#this is kays fault lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyewka · 11 months ago

Note

Okay okay!

Imagine walking in on long time bestfriend Kai using a pussy pocket on himself! Like...he's whimpering and moaning, edging himself and bullying his pretty dick with it.

And reader is like standing there not knowing what to do in a situation like this except feel the heat pool between her legs until Kai loudly chants reader's name while he's cumming...moaning and whining as he drains himself of everything he's got.

(+ he has such a sweet, reddened face, all sweaty and breathy but his arms are all veiny, wrapped around his huge cock!!....???!!)

From your new freaky deeky anon that loves you so much!!

- 🩰

warnings. assumed kai stole mc’s panties, perv!kai, pocket pussy, sub!kai, childhood best friends, not proofread i got a little excited over this ask lol

when your parents decided to take up the chance of renting a summer vacation home with kai’s family tagging along, practically tight knit family friends because of you and kai’s inseparability since childhood, you agreed in a heartbeat. though you basically see hueningkai enough as it is, you haven’t seen his parents and sisters in forever.

it’s all cheerful and relaxing, getting pulled into a tight, all too familiar hug by kai’s mom when they finally arrive a few hours after you guys settled in, on about how much she missed you and playfully scolding you for not catching up with her that often. “any boyfriend yet?” she teases with a tilt to her voice.

you groan, cheeks hurting with the smile permanent on your face. “not yet aunty, still single.”

“but you’re such a pretty young lady!” Her flattery always has you feeling giddy because you know she means it every time. “stop it” you mutter, carrying her bag for her.

“you know he’s available right?” she gestures towards kai who was unloading the suitcases from the trunk. you unintentionally hone in the bead of sweat that drips down his face, the sun blazing hot shining on him. damn. you snap out of it when she speaks up again. “when you guys get married, i’m owed a thousand.”

you chuckle when he snaps his head to you guys as if his ears are trained to pick up on a conversation that had to do with marriage when it comes out of his mother’s mouth. this is such a typical interaction, always reminding you that you and kai might as well just get married already with like, five kids—you’re almost unfazed. “mom, stop!” he whines, the tips of his ears red.

“hey, this is a girl’s conversation you’re not allowed to join in.” she shoos and you almost double over in laughter at his facial expression as he immediately drops it, going in the house dragging two suitcases loaded with a duffel bag. he always pouts whenever he’s frustrated and its the funniest thing ever.

“he’s such a baby, jesus.” she sighs. “but he’s lovable.” it comes from a motherly place, but it still feels almost like she’s giving you a nudging.

he’s lovable.

but you know that. he is your best friend after all. So you laugh it off.

#######################

you feel like such a pervert. you’ve been standing here for an entire five minutes without a single movement of a muscle. but between the two of you, who was the nastier one?

the one peeking through the already halfway opened door coincidentally or the one having a pair of lace underwear pressed under their nose…while deliriously jacking off. well, okay, you’re kind of at fault for being glued to your spot and not just shutting the door for his privacy but jesus christ. kai was using an entire sex toy in a house full of family? you know the walls were pretty sound proof but your paranoia would dispel any reason for you to act on any sexual urges, so jesus christ.

was he that horny? well he looked it seeing that his legs were entirely spread on his bed. and were those his girlfriend’s panties? but his mom said he was available? so whose-

you’re scared shitless when you notice kai’s clouded, glazed over eyes firmly on you, no longer shut—your hand on the door knob shake. but once again you’re frozen in place, no matter how much your brain tells you to move, you can’t and even crazier, he doesn’t stop even when theres a flash of panic in his features getting rid of the panties pressed to his nose, no—in fact his hand almost blurs as he slides the pocket pussy up and down on his glistening cock. god, his cock. it’s pretty. holy shit it’s pretty. like every part of him, somehow he manages to make an organ that resembles a fucking overcooked hotdog look good. you feel your throat dry, because even more than it not standing weird or bending in directions, it was fucking huge.

you jolt a little when you hear creaking of stairs, immedietely entering inside hueningkai’s room and shutting the door behind you in panic. you lock it.

“fuck.” you breathe. you think you might’ve lost your mind. you really do. because in normal circumstances you would probably unintentionally cockblock him, or at least say something. anything. but you’re fucking enamored at the way his brows furrow, the way he hisses low curses, his broad chest unrhythmic as it falls up and down, heaving.

you’ve always had a hint of his size the few times you’ve caught what you assumed to be accidental boners, but you didn’t know it was this big. It’s almost intimidating. and it has you rubbing your thighs pathetically.

the squelching sounds of the terribly gracious amount of lube and what you assume to be his precum barely does the job of drowning out his pathetic mewls and whining.

all color drains from your face when he calls out to you. it almost felt like you were watching a camboy for a second there. “Y/N, fuck-fuck fuck, are you-” he chokes, the sweat making his face practically glow under the dim light of his room. “do you like this?” he pants, eyes wet and big—the most vulnerable you’ve seen them.

you find yourself dumbly nodding, like you were under some sort of spell, unable to get out words as his moan strains with a final breath, bucking his hip up with the pocket pussy firmly pressed down in his entire length. It looks straight out of a porno the way his mouth falls open, your name out of his lips sinfully once again as he tenses, orgasming.

your instinct is to immediately go to cover his mouth, because for a moment there, he was too goddamn loud! but, god was that a mistake. Because you get a closer look of the drenched panties peeking from under him and your breath hitches.

then your eyes slowly trail back to kai’s that were just completely fucked out. the sheets being covered with dried semen has you guessing that hes been going at it for hours.

was that why his texts to you to shut the bathroom lights were so weirdly full of misspellings? did he…leave the door open on purpose?

his whimper against your palm sends jolts, and your eyes widen at seeing he had his hand on his cock again, pain etched on his eyes, clearly from the overstimulation but he tugs until its growing hard in his hand again, all while holding his eyes on your face. you gulp.

this was going to be a long week.

###################

note. i love childhood best friends sub!kai like theres somethinggg about him

#txt smut #hueningkai smut #sub!idol #txt hard hours #yeonjun smut #🌷. rana thoughts #✶ ━━ rana ; answered #🩰 anon

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itsravenbitch · 2 years ago

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how i revised my boyfriend’s mother’s death

a little backstory

— for the sake of privacy, we’re gonna say my boyfriend’s mother’s name is kay

kay’s “death” was caused by a car accident (wasn’t her fault) and she later passed in the hospital. this all happened in new york, and my boyfriend and i live in georgia. but about a 2 days after we found out, we flew out there.

my bf and his mom were super close so that loss was a lot on him. he started burying himself in the gym, sleep, work etc & eventually he became really depressed. he would not get up out of bed and i could not take that. that was when i decided to revise her death, and this was like a week after she passed.

the moment i learned she was dead, i naturally entered the state of loss. so, i simply and quickly went over what state of mind i was currently in, and what state of mind i needed to be in.

now y’all know i love meditating <3 so ofc i meditated. the one i used is by edward art, i believe i’ve mentioned it before. but here’s the link 😌💘

so yeah after this meditation i had completely satisfied my imagination, i had a great feeling of serenity, and i was in the state of the wish fulfilled. + i let go of any need to control the 3d.

— reminder: don’t look at your 3d as something to change. things change when they change in consciousness/imagination. if you wanna manifest something, don’t point out your current circumstance as something that you need to change. be cool and fulfill it in imagination;)

— also sn: my boyfriend knows about the law but he doesn’t necessarily study or consciously use it. so, i didn’t tell him i was revising his mom’s death.

— and i had to continue to act like his mom was actually dead when i was around him, even tho at this point kay was 100% alive in imagination.

so in the morning, i would wake up and assume the state of fulfillment. throughout the day, when i would go check on my boyfriend, he always expressed his feelings, how i could help, and new ways he was trying to cope. honestly, seeing him so hurt and confused hurt me. and throughout this, one of the few things i always reminded myself was that, i’m not my emotions and i’m my thoughts, and neither of those things matter (in terms of manifesting).

another thing i always reminded myself of was the fact that i’m god, BUT i’m also human. so, the ‘god me’ was relaxed & satisfied. the god in me also didn’t have a hurting boyfriend with a dead mom. but the ‘human me’ did and he needed my comfort.

so that’s what i did, i comforted him because he was grieving the death of his mother. so what? i’m human, and i have human decency so ima comfort my baby.

HOWEVER, i didn’t attach myself to that (accept it). i didn’t look at me comforting him as “his mom’s dead and that’s final”, i just did it because he’s my bf and he’s hurt. but i still maintained fulfillment in imagination.

— i talk about this more in depth here. but basically the post acknowledges that yes, you’re god, but you’re also still human and you have a human life to respond to. so do that, respond to your life (when necessary) while simultaneously fulfilling the inner man.

as long as you continue to return to the state and fulfill SELF, you will manifest whatever it is you’ve fulfilled.

when it manifested

the night before it manifested, my bfs dad asked everyone (the family) over for brunch. just so everyone could be together during rough times and whatnot.

the next morning when we woke up, my bf.. it was like he completely reverted; he just went back to his regular self. i made sure to take a mental note of it.

as we were driving to his dads house he was acting very normal. all that pain, hurt, etc was not there. his whole energy was different. then what really got me was when we had got to a red light. he said “i already know my moms threw down, i wonder what she cooked”……….and i’m like, i know i’m not trippin. just went along with it and agreed with him cause what was i supposed to do lol😭?

so we pull up to the house and get to the door, and one of his brothers opened it. as we’re saying hi and walking further into the house we start smelling food and my bf goes “YUP! I KNEW IT!!”

then he walks into the kitchen and says “hey ma watchu in here cooking? it smells good”……. and his mom was literally standing there smiling before she gave him a hug.

this all happened naturally by the way. it was like… she never died😂😂 the power of revision yall!

anyways the whole afternoon went by like nothing ever happened.

i honestly thought it was pretty funny. knowing how they used to interact with each other while they were grieving kay’s death vs now was hilarious. and what makes it funnier is they never knew and never will 😂😂😂

so there y’all have it, how i revised my boyfriend’s mother’s death. sorry i made y’all wait so long:) i literally got so demotivated while trying to type this.

feel free to ask questions cause ik yall got some😩😂 love y’all 🫶🏾

#law of assumption #neville goddard #imagination creates reality #loa #states #revision #success stories #successstories #law of attraction #affirmations #success story

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emilys-bangs · 1 month ago

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invisible string | e.p

Tags: emt!reader, meet cute(?) - def a bloody one lol, blood and injury, car accident, flirty emily, flustered reader (who gives in once cause who wouldn’t), no use of yn

Summary: Emily gets into an accident. Could anyone fault her for flirting with her EMT?

Word count: 2.6k

For my fave loser girl @notaboypossiblyagenius because we’re spiritually connected <3

Car accidents can be no big deal, or they can be catastrophic.

This one seems to be somewhere in between. The roads are icy tonight; you were expecting something of this measure since last week, and your predictions were right—this is the third accident you’ve been called to in the past six days.

The hood of the SUV is bent around a pole. It seems to be a mild crash, no other cars around, but you’re still preparing yourself for anything as you carefully assess the stability of the pole before approaching the passenger’s side, your coworker going over to the driver.

When you peer through the window, you find a dark-haired woman. Her head is on the headrest and her eyes are closed, a crimson line of blood cutting down the paleness of her cheek. You lightly tap on the frosted glass.

She opens her eyes. After blinking repeatedly, she lowers the window.

You crane your neck into the car, checking the backseats and subtly trying to assess the damage. “Hi there.” You give her a smile, your eyes briefly flitting to her equally dark-haired companion in the driver’s seat.

The woman blinks at you sluggishly.

“…Hey.” She slurs.

It’s more of a question. That could definitely mean a concussion, you think, what with her head wound. You reach into your belt for your flashlight, clicking it open and shining it into the car. The woman squints.

“You’re gonna be okay, we’ll get you out of here in a sec. Can you tell me your name?”

She pauses a little when your eyes meet. You hold your breath, the blankness of her gaze stirring up dread in the pit of your stomach. But then she blinks and it clears a fraction.

“Emily.” She mumbles, slowly. Her brows furrow and she stares at you intently, as if you might have the answer. In the darkness, you don’t know if you’re looking into pupil or iris. “...Prentiss.”

Some of the tightness in your gut loosens. You give her another smile, careful not to let your concern peek through. “How are you doing, Emily? Does anything hurt?” You run the flashlight up and down her body, your eyes sharp for any more serious looking injuries. Her coat seems to have protected her from the seatbelt, but when the light passes over her wrist, you spot some discoloration around it.

“Uhh…” she reaches for her seatbelt. “My—”

“Please don’t move.” Your hand shoots through the window, stilling hers on the buckle. She frowns confusedly. “Sorry, I just need to properly asses your injuries first. We’ll get you out of here in no time, I promise.” You say, your voice slipping into that firm but soothing tone you’ve learned to develop. Emily nods and you give her another reassuring smile as you open the car door. “You were saying something?”

“M’head,” she mumbles. You nod as you check her over, eventually clicking your flashlight closed and sliding it into your belt. Again you spot the discoloration on her wrist.

“Anything else?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, but then she shakes her head. You’ll deal with that later, then.

“Any trouble breathing?” You ask, leaning over her to unbuckle her seat belt. The scent of blood is thick; you try to take a closer look at the gash on her forehead, but it’s dark and her hair is in the way.

“No.”

Still, you check her airway, gently asking and prodding until you’re satisfied there’s nothing more critical needing your attention. When you’re done you instinctively place your hand on her knee and squeeze lightly—a habit of the job.

“Okay honey, I’m gonna get you out now. Let me know if anything hurts, okay?”

A faint pink spreads across her cheeks. “’Kay,” she mumbles, throwing a furtive look to the driver’s seat. Her companion is long gone, helped out of the car by your coworker; you can distantly hear them at the ambulance.

With the ice, it takes a bit of work, but once you safely get her out of the car, you also help Emily to the ambulance. She’s stiff, not really allowing herself to lean on you even though she sways a little. You’ve dealt with plenty of people like this before, so you don’t try to force her closer, just keeping your arm steady around her in case she slips. Some of the tension in her body loosens when she spots her friend on the ledge of the ambulance.

“They got ya too, Hot—Hey,” Emily cuts herself off, a deep v creasing between her brows, “you said you weren’t hurt.”

Her tone is accusatory. Which is fair, given the bruising on the man’s cheek and the stilted way his jacket lays on one shoulder, very obviously dislocated. His eyes trail over her, down the blood on her forehead and your steadying arm around her waist.

“So did you.”

Her lips purse. “I’m fine. I jus’ have a headache—”

“A very bloody one.”

“—not a goddamn dislocated shoulder!” She protests, concern taking over her features. Her voice, so far having been fluid and slurry, hardens to steel. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“Not just for him,” you say. “That head wound might cause a concussion, we need to get you a CT scan.”

Emily turns to you and frowns, as if you’re being unreasonable. “It’s just a headache.” She sulks.

“Headaches are a common symptom of concussions after blunt force trauma.”

“But—”

“We’re all going to the hospital, Emily.” The man sighs, his lips pressing together into a thin line when your coworker comes back with his kit. “Just get in so we can get this over with.”

He must be some kind of boss—or at least some years older—because the fight leaks out of her shoulders, despite the firm set to her brows. She resignedly accepts as you get her into the ambulance and on the cot, her eyes squinting as she adjusts to the bright light.

“I’m just gonna check your vitals first.” You tell her. The words are instinctive to you; most patients you deal with are confused and in pain, still in shock from their accidents, and you’ve found that explaining what you’re about to do makes your job a lot easier.

You checked her breathing in the car but you do it again, just to be sure. Emily stays quiet as you do. She blinks rapidly and keeps her eyes down, still adjusting to the lights of the ambulance as you try your best to move quickly. Her blood pressure is next, which she also accepts without complaint.

When you pick up her right hand, you find reddish discoloration circling her wrist. Her hand trembles in your grip, shaking almost imperceptibly.

“Do you feel any pain here?” You ask, gently smoothing your thumb over the cold inner skin of her wrist.

Emily shakes her head.

You frown a little as you gently prod the area. She yelps suddenly, half pulling her hand back into her chest. You drop it, guilt swirling in your gut at the way she grimaces. “Sorry.” You apologize thickly. “It might be sprained, you’ll need an X-ray to make sure.”

Emily bites her lip and nods, not looking at you as you carefully take the pulse in her left wrist instead. It jumps beneath your fingertips, quicker than normal but still within the range of acceptable; you let go of her hand and grab an instant ice pack from your kit, popping it so it freezes over.

“Hold this to your wrist.”

She does it silently. Her head is bent, the dark strands of her hair absorbing the fluorescent lights. The outline of her shoulders shivers faintly; you press your fingertips to her coat. “Hey. Are you doing alright?” You ask gently.

It sounds a stupid question even to your ears, especially when she looks up and you see the blood dripping down the sharp line of her jaw, onto the collar of her coat. There’s a small furrow between her brows when your eyes meet, but it loosens a little as she gives you a small smile.

“Yeah, ’m good.” She says. There’s a heaviness to her voice, despite the dimple in her cheek.

Now that you’re beneath the light and she’s properly looking you in the eye, you’re suddenly aware of her striking beauty. Fluorescent lights and the blood dripping down her cheek hardly diminish her sharp features. Shiny dark bangs dip between her brows, just the same bitter coffee shade of her eyes. Those are ringed with equally dark lashes, and in her pale, bloodless face, the shocking collision has the same effect of a black hole.

You blink, the sightly ragged sound of her breathing snapping you back to the present.

Oh, god, had you been staring?

Heat bursts through your cheeks as you clear your throat, desperately attempting to be casual. You reach for your penlight, bending your head to be more level with hers. “Keep your eyes open, please.” You instruct as you shine the light into her eyes.

Her pupils are blown; wide, uneven pools of black that push her dark brown irises to thin rings. They’re almost as dark as her pupils, you note, and not for the first time.

Focus.

“Yep,” you mutter, giving her a small, sad smile as you straighten. “Definitely a concussion.”

“They’re not that big of a deal.” She says flippantly, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture.

A frown draws your brows together. “You have a history of concussions?” That could definitely be a problem, you think as you click the penlight closed.

“I’m a federal agent.” Emily says, as if that explains it. She squints as she tips her chin further up, gravity dragging her bangs over her brows. The darkness of her eyes freezes you in place. “You’re…really beautiful.” She murmurs.

You suck in a surprised breath. The back of your throat goes dry, aided by the piercing intensity of her gaze. She blinks a few times and leans in closer, dark, spidery lashes kissing her bloody cheek.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a little blurry, though.”

“That’s—”

“Too pretty for a job like this.” Emily muses. Her eyes drag over you; the scrutiny makes your heart kick.

She’s your patient.

Trying to move on, you place the back of your hand to her cheek. Emily’s brows shoot up in surprise, not recognizing what you’re doing as you check the temperature of her skin. You shouldn’t rise to her flirtations, you know that. She’s not even fully lucid.

But your mouth moves before you can stop it.

“Well, you’re too pretty to be a federal agent,” you say softly, your voice low as you gauge her skin. Cold, pale. “I bet you get banged up all the time, right? That’s a shame.” You turn to grab a shock blanket. You unfold it, wrap it around her shoulders above her coat. Her dark hair is trapped under it; you resist the urge to pull it out.

A blush has spread across her cheeks. Shocking red, a close shade to the blood traveling down the length of her face. “We—uh…we jus’ wanted to get food for our team.” She sucks in a breath, “Why’d you put this on me?”

“You’re pale, looks like you might be in shock.”

“That’s just my natural color,” Emily protests as you reach for a pair of gloves and slip them over your unsteady hands. “Right, Hotch?” She calls out, loud enough for him to hear.

“Keep the shock blanket, Emily.”

“It’s cold out,” you say apologetically. For some reason, you don’t want to gain her displeasure, though—in a situation like this, at least—she seems easily displeased. “And you lost a lot of blood.”

Her whole demeanor shifts. Suddenly a dimple winks at you, its sly curve in her cheek matching the curve of her lips. “You could just warm me up.” Emily suggests, her light tone masking her exhaustion.

What? “I…uh.” Fuck, your whole body is on fire. You’re sure you’re gaping at her, but she looks entirely serious.

This is what you get for flirting back.

“I have to clean your wound.” You blurt out.

“That’s okay, you can sit on my lap and do it.” Her teeth flash as she grins up at you. Dimples. Two. She laughs at the dumbfounded look on your face, the sound gritty and soft. “Hey, c’mon, I’m a big girl, I can handle it. Super strong FBI agent, y’know? I won’t let you fall.” She says earnestly.

“Ma’am—”

“Emily.” The man calls out.

Emily blows a raspberry.

“Buzzkill,” she mutters. Her eyes leave you to glare daggers at his back, and that’s when you finally regain your composure. Taking in a quiet, deep breath, you firmly push away the butterflies climbing up your stomach and grab an alcohol pad from your kit, getting to work on her forehead. The latex of your gloves sticks to your sweat-slick palms.

Stay professional, you tell yourself as you inhale quietly, trying to cool the heat in your body. She’s a patient.

Emily’s eyes are once again on your face, turning your skin to fire. “Do you have a boss like that, too? Bit of a hardass?” She lowers her voice theatrically, the whisper of it echoing in the space between your bodies. “We like him, don’t worry, but he can be a bit uptight.”

You don’t answer, biting your tongue because obviously you can’t be trusted to keep it to yourself. Instead you focus on swiping the alcohol pad over her cheek, gently scrubbing until the blood gives way to pale skin. Few freckles peek up at you as you continue moving your way up to the gash. The blood has stopped, but it’s still thick over the wound.

“What’s your name?” She asks softly. There’s a rasp to her voice, threading through her words, and you wonder if you should give her a bottle of water.

This question is harmless, so you answer it.

“Pretty,” Emily says, her tone wistful. “Everythin’ about you is.”

Your inhale is audible in the minimal space. You avoid Emily’s eyes as you reach for a square of gauze and press it to her forehead; she takes in a quick breath of her own.

The gauze quickly soaks through, and you replace it with a fresh one.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Her voice is small, thready.

Your heart is in your throat. “No,” you say. Just nervous.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her tone sincere. “I’m not usually like this.”

You gather no one would be themselves after they’d gotten into a car accident, obtained a concussion, and lost a significant amount of their blood volume from a bash to the head. But something tells you this enigma of a woman is different.

“I told you I’m not uncomfortable.” Roundabout way of saying you’re basking in her attention. You clear your throat, “It’s good that you’re talking—helps me know you’re conscious.”

Gently, you swipe her matted bangs to the side and try to get a look at her wound. It’s shallow, but nothing you can treat on your own. As you’re bandaging it, you hear her mutter a curse.

You look down at her, irrational guilt settling in your stomach. “Are you in pain? Do you want some Tylenol?”

Emily blinks dazedly, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She tilts her head, “If I say yes, will you give me your number?”

“Emily.” Her boss sighs.

She grins.

You blush.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fics #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss blurb #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #fic

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spinchip · 9 months ago

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Zane is a good cook bc he's extremely good at differentiating flavor profiles and has a good enough memory bank of what food works best together that he can make dinner from scratch, no recipie Involved, and have it be 5-star gourmet. When he tastes his own cooking, he can easily identify what it needs to take it to the next level.

Jay CAN cook bc Ma Walker is definitely the type of lady that would stick Jay in the kitchen to help, but he's not super confident. He has like 5 recipies on LOCK (spaghetti, tacos, chicken Alfredo, chicken noodle soup, and meatloaf) but is completely unsure about anything new. He makes mash potatos from the instant add-hot-water packages and didn't even know you could do it another way

Kai is good at cooking in a nostalgic, weird childhood foods type of way. Spaghetti with hot dogs chopped up in it, noodles and tomato sauce, tuna casserole- that realm of weird but cheap. He can typically look in the cabinets and come up with something without buying any extra ingredients, and it's usually not half bad. He tends not to like his own food even if everyone else enjoys it tho, strangely enough

Nya can't cook lol. She's a master at frozen meals tho. She can pop some chicken nuggets or a pizza in the oven with the best of them I'm sure

Lloyd is an okay cook, but he always adds a sweet component to his foods that are hit or miss for the others. He just likes his meals on the sweet side, no savory or salty for him. There's a salt shaker filled with sugar for him on the table

Cole is a bad cook but it's really not his fault. His dad is an AWFUL AWFUL cook and Cole grew up eating his food- and now that's what he likes. Over cooked, dry chicken? Mushy mac and cheese? Burnt vegetables? That's just coles' normal. The first time he had well cooked, juicy chicken it grossed him out bc it felt like he was eating it raw

#ninjago #spinchip posts

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spikedfearn · 1 month ago

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I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter V

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

a/n: bjorn fucks you seven ways to Sunday. that's it, that's the chapter. also, I don't know why it took me five chapters to realize I never mentioned the title of the fic is from the song "small doses" by bebe rexha lol, the lyrics inspired the story, it's worth a listen if you've never heard it before.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, nsfw, non-linear narrative, trauma bonding, resolved sexual tension, praise kink (both ways), oral (giving/receiving), loss of virginity, dirty talk, shower sex, falling in love

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty @3arthtoeden @barnes70stark (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 5.1k

Masterlist Next Chapter

It was meant to be a one time thing—sleeping with Bjorn.

Something that neither of you would ever bring up, not to anyone, not to each other, a silent pact of secrecy you mutually understood but, like everything else that's happened since your transfer to sector six, things don't go as planned.

Kay nearly lunges at you when she sees you again, having barely been extracted from the ruins of that specific section of the man made tunnel you’d been down in. Her fingers create wrinkles in the fabric near the shoulder blades of your grimy tee you haven't gotten a chance to change out of, face wet with tears, arms coming up to return her embrace, the first time you've actually ever done so.

She'd been crying ever since she heard the news, word having traveled fast about what had happened after you went looking for Bjorn in the mines. Kay and the others had immediately rushed over to the accident site only to be met with heavy yellow tape and traffic cones policed by armed guards, roping the area off to the rest of the colonists that had gathered there.

According to the reports, you and Bjorn had been trapped for just over six hours, which doesn't seem accurate, not when it felt like an eternity to you, throats tight from the fumes while you found comfort in each other.

Speaking of, you glance over to see Tyler and Navarro taking turns bear hugging Bjorn, squeezing him a little tighter, holding him a little longer, undoubtedly over the moon to have him back alive.

Navarro buries her face in his chest to hide her tears, never one to show her emotions just like her brother, though the shakiness in her shoulders gives it away, the flat of his palm running over her back to reassure her.

You turn the other way as soon as you realize Bjorn is craning his head to look in your direction, his gaze burning into your profile with the intensity of it, fighting the urge to look over and meet the icy blues of his irises.

While you keep your eyes trained elsewhere you can't help but wonder what Bjorn is thinking while he stares at you, if he's thinking about what you just did together. If he's remembering how you sounded crying out his name, the way you looked desperately bouncing on top of him, how it felt to be inside of you with nothing in between.

You suppress the shudder threatening to run down the length of your spine thinking about it, not wanting Kay to notice, even if you could theoretically write it off as a side effect from being trapped for hours.

That’s when Tyler makes his way over to you and Kay, who's just barely let you go, swapping places with her to hug you next and apologize profusely, feeling guilty for what happened, like he's trying to take responsibility for sending you in after Bjorn, like it's his fault.

“Tyler—Tyler listen,” you insist, hoping to assuage his remorse, finally getting him to pull back and look at you, holding you at arm's length by your biceps, “I don't blame you like—at all. How could you've possibly known what was gonna happen? Besides, it was probably a good thing, Bjorn and I talked it out and we're…okay now.”

Thing is though, you honestly don't know where the truth lies in that statement, having no clue where you and Bjorn stand at the current moment.

Yeah, you hooked up and yeah it was incredible, best lay of your life—which isn't saying much considering you were hammered every other time—but you have no idea how it'll affect your dynamic going forward, what parts of it will inevitably change and what will remain the same, if anything at all.

And that scares you, the uncertainty of it all, downright terrifies you. It's the entire reason you chose to isolate yourself from other people after your transfer, wanting to be left alone, a type of peace that can only be forged within yourself, finding solace in its predictability.

But you've been flirting with danger instead, ever since you accepted Kay's invite to hangout, telling yourself—lying to yourself—that you won't get too close as you were integrated into the group, so slow and imperceptible you didn't even notice until you were in too deep, up to your shoulders in a bottomless pit of quicksand.

Once the medical team on standby clears you and Bjorn you're free to go, watching Tyler sling his arm around Bjorn's shoulders and ask if he and Navarro would like to have a sleepover at his and Kay's, “yanno like when we wuz little,” he laughed, patting Bjorn's chest with an added layer of enthusiasm, Bjorn accepting the invite with an easy little smile and nod.

You part ways soon after, promising Kay you'll talk to her later after you've showered and gotten a good night's rest. Going home to clean off the dirt and debris and dry come, scrubbing extra hard between your legs, scrubbing your thighs until they're almost red and raw, like you're trying to erase what happened, washing the evidence down the drain by your feet.

Though it does nothing to get rid of the finger-shaped bruises sitting just under your hips or the hickey halfway down your neck, examining them while you stand naked in the mirror you have hanging in your bedroom, a gradually fading reminder of what happened between you and him.

A structural defect in the support beams, that's what you're told the day after the cave-in while you're clocking in for another sixteen hour shift, something that had resulted in a disastrous domino effect leading to the collapse. An accident waiting to happen, blamed on the colonists who first erected the area rather than the corporation that had them go into the mines in an unsturdy environment in the first place.

The rescue mission wasn't about you and Bjorn, you worked that out on your own, why would they care about two low ranking miners that were referred to by numbers anyways? It was about the valuable resources that could still be extracted, saving you was a byproduct of retaining that tunnel before it could bury it all under rubble and wood. Fucking figures.

After work you stop by a convenience store and pick up a variety of pregnancy tests from different brands just to be sure, rushing back to your apartment to take them in the privacy of your own home, holding the plastic bag close to your chest so anyone passing by can't possibly see what's inside.

The fifteen minute wait is eating at you, feeling longer than the time you spent trapped underground, leg jiggling impatiently while you sit on the closed toilet lid with your fingers loosely steepled together, one elbow resting on either knee.

You slump back against the porcelain tank, eyes rolling up to the plaster-ridge ceiling the same time all the tension in your body drains when they all, by some miracle, come back negative. Thank fuck. That's one less thing you need to stress out over. Now you just have Bjorn to worry about, which is significantly less terrifying.

There's a knock at the door, startling you, immediately sweeping your arm across the laminate counter to trash everything, yelling over your shoulder to, “hold on a fucking second!” when the knocking persists. It can't be Tyler this time, he isn't this impatient. Or annoying.

Although you wish it had been, your eyes meeting striking blue ones as soon as you answer the door, your heart plummeting to your feet like a runaway dumbwaiter in an elevator shaft.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You hiss, looking left then right then left again to check if anyone is around, slightly relieved when you see no one—only slightly though, because Bjorn is standing on your doorstep like he just—belongs here.

“Whoa, calm ur tits love,” he responds, holding his hands up in front of him, “want me ta’ suck on ‘em again?” he smirks right after, causing your blood pressure to spike through the roof.

You curl your fingers into the loose fabric of his shirt, Bjorn letting you roughly yank him inside, using his back to slam the door shut behind him, still wearing that smug, shit-eating grin on his dumb face.

“The fucking nerve of you just showing up here unannounced!” You don't yell, not wanting the neighbor you share a wall with to overhear but you get pretty close to it.

Outwardly you're fuming, his shirt still twisted up in your clenched fist but inwardly—inwardly you're trying not to buckle under your own weight, inhaling the familiar scent of tobacco and winter gum rolling off his warm breath, remembering the taste of it, knees feeling a little weak and strange because of it. What the hell is wrong with you?

“And how exactly would I announce it? S’not like I got ya’ digits princess,” he reasons, punctuating his sentence with an annoying little chuckle.

“Even if I did I would've blocked your dumbass immediately,” you fire back, a bit harsher than usual, wanting him to take the hint and get the fuck out of your home. You don't even wanna look at his face right now, still coming to terms with what you'd done while under duress.

Because seriously—who fucks in a mineshaft when you're about to die? It kinda makes you wish you did, hoping for a sinkhole to open up from under your feet right now and swallow you whole out of sheer embarrassment.

“Ma’ point,” he says, tipping his head at you, making you huff, “whatever,” lacking a rebuttal, letting his shirt go to take a step back and tightly cross your arms in front of you, “why'd you come here anyway?”

“Well innit obvious,” Bjorn answers, taking a step forward, then another. And another. And another. And you freeze up, Bjorn close enough now your bodies are almost pressed together, gently placing his thumb on your chin while the rest of his fingers curl under your jaw so you have no choice but to look at him, “for a round two princess.”

Your eyes go wide in surprise and your lips goldfish apart—you don’t know what you were expecting him to say but it definitely wasn’t that. “I only did it in the first place because I thought we were gonna die!”

Bjorn rolls his eyes, leaning in to whisper into your ear, voice like coarse velvet, “don’t act like it wasn't tha’ best screw o’ ya’ life, princess. The way ya’ were moaning ma’ name and tha' heavenly way you wuz squeezin’ around ma’ cock. Haven’t stopped thinkin’ bout it since.”

So he was thinking about what happened in the mine when he looked over at you during your little reunion with the others. You briefly wonder how often he's replayed it in his head, if he lay awake last night while everyone slept around him, remembering how it felt to have his fingers inside you, his cock. If he dreamt about it, hearing your whimpers and pleas to a vivid degree, the sensation of his hands touching the most intimate parts of your body, burning hot like fire ants across your skin, just like you did.

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, bringing your attention back to him, his touch gentle—barely there, like he's handling porcelain, staring into your eyes for an incredibly long, drawn-out moment.

Then his lips are on yours again, soft and hesitant, like he's testing the waters and you just melt into it, powerless to quit while you're ahead, your eyes falling close as you open your mouth, letting his tongue slip in.

It's easier to find the rhythm this time around, having gotten more than acquainted with Bjorn's style of kissing, the slick sound of it permeating through your tiny apartment, heat already gathering in your pelvis knowing what’s to come, where this is leading to.

Bjorn chuckles into the warm, wet cave of your mouth, thumb running over your now spit glossed lips, eyes roving over your face, seeming to like what he sees, “who knew I jus’ had ta’ stick my tongue down ya’ throat to get ya’ ta' shuddup? Woulda done it tha’ first night i met ya’ if I'da known.”

“Fuck off—hold on,” you pause, spreading your fingers apart with your hand on his chest, feeling his quickening heartbeat against your palm, “I'm not about to let you fuck me raw again,” you follow up, firm in your stance this time, thoughts wandering to the pregnancy tests sitting in the bottom of your trashcan. You were so fucking lucky not to get knocked up the first time around, you're not about to risk it a second time.

A smirk stretches across his face, reaching into the pocket of his tan quilted lined work jacket to fish out a box of condoms, “bought a pack on ma’ way ‘ere. And I hope ya’ know I plan on usin' every. Single. One o’ ‘em. These fuckers are bloody expensive.”

You exhale a breathy moan, nodding your head in return before you curl your fingers into his shirt again, except, instead of pushing him backward you yank him forward, smashing your lips back together.

It's intoxicating—making out with Bjorn, maybe that's why you're so utterly weak when it comes to his advances, whimpering so needy and eager in response to him slipping his hands into the back pockets of your jeans to roughly squeeze your ass through them.

The kiss you're tangled in is somehow more desperate than the one you shared in the mines less than forty eight hours ago, like you're both testing to see if the first time was a fluke or if it'll be just as incredible on the second go around.

“Ya’ gotta call tha’ shots last time princess, this time I wanna,” he tells you, more confident this time around, his eyes softening anyways, “if thas’ okay with ya’?”

The smile you give him is equally as soft, genuine, squeezing his wrist where it's still resting against the denim of your jeans, “what do you want baby?”

“Wanna eat ya’ out. Make ya’ come on ma’ tongue then fuck ya’ nice and deep,” he groans thinking about it, arms circling your waist to keep you close, moaning back just as weak and strained. You've never had someone care about your pleasure the way he does, never had anyone go down on you.

So you're pretty sensitive when he does, needy and pliant in his hands when he has your hips pinned down to your bed, jaw going slack as he licks up between your folds, following your breathy direction.

It's hard telling him what to do, a broken moan escaping you on every other word, legs quivering under him, repeating, “good boy,” like a scratched record every time his tongue finds your clit, able to pinpoint it after so many praises whimpered, circling his tongue around it, spurred on by the pet name.

Cupping the underside of both thighs, his nails bite into your skin, drawing them up so your knees are pointed to the ceiling, wearing them like a pair of earmuffs while he sucks on the bundle of nerves his lips are curved around.

“Mmm, yeah just—fuck that feels so good, you're doing so good, keep going just like that. Good boy,” you keen, high and pretty, your hand going between your legs to find the sweaty mess of his hair and yanking on it, making him growl in response. So, he likes his hair pulled too.

Bjorn settles his upper lip just above your clit, careful to cover his teeth, his bottom lip just above your opening before he licks into you, pushing his tongue in, causing you to grind down onto him, pulling on his scalp a little harder.

He spells his name out on your clit, like he owns it, says he read up on it just to make it good which turns you on all the more, knowing he cares enough to learn what to do and how to do it, how to get your thighs closing around his head and grinding down on the warm wet muscle penetrating you.

He shallowly fucks it in and out of you, the spit naturally produced on his tongue aiding in the slip and slide, warm breath wafting over the cooling trail of spit causing you to shiver even more.

It's when Bjorn's pushing his fingers in alongside and curling them over your g-spot that has your abdominal muscles spasming, coming on his tongue just like he wanted, licking you into hypersensitivity.

Bjorn looks just as drunk on it as you are, despite being completely sober when you pulled him into your apartment, lids droopy and his eyes glossed over, crawling over you to fuck you nice and deep just like he promised.

You go through three condoms that night. After the bed you make your way into the shower next, sliding up and down the steamed glass door as he fucks you up against it, your hands and tits leaving sweaty imprints for several seconds from behind because of it.

He has his shin resting against the lip of the low square tub to keep his balance, the warm water washing down over you with his fingers resting right over the bruises he left from before. Bjorn thrusts up into you, spearing you hard and fast, like he's trying to knock your pelvis out of its frame.

It feels so good, beyond anything you've ever felt before, grunting into your ear that you're, “jus’ as wet n’ tight as before’ and that you're a, “littla’ fuckin’ tease ain't cha’ princess?”

This is all under your command, something you told him to do after you soaked through your bedsheets, needing another spot to absolutely ruin, one hand curling over the lip of the glass door to keep it shut tight while he erratically fucks you up against it from behind, still learning how to channel it all in his hips so he can rail you that much harder.

Strands of hair are sticking to your face, trying not to swallow any of it as you cry out from the force of his thrusts, rattling the glass in its frame. There's no fucking way your neighbor doesn't know what's going on now, not that you really find it in you to give a shit at the moment.

He trashes the condom when you turn off the now cold water and get out, leading you back to the ratty futon you use as a sorry excuse for a couch, sucking another huge hickey into your neck just above your collarbone, like he's claiming his territory.

Bjorn's refractory period is incredibly short, already getting hard again as he's toweling off, rearranging you on all fours, ass up face down, his palm flat between your shoulders blades, fingers spread out over your still wet skin while he hits it from the back.

“Good—ah, good boy. You're doing so good, fucking me so well,” you keen, a high and needy pitch when your words have the desired affect and he plows into you that much harder. Work is gonna absolutely fucking blow tomorrow but you don't give a shit about that either, hoping to feel that ache between your legs every time you have to bend down and retrieve something or pick up the drill after a regulated break, vividly recalling everything he did to you.

“Fuck ur pussy’s so addictin’ princess, can't get a ‘nough o’ it,” he growls, adding to the bruises he's already left on your thighs to your hips this time, the wet slap of skin and your moans echoing off the walls of your tiny apartment.

Your fingers claw at the sheetless mattress, trying to cling onto something as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train, the imprint of your wet naked body left behind for the cotton drill fabric to absorb.

Bjorn grunts when he comes again, nearly collapsing on top of you, his gloved cock still inside as he slowly softens, peppering little kisses all over your back.

“Fuckin’ amazin,’” he sighs, sharing your sentiment. You've both proven your hypothesis correct, both times were just as mind blowing as the first, maybe even better, your bodies in tune now that you know what the other likes, what gets each other off.

You hum in agreement, your heartbeat slowly returning to normal. “Gonna have to go to bed soon. You know, for work.”

He groans in annoyance, rolling off your body to lie next to you, loosely steepling his hands behind his sweaty head, “right—work.”

“What, did you forget?” You snort, crossing your arms to rest your cheek on your stacked wrists while you look at his profile, from his pretty lashes down to the plush of his lips. Sometimes you forget just how attractive he is.

“Yanno,” he says, making eye contact with you then, holding a warmth you've never seen before, affection blossoming inside your chest as a result, “fo’a moment—I did.”

“Oh,” is all you can say in response, burying your face directly into your arms so he can't see how pink your cheeks are. You're not used to this, someone being sweet on you, at least not someone you're actively sleeping with, everyone else just faceless nobodies you met at a bar or in a liquor store.

Bjorn fucks you one last time before he leaves, this time with you on your back so he can look you in the eyes while he pushes in slow and deep, so deep it feels like his cock is brushing up against your pelvis.

There's no dirty talk this time around, just Bjorn whispering hushed praises like, “ur so fuckin' stunning it's unreal” and “ur so good ta’ me, ma’ good girl.” Kissing over your chest, your neck, your face, every one of them feeling like a thank you, your heart feeling strange inside your chest.

It's so incredibly intimate and foreign, something you've never experienced before, his hand finding yours so he can weave your fingers together, holding it up by your head while he thrusts inside, taking his time in taking you apart.

He kisses you when you come together, no tongue, no desperation, just an endlessly soft press of his lips to yours, kissing your forehead as he pulls out, cleaning you up with a wet washcloth after you tell him where to find them, boneless and tired against your futon.

You exhale into the quiet air as soon as he leaves, gaze tracing over the ceiling, like you're searching for an answer that isn't there. What the absolute fuck have you gotten yourself into?

After that night, instead of blowing off steam in the mines, Bjorn blows his steam off on you, coming around every night to fuck you once, twice, sometimes three times if he's feeling particularly frisky, having gone through three and a half boxes of condoms. That's like 140 condoms. Jesus he's so fucking horny all the time.

It's to the point you give him your door code to avoid any unwanted questions if anyone passing by just happened to see him waiting alone on your doorstep, sometimes coming home to him already naked on your bed if his shift ends before yours or hustles down the short hallway to tackle you if yours ends before his.

It's supposed to be casual, just something you do to work through all the pent-up tension you build while tearing down the rock in the mines, a way for you to forget about it all if only for a few hours. You want it to stay like this, easy and uncomplicated, so you keep it a secret from the others, something Bjorn ultimately agrees to when you insist on it.

He seems displeased by your request which takes you by surprise, figuring he'd be just as on board with it as you are but he doesn't argue, just nods his head while looking up at your ceiling, settled back against your upright futon still fully-clothed, chewing his bottom lip between his teeth.

You decide not to pry, even though you really, really, want to, itching to pick his brain and decipher why he doesn't seem to like it but a part of you, the majority of you, doesn't want to know the answer, afraid of what it might be, so you just don't open that can of worms.

You're at a bar with everyone, knowing full well Bjorn will find his way into your bed soon after—like he always does. It's the only sure thing other than the zero percent chance of sunlight LV-410 gets.

It's been two months since you and Bjorn started fucking on the down low. Kay is waddling now, very, very round and puffy. It's cute, she has that pregnancy glow about her, especially since the group's been splitting her shifts up amongst everyone so she can kick her swollen ankles up and relax, something she is endlessly grateful for. Promising to name her baby boy after every single one of you, but you don't think, “Tyler Bjorn Navarro Rain,” followed by your name then Harrison makes for a very good one.

You're nursing your cold beer in your hands, knocking back another swig as Tyler goes on another long-winded speech about giving capitalism the middle finger if he wasn't a cog in it, already drunk.

“Whoa,” Navarro whistles, looking at the side of your neck, at the fresh hickey Bjorn gave you last night, sitting too high up to hide under the collar of your shirt, like this was his plan all along, “who gave you that?”

Everyone turns to look so you slap your palm over the purpling bruise, flinching at the slight sting. God you're getting sloppy, you should've told him to suck somewhere you could hide, that bastard. Now you're flaming red, the intensity of your blush and the way your floundering for an answer confirming their suspicion.

“Oooo,” Kay joins in, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, giggling, “is there something you’re not telling us? Someone perhaps?”

“I uh—well. It's nothing. Just tripped is all,” you lie, very lamely you might add. It's too perfect and round to be anything other than what it is and no one's buying it, not even Andy. Andy.

“Yah n’ fell right into tha' jaws of a hungry shark,” Tyler cracks, slapping his knee over his own joke, like it's the funniest thing in the fucking world. It isn't, it really, really fucking isn't. You feel caught, like a fish in a casting net, out of breath and fighting for your life. This is the worst possible scenario, the absolute last thing you wanted to happen.

“Yah,” Bjorn smirks, torpedoing through all the noise, immediately lifting your head to glare at him, hand still over your neck, sending a flirty little wink your way, “why don’tcha share with tha’ class princess?”

“You’re the absolute last person I wanna fucking hear from jackass,” you seethe, biting his head clean off his shoulders, angry and embarrassed. He falters, picking up on your tone, looking sorry for saying anything. Good. He fucking should be. He isn't the one being grilled right now, even though he's the cause of it all.

“I gotta go,” you announce, rushing out of the bar despite everyone calling for you to come back. You'll never live this down, feeling like the talk of the town all over again, just like you were back in your old sector.

You don't let Bjorn leave hickeys on your neck anymore, making him swear that he won't do it again if he wants to keep fucking you so he obliges, apologizing between filthy, wet kisses which you appreciate.

No one asks you anything else about the guy you're sleeping with, aware that you'll just clam up and leave, which you appreciate even more, pretending like the whole bar incident didn't happen in the first place, denial your only way to cope.

Bjorn usually leaves after you're both fucked out and spent but then—then he starts to stay. Starts to hold you in his arms when you're done, tucking your hair behind your ear, kissing your scalp, telling you something along the lines of, “even assholes like me like a good cuddle every now n’ then.”

It's warm. Safe. Your head is pillowed against his chest, your ear pressed to his left pec, listening to the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat, the even rise and fall of his diaphragm. It's comforting, tangling your legs with his, feeling your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion. You could stay like this forever, just you two.

But you don't want that. Can't want that. You've already allowed yourself to get close to people again but this—this is something else entirely, getting close to someone on an extremely intimate level like this. You're playing with fire and you know you could get burned at any moment. Will get burned. Emotions are the worst thing to have in a place like this, only producing pain when the inevitable happens, and it always, always does.

You just can't help but want to know how he's doing, if he's doing well, if he's thinking about you.

You don't just wanna see him at night when you're casually hooking up, you wanna see him in the morning too. Want to cook breakfast just for two and hold hands under the table while he makes fun of your terrible cooking but eats it anyway because you made it just for him. And you don't just wanna hold his hand in the privacy of your apartment, you wanna hold it when you're with the gang or walking around in general.

You wanna do stupid mundane shit with him like grocery shopping or folding laundry, washing dishes while he dries them or cuddling under the blankets while you enjoy a movie night, sitting in his lap or on the other side of the futon with your legs tangled in between while he tickles you even though you fucking hate being tickled. But you might not totally hate it if it's him.

And you wanna be greeted by him at the end of every night because these four walls are just a shitty space you reside in, you wanna come home to him.

Because Bjorn feels like home.

Your heart is so full and warm yet light and airy at the same time, like a swollen helium balloon wanting to float up and away into the atmosphere watching him sleep, a sort of peace on his face you don't get to see often.

Oh. Oh—fuck no, you think as the realization starts to sink in, utterly disbelieved that it's taken you this long to notice, to make sense of it.

You're falling for Bjorn.

#not to toot my own horn but i fkn ate this chapter up #enjoy the happiness while it lasts #bc I'm gonna break your heart in the next one >:)#bjorn alien romulus x reader #bjorn alien romulus fic #bjorn x reader #bjorn alien romulus #alien romulus #spike fearn

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princessbrunette · 11 months ago

Note

stepbro rafe teaching reader how to hold and shoot and be safe around a gun since theyre always around the house and he doesnt want her being unsafe!! like he has the glock out and going over the safety and reader is just totally dazed and looking at his hands while he does and he has to refocus her attention

this request is driving me crazy omg .

whenever ward is gone / presumed dead / actually dead or whatever he’s doing rafe gets crazily obsessed w being the ‘man of the house’ n ‘handling business’ and u can’t even fault him on that bc it’s so sexy hehe 🫶🏼

he’d approach you in his lil clean pressed shirt n slacks and sit you down like “theres some things i gotta teach you, alright? when you come from a… powerful family, there’s gonna be people that wanna take that from you. now, y’don’t have to get all scared alright, im protecting you—‘kay? but i want you to know��" he presses an unloaded pistol on your palm, letting you feel the weight of it. “…how to protect yourself if it ever comes down to it.”

so he drives you out to the forest where he’s set up targets, parks up his car and opens your door for you. the whole journey you were kinda jittery n scared bc you didn’t wanna shoot a gun, its too scary :(

“rafe, i don’t know. this is scary.”

“got nothing to be scared of, kid. im gonna help you out. s’my duty now, okay? im in charge now. i gotta look after you all.”

so u trust him ofc and he comes behind you and positions your arms and wraps his around yours, kicks your legs a little wider and suddenly ur a lil lightheaded n dazed because <33 ur step bro is just so strong n smart <33 can’t help pushing ur ass into his crotch just a little everytime he tells you ur doing a good job.

when he catches onto u being distracted n horny he just tsks, asks if you’re listening and tells u it’s important, but u get more and more bold, pushing ur ass into him more n getting all whiny n he just says fuck it and quickly dissembles the gun (which is really hot lol) and tucks it in his waistband before dragging you to the car so he can fuck u doggy style in the back seat :((

#anon #tw stepcest #stepbro!rafe

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rapilne · 2 months ago

Text

Anime Club Membership | Soobin Au

#pairing: soobin x f!reader.

#genre: fluff | #w.c: ~4000+

#synopsis: soobin is in love but has an anime club membership and is convinced this is a problem

#notes: I started this a while ago and it was dying on my notes until I woke up at 3am and couldn't go back to sleep. it's kind of long a not a lot happens but I thought it was cute and it was fun writing it cause im in my soobin feelings era. tbh wanted to make it smutty but I tried once and I realized im horrible at it so it won't happen again. happy reading if you read it :p

Kai is currently struggling to figure out the ramyeon machine at this fancy new convenience store. It's way bigger and flashier than the usual spots they frequent, and the selection is overwhelming—thirty flavors of ramyeon, some he's never even heard of.

“Why are there so many buttons?” Kai whines, exaggeratedly pouting. “Making ramyeon shouldn’t be this complicated. Seriously, there are like a hundred different liquids you can get from this thing. Do you think this one’s for hot water? It’s got a steam drawing on it.”

“You’re the one making it complicated,” Beomgyu says lazily, reaching over and pressing a button. “You can always just push it and find out.”

“Wait—!”

Turns out the steam drawing stands for chai, actually.

Kai’s eyes widen in shock as he watches his ramyeon turn into a chai latte. Beomgyu bursts into laughter, unable to contain himself as he glances at Kai’s horrified expression. “Oh man, I’m so—”

“Tell him something, Soobin!” Kai pleads, desperate for backup.

Soobin, wide-eyed as he stares at the cup in Kai’s hand, opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the cashier lady shushes them from behind the counter. Kai’s cheeks turn bright red with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Kai apologizes sheepishly, flashing a lopsided grin that usually works like a charm on the ahjummas in his sister’s apartment building. But this time, he’s met with a blank stare.

Beomgyu struggles not to laugh again, covering his mouth, and Kai briefly considers finally punching him. Instead, he glares at Beomgyu and turns back to Soobin, whispering, “Hyuuung! Do something!”

“What’s he gonna do, exactly?” Beomgyu chuckles, taking the ramyeon cup from Kai’s hands. He sniffs it, scrunching his nose at the smell. It reminds him of that old Play-Doh his cousin dared him to eat when he was eleven. “He literally can’t take me in a fight,” he adds, casually tossing the cup into the trash.

Soobin scoffs, visibly offended, forgetting the ramyeon situation instantly. “I can so take you in a fight.”

“Nu-uh,” Beomgyu replies, sing-songing his words.

“Yeah-uh!”

“Nope.”

“I actually—”

“You know you still have to pay for that, right?” A sudden chilly voice behind them interrupts. They all jump, turning around to face the scary cashier lady. Beomgyu might have squealed a little.

“Yes, ma’am,” the three say in unison.

The lady throws them one last unimpressed look before turning back to the counter, mumbling something that makes Kai’s cheeks flush again.

“This is your fault, Beomgyu. You’re paying for it. After I beat you up,” Soobin says, trying to sound firm.

“Beat m—” Beomgyu laughs out loud, placing a hand on Soobin’s shoulder. “You mean just like how you beat me in LoL? Oh, wait—that never happened.”

“CHOI BEOMGYU, YOU KNOW DAMN WELL I WON THAT MATCH WITH MY—”

“Uh, hear that? It’s the sound of the crowd disagreeing,” Beomgyu interrupts, hand behind his ear, a mocking smirk on his face.

“Actually,” Kai lifts his index finger and then adjusts his imaginary glasses, “I’m the crowd, and I’m on Soobin’s side.” He swiftly interjects on the elder’s behalf, secretly he has his doubts, but he’s also defending his own cause. “Soobin, fight him.”

Soobin watches as Beomgyu lazily plops down onto a nearby chair, already looking bored. Leaning back, Beomgyu rests his head on his interlocked fingers, raising his eyebrows. With a cocky smirk and his tongue poking his cheek, he taunts, “Yeah, Soobie-boobie. Fight me.”

You’d think with Beomgyu sitting down and Soobin standing over him, the younger might feel a bit intimidated, but it’s Soobin who squirms, eyeing Beomgyu’s almost lazy expression. There’s something positively deranged about his look, Soobin thinks.

“Uh, well,” Soobin chuckles nervously, “You know what? I thought about it, and I’m not up for any fighting today. I, uh, recently joined this club where we discuss important stuff. You know, like social issues and, uh, philosophical debates.” He turns to Kai. “The morality of using force on weaker people is something we discussed, so…”

Beomgyu decides to ignore his last jab and straightens up. “Important stuff, huh?” he teases, unable to contain his amusement. “Sounds like code for ‘anime marathon with your nerd friends’ to me.”

It’s been almost a month since Jihoon, his former TA, discovered they share a passion for anime and manga. He invited Soobin to a ‘gathering’ where they discuss their favorite shows, debate the best characters, and organize screenings of new episodes. Beomgyu likes to call it the “ultimate hangout spot for anime nerds.”

“Well, I mean, we do discuss important themes in anime,” Soobin admits with a pout.

Kai chuckles, forgetting his ramyeon mishap. “Hey, nothing wrong with that,” he says, offering a supportive smile. “I also think anime is about important stuff.”

“Thank you, Kai,” Soobin says, dimples showing. “Seriously, it’s all really cool. Beomgyu wouldn’t understand the appeal. It’s not like he’s capable of thinking about anything serious for more than two seconds.”

Beomgyu feigns offense, standing up and placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “Hey now, I’ll have you know I’m a very serious person,” he protests, lips in a full pout, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “I also understand it’s all very cool. So cool, in fact, that it’s the perfect topic to impress Y/N with, right?”

Soobin’s cheeks go red. He’s always been quick to blush, but this time it’s because Beomgyu’s words hit a nerve.

Ever since he first laid eyes on you in the introductory course, captivated by your pretty smile and blushed cheeks as you introduced yourself to the class, Soobin knew he was a goner. He’s never been one for crushes, not even in high school, so it’s as if fate saved all his affection for you. Looking back, Soobin realizes he’s never appreciated Beomgyu’s loud, extroverted personality more than when his friend boldly approached you to introduce himself—and Soobin too. (Did he already say thank you?) From that moment on, you became friends, and with each passing day, Soobin’s admiration for you only grew stronger.

“Yeah, right,” Soobin mumbles, trying to brush off Beomgyu’s teasing with a weak smile. “Guess that’s really gonna make her swoon.”

The memory of your comments some nights before he heard you exchange with one of your mutual friends about who you find especially attractive, plays in his mind, fueling his insecurities. “Dance majors I guess? Like Yeonjun. You guys are friends, right?” you had said.

Beomgyu sighs, sensing Soobin’s mood shift. “Ah, come on, Soob,” he says, bumping his shoulder gently, his tone softer now, realizing he might have gone too far. “You know I didn’t mean it. It’s not like Y/N’s going to judge you based on your anime club memberships.”

“It’s just one club,” he mumbles in a small voice when Kai chimes in. “He’s right, hyung!” Kai says, smiling brightly as he puts both hands on Soobin’s shoulders. “Besides, who knows? Maybe she didn’t really mean anything by it! Like, I think Soyeon is really hot, right? But I have no interest in actually going for it. She’s scary. So, maybe what Y/N’s really into is people like you!”

Soobin can’t help but let out a nervous laugh at his friend’s attempt to reassure him. “Right, Kai.”

Beomgyu then claps loudly, making Soobin jump. “That’s it, then! No more pouting from you, Mr. Naruto Pokémon,” he says with a grin, making Soobin scoff. “And Kai, I’m sorry about your food. I promise we’ll come back with Taehyun tomorrow to figure this bad boy out. Now let’s get you some tteokbokki from Mr. Kim’s shop,” he adds with a reassuring nod, dragging his friends out of the fancy convenience store.

As the three of them strut out, with Beomgyu complaining nonstop about paying for something he didn’t even eat, Soobin can’t help but overthink—it’s what he does best, after all. People like him, Kai said. No one has ever called him hot. Cute, sure. Sweet, even. And yeah, he knows he’s good-looking—people have told him as much—but he’s also convinced that people like him can’t compete with the Yeonjuns of the world, with their style, dance skills, and effortless coolness. Can he ever be like that?

Deep down, he knows his friends are right. He knows you’re not the type to judge someone for liking anime or joining clubs. But the weight of his feelings for you, combined with the pressure he puts on himself, makes him doubt his worth every time. He’s got to figure out how to be okay with who he is and hope that’s enough for you to notice him—really notice him.

With loud thoughts in his head he kicks a tiny rock, chis foot catches on a crack in the pavement. He trips, and for a split second, he sees the ground rushing toward him.

He looks around and sighs realizing no one notice, but walking along the sidewalk, as he watches kai animatedly explain demon slayer’s plot to a bored looking beomgyu, the nagging doubt keeps lingering in the back of his mind telling him that the gap between friendship to something more is as big as… well, as big as the difference between Tanjiro and a low-level demon, he supposes.

---

The surge of excitement pulses through you as you finally find yourself at the Seventeen concert, a dream come true made possible by Soobin’s miraculous ticket acquisition. You shoot him a grateful look, your smile stretching wider than ever, and Soobin mirrors it, glowing with the same enthusiasm. “I can’t believe we made it!” you shout over the music. “You’re seriously the best ever, Soobin!”

Your entire being radiates with happiness as you look at the stage with wide eyes, hands reaching up and a grin that refuses to fade as you scream the lyrics to a song he vaguely remembers hearing once. He’s always been more of a girl group stan.

Then, as if drawn back to reality, your attention returns to Soobin. “Oh my god, I still can’t wrap my head around how you got these tickets! They were gone in seconds!” you shout to be heard over the music, but Soobin hears you just fine.

“Well, you know how it goes,” Soobin leans closer with a tiny smirk. “The perks of being multi-talented, well-connected, universally adored…” he quips, though the reality of getting those tickets was far less glamorous. His older sister works for a big-shot media company and managed to snag these tickets. He owes her a thousand favors. But for you, it’s worth it, he thinks.

You chuckle. “Always humble, I see.”

“Always…”

“No, seriously,” your tone shifts, “this means the world to me. Thank you, Binnie.” Your sparkling eyes focused on him, and your sincere words send a hint of color to Soobin’s cheeks, subtle and noticeable to only him.

“Enough with that,” Soobin whispers, trying to keep the moment light. “You’ve already thanked me like a hundred times over. You know I would do anything for you.”

Did he—did he really just say that? Was that too intense? Do you now think he’s too intense?

Before he can start overthinking, your radiant smile washes over him once more, and he feels a weight lift from his shoulders.

“What you need to do now is enjoy the concert,” he says, trying to change the topic. “Or you’ll blink, and it’ll be over.”

“YOU’RE THE BEST!” you yell once again, jumping in place before pointing at the stage. “Look, look! The performance team! I’d miss my own wedding before I miss this. Have you seen Hoshi tonight? He’s so hot, I swear to god…”

He’s well aware of your fondness for the K-pop group’s performance team, particularly Hoshi. You’ve made it clear enough, and Soobin has never given it much thought.

As the concert pulses around him and he watches you scream your lungs out for the dancers in front of you, Soobin’s mind begins to wander, connecting dots he never realized were there. Taemin, Kai, Momo, —your list of biases reads like a who’s who of dancers. He remembers your comments about dance majors like that kid Hyunjin and his own friend Yeonjun. And now, here you are, gushing about Hoshi and the entire performance team with stars in your eyes. He’s never, ever seen you like this.

As the gears in his mind whirl, he reaches for his phone, opening a familiar chat without hesitation.

---

The concert ended about two hours ago, and Soobin is currently looking down at his phone in the stall of the bathroom at the only Thai place opened at this hour. He’s having the best time of his life with you, and it suddenly came to him that he must do everything in his power to get you. Hence why he scrolls until he finds the familiar name. He’s positive he’s never pressed a button faster.

And he is a fast button presser, if you ask him.

“Hey Soob, sorry I didn’t call, just saw your text and—” the line answers after a few rings.

“Teach me how to dance,” he urges as soon as he hears Yeonjun’s voice.

“Hey Yeonjun, how are you? Just peachy, thank you! What about you, my good friend? I’m pretty great too, actually, just happy to say hi to—”

“Hyung!” Soobin interrupts with a yell. “This is a life-or-death situation! No time for this!”

“No time to even say hello? After everything we’ve been through?” Yeonjun’s joke echoes a bit. “By the way, I just put you on speaker, and Tae’s here.”

“I don’t—”

“Why did you just do that?” Taehyun’s voice interrupts Soobin’s from his own side of the phone.

“Did wha—?” Soobin starts, but gets cut off once again. He realizes he’s not talking to him at all as he hears a conversation between his two friends on the other line.

“Why did I do what, Tae?” He hears Yeonjun ask.

“You just let him know I’m on speaker as if you’re warning him.”

“What? What I would warn him about?”

“Exactly!” Soobin hears his friends bicker. “I don’t know what you two don’t want to talk about while I’m here.”

“Are you serious? Taehyunnie, is this what I’m thinking? Because jealousy is not a cute look on you.” Yeonjun laughs. “Well, you know what? It might be—”

“STOP!” Soobin yells into the phone. “If someone needs to be warned about something, it’s me about your flirting.”

“We are not flirting!” Taehyun yells on the line. “Actually, you should be the one who’s flirting. Aren’t you on a date with Y/N right now? Why are you on the phone?”

“It is not a—well, I never specifically said the word date when I asked her to—you know what? It doesn’t matter! What matters is that there’s an emergency!”

“An emergency?” Yeonjun’s voice now sounds closer. “Hyung, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Taehyun continues.

“Yes! An emergency! That’s literally the first thing I said!”

“You never—”

“And no! I’m not okay! I’m the protagonist of a tragedy, and the plot twist? I’m not just ‘not okay’—I’m the complete opposite, like if ‘okay’ ran away and left me stranded in a dumpster fire of chaos.”

“Uh-huh,” Taehyun hums, catching on to Soobin’s melodrama. “If I recall, the very first thing you said was rudely demanding Yeonjun dance lessons. Honestly, Hyung, I don’t know why we keep falling for this kid’s theatrics.” Soobin groans as hears Yeonjun’s light laugh in response, followed by a quiet, ‘you’re right.’ “And seriously, why do you even want to learn to dance? Didn’t you have a strict ‘no dancing’ policy?”

“Well, that is why it’s an emergency. Like I said, a life-or-death situation. I need to revoke this policy and become the best dancer there is.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I don’t know how else to tell you how serious I am. Life or death, Yeonjun!”

“Stop saying that! You’re not dying. Well talk about it later, JUST GET BACK TO HER”

—

Soobin’s mind races as he walks you back to your place after the dinner. He’s hyper-aware of every step, every word that comes out of his mouth. It’s like his brain is stuck replaying moments from the concert, analyzing every little thing you said or did.

“I still can’t believe how close we were to the stage,” you say, your voice tingling with leftover concert adrenaline. “Did you see the way they moved? Hoshi is unreal!”

There it is again. Hoshi. The name has become a ghost haunting Soobin’s thoughts, a reminder that he’s no dancer. He’s no Hoshi. But then you look at him with that smile, the one that makes his heart do a weird flip, and he almost convinces himself that you might feel the same way. Almost.

“Yeah, he’s pretty good,” Soobin replies, trying to sound casual, but his voice comes out a little too high-pitched, a little too forced.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Pretty good? Soob, he’s like, one of the best dancers out there!”

He completely understands you’re being a fan and freaking out about seeing your favorite artists — just one week earlier he was crying at the mere sight of KARA performing in front of him (he tells everyone he’s a casual listener. Soobin has never been casual about a single thing in his life.)— but he can’t help but run his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, I mean… sure. He’s great,” Soobin stammers, “But, you know, dancing isn’t everything.”

You stop walking and turn to face him, your expression shifting to something more serious. Soobin’s heart sinks and he’s two second from permanently loosing it, really.

Why did he say that? What did it have to do with anything? You’re going to think he’s crazy, worse, you’re going to tell him that you wish he were more like Hoshi, more like Yeonjun, that you need someone who can dance and—

“No, you’re right. Dancing isn’t everything,” you say softly, taking a step closer to him. “Soobin.. I..I just wanted to tell you that didn’t come to the concert just for Hoshi or the performance team or the group. I came because I wanted to be there with you.”

His heart skips a beat, and for a moment, hope flares up inside him. But then the little annoying-world ruiner- voice in his head creeps back in. Do you know? Oh my god, you must know he likes you and the stupid ass voice keeps whispering that maybe you’re just being polite, just trying not to hurt his feelings. He’s Soobin, your cute, sweet old friend who’s always there, but never the one you’re actually interested in.

You chuckle, a light, airy sound that sends a shiver down his spine. “I mean, sure, I appreciate good dancing. But you’re right, you know?”

He thinks that if he opens his mouth nothing good will come out of it, so he just nods and hs mind runs back on his earlier conversation with Yeonjun and Taehyun. The dance lessons. That is it— when learns to dance, he can finally be the kind of guy you’d notice, the kind of guy you’d actually want.

You continue walking, and he falls into step beside you, his body catching up before his brain.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, wondering why he seems so distant all of a sudden.

“Soob,” you start, trying to break through whatever wall he’s put up, “did you have fun tonight?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah! Definitely. It was awesome,” he replies, but even he sounds weird to his own ears. He’s trying hard not to ruin a perfect night more than he already did but at this point he’ll hold a grudge against himself for the rest of his life.

You stop again, this time taking his hand in yours to make him look at you. The warmth brings him back to reality, and he stares at you, wide-eyed and confused.

“Are you sure?” you ask, searching his face for any sign of what’s bothering him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat. You’re so so close, so so beautiful and all he can think about is how much he wants to kiss you, but he’s convinced you don’t feel the same way. So, instead, he just nods, giving you a small, strained smile.

You sigh, dropping his hand, and for a split second, he wonders if he really did ruined everything. He might as well just dig a whole and crawl inside it, but you start walking again and he follows.

“Okay, but if something’s bothering you, you know you can tell me, right?” you say, trying to keep your tone light, even though you’re a little frustrated that he won’t open up.

“Yeah, I know,” Soobin mumbles. Once again kicking himself mentally for not being able to just say what’s on his mind and be a normal person.

The rest of the walk is filled with a comfortable silence, but it’s the kind that makes Soobin’s thoughts race even faster. He’s so wrapped up in his own head that he doesn’t notice the way you keep glancing at him, trying to figure out what’s going on.

When you finally reach your door, you turn to him, your heart pounding in your chest. It looks like you want to say something and he hopes is not a revelation that you actually hate him for ruining a perfect night, but all that comes out is a soft, “Goodnight, Soobin. Thank you for everything. It was the best night ever.”

“Goodnight, Y/N, im really glad” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitate for a moment, then lean in to kiss his cheek.

“Sweet dreams,” you say with a smile, before disappearing inside.

Soobin stands there, staring at the closed door, mind all fuzzy. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, but it’s no use. His critical thinking skills went away with you so he doesn’t know what to think other than to become the best dancer you’ve ever seen. Because he’s that dumb and because maybe, just maybe, if he does, you’ll look at him the way you looked at Hoshi tonight.

----

Somehow Soobin didn’t make you not want to see him ever again so, the next day, you two are back at your place, ready to binge-watch this new drama Soobin’s been waiting to start since Beomgyu said it was the best thing he ever saw, but he’s having real trouble focusing on the screen. Every laugh, every breath, every time you shift closer, sends his heart racing.

You, on the other hand, are trying your best to get his attention. The way Soobin’s been acting lately is nothing less than confusing. One moment he's making dad jokes and making you laugh till your sides hurt, the next, he's lost in thought, as if he’s not even there.

Halfway through the episode, you stretch your arms above your head, letting out a dramatic yawn as you lean into Soobin’s side, your body brushing against his making his pulse quicken.

Soobin freezes, his eyes widening. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you murmur, nuzzling closer, "Just comfy. Is that alright?"

His heart pounds in his chest. "YEah! Comfy is… good."

“Good.”

A tense silence comes between you two and you can faintly feel the TV in the background, but neither of you really hears it. You’re so close now that Soobin can feel your breath on his neck and he feel to himself that he needs to stop acting like a fourteen year old being alone with a girl for the first time now. He’s convinced this is the moment where you’ll feel how fast his heart’s beating and realize how hopelessly in love he is with you and then you’ll freak out and it’ll all be over and-

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” you say, “Is everything alright?”

Soobin nearly chokes on his own tongue. “Me? Weird? Nope not at all! I’m—uh—totally normal. Just…normal Soobin... behavior.” He clears his throat, trying to play it cool, making you scoff a little.

You raise an eyebrow. “Normal, huh?” You shift even closer, your hand brushing his thigh. Soobin tenses, heat rushing to his face. “Because you’ve been acting like there’s something's going on. Something you’re not telling me.”

“I—” Soobin starts, but you cut him off by placing your hand over his, your fingers lacing together. The simple gesture makes him shiver all over, and suddenly, word vomit is coming out out of his mouth before he can stop them. “You’ve been talking a lot about dancers lately.”

“Dancers?” you repeat, genuinely puzzled.

“Yeah, like Hoshi, and Taemin, and—and Yeonjun,” he says, the last name coming out quieter, almost like he’s embarrassed. But he already started and he’s not sure he can come back from that and from the confused look on your face, he’s sure he can’t sink any lower. So he goes for it… as much as he can, anyway.

“I just thought—well, I thought maybe you liked them. Like, really liked them. And I’m not, you know, a dancer. So I thought…maybe I should.. that you don’t…”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and then you burst out laughing. Not the reaction Soobin was expecting. “You think I don’t like you because you’re not a dancer?” you manage to say between giggles. “Soobin, that’s-- no! That's ridiculous!”

Soobin’s face turns bright red, and he pulls his hand away turning towards you completely “It’s not ridiculous,” he mutters, pouting slightly. “And it’s not just that, it’s about the whole vibe I bring to the function! I just… I’m trying to be someone you’d actually like.”

You scoot closer, closing the gap he just created. “Soobin, I already like you. A lot. And not because of some dumb reason like dancing. I like you, Soobin.”

Soobin blinks, completely caught off guard. “You…like me? Despite… everything?”

“No, Soobin. I don’t like you despite everything you are, I do exactly because of it. I like pretty much everything about you.”

“Rea…lly? Even the fact that I… have an… anime club membership?”

You roll your eyes playfully, your hand finding its way back to his thigh, your fingers trailing up his inner leg. “Yes, Soobin, I like that too. Honestly, I’ve been trying to get you to notice for weeks now, but you’ve been so oblivious! I was starting to think I’d have to spell it out for you.”

“Well, you kinda do,” he says, still processing your words. “Because I’m clearly not the brightest when it comes to this stuff.”

You grin, your eyes glinting with mischief. “Well, then. How about I show you instead?” You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, “Would that help you understand?”

Soobin’s breath hitches, and he nods slowly. He thinks he might explode any second now. Is this really how he wants to die?

You move to straddle his lap, your hands resting on his shoulders as you look down at him with a playful smile, and the answer is yes.

He stares up at you, his hands hesitating at your waist, not quite believing this is real. “Are you…are you sure?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Positive,” you murmur, your lips inching closer to his. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And just like that, you kiss Soobin.

He melts right into it and his brain registers it so, so slowly, and once it hits him that you are kissing him, — that he is kissing you,— his arms wrapping around you as he finally lets himself believe that this is real.

As the kiss deepens, you pull back slightly, your forehead resting against his as you both catch your breath. “So,” you whisper, your fingers tracing small circles on his chest, “are you finally convinced?”

Soobin grins, his dimples on full display and his mind full of you. “Yeah,” he says, his voice filled with awe. “I think I am.”

You smile back, leaning in for another kiss, but this time, Soobin surprises you by pulling you even closer, his lips moving against yours with a newfound confidence. The kiss turns more intense, your hands tangling in his hair as his grip on your waist tightens.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, faces flushed with excitement. Soobin looks up at you, “I can’t believe this is finally happening.”

“Believe it,” you say, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Soobin’s breath is intense, his body reacting to your proximity and your voice.His hands roam up to your back, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls you even closer, the heat between you growing almost unbearable.

You slide your body against his, your hips grinding slowly, deliberately, as your lips meet his once more in a passionate, fervent kiss. Soobin’s hands grip your hips, guiding you against him with a need that matches your own.

And as for the dance lessons? Well, Soobin might still take Yeonjun up on that offer—if only to keep up with your pace.

#soobin #soobin x reader #soobin fluff #soobin au #choi soobin #soobin imagines #soobin x y/n #soobin x you #soobin scenarios #txt x reader #tomorrow x together

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