Before working with him at the cafe on campus, you didn’t know what to think of Yoon Keeho due to an encounter at a party and how obnoxious he acted in classes. However, since you started working together, you got to see sides of him you’ve never seen before, making you feel conflicted on how you feel about him.
PROFILES ONE ──── PROFILES TWO
001. first shift / 002. hungover / 003. am i cute? / 004. companions (written) / 005. matcha monday / 006. my hero (written) / 007. bye friend / 008. rain check / 009. see you soon / 010. see you monday? (written) / 011.
YOON KEEHO X FEM READER
SETTING. COLLEGE SMAU, ACQUAINTANCES TO LOVERS
OTHERS. p1harmony, nicholas &team, manon and lara katseye, anton riize + others (not mains)
WARNINGS. suggestive/mentions of sex, kys/kms jokes, bad humour probably (i find myself hilarious), drinking, cheating (will update if theres more)
you’re broke and you move in with a friend of a friend, changbin, to save money, and he's exactly your type
pairing: roommate!changbin x fem!reader
genre: roommates to lovers, fluff, smut
content: reader is down bad (same), light food play, light temperature play, dry humping, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (p in v), pet names, aftercare, minsung mention (i can't help myself)
word count: 5.9k
a/n: my writing slump is over mwahaha! this one kinda got out of hand but i hope everything makes sense and you all enjoy! ♡
♡ m.list
When you lost your job, the first place you had to cut costs was rent. Which fucking sucked, because you hardly know anyone in the city as it is, and the people you did know didn’t need a roommate.
Enter Changbin. He’s a friend of a friend, clean enough, and is always out of the house. Busy guy, your friend Jisung tells you.
“You want me to live with a guy?” you ask your friend over the phone.
“He’s like a walking green flag, calm down. Nice guy, really. He won’t bother you and he’s loaded so he’ll give you a deal,” Jisung explains over the phone. “And those muscles aren’t half bad to stare at.”
“Are you trying to set me up with your friend?”
“No! I mean, listen, you could use a good lay, but my intentions are pure, I swear!”
You’ve been single for far too long, and Jisung knows that. But the last thing you need is to hook up with the guy who’s supposed to be your new roommate. Whom you don’t even know, by the way.
“I can’t just sleep on yours and Minho’s couch until I find another place?” you ask, hoping to get out of it.
“Absolutely not,” he says sternly. “Changbin is a nice guy, and plus, you wouldn’t want to live here. Minho doesn’t wear pants, like, ever.”
Fine. You’ll take his word for it.
You show up the next day to look at the room. Changbin opens the door and greets you with a smile. Fuck, he’s pretty.
“Uh, hello! You must be Changbin,” you greet him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jisung has told me a lot about you!”
“It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m sorry to hear about your job,” he says. “I’m happy to help if I can.” He steps aside to let you into the apartment.
Jesus Christ, his place is massive. The ceilings have to be at least 15 feet tall, and the massive windows in the living room span the entire wall. It has the most incredible view of the Han River, and you’re almost positive the kitchen counters are 100% marble. And it’s certainly out of your price range.
“The spare room is this way,” he says, motioning down the hallway past the kitchen. He leads you through the apartment, and you catch a glimpse of an office space with a desk covered in music production gear.
The bedroom is huge in comparison to what you’re used to. There’s so much natural light, your houseplants would be in heaven. You could probably fit the entirety of your belongings in this room alone. There’s even a walk-in closet, which you have never, ever had before. It’s great, perfect even, and you’d move in immediately if you could afford it.
“Do you like it?” Changbin asks from the doorway as you’re walking around the room.
You let out a big sigh. “It’s perfect, truly, but it’s definitely out of my price range.” What a shame. A beautiful apartment and a hot roommate? It hurts to walk away from.
“No price,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re in a tight spot, I get it. Don’t even worry about it for the first few months, then you can just pay what you’re comfortable with.”
You stare at him, completely dumbfounded. “I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, shaking your head back at him.
“I’m happy to help. Any friend of Jisung’s is a friend of mine. I mean it, no backpaying needed, let’s just get you on your feet.”
You could kiss him right now, and you just met him. It’s the kindest offer you could ever have dreamed of, especially coming from a complete stranger. You’d normally be wary of something like this, it’s almost too good to be true. But Jisung’s known him for years, and you trust him more than anyone else in the world.
“That’s extremely generous of you, thank you,” you say. “Really, you’re saving me from a much worse fate.”
“It’s no problem, really. I can help you move your stuff, too.”
You almost want to cry tears of joy. Changbin walks you to the door and you say thank you, again, and plan to move in later this week.
The cab hasn’t even pulled away from the building when you call Jisung again.
“I hate you,” you tell him when he picks up the phone.
“What did I do?” he whines.
“You didn’t tell me your friend was hot.”
“I said he had nice muscles!”
You groan into the speaker. You love your friend, but now you’re sure he’s trying to set you up.
“He is, quite literally, exactly my type, Jisung.”
“I’m struggling to find the issue.”
You groan again. “I’m not supposed to want to fuck my roommate,” you say, lowering your voice.
He howls out a laugh. “So you’re taking it, right? His offer?”
“He’s not charging me anything.”
“Yeah, I know. I told you he’s rich.”
It’s still an insane thing to offer a complete stranger. But right now, you’ll take your luck wherever you can get it. Even if that means moving in with a roommate who looks like he’ll get you into a whole lot of trouble.
You moved in two days later, and it was the least stressful move-in day you’ve ever had. Jisung had helped you pack the day before, although he mostly just stood around handing you things to wrap and commenting on your weird trinkets. Changbin had called a truck for you, and also called over Jisung and their friend Chan to help unload it. You didn’t lift a damn finger, but you did buy them a pack of beers to share for the trouble.
“You really don’t have a lot of stuff,” Changbin comments when all of your boxes and furniture are in your room. Most of the furniture in your old apartment was your roommate’s, but it feels weird all laid out in front of you like this.
“Yeah…I don’t even have a bed frame…” You pout, as the two of you stand in the doorway. You survey what you do have, and it’s not much. An old wood dresser you got from a thrift store, your full-size mattress, and a single nightstand you had in college.
You let out a big sigh. You don’t have much unpacking to do, but you’re a bit drained from the stress, and you’d like to at least lie down for a bit.
“Don’t worry about dinner,” Changbin says as he heads out into the hallway. “I can whip something up for us. I’ll leave you to unpack your things.”
He’s been so kind, and it almost distracts you from the fact that you’re living with a stranger. And that you lost your job. That part still sucks. But you can’t lie, he is really nice to look at. There’s nothing wrong with looking.
Forty-five minutes later, Changbin lets you know that dinner is ready. You’ve been able to smell it the entire time packing, and it smells divine. The spread is pork belly, rice, kimchi, and several other side dishes you’re not used to seeing outside of a restaurant. You’re used to living off of ramen, which makes this a five-star meal.
“Thank you so much, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you say, taking your seat at the island counter.
He lets out a huff of air through his nose. “Uh, this is just how I eat normally.”
“Oh, right…well, still, thank you.” You almost forgot. He’s rich. And apparently, eats like a king daily.
“You’re welcome.” He sends you a soft smile and joins you at the island counter.
The two of you get to chatting, and you learn a lot about him. He works with Jisung and Chan at his producing studio and is a personal trainer at the gym on the side. He lives alone because, well, he wants to.
You’re unemployed, but he already knows that.
“Sorry for ruining your peaceful atmosphere,” you joke, but there’s a part of you that feels like maybe he said yes because Jisung owed him something.
“No, no, no, it’s okay, really. It’s nice having someone around. It was getting lonely around here. I almost got a dog. And I’m allergic.”
The evening dissolves into laughter, and you get the feeling that this won’t be as strange as you thought.
It takes several days, but you finally get your stuff out of boxes and organize it the way you like it. Your bedspread is hastily thrown over the floor mattress and your clothes don’t even fill half of the giant closet. You feel out of place, but you shake the feeling and try to be grateful.
Overall, living with Changbin is really great. You’re home quite a bit, only really leaving the house to pick up food or going to a job interview. He’s pretty busy, like Jisung told you, but he’s home most evenings.
You’re usually watching some tv show, and he takes a second out of his day to sit down and chat with you. It’s nice to have company, your old roommate wasn’t much of a talker. But with Changbin, it’s easy, and nothing feels forced.
“I can’t believe they’re back together again,” he comments as you’re watching a tv show. He mentioned he was never one for dramas like this, but he’d hover behind the couch when you’d watch it out in the living room, making jokes at the stupid situations the characters got themselves into. It took only a week for him to ask you to restart it from the beginning so he could watch the whole thing. You started looking forward to the evenings after that, waiting for him to get back from the gym for your nightly watch party.
The first moment you realize you maybe, possibly, might have a crush on your roommate is during one evening in the kitchen. You can smell something cooking from your room, and it smells delicious, you can’t help but peek around the corner to see what it is.
Changbin’s at the stovetop cooking, still in his gym outfit, muscles peeking through the fabric. You try not to drool at the sight, quietly walking over to him to see what he’s making. He jumps a bit as he sees you.
“Sorry!” you say apologetically. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, dipping his spoon into the soup he was making. “Can you try this for me? I feel like it needs more salt.”
He takes a couple of steps closer to you, holding his hand under the spoon to catch the drip. You don’t even have a chance to decline before he’s bringing the spoon closer to your face, urging you to take a sip. He blows on it a couple of times to cool it before bringing it to your lips. He’s standing so close, you feel your stomach tie into a knot. You take a sip slowly and carefully, taking note of the flavors.
“No, I think it’s perfect,” you say, licking your lips. You’re probably not just talking about the soup, but he smiles and thanks you for being his taste tester.
You push any and all thoughts of what those lips might feel like against yours to the side. Roommate, you remind yourself.
The second time is when you bump into him in the hallway, he just showered and has a towel wrapped low around his waist.
“Oh, god! I’m so sorry!” Your eyes naturally drift across his torso, still wet from the shower, before realizing you should definitely not be staring. You shield your eyes and move around him.
“Sorry! Not used to living with other people.” He scurries into his room and shuts the door. You let out the breath you’ve been holding, and quickly go back to your bedroom.
You tell yourself it’s just the proximity, that anyone would be feeling this way if they had an attractive roommate parading around half naked. He’s your roommate, you remind yourself. He’s been so kind to you, and he doesn’t deserve the less than respectful stares you’ve been giving him. It’s a temporary situation after all, and it’ll continue to be a good one so long as you don’t cross any lines.
The third time was when it really hit you. You came home from another awful job interview to the sound of tools clanking and something pounding against the floor. Changbin’s room was off to the left of the living room, but the sound was coming from the right. Where your room is.
You set your bag down on the floor and quietly kick off your shoes before rounding the corner. Your bedroom door was propped open, light on, and the banging sounds were coming from in there.
You’re not sure what you expected to find. Maybe Changbin would be patching some drywall you chipped off by accident. Or maybe the screws on your ceiling fan loosened, and he was tightening them for you.
Changbin’s sitting in the middle of a bunch of pieces of wood, holding a screwdriver in his mouth and fumbling with paper. He didn’t even hear you walk into the house.
“Uh…hi?” you say to him, standing in the doorway.
“Oh, hi,” he says, taking the screwdriver from between his teeth and laying the paper to the side.
“Whatcha doin'?”
“Building a bed frame.”
“I see that…why?”
“You didn’t have one.”
“Okay…”
“So I’m building you one.”
“Why?” you question him, one eyebrow raised.
“You’re sleeping on a mattress on the floor,” he says, like the answer is obvious.
“I know, but I could’ve done this myself.”
“I wanted to do something nice for you.”
You feel guilty immediately. You don’t want to be seen as some charity case that someone has to take in and look after, like a burden. “Thank you…I can pay you back for this—”
“Don’t,” he cuts you off. “Think of it as a housewarming gift.” He smiles at you as he turns back to the instructions.
“It’s your apartment…”
“Please just let me do something nice for you.”
“You’re already being nice by letting me stay here!”
He stands up as you say that, walking towards you, still grinning. His hands come up to your shoulders, and he meets your eyes. “I want to do this.”
You gulp. He’s standing so close you can smell his body wash. His gaze is intense, but you can’t look away. You resort to a nod and a small “thank you”, and he turns to continue working on the bed frame.
“At least let me help you—” You cut yourself off this time when he gives you the biggest sigh, and looks at you like you already know what he’s going to say.
You have a crush on your roommate. Your handsome, incredibly fit, incredibly rich, generous, and kind roommate. What could go wrong?
Everything feels different after that.
You find yourself thinking of him all the time, wanting to make sure you’re already home when he gets home, spending as little time in your bedroom as possible just to hang out with him. You swear you feel him doing it, too.
It starts innocently. First, he’s grazing the small of your back when he passes behind you in the kitchen. He bumps into you in the hall and grabs your waist to move past you. Your thighs touch his on the couch, and neither of you moves. Plausible deniability.
Until the air conditioning breaks in the middle of a heat wave. Because, of course it would. Now you’re forced to watch him walk around the apartment shirtless and dripping in sweat. Forced is a strong word. More like, your eyes are blessed every waking hour until this gets fixed. Which doesn’t seem to be any time soon, considering the whole city’s affected by rolling blackouts and HVAC issues.
You’re convinced he was put on this earth just to torture you. It’s impossible, really, to be that attractive and walk around like he doesn’t even know it.
You’re hyper aware of every movement he makes. A drag through his damp hair, him leaning against the counter, muscles flexing. You make every earnest effort not to look, but you can’t help it.
“I’m no better than a man,” you groan, flopping on the bed.
“What’s wrong now?” Jisung asks on the other end of the phone. You had to tell someone, and he’s the one person you feel comfortable enough with who knows you both.
“Changbin. Shirtless. Like all the time. The AC went out.”
“Again, I’m struggling to see the issue. Dude’s hot, I get it.”
“He’s. My. Roommate.” Emphasis on roommate.
“You’re both single, I don’t see anything wrong with it.” He has a point. “I’m sure if he was uncomfortable, he would’ve said something.”
“I want him to crush my head with his biceps.” The heat is irritating you, and you have no filter. Not that you ever do with Jisung.
“Jesus Christ, you hornball,” Jisung laughs on the other line. “Maybe you just need to get it out of your system.”
“What?”
“Put a dick in it!” Minho’s voice rings through the speaker. Of course Jisung told him. You’re not even mad, but you’re caught off guard by the statement.
“What?”
“Minho’s right. There’s so much tension built up, you’re psyching yourself out. If you just…put a dick in it…it might go away!”
“I’m not sure about that.” At this point, you wonder if it’s even about how attractive Changbin is, or if you’re starting to genuinely like him.
“C’mon, you could both use a fun one-night stand. And you wouldn’t even have to leave the apartment!”
“Jisung, he built me a fucking bed frame.”
“Oh.” Yeah, oh. “Ohhhh, I get it. You like him!” You groan at him, again.
“What do I do?” Your hand drags across the side of your face. Hearing Jisung say it out loud makes it real, and now you’re panicking.
“Girl up! Go get your man!”
You don’t even know what he means by that, and you don’t know if you should even try. Jisung’s just being a good friend, supportive of all your delusions. All you know is that it’s fucking hot in here, but if you see Changbin shirtless one more time, you might accidentally pounce on him.
You peek down the hallway to check that the coast is clear before tiptoeing your way to the kitchen to grab a cold glass of water. You bring the glass up to your face, the condensation running down your forehead and cheek, offering a little relief from the heat. It’s not nearly enough to cool you down, though. You place the glass on the island behind you and open the fridge and freezer doors, and just stand there, eyes closed, taking in the cool air.
“Feeling okay?” You hear Changbin’s voice on the other side of the fridge. And you’re standing with your head inside the fridge looking like an idiot.
You whip the door closed and find him leaning just on the other side of it against the wall, still half-clothed, skin shiny from the heat.
“Oh! Yeah, I was just getting some water,” you sputter out. You’re focusing on his face, and the way sweat is dripping from his hairline, doing anything to desperately not let your eyes wander too far south. You’re trying really hard to be respectful.
It’s like he can hear your thoughts. After a few moments of silence, he lets out a breathy laugh, rubbing his hands through his damp hair. His biceps flex, and you force yourself to grab your glass of water and walk into the living room before you combust.
Your thighs stick to the leather cushions as you sit down. It’s fucking miserable in here, the air is choking you every chance it gets. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any harder to breathe, Changbin comes and sits down next to you. He looks at you, brows furrowed, concerned.
Without saying anything, he leans over and places the back of his hand on your forehead. The movement startles you, and the warmth of his hand hitting your damp forehead sends a buzz through your body.
“You’re overheating,” he says simply, before getting up and going to his room. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, staring down the hall in confusion. You can hear him rustling around in his room, and a few minutes later, he comes out with a giant fan in hand.
He walks over to the wall to plug it in and angles it towards where you’re sitting on the couch. “There,” he says proudly. “Sorry, I only have the one.”
“Thank you,” you manage to mumble. The air feels good as it hits your skin, even if it’s a bit warm. He keeps standing there for a second, just watching, making sure it’s working properly before walking back into the kitchen.
You sip your water, flipping through various apps on your phone, trying not to think about the heat or the half-naked man in the kitchen. He walks back a couple of seconds later, two popsicles in hand. He unwraps one and hands it to you, plopping back down on the couch.
You’re trying really, really hard to focus on whatever show Changbin decided to throw on. He leans forward in his seat, absentmindedly licking over the sweet treat, and you can’t help but stare. You catch yourself and tear your eyes away, hoping he didn’t notice.
He leans back to make a comment, his knee brushes against yours, and you feel like you’re going to combust. You don’t dare move, hoping he doesn’t notice your skin touching his. Your eyes keep drifting back to him, no matter how hard you try to stay focused. His shorts are tight against his thighs, and you can see the faint outline of his muscles through them. His stomach and chest are on display, thick and firm. His arms are always out, probably as thick as your entire head, and his lips—
“Do I have something on my face?” he asks, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Your eyes dart up to his, and he’s looking at you. He definitely just saw you staring. Fuck.
“N-no! No, you’re good.” Nice save. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He finishes his popsicle and throws the stick on the coffee table with the remaining trash.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low and far too casual.
“Yeah, it’s just—hot.” You don’t know if you’re talking about the literal temperature of the room, him, or both.
“It’s melting.” He nods his head towards the abandoned popsicle in your hand. You haven’t even taken a single bite, just letting it melt down your wrist. God, you’re so down bad for him, it’s not even funny anymore.
You snap out of whatever trance you were in previously and look at your hand. “Shit.” You chuckle a bit, and your face grows even warmer from embarrassment.
“Let me help.” He smiles at you, inching even closer. He takes the popsicle from your hand and pulls your arm closer to him. Before you can even register what’s happening, he brings your wrist to his mouth and licks the cold juice off with a slow movement.
“It’s sweet,” he comments. What the fuck. Your eyes are locked with his as he cleans you up with his mouth, moving slowly over your palm, before taking two of your fingers in his mouth and sucking slowly. He’s watching your reaction intently. Your lips part, and your thighs press together on instinct as a heat begins to grow inside your body.
“Thank you…,” your voice trails off. You don’t know whether you should move closer or run back into your room screaming.
“This fans not really cutting it, huh?” He gestures to the hunk of metal in the corner. You shake your head with a laugh, because as hard as it’s trying, it’s doing jack shit to help with the actual temperature of the room.
“Lean forward.” He’s fully turned to face you now, one leg folded between the two of you. He gestures for you to move closer, and you do. “Close your eyes.” Your eyes snap shut, painfully aware of how you didn’t even bother to ask why. Your curiosity is getting the better of you.
He takes the popsicle you didn’t really eat and brings it to your collarbone. The cold sensation against your warm skin makes you gasp, but you keep your eyes closed. He traces a line with the tip of the treat along your collarbone, and you can feel it dripping down your chest. A shiver runs through you, goosebumps raising along your whole body.
“Better?” he whispers. You nod your head, unable to form the words, and he continues to drag the popsicle along your skin, bringing it lower to the swell of your breast. The cold trickle down your skin feels really good in this heat, but there’s a growing ache between your legs you can’t stop thinking about.
The empty stick lands on the coffee table, and your eyes snap open. You’re breathing heavier than is considered normal, and Changbin is inches from your face. His eyes are tracing down your neck, watching the liquid drip down under your tank top.
“Can I?” he asks, leaning closer. Again, you nod your head, watching as he leans in. His mouth meets your collarbone, his tongue flicking out to lap up the mess. You shudder under his touch, and your hands fly up to his shoulders. Everything is hot—his mouth, his skin, your body.
You moan as he works his way between your breasts, throwing your head back. Your brain is foggy, only able to focus on him.
“Is this okay?” he says softly against your skin. The cool air hits the spots he’s licked away, sending tingles through your body. You nod aggressively, squeezing his shoulders to ask for more.
He leans you back against the couch’s armrest, moving a pillow behind you, before he dips back down to lap at your neck. The mess has been mostly cleaned up, but you’re both too worked up to stop.
He’s sucking softly at your skin, and his hands trail under your tank top. You moan under his touch, pulling him closer to you. He props himself up above you, looking you in the eyes. He pauses a moment, as if asking for permission. You give him a slight nod, and he closes the gap, capturing your lips with his.
The kiss is slow, tentative, careful, as if he hadn’t just had his whole tongue on you moments before. Your hands tangle in his hair, and he moans into your mouth when you tug lightly.
It grows heated quickly. Your legs wrap around his body, encouraging him to put his weight on you. His hand moves further up, squeezing your breast. Every movement makes the heat in your belly grow, and you buck your hips up against him, chasing any kind of friction.
“Bin…please,” you whisper. “More...”
Your hands trail down his sides, guiding his hips down to meet yours. He grinds against you, and you feel him through his shorts, thick and hard. You can feel your insides burning, and you’re already wet for him. He swallows your moans and sits up to pull you onto his lap.
Your lips meet again, moving sloppier and faster than before. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, and you whimper at the feeling. His hands are everywhere—your chest, your ass, your thighs. He’s grabbing and kneading at your skin, sending a buzz through you.
“You made it…so hard not to touch you,” he grunts between kisses. “Walking around…in those shorts…no bra.” The words give you a fluttering feeling. You had sensed the attraction wasn’t one-sided, but hearing him say it out loud brought feelings of relief and excitement.
“Says you,” you say, hands drifting down his chest. “I’ve been fighting for my life since I moved in.”
That earns a chuckle from him. He moves to lift your tank top off and licks away any remnants of popsicle juice that might still be left on your chest. He moves to suck on one of your nipples, holding the other in his hand. He sucks a little harder, and the slight sting has your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. He gives your other breast the same treatment, and you grind down in his lap to relieve the tension between your legs.
“More?” he asks.
You nod your head. “Yes—fuck, please, God yes.”
He shuffles under you to slide down his shorts and boxers, revealing his thick cock to you. You almost choke on your own spit because, fuck, he’s girthy.
You slide off his lap to discard your shorts and underwear. You climb back in his lap, spit in your palm, and bring it to his length. You stroke him gently, watching him intently as his head falls back against the couch.
“Shit—that feels so good,” he moans. You lean forward to kiss his neck, gently sucking on the sensitive spot there. He moans louder, egging you in, and you move your hand faster.
“You’re so big, Bin.” You nibble at his earlobe and whisper low. “If I’d have known, I would’ve pounced on you a lot sooner.”
“Don’t say that to me right now .” He’s smiling, but there’s a serious undertone in his voice. “Or I’m gonna come.”
And you’d love nothing more. But before you get the chance to increase your pace, he grabs your wrist tight and yanks it away. You don’t even get the chance to protest before he’s dragging his fingers through your folds.
“Oh, fuck!” you cry out as he slips two fingers inside of you. You fall onto his chest, squeezing his shoulders tight. Your head starts to spin as he increases his pace, and you can hear how wet you are.
“You sound so pretty,” he whispers in your ear. “So warm and wet.” He’s still fucking into you at a relentless pace, and the heat in your body is reaching to its peak.
“Bin, fuck, I’m gonna—,” you cry, gripping him for dear life. Just then, he slows his pace down, leaving you whining at your denied orgasm.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” he says. “I want to feel you come around me, if you’ll let me.” You lean back to look at him, his eyes begging you for more. You nod your head quickly and bring him in for a kiss. He kisses you back gently, slowly easing his fingers out. You whine at the loss, but he’s soon moving you into a better position.
You prop yourself up on your knees, keeping your balance on his shoulders, as he lines himself up with your entrance.
“Ready?” he asks, gripping your waist. You reply with a quick “mhm” and take a deep breath.
You lower yourself down slowly as he guides you onto his cock, moaning in unison as the head enters you. The stretch stings a bit, but it feels so good.
“You’re taking me so well,” he says, letting out a deep breath and flashing you a smile. Inch by inch, you take him, feeling him nice and deep inside you. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size before he helps you rock back and forth.
“S-so big—,” you whine, your forehead falling against his. Your foreheads are still damp from the heat, skin still sticky from a mixture of sweat, popsicle, and spit. “Fuck, Bin—faster.”
Your legs are already shaking at his sides, and he takes over. His hands squeeze your hips hard as he thrusts up into you, fast and rough.
“So fuckin’ tight, baby,” he grunts. The sounds of him smacking against you fill the room. Your cunt is soaked, and you can feel the heat in your belly bubbling back up again.
“Close, close,” you warn him, and your head falls to his shoulder.
He wraps one arm around you tightly and moves his hand to your clit. His fingers make quick but gentle circles around your nub, and you’re seeing stars.
“Oh—fuck! Changbin!” you cry out as the heat boils over, sending shockwaves through your body. Your entire body spasms around him, and you feel yourself leaking around him.
He fucks you through the aftershocks, careful to be gentle and not overstimulate you. But you want him to feel good, too. You need him to.
You brace yourself to take control and ride him in earnest. You’re slamming into his cock, sensitivity be damned. He’s moaning your name through it, holding onto you. You feel him twitch inside of you, and you know that he’s close.
“Come for me, Bin,” you moan in his ear. “Fill me up.”
He breaks seconds later, filling you up with his hot white liquid. You slow your pace until he finishes, and collapse against his chest. You’re both breathing heavily, sweaty bodies pressed together.
“You’re incredible,” he breathes out, rubbing your back.
You sit up straight to kiss him again, cupping his face in your hands. “That was…so good…God, you’re so hot.” He smiles at your compliment, kissing you back.
“Let’s get cleaned up.”
He helps you off of him, and you try to keep everything from leaking out of you. He leads you into his bathroom and warms up the water. He cleans you up gently, even helping you wash your hair.
You both dry off and grab some clean pjs from your room before meeting back in the living room.
He plops down on the couch next to you, and his arm reaches around you to pull you close. It’s still hot as fuck in your apartment, but you wouldn’t dare move away. You can’t help but giggle at the situation that’s unfolded.
“What?” he asks, laughing with you even though he’s not sure why.
“Jisung said I needed to get laid,” you chuckle. “He’s going to have a field day when he finds out.”
“He’s one to talk,” Changbin laughs. “He’s been crushing on Minho for years and hasn’t done a thing about it.”
“I know, right? God, he’s so blind that poor boy’s in love with him.”
You spend a good amount of time just cuddling and talking on the couch. It feels really, really nice. You’re not exactly sure what any of it means, but you know you want it to keep going.
“Bin,” you whisper after the conversation comes to a lull.
“Hmm?” he hums.
“This is…nice. I know this living situation is only temporary—”
“Temporary?” he asks, looking at you with a confused expression. “I never said it was temporary.”
“Oh.” You look back at him with the same confusion written on your face. “I just thought you might want your space back.”
He adjusts himself so he’s looking directly at you, and holds both of your hands in his. “You moved into my space, my home, and into my heart. I never want you to leave.”
The confession makes your face grow hot again. You’re giddy and glad that this wasn’t a one-time thing. “Okay,” you manage to squeak out. “I won’t leave.”
He leans forward to kiss you, and a warm, fuzzy feeling washes over you. Home. This feels like home.
“What now?” you ask, leaning back against the couch.
“Hmmm…” He thinks for a moment. “We could break in your new bed frame.”
“Absolutely.”
touchstarved!sero who is naturally really flirtatious and friendly so he craves physical touch like a fucking drug
touchstarved!sero who finds every excuse to touch you—pulling out your chair at dinner functions, guiding you through crowds with one hand at the small of your back; fuck, he’ll even pull your palm into his lap and pretend to examine your lifeline just to get his hands on you
touchstarved!sero who does not fuck around as soon as he knows you’re interested
touchstarved!sero who's pressing you up against the door of the storage closet, cupping your pussy through your underwear and smirking against your lips when he feels how wet you are, "damn baby, is someone a little worked up?"
touchstarved!sero who 100 percent uses his quirk to restrain you even as you're begging to touch him, "sorry honey, gotta get my fill of you first" while prying your legs wide open and diving in between your legs
touchstarved!sero who wants you as messy as he can get you, teasing out orgasm after orgasm from his tongue alone. will not stop until you’ve squirted in his mouth, “sweet as fuckin’ candy, pretty girl, always knew you’d have the best fucking pussy”
a/n: i've never written for him before but this had me feeling a type of way. other touchstarved!mha boys here
he gets off on seeing you on your knees, for him, hah, he’s sooo tickled.
like you’re really on your knees slurping up HIS cock, god, he’s gonna bust just on principle.
especially if you normally give him so much mouth. cos you know he’s a ragebaiter and you can be so mean sometimes. but he just takes it. he might roll his tongue across his teeth and nod his head, but, fuck, it doesn’t really matter to him. not when you were literally on your knees, just last night, worshipping his dick with your mouth. so, fine, talk all you want, he’s busy replaying how you looked with drool running down your chin and his cum pooling in your mouth, yeah, call him an asshole one more time, go on, please do, he’s even hard at the thought. yeahhhh, and now tell him how much he pisses you off, fuck, say it again, he loves hearing it. and he’s already leaking from the tip. now it’s just a waiting game until you notice and get on your knees, for him, again, without him even asking.
(the pitt s2 e1 when it’s implied that garcia can’t keep quiet during sex, except in this scenario you’re garcia.)
dennis whitaker x fem!reader
cw: pure filth, slight sub!dennis, and garsantos crumbs
“what do we got?” you enter the room, adjusting the glove on your hand to your liking.
dr. robby gives a brief introduction of you to the new attending physician.
“meet dr. baran al-hashimi, new ed attending. she’s going to be covering for me while i’m gone.”
“so nice to meet you.”
“likewise. i was getting sick of the old man,” you reply, putting on the procedure gown.
“oh, i’ll miss you too,” robby says. “she has a hard time expressing her feelings,” he tells dr. al-hashimi.
santos chimes in, “not all of them, apparently.” she raises her brows before returning her attention to the patient.
the night before. . .
your nails run down dennis’s chest as you keep a steady pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the entire room.
“oh fuck,” dennis mutters, a whimper leaving his throat as your warm walls clench around him. “baby, ‘m so close,” he tells you, his fingers giving your hips a squeeze.
“right there with you,” you breathe out, continuing your movements. you lift yourself up, letting almost all of his size leave your cunt, before sinking right back down—feeling the way the tip of his dick hits your sweet spot every time.
dennis does his best to follow your pace, thrusting his hips up to meet you, but quickly faltering in his actions and eventually giving up.
“jesus, dennis—you won’t even help a girl out, will you?” you told him as you ultimately took over the hard work.
not that he’s complaining. he loves it when you take over.
“you feel so good,” he moans out, his eyes fluttering at the sensation of you riding him.
you trail a hand up his chest before running your index finger over his bottom lip and slowly sliding it into his mouth.
dennis wastes no time wrapping his pretty pink lips around it, swirling his tongue around your digit. all while holding eye contact—something he knows sends you over the edge.
your breathing quickens at the sight and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighten. “you’re dangerous.”
he hums as you slowly retract your finger from his mouth. “yeah?” he murmurs.
“oh my god, i’m almost there,” you mutter, using your last bit of strength to guide dennis’s hand towards your clit.
he rubs his thumb against your sensitive bud once, twice, then three times, until you’re finally seeing stars.
a soft moan escapes your mouth and you clench around his cock once more, causing dennis to follow in your footsteps.
he throws his head back against the pillow—mouth agape and eyes sewn shut—a loud groan leaving his lips. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” he whispers under his breath.
you two were so caught up in the pleasure of it all that you completely forgot there was company.
in the next room, santos stares at the ceiling frozen in place. she just had to listen (not willingly) to an hour of two of her closest coworkers getting it on.
“never even thought i’d hear the day,” she mutters.
garcia, next to her in bed, lets out a sigh and flips over to rest on her side. “let’s just hope they don’t go multiple rounds.”
“are we ever that bad?”
“go to sleep.”
so obsessed with him rn it’s unhealthy.
divider not by me. likes and reblogs are appreciated!
“glasses are filled to the rim, finally taking it in, i really needed a night like this.”
wc: 2.2k
starting track...
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“no, i swear to— i swear to god, y/n, are you listening?” denki slurs, pointing a limp finger in your direction which you nearly almost slap away because the guy wasn't even addressing you when this conversation started.
“yes, i’m fucking listening,” you reply offhandedly, not even looking up from the mangled UNO pile on the table.
“—dude.”
“not a dude.”
“—bro.”
“not your bro either.”
“BRO— JUST SHUT UP— LIKE, FUCK, like— wait— what was i— shit— what was i even saying....?”
whatever drunken ramble denki was trying to spew into existence dies a violent death under the roar of laughter around the booth. kirishima and mina practically fold in half, slapping the table in sync, wheezing like animals, their laughter so infectious bakugou lets out the ugliest snort you've ever heard into his beer bottle.
fuck, it was a good night.
late-winter. that weird sweet spot where deadlines are still killing you but you’ve decided to stop caring. you’ve all been trudging through days that start in darkness, end in darkness, and are filled with cold fingers, numb ears, rain-soaked smoke breaks. weeks of being too scared to open your bank acoount and too burnt out to read the group chat.
fucking finally.
the night felt like a deep breath and the first high of the season.
you feel good.
you all feel good.
so good, your probably pissing off the people in the booth next to you, with the amount of times denki's tripped on the way to the bathroom, and the screams and cackles coming from you and mina.
but who fucking cares, not when six of your closest friends are crammed into a sticky, sweaty, booth on the top floor of the student bar, half sunk into ripped faux-leather cushions. the pile of UNO cards has mutated into some unholy stack of bent paper probably phsyically stuck to the tabletop by this point. they've been there for a minute now, after mina crashed out because she had to pick up twenty four cards, and denki, of all people, won.
the pitcher you and kyouka shared is basically empty, just sad indigo residue, half melted ice cubes and leaves.
your shoulders are loose, your head feels light. your stomach hurts from laughing, your face hurts from smiling so much, and your ribs hurt from where bakugou elbowed you for taking the piss out of whatever he said that was grammatically incorrect 10 minutes ago.
and your left leg. well.
you had kicked off your sneakers when you had gotten back from the bathroom an hour ago and realised that, one, they were a teeny bit too small, in the way that they rubbed the heel of your foot terribly uncomfortably, and two, that you guys were not going out to the beer garden anytime soon. "it's so fucking freezing, you want my nipples to fall off", as mina had already declared.
so yeah, your left leg, your sneakerless, sockbound, foot had been creeping up sero's thigh for the last five minutes.
sero hanta.
the dumbass you sometimes make out with at functions if the hallway is dark enough.
see the best part about sero is that he's too hot for his own good.
and the worst part about sero, he's not even that hot.
you have objectively hotter friends, you tell yourself that all the time. mina is insanely gorgeous, kirishima looks like he fucking bench-presses planets, bakugou’s got the whole angry-pretty thing going—
but sero?
he's just tall, and a dumbass, and let's you toke from his joints, and puts you on good music, and is tall, and so fucking funny without even trying. he talks in that smooth, lazy voice, like he's teasing, even when he's not. he always looks like he’s on the verge of laughing at something no one else can see. and there's this permanent half smirk stuck on his stupid mouth, and he smiles with his whole stupid face.
and you’ve known him since like forever, like when he used to walk into telephone poles because he was playing pokémon go on his phone, and when he wasn't as fucking sexy as he is right now.
he’s sitting opposite you, leaned all the way back like he owns the booth, long legs splayed out in the rudest manspread you ever seen. his beanie is crooked. his cheeks are flushed. he’s got that stupid shit-eating grin he gets when he’s a couple drinks and two joints deep.
you tune back in mid conversation.
“bro, what?” he snorts at bakugou, lifting his chin.
“i’m mad ‘cos you're talking out of y’er ass right now." he's snarky with it, using the specific tone of voice he invented purely to ragebait bakugou.
clearly it's working, because the back-and-forth escalates immediately.
“are you fuckin’ stupid? the second movie was fuckin' garbage—”
“no it fuckin' wasn’t.” (yes it was) “the graphics were fucking insane.”
“—insanely garbage. you were stoned off your ass when we watched it. d’you even remember what happened?”
“‘course i do. the villain smoked the shit out of the main character and then—”
“and then you went to the bathroom and never came back,” kyouka cuts in dryly without even glancing up from her drink.
the table erupts again.
and under all of it, he twitches, just barely, when your toes press higher.
mhmmmm.
he's trying so hard to keep it casual right now, you can tell. what with the way his ears have gone red, and the way his eyes flick to you every few seconds like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
you love this part of the most. the chase, the game.
because, normally he’s the one doing this to you.
normally he's all heavy stares, half smirks, and that lazy, half-lidded look he gets when he’s deciding whether to ruin your night in the best possible way. sometimes it's a bit more intense, the way his lip will curl, the way he'll bare his teeth at you from across a room. like he'd eat you if he had the chance.
the thought of it makes you squirm, just a teeny bit, but sero's eyes snap to you just at that moment, as if he can tell, like he knows you’re thinking about it.
it's freaky, in a can-this-dude-read-my-fucking-mind kinda way.
but it makes something carnal in your gut shudder.
he holds your gaze a beat too long this time, not smiling, just looking. then he clears his throat and looks back at bakugou like nothing happened.
but eventually, the nic fiends of your group get twitchy.
kyouka's the first to crack, surprisingly. she taps your knee with her lighter trying to be discreet as possible, but it's all in vain.
denki's a bloodhound when it comes to smoke breaks.
before kyouka can even open her mouth to hint at the idea of going outside he's already—
"smoke break? yes? yes! EXCELLENT IDEA."
and halfway into his hoodie, climbing over a protesting eijirou who nearly eats the table trying to save his drink.
sero's gaze finds you again.
you squeal internally.
and sigh externally.
and tap kyouka on the back, half-heartedly murmuring something about hitting the bathroom first.
which is when you hear sero himself dramatically exclaim how he's been dying for a piss, and pushing himself upright.
fucking liar.
it makes you laugh under your breath, these guys definitely know what's up. sometimes you wish he'd be less obvious.
he catches you in the hallway by the stairwell. you can hear his footsteps behind you, the sharp slapping of his sneakers against the linoleum floor. he thinks he's slick.
“bathroom’s that way,” you say lightly without turning around, nodding down the opposite end of the corridor.
sero hums like he’s considering it.
“yeah,” he replies, dragging the word out, not moving. “funny. thought you were going this way.”
you stop at the stairwell landing and turn slowly.
he’s closer than he needs to be.
close enough that if you leaned forward an inch you’d bump into him. close enough that you can see the faint flush creeping up his neck into his ears.
his back hits the wall like he planned it, one hand braced beside your head, blocking your path without fully committing to it. casual. allegedly.
his ears are still red, if you asked, he'd blame the alcohol. but his eyes are not casual at all. they drop, just for a second, to your chest.
pervert.
he licks his lips like he doesn’t realise he’s doing it.
you do.
“you sure you don’t need the toilet?” you tilt your head, sweet and fake. “you sounded real urgent back there.”
his mouth twitches.
“i need something,” he says, voice a little lower now. a little breathier. “just not that.”
you let out a soft, unimpressed hum and take half a step closer, invading his space on purpose this time. your shoulder almost brushes his chest.
“that so?” you murmur.
his eyes flick down again. he swallows. “yeah.”
he smells like beer and weed and that stupid cologne he pretends he doesn’t wear.
yeahhhhhh.
“you’re not subtle,” you say, leaning one hip against the stair railing like you’re bored.
“i’m very subtle,” he shoots back immediately.
you raise a brow.
“you’ve looked at my chest three times since you got here.”
he blinks. “i have not.”
“four.”
“you’re counting?”
“it’s hard not to.”
that earns you a breathy laugh, the kind he tries to swallow but can’t. he pushes off the wall slightly, stepping closer instead of retreating.
bold.
“you think you’re funny?” he asks, eyes narrowing just a little.
“i know i’m funny.”
“nah,” he says, head tilting as he studies you. “you think you’ve got me figured out.”
you shrug. “you’re not that complicated, hanta.”
his jaw tightens just slightly. “oh yeah?”
god the tension is killing you. you swear you can feel it in your teeth. in your fingertips. in the space between your bodies that keeps shrinking without either of you admitting it.
“oh yeah?” you echo, lifting your chin. “is that all you’ve got? i thought you were smoother than that.”
“and you’ve always got something smart to say,” he chuckles, but it’s thinner now. less relaxed.
“you make it easy.”
“you think i’m easy?”
“i didn’t say that,” you hum. then you let your eyes drag over him, slow and intentional. “but if the shoe fits—”
his mouth moves against yours with zero hesitation, teeth grazing your bottom lip before he deepens it. his hand tightens at your waist, pulling you flush against him, your bodies lining up so easily it’s almost embarrassing.
you grab at the front of his hoodie and drag him closer, because if he’s going to pretend he’s not desperate, you’re going to make it impossible.
you giggle against his mouth, because you can’t help it, the whole thing is ridiculous. he nips at your tongue in retaliation.
“don’t laugh,” he mutters against your lips.
“make me,” you breathe back
then his other hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw as he tilts your head for a better angle.
and you both melt into it.
that's the problem. he knows you so well. he knows exactly what you like. where to press. how hard to bite. how long to drag it out before you start squirming.
you kinda hate it. hate that's him, hate the smug little exhale he lets out when his hand brushes that sensitive spot just below your collarbone and your whole body shudders. not subtle. not cool.
god he loves it.
you can feel the grin against your mouth. feel the satisfaction in the way he deepens the kiss again, slower now, more deliberate. like he’s proving a point.
“thought i was easy,” he murmurs, voice rough.
he plays you like a fucking fiddle. his fingers, his mouth, fuck him and his smart mouth. and his stupid sexy eyes. and his hair that is so soft, and thick, and begging you to pull on it. and that sexy ass sound he lets out when you do.
a low, involuntary groan that vibrates through you and straight to your stomach.
there it is.
you tug again just to hear it.
“you’re so annoying,” he breathes, but he’s smiling into your mouth.
“you’re obsessed with me.”
“you wish.”
you kiss him harder in response, fingers tightening in his hair, pulling his head back just enough to look at him. his lips are swollen. his eyes darker than before. pupils blown wide. ears still red.
he looks wrecked.
and you like that way too much.
his hands slide down your sides, fingers flexing like he’s debating how far to push this in a stairwell.
you kiss him one more time, slower. deeper. less frantic but somehow worse.
and then—
“fuck,” you mumble against his mouth, pulling back just enough to speak. “i actually do need the bathroom.”
he blinks at you.
“…seriously?”
“uhhhh... yeah.”
he stares at you in disbelief for a full five seconds. before he breaks. and wheezes out a laugh. “you’re unbelievable.”
“i know.”
he gives your waist one last squeeze before stepping back, though he doesn’t go far.
“don’t fall in,” he says. he's not funny.
you start walking backwards toward the bathroom, pointing at him.
yo i had a crazy dream yesterday and like... it had k-drama fucking transitions and dialogue and what da fuq. lowk wanna turn it into a short little fic or something
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