so close. and when bkgs close, he’s fucking obscene. 

but it’s not all that vulgar like you’re expecting and that makes you fucking whine. hearing bakugou praise you and your pussy does something terrible to your brain and in your fucked out haze - arms around his shoulders, you’re fucking whimpering. 

and bkgs just in your ear like 

“such a sweet fuckin’ girl for me, taking my dick so damn good, haah fuck. all mind. know how to behave when i fuck you like this don’t you? be a good girl and take it all.. there you go, just like that,” 

when he cums inside of you he stays there for a while and stares at your completely gone expression. it’s unusually soft and you wont see it often but he grabs your face and kisses you hard 

“you’re my girlfriend now you fuckin’ dweeb so start fuckin’ acting like it yeah?” 

you whine and nod, unable to refuse even if u want too 

“yeah..yeah” 

[illfoandillfie]

Smile For the Camera (Kinktober Day 13: Filming)

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Words: 2,957

Warnings: hypnosis, bimbofication/intelligence play, oral sex (m receiving), spanking, fingering, some begging, a hint of crying

A/N: Part of the Future Management universe. Aaaaaages ago I got a comment on AO3 that suggested a storyline where Roger and Reader make a bimbo sex tape with the possibility of some angsty consequences and it's been in the back of my mind ever since. So when I put filming on the kinktober prompt list I thot it was the perfect chance to actually write the sex tape making lmao. 

“Is it working?” you hugged your knees tighter to your chest as you watched Roger fiddling with the new video camera he’d bought on a whim.   “Should be,” he nodded, closing the tape inside and repositioning it on the dresser. He turned to you when he was happy with its setup, “Are you sure you want to do this?”  “Yeah, I do.”  “Okay.” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “you remember the safe word?”  “Yes, I remember it. And we tested out the safe word trigger last time so we know it works and I’ll be able to tap out if I want to. I’m ready, let’s do it.”  “Alright love. I’m going to turn the camera on and then I’ll trance you like normal but we’re also going to try that spanking thing we talked about.”  “Mmhmm. And then you’ll play with me for a bit before you pick up the camera for some close-up shots.”  “Okay, okay, I get it, you’re ready.”  “We’ve been over it a hundred time. I know the plan and I trust you. Just do whatever feels right.”  Roger nodded and tilted your face up so he could give you a proper kiss, soft and sweet, before leaving you to turn the gadget on.  

When he came back he knelt behind you and stroked your hair as he started talking you down. It was hard for you to fully focus on his words at first, your attention constantly drifting to the camera, equal parts nervous and excited. But Roger was patient and gentle. He’d learnt a lot about talking you into your bimbo state and so was able to draw you back to his voice and eventually his words stuck. You found yourself feeling calm, relaxing back so you were leaning against Roger as you breathed deeply at his instruction. And then you felt yourself getting warmer, squirming in place as a sharp need for physical touch rose in you. And every second your desire grew, your thoughts diminished. Roger made you listen and then told you to stop thinking, that he would think enough for both of you, which just made you listen harder and so think less and less and less. By the time he was telling you to wake up you were already smiley and giggly and thinking only of his cock.   “Hi Doll,”  “Hi Sir,” you tilted your head back as far as you could so you could see Roger better, laughing about how he was sort of upside down.   He touched the tip of your nose, “You’re cute. But there’s someone else you need to say hi to.”  “Who?” you looked around excitedly but saw no one. Until Roger pointed the camera out. You scrambled to your knees and crawled to the end of the bed to get a closer look.   “I’m going to be filming you today,” Roger explained, “So that when I wake you up and you’re all smart again, you can watch yourself be my very good girl.”  You puzzled over the camera, confused by what Roger meant, “I don’t want to be smart.”  Roger tried not to laugh as he shuffled towards you, “You don’t have to be. Not right now. But are you okay with the video?”  “Mmhmm!” you didn’t really understand what he meant but you were happy for anyone to see you being a good girl.  “Well, why don’t you show the camera what you’re wearing then. Stand up and do a spin for us.”  You nodded eagerly and clambered off the bed, “ummm, I’m wearing my faaaaaavourite bra which is pink and Sir always says it makes my tits look sooooooo fuckable.” You giggled, “And thennnn this cute skirt which feels so nice, especially when Sir lets me ride him. And- can I have your cock Sir?”  “Not yet my silly slut, finish telling me about your outfit. What shoes have you got on?”  “These ones,” you kicked your leg up so he could see better. “They make me tall but they can be kind of hard to walk in. But that’s okay. I can just crawl instead.” You dropped to your hands and knees and crawled over to Roger, kneeling between his legs and looking up at him pleadingly, “Now can I have cock?”  “You can have all the cock you want. But you’ll have to wait a little bit first.”  You pouted but nodded. Roger said that you should be good for the other people watching, so you had to be good.   “You look very pretty though, it’s making me hard.”  “You mean it Sir?”  “Of course Doll. It’s a very slutty outfit. I think if you bent over I’d be able to see your pretty pussy all ready for me. Should we see?”  You nodded and got to your feet again, turning away from Roger and bending over so he’d have a good view. You stayed bent over as Roger stood up, as he grabbed your hips, as he adjusted your position. He explained that he had to show the camera how much of a slut you were, stroking his fingers along your pussy lips as he talked. You hummed at the contact, pleased that you’d pleased him.   “How come you picked this outfit Doll?” Roger asked as he pulled you to stand up again.  You thought about it and then shrugged.  “You don’t know?”  You shrugged again, “It makes me feel....ummm....”  “Makes you feel what? Take your time, love, I know it’s hard to know the words.”  “There's so many,”  “So many words”  You nodded and Roger laughed softly.   “Do you like it Sir?”  “I like it very very much.”  You couldn’t help but smile at that, feeling that if your Sir was happy then he’d have to let you lick his cock and taste his cum and bounce on his lap and oh god you wanted him so so much it was all you could think about.  “But you were saying it makes you feel something Doll, what do you feel?”  You giggled again, “I feeeeeel,” you ran your hands over your body, feeling your breasts and your hips and your thighs, “I feel horny and dumb!”  Roger had to laugh. You’d said it with such joy and enthusiasm it was impossible not to be completely charmed by it. He loved being able to tap into this side of you, loved that you loved being this way. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into him so he could kiss you.  

Roger had to carefully unhook your arms from around him when he pulled away. You’d pressed yourself against him and it had taken all his self-control not to fuck you then and there. But that wasn’t what you’d agreed on when you’d decided to film yourselves. Half the reason you’d been interested and okay with doing it was because you were curious to see yourself in your bimbo state. And he wanted to make sure he did it properly for you. So, he disentangled himself, ignoring your whine, and told you to kneel on the bed.   You eagerly got into position, hopeful that if you were good enough you’d get what you really wanted. Curiously, you watched as Roger walked over to the dresser and picked up the thing that had been watching you. If only you could remember what it was called. The word was lost in the depths of your hazy bimbo brain, but you didn’t have to puzzle over it for long.   “Smile for the camera Doll,”  You smiled, big and brainless. Your Sir always made you want to smile. He reminded you of cock and you were happy when you thought about cock.   “Now tell the camera what you are.”  “Ummmm, dumb?”  “And? Sir’s what?”  “Sir’s silly bimbo slut!”  “And what are you going to let Sir do to you?”  You giggled, amused by all the questions, “Whatever he wants!”  “You gonna suck his cock?”  “Mmmmhmmmm. I loooove his cock so much.”  Roger laughed from behind the camera, “How about if Sir spanks you? Or chokes you? Or edges your little whore pussy?”  You whined, not sure if you fully understood all the possibilities but overwhelmed by them all the same, “Yes please Sir.”  “You’re so polite,” Roger cooed, grabbing you by the chin, his thumb pressing against your lips until you parted them. ‘How about we start with your mouth and work our way down.   ‘Thir-” you said around his thumb, “Does ‘at ‘ean...”  He nodded, pulling his thumb free but keeping hold of your chin, “Yes Doll, you’re allowed to suck me off now. But. Mr Camera will be watching the whole time, and if he doesn’t think you’re doing a good enough job then Sir will have to punish you.”  “I’ll be good Sir, I promise. I’ll lick you’re cock so good and swallow alllllll your cum.”  “Go on then. Show us how much of a cockslut you are.”  As soon as he let you go you surged forward, mouthing at his cock through his jeans. You traced the outline of it with your lips and tongue, kissing his rapidly stiffening length. But it wasn’t right. You couldn’t taste it properly. You wanted him in your mouth, you wanted to feel him fill your throat, to taste him cum. The jeans were in the way, so you whined as you continued to try to wrap your lips around him through the fabric.   “You forgot something dummy.” Roger lightly batted you away so he could unzip his fly and push his pants down. He’d barely gotten his cock out and you were already moving closer, moaning as you put your lips on him for real.  Roger made sure he got it all on tape, keeping the camera trained on you as you enthusiastically sucked him off. If he didn’t know how brainless you were he’d have thought you were faking your interest. Your moans were comically frequent, made every time he so much as twitched under your attentions but especially when precum leaked from his tip. At one point you licked a saliva coated tongue along his length and then sat back giggling. And when he asked what was so funny you couldn’t respond except to say you loved cock. He could only imagine how you’d react when you saw just how stupidly cock obsessed you were. You’d be embarrassed probably, but he hoped you’d be turned on too. The camera lost you for a moment as he stopped paying attention to where it was pointing, too lost in thoughts about fucking you while making you watch your bimbo self, how hot it would be to make you cum to that. But as soon as he realised the focus had slipped he righted the machine, taking a better hold of it and pointing it at your face.   “Stop, dummy,” he grunted. It was a shame to halt your greedy attentions, but he had a particular image he wanted recorded.  “Sir?”  “Wank me off instead.”  You pouted but wrapped your hand around his length, poking your tongue between your teeth as you concentrated on stroking him.   Roger groaned and praised you as he got closer, which just made you smile more and more, happy with how happy you were making your Sir. When he came suddenly you let out a surprised “oh!” and then giggled and wiggled happily in place as his cum spurted over your face, making sure to milk every drop from him. Roger made sure he filmed you grinning as you greedily licked cum from your fingers, as if you’d just been given the best treat in the world.  

While you were enjoying the reward, Roger turned to put the camera back down.   “Where are you going Sir?” you pouted at his back.  “Nowhere baby, just putting Mr Camera on the dresser again.”  “What’s a dresser?”  He laughed a little but didn’t reply straight away, busy adjusting the focus and zoom, “Don’t worry baby, silly little bimbo sluts don’t need to worry about that.”  “Okay! Can I suck your cock?”  Roger looked directly into the camera as he rolled his eyes, “See how fucking dumb you are?” but his next words were directed at you on the bed, “You’ve just done that dummy.”  “Oops, I forgot.”  “Well maybe Sir needs to give you something you can’t forget. Turn around.”  You bit your lip, not sure what he meant but excited that he was going to give you something, and did as he asked.   Roger helped position you, grabbing your hips and pulling your arse into the air, pushing between your shoulders so you lowered your head and chest.  You giggled into the sheets as you felt him slowly stroke your arse cheek but then gasped as he gave you a light spank.   “How was that slut?”  “Feels good Sir.”  “Yeah? How about this?”  There was a crack and you whined as his palm met your flesh, much harder than the first.   “Now I want to test something Doll. A little magic I put in your bimbo brain.”  “Magic?”  “Mmhmm. I’m going to click my fingers and you’ll go to sleep, but only for a second. And when I wake you, the magic will be working. Okay?”  “Okay.”  If Roger hadn’t told you what was happening, you wouldn’t have even known you’d been asleep. He’d done most of the work when he’d first talked you down and so really only had to activate the trigger he’d set up before he snapped his fingers to wake you again.   “Hi again, dummy. You ready to test out the magic?”  You giggled, “Ummmm, yes?”  “Good girl. Now, look at me Doll, that’s right. You remember how I hit you before? You remember what it felt like?”  You rubbed over the spot where his hand had landed and nodded, whimpering softly as you remembered the sharp sting of it.   “Well, because of my magic, whenever I say a specific word, you’re going to feel it again, okay?”  “What?”   “Spank.”  “Ow!” You were shocked by the sudden, unexpected, smack. You’d had your eyes on your Sir and he hadn’t moved at all.  “Good, it works.” Roger smiled, rubbing your back softly, “So, whenever I say that word again, you’re going to feel like you’ve been smacked. But don’t worry, I’m going to make you feel so good too.”  You nodded, completely confused by how he’d spanked you without raising a hand but keen to take whatever he wanted to give you. And, seconds later, you learnt just how good he meant to make you feel.   “Did you get this wet from sucking cock, or are you always so drippy when your brain turns off?” Roger asked as he slid his fingers along your slit.  “Both?” you asked, not at all sure.  “Probably,” he agreed, rewarding you by pressing a finger into your hole. “Or maybe it was the spank.”  You squealed as you felt the power of his hand hitting you again.  

He kept it up for a while, gradually giving you more of his fingers, interspersing the word spank into his praise and encouragement. He kept up constant chatter, sometimes directed to you – telling you how good you were and how much he loved playing with your pussy and how he was going to have to fuck it later. He’d drop the word spank in casually, just part of the conversation, as if he barely remembered the power he’d given it. But then there were times where he was talking more to the camera, laughing about how much of a slut you were, how eagerly you were clenching on his fingers. And then he’d say spank like it was a challenge. Asking the camera if it would like to see you be spanked again, wondering aloud how many times he could say it before you cried. Usually, that’s when he’d speed his movement up, finger fuck you hard and fast as he said, “Spank. Spank. Spank.” so that you barely had time to register one hit before the next was coming. He would ocassionally give your clit a little touch, circle it once or twice before focusing back on your lips and your hole. He explained he wasn’t ready for you to cum just yet, but you were okay with that. You only wanted to do what he wanted you to do. So you gratefully accepted the spanks and his fingers, moaning and whining and whimpering in turns, depending on which sensation he gave you at any one time. After some time, Roger was ferociously hard. You’d long been wet enough to leak over his hand and were stifling little sobs in the blankets on the bed from the mixture of pain and pleasure.   You whined when he pulled his fingers free but, when you turned to try and find where he’d gone, were gratified to see him removing his pants properly.   “How do you feel Doll?”  “Soooooooooooooooo horny.”  Roger chuckled as he kicked his pants off his ankles, “not too sore?”  You shook your head, “Cock? Now?”  “So you want me to fuck you?”  “Pleeease Sir.”  “And which hole should I fuck?”  “Ummm....all of them?”  “Not sure I can manage that,” he laughed, “But I don’t think I can resist this slutty, drippy cunt. It’s so wet, just begging to be fucked.”  You whimpered as he notched his tip at your entrance and began begging for him.   “There you go,” he grunted as he slid inside, his words almost drowned by your moan, “Tell Mr Camera how much you love this.”  You turned your head to the camera and beamed, “I love Sir’s cock fucking me so so so so much.” 

[catholicdaredevil]

not if it's you || part five

eddie munson x gender neutral reader

summary: eddie takes you to one of his bands shows

words: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of alcohol and being in a bar, no gendered pronouns or description

ao3 link

series masterlist

gif credit: @stevesbipanic

this is our last reader falls asleep first in this 5 + 1 so without further ado

"Did you know," you wave your finger into his face to help make your point as he moves around you to load his gear into the back of his van. "That you are my all-time best friend and favorite person all wrapped up into one?"

You bounce back and forth on the snow covered ground beside him in excitement, which was apparently your new state of being since he had first invited you to his show late last week. Laying in his bed passing a joint back and forth, his hands had lingered on yours as he asked. The early morning sun glowing through the windows and onto your faces, lighting up the ever present twinkle in his eyes. He still remembers the way your face had lit up, your mouth dropping open and the excruciatingly cute way you’d gasped and said ‘Me?’ as if he could be talking to anyone else.

"I had an idea, but it's always nice to know a man's got fans." Eddie lifts his amp up, shoving it into the back of his van and turning to grab his guitar from where the case hangs off your shoulder. He finishes loading his gear, leaning over to strap it all in before turning back to see you. 

"Fan? Like a regular fan? Psh, nah, I am your biggest mega-fan in the history of fans. Ever." Your finger is back, this time punctuating your words with an almost rough poke into his chest with every one. You tilt your head back to the quickly darkening sky, yelling out into the open air. "I am officially with the band."

A loud laugh shakes its way free from Eddie’s chest, hands on his knees as he doubles over to keep standing with the force of it. It’s a ground-shaking thunder kind of laugh and warm pride blooms in your chest at the sight of him. Eddie straightens up finally, pulling the lapels of his leather jacket that rests over your shoulders until you’re pressed into his chest and he can wrap his arms around you. 

“Well mega-fan, I hope you're ready to do some mega-cheering and throw your imaginary mega-bra onto the stage.” He breathes the words into your hair, squeezing you tightly when your own arms wrap around his middle to keep him from pulling back too soon.

“Shit, I think I packed my imaginary mega-bra in my other jacket,” your words are muffled in his shirt, breathing in the scent of his cologne and the weed smell that never really goes away. Eddie laughs again, leaning his head down and squeezing you one more time before letting you go. 

He pulls away to give you a once over, wearing his jacket and matching eyeliner that you’d insisted on doing for the both of you. You even have one of his rings hanging from a chain around your neck, along with the silver copy of his house key he’d given you. He’s content to live in this ocean you’ve built around him, every look at you raising the sea level until one day he’s sure it will finally drag him down for good. 

Eddie grabs your door for you with a bow, hand sweeping out in the gesture. He passes a small box of tapes into your lap with a crooked grin. “You’re my best friend too, so I’ll even let you pick the music.”

His long fingers drum against the wheel as he drives, bobbing his head to the music. After a few songs you start to see along under your breath and Eddie turns, reaching out to grab your hand and loudly sing into it like it’s a microphone. It’s a long drive to the venue, even without stopping to pick up his bandmates for once you’re both in the car for over an hour listening to music with the windows down, screaming the lyrics while Eddie smoked. 

All your energy morphs into pre-concert jitters as you watch Eddie and his bandmates set the stage, the lights are all low except for the reds and blues that paint the stage. Eddie looks ethereal under them when he turns to glance at you, sending a grin across the stage to where you’re standing. A shiver runs down your spine that you’re pretty sure you aren’t able to blame on the alcohol in your cup, or the chill of the ice that runs condensation down the side. It’s all him, glowing in the lights and his smile. 

The general chatter of the room lulls as Eddie steps up to the mic, he brushes some of his hair out of his face and opens his mouth to speak. All of your nerves jump into your throat and for a moment you forget to breathe. Too caught up in Eddie to do anything but watch on in awe. 

“Thanks for coming out tonight. We are Corroded Coffin. We’ve got a bit of a special show tonight, our biggest mega-fan out in the crowd tonight, so this is for them.” Eddie locks eyes with you, throwing a wink in your direction before stepping back and playing his first chord. The sudden heat in your cheeks and the way your heart beats into your ribs are yet even more things that can’t be blamed on anything other than Eddie Munson. 

The concert blurs together, song after amazing song, Eddie’s playful grin and screaming the only real thing you remember by the end of the night. You were able to pick out a few songs from ones he’s played you in the past, even more ones that you’ve overheard him humming to himself or practicing in his room. And then there was one; completely new and entirely your favorite. Eddie had stepped back up, cheeks flushed and skin shining. His voice was low when he spoke.

“This last one I wrote a couple months ago, Sleeping Siren.” 

Eddie had looked everywhere but at you, but the implication was clear. It felt like the whole world had faded away, no longer in a sweaty seedy bar, no longer in a crowd; just you and him as he sang a song he had written for you. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever cheered louder, voice raspy in the aftermath despite the water bottle Eddie pushes into your hand once he hears you.

“That. Was. Amazing.” Your hands grab onto Eddie’s shoulders, yanking him into you. He’s covered in sweat, having discarded his vest halfway through the show when it got too hot with all of the packed bodies in the bar. “Color me impressed Munson.”

“I expect nothing less of a mega-fan,” Eddie laughs, arms wrapping around your waist. He tucks his nose into its usual spot in your hair, leaning further down until he can rest his entire face in the crook of your shoulder. 

You help him and his bandmates take down the set, sluggish as the late hour starts to catch up to you. Eddie bids his friends goodnight with a wave, arm slung around you as you both walk out into the cool night. There’s still a blanket of snow on almost everything you can see, less so now that it all has started to melt, spring slowly blooming all around you. 

The drive home is more muted, passing under streetlights every few hundred feet as you stare at Eddie. His face lights up under every one, his eyes focused on the road in front of him, sneaking glances at you when you aren’t looking. You’re filled with so much gratitude that he shared this with you, invited you to see this part of him. 

“So, did you have fun?” He finally asks twenty minutes into the ride. 

You hum thoughtfully, kicking your feet onto his dashboard and leaning back. You cover your mouth as you yawn before answering. “Yeah, Eddie that was fucking insane.”

Eddie turns to look at you again, catching the way your eyelids have already started to droop. You had mentioned not getting good sleep the night before– it being one of those nights that you actually spent at your own home. Though those seem to happen less and less as time goes on. 

“Tired sweetheart?” Eddie coos, one hand reaching out to grab onto yours. He pulls your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Even half asleep your stomach swoops out from under you. You yawn again, this time even bigger and squeeze his hand. 

“Yeah, ‘m sleepy.” 

“Then go to sleep sweetheart, I’ll wake you up when we get home.”  Home. It sounds so lovely when he says it like that. His home, your home, they have started to become synonymous. The sentiment is cozy enough to send you spiraling further into your tiredness, eyes closed as you drift off in the calm quiet of his van. Eddie keeps his promise, letting you sleep until you both get home and holding your hand the entire drive.

-

i will be reblogging fics and writing onto @h-llfirelibrary so you can turn on post notifs for there to know when i'm posting!!

[snackhobi]

this is my part of the rockin’ around the christmas tropes collab with @yeojaa, @underthejoon @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna, @untaemedqueen, @xjoonchildx ✨ MERRY (early) CHRISTMAS Y’ALL

summary: yoongi is your favourite regular. he’s patient, polite, and predictable, a-large-black-coffee-to-go-please, no cream, no sugar, thank you. rinse and repeat. the seasons might change, but yoongi’s order stays the same.

and then one fateful day in winter, yoongi asks about the weekly specials, orders a cup of christmas and sugary sweetness, and everything starts changing.

pairing: yoongi x barista f!reader / word count: 14.8k / genre: coffeeshop!au, fluff, dash of smut (NSFW)

warnings: slow burn, terrible drink concoctions, pining, miscommunication (kind of/reader comes to incorrect conclusions based on literally nothing), the tiniest bit of swearing, heated makeouts, oral (m receiving), I think that’s it

a/n: I have a lot of people to thank: thank you to my loveliest most beautiful wife @yeojaa for the beautiful banner 🥺💖 thank you to @morndas for helping me name this fic and suggesting some of the awful weekly specials featured within 🥰 thank you to @yeoldontknow for letting me have multiple meltdowns at her and for letting me pick her brain about working in the music industry, and for helping me with plot points I wasn’t sure about!! 💕

also thank you to @hobi-gif for helping me brainstorm the original fic idea with her; she hasn’t beta’ed this fic because I am TERRIBLE and literally finished this like an hour before posting. that’s on me and not her. I am a shambles without her indomitable proof reading skills; any mistakes are down to me, and I apologise for that. I’ve only read this through like once, sorry in advance, I’m literally formatting this while I should be getting ready for work

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

Like, okay, you’re on your feet for hours at a time, the pay isn’t exactly the highest in the world, and coffee beans have a tendency to end up in the weirdest places (how did you get the light roast in your bra?)—but it’s not entirely terrible.

Here’s a (totally not comprehensive) list of good things about working at the Paradise coffee shop:

The free drinks (y’know, for taste testing purposes)

The free food (you probably eat more than you’re actually allowed, but who’s telling?)

Your coworkers (like Taehyung, who is—yep—currently shoving a whole mini panettone in his mouth)

Most of the customers are pretty nice, too (you have some lovely regulars)

(If you had to be more specific, there’s one regular in particular that you really, really like—)

(Yoongi appears like clockwork every week. Just after the Tuesday lunch rush, the bell above the door will sing out its greeting as he steps inside, ordering the same drink each and every time he’s here—a large Americano, to go, plain and simple and unadorned, no room for cream or milk, no added sugar or sweetener.)

(Yoongi really is the perfect customer. He has been from the very beginning, a point of quiet in a churning sea of hot, sweaty people all begging for frappés and milkshakes, the hottest point at the very peak of summer. The queue had been growing longer and longer, out of the doors as the blenders whirred their way through a neverending cascade of sugary, iced blends; the counters were a mess and all the baristas were running around and everything was chaos and in had walked this guy, all dark hair and dark eyes and dark clothes, even in the height of summer—you were ready for death at this point, hands sticky with syrup and apron streaked with flecks from almost every drink from the summer menu, and you’d braced yourself for some terse words, impatience and passive aggressive comments on the long wait—)

(—and this intimidating man had just patiently asked for an iced Americano, calm and quiet and polite.)

(You’d fallen a little in love, then and there. Fallen in love with that simple order, quick and easy to make, and fallen a little in love with the dichotomy of the man who looked like nothing but sharp edges being the softest customer you’d had all day. There was nothing rushed about his motions, no desperate need to get his drink and get away, no anger at having waited for so long.)

(He’d been ready to pay, too, no fumbling with his wallet or money; he’d tapped his card, easy and breezy and all lemon squeezy, but he’d left a tip in change, dropped almost thoughtlessly into the jar. He’d collected his cup with the smallest upturn to his lips, a tilt of his head, and then he’d left, other customers parting before him like the Red Sea.)

(The only thing that’s changed over the months is that the iced coffees of summer have changed into hot Americanos for the cooler months, autumn and now almost-winter, warding off the chill in the air. Everything else is the same; his dark eyes and low voice and patient smile, small but ever present, pressed lightly into the surprisingly soft line of his mouth.)

(So, yeah. Yoongi is your favourite customer. Even if you’ve barely spoken, really, the two of you dancing through the same short script each time he comes in—the longest conversation you’ve had so far is the one where you’d tentatively asked if he’d like a rewards card, and after a moment of contemplation, he’d quietly agreed.)

(You like to think that you’re Yoongi’s favourite server, too. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but—)

(Taehyung had been stunned into speechlessness, because, to quote his words exactly: “I tried getting him to sign up for a card last time and I swear he just pretended he couldn’t hear me? He just straight up didn’t respond? What?”)

(—you know Yoongi likes you at least a little bit.)

Anyway. You’re getting off the point. Paradise is a decent place to work, the people are nice, and the building is pretty and airy and welcoming and warm, toasty and cosy in the upcoming cold of winter. It’s one of the things that keeps people coming back, that lovely atmosphere.

Another thing that people apparently love about Paradise is the constantly changing menu. It’s not enough to have seasonal menus, no—you need to have weekly specials, apparently, to keep people interested.  It’s like a gachapon, but instead of cute little capsule toys, it’s a random mix of concoctions that are hit or miss.

“Well, I liked the Peachy Keen Jelly Bean,” Taehyung says, around a mouthful of sweet bread, still chewing his way through the panettone.

“You’d be the only one,” you reply, swiping a cloth over the counters and crinkling your nose  at the pile of coffee grounds you gather. “Iced peach tea with blackberry and vanilla and cherry and watermelon syrup has got to be one of the worst things we’ve ever served.”

That had definitely been one of the misses. This week’s special, though, is far more palatable, if incredibly sweet—Crystal Snow, a white chocolate mocha with whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar, and a crystallised sugar stick to stir in. Sugar on sugar on sugar, basically. (Your teeth ache just thinking about it.) 

But there’s always something so fun about making the winter specials, no matter how sugary they are; the smell of the sticky syrups, the swirl of cream to top off the cup, the dusting of cocoa or cinnamon, everything mulled in the sweet warmth of winter. Even if the drink you’re making is questionable, you get so excited about it, genuinely enthusiastic when you recommend them to customers, carrying everyone into the spirit of the upcoming holidays. You’d hardly describe making coffee a billion times a day fun—it’s pretty exhausting, actually—but you’ve always had a weird affection for the winter menu and the weekly specials alongside it.

You don’t upsell the drinks because you have to. You do it because you want to.

(You’re pretty good at it too. Not a flex: just a fact. Your customer service is on point.)

The only person you’ve never tried to persuade into trying something new is Yoongi. He might not be rude or short tempered, but he clearly knows what he wants, and you hate the idea of ruining the easy flow of his visits. You’re not about to embarrass yourself by asking Mr No-Cream-Or-Sugar if he’d like a drink that's nothing but cream and sugar. Asking about the rewards card had been nerve-wracking enough, even if it had been worth it for the genuinely-unintentional-but-definitely-not-unpleasant brushing of your fingers when you’d handed the card over to him.

(Okay. Look. Yoongi is patient and pleasant and polite and cute. You never thought that you’d crush on a customer, but here you are. He just… oozes masculinity in an understated, self-assured way that has you internally swooning. He looks intimidating and serious but when he smiles his eyes go soft-soft-soft, his voice a low rumble as he gives you his gentle thank you, and everything about him is just so… attractive. Even the way he holds his coffee is hot, fingers loose around the lid as he makes his way out of the café, your eyes tracing every motion as he goes. Like. Come on. Of course you’re crushing on him.)

(Just a little bit, though. Just a little bit. It’s just an itty bitty crush. A teeny weeny crush.) 

The bell above the door chimes. Your kneejerk reaction is to snap your head over to see who it is—but you hold it together, instead letting your head turn at a normal, natural pace. It’s just an unfamiliar woman, rearranging the tassels of her long scarf with one hand and holding her phone with the other as the door swings shut, and you deflate.

(... It’s a small crush, you swear. It’s not like this is around the normal time Yoongi appears and you’d thought it was going to be him. Nope. Definitely not that.)

As the woman lingers near the counter, eyes flicking between her phone and the chalkboard menu on the wall above your head, Taehyung finishes licking the panettone crumbs off his fingers.

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

“It’s just past two o’clock,” he continues.

“I know,” you repeat, glancing at him quizzically. “You told me what the time was less than five minutes ago.”

“I did.”

The bell chimes again. This time, a gaggle of giggling girls come bubbling into the café, cutting you off before you can ask what Taehyung is trying to say. You go to flick your cloth at him before thinking better of it, not wanting to rain dark roast everywhere.

“Go wash your hands,” you say, just as the scarfed woman approaches the counter, ready to order. A bright smile splits your face, voice rising into its usual peppy Customer Service tone. “Hi, welcome to Paradise! How can I help you today?”

She barely glances up from her phone as she orders, asking for a latte macchiato and croissant, a distracted ‘no thanks’ when you ask if she’s interested in this week’s special. Oh well. The girls behind her, though, all seem incredibly excited when they catch wind of it; they all eagerly listen as you describe what a Crystal Snow is, your eyes lighting up as you mime piping the cream and dusting the sugar on top, laughing when they ask if they can buy extra sugar sticks to take home, because of course they can, you’d be happy to do that for them, would they like those in to-go bags? Yes, the bags are cute, aren’t they, the snowflakes are lovely, you agree.

Taehyung’s just finished wiping the steam wand when you give him the next order. You see the way his face crumples before his brows lift and his lips purse, pleading as he looks at you with big eyes, and you just roll your own eyes affectionately.

“Yes, yes, I’ll make them even though you’re meant to be on the bar, it’s fine,” you say, and Taehyung’s whole face lights up.

You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough by now to know that it takes him until at least Wednesday to memorise how to make whatever that week’s special is. And there’s not a queue, so you don’t mind taking over, pulling espresso shots and steaming milk and pouring everything together, puffing air in Taehyung’s face when he peers at your cream swirling technique. (No matter how many times you’ve tried to teach him, he’s never been able to get it right, usually just farting a mess of cream out of the nozzle and hoping for the best. Results are… mixed.) Maybe the flourish you put into dusting the sugar on top is unnecessary, but, hey. It’s fun. You smile to yourself as you give a small flick of the wrist over each drink, powdered sugar floating down like snow, and, done.

You don’t like to toot your own horn but the drinks come out Instagram perfect, each latte glass set on a tiny napkin on a saucer, sugar stick on one side, and you take a moment to admire your work.

“They’re so pretty,” Taehyung says, and your smile grows wider.

The girls all agree, cooing over the drinks in a way that only makes your smile grow even more, wide on your face. You watch as they squirrel themselves away in a corner, talking and laughing and nibbling their food and sipping at their drinks, pleased at the way their eyes widen at the first taste.

Yeah, it’s the small things that makes your time here good. Being a barista is a thankless job most of the time, as relaxed as Paradise usually is, so you try to appreciate the small things. Like having fun when you make a drink, for example. Making nice customers happy. (Having cute regulars that you can quietly ogle.)

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

You tear your attention away from the table of girls at the sound of Taehyung’s voice. “My what—?”

There’s someone in front of the glass display, hunched as they slowly and quietly peruse the selection of pastries and food inside—and you realise with a jolt that it’s Yoongi. You have no idea how long he’s been there, so distracted with patting yourself on the back for making a few nice drinks; oh, God, what if Yoongi had seen your pleased expression? Do you look smug? You probably look smug. Great, now he probably thinks that you’re a self-obsessed clown, honking your nose like some sort of narcissist. 

“You’re spiralling,” Taehyung points out mildly, voice low enough that Yoongi doesn't hear.

His surprisingly perceptive comment snaps you out of aforementioned spiralling, and after shaking yourself off, you glance over at him. “Why didn’t you serve him?”

He shrugs. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to be served so I just left him to it.”

To be fair to Taehyung, he’s not wrong. Yoongi is staring intently at a slice of carrot cake—even if he’s never ordered any before—and it’s not until you move to your usual spot behind the till that his attention finally rises, meeting your gaze with his deep, dark eyes.

Your inner schoolgirl feels like she needs to sit down. Your entire stomach and chest is a looping mess of frantic butterflies after making eye contact with the cute boy who you’re crushing on, but you’ve got a great poker face; you’ve worked as a barista long enough that you’re good at shoving your real feelings down, none of your internal turmoil playing across your face as you smile. Customer service mode activate.

“Hi, and welcome back to Paradise. What can I get for you today? The usual? Large Americano, to go, for Yoongi?”

You’re a little softer than you would be with other customers, a little more subdued, dialing down how upbeat you normally are to match Yoongi’s level. His lips lift almost imperceptibly, the faintest smile playing across his mouth, and it takes all your strength for your knees to not immediately buckle. 

“Hi,” he says. His voice is soft and low, faintest drawl at the end of his words, and yep, just your weekly reminder that you’re enamoured with him. Cool. “Yes, please, that would be great.”

He already has his card ready, you know he does. He always does; card to pay, loyalty card to swipe, tip to drop in the jar, quick and smooth and easy. This is normally where you’d rattle off the price—as if he doesn’t already know what it is—but you pause, thinking about how intent he’d been on the pastry display, as uncharacteristic as that is.

“Did you… want something to eat, too? I couldn’t, um, help noticing that you were eyeing up the carrot cake?”

Yoongi blinks, wispy lashes fluttering. You can see the muted surprise that flashes across his face, and you wonder if you’ve misstepped, thrown off the usual rhythm of his visit. It’s an unusual step away from your regular script, an ad-lib that he wasn’t expecting.

“Uh, no, thank you,” he says. “Maybe… next time.”

He’s polite as ever, thankfully. You’re not surprised at his answer but you do have to wonder why he was looking at the cake so closely if he hadn’t planned on getting anything; you know he likes getting served by you the most, if the evidence over the months means anything at all, but you don’t think he’d stare at cake just so he would avoid Taehyung. You’re making assumptions based on the fact he just drinks black coffee and literally nothing else, but you’ve guessed he doesn’t have a sweet tooth. (The only time he’s ever ordered food had been two months prior when he’d asked for a single croissant, and nothing since. Taehyung still talks about the croissant sometimes.) 

Well, it doesn't really matter. If he doesn't want cake, you're not going to force it on him, and the rest of the transaction goes as normal. Yoongi hands over his rewards card, fingers long and knuckles knobbly and altogether lovely, pays for his Americano—made by Taehyung, cup wrapped in the sleeve that you’ve written Yoongi’s name on, black sharpie bleeding into the cardboard—and smiles at you both when Taehyung hands it to him across the smooth wood of the counter.

“Thanks.” He gives you that slight tilt of his head that he always does, and you smile helplessly back. 

He’s a gentleman, through and through, even if he looks as distant as ever; dressed in all black, his ripped jeans the only splash of lightness in his dark outfit. Maybe you’re biased, but no matter what he wears, he looks stylish, somehow. It’s something in his aura. All cool understated elegance and power. 

And here you are, in your cream jumper under the dark mulberry apron of your uniform, a flower blooming next to the name on your badge. All chirpy customer service, smiling broad and wide as you go through the same motions over and over with each new person that comes in. Sometimes you wonder what Yoongi thinks of you, as different as you are to him, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter—because he keeps coming back, doesn’t he?

“Have a nice day,” you say as he turns to go, and when he glances over his shoulder and says you too, smile soft and eyes softer, you know he really means it. 

(And if your eyes always trail after him once his back has turned, who’s telling?)

“You’re staring.” Taehyung’s telling, apparently.

You tear your eyes away from Yoongi, bell tinkling as the door swings shut behind him. “He’s my favourite customer,” you say. As if that explains why you were staring.

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

“He’s my favourite customer,” you say again, emphatically. “He comes in, he gets the world’s simplest drink to make, is always polite, always leaves a tip, and he goes. Literally the perfect customer.”

 “Alright, true,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered that before now. “Cute, too.”

You sigh. A little wistful. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, he is.”

Taehyung opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else when someone spills their drink on their floor with an unholy clattering sound, even if nothing breaks; without saying anything, both you and Taehyung raise your hands, eyes narrowing at each other.

"Rock, paper, scissors," you chant. Taehyung promptly loses, and the pout that forms on his lips doesn't disappear until he's finished mopping everything up.

(“Why do I always end up having to clean spillages?”

“Because you never win rock-paper-scissors. You always choose scissors, Taehyung. You literally always choose scissors.”)

The tradition of the weekly specials at Paradise is a weird one, truth be told. Each Monday whoever’s on the opening shift will enter the coffee shop and find that the board on the wall has been updated, the recipe typed up and laminated, waiting on the counter for the baristas. You all assume it’s the mysterious owner, who no one has ever seen, and no one even knows the name of, apparently.

“Someone has to know their name,” you’d said, once, back when you’d first started, only to receive a shrugs from everyone.

“I heard one of the old baristas say the owner’s name was Jackson,” Taehyung had said, and you’d just blinked at him.

“Huh?” you’d said, but Jimin had rolled his eyes and told you to ignore him, so you had.

This week’s drink is the Marshmallow World. As always, when you and Taehyung start your shift together, you read the recipe and follow it step by step to learn how to make it. Warmed milk, vanilla syrup, topped off with marshmallow fluff instead of whipped cream—not bad in theory, if you like sweet things, although it does pose one significant problem.

“It’s clogged my hole,” Taehyung says sadly.

You sputter on your own drink, desperately hacking your lungs out as you try to stop milk from going down your windpipe. “I’m-sorry-it’s-what,” you wheeze all at once, struggling for air.

Taehyung tilts his takeaway cup at you, gesturing at the lid. (All the mugs are still out back or on a rinse cycle so laziness had forced you to make do.) “My drink hole. It’s blocked,” he explains. “The fluff is getting in the way.”

So, yeah. It clogs people’s holes, apparently. But other than that, you have to admit it’s pretty nice, and if you drink it in the café (and thus out of a mug) then you’re fine. You just get into the habit of warning the customers if they order it to go and laugh about it with them and it’s all fine and dandy and everyone is happy.

It’s starting to get busier, now. The nights are getting longer and the days are getting colder and everyone’s starting to think about Christmas, which feels both close and far away, all at once. Close, because you still have presents to buy and there’s never enough time for it; and far, because the lights have yet to go up and Christmas songs aren’t dominating the radio yet and you have yet to experience the real winter rush. Students home for the holidays and families out to see Father Christmas and workers grabbing Secret Santa gifts, everyone desperate for something warm and soothing, hot and comforting in the face of the snow which has yet to fall. 

But there’s something in the air, that cool hush that lets you know it’s nearly here—the changing of the seasons, the burnt sunset colours of autumn melting into the iced blues and greys of winter. No matter if you prefer hot or cold weather, there’s something about the beauty of wintertime that’s undeniable.

And it’s a lot easier to sell something like the Marshmallow World on a day like this, the nip in the air almost solid, biting cold into the apples of your cheeks, nibbling at fingers that are so cold they feel frost-bitten. Once again, your genuine enthusiasm shines through, persuading people to give the drink a go, happy to add a shot of espresso for whoever needs it, desperate for caffeine to buoy them up through the day.

You’ve just finished laughing with a lovely old couple, wearing matching scarves and hats—awwww—waving them goodbye as they go to sit down, when you come face to face with Yoongi, blindsided by his sudden appearance. You’d been so caught up, once again, too busy giggling your way through the conversation with your other customers, able to persuade them to try one special to share alongside everything else they’ve ordered. 

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” you say. Your hand is still by your face after you’d given the couple a cute wave, and when you realise, you freeze. Flustered. Behind you, Taehyung is struggling to spoon the marshmallow fluff neatly on the vanilla steamer, making small noises of distress, but you’re too caught up in your own distress to really notice.

Once again, you have no idea how long Yoongi’s been there. You’re slipping. You’re normally aware of him as soon as he steps into the coffee shop. (You know, because you’re always aware of when a new customer steps in. Like any good barista would be.) Had he witnessed you enthusiastically waving your hands and talking about marshmallows and s'mores? Seen the way you'd grinned and laughed as you'd gotten excited over the weekly special, yet again?

Well, if he had, he doesn't seem perturbed at all. His usual smile is on his face, though you would swear it seems a little softer around the edges, almost fond. 

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it. 

There’s no addition of his usual that would be great, and that’s when you realise you haven’t asked about his coffee. In fact, your fingers are still curled near your chin, almost like a claw. You clear your throat and let your arm fall to your side, fiddling with the tie of your apron. 

“Hi,” you repeat. Flounder for a second. Try to remember your usual line. “Large Americano?”

“Y/n.” Taehyung whines your name from the bar, loud enough that it catches your attention. “The marshmallow isn’t staying. Why do you keep recommending Marshmallow World? Why must I suffer through this torture? Every day I wake up and I make coffee—”

“Sorry, sir, one second,” you say, face scrunching in apology at Yoongi. 

“It's just Yoongi,” he replies, gentle, and your heart thuds in your chest. "You don't have to call me sir."

Your face feels warm. "Um, okay, Yoongi." You've said his name before, of course, said it dozens of times to confirm his order, but never like this—by invitation from the man himself, an acknowledgement of familiarity.

Taehyung makes another noise. Yoongi's expression turns into one of faint amusement, eyes drifting over your shoulder to your friend; when you turn around, you can see why.

The other barista’s managed to get marshmallow fluff all over the edge of the glass, on the handle of the cup, all the way up the spoon, on his fingers—everywhere except on the drink itself. It’s funny, in a sad sort of way.

“Wow.” You have no idea how he managed it, but you’re here to help. “Alright, go wash your hands, Tae. I’ve got this.”

The cup is a goner.  There’s no way you’ll be able to wipe off the sticky marshmallow. You’re acutely aware of Yoongi at the counter, able to watch your every move, but then you get distracted as you salvage Taehyung's attempt at a Marshmallow World. You just feel grateful that it’s a steamer so you can pour it into a new glass, not having to worry about layers of coffee and milk and foam; it’s a pretty easy fix. Good. (You don’t want to keep Yoongi waiting, as patient as he may be.)

It doesn’t take long to spoon the marshmallow on, whipped peaks in the sticky white, and by the time Taehyung returns you’re ready to present him with the picture perfect drink, not a single lick of fluff anywhere it shouldn’t be. You've got your hands on your hips as you survey your work proudly, and Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you.

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

“You’re welcome,” you say. “Alright, shoo, go take this over to the table before they start wondering where it is.”

When you turn back, Yoongi’s watching you. Contemplative. You tamp down the flush that threatens to spill onto your cheeks, face burning, but before you can say anything, he speaks.

“Was that the weekly special?”

You blink. Blindsided. Yoongi’s never asked about the special before, never commented on the A-frame outside, the sign on the wall that sits next to the regular menu. No surprise there—why would someone who only drinks Americanos want to drink ninety-nine percent of the weekly specials you offer? “Um, yeah,” you say. “We’ve got the Marshmallow World this week.”

“Would you recommend it?”

You can’t help it. You light up. You love when customers ask for recommendations, and the fact that it’s Yoongi—whose blood must be made of coffee at this point—who’s asking about it? Americano Yoongi, asking about something without caffeine? Black coffee Yoongi, asking about a weekly special that’s nothing but sugar and sweetness? Something inside you switches on, a Christmas tree, all flashing lights and shimmering tinsel and excitement.

“Oh, if you like sweeter drinks, absolutely! It’s great for a cold day like today,” you gush. Maybe you should reel it in, far more exuberant than you usually are with Yoongi, but. You can’t stop. “It’s warm milk and vanilla, so it’s a lovely comfort drink, and we can add a shot of espresso too if you were wanting a little pick-me-up. And then you’ve got marshmallow fluff on top for some extra self-indulgence. We were meant to, uh, toast the top, actually, but we don’t have the necessary health and safety clearance for blowtorches. I guess you could do that at home if you really wanted to. Everyone likes toasted marshmallows, right?”

Yoongi hums, and you wonder if you’ve maybe gotten ahead of yourself. Oversold it. Maybe he was asking out of curiosity. Just because he’s asking about it doesn’t mean that he wants one—

“Can I get a Marshmallow World, please? Large, to go?”

—or maybe Yoongi is an official convert to the world of sweet drinks, changing after a lifetime of drinking unadorned, unadulterated black coffee. Holy shit. Holy shit? Holy—

“And a large Americano to go, too, please.”

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.  

Yoongi of-the-black-coffee is ordering his usual drink, and another. Both large. Too much for one person to reasonably drink before one of them got cold. He’s not ordering for one person; he’s ordering for two people. Of course Yoongi wouldn’t order something as heart-stopping as the Marshmallow World—not for himself, anyway. 

Mental maths. Two plus two is four, four plus four is eight; one large Americano and one Marshmallow World is two people. Yoongi and one other person is two people, a couple of people, a couple—

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die? It’s sort of like that, but rather than remembering your life, you immediately recall every moment over the months where you’ve looked at him or thought about him with even the smallest iota of longing and you want to crawl under the counter and never come out. 

You feel weirdly guilty. Like… like you’re some sort of unintentional homewrecker. Even though, you know, you thought Yoongi was single and you haven’t made a single move on him and nor had you had any plans to. The guilt bubbles up inside you anyway.

All at once, you feel immensely, incredibly embarrassed. Of course he’s taken. There’s no way he wouldn’t be, as attractive and nice as he is, and you’ve just been sat here crushing on him like a big dumb idiot. 

You are the worst.)

You manage to squeeze this internal breakdown into the span of a few seconds. You’re grateful that you have your customer service face locked on, giving nothing away—from the outside the smile looks just like that, a smile, rather than the rictus of deathly mortification it actually is, burning through you like a wildfire. 

Yoongi seems none the wiser, just patiently waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of his order. Most of your brain power is still taken up with the mish-mash of humiliation and guilt that’s roiling through you. Luckily, though, the part of your brain that’s still in the moment (trying to drag you back to the real world, shame-faced as you are) forces you to move before things get weird.

“One large Americano, one large Marshmallow World, both to go.” You tap the drinks into the till on auto-pilot, dimly noting that Taehyung’s been pulled into conversation with the old couple at their table, having delivered their drinks and food to them. It’s just you behind the counter, no one else to man the coffee machines. “Let me get those started for you.”

Luckily, making the drinks means you can turn your back to Yoongi, oscillating through the five stages of grief as you fiddle with hot milk and coffee grounds and paper cups. You always take pride in your work—especially when it comes to Yoongi—and you take even more pride now, determined to make these drinks as lovely as they can be. His Americano is fairly simple, but the Marshmallow World requires a bit more finesse, and you lavish attention on the fluff, swirling it beautifully, even though you know it’ll stick to the lid anyway. 

(Okay, listen. Whoever this person Yoongi is seeing must be as nice as he is. They both deserve nice drinks.)

There’s something sweet about it, actually. Before the lids go on, you spent a second staring down at the drinks and the juxtaposition between them; black coffee and white marshmallow, bitter and sweet, night and day. It’s lovely, really, these two opposing things coming together. You wonder what Yoongi’s partner is like. Exuberant and bright, rather than his subdued warmth? A balance, yin and yang, opposite but complementary. 

(Isn’t that a nice thing to think about? Finding someone who’s different to you but matches you so well?)

You firmly press the lids into place, making sure they’re secure. The protective cardboard sleeve of Yoongi’s Americano has his name—the name you’ve memorised, written out countless times—while the Marshmallow World has a scrawled happy face, and an enjoy! on it, for this mysterious person who likes sweet drinks. You do sincerely hope they enjoy it. You really do.

“The fluff blocks the hole,” you warn, sliding the cardboard tray for both drinks carefully across the counter. “It’s probably a better idea to just take the lid off.”

Something flickers across Yoongi’s face, too fast for you to identify. But then he nods, lifting the tray up with equally careful hands. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. 

He’s always polite to everyone, Taehyung and the other baristas, but he seems to smile at you the most. He’s smiling at you now, curling at the corners of his lips, and you smile back, fighting through ten layers of embarrassment and self-inflicted shame to do so. Just because he smiles at you the most doesn’t mean anything. You can smile at people and not have it be weird; it doesn’t mean you return their ill-fated attraction.

Why, oh why, oh why.

By the time Taehyung returns to the counter, having escaped the chatty, kind clutches of the elderly couple, Yoongi is long gone. Your fellow barista finds you crouched down in front one of the cupboards with your head in your hands.

“Y/n?” He sounds incredibly concerned. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Are you sick?”

You let out a quiet noise, a mix between a whale dying and a hippo trying to swallow porridge, muffled into your palms. “I’m such a doughnut,” you say. “Just an absolute doughnut.”

Taehyung crouches beside you. “A glazed doughnut or a jam doughnut?”

Your hands drop away from your face as you think. “Plain,” you say, eventually. “Unglazed. No toppings or fillings.” A little sad and disappointing. It seems fitting. 

Taehyung puts a hand on your shoulder, warm and comforting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You feel embarrassed all over again, thinking about admitting your (now-squashed) crush to your friend. It was stupid in the first place, crushing on a customer, especially as you’d barely spoken to him; Yoongi might be cute, and nice, but your crush was silly and dumb and you’d been silly and dumb not to think that he was already in a relationship.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Just going through it. And by ‘it’ I mean life generally, you know?”

Taehyung makes a noise of understanding, patting your shoulder. “Big mood,” he says sombrely. He always knows what to say, empathetic to a fault.

“Uh,” a customer says, craning over the counter to see the two of you. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I get a refill on my coffee, please?”

That effectively kills the conversation, which is good. Keep yourself busy and distracted. By the time you see Yoongi next week, this crush will be dead and gone and you’ll be fine. Just fine. Absolutely fine.

He’s dyed his hair.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the café is full of people, and Yoongi has dyed his hair.

You’d spent all of last Tuesday alternating between all-consuming guilt and embarrassment, Taehyung catching you with your head in your hands in one moment and furiously cleaning the steam wand the next, channeling your tumult of emotions into anything that will distract you. 

It had worked. Mostly. You’ve had a week’s worth of time since, to get over this month’s long crush, your brain consistently reminding you that Yoongi is in a relationship, with someone who’s probably lovely and attractive and all around just wonderful (just like him). You remind yourself about this every time you find coffee grounds under your nails, or notice milk flecked on your apron, soured and off-white after a day of work; your life isn’t a meet-cute, and you’re not the cute barista who falls in love with the cute regular. You’re the tired barista who makes more cups of coffee in a day than most people probably drink in a year, and Yoongi is the cute regular who’s already in a long term relationship and comes to Paradise just because he likes the dark roast you use. That’s as far as it will go, because this is real life, and not a romance film or novel. (Even if you wished that it was.)

You’ve come to terms with it. Really, you have. But then he has to step into the coffee shop looking like that, his hair bleached so blond it almost looks white, silver hoops in his ears, and he’s still dressed in dark clothes but he’s wearing glasses, no, this isn’t a drill, Yoongi’s dyed his hair, he’s all light and dark, soft and sharp, and you want to crouch behind the counter again. Because he looks so good and of course he’s in a relationship because he’s hot, and you feel dumb for not having realised it sooner.

You can’t hide behind the counter, though. There’s a queue of people, all waiting for your attention and your time, and it’s still just you and Taehyung; none of your usual Christmas temps are back yet, still away at uni, hence the we’re hiring! posters that are up for all the customers to see (and mostly ignore). The seasons are changing and the weeks are passing and the really eager people are starting to think about Christmas shopping; you swear you don’t even need a calendar, able to trace how close you are to Christmas just based on the amount of foot traffic the coffee shop gets. You’re definitely hitting peak.

But it’s fine. You have this down to a fine art. You and Taehyung are both good on the till and scarily efficient at making drinks and plating food, dancing past each other with an ease that only comes with time spent working together and friendship alongside.

People aren’t ordering the weekly special as much, either, not today. You can’t blame them. Candy Cane Dreams is a white hot chocolate, flavoured with mint and coloured green, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles of candy cane bark and red and green drizzle too; it’s… pretty overwhelming. So it means you don’t have to take over for Taehyung from the bar, focusing on smiling at customers and soothing them after their wait, taking their orders and shuffling them along as quickly as you can. You keep a smile plastered on your face as Taehyung pulls espresso shots and grabs tea bags and heats milk, routine and familiar.

When Yoongi steps up to the counter, you’ve barely had time to mentally prepare yourself, so focused on serving everyone else in the queue; it feels like a slap to the face, a kick to the knees, but then you take one deep breath and exhale. Long, deep, slow, forcing air out of your lungs and thoughts out of your mind, and you smile.

You’ve been so careful up until this point, wanting to keep Yoongi happy, wary of misstepping—but he’s just a regular customer. You feel more confident, now, less worried about breaking this tenuous thing you thought you’d had; less worried about what you’re doing being construed as some weird, roundabout way of flirting, because. You know. He’s in a relationship, so it doesn’t matter either way. He’s definitely not interested. You can talk to him like you would anyone else. 

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

And, just like you suspected, Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered that you’ve broken your usual script. “Oh, yeah.” He reaches up, touches his head, as if he’d forgotten. “I did.”

“It looks nice,” you continue, because it does.

He’s smiling back at you. He looks pleased; maybe a little bashful, even, as surprising as that is. “Thanks,” he says, warm and genuine. (The tiny gremlin of a crush that’s still lurking in your soul lets out a wistful sigh.) “Can I get a large Americano and a—” he squints at the board— “large Candy Cane Dream, please?”

(One plus one is two, Yoongi and his other half, the sugar to his coffee.)

“Sure!” Your voice is bright. “I’m guessing the Marshmallow World went over well?”

There’s a brief beat of silence, but you don’t notice, too focused on typing Yoongi’s order into the till.

“Yeah, it was great,” he says after that moment of quiet, and you smile. Good. You’re glad they enjoyed it. 

“I’m really happy to hear that,” you say, genuine and bright. 

“What’s actually in the, ah, Candy Cane Dreams?” Yoongi asks, and you laugh, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“It’s horrendous,” you say in a low voice, as if you’re sharing a secret. “Have you ever seen green hot chocolate before?”

You’ve never spoken to Yoongi like this, easy and light, and it’s… nice. He gives no indication of surprise at your sudden friendliness after months of barely talking. If anything he looks pleased, and at one point he even gives you a smile you’ve never seen before, wide and wonderful, flashing his teeth and gums. (The crush gremlin rattles at your ribcage like prison bars, trying desperately to escape, but you don’t give it a chance.)

“Alright, let me just swap with the other barista, he’s still not gotten the Candy Cane Dreams recipe down.”

You hear a suspicious crunch as you make your way over to Taehyung. He turns to you with a guilty smile, edged with sugar, munching on shards of candy cane while his back is to the customers.

“You’re terrible,” you say affectionately. “Go take over on the till, I have a special to make.”

Taehyung glances over, sees Yoongi making his way down to the collection point. “Huh. Alright.”

The Candy Cane Dreams recipe might be a questionable one, but it’s definitely fun to make (watching the white hot chocolate turn green makes you feel like a kid all over again, mixing shampoos together in your bathroom and calling them potions), and maybe you’re overly generous with the candy cane bark, giving Yoongi’s beau more to nibble on and enjoy. It’s not Christmas yet but you’re already in a giving mood, so sue you. 

“Here you go.” You slide the drinks towards him, the man busy reading one of the vacancy fliers, eyes flicking away from the poster when you appear. Your lips quirk up. “Looking for a job?”

You’re expecting a huff of a laugh, a small shake of the head, but he answers you seriously. “Not me, but I have a friend who is,” he says, reaching to take the tray.

You realise your hands are still curled around the cardboard; you quickly pull away so that there’s no chance your hands will brush. (You might have shoved your crush down as far as it will go, but you have to be careful with your weak, gooey heart.) 

“We could do with any help, honestly. Your friend is more than welcome to apply.” You glance over at the queue, which is small but ever present, and you know it’ll only get worse as time goes on. “And, hey, if you ever decide for a change of pace from whatever it is you do, we’d be glad to have you, too.”

This gets a laugh from him, a warm burst of sound. (The gremlin points out that this is the first time you’ve heard him laugh, really laugh, a little raspy and a little quiet and altogether lovely; you beat the gremlin back with a stick.) “I’m better at drinking coffee than I am at making it,” Yoongi says, eyes soft with lingering amusement. “I’ll leave that to the experts.”

You might have gone off script, but the nod he gives you is his usual one, that familiar tilt of the head. “See you next week?” His eyes are dark, dark and deep, and it’s so hard not to fall into them, to fall all over again.

“See you next week,” you echo, hoping the smile you plaster on your face doesn’t look as forced as it feels, as you struggle once more. Yoongi is just nice, okay? He's just being nice, but still. He needs to let a girl breathe.

(He needs to let the gremlin of her crush wither away, instead of making it threaten to come back as strong as before, fuelled by his smile and his eyes and his everything.)

(... maybe you’re not as over this crush as you thought you were.)

It seems like the we’re hiring! posters actually worked.

“I’m Jungkook,” says the new starter, all crooked smiles and warm eyes and thighs so thick they threaten to split the trousers of the café’s uniform, ties of his apron emphasising his small waist.

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

It’s the last week of November and even though Jungkook is still learning the ropes, he’s a massive help, and you know he’ll be a lifesaver over Christmas. He’s eager, learns quickly, and gets stuck right in, material of his shirt straining across his shoulder blades when he rips a bag of coffee beans open with his bare hands, rather than having to use scissors like you or Taehyung. 

Taehyung watches with stars in his eyes as Jungkook pours the beans into the grinder. You cover your smile by sipping at one of the espresso shots Jungkook has pulled—full-bodied and dark, rich in your mouth. 

“This is really good, Jungkook,” you say. He looks over, eyes squeezing into a smile.

“Thought it would be,” he says, and you can’t help but huff a laugh into the tiny espresso cup. He’s cocky and competitive, telling you that he’d never made coffee before but he was going to do a better job than any of the other baristas here. He’s too endearing to come across as arrogant, though, and you have to admit that the coffee is good. (Not as good as yours or Taehyung’s, of course, but still. Pretty good.)

Taehyung coos at him and reaches out to shamelessly squeeze his bicep. “Jungkookie is a natural barista.”

Jungkook’s cocky smile turns equal parts pleased and flustered. You continue to sip at the espresso as Taehyung moons over him, then the bell above the door rings, and the mooning temporarily is put on hold. (Temporarily, because Taehyung continues to moon over him for the rest of the shift, insisting on doing the bulk of his training, which is fine by you.)

It’s the 1st of December tomorrow, so not only do you have to clean after the café is locked up, you have to put out all the Christmas decorations, too. But it’s more fun that it is work, the three of you dragging the tree out of the storage room and decorating it with a menagerie of tinsel and baubles; Jungkook lifts Taehyung so he can get the star on the tree, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s waist and hoisting him up effortlessly, leaving your friend with a pleased smile on his face.

Jungkook is new, only on his second shift, but he’s slotted in so easily. He laughs at Taehyung when he wiggles his butt along to the Christmas songs you've put on to play, and he helps steady the stepladder as you string garlands of snowflakes on the ceiling, even if he doesn’t really need to. 

He absently readjusts the reindeer headband Taehyung had unearthed from the storage room and proudly placed on his head. “Yoongi-hyung talks a lot about this place,” Jungkook comments, offhand.

If you’d heard this a few weeks ago, you probably would have fallen off the stepladder, inner gremlin grabbing your heart with both hands and squeezing tight-tight-tight. As it is you only pause for a moment, one of the larger snowflakes cradled in your palm, before you go back to your job of hanging them up. 

“So you’re the friend he mentioned that needed a job,” you say. 

“That’s me.” Jungkook grins, boyish and bright, and you laugh. “He really, really likes this café. Wouldn’t shut up about it, even before he told me that you were hiring.”

You can’t imagine Yoongi gushing about a café to his friends, but then again, he clearly is passionate about his coffee. Jungkook will know him better than you, having a real friendship rather than this patron-and-customer back-and-forth that you’ve had, so who are you to imagine what’s normal for Yoongi and what isn’t? You didn’t even know he was in a relationship, after all. You don’t know anything about the guy, really. 

“Well, we appreciate his custom,” you say. “I know Yoongi is the one who actually comes in, but you can thank his other half, too, and I hope they enjoy their drinks as well.”

You’re too busy hanging the garland to see the way Jungkook’s face twists. 

“Huh?”

“You know. Yoongi always comes in for his Americano and the weekly special for his partner,” you say.

You’re focused on stepping down the ladder without falling to see the expression on Jungkook’s face, nose scrunched and lips pursed, like there’s something he’s smelled that he really doesn’t like.

“Did he say that to you? That it was for someone else?”

“Hm?” You pause in grabbing another string of snowflakes, glancing up. “Oh, no, I just worked it out, you know? Yoongi is a religious coffee drinker, why else would he order something that’s basically hot sugar water? I think it’s cute,” you add, belatedly. “That he always comes in to grab something for them, too.” 

(You wish you had someone to do that for you.)

There’s a beat of silence. Jungkook’s holding the stepladder, ready to move it, staring at you in a way that’s weirdly intense. “I see,” he says, like that isn’t weird or mysterious at all.

Then he drags the stepladder’s rubber feet across the floor with such a loud noise that Taehyung startles, bauble falling out of his hand and shattering. Jungkook, of course, profusely apologises and insists on cleaning it up—but not before making sure Taehyung is okay, of course, grabbing his hands and looking over them, as if the bauble had broken in his palms and not the floor. 

Taehyung looks immensely pleased. You just smile quietly to yourself, roll your eyes lightly, and go back to hanging snowflakes as Jungkook speaks to Taehyung, soft and low.

You think your favourite thing about training a new starter is witnessing their reaction to the weekly special.

“So,” Jungkook says, slowly. “You put in the whole gingerbread man—gumdrops and icing and all—and just blend it?

“Yep.” Taehyung’s reply is cheery. “Straight in and whizz it all up.”

This week, it’s You Can’t Catch Me, I’m the Gingerbread Frappé which is a) probably the longest name known to mankind and b) probably the most questionable name known to mankind and c) who orders a frappé in December?

These thoughts are clearly playing across Jungkook’s face as Taehyung coaxes him to drop the gingerbread man into the blender, and you’re too busy enjoying the consternation on Jungkook’s face to notice someone stepping up to the counter—until they clear their throat, that is, and you all turn. 

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

It’s chaos. Frappé ends up everywhere, splattered over the counter and the floor, splashed across the wine-red aprons of both of your fellow baristas, as close to the blender as they were—saving you from any of the sugary fallout, unwitting human shields.

There’s a beat of silence, where you all stare at each other—

And then Yoongi laughs.

You’ve never seen Yoongi laugh this loudly, eyes squeezed so hard you wonder if he can even see, almost cackling as he laughs at Jungkook’s expression, joyful and loud and free. It’s another dimension to him, another new part you witness as Jungkook wipes gingerbread and ice off his face and Taehyung stares at the mess spattered across his hands and arms.

It makes you think of a paper crane. Yoongi is this unfinished thing in your mind, each new thing you learn about him another fold that you add, a flat sheet of paper turned into something entirely and wholly new. You wish that it weren’t so alluring, watching it come together, finding out more and more about this man you’ve technically known for months, but only recently started to get to know.

(You wish that it wasn’t so easy to keep falling for him.)

Once the counter is cleaned, both Jungkook and Taehyung retreat to replace their aprons, leaving you—once again—alone with Yoongi. He’d stopped laughing to tease Jungkook, to gently rib him, but you can see the smile that’s etched on his face, the echoes of mirth written across all his features.

“We usually train the baristas to keep the lid on, I swear,” you say, and Yoongi’s face splits into another smile.

“I was going to say that it’s an unorthodox blending technique,” and you can’t help but smile back at this, even if you’ve been trying not to laugh. Professionalism barely wins out, your lips trembling as you try to hold your giggling back, but Yoongi spots it anyway, looking pleased, like he’s accomplished something by getting you to (nearly) laugh.

You’re not laughing when you have to make one of the special frappés, though. You stare at the gingerbread man as you hold him above the blender, at his cheery iced face and his cute little buttons (not the gumdrop buttons), and brace yourself to drop him.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and let him go, before quickly slamming the lid on top and turning the blender on so you don’t have to look at the betrayal you’ve just committed. 

When you turn, Yoongi has an expression of sympathy on his face; for you or the gingerbread man, you can’t tell, but his face smooths the second he notices you looking at him, blinking innocently, as if there’s nothing unusual going on. It’s disarming, seeing that expression on his face, when you’d gotten used to seeing him act more reserved, but it’s cute.

(It is cute, whether you’re crushing on him or not. It’s just a statement of fact, okay? It’s nothing more than that. Even if that tiny gremlin of a crush still lives in your chest, scuffing its feet against your heart, reminding you of its presence when you least need it.)

(It digs its heels in when you put the frappé and Americano side by side, nestled snug in their cardboard tray. You slide it towards Yoongi and you’re a little too slow, fingers brushing his when he reaches for them; you’re surprised by how quickly he moves, how eager he seems to be reaching for his order, fingertips dragging across the back of your knuckles, and the gremlin kicks your heart, pulse rising just at that glancing touch. Even if you know it’s fruitless, useless, you can’t help but like Yoongi anyway.)

(“See you next week,” he says, and you can’t do anything but smile helplessly back.)

You normally love snow. You love waking up to the sight of it, pure and pristine white, adding another dimension to your familiar world—you love snowball fights and snowmen and snow angels, even if it all leaves you feeling cold, chilled right to the bone, nose running and hands freezing. The best part about winter is getting warm again, the season of throw blankets and hot water bottles, knitwear and scarves, tea and hot cocoa, all cosy and lovely and wonderful.

It’s a bit different when you have to work all day, though. You watch as the snow on the streets outside is threatened by the spray of salt and a thousand spinning car wheels and busy feet, ice turned to slush water; for now the snow is winning, though, and judging from the weather forecast, you think that’ll be the case for the rest of the day. You hope it lasts through to tomorrow, too; by the time you get home you’ll be too tired and it’ll be too dark to play in the snow, and it leaves you feeling disappointed and sad. 

(Winter is lovely but it can be a hollow season, too, something about the leafless trees and fogged windows making everything feel like an empty dream.)

At least Paradise is warm, even if you’re cooped up inside, safe from the still-falling snow that keeps trying to turn the world into an untouched, frozen wonderland. It’s quiet in the coffee shop today. Only the bravest of people have ventured out into the not-a-blizzard-but-basically-a-blizzard, plastered against radiators and putting drinks to their faces, letting hot steam heat their cold cheeks.

It’s why you’re both surprised and unsurprised when Yoongi appears, bell chiming above his head as the door swings shut and he stamps his feet on the front mat, knocking snow off his boots. He somehow looks disgruntled and soft all at the same time, a royal blue beanie on his head forcing his fringe down to sit messily over his eyes, bundled up warm even if his face is scrunched up and his cheeks are red from the cold.

“I hate cold weather,” he tells you once he reaches the counter, gloves peeled off his fingers so he can reach for his wallet, his nose tinged pink as he sniffs.

You proffer him a box of tissues. “You look like you need it,” you say gently, and he smiles at you, a warm hearth in the cold winter.

“Thank you.” His voice is equally as gentle as yours, and something aches in your chest.

It’s just you behind the counter right now, so you take Yoongi’s order and make the drinks too—one large Americano and one large Latteggnog (a basic latte made with eggnog instead of milk, rich and thick and creamy), this week’s special: everyone’s favourite Christmas drink, but with a twist of coffee. 

The quiet gives you time to think. Jungkook and Taehyung are out back, the older barista coming up with the most ridiculous excuses to take them away from the counter; you don’t mind that they’re taking the time ‘counting the coffee beans’, as deserted as the café is. 

The café is practically empty and Yoongi hates the cold but here he is, venturing into the ice and snow to get this person he cares about the drink they want, because they’re that special to him. (You hope they realise how lucky they are.)

You’re normally okay being single. Don’t really think about it. But there’s something about today, this moment, that has you reflecting; Taehyung has this budding thing with Jungkook, Yoongi has this steady thing with his love, and here you are, by yourself, alone. It’s hard to summon up your usual energy, going through the motions as you make the drinks. You tilt your head forward, dusting nutmeg on the eggnog latte, watching the way the sprinkle of spice settles delicately and softly in the foam. No flourish, no flick of the wrist, not today.

(There’s two cups in front of you now, but later, when you’re home, there’s just going to be one. Yours. Yours, and no one else’s.)

(When you get home, you’re going to do what any self-respecting single person would do: order too much takeaway, rewatch The Good Place, get emotional over Eleanor and Chidi’s relationship—they’re so different but they’re so perfect for each other, why can’t you have that?—mope for a bit, rewatch The Princess Bride, get emotional over Westley and Buttercup—where’s your cute farmboy who saves you from an evil prince?—mope a bit more, before finally climbing into bed and hugging a pillow to your chest in the space of having someone else there. You know. Perfectly normal single person things.)

When you turn to Yoongi, drinks ready and raring to go, you’ve forced a Customer Service Smile onto your face. They say that just the act of smiling makes you happier, right? Maybe if you smile hard enough, you’ll cheer up, chasing away this sudden sadness that lingers in the back of your throat, scratching at your lungs like black ice.

“Here you go!” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet hush of the café, but you roll with it anyway. “Enjoy your drinks!”

Yoongi takes them from you, hands carefully cupped around the tray, but his eyes don’t leave your face. He doesn’t return your smile, as convincing as it should be (even Taehyung struggles to tell between your real smile and your work smile, sometimes); he stands for a moment, looking at you.

You think he’s about to say something when he clearly thinks better of it. He tilts his head, like he always does, but you’d swear his expression is tinged with concern. “Thanks,” he says. Pauses. “The roads are really icy. Get home safe, okay Y/n?”

Blink, blink. Your eyelashes flutter. You suddenly realise that he’s never said your name out loud, never had a need to, even if he must have known it all along from the badge on your chest. It sounds so good in his mouth, soft and safe.

 “Oh,” you say, slow with surprise. “Thank you. I will. You, too.”

Yoongi nods again, as if to himself, before he turns to go.

He stops one more time before he goes. He stands at the open door, glances over his shoulder before he steps out, dark eyes meeting yours, as if checking that you’re still there, still tethered to the ground. Seems satisfied when he finds that you are. He gives you one last smile, all soft around the edges—that’s something you know intimately about Yoongi, that he’s soft through and through, even if he can look sharp, as cold as the ice outside—and then he goes, back into the falling snow to deliver a steaming sip of warmth into the hands of the person he loves.

(Your heart aches.)

It’s the week before Christmas. The whole world has that feeling it always does at this time of year—excited and bright, if a little frantic, the hanging lights in the city a backdrop to people’s last minute shopping, their breaths pluming out into the air as they rush around in the cold. The whole world feels full of life, that final push towards the end of the year; the hearth fire of Christmas before that weird in between before the new year, that held breath of potential, before the clock ticks over and the world is thrown into the next year.

Paradise has been busy. It’s like summer, only instead of sundresses and shorts, everyone is in knitwear and scarves, shivering as they wait to be served, desperate for a drink to warm them up, something to eat to fill their bellies. You spend more time in the coffee shop than you do at home, pulling overtime shifts to help your fellow baristas out—everyone thinks Christmas is a time of relaxation and coming together, but it doesn’t feel like that when you work in a customer facing job, oh no. It’s just non-stop busyness and being rushed off your feet.

(You’d barely had a chance to speak to Yoongi, café full when he’d stepped in, your pace frenetic as you’d danced around behind the counter with Taehyung and Jungkook; you’d slid his drinks towards him, his Americano and the special, and maybe your smile had looked more harrowed than you thought because he’d caught your hand and squeezed it.

“I hope you get a chance to rest over Christmas,” he’d said, concerned and sincere, as you’d stood in stunned silence, not expecting that almost-intimate touch, gentle against your skin.

“I will,” you’d said eventually. Yoongi had seemed to suddenly realise he was still touching you, fingers clasped around yours, and he’d withdrawn quickly, giving you a smile that felt like a whispered secret, before leaving you to deal with the ever-growing queue.)

Suffice to say, it’s been a long week, and you’re tired, and your feet hurt after all the running around you’ve been doing, and you just want to go home. You just need to finish the close, need to finish setting everything up for the open tomorrow, need to finish cleaning everything, and then you can get some sleep.

At least, that’s what you thought. Instead, you’re standing across from Jungkook and staring at him incredulously. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Wait.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “What do you mean, we need to deliver some coffee?”

You don’t know if Jungkook is being deliberately obtuse, but he just stares at you as if you’re the one talking nonsense right now, and not him. “We have a customer order to deliver,” he says.

“Yes, I gathered that,” you say. “I just mean, why did no one tell me sooner?”

Paradise doesn’t do deliveries, as such. You cater for events, and you technically do deliveries then, but it’s less ‘one coffee to go’ and more ‘enough sandwiches and pastries and bagels and coffee to feed an entire office’. It’s not that you can’t bring someone their order directly, it’s more that you just… don’t.

“Taehyung took the order,” Jungkook says, as if that explains everything.

You pinch the bridge of your nose again. You can’t ask Tae about it, the other man having had to leave just as you’d been about to flip the sign to closed (‘Jimin says Tannie peed in his shoes again! I have to go clean it up! I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll cover a close for each of you next time!’), so it’s just you, and Jungkook, and the slip of paper on the counter between you. You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough to trust his judgement and his decisions, as inexplicable as they might seem sometimes, but you do think it’s weird that he’s taken this delivery on board.

“It’s not too far from here,” Jungkook adds, peering at the address on the paper. “It won’t take long.”

“We have to finish closing, Jungkook,” you say. 

He shrugs casually, carelessly. “I’ll do it, I don’t mind. You can just do the delivery and then go home straight after, it’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” you mumble. “Why can’t you deliver it?”

“You’re the senior barista, you’re a better representative of the brand,” he says, and you have no idea where he pulled that from. (You blame Jimin. You know they’ve had shifts together, and Jimin is too smooth-talking for his own good.)

As much as you want to argue, you can’t help but cave, because the prospect of getting home early is one that you’re not about to sniff at. (You’d worry that Jungkook would get home late, what with the amount of prep he still needs to do for tomorrow, but you half suspect that Taehyung will reappear at some point, anyway.) You’re too tired to want to argue. “I just want to say this is a one off, and normally we cater for events, we’re not really a delivery service, okay?”

“Duly noted.”

It’s a simple enough order, anyway—it’s just two drinks. The first is a large quad shot latte with caramel and toffee syrup, extra whipped cream and cinnamon on top (something you’d definitely order, you think, indulgent and milky and with enough caffeine to kick you up the ass). Jungkook dutifully cleans as you start the second drink. The special this week is far, far less sweet than normal; a Rudolph the Red-eyed Reindeer: a simple red eye with a pinch of holiday spice, coffee with an extra espresso shot and topped with cinnamon and nutmeg. You take in a deep breath, swallowing down the warm smell and letting it flow through you before you double check the details on the note.

It takes you a second as you squint at the address, wondering why it looks familiar—and then you pause. This is Yoongi’s office, you think to yourself, and it feels a little like there’s an apricot pit sitting heavy in your stomach, heavy and hard. Paradise had catered a breakfast for them last week, and it hadn’t been on your shift and so you hadn’t gone, but—you’d heard enough about it from Jimin, the type who gets to know everyone and everything the second he walks in the door. You’d heard about the team that Yoongi manages, found out that Yoongi works in music, in artist and repertoire, and when you’d had the chance to Google exactly what that meant, you’d been bowled over. He has such a complex, high skilled job, and here you are, struggling to get a job with your degree, hence the barista thing. (Thanks, economy.)

You hastily shuffle past the address, trying to ward off your sudden sense of inadequacy, focusing on the name instead. What sort of name is Suga? you think to yourself, and then shrug. Probably one of the workers had enjoyed the breakfast the other week and was still hanging around before going on holiday for Christmas, or something.

“Alright, I’m off.” You’re ready to advance into the cold outside: coat on, scarf looped around your neck and hat secure on your head, cardboard tray of drinks clutched in your hands. “If you need help closing, just call me and I’ll come back, okay?”

“I won’t, but, thanks,” Jungkook says, equal parts self-assured and reassuring. “Don’t fall on your ass!”

It is icy outside, the entire world a winter wonderland, beautiful but cold and daylight long gone; snow drifts slowly from the sky above, dusting your shoulders and the top of your hat, flakes caught so softly by the weave of your clothes. It’s the kind of day that’s perfect spent indoors, curled up with the people you love, warmed through and through—and here you are, picking your way across the pavement slush to deliver a coffee to someone. (You’re not even getting paid for this.)

At least it’s not too far, really, just a few blocks away. The building is small, which is a plus, because it means you won’t have multitudes of rooms and offices to trawl past to get to your destination. The receptionist is more than helpful, too, when you say that you have a delivery for Suga; she gives you exactly directions and then she smiles at you, pleasant and pretty and lovely, and that gremlin that’s still clinging desperately onto your feelings for Yoongi whispers: what if this is Yoongi’s girlfriend? She’s beautiful.

Shut up, you think, before smiling back and thanking her, and heading on your way.

This close to Christmas you’d think that the building would be almost empty, but you’d be wrong. It’s not a buzzing hive of activity but there are still people walking around, speaking behind closed doors or laughing through open ones, decorations and tinsel hanging from the ceiling. Up ahead you see a someone come out of a room, shutting the door behind them before they walk in your direction. It’s a man who looks like he’s just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine and as you pass in the corridor he pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. Not suspicious, just surprised.

“Uh, I have a coffee for Suga,” you say without prompting, as if he was about to accuse you of some sort of nefarious scheme and your coffee delivery is the only thing saving you from that.

“Oh,” mister-model-handsome says, suddenly smiling widely, like this is all perfectly normal and not weird at all. He’s got some of the poutiest lips you’ve ever seen. “You’re nearly there, he’s just down the corridor and on the right. Have fun!”

“Uh, you too?” you reply. (Is he Yoongi’s boyfriend? He’s tall and broad shouldered and incredibly attractive, with the type of smile that makes people’s hearts race, and Yoongi definitely deserves someone like that.)

Your destination seems to be the office the (probably) model just came out of. You look around the corridor, which seems to be deserted now, the hubbub of people elsewhere in the building. You knock quietly, not wanting to disturb the hush that’s filled the air around you.

A beat. Then: “Come in,” someone says, voice muffled through the door.

It swings open easily at your touch. You stand on the threshold, mouth open around the announcement of your delivery when the words die on your lips.

Yoongi’s there, sitting behind a desk and his head bowed as he scribbles something in a notebook. He doesn’t look up. “Shut the door,” he says. Dumbstruck, you do just that, and it’s not until the door’s quietly clicked shut that he starts to raise his head. “Hyung, I already said that I don’t need to eat—”

And then he spots you standing there.

He stops mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes widening. He looks as shocked as you feel, utterly taken aback and agog, and even now you can’t help but notice how good he looks. He’s in a black button up, sleeves rolled to the elbow and top button undone, revealing the pale skin of his collarbones. It’s another juxtaposition, the Yoongi that you’re familiar with (an aura of effortless authority and attractiveness) in a place you don’t know at all, completely professional, his desk neat and the entire space put together. There’s a tastefully decorated tree in the corner but it doesn’t throw off the balance of the room at all. 

“Uh.” You cough lightly. “I have… a delivery… for Suga?”

Yoongi stares at you.

“Is this… not the right room? I can go,” you mumble, gesturing over your shoulder with a thumb.

This seems to snap Yoongi out of whatever thoughts he was having as he shakes his head. “No, this is… Suga’s office,” he says. “I just didn’t order any coffee.”

You open your mouth. Shut your mouth. You don’t have an Americano on the tray, but he’d probably like the red eye, coffee with extra coffee, no sugar or cream. Just a little pinch of spice. 

“Maybe it was a surprise, or something? Couples get each other gifts all the time.”

Yoongi’s lips quirk up. “I’m not really the type that gets surprised with gifts.”

Something about this strikes a discordant note in you. He’s always delivering gifts of coffee—he deserves those expressions of love returned to him. You can’t help but say as such.

“You’re always giving gifts, though,” you say. “Those weekly specials. I wouldn’t be surprised if your other half is returning the favour.”

Blink, blink. He looks perplexed. “I don’t have an other half?”

Your mouth opens again. “Uh,” you say eloquently. “What?”

“I… don’t have an other half? I’m… single?”

“You’re…” Your face scrunches up, wrinkled in confusion. What? He’s… what? “But you always buy two drinks?”

Silence. Then: “I… the Americano is for me,” he says. “I usually just pour the special away. I only started ordering them because you got so excited talking about them and making them. I never planned on drinking them.”

Your mouth falls open, soft around a quiet breath, a soft oh. “You—wait. You ordered them because I got excited about them?”

Yoongi’s eyes are so dark, so gentle; melted chocolate, warm. “You started to talk to me more, after the first time I did,” he says, and you know you had. Because you thought it was safer to talk to him, though you were secure in the knowledge he wasn’t single—but he is single. “So I kept doing it, because I wanted to talk more to you. I thought you knew? And that’s why you started having real conversations with me.”

You’re frozen in place, eyes as big as dinner plates. Min Yoongi, your futile crush, who looks as sharp as a knife but is as sweet as spun candyfloss, has been coming back week after week—for you. He’s not in a relationship, and he’s been flirting with you.

Or at least he thought he had been. You, however, hadn’t even realised.

“I was going to ask you on a date after Christmas,” he continues, calm and steady, as if your brain isn’t melting. He’s still sitting behind his desk, and there’s something about his tousled hair and bared lower arms—watch on one wrist and a few bracelets on the other—that has your heart pounding, that casual air somehow not at odds at the weight of the surroundings. Because the world is a backdrop to Yoongi, and he makes it work.

“What the fuck,” you say. You realise you’ve never sworn in front of him when something flickers in his eyes; not a bad flicker, no. Definitely not. “I thought you were taken.”

“I’m very single,” he says lightly, belying the weight behind the words. And then his eyes drop to your hands. “You said you have a coffee for me?”

Which leads to this: Yoongi, in his chair, you, leaning against his desk. He’s taken the red eye (of course) while you sip at the latte, relishing the punch of espresso, the flavour of the syrups.

You’re both staring at each other as you drink, air in the room growing thicker by the moment, when Yoongi breaks the silence. “This is probably the only weekly special I’d actually want to drink.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Black coffee with more espresso? That’s you all over,” you say. “The other specials aren’t so bad, though. I think you just need to give sweet drinks a chance.”

You’re speaking without thinking, but the second those words leave your mouth, the air turns electric. Yoongi’s still staring at you, unwavering and intent, and everything inside you is melting, leaving you flushed and hot. The smile hasn’t left his face, which had been warm but it’s changed, evolved, edged with something sharper.

“If you say so,” he says. His eyes are on your lips. “Let me try?”

His fingers are so gentle on your face, hands cupping your jaw as he tilts your head down. All your thoughts leave you. There’s nothing in your mind but Yoongi, his warm hands and dark eyes, the heat of his body so close to yours, his mouth; you can’t help but look down, tracing the shape of his lips with your gaze, a small soft pout that’s so at odds with the weight of his intensity. 

When he kisses you, it’s featherlight. Barely the softest of pressures, the potential of something more—and then he pulls you in deeper, and there it is, that heat flickering in your stomach jumping into a full fire. The kiss turns hot and wet as he licks the flavour of caramel and toffee syrup out of your mouth, and he tastes like coffee, dark and bitter; you make a noise against his lips and he swallows it down, pulls you closer.

You’re straddling his knees, a little awkward and cramped in his office chair, but you don’t care. You’ve been wanting to kiss Yoongi for so long, even when you felt like you shouldn’t, thought about his dark eyes and pink mouth, the curve of his lips, the paleness of his hands; a steadying presence around your waist, holding you in place.

When you pull apart, Yoongi’s lips are flushed, kiss swollen. It looks good on him. Really good on him.

“I’ve thought about that more than I’d like to admit,” he says, and you can’t help but feel warmed by it, the realisation that you’ve wanted to kiss him but he’s wanted to kiss you, too.

“This really isn’t comfortable,” you say, wriggling a little—your ass is starting to go numb, sat on Yoongi’s knees—and Yoongi sucks in a quick breath at the way you’re all but squirming in his lap, even if he doesn’t say anything.

Oh, you think. 

When you move away, he lets you go without protest, hands sliding off your waist. It’s not until you fall to your knees that Yoongi realises what you’re doing, his eyes widening.

“Y/n,” he breathes. “You don’t have to—”

“Please, Yoongi, I’ve wanted to do this for months,” you say. Maybe it was a little crass to start with, wanting to get on your knees for a man you barely knew just because he was hot and polite to you, but now you know he wants you back. You’re not about to let this opportunity pass you by, staring up at him between his knees, hands braced on his thighs. “But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

He looks torn, just for a second, eyes darting away from your face and to the door. It’s shut, but it’s not locked, and though the building is quiet there’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk in at any second.

Without thinking, you lick your lips. Yoongi’s eyes flicker back at the motion, watching how your tongue moves, and you can see how he crumbles.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, and you dig your nails into his trousers, electricity shooting through you.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down,” you warn, and reach for his zipper.

It’s a struggle for him, you can tell. He’s already biting his lip by the time you’ve tugged his trousers and boxers down, hardening under your grasp, and you knew his dick would be as pretty as the rest of him. You don’t have the luxury of worshipping him the way you want to, acutely aware of the fact you’re in his office, but it doesn’t mean you’re not going to make Yoongi feel good. It’s dirty and messy, the way you suck his cock into your mouth lewd and wet, lavishing attention on the most sensitive parts; his hips jump as you circle the head with your tongue and jerk the rest of his length with a hand. 

Everything’s sloppy with spit and precum and Yoongi’s biting off curses, hand tightening in your hair as you take in as much of him as you can, relaxing your throat and swallowing him down, down, down. When you look up at him through your lashes he looks wrecked, the paleness of his skin flushed pink, and you can’t wait to see that all over. Can’t wait to see Yoongi entirely bare in front of you, when you have the luxury of time and pleasure.

But there’s something about this, too, that has your heart racing, cunt throbbing. You’re running your spit slick lips down the side of his shaft, tonguing the throb of the vein there, when you hear footsteps nearby, muffled through the door. It doesn’t sound like they’re coming in this direction and Yoongi seems almost entirely lost to the feeling of your mouth on him, but you flick your tongue across the spot where the head of his cock meets the shaft and he bows forward, swallowing down the noise that threatened to spill from his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this, falling apart under your hands and mouth, and you know he’ll give as good as he gets.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. You smile up at him before taking his cock back into your mouth, jerking him off hard and fast as you lick and suck—and when he cums it’s with a noisy exhale of breath, a muffled groan, and even as you’re swallowing down his cum and mouthing at him until he winces with oversensitivity, you’re imagining what he sounds like when he doesn’t have to be quiet.

He’s not shy, either. You’ve barely tucked him back in when he��s reaching for you, kissing you. There’s no taste of coffee any more and you shiver, molten and boneless at the way his tongue presses into your mouth.

“Still want to take me on a date?” 

You’re being cheeky, voice light as you joke, but Yoongi’s responding look is equal parts serious and affectionate. He sweeps a thumb over your cheekbone and you relax into his hands, feeling like a cat that got the cream. Here you are, on your knees in his office, the glittering lights of his Christmas tree thrown across your hair and skin, warmed by the touch of a man you’ve wanted for months but never thought you would get.

“Of course,” he murmurs, gentle-gentle-gentle, as if you hadn’t just sucked his soul through his dick—and you love that about him, love his inherent soft core, his big heart. You might not know him as well as you’d like—not yet—but you already know that much about him. “I owe you a present, too.”

Your face scrunches. “What, because I gave you a blowjob?”

At this he laughs, mouth split wide and gums on show as his whole body shakes with the intensity of it. “No, because you brought me a coffee,” he says. He still has your cheek cupped in his hand, palm warm against your skin. “But if you want to say it’s because of the blowjob as well, then sure.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” You smile at him, gentle expression at odds with the meaning behind the words and your position—still on your knees.

You don’t know if they ache when you stand, because Yoongi is kissing you again, distracting you. And it’s easy, this back and forth you have, comfortable as you finish the (now lukewarm) coffees and get ready to go, because Yoongi insists on walking you home. Because he’s a gentleman, your gentleman, and he even holds the door open for you.

You’re not sure if you can reach for his hand, if that would be too forward in his place of work, if he doesn’t want to when this thing between you is so tentative and new. But you’re barely halfway down the corridor when he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm; when you look over, he’s smiling at you, and then tilts his chin up.

“Oh!” You stare at the huge bundle of mistletoe above you, tied with red ribbon and messily taped to the ceiling. It brings a smile to your face. “Oh, how cute.”

The hand on your arm shifts down. Yoongi weaves his fingers with yours.

“You know about the tradition, right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and it’s not just from the lights from the ceiling above, turning his dark eyes into warm chocolate, deep brown. “Kissing under the mistletoe?”

You can’t help but blink, surprised at his sweetness, his forwardness. There’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk by right now, to see the two of you hand in hand under the mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t care at all. He’s staring at you like you’re the only other person in the world, and you feel like a fountain of champagne is bubbling inside you, heady and sparkling and light.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” you say, and he’s still smiling, a small thing, just for you. “Do you think you can show me?”

And he does, with his hand in yours, your lips against his, and up above, the mistletoe sparkles.

(Your phone rings. Caller ID says it’s Taehyung, but when you pick up, he’s not the one who speaks.

“So.” Jungkook sounds knowing, his voice bordering on smug. “How did the delivery go?”

In the background you can hear someone crowding close, put it on speaker, Kookie, I want to hear too, and you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s eagerness.

“Good,” you say. Yoongi’s palm is warm against yours and you swing your joint hands together, looking at him, entranced by the way the snowflakes dust his eyelashes. The sky above is dark and the wind around you is cold, but the man beside is so bright and warm. You feel wrapped up in it. “Yoongi says he’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says cheerfully, loud enough that Yoongi can hear. He looks fond.

“Well, tell Taehyung I’m going to kick his ass for lying about Tannie peeing on Jimin’s shoes,” you say.

“You won’t,” Taehyung says, equally as cheerful, and you can’t help but smile.

“No, I won’t,” you say. 

You think about the seasons. You think about the man walking beside you; the man who says he hates cold weather, but has kept his gloves off so he can feel your hand against his. The man who came out in the snow to order a drink, just to make you smile. The man who looks like winter but feels like spring, something cold bursting into potential, new life.

In the depth of winter, under the snow and twinkling Christmas lights above, Yoongi squeezes your hand.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove

[thewritingginger]

AoT Boys - Preferences

This is something... I have nothing else to say about it lol

Also it may be a bit all over the place idk 

Fandom: Attack on Titan Characters: Reiner Braun, Armin Arlert, Eren Yeager & Jean Kirstein Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Fem! Bodied Reader, Mentions of sex, Swearing, lot of boob, ass, & thigh talk, also switches b/w saying s/o and you I'm a mess :)

 Enjoy ~

Reiner

Reiner is a simple man that loves dem tiddies!

Big or little doesn't matter

Man has giant hands and if it fits it ships

“You fit so perfectly in my hands.”

Loves to lay on your chest - #LittleSpoonReiner

When he had a particularly rough day all he wants to do is nizzle into your chest and breathe in your scent

Likes to massage them over your clothes when y’all make out

Can’t keep his mouth off of them, licking and biting them as he also plays with your nipples

He may give them a few smacks here and there if that's the mood 😉

Honestly would so happy to just play with your chest and nothing else, especially if you really like it

Likes when his s/o rides him - not only cuz it gives them more control of the pacing but also bc he gets a full view of their breasts

If you want to make this man nearly combust send him a saucy pic while he’s out/at work and can’t get to you

Man is weak for some lacy lingerie - really likes pastels and white (to him if makes it almost feel naughtier cuz of how sweet it looks)

“I was thinking of wearing this to our date tonight, do you like it? 😇” - w/ a mirror pic of you in a matching lacy set, wearing one of his large button up shirts and make sure you put your hand on your cheek sweetly, pressing your breasts together

He would call you so fast!

“Sweetheart, I am at work! Please-”

“And change of plans, instead of going out Imma need you to be on that bed when I get home tonight because we will not be leaving that room till you’re completely fucked out.”

Really likes clothed sex - why would he just rip of that pretty lingerie you put on for him when he can continue to enjoy it on your beautiful body while he rails you?!

He just overall enjoys seeing and feeling your chest and bonus points for it also feeling good for you though he doesn’t really touch them w/o your permission/ when y’all are getting it on

However, in his sleep his hand can become a bit of a wanderer

So he is a perv but not so outwardly so

Really likes lacy or mesh shirts where can see your bra/bralette  - though sometimes it can make him feel some type of way

“Beautiful, I always love what you wear but you gotta stop doing this to me, my heart can’t take it.”

Man just melts for you! ok?! 

Armin

Armin is a Thigh Man! and I will die on this hill!!!

He loves to hold and squeeze them - in both sexual & non-sexual situations

Laying on them is prime time for him, he may even leave a few sleepy kisses behind before falling asleep on them

Also Thigh fucking is his jam!! And you can’t convince me otherwise

Not only does he love the feeling of your thighs jerking him off but also it’s about that teasing he loves to give his s/o

May even taunt them about it

“You like feeling my cock slide between your thighs?”

“My Angel wishes they had my cock inside them, huh.”

He also just generally loves kissing, licking and biting your thighs, he likes to take his time especially when he is about to go down on you

He likes to have his hand on his s/o’s thigh while sitting next to them, whether at home or out for lunch with friends - not necessarily in a sexual way well… unless you want him to 😉

Want to make him excited? Wear some thigh high stockings

If you are wearing a skirt and at some point in the day you lift the hem to show the garter strap holding up your stocking he’ll let out a little low hum of approval and needs to get his hands on you soon 

That also goes for if you want to send him a little pic in the day to show you miss him just a little

“Thinking of you bb 🥰” - w/ a picture of your skirt raised or just in a pair of cute panties while sat on your knees with your thighs pressed together would do the trick

He would blush a little at the initial shock -especially if around others-  but would be quick to excuse himself before responding

“You’re so beautiful, when I get home I’m gonna spread those pretty thighs open and have you screaming for me.”

Boy really likes not only shear tights but also fishnets

Whether you wear them under a skirt/dress or under distressed jeans and it peeks through holes and over the top he’s in for it

Has 10000% had sex with a pair of fishnets on - the ones with the extra large holes that he can fit his dick through - yes ma’am

Also just plain old ripping them open so make sure you don’t spend a lot of money of your tights cuz they might not last too long oop

Eren

Also a Boobie Man!

Whether he is just chillin on the couch watching t.v. with his s/o or making out and getting down to business, his hand somehow always finds its way to a boob

He will just put his arm around your shoulder and snake his hand down the collar of your shirt and just cup it - maybe will begin to give a few squeezes here and there mf treating it like a stress ball smh

Will motor boat you - he doesn’t care if there isn't much to your chest either cuz he will go for it anyway

If he is having sex in missionary best believe both his palms would be kneaded his s/o’s breasts

Or if from behind he will lean over and wrap his arm around their front to hold them

But lets need not forget the tiddie bounce when his s/o rides him

So many choices baby boy doesn’t know which one he likes best 🤔

Loves some tiddie-fucking

And cumming on dem boobies as well

“You look so good with my cum drippin down your tits.”

This bitch will be at work and ask for nudes smh

Of course he wants boobie pics - loves when you are topless and holding your breasts with your hands or simply just your cleavage down your shirt

“You’re always so good to me Babygirl. I’ll see you when I get home 😉”

Likes when you wear revealing tops

Of course he’ll about throw hands if someone's gaze stays a bit too long but he is proud of his baby and knows they are beautiful

Eren, unlike Reiner, is more outwardly pervy

Always encourages you not to wear a bra

“Your nipples are so cute, why wouldn’t you want to show them.”

Also you know he aint afraid to stare and when you catch him he’ll just give you a wink and a cocky smirk

Jean

Bonafide Booty Man!

Like Reiner, the size doesn’t matter!

Big or little - if he can grab he can vibe with it

This boy always has his hand on the butt any chance he gets

Cuddle Time? His hand will rubb and hold the booty

When y’all are making out? You best believe he’ll pull you real close and squeeze your ass

So safe to say that taking his s/o from behind is great booty access

Also reverse Cowgirl is a nice view as well

“Fuck, I love seeing your ass bounce on my cock.”

Loves to squeeze, jiggle and spank your butt

Also kissing and biting the cheeks are a yes in his book

Likes to bend over his s/o and go down on them from behind, having is tongue covered in their taste as his hands grope and smack their ass - sign him up

Likes days in at home with you, especially if you opt out of wearing pants - Pants are always optional in his household  😉

If he sees cheeks he’s a happy man

Expect to get little booty love taps &/or pinches while around him - mostly when it’s just you two at  home

If you want to fluster him a bit give his ass a little smack/squeeze of your own 

Likes when you send him pics but when he’s at work? He’ll have to breathe for a minute and leave the room if others are around

“Baby, should I get these?” - w/ a pic in a dressing room wearing a silky “pajama” short set that leaves little to the imagination; booty on full display of course

“Yes! 😍😍😍”

“My sweet girl, I want to see you in that when I get home.”

Big fan of leggings and high waisted pants on his s/o - all about extenuating that booty

Just tight pants in general tbh

If you ever come out in a little number and the booty is poppin he’ll grab your hand and make you do a little spin for him to get a full 360 view

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

Hope you liked that! Want more? Let me know. 

My requests are open for both regular and Kinktober - Make sure you read my guidelines :3

💛 ~

[rosesvioletshardy]

overtime win celebrations - mat barzal

okay this is very unedited because i lowkey rushed it and i know it’s bad. also this is very bad smut because i haven’t written it in a while and i tried to read others and my old ones to get some inspiration and try to make it at least accurate in a way idk

also a very happy birthday mat today 

(isles win today or else i’ll fly to new york and 🔪) (jk ,,, unless)

this was requested by @gigissports​ who gave me the idea of this fic when i said i wanted to write a fic but didn’t know what to write about or who to write about so thank you to her and i hope you like it

(also idk what that title is it’s the first thing that came to my mind)

(ps y’all should also follow her as well she’s an amazing person)

masterlist

mat masterlist

warnings: mention of fights, SMUT (18+) (minors please don’t interact), fluff, little angst? (idk mat is a little upset so idk if that’d count as angst)

# of words: 1,941 (sorry it’s short i tried to make it somewhat longer but my brain decided to go into writer’s block so)

----

It was all going well, up until it wasn’t. You knew that playoff hockey got even more intense than the regular season and meant that more injuries were prone to happen. Mat told you the night the Islanders got clinched that he wouldn’t try to get into many fights anymore or get anymore penalty minutes seeing that he’s their star and that the top player shouldn’t have that many penalty minutes. He managed to not get into any fights or get any penalties the first 4 games. You would’ve gone to the game but you decided to stay at yours and Mat’s apartment to watch the game due to being busy earlier in the day and Mat was completely fine with however you wanted to watch the game. The only thing he did request before he left was that you wore one of his jerseys that he wasn’t going to be wearing for good luck. As soon as you came home from work it was the first thing you did and you sent a picture to him to show him. You knew he wouldn’t answer right away but you saw that he read it. 

The game was going smoothly up until the second period where the penguins were leading by 3. You knew that the team was frustrated by the way they looked as the camera panned over to the bench and that they were trying their hardest. Mat’s line was now playing and you felt as if they were going to score during that period. It wasn’t until moments after Anthony’s goal where a fight broke out and Mat got into the middle of it. You couldn’t tell what happened but you stood up on your feet and became really concerned. It wasn’t until you saw him walk towards the locker room with one of the medics before they showed the reply. The rest of the game you couldn’t focus on and only worried that something would happen even later into the game. Mat had said he was fine but you knew that he wasn’t from when they showed him. 

The only good thing to come out of the game was the double overtime win and you knew it was going to be a while before Mat got home. You hadn’t really had anything for dinner because of it and could only eat crackers because your mind was only worried for Mat and Mat only. It wasn’t long before you fell asleep seeing how late it was. Mat on the other hand was exhausted as well and it was just from playing almost 5 rounds of hockey. A sigh escaped his mouth when he reached the front door and took out his keys only to find you sleeping on the couch wearing his white jersey. He smiled at the site before dropping his bag and taking his shoes off before walking over to you and crouching down in front of you. Mat took a moment to analyze the details of your face before he started to caress your face and wake you up. Your eyes began to flutter open as you saw him crouched down to your height 

“Hey baby” he whispered as you sat up making room for him

“Hi maty, sorry you had to see me like this” you told as he sat down and pulled you into his chest

“It’s okay you deserve some rest.” he said trying to hide his eye

“Let me see, don’t hide it.”

“I didn’t want you to be mad”

“Why would I be mad?” you asked him confusion running across your face

“Because I promised to you that I wouldn't get into any fights or get any penalties during playoffs” he admitted

“I’m not mad, I was worried the entire time. It happens.” you affirmed him as you ran your fingers over the bruised eye lightly making sure that you didn’t hurt him. The two of you sat there in silence for a while taking in each other’s company before you both looked at each other and brought your lips together. You’ve been with Mat for over a year and a half and yet he still gave you butterflies every time you kissed. Straddling him, you continued to kiss as you ran your fingers through his hair.

Everything in that moment just felt perfect. Mat pulled away and stood up, picked you up and took you to yours and his room. After laying you down on the bed, he began to slowly push up his jersey while pressing small kisses along your jaw and down your neck, leaving marks, making you moan before pulling away to take the jersey off. His breath hitched when he saw the lingerie you had on underneath and smiled and you spoke up

“I was going to surprise you when you got home but i ended up falling asleep, so this isn’t exactly how I planned it” you told him sitting back up

“Well I’m still surprised don’t worry and you still look beautiful” he said before giving you another kiss and laying you back down after you took off his suit jacket, shirt and pants leaving him just in his underwear as you traced your fingers down his body

“I love you so much. Thank you for everything you do. From supporting me at home and away games to dealing with me and my antics” 

Mat unclipped you bra as he pressed light kisses over your collarbones as his hands roamed all over your body and stopping at your thighs, Pushing your legs apart, his fingers hooking onto your underwear before sliding them off and inserting two of them inside you. His eyes never left yours, curling his fingers more and while his thumb rubbed your clit, causing you to moan

“Maty, please” you let out

“In all time princess. It’s all about patience” he whispered in your ear before removing his fingers as soon as he felt you clenching. 

Removing his fingers, he brought them up to his mouth and sucked off your juices and sank down to his knees and kissed the soft skin of your thighs, feeling scruff from his playoff beard he was finally allowed to grow out. He wasted no time when it came to eating you out as he sucked back on your clit. One of his favorite sounds was hearing your moans and whimpers, as a smirk plastered onto his face, gripping your thighs tighter. You became more and more frustrated as you tugged on his hair wanting more. Pulling him closer onto you,  his hands grabbed your breasts making you gasp and moan his name more. He began to slowly lick your clit before starting to suck on it. You can feel him slowly pull away before going back and inserting his finger again

“Oh god. Oh fuck. Mat that feels so good. Please don’t stop”

“What do you need princess?”

“You. I need you.”  

“Fuck, maty i’m so close please” you told him as you could feel him humming against your clit, sending shivers down your spine. The familiar feeling began to coil in your stomach as you tugged on his hair harder and him licking you as his name left your lips, almost to the point where the neighbors would probably hear.

When he pulled away, he pressed a kiss against your lips, making you taste yourself. Mat leaned over to grab a condom from the nightstand next to the bed as you began to palm him through his boxers before pulling it down. You helped him roll the condom on him as he then lined himself in between you and grabbing your legs to hook against him

“You ready?” he asked looking into your eyes, making sure you’re still comfortable

“Yes” you told him as you curled your fingers at the bottom of his hair as he pressed his lips against yours while pushing himself inside you, groaning into his mouth.

His hips rolled with every thrust he gave, his lips leaving yours and pressing kisses along your jaw as he whispered in your ear as the occasional moan left his lips when you marked up his back or tugged his hair more. His hands gripped around your waist as he 

“I love you so much.”

“I love you so much too”

“Are you close?” he whispered pulling away from your neck “Mhm” you nodded as a whine left your left as he thrusted harder, 

“It’s okay, let go” he whispered in your ear as the both of you let go of your highs. Mat came out of you and fell on the bed next to you. The two of you stayed quiet as you both breathed heavily trying to catch your breaths.

“Well that was-”

“Yeah” he finished as he took the condom off and threw it in the trashcan when got up and went to the bathroom

When Mat came back, he started to clean you up with the damp towel, making sure that you were alright and that he didn’t hurt you. He took his time making sure to stop as soon as you started to feel uncomfortable or started to wince. You kept trying to fight off the sleepiness that was taking over so you had a chance to talk to Mat about everything he wanted just so he can get his mind over it. Your eyes were starting to slowly close once again until you felt the bed dip and Mat’s arm pull you so your head was on his chest

“What’s going on through that mind of yours?” you asked him knowing that he was thinking about the game again

“Just the game, the fight, how much my eye hurts” he laughs off but you can tell he’s still somewhat upset causing you to get up and face him

“Mathew, you did your best, and you’ll keep doing your best. I know you know this but you go close to a goal each period and in overtime. Yes, it’s not going well, but you need to have some faith in you. There’s still some positives that happened, you assisted a couple of goals from Tito and Scott, plus the game winning goal. Those are still something-” you told him before he cut you off

“Yeah but they’re not a goal you know? Everyone, from commentators to interviewers have been on my ass about not scoring and it’s frustrating to listen to and when it happens it gets blocked” mat exclaimed, as he ran his hand through is hair trying not to show his frustration

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but that will happen and things will get better. Remember you were struggling towards the end of the regular season and then you got a goal straight out of the penalty box?”

“Yes but-”

“But nothing. You still have game 6 and I know that you guys will advance to the next round and you will get that goal that you want.” you finished as you now sit on his lap staring into his eyes and grabbing his hands

“Okay, mainly because I trust you and I love you.” he said as he gave you a small peck on the lips

“I love you”

“Now, do you still have enough energy for another round or are you tired?”

“I don’t know, I’m not the one who played 5 periods of hockey and got into a fight” you smirked as he flipped you onto your back

“Well then, you shouldn’t have said that missy” he whispered to you smirking as he went back down on you

[storiesforallfandoms]

sucker for pain ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1494

request?: yes!

“can you please do a colson one where the reader is getting their first tattoo and he’s by her side then he realizing they have a pain kink and yeah”

description: in which he finds out his girlfriend has a kink he’d never imagine she’d have

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

*i changed it from the reader getting their first tattoo because i missed the “first” part when writing for some reason i’m sorry i hope you still like it!*

gif credit to @poppy-in-the-woods !

“Are you sure you want to get a tattoo on your ribs?” Colson asked as you waited in the lobby for your next tattoo. “You know how much that hurts, right?”

“It’s one of the more painful places,” you said. “I know that. Have some faith in me, baby, I’ll be fine.”

Colson still looked skeptical, but decided to drop it. You were stubborn and you were set on getting this tattoo, he knew he wasn’t about to talk you out of it.

You had decided a week or so back that you wanted to get a tattoo in honor of Colson. Instead of something small, like his initials or his name or something, you decided to get your favorite of his lyrics tattooed on your ribcage. You even had him write the lyrics out so you could get his writing as the font for it.

It was a bit big of a tattoo, and you were getting it in a very painful place, so Colson was worried you weren’t going to be able to handle it when the tattoo started. He insisted he wanted to come with you to be your emotional support if nothing else.

“Hey (Y/N)!” your tattoo artist, Mack, said as he walked into the parlor. “You’re early! Wanna get started now?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, why not?”

“Okay! Follow me in.”

You followed him into his area and he pulled the curtain across to block the view of anyone from outside. He turned back to you and Colson, eyeing your famous boyfriend for just a moment. “So, he does realize you’re going to be shirtless for this entire thing, right?”

Colson chuckled and nodded. “I’m aware you’re going to be starring at my girlfriend in just a sports bra for like an hour or more. Don’t worry, I’m cool with it.”

You could see Mack’s shoulders slump as he sighed with relief. “Okay good. You would not believe how many boyfriends lose their minds over their girlfriends having to take their shirt off for a tattoo, even if their tits aren’t actually out. If (Y/N) wasn’t a regular, I probably would’ve turned her down for this one just for my own safety.”

You laughed as you began to unbutton the blouse you had decided to wear - much easier to get back on once the tattoo was done. You laid down on the table and Mac started to line up your tattoo on your ribs.

“Last chance to back out,” Colson said as he sat down next to you.

You shot him a look. “Why are you so intent on me giving up on this because of pain?”

“She’s a tough chick, man,” Mack agreed. “I don’t think she’s ever flinched while I’ve given her a tattoo. It’s like she gets off on the pain or something.”

You shot a glare at Mack that he didn’t see as he was back on to you before relaxing your head back on the table. Colson looked at your curiously, making a mental note of what Mack had said.

The tattoo began and Colson took your hand in his. You looked over and smiled at him for a moment, wincing slightly when the needle touched your skin first. The pain suddenly radiated through your ribcage, but it didn’t bother you the way Colson had expected it would. You would wince every now and then, but you still had a light hold on his hand.

When Mack was finally finish, the black letters were bolded by the red of your irritate skin. Mack cleaned it and placed the bandage over the fresh tattoo. “I won’t give you the spiel on how to take care of this thing for the next few days.”

“You’ve said it so many times I think I know it word for word at this point,” you teased. You winced as you sat up from the table, both from the pain from the tattoo and from the stiffness of your back. “God, you guys need more comfortable tables. Feels like I was lying on the floor for an hour.”

“You’ve been there before, you know how uncomfortable it is.”

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him before turning to Colson. “What do you think, babe?”

Colson’s eyes studied the tattoo for a moment, still processing the fact that you got a major tattoo on your ribcage and barley flinched the entire time. “It looks really good. Is it what you wanted?”

You smiled. “Of course it is! I have something to remind me of you forever now, which means please don’t break up with me. It’ll cost so much to get this removed or covered.”

Colson chuckled and also rose from his seat. “I promise babe.”

You pulled your button up back on and headed to the front to pay for the tattoo. You couldn’t help pulling your shirt up to look at the tattoo once more as you and Colson started walking towards the door.

“Mack is probably the best tattoo artist I’ve ever been to,” you said. “He’s just phenomenal. I don’t think I’d trust anyone else the way I trust him.”

“He seems to know you pretty well,” Colson commented. “Like the fact that you seem to be into the pain that comes from getting a tattoo.”

You felt your face heat up as you tried to look away from Colson. You kept your voice as light as possible as you said, “Yeah, well, I’ve gotten a few tattoos at this point. I’m just used to the pain of the needle I guess.”

“I’m literally covered in tattoos and sometimes the pain is still unbearable for me,” Colson pointed out.

“We’re different people, Colson. Different people handle pain differently.”

Colson looked over at you as you tried to avoid his eyes. You wished you had been the one to drive so that you could get out of this awkward situation a lot sooner.

“Babe,” Colson said. You sighed and finally turned your head to look at him. “You know I am the last person to judge you on your kinks, right?”

You nodded. “I know, but...I’m just worried what your reaction would be if I straight up told you that I have a pain kink.”

“Well, for starters, I’d tell you that you’re dating the right guy since all I do is hurt myself.” You chuckled at this. “When did you realize you got off on pain?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I was a teenager I think. It might’ve been when I got my first stick and poke tattoo. All my friends hated the pain and complained for days, but I found myself kind of liking it. When I started having sex, I’d ask my boyfriend at the time to choke me or spank me, basically anything that caused the slightest bit of pain.”

Colson shuffled in his seat, a bulge beginning to grow in his pants that he was hoping you wouldn’t notice.

“Not all guys are into the idea, weirdly enough,” you continued. “I’ve been with some guys that consider it a deal breaker. I even had a one night stand just completely stop having sex with me because I kept telling him he wasn’t being rough enough. I guess I just associated that negative reaction with the kink in my mind and never wanted to tell you in case you thought the same way.”

Colson chuckled. “(Y/N), I have a foot fetish. I am literally the last person you have to worry about thinking your pain kink is weird.”

You smiled. “Yeah, you have a point. I just don’t wanna scare you off. I like you a lot, Colson.”

Colson reached over and took your hand in his, giving it a slight squeeze. “You won’t scare me off. I wanna know what you’re into, and what will make you feel good when we’re having sex.”

“You make me feel good anyways,” you assured him. “But, if you’re really interested in getting to know that side of me more, I could show you exactly what I’m into.”

"Even though you just got a new tattoo.” You gave him a look, which caused him to laugh. “Okay, fair enough. I’d love to learn, although it may take me a long time, fair warning.”

“I’ll give you all the time you need.”

Colson smirked and leaned over to kiss you passionately. You turned as much as you could in your seat to cup his face and deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth for a short while. When you pulled away, Colson nipped at your bottom lip, which caused you to clench your thighs together in anticipated pleasure.

“Get us home before I climb on your lap in this parking lot,” you told him.

Colson didn’t have to be told twice. Within seconds, he had the car started and was racing out of the parking lot and back towards his house.

[oro-e-diamanti]

The one with the matchmaking

My masterlist

Description | Victoria is desperate to set you and Thomas up... Might there be a spark already?

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Thomas

Word Count | 2663

Taglist (add yourself here!) | @mywritingonlyfans @damianodavide @lizstans @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you @vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @nientedaridere @shaunthesheesh @damianodavidhands @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy @solasullabarca @foryourllove @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @marriedwithmarktuan @bookish0918 @mehrmonga @ginny-lily @ohtorchio @messyhairday-me @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut @katyldamusic @fuckim-so-gay @demoiselle-en-detresse00

***

There had been an unspoken thing between you and Thomas from the first day you met. It was one of those right person, wrong time scenarios. Both of you were happily taken by other people, loving your partners, and leading healthy relationships. It simply hadn't been meant to be and both of you had gladly accepted it. Nothing had ever happened, despite the others insisting there must have, neither of you was like that. So you stayed friends with him, the same way you stayed friends with Victoria, Damiano, and Ethan and it didn't take long for the five of you to grow into a loving group, a chosen family. That was until both you and Thomas happened to have broken up with your respective partners within the same week. It was safe to say that it didn't take long for the meddling to start.

***

"I just think they'd make such a good couple!" Victoria said, pushing the empty beer bottles around on the table in annoyance. "They're basically made for each other."

"Leave it, Vic," Ethan said. The dark of the bar was hiding his features and the fact he was slightly rolling his eyes. "They both literally just got out of relationships, I don't think they're interested."

"But they both ended them so it's not like they've been broken up with," she insisted. "I'm sure they'll get over it quickly enough."

"Yeah I agree with Vic," Damiano added. "It's not like either of them seems all that heartbroken."

"Exactly, which is why we need to act now!"

"I still don't think it's a good idea," Ethan sighed. "Just let them figure it out on their own."

"But they're idiots! They'll never figure it out!"

Damiano couldn't help laugh out loud. He knew his friend was onto something, both Thomas and Y/n tended to be hilariously oblivious when it came to things like these.

"Maybe they just need a little push," he agreed.

"Fine." A deep sigh escaped Ethan. "But don't say I didn't warn you if it doesn't work out."

***

The moment you stepped into the vintage second-hand store you decided it was heaven on earth. It didn't take long for you to sweep through the place like a whirlwind, picking up pieces left and right, leaving Victoria and Thomas standing at the entrance still. You didn't care, this was one of your favourite places and you were not going to be held back because those two were slow. You tried on a dress that looked like an absolute mess on you and you quickly took a picture to laugh at later with the others, before trying on some trousers that you really took a liking to. You were still in them, trying to figure out if you had also grabbed a top that would match when someone knocked on the wood of the changing room. Confused and not certain if the noise was directed at you, you pulled back the curtain to come face to face with Thomas. He noticed you were in your bra before you did.

You raised your eyebrows, overly amused at how he was nervously looking around to figure out if anyone else would be able to see her, but no one seemed to be around. As he turned back, he tried not to let his gaze fall into her chest again, but failed miserably. You laughed heartily, "It's fine, stop blushing, Thomas."

He grinned, more relaxed not that he knew you didn't mind. He shouldn't, this being far from the first time he'd seen you like this.

"Vic told me to give you this dress to try on."

You looked at the piece of fabric he handed you, a gorgeous, velvety black, knee-high dress with a dangerous slit and a plunging neckline. It wasn't something you would have chosen yourself, but you trusted Vic's judgment. The curtain was quickly closed again, removing the trousers you had already decided on and slipped on the dress. It fell in a much nicer way than you had anticipated, easily smoothing itself over your curves and settling perfectly in place. The mirror agreed with your sentiment - you looked gorgeous. Okay, so this dress would do with a bit more makeup and without a bra, but it was a no-brainer that you were going to buy it.

You ripped open the curtain, now facing both of your friends. As soon as Vic saw you, she seemed as smitten with it as you were. Thomas looked stunned in his own way but stayed quiet.

"Fuck, I knew that was your dress!" Victoria shouted, obviously proud of herself for picking it out.

"Where am I ever going to wear this?" You asked, spinning to muster your reflection once again.

"When I take you out tomorrow night," Vic grinned. "There's a gorgeous new restaurant in town but it's fancy fancy, so this will do just fine."

You couldn't help but squint your eyes at her through the mirror. Her suggestion sounded just fine, but the way her eyes flickered made you feel like there was something more to the story.

***

"Wait, so how will you going out with her to dinner help, exactly?"

"Oh, Damiano, stop being so dumb. Obviously, I won't go."

"I don't get it."

"I'll have some sort of last-minute emergency, and since both of you will be out of the house, Thomas will have to step in."

Ethan sighed, shaking his head at his friend's plan.

"Why do you have to meddle so much, Vic?"

"Because those two don't get it. But once they see each other all dressed up, romantic dinner, candles, good wine, it'll click."

"Whatever you say."

***

"Oh my god, Y/n, I'm so sorry!" Victoria burst into your room, Chili cradled in her arms and an apologetic look on her face. "I know we said we'd go to that fancy restaurant tonight, but Chili's been coughing and the vet told me to come in immediately."

You side-eyed the little white dog, looking as happy as can be, but there was no reason for you not to trust Victoria. Right? You briefly petted Chili's head.

"Don't worry about it, we can always go some other time."

"No!" Her outburst surprised you. "I mean, it's so difficult to get a reservation there and you should wear your dress out. Damiano and Ethan are out, but I'm pretty sure Thomas is free, please ask him, he'd probably love to go with you!"

You wanted to scold Victoria, tell her this wasn't happening, tell her you'd be fine just staying home, but she didn't give you a chance to do any of it. Instead, she left your room, immediately shouting for her bandmate. It was the reason you found yourself at a candlelit dinner with the blond man mere hours later.

"You look amazing, by the way," Thomas said. Well, he actually kind of mumbled it into his pasta rather than proudly state it. You felt like blushing.

"So do you, love. But you know I love you in a suit."

Your eyes met, just for a moment, before both of you found yourselves awkwardly staring back at your plates again. You didn't know why you were behaving like this, or why he was, you could only attribute it to the fact that this felt like an overly romantic date and the waiter had referred to you as his girlfriend multiple times already. Neither of you had corrected him. You hadn't minded the single rose that had been placed between you on the table, accompanied by a little wink and a smile by the waiter.

"You know, you make a lousy boyfriend, not even bringing me flowers for our date, " you teased, watching as a shy smile appeared on Thomas' face, his eyes travelling down the table for a second before looking at you again with more than a twinkle.

"I did take you to the nicest restaurant in town, surely that gets me some points?"

The giggle bubbled over your lips easily. Everything came easy with Thomas. He made the troubles disappear with one look, one touch of a hand, a single word, a gesture, his existence. He was your own personal cure to everything.

***

"No, I'm telling you, it worked," Victoria excitedly gasped and she gathered in the kitchen with Damiano and Ethan, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. "You should have seen them when they came back!"

"Did you actually wait up for them?" Ethan asked, slightly disbelieving, slightly amused.

"Well, they didn't know obviously! I just cracked my bedroom door open a bit. But they were all giggly and happy and they hugged when they said goodnight!"

"Vic, we all hug all the time," Damiano threw in.

"Not the way they did. I'm serious, this is working and you'll see soon enough!"

"So what's the next idea then?"

"I'm... I'm not quite sure," she admitted. "But I'll figure it out and it'll be perfect."

***

The thunderstorm hadn't been predicted by any of the weather channels. You found yourself standing in front of the patio doors with Thomas, watching the heavy rain disturb the surface or the pool, trees swaying in the wind, a flash of light illuminating the garden in regular intervals. It had only been the two of you home when it had started, everyone else out to meet friends or sitting in a bar with a drink in their hand. You had been having a lazy day, unwilling to leave the house at all, while Thomas had slept for so long no one had bothered trying to wake him so he could join in on plans.

"Do you want to compare our favourite records?"

You had been so focused on the happenings outside of the glass that you almost flinched in surprise at his question. Still, a slight smile, the right kind of look, and you were nodding enthusiastically. Hasting up the stairs, barefoot and in nothing but shorts and the shirt you usually slept in, you went through the little collection you had brought to the summer house, already hearing the first notes of Led Zeppelin's Black Dog echoing downstairs. With a smile on your face, you grabbed a few records and bolted back down to Thomas.

"I still prefer Led Zeppelin III," you giggled, only to be greeted with Thomas' shocked face. "Anything that has Immigrant Song on it is a hit, really."

"Blasphemy! Nothing tops IV, and you clearly have no taste."

"You clearly have no taste considering you think anything Led Zeppelin has put out is better than Fleetwood Mac's Rumours." You barely waited for the first song of Thomas' album of choice to finish playing before interrupting it with the sound of Second Hand News.

It didn't take long for the conversation to get heated. Still, you kept playing your record in the background, effortlessly dodging his effort to change it, even though the whole thing had been his idea in the first place. He was still complaining, explaining, talking to a wall basically, as you danced around the living room, as the music flowed through you, singing along, thunder only happens when it's raining, as the weather outside did its worst.

"I just think it's much too sad, most of it," Thomas finally concluded.

"Doesn't that just make it so beautiful though?"

"No, it just makes me sad," he pouted.

"Maybe you just never listened to it the way you should. In the arms of someone you love."

A heartbeat passed as both of you looked at each other, but then your smile returned and you motioned for him to get on the sofa with you, lying on your side as he slowly but surely moved in front of you. Your arms wrapped around him, spooning him, making you feel safer than you ever have as Songbird played in quiet tones.

Your nose buried itself in his hair, letting his smell fill your every pore, taking over your whole being as you pressed into him, singing along in nothing but a whisper.

"And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before."

***

"Guys, guys, guys, look at that!" Victoria called out to her friends as they quietly made their way into the house. "I knew it would be such a good idea to leave them alone in the house!"

"Vic, it's not like you made a thunderstorm come along, I'm pretty sure this was not your doing for once," Damiano whispered.

"Doesn't matter! Look at them spooning! We're on the right way, guys!"

"We're not on any way," Ethan threw in. "You keep trying to meddle and the two of them are going their own ways."

"They just need another push. I just gotta think of something."

***

"Hey, they let you feed the goats here!" Victoria squealed as everyone around her let out a groan. The zoo was bustling with people, the five friends surrounded by families, and Vic easily fell in line with the children's excitement.

"Vic, I really really don't like goats," you complained. "I'd rather not get their attention because I got food in my hands."

"Fine. How about you go see the owls over there with... Thomas, and I go feed some adorable goats with Ethan and Damiano?"

The both of you allowed yourselves to be pushed away easily, chuckles on your faces as you walked away from the rest of the group, dodging running toddlers as you went.

"So, this is a set-up, huh?" Thomas grinned next to you as his arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

"Oh, as if Victoria has been doing anything these past weeks without hidden intentions." You let yourself mold into Thomas' side, leaning in closer until your bodies were touching as much as physically possible. "She's not half as subtle about this as she thinks. I'm sure she's watching right now."

You didn't turn around, but you felt her eyes on the pair of you, watching your every move and trying to figure out what was going on between the two of you.

"Do you wanna give her a show?" You playfully pinched his site, looking at him from the corner of your eyes just to see a smile appear on his face that was surely mirroring yours. "Make out a little bit?"

"Wouldn't that give it away?" He stopped walking, now wrapping both of his arms around you as you leaned on his chest, looking up at him.

"I'm sure she'd still think it's just a first step in the right direction."

Not waiting for his response, your hand reached up to his face, slowly stroking along the soft skin of his cheek, thumb running over his lower lip as his smile grew, then reaching around, tangling them into his hair and pulling him down to you. His lips met yours in a sigh, warm and lovely, a tingling feeling spreading through you immediately, pressing yourself into him. You could feel his thumb stroking your back ever so slightly as he held you. He wanted more, slowly moving his lips, trying to deepen the kiss, but you pulled away. Close enough to still feel his breath on you, close enough that whispering would be enough.

"Now, we don't want Vic to figure it all out immediately," you grinned before putting more distance between the two of you. He groaned, making you giggle, before taking your hand and pulling you along.

"How much longer are you planning to keep this up?" Thomas asked, shaking his head, but still amused. "We've been together for two weeks."

"Pretty sure she already bought tickets for the cinema for me and her for Wednesday... which she'll inexplicably have no time for so you'll have to come along, obviously. I can give you a hickey in the dark theater, she'll freak."

Thomas laughed out loud, pressing a single kiss to the top of your head.

"Fine. One more date, that's it?"

"One more date."

[f1nalboys]

Backstage - Bday fic for Danny

HAPPY (very late im sorry) BDAY TO @knifewh0re !! I really hope you like this and i hope your birthday went well AND i hope today is even better!!! 

Poly!Ghostface x Danny

WORD COUNT: 1978

WARNINGS: they/them pronouns afab reader (which is danny), oral (amab and afab recieving), vaginal fingering, implication of more sex, semi-public sex, closet sex, time crunch, the boys aren’t mean in this one besides like two off-hand comments from billy

Billy and Stu stood backstage before the show searching for you. Stu was bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with excitement. “Stu, man, relax. You’re getting on my nerves.” Stu pouts and opens his mouth to say something but stops himself. He elbows Billy in the side harshly, pointing down the crowded hallway. Billy cranes his neck and breaks out into a grin.

It was you. You were surrounded by your band, decked out in your stage outfit and laughing and god you looked beautiful. Billy didn’t wait for Stu and took off down the hallway, his heart beating. You went to college with them, actually had a class with Billy, but you didn’t know them. They knew you, obviously.

Your band was getting popular in the punk scene and Stu had seen you play live a few months ago and immediately fell in love with your voice. He forced Billy to listen and, even though punk wasn’t his most loved genre, he had to admit that you were fucking amazing. And now they were here. Stu had bought backstage passes for the show and told Billy that they had to talk to you.

“Danny!” You turn around at the sound of your name with your eyebrows furrowed. Stu had caught up to Billy and had a big smile on his face, waving you over. Even though you didn’t know the two of them you went over, their smiles and the blush creeping up the neck of the brown haired boy made you curious.

“Uhm, hey. You two know me?”

“Yeah! We actually go to school with you, Billy here’s in your Intro to Film History class with you,” Stu says, nudging Billy towards you with his elbow. Billy forces a smile, his heart beating fast when you smile back. “And we happen to be huge fans of yours.”

You grin, turning around and waving off your band member, asking them to give you a few minutes. “Sorry about that. We have like half an hour before the show starts. So, you go to school with me? How come I’ve never seen you two around before? Think I would’ve noticed two cute guys.”

Stu lets out a high pitched nervous laugh, punching Billy on the shoulder hard. He was fucking star struck at this point. “Cute? You think we’re cute?” He says with a grin that only grows when you nod. They were cute! Stu was wearing a button up shirt and a denim jacket - which Billy had bought him specially for this - and Billy wore a tight black t-shirt and ripped jeans. 

“I’m Billy, that’s Stu. And you’re Danny, right?” 

“Sure am. So, any reason you two came out here to see us play?” Billy’s eyebrow raises. He could have sworn you were flirting with them. Stu seems to think the same thing because he makes a small choked noise which makes you laugh, hard. 

Stu shrugs, deciding now is the perfect time to start acting more suave. “We wanted to wish you luck before the show. With words or actions, whichever you’d prefer.” If Billy weren’t hoping you’d say yes he would have turned around and punched Stu as hard as he possibly could for being so god damn forward. 

“I mean, I could definitely go for some physical encouragement. You two think you could make it quick?”

“Wait, really?” Stu was actually pretty shocked you were agreeing. He was happy, like, REALLY happy, but he was still shocked. You nod and Billy takes a hold of your hand and drags you down the hallway. He wanted to find somewhere that the three of you wouldn’t be interrupted.

You stop him halfway down the hallway and pull him into a dark room, flipping the light on when Stu comes in behind you both. It was a supply closet, a fairly large one, and Stu locks the door behind him as Billy pulls you in for a kiss. 

“Wait, wait, no,” You say, pushing away from him. He gives you a confused look, worried he had gone too fast too soon. “Can’t kiss; can’t fuck my stage makeup up.” He snorts, deciding to kiss your neck instead. Stu’s behind you, the two men trapping you in between their bodies.

Stu replaces Billy’s lips on your neck, nipping at your pulse and grinning against your skin when you moan. Billy is on his knees, working on getting your pants off. His nails dig into the skin of your thighs as he yanks your jeans down and you hiss, goosebumps raising down your legs.

Your head rolls back against Stu’s shoulder as his hands slip up your shirt and past your bra, his fingers finding your nipples with ease. Billy groans as his finger dips past your underwear, gliding down your folds. “Fuck, Stu, man, they’re soaked.”

“Are they now? You into us or something, baby?” He coos into your ear, pinching at your nipple hard and you whimper loudly. Stu laughs, his breath hot against your skin, as Billy’s fingers begin to rub circles on your clit. You’re bucking into his fingers and you let out a particularly loud moan when he moves his hand off of you.

Your eyes pop open and Billy is right in your face, shoving his fingers, wet with your arousal, in your mouth. Stu grabs the bottom of your shirt and yanks it up, slipping it off of your body with ease. “Think you could use your mouth for something else?” Stu asks with a wicked grin. Rolling your eyes, you don’t take long to debate, sinking down onto your knees.

“Can’t do it for long, boys. Got twenty minutes before I need to be out there, so you better get to it.” Stu’s pants and underwear are long gone now and he’s fisting his cock right in front of you with an eager look in his eyes. You smile, replacing his hand with your own, and licking a long stripe up the underside of his dick.

His head rolls back and he lets out a low moan as your tongue swirls over his tip. “Fuuuck, Danny…” He goes to put his hand on the back of your head, wanting to force you to take him to the hilt, but he stops himself by grabbing ahold of Billy’s shoulder. “Their mouth, man. Shit, could make me cum already.”

Billy’s hand was on his own cock and he was focused on your face. You never took Stu in your mouth fully, never moving past wrapping your lips around the tip of him, and somehow he could tell it was the best blowjob Stu’s probably ever gotten. Save for him, of course. “Wanna feel that mouth of yours,” He says and you pop off of Stu, a glob of spit connecting you to him. “Can we fuck you?”

You hesitate before your hand wraps around his cock, pumping him slowly. “God, I wish. Like, you have no fucking idea how badly I want you two, but we have less than 15 minutes and if we do it I want it to last longer than that. How bout I help you two out and you help me?” Without waiting for an answer you repeat what you had just done to Stu.

“Holy shit,” He groans. He can’t take his eyes off of you or your hands or your lips. Everything about you was intoxicating. You swirl your tongue around his tip a few times, hollowing your lips when you take him into your mouth. “Christ, Danny, your mouth feels so fucking good. Such a good whore for us.”

You moan around him and he gasps, barely stopping himself from slamming his hips further down your throat. Stu was jerking off next to him, eyes trained on you, and he threw his head back, calling your name. “Danny, fuck, gonna cum. Where, shit! Where can I?”

Pulling off of Billy you flash the two of them a wide smile and respond simply. “On each other.”

“Huh?” Stu’s eyebrows furrowed together slightly, his hand pausing in it’s movements. You lick your lips and they watch with wide eyes as your hand reaches down and slips past your underwear. Your eyes flutter closed, soft moans leaving your lips. Music to their ears.

“I, mmh. I said cum on each other, god, and then you can taste me.” That’s all the encouragement they needed. They turned towards each other but kept their eyes on you, the sounds of your pleasure mixing with their own. Billy was chasing his high, the thought of being able to delve into your cunt sending shockwaves through his body. 

Stu is the first one to cum, both your name and Billy’s falling from his lips as he thrusts into his hand. His cum coats Billy’s thighs and hands, adding to the slick of his own cock. Billy cums soon after and Stu takes a second to get on his knees and takes his dick into his mouth, taking him to the base. What can he say, he loved Billy’s dick.

“Fuck, that was hot,” You whimper, your eyes moving in time with the bob of Stu’s head. “Hurry up and eat me out, you got ten minutes. If you do good, maybe I’ll consider making this a regular thing.” Billy’s on his knees in a second, throwing your hand off of yourself and pushing you back onto your ass. You yelp as the concrete digs into your skin but the pain is quickly washed away, taken over by the pleasure of his tongue dipping through your folds.

He’s moaning at the taste of you, his hands grabbing your thighs and spreading you wider, opening you up for him. His tongue focuses on your clit, switching between circling it to flicking it with the tip of his tongue, sucking on it every few seconds. Your hand tangles in his hair and you’re grinding down on his face when Stu’s fingers enter you.

He starts up a fast pace with two fingers, filling you so suddenly all you can do is cry out his name and roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Fuck! Please, shit, you both feel so good. Please, I’m close, please let me, please make me,” Your pleas’ urge them onwards, Stu’s fingers and Billy’s tongue speeding up. 

You cum hard, harder than you have in the past from just oral, and your body is convulsing with pleasure as they continue. They don’t stop until you practically collapse against the floor and even then Stu takes his chance to lick up your cunt, tasting you. “Mmm, you taste fucking delicious, babe.”

“You alright, Danny? We didn’t kill you, did we?” Billy asks and even with your eyes closed you know he’s smiling. You nod, take a deep breath, and stand up, your knees weak. Stu wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your neck while Billy helps you pull your pants back up, buttoning them up before kissing you on the lips. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

Stu opens the door and peeks out, looking both ways before ushering the two of you outside. Billy runs a hand down your cheek, down your neck, and he tsks at the dark marks that were forming. “Stu! Asshole, you left hickies like a 15 year old.”

“They look hot with them!” He replies, giving you another sloppy kiss on the neck, and you laugh. You shove him off of you, brushing your clothes off and looking at them with a grin. 

“So… you guys staying after the show? I’d love to show you the green room.”

Billy grins, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue, eyes dragging down your body. “For you? Hell yeah, we are. Can’t wait to see how hot you look with that makeup of yours running.”

[arvinsescape]

Last orders.

A/N: This idea came to me so randomly! I hope you all enjoy!!

Summary: Y/N and Tom have a lot of sexual tension that finally snaps.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (Fingering, unprotected sex(wrap it up, practice safe sex), slight dom! Tom). Minors do not engage.

W/C: 3.1K

It was 9 o clock on Thursday night and like every Thursday night at 9 o clock Tom walked through the entrance to the pub, brother’s in tow. You bit your lip as you watched him approach his usual table, right next to the bar, you in his eyesight. You were the have they haven’t they of the pub, people assumed you’d slept together, assumed you were friends with benefits. You flirted constantly, you were incredibly touchy feely with each other but you’d never slept together, the sexual tension was there but neither of you had ever acted on it.

You liked him, you really did and you weren’t sure whether he was just a flirt or whether he liked you back. Your friend insisted he liked you back because he didn’t flirt with anyone else who worked there, nor did he flirt with any of the women that came in. You just weren’t sure and didn’t want to assume and make a fool of yourself so you never acted upon it, waiting for him to make a move in that direction.

“Lover boy’s here as usual.” Annie whispered to you as she continued to pull the pint for her customer and you playfully rolled your eyes.

“So he is.” You muttered.

“Seriously, when are you guys gonna fuck?” She laughed, talking a little louder than you’d have liked.

“Annie.” You hissed and she only laughed louder.

“You know, it’s hard to watch you guys. You pine after each other so much, just make a move.” She said again and you were about to respond until Harry approached the bar.

“Usual?” You asked and he nodded.

“Please.” He said as he smiled at you and you started filling their pint glasses. “You working late tonight?” He asked and you nodded.

“As I always do on a Thursday. Locking up is my job tonight.” You laughed and he nodded with a smirk.

“What?” You asked carefully. You knew that look, he was planning something.

“Nothing, nothing.” He waved off. “Annie what time are you working till tonight?” He suddenly turned his attention to your best friend.

“10 why?” She said, she liked Harry, that much was obvious.

“Just curious.” He said again with a smirk as he payed for the drinks and headed back to their table.

“What was that all about?” You asked Annie bewildered.

“No idea.” She said and you smirked.

“Maybe, he’s gonna ask you out.” You said and she scoffed.

“I don’t think so. Why would he want to know when you finish?” She said and you shrugged.

“No idea.” You said and you felt Tom’s eyes on you as you tried to hold back your smile.

**

It was a slow night, Annie had finished early because it didn’t need two of you, the only people left being three regulars, two women and Tom’s table. You were currently sat chatting with Tom’s brother’s, eye on the bar as you sat close to Tom, thighs touching and it made your heart hammer in your chest as you tried to stay invested in Harry’s story.

You were listening as intently as you could with Tom so close until you felt his hand brush yours under the table a few times, you were about to move your hand when you felt him slowly lace his fingers with yours, testing the waters and your heart hammered harder in your chest at the contact. No matter how many times Tom touched you it still had the same effect. He held your hand for ten minutes before you had to move to clear the table the women were sat on after they’d left.

“Cute.” John said as you served him again, he was your standard barfly, always sat at the end of the bar, observing everything, he was a lovely man but he didn’t miss a thing. “You guys finally together?” He whispered and you shook your head.

“No, just friends.” You smiled as he handed over his money.

“He needs to grow a pair and ask you out.” John whispered as he laughed lightly and sipped his pint as you sat back down, Tom’s hand instantly finding yours under the table again.

An hour later and it was just Tom and his brother’s left.

“I’m gonna do last orders, you want anything?” You asked and Harry and Sam shook their heads which was odd, they always stayed for a last pint. You looked at Tom and he nodded as you stood up to make his drink.

“Only if you’re gonna join me.” You heard him say and you turned to look at him.

“Only if you’re buying.” You teased and he smirked.

“What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t?”

“On that note, I’m heading home.” Harry said as he finished his pint.

“Yeah, see you at home Tom. Maybe.” Sam smirked as they both said their goodbyes and left.

“How come they didn’t stay?” You asked as you started cleaning the bar down.

“No idea.” Tom said as he sipped his pint. “Can’t say I’m complaining though.” He said and you tried to fight the blush making its way onto your face. You locked the pub doors as you sat back down next to Tom, every intention of finishing your drink before you finished cleaning up.

“Then there were two.” You said and he hummed.

“Then there were two.” He agreed.

Your flirting became more bold then usual, on both sides as you finished your drinks and you moved to take the nozzles of the taps so you could clean them. You were stood when you saw Tom move in your peripheral, you wondered where he was going until you felt him snake his arms around your waist.

“You arse looks amazing in those jeans.” He said as he placed a kiss to your cheek and you smiled, you’d worn them on purpose, Annie said he stared more than usual when you wore them.

“You’re very bold tonight, Tom. Had too much to drink?” You teased and he placed a kiss to your neck, you shivered at the contact.

“No, I’m not drunk princess.” He said, you knew he wasn’t, you knew his limitations considering you served him on his most drunken nights in the pub, he was nowhere near. “Do you want me to stop.” He whispered as he placed a kiss onto the skin below your ear and you shivered again.

“Tom, I need to finish up here.” You said in a shaky breath, he well and truly had your full attention. Your tone entirely unconvincing. He hummed as he placed a string of kisses down your neck and then moved away from you.

“Okay darling, you finish up and I’ll walk you home.” He said. You finished up as quick as you possibly could, the only job left being cleaning down the table Tom had been sat on. You were leant over the table, wiping it down when you heard Tom mutter a ‘fuck’ under his breath. You smirked to yourself as you took longer to clean the table than necessary.

“You doing that on purpose darling?” He asked as his hands found your waist and you bit your lip as you stood and turned in his arms to face him. “Because it’s working.” He said and you looked up at him innocently.

“I don’t know what you mean Tom.” You said and he groaned slightly as he pulled you impossibly closer to him, head dipping so his lips where ghosting yours, hands on your hips. You were breathing harder as you felt him grow hard, the arousal between your legs growing. You placed your hands on his chest as his eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you.” He whispered and you swallowed hard in response, mouth dry. “Can I kiss you princess?” He whispered, voice full of lust and you felt weak to the knees, thankful for his firm grip on your hips. This was it, the months of flirting and sexual tension had reached its breaking point and you were growing wetter with the anticipation of him finally taking you.

“Please.” You whispered and the small gap between your lips was non existent as he connected your lips, you almost moaned as your eyes fluttered shut. You grasped his shirt between your fingers in an effort to pull him even closer to you, you felt the table against your backside as one of his hands made its way into your hair, removing the bobble that had been keeping it up. He licked your bottom lip asking for entrance and you granted it, tongues fighting for dominance which Tom ultimately won.

The hand that was in your hair moved to grab your arse as he squeezed slightly making you gasp, your hands moved to his hair as you deepened the kiss. You pulled slightly at his hair and he groaned in response. You both pulled back for air, breathing hard as he stared into your eyes, the lust in them both evident.

“You’re fucking perfect.” He said as he reconnected your lips, hands moving to your thighs as he hoisted you onto the table, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. He moved his hands to the hem of your shirt as he removed it, breaking the kiss again. You were thankful the pub didn’t have any cameras. He placed kisses onto your chest as your hand slid into his hair. He unclipped your bra and discarded it somewhere.

“Fucking gorgeous.” He muttered as he took a nipple into his mouth and you moaned as he flicked his tongue over it, hand tightening in his hair and he groaned. He moved his hand to roll your free nipple between his fingers and your arousal grew further, the need for him growing with every flick of his tongue and roll of his fingers.

“Tom.” You moaned as he moved your back further onto the table. His hands moved to unbutton your jeans, moving them down your legs slightly, hand dipping into your underwear to run a finger up your slit.

“Fuck, you’re so wet princess. All for me?” He groaned and you moaned as he slid a finger into your heat. “Sound so fucking pretty.” He said as he moved to kiss you again, finger curling towards your g spot and you moaned into his mouth. “Wanted to fuck you for so long baby.” He whispered against your lips.

“Please Tom.” You almost begged and he hummed in response.

“Please what? What do you want?” He said, kisses moving to your neck and collarbones. “Want me to fuck this pretty pussy with my fingers, tongue? Tell me what you want princess.”

“I want, fuck, Tom, I want your fingers.” You moaned out and he hummed in response as he removed his finger from your heat.

“Open.” He said as you opened your mouth and he placed two fingers into it, you instantly wrapped your lips around them, sucking and licking at his fingers, tasting yourself. “You’re so fucking hot. Get my fingers nice and wet darling. Gonna fuck you with them so get them wet for me.” He said and you moaned as your eyes rolled back into your head at his words. He removed his fingers and placed them back into your underwear, rubbing your clit as you moaned out.

“Fuck Tom.” You moaned and he moved his fingers into your core, fingers curling up towards your g spot. “Feels so good.” You panted out as his thumb found your clit. You clenched around his fingers as he bit your neck.

“So responsive baby. So good for me. No idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” You felt your high approaching as he kissed, licked, and bit at your neck between his words. “Can’t wait to get my cock inside this tight, warm pussy. You want that princess? You want my cock?” He said and you nodded in response, words escaping you as you felt the pleasure consume you, all that was on your mind was him.

His fingers worked you further towards your high as you became a moaning mess for him, his name leaving your lips as if it was the only word you knew. He knew he’d found your sweet spot when you moaned louder and clenched tighter around his fingers.

“Found it.” He whispered as he sucked a mark onto your skin, your walls clenching further around his fingers. “Come on baby, come for me. Come all over my fingers.” He whispered and you did, you came hard as pleasure consumed you and he fucked you through your high. “So perfect.” He mumbled against your skin as you came down from your high.

He removed his fingers and looked you straight in the eye as he licked them clean, humming as he did so. “You taste amazing.” He moaned and you felt your arousal grow again. “I don’t have a condom.” He said as he placed a kiss against your lips.

“I’m on contraception. You clean?” You said and he nodded.

“Haven’t slept with anyone since I met you and I did a test just before that, I’m clean.” He said and you smiled, you hadn’t either.

“Me too.” You said and he nodded again before making quick work of discarding all your clothes. He looked down at your naked body and the look in his eyes had you feeling anything other than self-conscious.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered as he pulled you to sit up on the table, legs wrapping back around your waist as he slid into you. You both moaned in pleasure, almost as if to say finally. “You feel so much better than I imagined. Fuck.” Tom said as he gave you a minute to adjust to him. “So fucking tight.” He said and the need for him to move reached its breaking point as you spoke.

“Tom, move please.” You moaned as you gripped his back, he groaned as he buried his face into your neck. Hips moving against yours as you both moaned, his thrusts were hard, fast, and deep. You cried out as he sucked your neck and fucked you like your lives both depended on it. You clenched around him due to the pleasure and he moaned your name.

“Fuck, if you keep doing that I’m gonna come.” He said and your nails dug into his back as the pleasure took over again, never in your life had you been fucked like this, you were sure you wouldn’t be able to walk when he was done. “So fucking snug around my cock princess.” He said as he thrusted harder into you and you moaned louder with the pleasure. His name was back on your lips.

“Sound so hot baby. Fucking sound so perfect. So fucking amazing.” He moaned out and you felt the coil in your stomach wind itself up for the second time that night. “Close princess? Gonna be a good girl and come around my cock?”

“Feel so good Tom. Gonna come on your cock, you fill me up so good.” You moaned out as he placed his fingers back on your sensitive clit making you cry out. You were close to the edge as Tom continued to thrust into you, fingers rubbing your clit, both of you moaning. Tom connected your lips as his thrusts grew sloppy, both of you falling over the edge, one after the other. He fucked you through your highs, it took you a few minutes to compose yourselves as he placed lazy kisses to your shoulder, stroking your sides as he calmed you through your aftershocks.

“Wow.” Was all you said when you’d composed yourself and he laughed lightly into the skin of your shoulder.

“Wanted to do that for a long time.” He said as he continued to pepper your shoulder with kisses. You stayed like that for a few minutes before he pulled out and cleaned you both up, you got redressed, making small talk. You finished up your jobs and set the alarm to the pub, locking up as you both stood outside.

It sunk in as you walked towards your home that the sexual tension had now been broken and you didn’t know where that left you both. You stopped in your tracks.

“Tom?” You asked and he spun around to look at you, confusion evident on his features.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, suddenly panicked at your change in mood, he stood in front of you as he studied your face.

“Is that it?” You asked vaguely and he furrowed his brows.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you sighed as you ran a hand through your hair. “What are we?” You went with instead. “What happened back there, is that all it was? Just a hook up?”

“Darling,” he sighed as he took your face in his hands, making you look into his eyes. “I have liked you for so fucking long. No, that wasn’t just a hook up for me, I want it to be more, if that’s what you want?” He asked and the look in his eyes was so genuine that you smiled, he really wanted you the way you wanted him.

“Yeah, I’d really like that.” You said and he grinned as he connected your lips in a swift kiss.

“Thank fuck for that. Come on, let me get you home, it’s freezing.” He said as he held a hand out to you which you happily took as he laced your fingers together. “I really meant it Y/N, I really really like you.” He said as you walked and you smiled.

“I really like you too Tom.” You confirmed and it felt good to have it in the open.

“Want to go out tomorrow night? There’s this really nice Italian I want to try.” He asked and you laughed.

“I think we’ve done this the wrong way around. Aren’t you supposed to take me out to dinner before we sleep together?” You teased and he laughed as you approached your door, he turned you to look at him, back lightly pressed against the door.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 6?” He asked as his lips ghosted yours, you nodded as he connected your lips in a sweet kiss. It was much more innocent than the last one, his arms around your waist as yours were around his shoulders. He disconnected your lips as he placed his forehead against yours. “I’ll see you tomorrow princess.” He said as he kissed your cheek, stepping back from you and you instantly missed him.

You grasped his shirt in your hands again as you pulled him back to you, lips finding each other’s again. The kiss grew deeper and you found your back pressed into the door as he placed kisses down your neck.

“We are definitely doing things the wrong way around.” He mumbled into your neck as you felt your arousal grow again, a light laugh leaving your lips.

“Stay?” You asked and he pulled back to smile at you.

“If that’s what you want princess.” He said as he placed a quick kiss to your lips. “I like you, I really fucking do.” He said as he placed kisses down your neck as you spun around to unlock your door, giggling as you practically fell through your front door.

“Hold on.” Tom suddenly said and you whipped around to look at him, eyebrows furrowed, waiting for him to carry on. “Will you be my girlfriend? I realise I didn’t actually ask.” He said and you laughed as you threw your arms around his shoulders.

“I’d love to be.” You said and he grinned as he kissed you again.

[writing-in-april]

A hair’s breadth

Javier Peña x Female Reader

Summary: Javier and Reader can’t help but be at each others throats. Javier gets fed up with the teasing one night.

A/N: Hey everyone! Here’s my nineteenth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days!!! Sorry this is out late- I had a job interview!! (I got the job! 🥳) This is based off of this and this request! There’s not as much Spanish in this one- though one day soon I want to try to write all the dialogue for Javier in Spanish- (I am trying to learn how to be better at it im just very nervous I’ll get it all wrong 🙃) Please feel free to drop me a message in my inbox here (I promise I don’t bite) Thank you for reading and hope y’all enjoy!

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Protected Sex (wrap it up especially with Javier lol), Fingering, Hate fucking, Public sex (who’s surprised), Hair pulling, Choking, Mirror sex

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.9k

“Do that again I dare you.” Javier had you pushed up against the wall of his apartment, with his hand around your throat. How you had gotten in this position was as a result of one of your regular fights you often had with him.

This time it had been over something even more petty than the last time. You honestly couldn’t remember exactly what had started it. It had been something to do with some obscure line in the paperwork you were filling out while over at his apartment late at night past embassy hours. What had been a small issue then turned into a full blown argument, snapping and yelling at each other until it reached its peak.

Javier knew that he shouldn’t have said that just by the look on his face while he had a hand around your throat. You had slapped him after a misogynistic comment, which then had him slamming you up against the wall.

“Fuck you!” You yelled, but did not move to get out of his grip. He was about to respond with probably another biting comment when you were both interrupted.

You both looked over to his front door when there was incessant knocking, which was probably only from one person. “Hey Javi! Do you or Y/N want to go out for a drink tonight?” Steve’s voice being shouted through the walls confirmed the source of the knocks. You were glad his door was closed, otherwise this would've been an awkward situation to explain to your coworker.

Javier looked back at you one last time with a hard look on his face; it was a normal occurrence for you to receive that type of look from him. You smiled despite his hand around your throat as you had gotten what you had wanted, you had succeeded in riling him up.

Steve knocked again, this time a little harsher. He didn’t look away this time, eyes narrowing in on you further, like he was trying to decide if he should release you from his clutches. Though, it wasn’t that you were completely helpless, you could force him off of you if you wanted. But, you wanted to see what he would do.

“Are you going to answer him?” You goaded, biting your lip when you finished speaking, eagerly waiting for his response. No verbal comment came from him, instead he released the hold he had on your neck. You slumped a little, not out of pain as his hold hadn’t been that tight, you had just been surprised when he released you so quickly.

“Lo siento…” Was mumbled under Javier’s breath. You wondered if he meant for you to hear it or if he said it only to ease his conscience.

Javier walked over to the door to swing it open with you in tow, luckily already recovered somewhat from his hand around your throat. Steve jumped slightly when Javier opened it forcefully, then smiling when you both responded to his question, albeit gruffly, “Yeah, sure.”

—-

Javier clenched his fist hard while you took a drink, smirking into the glass was the only indication that you knew exactly what you were doing. You had spruced yourself up a bit to go to the bar, slipping on a dress you had just bought recently and putting on a pair of high heels. As soon as you had appeared back downstairs where Steve and Javier had been waiting for you his jaw had clenched hard, just like his fist was doing right now.

You were sat at the edge of the booth you had all congregated in, Javier was right across from me and Steve was by the window absentmindedly drinking a beer. He didn’t notice how you were sat slightly to the side, inching the dress you wore higher just to see Javier’s fist clench more.

“I’m surprised you guys were actually working together without me there.” Steve scratched at his jaw. We both pretended to partially focus back on him for a moment, Javier’s fist dropped much to my disappointment.

You glanced over at him then giving him one of the biggest lies you’ve ever told, “We’ve found a way to- resolve our differences.”

Javier took an angry gulp of whiskey, somehow it was possible that he was now even more pissed off at you then before. He opened his mouth to probably say something backhanded as usual, but Steve steamrolled him unintentionally, “Well- I’m glad, the office is kinda painful to be in when y’all are having one of your arguments.”

“Well hopefully we won’t bother you anymore.” Javier finally got a word in and it was just as snippy as expected.

You then downed the rest of your drink in one gulp, a little tipsy now from the few drinks you’d had so far. A dull thud from you setting the glass down on the table was swallowed by the noises of the other customers and employees around you. You got up, fed up with getting only little responses from him, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

—-

“Javier what are you doing?” You asked incredulously when he entered the women’s restroom, but weren’t given an answer. You didn’t pull away when he pulled you close, dipping his head to suck a hickey on the underside of your jaw. You only keened into his touch, you may have hated him, but it did feel amazing. Your teasing had worked

“I told Steve I was going to the bathroom too.” Giving a quick summary before continuing his assault on your skin, “You drive me absolutely crazy.” He spitefully said into your skin in between sucking and biting your collarbone. You didn’t care enough to respond, he knew you felt the same. In a flash he pulled your dress off of your head, exposing all of you except what was covered by your bra and underwear.

When he then gripped his fingers around the fabric of your panties and ripped them off, you gasped in anger. He then ran his fingers through your folds, stopping at your clit to run small circles into it. You were still angry about the ruined panties on the floor, and the fact that with just a few touches he was proving why everyone fell at his feet after they slept with them. “I liked those!”

“You seem to like this too.” His fingers sped up their movements, alternating between hard and light pressure. Your orgasm was building embarrassingly quickly, you almost wanted to hold it back so Javier didn’t get a big head. It felt too good though, and you didn’t have a lot of time.

You were both a hair’s breadth away from getting caught, Javier’s fingers continued their movements with no thought. Steve was drunk, he might even be asleep right now. But, one wrong move and he’d hear Javier fucking you in the bathroom.

“Javier!” You shouted, not thinking about the volume, when he pulled his fingers away from you just as you were about to fall off the edge. He then brought his wet fingers to his lips, sucking off any evidence of your arousal. It was hard to be mad when he looked so hot doing that, even though your clit was throbbing now.

“Need to fuck you now- this’ll take too long if we wait for you.” You wanted to snap at him again, his comment flippant and somewhat rude. That was until he pulled his cock out of his pants, already hard just for you. Your mind switched gears after that.

“Condom?” He grunted in response to your question, then pulled one out of his wallet. You were about to ask how long it had been in there, but with the rate he fucks, you doubted it had been there for long.

Once he slipped it on he commanded, “Bend over.” You scoffed, about to retort that you’d never bend over for him. But, Javier beat you to the punch, “I won’t ask again, I’ll leave you here naked and dripping.” You shuddered at that, your arousal was too much to ignore. So, you let him have one victory, hopping off the counter to bend over.

You caught sight of your disheveled state in the mirror, your legs buckling a little because of it. You already looked completely ruined by him, and he hadn’t done much besides fingering you. Javier must have caught you staring at yourself, and him if you were being honest, wrapping his hand around your hair to push you closer to the mirror. “¿Que? You like watching yourself? You like getting fucked while Steve and everybody else could hear you?”

You tried to nod your head, but with his firm grip on your hair while he began to sink into you, all you could do was moan. Once you realized that you were most definitely being too loud you stopped yourself making any noise by biting your lip hard. When the front of Javier’s thighs hit the back of yours he leaned forward to whisper angrily in your ear, “Yeah- you do like this.”

His pace was rough, but not sloppy, quick thrusts that had your ass rippling from the force. This was going to be a quick and dirty fuck, Steve would soon come looking for us if we didn’t get our orgasms over and done with. Besides, all you were looking for was a release, being with Javier for more time than was necessary just sounded like a punishment. Despite the pace he was keeping up, he still managed to keep your head right where he wanted it, looking directly in the mirror.

Your orgasm was building up again, even faster than before since you were already sensitive. At one point when your eyes began to roll back as you got closer Javier snapped that you should keep your eyes open.

“Come on, cum.” He growled out once he noticed how close you were, “Cum while Steve is out there- wondering where we went.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at that, your orgasm crashing over you. Javier reached his own peak while you were riding out your own, filling the condom, gripping your hair and hip hard as he did.

Once your highs had abated he pulled out of you with a groan, quickly tying off the condom while you were still bent over and recovering with gasped breaths.

“Hey Javier?” You asked right as he began to turn around to go, letting you put your clothes back on and clean up in peace.

“¿Sì?” He turned around to face you again, looking much more put back together than you were with your makeup still smudged. You had the remnants of the panties he had ripped off of you dangling on your finger.

You wrapped your other hand around his belt he put back on, pulling him back closer to you so you were both chest to chest. You then stuffed the scrap of torn fabric into the front pocket of his jeans until they were completely hidden.

“Now you get to sit right next to Steve while they’re in your pocket.” He gulped a little and you gave one last remark before turning back to clean up your makeup, “And, you’ve got to pay for a new pair, I liked those.”

Though he boiled your blood as you walked back to the table where he had joined Steve back at you realized you were only a hairs breadth away from not hating him.

Ask Me Anything

—-

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[lavenderbexlatte]

a handful (or two)

stray kids 3.9k words female reader insert Thick/Chubby!Reader x Lee Felix  EXPLICIT/NSFW

🖤 warnings: DISCUSSIONS OF WEIGHT/BODY IMAGE/INSECURITY, unprotected sex 🖤

connect with me! / masterlist

Sitting at your kitchen table in the early evening, you feel more like a soldier walking into battle than anything else.

You’ve got a list of your body measurements scrawled on a piece of paper beside you, as you scroll through an online shop on your phone. Ruffled blouses, wrap dresses, raw-hemmed jeans, tiered skirts, fitted cardigans. The clothes are cute, and your Likes list has no shortage of garments, but you’ve reached the worst part of clothes shopping:

Finding things that are actually in your size.

Korean online malls are not known for their variety of sizes, even though obviously, the people in any country who need to buy clothes have all different kinds of bodies. The cute clothes, the mainstream ones, the clothes that YouTubers and Instagram models promote, are mostly one-size. And that one size…is small.

Too small for you.

It’s a regular debate that you have with yourself. You shouldn’t even give your patronage to shops like these ones, where you have to filter through every single item and look at the detailed measurements to find the rare pair of pants that you could squeeze into. You shouldn’t play into a system that makes you hate yourself.

But you need new jeans. And in your heart, you want cute jeans from the online mall, like everyone else.

You pull up a pair of jeans in exactly the style that you want and scroll down to the measurements. You have to steel yourself as you look at the numbers.

Waist…hips…thigh…rise…length…

They’re too small.

You pull up another pair, and another, and another. They’re all too small.

“No,” says a small, dark voice in the back of your mind, “You’re just too big.”

You’re so caught up in this game of finding cute things to wear and discovering exactly how much the seller doesn’t want them to fit on people like you, that you don’t even hear your boyfriend until he’s right next to you.

“What are you doing?” comes a deep voice, right in your ear.

You jump in your seat, fumbling your phone for a second and catching it before it falls. Catching your breath, you look up at Felix, stood beside your chair gazing down at you.

“Jesus, when did you get here?” you ask, putting your phone down before anything else happens.

“Just got in,” he answers, nodding toward the door. “I called hello. You didn’t answer.”

Felix has a key to your place, free to come and go as he pleases, so it’s not exactly unusual for him to turn up like this. He’s dressed in a big t-shirt and joggers, practice clothes, obviously fresh from the studio with the rest of the guys.

“I was distracted,” you murmur.

“I guess so,” he grins at you.

You offer a halfhearted smile in return, feeling stupid for your bad mood, caused by something so out of your control. Shopping shouldn’t ruin your day. Felix pulls out your other dining chair to sit across from you at the small dining table, and you can’t help but stare at his body as he settles down. 

He’s so…skinny.

You’re envious. You shouldn’t be, because your body is plenty good enough as it is. But you are. With a body like that, you could wear anything.

“What are you doing?” he asks you.

You hesitate, but Felix pays no mind to your internal struggle, reaching across the table to pick up the scrap of paper covered in your measurements. You want to snatch the paper out of his hands, which is ridiculous. He knows what your body looks like. Seeing the numbers that describe it isn’t going to scare him off.

But still, you feel that sick self-consciousness rising up as he glances over the paper, and sets it back down.

“I’m trying to buy jeans,” you say weakly.

“Trying?” Felix prods.

“Trying and failing.”

You pick up your phone, unlock it, and shove it at him, the screen still open to the last pair of too-small jeans. He peers at the listing, at the chart full of centimeters, and then down at your measurements scrawled out in your handwriting.

“They call that a large?” Felix says, amazed, and you cringe. “It’s like a half-centimeter difference.”

You know he’s just surprised since shopping for women’s clothes isn’t something he does often, and you’re sure he doesn’t know how common this problem is for you. But his words still sting a little.

“Yeah,” you say, “I think I’m done for tonight.”

You try not to let your deep-seated disappointment in the situation, and in yourself, show too much. Felix watches as you stand up and stretch. You can tell he’s thinking hard, can see that he wants to say something. But you really don’t need his commentary on this. You spend enough time thinking about your body, wanting to change your body, hating that you want to change your body…

“Do you want dinner? I went to the store earlier,” you say, determined to change the subject.

“Sure,” Felix agrees easily.

You cross your little kitchen and fling open the cupboard to dig out groceries for your meal. At least this is a task to take your mind off everything.

You don’t even notice as Felix takes the slip of paper from the table and folds it into his pocket.

--------------- Some days later, you all but trip into your bedroom after work, exhausted but hopeful.

Felix’s shoes and jacket were both waiting by the front door when you came in, which means he’s here waiting for you. He was nowhere to be seen in the rest of your small apartment, so that leaves this.

Of course, you’re not disappointed; Felix is lounging on your bed, playing on his phone and looking like the epitome of comfort in lounge pants and messy blonde hair. He smiles like the sunrise when he sees you.

“Hi, angel,” he says, as you drop your bag on the floor.

Instead of replying, you let yourself fall onto the bed beside him, flat on your back, and stretch out your poor sore limbs like a starfish.

“Long day?” he asks.

“The longest,” you agree.

“You’re in luck, though,” he says, “I have a surprise for you.”

You turn your head to look at him. “Really?”

He nods.

“Then gimme!” you quip.

Felix laughs brightly, and unfolds himself to retrieve a small gift bag from the side of the bed, tucked out of view. He hands it to you, and it’s surprisingly heavy and dense for its size. Today isn’t a special day by any means. Just a weekday, a work day, and you wrack your brain to figure out exactly why your boyfriend decided tonight was the night for presents.

“Can I open it?” you ask.

“You’d better,” says Felix, settling back down to watch you.

So you unceremoniously rip out the tissue paper packing, and when you’re met with a small pile of folded fabric, you upend the whole bag onto your bed.

There are four things inside.

A soft, oversized t-shirt, loose and comfortable and your favorite color, to boot.

A pair of thigh-high stockings.

A single thigh garter, in bright white.

And a pair of panties, also white. You unfold the underwear, to reveal a heart-shaped cutout on the back, and at the bottom…

“Crotchless?!” you ask, flustered.

Felix shrugs, his expression mischievous, “I thought they suited you.”

“What’s all this about?” you ask.

“I wanted to prove a point,” he says.

“What point can you prove with lingerie?”

“I’m proving pretty clearly that plenty of stores sell things to your measurements,” he says cheekily, “Just not that one store you were on the other day.”

Oh, my God.

You’re equal parts mortified and absolutely melting with the sweetness at the heart of this gesture. You didn’t realize that he was paying this much attention to you that day. You didn’t realize he knew how frustrated you were, how discouraged.

“They’re pretty,” you admit, turning the panties over in your hands.

“Then try them on for me.”

Felix’s tone is suggestive and low, lower than usual, and you know for certain that he didn’t just buy these things to cheer you up. He’s got an ulterior motive here.

“What’s in it for me?” you tease.

“Dress up for me and find out,” Felix replies.

Never one to turn down the prospect of some fun, you gather up the clothes and dart across the hall into your tiny bathroom. If Felix wants you to dress up for him, you need to do that alone and make a spectacle of it.

You dump the armful of clothing onto the counter. There’s no bra or anything, so you assume that Felix means for you to wear only the t-shirt. And that’s exactly what you do, stripping out of your work clothes and pulling the shirt over your head. You put on the panties, noting exactly how well they fit. The elastic doesn’t dig, and they don’t ride up, just smooth fabric and lace against your skin, hugging the curve of your ass. You try to forget about the opening at the bottom, baring you to the world; you already know Felix fully intends to use it, but you can’t believe he’s done this. It’s bold, even for him.

The thigh-highs come next, and while these also fit more nicely than any pair of tights you’ve ever owned, you have thick thighs, and the soft skin dimples around the top elastic band. You slide the thigh garter onto one leg, settling it at the top of the stocking. It only makes that indent more pronounced, soft flesh giving way under the thick white band. But you try your hardest not to feel self-conscious about it.

Felix picked these things for you. That means he wants to see you like this.

You pluck up all your courage, and walk back into your bedroom. Felix is waiting eagerly, and when you come into view, lingering shyly at the doorway, he smirks. 

Honest-to-God smirks.

“Oh, angel,” he says, his deep voice nearly breaking over the syllables, “Oh, yes.”

You can see plainly on his face how much this little outfit is affecting him, and it sends a little thrill down your spine. Because truly, these clothes aren’t too out of the ordinary. The thigh-highs are new, and the panties aren’t something you would have picked for yourself, but it’s hard not to feel like you’re just wearing…a t-shirt and underwear.

It’s the intimacy, you decide. The fact that Felix carefully chose items in your most precise, comfortable sizes, and built you a sexy little dress-up kit that makes you feel as good as you look…God. Overwhelmingly intimate, you realize, and hot as hell.

“Let me see you, come here and give me a little spin,” Felix teases, twirling his finger in the air to mimic the model turn he’s demanding.

Smiling, squashing down a touch of embarrassment, you comply, coming to stand before Felix and turning around slowly on the spot. You can feel his eyes on you, and as you turn your back on him completely, you hear your bed creak.

Hands land on your waist as Felix pulls you flush against his front, and you can feel how hard he is already, filling out the front of his sweatpants. He’s always eager, always relishes the time you get to spend lost in each other, but he seems especially brazen tonight, as he grinds his clothed cock against your ass and slides his hands under the t-shirt to cup your bare breasts.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmurs.

You turn around in his arms, letting his hands drop back to your waist. He’s grinning at you with no small amount of lust in his eyes. You’re sure that you look similarly affected; you can already feel wetness gathering between your legs. His undivided attention, especially when you’re dressed up like this just for him, has you going out of your mind with want.

“Then show me,” you say.

He huffs out a laugh before diving in to kiss you, his pouty bow-shaped lips moving against yours roughly. Felix kisses like he’s starving and you’re one of the desserts that he loves to bake, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he stops ravishing you. His hands wander down to your ass, pinching hard enough that you squeak.

“Easy on the goods!” you chastise, as the spot aches deliciously.

Felix just pinches you again, harder, and guides you back toward your bed. You lay back on the mattress with Felix right behind you, settling between your spread legs. He sits back on his heels, just looking down at you beneath him in your skimpy panties and stockings. He runs his hands down your thighs indulgently, sliding a finger under the garter on one side and pulling it back so that it snaps against your skin.

“Angel, I should’ve thought of this a long time ago,” he says.

There’s no time for you to tease him, because Felix pulls his shirt over his head and discards it over the side of the bed, and you’re taken in by his gorgeous lithe body, his tiny waist and the rippling lines of his abs. No matter how many times you see him like this, it’s still exciting, that you can have someone so beautiful. He takes hold of the hem of your t-shirt next, and coaxes you upright so that he can take that off, too.

Your body is the exact opposite of his, soft where his is hard, sloping curves instead of the sharp cut of his ribs and hips and shoulders. But he leans right down over you and begins to kiss and nibble his way down your body, starting at the juncture of your collarbone. He trails his mouth over your chest, down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasp as he grazes his teeth over the bud, and he laughs gently.

Felix continues his slow ascent as you grasp at the sheets, mouthing over your stomach, soft like the rest of you. His hands hold your legs open wide for him as he moves down your body. He skips over your core entirely, choosing instead to bite sharply into the exposed skin of your upper thigh, above the band of the stockings.

“Lix!” you gasp, unable to help how your hips twitch forward at the sensation of his teeth.

He hums in response, leisurely delving forward to press a single lingering kiss to your folds, on full display in these deceptively pure white panties that hide absolutely nothing.

“Fucking love your legs,” Felix all but growls against the soft skin of your inner thigh, “Fucking love-”

Your hand flies down to grip at Felix’s hair as he bites a second bruise, this one on the tender inside of your leg. He’s never been this singularly-focused before, and you marvel at the way he’s worshipping your thighs, your waist, his hands roaming your ass and tweaking the fabric of the thigh-highs. You’ve always known that Felix liked your body – he’s your fucking boyfriend, after all. But this…

“Felix, I can’t,” you whine, “I need you, I need…”

“Oh, believe me,” Felix says, “I need it more.”

He draws away from you to push and kick his sweats and underwear off, and you watch hungrily as his cock bobs free, painfully hard and already leaking precome.

“You want – like this?” you ask, as Felix drops back on top of you, the head of his cock already nudging up against your pussy.

Felix likes it from behind, likes being able to grab your ass and watch your back arch as he drives into you. He likes you on top, so he can watch you bring yourself to orgasm using him. This is uncommon for you, missionary, you sprawled underneath Felix as he bends your knees up for better access and strokes his fingers down the length of your legs.

He nods, breathless. “Wanna see your face.”

His soft, honest admission makes your heart flutter even as you swear you can feel the arousal thrumming in your veins. You need him, need him so badly you could cry –

With a shift of his hips, Felix lines himself up and pushes into you. He’s agonizingly slow with it, just letting the head split your walls before he drags back out. He’s teasing you, absolutely doing this on purpose, and you can’t handle it. You untangle one hand from the sheets to cling to him, as he just dips the head of his cock in and out of you.

You whimper your frustration, and Felix leans in to kiss your cheeks, your nose, before pushing back in deeper, and deeper again, and finally he’s buried in you to the hilt.

“So gorgeous,” he groans, his deep voice reverbing in his chest, “You’re so good, angel, so good.”

He has one hand gripping your thigh tightly, holding your leg up beside your torso in a position that tests your flexibility more than a little bit. The other hand is digging into the curve of your hip, hard enough that you think there will be bruises.

Felix has those dancers’ hips, and core strength that lets him drive into you like he’s doing now, smooth long strokes that you arch up to meet as well as you can in his grip. He’s holding you at an angle that lets his pelvis grind against your clit every time he bottoms out. It’s not enough stimulation to let you finish, but it’s more than enough to drive you out of your mind.

“Lix, Lix, please,” you beg, not even sure what you’re asking for.

He says something, quiet enough that you can’t really pick it up, and when you move your hand from his dip of his spine to the back of his head, Felix fixes his gaze right on you. He’s still speaking, rambling in his deep voice.  

“-Let a fucking app make you think you’re not perfect cuz their fucking jeans don’t fit you,” he’s saying, “So soft, so pretty, like fuckin’ heaven, look at you.”

You can’t look at yourself all that well, but you can look at Felix, glance down to see the way he’s burying his cock in you again and again, holding himself up to look you in the eye as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Perfect,” he swears, “Taking me like a dream, angel…”

He’s never this vocal, either, and the talk has your head spinning almost as much as the brutal pace he’s maintaining. You can hear the obscene sound of your wetness around him. The desperate, weak first stirrings of an orgasm are starting to creep up on you, but you know yourself. You’re going to need more than this to finish.

Even so, you clench around Felix as he works himself into you again, and again, and he laughs breathlessly at the feeling of it.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” Felix asks, low and sweet.

You shake your head desperately, “Not enough – Lix, please, I need-”

“Not enough?” he echoes, amused, as his hips snap against yours in perfect time, “What, is this not good enough for you, angel?”

“So good, so good, just, please,” you whine.

Felix doesn’t answer you, but he does let go of your leg to bring his fingers up to your face. You’re so far gone, so hazy with lust and the orgasm that’s building but just isn’t close enough, that you barely notice him until his fingers are pressing at your lips.

He has small, beautiful hands, and you open your mouth to let him slip two dainty fingers into your mouth. You suck on the digits, knowing how much Felix likes having your mouth on him, or his on you. He’s not picky, as long as someone is licking, biting, sucking…

“So dirty,” he sighs.

Only for him, you think to yourself. You can’t summon the words to say to him out loud, but you certainly think them. Only for him.

“Don’t hold back on me now, angel,” Felix says.

He retrieves his fingers from your mouth, and snakes his hand down between your bodies to press them feather-light to your clit. You can’t help the gasp that escapes from you as he touches you, gentle and precise. The slide would have been wet and easy enough even without the extra help, but the combination of your saliva and your wetness as it seeps out around Felix’s thick cock makes his fingers glide over your clit with friction so good it’s almost painful.

Under your breath, almost like a prayer, you’re murmuring, chanting, “Please, please, please, please, oh-”

“You first,” he says, “Come on, are you gonna give me one?”

You want to, God, do you want to. You writhe in his hold, torn between rocking away from the steady delicious pressure on your clit and into the press of his cock splitting you open. Felix throws his head back as you tremble around him - your peak is so close you can fucking taste it - and groans.

“Love you,” Felix gasps, “Shit, love you, love your body-”

That’s what does it.

That view, Felix above you, so fucked out, working so hard to make you feel good. Physically and mentally, that’s what he’s trying to do. He saw you being upset for like fifteen minutes the other day and he’s putting in all this effort to build you up. He just wants you to feel good –

“Felix!”

His name passes your lips, just once, before you’re cumming hard with a strangled moan. Felix fucks into you hard once, twice, and then thrusts into you fully with a cry of his own as he cums against your walls. He’s quick to drop down and meet your lips in a messy kiss, pressing your bodies together, skin on skin.

The two of you shudder and murmur your way through your orgasms, as you marvel at how quickly he was able to bring you crashing right over the peak with him.

Once your voice comes back to you, all your can manage is another squeaking, “Felix.”

“Yeah,” he answers, decisive, like you’ve just revealed the secrets of the universe to him. “Yeah.”

He pulls out and gingerly moves off of you, but not without stroking his hands from your waist all the way down your thighs as he goes. You laugh quietly as Felix collapses onto his back beside you, wiping his brow dramatically like he’s just gotten off a hard day at work. His cum begins to drip back out of you as you sit up, which is gross, but you just want to be close to him. You curl against his side, head on his chest, and Felix accommodates you easily, cuddling into you just as eagerly.

As you readjust on the bed, settle into a more comfortable position, you notice the bruises. Tender new bruises on your hip, and along the side of your thigh where Felix had held you so tightly. It’s the perfect shape of his fingertips, fanning out along your skin.

“Jeez,” you murmur, touching the spots and secretly relishing the way they hurt.

“Sorry,” Felix grins, though he doesn’t look very sorry at all. “Just…your thighs. Your body. Love it.”

[brownflower23]

Office Affair

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

*Mature content warning*

Summary: Frustrated with your sex life at home, your ex-boyfriend Spencer is willing to offer guilty, sweet relief.

-

"Mrs. Y/N" A male voice announces a mispronounced version of your name behind you."It's Y/N" You huff, turning around to see your ass of a boss. "Yeah. I need you to work late today." "I can't. I have plans, and I worked late on Monday." You argue. "And you will stay again until those files are complete. Do we have a problem?" He hisses back. This is so unfair.

"No, I'll get it done." You fake a smile. If you hadn't worked so hard to get a job at the Bureau, you would give him a piece of your mind. An hour later most of the other employees slowly gathered their belongings and headed home. Including your boss.

After what seemed like years of paperwork, you heard footsteps coming closer. You glanced above your desk and there was Spencer, winking at you as he passed. You wonder what he was doing here so late and on this floor. He is your ex, you two dated when you worked on the BAU floor. He was almost the perfect boyfriend, you just couldn't deal with the unpredictable schedule and lifestyle. He understood, and there weren't any hard feelings between the two of you. 

You watch him walk until he is out of sight, gosh he always looked so delicious. You started going through papers again, and then almost jumped out of your skin feeling a touch upon bow of your back. You looked back over your shoulder to see no other than Spencer. "Can I help you?" You ask after catching your breath. He leaned down near your neck. "Why so tense Y/N?" His husky voice sending a shock straight to your insides.

"I'm not tense, you frightened me." You answered his double-edged question. "If you say so dear." He whispered into your ear, you had to bite your tongue making sure not to show any reaction. He then started walking away, you made sure he was far away enough before letting out a sigh of frustration. Focus on your work so you can leave you mumbled to yourself.

Everyone else knew him as sweet Spencer, but there was another side to him. In his romantic relationships, he was very confident, apposed to his more shy work demeanor. You still had regular flashbacks of your times with him, which made you feel terrible being married now. Even worse, you still hadn't been able to cut your physical ties to Spencer, he just knew exactly what you needed.

You tried your hardest, clenching your thighs together, determined to keep yourself together. But all you could think about was him, you caught yourself biting your lip. It was no use. You quickly stand and walk towards the elevators, heels clicking loudly. You caught the door just before closing and step in. Spencer was standing in the corner of the elevator with his devilish smirk, you look away acting as if you didn't see him.

"Where are you headed?" He chuckles, always so cocky. Although, he knows you get to him also. You bend over and adjusted your heel strap slowly, making sure your skirt hugged your ass tightly. You then stood and glanced over to see his eyes studying you fiercely, his amazing jawline clinched. "I'm going to the third floor." You answered softly and pushed the button.

You got off of the elevator not looking back at him, but knowing he was watching. Once you heard the elevator doors close you hurried to the abandoned office to get ready. You position yourself against the desk, removing your hairpin letting it fall. You knew he would come, he always did.

Just as you thought a few minutes later the door opens, he shut and locked the door all while not taking his sight off of you. He slowly started walking forward, rolling up the sleeves of his collared shirt. You could feel your panties becoming damp, just from his stare.

Spencer stopped inches from you, then leaned forward resting his hands on the desk, boxing you in. He leaned in, barely letting his lip brush your ear. "Was that you're way of being amusing?" He asks sharply, your body tenses, eyes clamping shut at his tone. "I don't know what you're talking about. " "Hmm...is that so." He whispers sending more chills down your spine.

You then felt his hand firmly grip your thigh through your skirt causing you to jump. "Don't act like you didn't bend over in this little tight skirt on purpose, you wanted me to come down here." "You followed me." You smarted back "We both know why you came down here. Why you're so tense. I bet you're already wet just from me barely touching you" He tightened the grip on your thigh with every word, him talking like that always made your body tremble. You hated that he was right, and he knew it.

"And what if I did." You challenge back, magically you were still somewhat keeping your composure. "Well, then you know what you have to do." You couldn't believe he was so full of himself, actually, he was always like this in these tense situations. You had seen this side of him a few times while dating, but it still always took your breath away, because it was so different from his sweet and shy personality. You loved both sides. 

 "No" You spat quickly, enjoying the game you two always played. "Then I'll just make you beg." He growls and burrowed his lips into your neck, causing you to let out a moan instantly. He lifts, sitting you on the desk, pushing your legs apart roughly causing your skirt to rise. You pull him closer to you meeting his lips, his kisses were so dominant. Everything about him was dominant when he got you alone. You needed a man like that.

Still kissing you he slowly unbuttoned your top, exposing your body to him. He parted from you to glance down at your body, licking his lips like a starved animal. "Did you wear this for me, baby?" He asked admiring your very thin lace bra. "Maybe. Maybe I wore it for someone else" you shrug. He stared into your eyes.

"Stand up now." He demanded, backing off of you. Gosh yes, you loved when he told you what to do. You stand, pulling your skirt back down. "I'll handle that." He said and then keeled before you, yanking the skirt down to the floor. You gasp from the slight pain of the tight skirt pulling against your skin, but honestly, you didn't mind the pain. He stared up at you now just in underwear, never taking his eyes off yours, and slowly ran his fingers up your knees, up between your thighs, and finally reaching your core. He guides his finger over the fabric. 

"Why are these soaked?" He asks smirking, you grip onto the desk trying not to give in. He pulled down your wet panties and pulled them over your heels. "Mmm, I love you standing in front of me naked, all soaked for me." He huffed, staring at your most private parts. Damn it, he made you feel so wrong but so right at the same time.

"What do you want Y/N." He asks still kneeling below you. "I didn't say I wanted anything." "I think you do, why else would you come to the 3rd floor?" He said softly and began kissing the inside of your thigh. "Oh my gosh." You moaned out involuntarily. He inched up closer to your core, biting just to tease you. You couldn't take much more, you needed him and he knew it. "Please." You screamed. Without another second passing, he began devouring you, licking up all your juices. You couldn't help but moaning his name.

"Spencer" you cried out too loud, but the way he worked your clit with his tongue was unbelievable. "That's right, you know who's name to scream don't you baby." He taunts, barely audible between your legs. You cried out as he spread your legs wider to give him more access. Your legs became weak from his pleasure, and you knew it was close. "Spencer I'm gonna cum." You yelled, so close you didn't care if anyone heard. Then the pleasure suddenly stopped. 

"Not yet. I'm not done with you." He stated standing and bring his lips back to yours. You could taste yourself on his mouth, it was so hot. "Please, Spencer." You breathed heavy. "Not good enough, please what?" Ugh, he is always like this. "Please make me cum, I need it." You swallowed your pride. "Why do you need me to make you cum, does your husband not make you cum?"

You hesitate to answer so he plunged two fingers into you. "Ah, shit" you moaned out, letting your head fall back. "Tell me now." He growled pumping his fingers faster than you knew possible into your soaked folds. You gripped onto his shoulders, crying out in pleasure. "Fuck yes" you scream, you were right there again. He suddenly removes his fingers and you look to see him smiling at you.

"Come on dear, just say it and I'll make you cum just how you like." He whispers in your ear and then trailed kisses down to your breast. He took one of your nipples in his mouth. You couldn't help but groan at how sensitive they are now. How does he do this to you? He sucked and tugged on your nipples, making your wetness drip down to your thigh.

"Please!" You cried out, about to explode with need. He came up from your nipples. Suddenly he grabbed your hand pressing it hard against his dick. You gripped him feeling how long and so hard it was pulsing. You gulp, him still staring at you with dark eyes. You finally gave in.

"He doesn't make me feel like you, nobody fucks me like you." You need the release and didn't care at this point. "That's all you had to say, baby." He chuckled removing his hand and then bent you over the desk. "You ready for this?" He asks still being cocky. "Yes, please fuck my pussy." You were beyond desperate at this point. He growled in approval and roughly pounds his dick into you. You cry out feeling your insides stretched around his large size.

You grab for the desk needing something to hold from the hard pounding he was giving you. "Ah you take my dick so well Y/N" Spencer groaned. He kept a steady hard pace, killing you. "Shit, don't stop." You pleaded.

"Say my name." He groans. You moaned out his name softly.  "No louder, who fucks you like this?" He grows this time fucking you even harder. You could feel your climax coming. He never lets you forget that he fucks you better than anyone else ever has.

"Spencer" you scream as he took you over the edge making your body shake from the rush. He began moaning loudly himself and then found his own release before he collapsed on top of you. After catching his breath he removed himself, you both stood feeling the tension fill the room. Neither of you liked this, but he was like a drug to you.  

"We weren't supposed to do this anymore." You huff after returning your clothes. "It's not my fault your husband can't do what I can." He winked and you rolled your eyes before quickly leaving the room.

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