#fling

[beautiesofbygoneeras]

Fling Magazine, 1958.

Ann Peters - Late 1950s To Early 1960s Eras American Pinup Model.

[bloodlegacies]

Hayden, roleplaying with their fling to copy a certain heir: "Can you make your face like... extra grumpy? A constant disaproving face but in sexy way? Can I also draw a big scar across your face?"

Poor fling ,is like :

But for Hayden...

🤣🤣

[syrup-tree]

The soccer coach and I

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Fling

It's raining rats and moggs.

Artist: Paolo Parente TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[ayunas-tuna]

língua do desejo ━━ 2.8k ˚ smut

pairing: vacation fling!jimin x reader genre: smut with plot (kinda), vacation fling au, strangers to lovers, light angst, soft romance, language kink tags/warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), soft dom, fingering, riding, balcony sex, language kink (portuguese), body worship, dirty talk, thigh grabbing, desperate grinding, praise kink, unprotected sex (be safe irl), intense eye contact, breathy moans, emotional tension.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᭄᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🌴 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧

꒰ঌ summary : you meet jimin at your cousin’s wedding in rio and things just spiral from there. he’s beautiful, charming, and way too observant. he doesn’t speak portuguese, but he listens to you like every word you say is meant just for him. you start teasing him on purpose. whispering things he can’t understand just to see the way his jaw tightens and his fingers twitch. it’s a slow build. soft looks, hot glances, quiet tension, like something’s about to snap but neither of you says it out loud. until one night, it finally happens. he pulls you into his lap, you say something filthy in his ear, and he breaks. it’s messy. hot. needy. a little sweet. he wants all of you even when he doesn’t know what you’re saying. and afterward, when you’re both lying there sweaty and tangled up, he’s still whispering… what did that mean? what did you call me? and you just smile. you’ll tell him later. or maybe never.

the heat in rio hits you like a kiss, slow and heavy and impossible to ignore. as soon as you step off the plane, it wraps around your skin, sticky and warm, like the city is already pulling you into its rhythm. you wipe your damp hair back from your face and wish you hadn’t worn that stupid jacket on the flight. your skin itches, craving fresh air and sun, not recycled airplane heat.

the taxi winds through the streets, windows rolled down, the noise of the city alive around you. palm trees blur past, brushing the sides of the car, their leaves rustling softly in the humid breeze. the smell of salt and some wild green something, maybe the rainforest, maybe something else fills your nostrils. you lean your head against the window and let the scenery wash over you, the colors brighter and more alive than you expected.

you’re here for your cousin’s wedding. the villa they rented is perched high above the ocean, white walls glowing in the afternoon sun, surrounded by flowering bushes and the faint sound of waves crashing somewhere far below. it smells like fresh paint and jasmine, like summer and beginnings.

you step out of the taxi, the pavement hot beneath your sandals, and immediately your eyes catch him.

he’s standing on the balcony, leaning lazily against the railing, his linen shirt open just enough to catch the light on his collarbone and that gold chain resting there. his hair is tousled like he’s just come in from the beach, sun-kissed and messy in the best way. jimin. the groom’s cousin. the one everyone’s talked about in whispers and smiles.

he’s watching you. not like you’re just another face in the crowd, but like he’s trying to memorize you already.

you catch his gaze and your lips twitch into a smile. you say something to your aunt in portuguese, the words flowing easily from your mouth without thinking, full of teasing warmth.

jimin’s eyes flicker with interest but also confusion. he steps closer, lowering his voice when he asks, “what did you just say?”

you laugh softly, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you wouldn’t want to know.”

he tries to hide his smile but it breaks through anyway, shy and a little breathless.

you turn and walk away, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing you hate but secretly like.

you don’t know it yet but this moment is the start of something you’ll never forget.

you barely get a chance to catch your breath before the wedding party kicks into gear. music spills out from every corner of the villa, the beat bouncing off the walls and making your skin tingle in time.

later that evening, you find yourself at the beach bonfire, the sky dark but stars sharp and scattered overhead. the air is cooler now, but the heat between people feels electric.

you spot jimin across the firelight, sitting with a few others but somehow completely apart, like he’s watching the flames but really watching you.

he catches your eye and raises his glass in a small, shy toast. you smile back and walk over, slipping into the circle.

you lean in close and whisper in portuguese, your voice low and slow, “você fala tão bem com os olhos.” you speak so well with your eyes.

he blinks, clearly not understanding the words but loving the way your voice wraps around them. “what did you say?” he asks, his eyes dark with curiosity.

you grin and don’t translate. instead, you lean closer, letting the heat of your breath tickle his ear. “something you don’t want to know.”

he laughs, that soft laugh that makes your chest squeeze tight. the way he looks at you now is different, more open, more… interested.

you can feel the tension building, like electricity waiting to spark.

he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. your heart stumbles.

“teach me,” he says quietly, “teach me what you’re saying.”

you consider it for a moment, then whisper, “maybe later.”

he smirks, but there’s something in his eyes that says he’s not giving up anytime soon.

and just like that, the game between you starts to play out. slow, teasing, and impossible to stop.

the next few days pass in this strange, quiet rhythm.

you don’t seek jimin out, but he always seems to be where you are. by the pool. near the drinks. waiting for an uber to the beach party at the same time you are. he doesn’t hover, doesn’t push. just… appears. like the universe keeps throwing you into each other’s orbit to see what happens.

every time you speak portuguese, his head turns.

it’s not just the words. it’s your voice. soft, low, like you're saying something intimate even when you're not. sometimes you catch him staring at your mouth. like he’s trying to understand you by watching how you form your syllables.

you’re lounging on the villa steps one afternoon, sunglasses sliding down your nose, sweat curling around your neck. jimin walks by, shirt clinging to his chest, skin golden and damp from the heat.

he pauses. “you look like you’re melting.”

you glance up at him, take a slow sip of your drink. “maybe i am.”

his mouth twitches. “what do you say in portuguese when someone looks like that?”

you smile lazily, tilt your head. “when someone looks like what?”

“like… that,” he says, gesturing vaguely at you. “like they’re trying to kill me.”

you hum, pretending to think. then, slowly, you say, “você me olha como se já soubesse como eu gosto de ser tocada.”

he blinks.

you let it hang there.

he leans in a little, voice lower now. “what does that mean?”

you shrug, eyes never leaving his. “you’ll figure it out.”

he looks wrecked for a second. cheeks a little pink, mouth parted just barely.

and then someone calls his name from across the terrace. he hesitates, still looking at you, then finally backs away with a soft laugh, like he knows he’s in trouble and doesn’t mind at all.

later that night, the wedding party spills out into the city. dancing, drinks, way too much laughter echoing down the narrow streets of rio.

you don’t remember exactly how it happens, but somehow you and jimin end up in the back of the same cab, pressed too close together, the air conditioner broken and the music too loud.

you’re not drunk, not really. just floaty. warm. loose in a way that makes you lean into him a little more than you should.

his knee brushes yours. neither of you move.

“where are we going?” you ask, voice soft, eyes on the road.

“back to the villa, i think,” he says. “i lost everyone.”

you nod, barely paying attention. the city lights blur outside, golden and fast, and the heat between your legs has nothing to do with the weather.

his fingers graze yours on the seat between you. not on purpose. maybe.

you turn your head, slow.

“you keep looking at my mouth,” you say.

he swallows. “i know.”

you smile, tilt your head. “why?”

he doesn’t answer right away. then, quietly, like it costs him something: “because i want to hear you say something that’s meant for me.”

you blink, surprised.

then you lean in, lips brushing the edge of his jaw as you whisper, “tudo que eu digo é pra você.” everything i say is for you.

he exhales hard through his nose, eyes shut, jaw tense.

“jesus christ,” he mutters.

you kiss his neck. just once. just to see.

he turns toward you, fast. his hand finds your thigh, firm. warm. he doesn’t pull you in, just rests it there, like he’s asking.

you give the tiniest nod.

the cab stops at the villa. you don’t remember walking up to your room. you only remember the way he stood behind you in the elevator, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off of him like a second sun.

your hands shake when you unlock the door.

he steps inside like he’s crossing a line he’s been staring at all week.

you don’t say anything.

neither does he.

you just look at each other for one long, burning second.

then you kiss him.

and it’s over.

his lips are soft. a little unsure at first, like he’s still testing the edge of whatever this is. but the second you pull him closer. fingers tugging at the back of his shirt, your body pressed tight to his. he makes this sound, low and breathless, like he’s finally letting go of whatever he’s been holding in. his hands roam your waist, your hips, your back. he doesn’t settle anywhere for long. like he doesn’t know where to start, or maybe like he wants to touch all of you at once.

you drag him backwards toward the open balcony doors, kissing him between steps, stumbling a little because neither of you can stop. the night air is thick and warm as it rushes over your skin, but it doesn’t cool anything. your blood’s still boiling. the moonlight floods in, pale and heavy, painting both of you in silver. you back him into one of the balcony chairs and straddle his lap, your dress sliding up as you settle your weight onto him. he’s already hard beneath you.

he curses under his breath and grips your thighs, looking up at you like you’ve just knocked all the air out of his lungs. “say something,” he whispers, voice shaky, like he needs it.

you lean down, lips brushing his ear, and murmur, “você quer me ouvir gemer?” his breath stutters. his grip tightens. “what… what does that mean?”

you smile, press a kiss to his jaw. “you want to hear me moan?”

he groans, a real, full-body kind of sound. “fuck.”

you rock your hips against him, slow and cruel, grinding down once just to see what he does. his head drops back, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering shut. he looks so pretty like this. flushed, panting, already falling apart and you’ve barely touched him.

you kiss down his neck, soft and slow, and whisper against his skin, “você fica assim só de me ouvir?” he gasps, doesn’t understand, not really, but he nods anyway. his voice is barely a whisper. “i don’t even know what you’re saying but… fuck, keep saying it.”

you hum in approval and guide his hands up your thighs, under your dress. his fingers are warm and a little shaky, sliding over your skin like he’s not sure he’s allowed to. you let him touch, let him get bolder. when he finally reaches your underwear and pushes it to the side, he groans again, fingers slipping into the wet heat waiting for him.

your head drops to his shoulder as you roll your hips into his hand. “isso,” you murmur. “assim.” he starts to get the rhythm, fingers pumping slowly, the heel of his palm pressed against your clit. your whole body tenses with how good it feels, how perfectly desperate he is. his other hand grips your thigh like he’s holding on for balance. “you’re so fucking wet,” he whispers, almost like it hurts. “jesus, what do you do to me…”

you sit up, your breath coming quick, and look at him. he’s wrecked. cheeks flushed, eyes heavy, his cock straining under his pants. he looks like he’d let you do anything to him.

“tão obediente pra mim,” you murmur. so obedient for me.

he whines. actually whines.

“tell me what to do,” he begs. “say it in portuguese. please.”

you smile. slow, dangerous. and lean down until your forehead rests against his. your voice is a whisper. “tira a roupa.”

take off your clothes.

he moves fast, fumbling with the buttons, shrugging off his shirt, then his pants, his boxers. he’s hard and flushed and already twitching against his stomach, leaking at the tip. you don’t look away. don’t hide how much you want him.

you slide off his lap and stand up, pulling your dress over your head in one slow motion. his eyes never leave you. you take your underwear off last, slow enough to torture, and when you step out of it, he looks like he might lose his mind.

“come here,” you say, softer now. he does.

he steps into you like he can’t help it. his hands slide around your waist, holding you bare and close, like he’s still scared you might disappear. you kiss him again, slower this time, deeper. his hands wander over your skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch. your stomach. your back. the curve of your hips. he moans into your mouth when your fingers wrap around his cock, slow and easy, like you’re savoring him.

he’s warm and heavy in your hand, already leaking, already pulsing. he drops his head to your shoulder and groans when you stroke him once, twice. you press soft kisses to his temple and whisper, “gosta disso?” – you like that?

he nods, desperate. “yes. fuck, yes.”

you guide him back toward the balcony chair again, but this time you keep him standing. you sink to your knees in front of him, lips brushing over his hipbone as you say, “olha pra mim.” look at me.

he does. dazed. shaky. ruined already and you haven’t even started.

you take him in your mouth slowly, letting the heat of you melt around him. he gasps, one hand flying to your hair but not forcing, just holding, grounding. his thighs tremble. every time your tongue moves he lets out this soft, broken sound like he’s losing the ability to hold back.

you pull off with a soft pop, breath warm on his skin, and say, “você quer gozar assim ou dentro de mim?”

he whimpers. “what, what does that mean?”

you stand up, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “do you want to come like that,” you whisper, “or inside me?”

his hands are on you instantly, pulling you into him, mouth crashing into yours. “inside,” he says, rough and breathless. “please. inside.”

you turn and guide him toward the bedroom without another word. the sheets are cool against your back when he lays you down, but it doesn’t last. not with the way he’s kissing you now. like he’s starving. like every second without your body against his is unbearable.

he lines up at your entrance and pauses, forehead pressed to yours, eyes searching your face. “tell me if you want me to stop,” he says.

you shake your head. “i won’t.”

then he pushes in.

slow, careful, inch by inch until you’re full, stretched around him, your breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan. his mouth falls open like he’s never felt anything like this. like you are something unreal.

he stays still for a second, buried deep inside you, trying to breathe.

“fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “you feel… oh my god.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, legs tightening around his waist.

“move,” you whisper. “go slow.”

he does. every thrust deep and deliberate, like he wants to feel all of it. your nails scrape down his back and he moans. you say his name in portuguese, soft and breathy, and he thrusts harder without meaning to. he says your name in return, like a prayer.

his hands are everywhere. your hips, your thighs, your face. he kisses you through it, messy and open-mouthed. every time you whisper something in portuguese, he moans louder. me fode assim. isso. não para. he doesn’t know what the words mean but his body does.

you feel him start to tremble. he’s close. you are too.

“don’t stop,” you gasp, clinging to him, your voice broken now. “don’t stop, i’m right there-”

he fucks you through it, chasing your high, his name falling from your lips in pieces.

you come first. hard and fast and full-body, your legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry. jimin groans as you clench around him, and within seconds he’s coming too, deep inside you, hips stuttering, body going stiff before collapsing over you.

you stay like that. tangled up, slick with sweat, chest to chest, both of you breathing like you just survived something.

he presses his lips to your shoulder. then your neck. then your cheek. his hand strokes your side, lazy and warm.

“what did you say earlier,” he mumbles, lips barely moving, “on your knees… that one line… what was it?”

you smile, eyes still closed, voice hoarse. “you’ll have to learn portuguese if you really want to know.”

he groans and buries his face in your neck.

“you’re evil,” he says. “so fucking evil.”

[inkhours]

ONE SHOT IDEAS

so, here are a few one shot ideas I have in mind, things I'd like to write at some point.

You can add your opinions or ideas to any of these, actually I would appreciate it if you did.

(Characters included: John Price, Harry Castillo, Joel Miller, Simon Riley)

1. online friend

Tbh, I'm not sure about this idea, it's not fully developed yet. Maybe you have some suggestions:

Reader makes a close friend online. (I want there to be some angsty momentens) (not sure with whom).

2. pianist and gamer

A pianist and a gamer fall in love, despite their differences (Simon Riley x reader).

3. horrible date

readers date goes horribly wrong and meets Harry there (Harry Castillo x reader).

4. set up

Mutual friends set up a blind date ( not sure with whom).

5. fake dating

when you two have to fake date and fall in love (not sure but maybe Joel or John).

6. fling?

Fling goes south when he offers you a drawer in his bedroom ( Simon Riley x reader).

7. are we dating?

despite going on, what are considered as dates for most people, you two don't believe you are actually dating (not sure with whom).

8. taking care

John, your best friend, is in love with you and you don't even know it. Honestly, he is a better man than any of the idiots your other friend keeps trying to set you up with. (John Price x reader)

[ultimateyearner]

So Do I

Pair : crush x reader (or anyone, really, x reader)

Summary : you meet them while on holiday at a hotel and get to their room, and they start trying to show off their body, but so do you. (kissing and a bit suggestive but also fluffy?).

Note: it has been years since I have written something that is not an essay, so the quality of this is pretty shitty, but I've been feeling pretty down lately and want to get back into writing as it brings me some joy, so this will have to do for now. I hope you enjoy it as much as you can, and any constructive criticism is appreciated :)

Word Count : 1.1k

── ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ──

You're both giggling, slightly drunk, hand in hand as they unlock the door, leading you to their room. Anticipation is thick in the air. You could almost taste it, but neither of you has let yourself indulge in it yet. The knowing look you share says it all. Eventually, something is happening tonight. You don't know how or when, but every step is a tease.

You glance around the room, looking for something to talk about, but it is a hotel room after all, there's nothing special, just clean sheets and the hum of the AC. Still, they quickly tidy up the stray jackets and shirts lying around the room.

Your attention drifts from the room to their movements, your eyes can't help but trace their arms, from the way their fingers flex to the veins leading to their biceps, all the way from across the room. Your glance keeps rising up until they catch your gaze, a slow smirk tugging at their lips.

Instinctively, they flex an arm at you.

"I go to the gym," they tease, yet their words are somehow laden with a challenge.

You arch an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smile, and without thinking, you mirror the move, showing off your own toned bicep.

"So do I," you quip, the playful tension thickening between you.

They laugh, surprised but delighted, taking a step closer to you. With one fluid motion, they pull their shirt over their head and toss it aside.

"I go to the gym," they repeat, voice low and teasing.

You cock your head at them, grin widening. You know where this is going, but you want to keep playing.

Without breaking eye contact, you strip off your own shirt, tossing it next to the bed.

"So do I," you answer, slightly more breathless than before, smirk still plastered on your face.

Their eyes roam over you, lingering at your chest longer than necessary, before glancing down at themselves, a tiny flicker in their eyes. It's barely noticeable, but it is enough to make you smile, the mischief igniting in both your chests.

With slow, deliberate motions, they undo their belt, clinking buckle and shallow breaths filling the sound of the room. The pants drop to the floor as they step to the side, muscles flexing under their skin just for you.

"I go to the gym," they repeat, much more daring than before.

You can't help but laugh, yet it is edged with desire. This game is going exactly where you wanted it to. You hold their gaze too, letting your bottoms fall to the ground, and stepping toward them. You give them a little spin to the side, offering a complete view of your back.

"So. Do. I," you say, with a bit of pout, like it's a game, and you're winning.

They slowly make their way to you from their side of the room as the distance shrinks between you two. Stopping right in front of you, close enough to touch, they pause, eyes narrowing, unmistakably filled with challenge.

"Hmm... I'm not sure how much you really do work out," they murmur, voice hushed and teasing, but vibrating with something deeper. "I might just have to feel for myself."

Your smile drops a bit, lightly sighing, "Alright," as you fully expect them to go for your ass. Before you can say anything else, you feel their hands on your bicep, fingers curling into your skin as they squeeze.

A smile immediately lights up your face as you instinctively flex your biceps, the brief touch sending a jolt of heat straight to your chest.

"Okay," their eyes twinkle, "You pass the test."

Rolling your eyes as you try to hide your smile, "Well, I need to do some quality control of my own." You lift your hands, resting them lightly on their chest, your fingers caressing their pecs, down to their abs. There's no hiding the way you pulse quickens, but you fake a sigh, feigning disappointment.

"Meh," you coy.

They mockingly clutch their heart, pouting with feigned hurt. "Well, I don't lie. You certainly seem like you work out a bit," they say.

You grin, taking one step toward them, leaving mere inches between you both. "I do... but there are a few muscles I haven't worked out in a bit."

"Oh, yeah?" They raise an eyebrow, their gaze darkening and their voice dropping lower. "Need some help with working out those muscles?"

You pull back slightly, an innocent smile plastered on your face. "I might."

They tilt their head, half-amused, half-intrigued. "You might?"

You shrug, playing it cool. "Yeah..."

"Yeah....?" Voice drenched in anticipation.

You meet their gaze, holding on to it for a beat, then add, "But I'm looking for more buff guys who cou-"

"Oh, shut up," they interrupt, smiling as they slide one hand behind your neck and the other around your waist. They hold you there for a moment, both of you breathless with excitement, before pulling you into a kiss.

For a moment, there's nothing but the heat of their lips on yours, the way their skin touches yours, both your bodies pressed against the other. The kiss starts rough, it's quick, like a battle for control, with lips colliding, teeth grazing, and heavy, hot breaths into each other's mouths.

Before things go too fast, you pull back for a second, breathless, staring into each other's eyes. Smiling at each other, you find something else; despite this being the first time meeting them, there's something more private, more intimate there. You lean back in for a kiss, this time softer, slower, more deliberate. Passion lingering in the kiss like something both new and familiar at the same time.

Slowly, you both move towards the bed, lips still attached, like a fluid dance, bodies pressed together. You land on top of them on the bed, straddling them, but they don't fight it, letting you take the lead, hands roaming across each other's skin, heat building between you with every second.

Then, just as you feel as though you can take it a step further, the room suddenly shifts as they flip you beneath them so smoothly, taking your breath away.

"Oh my god," you gasp, laughing in surprise, as both your chests rise and fall with the rush of it.

They smile down at you, eyes staring right into yours, and for a moment, it seems as though the world is just the two of you, skin to skin with your breaths and pounding hearts filling the silence.

You smile back, leaning up to kiss them again, as the night falls into nothing but the two of you.

[idverbhim]