The types and their clothes

ENFP: You definitely notice what they wear (is this good or bad??). They like to change their fashion persona every so often. Flower crowns? YES. Neon shoelaces? YES. Blue hair? YES.

ISTP: Usually semi comfortable clothes (lots of pockets to keep knives in). Mud stains/rips/grease here and there

ENFJ: A cozy sweater is a staple

ISFJ: Likes to look nice and presentable but may not always be super familiar with current fashion trends. Their outfits are pretty mainstream and non-threatening. 

INFP: You can’t decide whether you like their outfit or not? Similar to ENFP but is scared to draw too much attention to themselves (secretly wants to wear the flower crown but feels silly). T-shirts with a message. 

ESTP: Camo, neon, sports jerseys, sporting gear. Thats it.

INTP: Wears the same baggy sweater and fedora every day. Running shoes on feet but never goes to the gym. The entire look is boring but is an archeological dig, you never know what you will discover under the dust.

INTJ: Similar to INTP but cleaner. Refuses to wear contacts because glasses do the job just as well.

ENTP: Fandom merch. Their t-shirts will either shock you or make you laugh (maybe both). They secretly like the disapproving looks they get from other people ;)

INFJ: Clean, except for the one stain thats been on their shirt for 3 years and they still haven’t noticed it (until an ISTJ points it out to them). Doesn’t care too much about the world of fashion but still ends up looking nice anyways.

ESFJ: ALWAYS wears lipstick before walking out the door. Fashion accessories galore 24/7!!

ENTJ: You’ve never seen them in sweatpants. They own the most ties you’ve ever seen in your life. Expensive taste.

ISFP: Probably half their clothes are either handmade or second hand. Beads, beads, beads. Guilt tripped into buying jewelry made by orphans in Africa. The only leather and fur they wear is vegan friendly.

ESFP: Sometimes you catch a faint scent of alcohol on their clothes (sometimes). Doesn’t own a bathing suit because they prefer skinny dipping. Either they are the best dressed out of everyone in the room or the worst.

ISTJ: Never seen this type in sweatpants either. Likes to look presentable. Their outfits are pretty mainstream causing them to blend into the crowd. Always wearing a watch.

ESTJ: The sleeves to their dress shirt are rolled up. Owns an apple watch (so much more efficient than a regular watch!). Has their clothes tailored because they can never find a pair of pants that fit JUST RIGHT.

anonymous asked:

A Viktuuri love child that just wants to play hockey and, "No, dad, you cannot add rhinestones to my jersey!"

“But you’d look so pretty!” Viktor whines.

“No. NO RHINESTONES.” Koichi eyes him warily, defensively covering his jersey and holding it against his chest.

“How about this?” he asked, casually fishing out a random bag of pink glitter from his pocket. There’s a long silence before Koichi lets out a high-pitched scream and makes a getaway dash towards the door and out of the room, tripping several times throughout the apartment until he (literally) runs into Yuuri in the kitchen carrying a coffee mug in one hand and a skating magazine in the other.

“Ah, what’s up kiddo?”

“Dad, dad won’t stop chasing me with glitter, PLEASE STOP HIM.” 

Yuuri tries to stifle a laugh but fails. “I don’t know, you could probably pull off the sparkly shimmery look.”


“Fine. Viktor, stop chasing our son with glitter.”

“Yuuri do you want to know why his hockey games are so boring?” Viktor asks, appearing abruptly in the doorway with a huge nerf gun loaded with glitter. Koichi swallows loudly. “Obviously because everyone’s wearing the same dull outfits.”

“Viktor, you’re not going to–”

“ До свида́ния, boring jersey.”


Cut scene, next practice Koichi shows up at the rink sporting a jersey untastefully covered in glitter that’s painful to look at. 

Call Boy Johnny (Johnny x Reader)


P.S. Yes, I’m the same blog as the original Call Boy Yuta smut. I changed my url from @chokemewithjaehyunschoker to @caliboyjaeffrey ! Hope no one get’s confused lol

Originally posted by y-ta

You woke up slowly, the sheets and blankets kicked off in your sleep and tangled in your legs. You felt content as you looked over at your alarm clock, the time being in the late afternoon.  Sleeping in was your passion, you’d stayed up super late the previous night anyway, not too bothered that half the day was gone. You gazed out the one big window in your bedroom, the one that looked out at the bustling city. Snow had fallen last night, dusting over the streets and cars like powdered sugar on pancakes. It didn’t really feel like your birthday, but it wasn’t so bad to wake up on a day as pretty as this one.

You got up and stretched, sliding on your slippers as you went over to the bathroom to wash your face, splashing it with cold water to wake yourself up. Refreshed, you lazily went to make coffee, turning on your radio to hear a cozy sounding song playing through its speakers. You also heard your phone beep softly back in your bedroom, in no rush to see what is was as you finished making your coffee.

Walking back to your bedroom, you slid open your phone, reading a text from one of your friends; something along the lines of wanting to meet somewhere for your birthday to celebrate. You smiled at their thoughtfulness, replying that you didn’t really mind where or how you partied, allowing them to go wild. Your friend answered back quickly, excitedly texting in all caps that she already had an idea in mind. She’d text you the details later, wishing you a final happy birthday.

You set your phone down, feeling your body give a quick shiver of energy, the coffee beginning to kick in. If they were planning on going out after the sun had gone down, you weren’t going to rush to get ready. Instead you plopped down on your couch with a bag of cheesy popcorn, clicking on the tv and watching the current music show programs contently.

Over time, you received various calls and texts from family and friends, all wishing you a happy birthday and to enjoy yourself today. That I will, you thought with a smile, standing up to refill your bowl of snacks for the second time. Someone might think it sad that this was how you were celebrating your birthday, but in all honestly, you loved having a day all to yourself. Of course, you didn’t mind hanging out with your friends later, in fact you really were looking forward to it.

After a while, you received a text from your friend again, with a time, address, and instructions to dress cutely. You smiled at the smirking emoji, texting back before you wandered back over to your bedroom, making a beeline for your closet. The time had said 8:00, so you thought you might as well get ready now, giving yourself two hours to really put on the ritz. It was your birthday after all, you didn’t have too many chances to really go all out the rest of the year.

You shifted through your clothes, finally being drawn to a cute, slimming black miniskirt; the perfect ploy to slim your food baby from all your snacking you did today. You’d pair the skirt with a red ribbed mock neck long sleeve that ecentuated your chest. You slid on a pair of sheer pantie hose before you put the skirt on, tucking the shirt into the waistband to really make your hips pop. You finished the look off with some simple black ankle boots with just enough heel to make your butt look extra good. Satisfied, you headed over the bathroom to finish getting ready, knowing you would spend at least an hour doing your hair and makeup.

A little over an hour later and your hair was curled and twisted up into a high bun, knowing that you’d probably get hot later. Your makeup was simple, but with a little touch of sparkle around your eyes that made them twinkle merrily. Happy with your appearance, you packed your purse full of the essentials you usually needed. Before you slipped out the door, you slid your chic winter coat on, hoping you wouldn’t freeze in your little skirt on the way to the subway station.

You boarded the train half frozen, passing the fifteen minutes on your phone thanking people who had posted birthday related things on social media. A few people discreetly complimented you on the train, making you flush sheepishly as they applauded your style and makeup.

Once you arrived at your stop, you took the stairs up onto a crowded street known for its nightlife. This certain strip was famous for its clubs among young people, and you’d been here on a few occasions. You weren’t shocked that they had decided on a club to host your party, what did surprise you though was which one they chose.

The exterior was modern and sleek, only the big tinted windows giving an indication of what was happening on the inside. This club was notorious for having the best of just about everything, music, drinks, food, and people. Celebrities frequented this spot, so it was a rather exclusive club, and difficult to get into. You went to walk to the back of the long line just like everyone else, but a large bouncer stopped you, looking you up and down before asking politely, “Excuse me, are you ______?”

Your eyes widened in surprise, “Yes, that’s me.”

He nodded to another bouncer who opened the door, loud electric music spilling out onto the street. The bouncer held out an arm to the door, “This way, please.”

You were still amazed as you walked up the steps and through the black glass doors of the club, staring in awe at the fashionable interior. The bouncer signaled you to follow him, leading you past the lively dance floor, whose tiles lit up in rainbow colors to the beat of the music. You were led up the stairs, almost unable to take your eyes off the people mingling and dancing, the place so alive and busy. Your body itched to shed your coat and join them.

The bouncer stopped at another black glass door, politely knocking on it twice before he opened it, revealing the familiar faces of your girlfriends. They jumped up in excitement, popping those little confetti and streamer poppers as they cheered, “Surprise!”

You were ushered in, the door closing as you grinned at your friends, embracing them warmly as they kissed your cheeks affectionately. They all said their ‘happy birthdays’, gushing over your outfit and makeup as they helped you with your coat and bag.

“Come over here, _______,” your friend who had texted you patted the chic leather couch next to her. “The birthday girl sits in the middle!”

You giggled and sat down, immediately being greeted by a cake with candles in it, “Oh my gosh, you guys.” They cooed and laughed, singing you happy birthday loudly and cheering when blew out the candles. “I don’t deserve you all. Really.”

“Oh, stop that,” one of your friends scolded affectionately, “You always do so much for us, we really wanted to make this birthday extra special for you.” The rest agreed, already pushing presents into your hands.

“Wait, guys,” you laughed, setting them down on the coffee table. “Presents later. I really just want to get down their and dance my ass off.”

Your friends booed jokingly, but they were already heading towards the door, tying back their hair as they prepared for the sweaty mess downstairs. You felt your body vibrate, rushing down the stairs to finally step onto the bright and colorful dance floor. Your friends quickly joined you, forming a circle around you as you danced wildly, dropping down to the floor with the beat, causing them to scream gleefully at your sudden sexiness. You didn’t hold back, allowing your body to move provocatively to the beat as you closed your eyes and soaked in the music.

You and friends danced for what felt like hours, taking the occasional break to indulge in some delicious drinks. Your body buzzed with the alcohol, but you were no lightweight, so your wits were right about you. You couldn’t say the same for your friends though, who stumbled around happily and danced without a care. You laughed at them, holding their hands so they wouldn’t fall over as you danced. Several cute guys had approached you, and you’d indulged in your inner desires as you danced with them. You would grind your ass into their crotch like an expert, ending up at one point sandwiched between two very cute guys. You kissed a few of them, just for shits and giggles, but the moment they whispered for you to leave with them and go ‘somewhere more private’, you would politely decline and slip away from them. Even with alcohol in your system, you were still smart enough to avoid a situation like that.

You and your friends eventually reconvened, wanting to go open your presents and let your feet take a break too. Sitting down, you opened your presents, grateful for the effort they put into them. After opening the last one, you went to thank them, only to be hushed by one of them, “Wait, that wasn’t the last one.” They were all giggling, making your eyes narrow at them in suspicion.

“All the girls and I pitched in for this one,” she smirked, your eyes widening as your feared the worse. The look they had on their faces only spelled trouble, “I’m sure you’ll find it rather…enjoyable.”

Right on cue, the door opened, and a boy stepped in. He was far more gorgeous than any of the guys you’d danced with, making them look homely compared to the god that stood before you. Your jaw dropped, still unable to comprehend what they were implying, “I-I don’t understand…”

He answered, voice so deep you felt it in your stomach, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing, sweetheart.” He was dressed casually, but stylishly; a sports team jersey of sorts, sweatpants that left little to the imagination, and Timberlands that clunked with authority on the tiled floor. He wore gold chains too, actually making them look hot for the first time in your life. He had beautiful long brown hair that swooped perfectly, complimenting his warm brown eyes and perfectly pouty lips that naturally had a smirky curl to them.

Sweetheart, you trembled at his words, eyes wide as he walked up to you effortlessly, firmly taking your chin into his hand. He ran his thumb across your bottom lip with a smirk, one of your friends spoke up, holding back giggles, “Meet Johnny, _______. The most expensive and impressive call boy in the city, and he’s here to help you celebrate your birthday.

You were speechless, eyes snapping up to meet his, which were watching and gauging your reaction carefully. He was perfectly calm and collected, while you were completely flabbergasted, still unable to understand what the hell was happening.

“We also booked you a room at a really nice hotel,” one of your friends spoke up, biting her lip in amusement.

If your eyes could get any bigger, they would have popped out of your skull. Your mouth couldn’t move, still transfixed with the way Johnny’s thumb parted your lips and slid into your mouth. You lightly tasted him on your tongue and accidentally let out a quiet whimper, his own lips twitching into a smile at your cute reaction. He’d have a lot of fun with you, you were definitely doing something to him. And he certainly didn’t mind.

“Before your friends leave, baby girl,” Johnny simpered, finally letting his hand drop from your mouth. “I’m going to put on a little bit of a show for them, free of charge.” Your friends laughed and fanned themselves jokingly, but you could tell they were trying not to look as shook as you were.

Johnny took a half step back from you, but he still towered so much that you had to crane your neck. You sat back, trying to relax your nerves but failing miserably as the call boy began to rotate his hips sensually to the muffled music on the other side of the door. If you thought your dancing had been risqué, Johnny made you look like a nun doing the Macarena.

He suddenly slid onto the couch, straddling your hips and grinding into you as he gave you what you finally realized to be a lap dance. He grabbed the back of your head, exposing your neck so he could ghost his lips along your sensitive skin. You let out a whimper, this time not holding back as your hips moved on their own accord against his. Johnny stopped with a smirk against your neck, dragging his soft lips up to your ear where he whispered, “Now, now sweetheart. Let’s save that for later, your friends are still here.” He let his tongue run over the shell of your ear, his voice lower, “Unless you’re perfectly fine with me fucking you in front of your friends?”

You shook your head, remembering that your friends were still in the room. You glanced quickly at them, they were clutching onto one another, eyes glazed over and biting their fingers at the scene before them. Johnny slid off your lap, taking your hand rather politely and snapping your friends from their trance, “Okay, ladies. Show’s over, time for us to leave.”

They all gushed in agreement, some of them whispering excitedly to one another in disbelief, others reassuring you that they would take care of your presents. In a daze you thanked them, barely remembering how your coat ended up on you and your bag on your shoulder, “Bye…thank you for everything.”

With his large hand grasping your smaller one, Johnny led you out of the club, easily weaving between crowds of people who were still dancing the night away. When you got out onto the street, snow was beginning to fall again, but the amount of people had only increased. The tall boy ran a hand through his hair, the action hypnotizing as he wrapped an arm around your waist and entered the stream of people, “This way.”

You didn’t know what to say to him, but the silence was stifling, so you murmured loud enough so that only he could hear you, “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know,” he replied, glancing down at you once before continuing with a small smirk, “But I want to.” He waited a minute before replying with an actual smile, “And they paid me too, so…”

You gave a small smile and blushed, clutching onto your bag for dear life as you two walked down the bustling street, snow falling softly and tickling your face. Your face burned all the way to the hotel, still unable to comprehend that such a gorgeous boy, a call boy at that, had his hand around your waist, and was leading you to some hotel where he would do God knows what to you. If some part of your brain was firing off and saying, “Hey, _____! Isn’t this a bad idea?”, you didn’t hear it. Instead you were listening to the other voice that whispered giddily, “A call boy! Just imagine! Wait! You don’t have to because it’s real!”

While you were fighting a war in your mind, you failed to notice that the two of you arrived at the hotel, which was way too luxurious for normal people. Johnny walked in like it was nothing, like he owned it, and upon noticing your reaction he smirked, “Listen, sweetheart. I’ve been to nicer, my clients are quite fond of me and have quite the heavy purse. This is child’s play compared to other places.” He spared you a glance, eyes traveling up your legs and curves, as he murmured, “Who knows, maybe I’ll show you them someday.”

You stared at your shoes in embarrassment, unable to find your usually witty tongue that served you so well. Instead, you walked with him through the sparkling lobby, the marble tiles so shiny you could see your reflection. Johnny didn’t even stop at the front desk, only giving the doorman a curt nod, who returned the gesture. As he pressed the button for the elevator, you gaped at him, “What was that?”

“That, baby girl,” he smiled lazily, a confident look, “is called connections.”

You were pulled into the elevator as soon as the doors opened, Johnny smashing the button that closed the doors before people could step on too. They cried out angrily but he only smirked at them, already backing you against the side of the elevator.

“I was going to be a gentleman and wait until we got to the room,” Johnny murmured, large hands traveling to your waist. “But you look so good just standing there I can’t help but want a quick taste.”

You barely had any time to reply when his lips crashed passionately into yours, hands on your hips rough as they tugged you into his. If kissing was an art form, Johnny had become a master artisan. His soft lips moved sensually against yours, controlling and powerful as you tilted your head back against the wall in defeat, allowing him to completely take over. He had you pinned against the cold metal wall, teeth nipping at your bottom lip for entrance as his tongue slipped into your mouth. You’d never been kissed like that, eyes flying open with a surprised moan before they slid close at the intimate feeling. Your head spun like you’d downed numerous shots, futilely trying to push his large frame off of yours so you could breath. But Johnny was stubborn and dominant, not stopping for a few more seconds before he pulled away, satisfyingly watching you gasp for air like someone who almost drowned.

You noticed your hands had bunched up in his shirt in an iron grip, slowly releasing the fabric as you blushed. You really didn’t know what to say to him, how did you even talk with a call boy? Don’t you just fuck and then go your separate ways?

Apparently not because Johnny couldn’t stop poking at you, all those pet names he threw around, the way he hadn’t stopped touching you since the club. He was beginning to frustrate you, though you couldn’t let him know that, he’d take too much pleasure in knowing he made you squirm.

“How was that, baby girl?,” Johnny murmured as you reached your floor, making no move to get off as you realized he was waiting for an answer.

You were known for being honest at all times, so you couldn’t help the words that slipped out of your mouth, “It was really hot.” Your ears turned pink, seeing a smile on his lips as he took your hand again and led you down a hall of doors.

The walk felt never ending, your body becoming hotter with each step as you stopped at the very last door, a corner suite. From the pocket of his tantalizing grey sweatpants, Johnny pulled out a key card, which he swiped effortlessly. He held the door open for you, ducking under his arm as you took in your new surroundings.

Your friends had apparently spared no expense, regardless of what Johnny said, the place was absolutely gorgeous. Decorated in a rather modern fashion, there was one impressive floor to ceiling window that over looked the city, and one grand king sized bed fitted with lovely grey sheets. You walked over to the bed and stroked the soft threads, unsure of what to do with yourself, but unable to meet Johnny’s eyes.

He stood off to the side, watching you carefully like a predator watches his prey, wondering when he was going to pounce. You weren’t sure what you were feeling, whether you were ready or not, whether this was something you really wanted. Sure, your body was telling you to let Johnny do things to you no one had done before, but your brain was battling and kept you from falling into the call boy’s arms. You sat down on the bed and took your heeled boots off, not as an invitation for him to go on with it, but because you were suddenly so tired and confused.

Johnny could tell you were at war with yourself, you were not the first time he’d dealt with someone who was hesitant. All you needed was a little push, a little reassurance, and he could give you that and much more if you agreed.

“_______,” Johnny called out, surprising you as he used your name while he walked over and sat next to you on the bed. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, turning to look at you, the natural curve of his mouth calm and pensive, “and I understand. This isn’t the first time someone was unsure, it’s actually really common.”

You stayed silent, mulling over his words. He sighed, probably expecting you to say something, but you didn’t, not knowing how to tell him both sides of your feelings. He was gorgeous and willing, here only to make your wildest fantasies come true, but the truth is, you were terrified. You hadn’t told anyone, not even your friends, and Johnny certainly didn’t know.

You were still a virgin.

You were surprised Johnny couldn’t spot the fact that you were one from a mile away, seeing as he’s probably slept with more people than he could count on his fingers and toes four times over. The famous call boy stood up from the bedding, dusting off his pants, “I understand. I’m not going to force you into anything you would regret.” He was already making his way to the door, grabbing his coat as he reached for the door handle, “You don’t have to worry, I’ll give the money back to your friends. It’s not a big deal.”

You forced yourself to look up, seeing him turn the handle with the actual intent of leaving sent your nerves into overdrive. You stood up suddenly, taking a few steps toward him, “Johnny, wait!”

He turned expectantly, looking fazed for only a moment before he returned to his calm state, “What?”

You gulped, closing the distance between the two of you and overlapping your hand with the the one that rested on the door handle, “Stay…please.”

He let go immediately, dropping his coat and backing you up slowly in tottering steps until the back of your legs hit the bed. You sat back down on the edge, allowing him to tower of you and cage your body with his as he pushed you into the mattress. His voice was low, already laden with a lust that sent a shiver down your back, “You sure?”

“Y-yes,” you quivered, hands lacing behind his neck as you pressed your thighs together, “I want you.”

“Positive?,” he teased with a smile, playful and confident again as he let one of his hands barely slide up your miniskirt.

“Yes! Fuck me!,” you cried out, exasperated and wiggling underneath that stare of his that practically undressed you.

“Alright, princess,” Johnny smirked, lips barely touching yours, “You didn’t even say please, that wasn’t very nice of you.” His hand crept up into your skirt, finding that you were only wearing pantie hose without underwear, and that greatly excited him.

He inched his fingers up your inner thigh, your legs parting on their own as you tilted your head back at the strange new feeling, “Ah…!”

He bunched up your skirt around your hips, his short finger nails digging into the hose and ripping a hole big enough to give him access to your womanhood. Cool air hit your lower lips, eyes screwing shut in pleasure as Johnny let one of his fingers dip lightly into your wet folds. He down at you underneath him, smirking, “Now listen hear.”

“I could take you real slow, sweetheart,” he traced a finger up your slit, letting it press lightly enough on your clit to make you gasp. “Or I could fuck your brains out.”

You could only moan, feeling him increase the pressure on your clit as he circled it with his finger, “Either way, baby girl, you’re going to end up bent over and spread wide for me.”

He bent down so his lips brushed the shell of your ear, retracting his hand from your core and unzipping your skirt slowly, “I’m going to make you come around my cock at least two times tonight, sweetheart. How does that sound?”

You swallowed thickly, tears of pleasure already pricking at your eyes just from his words, “So good.” You’d never felt so aroused in all your life, your body experiencing sensations and feelings you’ve never felt before. It was all so new and beautiful, you’re sure your body wouldn’t be able to last the night.

Johnny sat up and took his shirt off, giving you a good long look of his toned tan chest, his gold chains bouncing lightly as he walked around the bed until he laid himself down at the head. He made himself comfortable as you sat at the foot of the bed confused, “What’re you-”

“I want you to dance for me, baby girl,” Johnny murmured, his hand languidly resting over the bulge in his sweatpants. “I saw you in the club, dancing like the little slut you are, such a naughty girl. Stand up.”

You listened obediently, already sliding your skirt and panties hoes down your legs as your body moved to some silent music. You recalled a song you’d really liked from earlier on the dance floor, a hypnotic beat that had the risqué sound of a bed rhythmically creaking. You danced to that beat, tongue coming out to trace your bottom lip as you stared at Johnny, whose hand moved lightly over his sweatpants.

He watched you with intense eyes, lips parting slightly as he watched your every movement, “You know you made so many guys hard, sweetheart. And you turned them all down too, isn’t that right?” His voice dropped an octave, his abs flexing as he rubbed his dick harder, “They all would have gladly waited in line to fuck you right there too.”

Not missing a single movement of his hand, you slipped your shirt over your head, dropping down to the floor like you had in the club. Johnny sat up a little straighter to watch you knot your hips on the floor, his dick twitching at the sight of your bare body.

As you stood back up, your reached behind and unclasped your bra, feeling bold enough to throw it at Johnny’s feet. He let out a small groan, watching as your crawled on all fours towards him on the bed. You felt like someone completely different than earlier, driven only by your need to be with Johnny and feel his touch.

You let your hands press against his chest, straddling him like he had done to you in the club and grinding down in his clothes erection. Johnny must of had a ton of self control because he only breathed through his nostrils heavily and squeezed your hips with his hands, guiding you as you rode him. You let out lewd sounds you didn’t know you were capable of making, unable to bare the pleasure you were feeling, how hot Johnny’s skin was against your palms. You couldn’t resist the temptation any longer, your fingers leaving his chest and choosing to weave through his long brown hair.

You tugged on the roots as he began to grind back up into you, making you moan, “Johnny…”

He grunted in approval, stilling your for just a moment so he could pull his sweatpants down. You had left a large wet spot over the front, all from your dripping core as you rode him. You balked, realizing what his intention was as he slipped his impressive dick out of his briefs, “What’s wrong sweetheart? You suddenly scared?”

You gulped, raising yourself up on trembling thighs so he could position himself at your entrance. Your fingers dug into the skin of his broad shoulders, heart beat picking up as you prepared yourself for him, “N-no.”

He didn’t even reply, instead he decided enough was enough and slammed himself into you harshly. You cried out, tears slipping down your cheeks as his eyes suddenly widened in shock, “Shit. _______, why didn’t you tell me this was your first time?”

You buried your head into his shoulder, sniffling from the pain as his arms wrapped comfortingly around your frame, “I-I didn’t want you to make fun of me.”

Johnny sighed, showering your skin with kisses and rubbing soothing circles around your back, “Sweetheart, no….”

You gave a shaky breath, beginning to get used to the unfamiliar stretch of your core, the strange feeling giving you a sense of completion. The call boy cupped your face, eyes surprisingly earnest, “I’ll make it up to you, baby girl, I promise, okay?”

You nodded, resting your head against the crook of his neck. You felt so small in his arms, but safe, so you whispered tentatively, “Okay. You can move….”

His hips moved gently at first, rocking in and out of you smoothly as you got used to the feeling, which began to build into one of pleasure. You hesitantly moved your hips, clumsily finding the same rhythm as him. He noticed you reciprocating his movement, picking up his speed slightly and pressing a kiss to your neck, “Feel good?”

You could only moan softly, voice wavering as he bounced you on his dick getting increasingly rougher as he realized you were beginning to like it that way. His hips rutted harshly into yours, now unable to hold back as you grew accustomed to his size, biting down into the skin of his shoulder when he grabbed your ass, “Johnny!…”

“Such a good girl,” he groaned, head lolling back against the headboard as he lost himself in the feeling. “Your tight little pussy feels so good.”

Your breathing increased, feeling close to your high as Johnny spanked your ass roughly, most likely leaving a perfectly red handprint. Soon as his hand made contact with your ass again, you were gone, arching your back in a silent scream as your first orgasm of the night rolled over you.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Johnny smirked, obviously not close at all to his own high as he helped you ride out your high. “Come all over this dick.”

Once you’d settled down, Johnny suddenly slipped out of you, taking your wrist and dragging you over to the large window. He pressed your naked body front first against the glass, legs still trembling from your release as you watched the unsuspecting people walk by on the street. He kicked your legs wider, running  a hand down your back as he guided his member to your dripping heat. Before he pushed into you, Johnny leaned over, resting his chin on your shoulder and licking the skin there, “I’m going to fuck you up against this window for all these people. They’re going to see you spread all pretty for me, baby girl, pressed against the glass like the slut you are.”

You moaned loudly, feeling him push into your still flexing walls, a tighter fit than even the first time he entered you. He gave you no time to adjust, fucking you so hard against the window that the glass vibrated dagerously. You felt your heart increase as you were forced to look down at the people walking down on the ground. Someone could look up any minute and see your breasts pressed against the glass and you already felt a blush reaching your cheeks at the thought. For some reason, it excited you being in such a dangerous position.

Johnny worked your body like a pro, his much taller height practically lifting you from the ground as you stood on your tip toes. He was hitting a spot inside of you that you didn’t realize was there, and each time he did, your body felt an electric shock. It was intoxicating the way he breath fanned across your back, his small grunts so sensual in your ear that you felt them travel to your core. He let out a groan, “I’m close, baby girl. I’m going to come all over you.”

Pressing your cheek against the glass, you reached a hand down to rub yourself to completion. You saw stars as you touched your clit, not realizing such a small bundle of nerves could feel so incredible at just the slightest brush. Johnny saw you touching yourself, pushing your hand aside and replacing it with his own as he panted, “Let me help you out, sweetheart.”

You slapped the glass with a hand covered in your essence as he pummeled into you, his thrusts becoming choppier as he approached his high. He suddenly pulled out with a loud groan, “Fuck…”

You felt strands of his hot cum land on your back, turning your head to watch him pump his cock to milk it of all his release. Which was apparently a lot, leaving your back completely covered and messy. You shivered at the feeling, still close to your release as you cupped his jaw and kissed his passionately. Pulling away from his lips, you murmured against his lips, “Your cum feels so warm on my skin, Johnny.” He moaned and returned your kiss, sloppily letting his tongue stroke yours, remembering that you hadn’t come yet.

Johnny fell to his knees, gold chains clinking lightly as he pushed you against the glass again, this time with your cum covered back smearing it. He spread your legs, a smirk on his face, “Don’t think I forgot about you sweetheart.”

You didn’t understand what he meant until he leaned in and licked a stripe up your lower lips, your thighs trembling at the feeling. He mouthed your soaking heat, your fingers gripping at his hair as he made some of the lewdest noises with his mouth. He focused mainly on you clit, his teeth coming out to tug on it lightly as he brought his fingers to your entrance. He slipped two of his long fingers in, pumping them in and out at a nice steady pace as you moaned at the feeling. He hummed, sending gorgeous vibrations onto your clit and making you brain blank as you suddenly came. You arched into his mouth, trembling with your release as he pulled his mouth away and finger fucked you to completion, “That’s right sweetheart, let me have it.”

When you came down, he pulled his fingers out and placed them in his mouth, looking up at you through his lashes as he sucked them clean. He placed kisses on your stomach, peeling you away from the mess you’d made on the glass with his come and laying you on your stomach on the bed. You sighed contently, watching as Johnny tucked himself into his sweatpants again and walked into the bathroom. He returned with a washcloth that steamed with warm water, coming over to clean your back of his release.

“It’s been a while since someone made me come this much,” he casually observed, wiping you back and pressing kisses to it when he was done. “Usually I would leave right after I fucked someone but…”

You felt something akin to hope bubble in your chest, for an unknown reason, and was happy. You tried to appear calm as you turned on your side, “But…what?”

Johnny looked at you with a smile, a real one, laying down next to you so that you were face to face, “But, you’re rather interesting.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, “And cute. And beautiful.”

You blushed, biting your lip to hide your pleased smile, “Oh.”

He watched you amusedly, “Usually I have a personal rule where I don’t date my clients, but you’re a special case I think.”

“What’re you trying to say?,” you smiled, feeling brave enough to brush the hair from his eyes.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he started, pushing you down into the bed and caging you in with his arms. “I wouldn’t mind taking you out to get coffee sometime soon. So I can get to know the pretty personality behind the pretty face.”

You laughed lightly, allowing him to press kisses to your neck, “I wouldn’t mind that at all either.”

Johnny looked up at you happily, “Then it’s a date. Now,” he let his hands wander to places he had yet to explore, making you gasp, “we have this room for the rest of the night. Why don’t we put it to good use?”

Reset (m)

Originally posted by daffodiltae

Reader x Park Jimin

Rated m for graphic sex

Word Count: 10, 226 words

Summary: We are made of the pieces of what we remember, and we hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there are memories to call our own, there can be no true loss. But Park Jimin has no such privilege. 

A really HUGE thank you to my lovely britt @mintyoongee and nhi @ohmanholyjungkook for so kindly betaing for me!!! 

I highly recommend that you listen to Reset by Tiger JK while reading this! :>

The elastic of your hair tie tugs at your ponytail as you reach to tighten it, but the sting on your scalp is nothing compared to the churning pit in your stomach. The gathering perspiration on the palms of your hands is way too slick to be attributed to the heat of the midday sun alone, and you consider retreating back to the safety of your dorm instead.

The shade of the indoor sports centre provides no respite from the sweltering weather, but the sight of the other students already gathered and starting their own warm ups sends panic pulsing through your veins. The incredulity of the situation makes you want to scoff: you, the most unathletic person ever, actually signed up for a volleyball elective. If not for the uni’s regulation that each student fulfil a minimum of 1 sports module, there’s no way you’ll ever willingly indulge in any physical activity more strenuous than running for the bus.

You chuck your bag into the lockers near the stands, trying to stall for time as you tighten the hold of your ponytail one more time before smoothing down the front of your shirt. Maybe it won’t be that bad, you try to convince yourself. Volleyball is just a more intense game of don’t let the balloon hit the floor; so how hard can it be?

The sound of a whistle blowing and shoes squeaking across the indoor court puts an end to your musing, and you slam the door of the locker closed before heading to the centre of the court with all the other students. Most of them seem to be dressed in sports jerseys of some sort, donning sweatbands and kneepads that make them look like actual professional players. A cursory glance around confirms that you’re one of the few students not sporting such extra accessories, and you curse inwardly for not choosing a more beginner friendly sport like track and field or basketball.

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the sign's aesthetics based on my friends
  • Aries: bright hair, plants on windowsills, silly snapchats, text messages with no context, fashionable hats, fast/loud music
  • Taurus: flannel shirts, sunflowers, glass bottles of coke, ripped jeans, wavy hair, ukeleles, paint stained hands, jaw-clenching, mountain streams.
  • Gemini: short hair, wet jeans, toothy grins, big-rimmed glasses, bruises that appear out of nowhere, falling off a skateboard, lip biting
  • Cancer: knobby legs, sun-lightened hair, full-on giggling, breaking curfew, sandals, selfies with your best friend, fishing in the summer.
  • Leo: binge watching shows, squinting at the sun, stretching/yoga, roses, shy smirks, inside jokes, refreshing naps, a fear of heights.
  • Virgo: heavy jackets, dark hair, cute underwear, bare feet in wet grass, drawing on hands, scowling, goofy internal monologues, long hugs.
  • Libra: seeing a favorite band live, sports jerseys, croissants, locking your keys in the car, stargazing, jumping into piles of leaves.
  • Scorpio: matte lipstick, a favorite t-shirt, ankle boots, loud voices, nose piercings, raspberries, roller coasters, the season's first snow.
  • Sagittarius: late night drives, ice cream on a cold day, general angst, snapbacks, conspiracy theories, high-fives, comedian's shows, loud bass drops.
  • Capricorn: chunky braids, aviator sunglasses, tight jeans, floral print, sunsets, baseball games, naps in the sun, shoes that hurt your feet.
  • Aquarius: running, wind through the trees, horror movies, singing in the shower, bright eyes, falling up/down the stairs, chinese food.
  • Pisces: video games, mirror selfies, motorbikes, being in the car with the windows down, yelling at inappropriate times, a fresh glass of orange juice.


From chapter 248 of the Haikyuu!! manga!

Damn son, they look soooo good… well, except for this:

To which  I hereby agree, Hinata looks like a fucking tangerine, and I love it.



“Halftime” - Kurt/Blaine

because Blaine loves football and Kurt loves scarves

and because I’m a helpless little monster

self-indulgent (as helllll) fluff about Gaga’s concert at the sports thing. thank you @whatstheproblembaby​ for info about the actual game lmao 

1500 words | AO3

“Mark my words, Anderson: you’re gonna owe me $50 when this is all over. Falcons have the lead and they’re not letting it go.” 

Blaine shakes his head and sets three cold beers and a fresh, warm bowl of cheese dip on the coffee table as he rejoins his in-laws in front of the TV. “Oh, I’m just ‘Anderson’ when there’s a game on the line, huh?” 

“You’re just ‘Anderson’ whenever you’re in a Patriots jersey,” Burt laughs, elbowing Blaine just hard enough to tip him over a little on the couch. 

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Designs for Royal!Haikyuu Charms! I hope to get them in time for SacAnime Summer 2015. ^Q^ I have an unhealthy addiction to the HQ!! babies in royal garments but this is probably the only time I’ve drawn HQ!! merch with them wearing their uniforms lmfao. 


A/N: Based off the song Home by 1D off their Perfect EP. This takes place just after the boys went on hiatus.

“Can you write one about Niall and Y/N” from @directioner-05.

Word count: 1750

Originally posted by sensuous

My body turns over to the right for the fiftieth time, trying to find the most comfortable position to fall asleep in, but it’ll only result in more tossing and turning. I can’t sleep, again. Rolling on my back defeated, I look up at the dark ceiling, listening to the pattering rain against the rooftop of the apartment complex. It’s been nine long months without his comforting embrace holding me tight as we slept together that is until he left later that night. Nine long months without his intoxicating touch or his hypnotizing kiss. I miss him. I roll over onto his side of the bed and snuggle with his pillow that he managed to leave here by accident. It’s been so long that his scent is barely there anymore. Sure, he has called me occasionally, but his voice isn’t enough. I want him here, physically.

Sometimes I wonder if he felt like this, too, after so long. But then I think that he can have any girl he wanted for the night to get that satisfaction. I could do that, too, since that’s what friends with benefits are. Just a casual relationship. But I don’t. I only want him. Technically, I’m not supposed to be missing him this bad or wanting him to just sleep with me with no sex at all. That’s against the rules.

I groan into his pillow then my phone starts going off. “I was stumbling looking in the dark with an empty heart, but you say you feel the same. Could we ever be enough? Maybe we could be enough.” I pick it up off the end table and read the name. Him. My heart flutters when I answer. “Hello?”

His voice is husky and profound like he just woke up. “Hi love, I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

I giggle. “Then why did you call doofus?”

He chuckles a little bit. “Thought I’d give a try and apparently it worked.”

“Point taken,” I glance at the bedside clock that reads four in the morning in red. Who knows what time he’s looking at right now. “So why did you call then?”

“I, um,” I can sense him looking down at the ground like he does whenever he grows nervous. “Just miss ya is all.” A faint smile spreads across my face.

“I miss you, too, Niall.”

He exhales a tired sigh after a few seconds of comfortable silence. “M'so tired, love. Could I come over tonight?”

“Sure, if you weren’t halfway across the world.”

“Who said I was? And by the way, you need to fix that chip of paint on your door. Still, bugs me.” My eyes widen as I shoot up from the sheets. I can sense him smiling through the phone, then the line goes dead.

The line goes dead then my eyes flick up to the door when I hear a knock on it. I shoot up from my bed and rush over to the door, my sports jersey brushing against the tops of my thighs. I peek out the glass hole to see nothing except inky blackness. Quickly, I unlock it as fast as I can and open it up, revealing Niall, smiling from ear to ear.

His blonde hair is tousled and a little damp from the rain. He wears a white shirt with a black leather jacket over the top, and a pair gray sweats matched with the same colored tennis shoes. My eyes start to water from pure happiness. It’s like he’s not real, but yet he’s standing right in front of me. I just can’t believe it. Not being able to find the words to say anything, I just laugh and wipe away the falling tears, then walk into those outstretched arms. I hug his core tightly as he buries his nose into my messy hair. “Long time no see.” I chuckle. His soothing hands gently rub the small of back to calm me down as I sob into his shirt. “Sh, it’s alright love. I’m here now.” That makes me squeeze his core tighter.

“Sorry, it’s just been forever, and I’m just happy you’re back.” I sniffle, and he smiles into my hair.

It’s quiet for the longest time it seems like as we just stand there in each other’s arms when, in reality, it’s only been a few minutes. We pull away from each other, but he catches my cheeks in both of his large hands. He lowers his head, inching in so that our noses brush before he finally reconnects those soft lips to mine for the first time in nine months. Only it doesn’t feel the same like it did all that time ago. It seems more.. caring, more loving, not hungry and eager. And when he deepened the kiss, that’s when I feel it the most. My heart pounds in my chest. I move my hands to drape around his neck while his set back around my waist, tugging me closer.

As things start heating up, gentle Niall starts to disappear, his kisses are rougher, the mesmerizing touch is back. He breaks away for air and stares at me for a few seconds with dark blue eyes. He grabs my hand and tugs me inside, shutting the door quickly behind us. Pinning me up against it, he intertwines his long fingers with mine beside my head as he places long slow kisses on my bruising lips.

He then drifts down to my neck and does the same, but leaves a few marks on the way down to my collar bones. When he hits my tender spot on the way back up, just below my jaw, I moan out his name, making him squeeze my hands then pull away from me again, the both of us breathing heavily. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “N-no, it’s just… can I sleep with you?” He asks.

My brows come together in confusion. He’s never asked that before, usually it just happens. “Of course you can. You don’t have to-” He cuts me off, shaking his head.

“No, I mean, I wanna sleep with you without having sex with you.” He states. “I-I just want to cuddle with you until we fall asleep in each other’s arms and when I wake up, I still want you to be there. I don’t want to look at an empty side of the bed in the morning.”

“Niall, that’s against the rules.”

He scoffs. “Frankly, I couldn’t give two shits about those rules. I just wanna be with you, love.”

That makes me smile big with delight. “Okay, fine.” He grins, too, then plants another soft kiss before releasing my hands. I walk over to my bed, glancing at the clock again. Almost five am. Niall’s shoes hit the floor with a thud by the front door when I climb under the covers, snuggling into their softness. I can’t help but smile again when I hear him walk over. Before climbing in, he slides off his white t-shirt and places it beside the bed on the floor.

He crawls in and lays on his stomach with his head on my chest. He always liked being held by somebody, whether it’s by me, his family, or even the other boys. Niall loves hugs. My fingers start running through the hairs on the nape of his neck gently. “So how was the tour?  Did you have fun?”

“Always do, but this one will be memorable for sure. I got a little choked up when we played Sheffield.” This was their last tour before their big break they are taking sometime next year. With non-stop touring for five years, they decided it was time for a well-deserved break.

“I can imagine, but hey you guys deserve it for all you do. Besides, you aren’t leaving permanently.”

He yawns. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He rests his chin on the top of my stomach and looks up at me with tired eyes. The moonlight, however, makes them sparkle like diamonds. My finger gently caresses his sculpted cheek then he places a peck on my clothed stomach. Five minutes go by without any of us saying a single word, but who needed to when everything we said was right though our eyes. He finally sighs, breaking the silence. “You’re so beautiful.” My cheeks turn pink, and my raging heartbeat only grows. “It makes me want to kiss you again.”

“What are you waiting for then?” I whisper.

He sits up like he was waiting for my cue, then reconnects our lips. He’s so soft and sweet it’s like there’s an angel right in front of me. My eyes flutter closed as we are swept away by the moment. His hands are in my hair, mine in his. He sits up and pulls me onto his lap, my legs curled around his torso. My fingers grip the edge of my jersey and start to lift it up, but he stops me with a gentle, “Wait..” Our lips just slightly brushing, the feeling still lingering.

“Why did you stop us this time?” My voice is quiet.

“What do the rules say about falling in love?” He mumbles, not taking his eyes off me. “Cause’ I feel like I’ve broken another one.”

With a thumb tracing across his bottom lip, a wide grin spreads across my face, and the words I thought I would never be able to say tumble out in a whisper. “I love you, Niall.”

He smiles and laughs with joy. He entangles me in his strong arms, placing quick kisses all over my giggling face. The tempo starts as playful then changes to passionate when he lies me down on my back. He finally takes off that jersey and drops it next to the bed. When our bodies melt together again, it feels like I’m giving myself to him for the first time, only it’s out of love and not lust. He’s so caring with every touch and kiss as if I’m a porcelain doll that might break. I never wanted this moment to end, just him and I at our most vulnerable, finally together as one.

Climbing back under the sheets, he gathers me in his arms, face buried in the side of my neck. His breathing becomes slow, all this exhaustion catching up to him and myself when my eyes fall shut. Everything feels right in the world; I’m glad Niall is by my side and that when I wake up in the morning, he’ll be right there, holding me close like I had hoped for awhile now.

And finally, I get to be in love without all the restrictions.

kixboxer  asked:

raise a tiger verse, yuri's prom/homecoming/junior prom/winter formal

part of this verse 


Yuri begins mixing up his rice and pork in methodical circles. “He just sees me as some dumb kid,” he says into his bowl. “Even though I’m eighteen. I’ve been eighteen for two months, damn it.” He sags down into his seat until his forehead is pressed against the cool countertop. “What do you do when you like a guy,” he mutters to the floor.

“It helps when you have a common interest,” Yuuri says thoughtfully.

Yuri scoffs. “What was yours and Viktor’s common interest?”

“The difficulties of raising a cat,” Yuuri says vaguely.

“We don’t have a cat,” Yuri says.

“No, of course we don’t,” Yuuri says, patting him on the head absentmindedly as he leaves Yuri to finish his food in isolated misery.

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Zach Werenski - The Jersey Switch

anon request: Love your writing! So I was wondering if you could write a Zach Werenski one where the reader plays hockey for Ohio state and Zach goes to the game in something related to OSU but he’s seen by his teammates or something and they won’t let him live it down? Sorry if it’s too specific!

i absolutely love zach werenski and i hope this was what you were looking for. i really did enjoy writing this and i love when you guys give me scenarios with your imagine request becaus eit gives me and idea of what you want. 

next up should be an auston matthews imagine!!

requests are open:))

Originally posted by phillymyers

it was game day. not for zach but for me. zach werenski was a professional nhl player and i played for my collage team. “babe” zach said taking seat next to me. i hummed in response taking a sip of my protein shake, trying to mentally prepare myself for the game in a few hours.

“your such a great girlfriend and you always support me and i just feel like i’m not good enough” zach mumbled running his hands roughly through his hair and leaned his elbows on his knees. that really caught my attention, we were always so busy with zachs schedule i don’t make a big deal about it when he can’t make it to my games.

i rubbed his back and he slowly looked behind him at me, his sad green eyes met my y/e/c eyes. “it’s okay zach” i smiled softly at him. “but now that you mention it, i do have a game today” i gave him a grin but his face fell once more.

“i’m such an ass! i didn’t even know that” he fell back on the couch. i put both of my arms around him and payed on top of his pulling both of his hands from his face. “don’t you ever” i said sternly. “ever!” i repeated a bit louder. “doubt yourself, you are my boyfriend and you support me as much as i need you too, i think your better than good enough zachary werenski.”

i kissed his lips and then got up off of him,

but i pulled him with me. “come here” i pulled him out to the garage where my hockey equipment was. i looked at him and i smiled at his adorably confused face. i searched through my bag and pulled out my red jersey.

“y/l/n, number nineteen” zach smiled at the jersey. “my game starts at 4:30, i better see those gorgeous green eyes in the crowd” i kissed him quickly then i bent down to grab my bag. “trust me i’ll be the loudest one there” he smiled his mood obviously brighter.

i looked at my phone time and it said 1:30, “i have to go but ill see you after the game” i said to zach while i put my bag and three sticks in the trunk of my jeep wrangler. “good luck baby” he walked up to me wrapping me in a big hug. “score me a hatty” he poked my face playfully which i laughed loudly at.

“definitely, then ill yell that was for zach” i nodded while leaning into his touch as his arms stayed wrapped around me. “okay i have to go for real now” zach nodded and released me from his embrace but right after he gave my bum a slap.

“watch it werenski” i looked back at him but he just stood there smiling proudly. i pulled out of the garage and waved bye to him, my jersey lay tightly in his hand as he waved. i drove to the arena while listening to my pump up list, i just couldn’t help being excited that zach was coming to watch me play. i can’t remember the last time he came.

i walked into the dressing room with a big smile on my face that wasn’t able to come off. usually before games i was emotionless so this was a huge change and the girls obviously took a realization to this. erin while i was closest with on the team immediately spoke up.

“look here ladies!” she shouted. yeah dressing room got quiet and one of the girls spoke up as if this was rehearsed. “ what is it erin?” katie asked. “y/n i actually smiling before a game” erin poked my side as i shook my head at all of the mm pretending not to hear.

“is it a boy?” dani asked. alex gasped, “is it zach?” she said quickly which gained all of the girls attention. “zach is so dreamy” erin nodded. “too bad he never comes to watch” katie sighed and began getting out some clothes to do some stretches in.

“zachs coming” i mumbled. “why was that?” kassidy smirked from the other side of the room then maddy joined in, “yeah we can’t hear you from back here” they both nodded in unison. “zach is coming!” i said loudly and everyone began cheering.

“the dreamy eyes” lauren said. “and the black hair” olivia joined in. “oh and the big biceps” julianna said. i looked over at her and she leaned back, “i know he’s taken but i can still admire with my eyes” she laughed pointing to her blue eyes. we all broke out into laugher.

“shut up and stretch your goons” i shook my head at them smiling and i began to get dressed myself.

after stretching and juggling the soccer ball around and throwing a football we were told to head back to the dressing room to begin getting dressed. “so how excited are you that zachs finally coming to see you play” erin asked from beside me. i shrugged slightly, but then smiled.

“i’m making him wear my jersey.”

and he did. and he was the loudest one out there.

i could see zach, my parents, and obviously alex wennberg zachs partner in crime. i shook my head at them laughing as the two boys goofed off right in front of the glass. when erin skated past the two zach hit the glass hard and caught her attention waving at her while alex just started in awe. i can only imagine she was blushing.

i skated up to the glass and jumped into it making alex and erin stop their starring contest and convert zachs attention to me. i was directly in front of zach and i could see alex from the corner of my eye with his phone out.

here my wonderful boyfriend was sporting my jersey at my game and he actually seemed to be enjoying it. i love him so much, who else would wear my jersey. i had to get back to warmups so i waved bye to the boys and pulled erin away with me.

“he is beautiful” erin smiled to herself. “good now we can stop hitting on my boyfriend” i laughed at myself and then focused, i shot a hard puck at the boards. “erin focus we have to win, and just think what alex will say when he sees that your beautiful and a fantastic hockey player” once i said that it was as if a lightbulb went off in her head.

“y/n your a genius” was the last thing she said before we got seriously into warmups.

before i knew it, it was puck drop. i placed my stick at center ice ready to play some good hockey. when the black rubber hit the ice i quickly hit it with my stick to one of my defence men and from there it was a great game.

the final score happened to be 5-3 and i sadly didn’t score zach the hatty he would have liked but i scored two goals and assisted erin on a beautiful goal herself. after the game zach as was still wearing my jersey which brought an even bigger smile to my face.

“you were amazing!” zach said loudly grabbing me and spinning me around in the air. i laughed, once he put me down i pulled him in for a deep meaningful kiss. “that was even better than your performance” he smiled grabbing my waist and pulling me in for another kiss.

“i really like this jersey” i bit my lower lip while i smiled at him. “that lip bite has me wrapped around your finger” he mumbled. “but holy two goals your showing me up!” he said loudly once again. zach went from extremely sexy to playful in an instant.

“oh please! i did show you up.” i said loudly back to him as we walked out of the arena and into the car. the next morning i woke up without zach by my side due to his morning skate, ours was around 1:00 and it was only 11. zach would be home any minute.

i got up and began making breakfast, while waiting for my egg whites to finish i was scrolling through instagram only to see alex posted the picture of zach and i looking at eachother through the glass, and you could see my last name on his back.

‘a relationship like this’ was the caption. it was one of those pictures where there was more than one so i swiped to the left to see almost an identical picture of me looking at zach in the stands with his last name on my back.

i left a comment then turned off my phone at the sound of the front door opening. a very grumpy zach walked through. “well who pissed in your corn flakes?” i laughed at the adorable pout on his face.

“all of the guys were chirping me for wearing your jersey, you can’t do anything with out them saying something” he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“were you proud to wear that jersey?” i asked him grabbing his hand in mine from across the table. “yes i was truly so proud” he said. zachs facial expression immediately changed into a happy one.

“than that’s all that matters, i’m sure any of the guys would have done it for their girls. i bet alex will be doing it for erin soon anyway” i smiled and pulled him in for a kiss.

“i am so proud” zach smiled, although his eyes were still closed from the kiss he looked adorable. “thank you” i smiled. “what the hell is that smell?” zach asked.

“shit! i burnt the egg whites” i laughed and quickly threw them in the garbage. “that’s my girl” zach laughed and i just rolled my eyes at him mumbling something along the line of “asshole.”

PSA: My art on Redbubble

Hello lovely people!

I’m just gonna come right out and say it, lately I’ve been kinda poor financially (due to preparing to move and medical bills and a bunch of other probably first world problems) so I thought I would promote my stuff on Redbubble to y’all! 

Some of it is The Foxhole Court themed and some of it is just random typography prints and stuff like that. (I’d like to add here that some of the pictures I’ve used I couldn’t find the owner of, so if you see something you know belongs to someone else just lemme know and I will contact them or take it down.)

The markup for my designs is 20%, meaning that I get a sixth of the full price.

Also if anyone has any requests (like for instance making the sports jersey prints for others than Andrew and Neil, or more things with gothic fonts or art etc etc) feel free to throw them at me!

You can find my prints here:

If you like my stuff, please feel free to spread the word!

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Reset (m)

Originally posted by daffodiltae

Request fill for Jimin college AU 

Reader x Park Jimin

Rated m for graphic sex

Word Count: 10, 226 words

Summary: We are made of the pieces of what we remember, and we hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there are memories to call our own, there can be no true loss. But Park Jimin has no such privilege.

I highly recommend you listen to the song Reset by Tiger JK while reading this :>

The elastic of your hair tie tugs at your ponytail as you reach to tighten it, but the sting on your scalp is nothing compared to the churning pit in your stomach. The gathering perspiration on the palms of your hands is way too slick to be attributed to the heat of the midday sun alone, and you consider retreating back to the safety of your dorm instead.

The shade of the indoor sports centre provides no respite from the sweltering weather, but the sight of the other students already gathered and starting their own warm ups sends panic pulsing through your veins. The incredulity of the situation makes you want to scoff: you, the most unathletic person ever, actually signed up for a volleyball elective. If not for the uni’s regulation that each student fulfil a minimum of 1 sports module, there’s no way you’ll ever willingly indulge in any physical activity more strenuous than running for the bus.

You chuck your bag into the lockers near the stands, trying to stall for time as you tighten the hold of your ponytail one more time before smoothing down the front of your shirt. Maybe it won’t be that bad, you try to convince yourself. Volleyball is just a more intense game of don’t let the balloon hit the floor; so how hard can it be?

The sound of a whistle blowing and shoes squeaking across the indoor court puts an end to your musing, and you slam the door of the locker closed before heading to the centre of the court with all the other students. Most of them seem to be dressed in sports jerseys of some sort, donning sweatbands and kneepads that make them look like actual professional players. A cursory glance around confirms that you’re one of the few students not sporting such extra accessories, and you curse inwardly for not choosing a more beginner friendly sport like track and field or basketball.

The coach himself clears his throat, sporting a weathered and tanned complexion befitting an athlete. His arms folded across his chest only seem to emphasize his large frame as he stands at least a head taller than the crowd of students in front of him. He casts a brief glance over the class of less than 20 people, and you can actually feel his gaze linger on each of his student’s faces for a few seconds before moving on, as if committing them to his memory.

“Welcome to Volleyball 101, my name is Coach Kang. I already know some of you from the school team, but to all the new faces, welcome! As you may already know, this class is graded upon improvement and not skill level, so newcomers, please do not feel intimidated. So without further ado, let’s get started!”

His easy-going demeanour sets you at ease a little, and you watch as he picks up a ball and begins to demonstrate the most basic skill: bumping. Even though most of the students around you already seem to know this, they mimic him nevertheless, and you do the same. Extending your arms and bending your knees, you try your best to copy his exact posture as the ball glances off the mid section of his forearms with a gentle smack. After a few demonstrations, Coach Kang instructs you to pair up and grab a ball each to practice bumping back and forth.

You’re so focused on trying to remember the exact posture and positioning of your arms that by the time you manage to snag yourself a ball, everyone’s already more or less paired up. You hesitate a little, wondering if you should join a pair instead when there’s a tap on your shoulder. You turn around slightly, only to be met with a boy who’s not much taller than you are.

“Hey, want to pair up?” His voice is surprisingly high pitched, but it fits well with the slightly rounded cheeks and crescent moon eyes as he flashes you a cheerful grin. But his most outstanding feature has to be his sunset coloured hair that falls across his forehead in perfect waves, making his pearly white skin take on even more of an iridescent glow. His soft tangerine locks strike a chord of recognition in you; you’ve seen that bright head of orange many times in the front row of your Psychology lectures, always sitting by himself but you’ve never spoken to him before today.

“Sure.” You follow him to an empty space before tossing the ball at him. “Um, I’m not that good at this, so why don’t you go first?”

He catches the ball easily and spins it deftly between his hands, and you can already tell that this isn’t his first time playing. You keep your eyes glued to the ball as he tosses it high into the air, letting it fall before extending his arms. It glances off his forearms without making much of a sound, unlike the resounding smacks coming from the students around you. The ball flies toward you in a high arc, and it’s obvious that he’s going easy on you, giving you plenty of time to react and prepare yourself to return the ball.

The ball approaches quickly, and you try and mimic the coach’s posture from earlier. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you as you get ready, and suddenly there’s an overwhelming need for you to do well and impress the boy with the sunset hair. The impact of the ball makes you wince a little, but you grit your teeth and the ball bounces back towards him, slightly lower than you intended.

His delighted expression lights up his entire face, and he gives you a pleased smile. Your return serve is a little too low for him to bump back, so he catches the ball instead. “You’re not too bad! But try to bend your knees more, that way the ball can go higher and you don’t need to use as much strength.”

This time he tosses the ball into the air with one hand and uses the other to serve, using the palm of his hand to direct the ball towards you. You follow his advice and bend your knees as you receive his serve, and the ball deflects off the surface of your lower arms perfectly and arcs back towards him.

“That was great! You’re a natural at this,” he receives your ball effortlessly, and his praise makes your cheeks heat up, but you try to play it off as exertion. The two of you bump the ball back and forth for a while, and even though you’re not great at aiming your returns just yet, his quick reflexes manage to save the ball from hitting the floor each time. His impeccable control of the ball ensures that it always flies perfectly in your direction, giving you plenty of chances to practice your bumping skills.

Before long, Coach Kang sounds his whistle, signalling for the class to gather. You catch the ball in mid air and wait for your partner to approach. The way he runs a hand through his silky coral hair makes your heart skip a beat, but the lopsided smile he gives you makes you even more short of breath.

“Thanks for the tips, they were really helpful,” you say as you both make your way to the centre of the court. “You play really well too.”

“Me? Ah not really, there are others who are so much better.” His bashful grin is partially hidden as he reaches to tousle his hair again, and his little habit is already becoming endearing. “Oh I’m Park Jimin by the way.”

“Psychology major right? Me too, I’m _____.” His slightly shocked expression is conveyed through the widening of his eyes, and you can’t help but smile at the unrestrained way each and every emotion flits across his face. “Your bright head of hair is a little hard to miss.”

He rewards your wry comment with a bubble of laughter, a sound resembling the gentle tinkling of wind chimes fluttering in the breeze, once again reaching to brush his fringe out of his eyes.

Your conversation ends abruptly as you reach the other students in the middle of the court, and Coach Kang starts summing up the lesson. But you can’t concentrate on a single word of his lecture, too absorbed in the boy with the sunshine smile and sunset coloured hair to match.

Coach Kang divides the group of students into half by walking down the centre, but you’re so distracted that you remain rooted to the spot, blocking the coach’s path. Jimin quickly pulls you to his side with a hand on your wrist. You’re unprepared for the sudden movement and collide into his chest, but he only steadies you with a hand on the small of your back and a concerned look. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you straighten up and give his bicep a light squeeze in thanks.

Your half of the group seems to be moving onto the opposite end of the court, and you follow in their stead. Unable to forget about the firmness of his solid chest and the defined feeling of his bicep, your eyes are only on Jimin as he walks a little ahead of you. His fitted white shirt is drenched with sweat, and the fabric of his exercise shorts molds to the lower half of his body like a second skin, revealing the harsh lines and sculpted muscles of his thighs.

It’s not until you take up your position beside him that you realise Coach Kang has set up a modified practice game to end off the lesson. He tosses the ball to the opposite side, and you watch as a tall, slim girl with bright fuchsia knee guards serves it perfectly over to your side, clearing the net with plenty of room to spare. A boy on your right receives it and the ball arches in your direction. With extended arms, you reach to hit the ball over the net, but it ends up going vertically up instead.

As you stare in vain at the ball, Jimin suddenly appears in your line of vision and sends the ball over the net with a neat spike, and the sound of his palm hitting it reverberates through the sports centre. Coach Kang lets out a cheer, obviously impressed, as one of the newer players on the other side messes up and causes the ball to fly out of the court.

A few of the girls on your side throw looks of admiration and adoration toward Jimin, but he only lowers his gaze toward the shiny floor of the court shyly. Just as your side is getting ready to serve, he glances up just a fraction in your direction and his shy smile is transformed into a megawatt grin as he shoots you a thumbs up.

The game wraps up with your side winning by a few points, and Coach Kang dismisses everyone with a blow of his whistle. Wiping beads of sweat from your forehead, you see that Jimin already has a few girls gathered around him as he makes his way to the stands for his bag. You consider approaching him to thank him for being your partner, but decide against it and head for the lockers instead.


The next time you see Park Jimin, you’re horribly late for a Thursday morning Psychology lecture. You partially blame the late night trying to finish the stack of readings given last week, but also your aching muscles and bruised forearms from the day before. For some reason, the lecture hall seems to be filled to the brim today, so you can’t make yourself inconspicuous and snag a seat in the back row. The group of friends whom you usually sit with are nowhere in sight either.

You scan the rows and rows of sleepy students for an empty seat, coming up short until you see a head of orange hair in the front row. Trying your best not to attract the attention of the professor and ignoring the irritated glares of students who are actually awake and paying attention, you manage to slide into the seat next to Park Jimin safely.

The surprise on his face gives way to a genuine smile as he angles his laptop in your direction so that you can catch up on what you’ve missed. You get to work, quickly setting up your own laptop and copying down whatever’s on his screen. When you get to the bottom of the page, there’s a string of words that definitely did not come from the professor.

Your eyebags look horrible. I’ll have to charge you for my notes btw.

A hand flies up to your face, and you gingerly pat the area around your eye, wincing at the puffiness you find. Jimin catches you in the act, and his eyes crinkle up as he succumbs to a fit of silent laughter. You roll your eyes at him, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

Sorry we can’t all be Mr Perfect.

He raises an eyebrow and types back.

So you think I’m good looking?

You can practically see the smirk on his face even though your eyes are on the screen of his laptop, but you refuse to acknowledge it. You return your attention to the lecture, which is coming to an end since you missed almost half of it.

When the professor wraps up the lecture by assigning more readings, you close the lid of your laptop with a sigh and indulge in a stretch. Jimin turns to you with a faux serious look on his face, folding his arms over his laptop.

“We need to discuss your terms of payment, _____. I can’t have you freeloading off me.”

The unexpected hilarity of his words along with his mock accusation makes you giggle a little, and a grin threatens to break through his austere façade too. You reach for your lecture handout and scribble a short IOU note with your name on the bottom corner before tearing it off and handing it to him.

“Will this be enough? Or should I sign a contract too?” Your teasing lilt finally pierces through his stern demeanour, and he breaks off into a series of giggles that threaten to take over his entire body as he reads over your note.

“Hmmm, I guess this will do. But I’ll claim it anytime I want, so you’d better be ready.”

“Anytime, Park Jimin.”


You’re a little less apprehensive when the following week’s session comes around. After completing some preliminary stretches on the stands, you reach for your bag and dig around for the pack of knee pads you’d just bought the week before, but after a few minutes of rummaging, it’s clear that you somehow forgot to bring them.

A small cough makes you look up from the contents of your bag, only to be met with an apprehensive Park Jimin. In one hand he proffers a pair of knee guards, and the other runs through his glossy amber hair nervously. You reach out gratefully and take the guards from him, and you’re just about to thank him when he turns abruptly and jogs back to the court to continue his warm ups.

His odd behaviour makes you frown a little, but you don’t have time to ponder over it as you hastily tug his guards on over your knees and replace your shoes. By the time you head down to the court, everyone’s almost gathered in front of Coach Kang already.

“Welcome back guys! Today we’ll be learning how to spike. Jimin-ah, can you assist me in demonstrating this?”

You watch as Jimin makes his way to the front and positions himself a slight distance away. Coach Kang tosses the ball high up into the air, and in a fluid motion, Jimin sprints a few steps such that he’s directly under the ball, launching himself into the air with a deadly spike that sends the ball rocketing toward the end of the court at breakneck speed in a display of raw strength and power.

A chorus of cheers and applause break out, and Coach Kang himself nods in approval. Park Jimin’s trademark shy smile is once again accompanied by a downward gaze and a careless ruffling of his hair that has some of the girls sighing in adoration, but you can’t deny that it has your heart rate speeding up a little too.

After going through some of the finer points of the spike, Coach Kang disperses everyone to try it out on their own. You get hold of a ball and make your way to an empty spot to practice timing the descent of the ball together with your jump, but it’s harder than Jimin makes it look. A few near misses later, you manage to get contact with the ball, but instead of sending it flying across, ends up only a few feet away.

“That’s good, but you should try to swing your arm with more force too, and let the momentum guide you.” A familiar voice sounds beside you, and you turn to find Park Jimin at your side. He demonstrates with a phantom ball in his left hand, and you study the motion of his right hand as it swings into the spike.

Bending to retrieve the ball, you sneak a glance at his face, unable to find even a single trace of the mischievous and flirty boy from last week. Instead, the expression on his face looks tense, and he nibbles on the flesh of his plush lower lip in what seems like… nervousness?

Straightening up, you brush it off, deciding he’s simply in his ‘athlete’ mode right now. You hold the ball out in front of you with your left and toss it into the air, waiting for the right moment before jumping up to hit it with a swing of your right arm. The ball travels a little further this time, still no match for Park Jimin’s powerful spike, but an improvement nonetheless.

“Not bad,” he says encouragingly. “You just need to practice a little more to embed it in your muscle memory.”

You feel his eyes linger on your figure for a touch longer than necessary, and a wave of self consciousness threatens to overwhelm you. You turn and step a few paces away to try again, hyper aware of the weight of his gaze as you throw the ball into the air and prepare to strike it. There’s an almost palpable tension in the air between the two of you, nothing like the easy camaraderie shared last week in the lecture theatre. It’s almost as if you’re meeting for the first time.

You’re so distracted by this change in dynamics that you hit the ball with your curled fingers instead of your open palm, and the stinging pain travels all the way down your arm. Your first instinct is to yell out in pain, but you grit your teeth and cradle your injured hand close, gingerly flexing your fingers to assess the damage. You can barely straighten the appendages enough for you to get a good look at them, but when you try to force them apart, a warm hand on your wrist stops you.

Park Jimin has one of his own hands wrapped around the wrist of your injured one, and the other supporting it and nestling it to his chest, as if it were his own injury. His hands might be small, but for the amount of tenderness and care they possess, they dwarf your own in comparison. You watch him study your injured fingers carefully; sunset strands of his fringe obscuring coffee brown eyes that are intensely focused. Gentle puffs of his breath on the palm of your hand distract you from the pulsating pain in the joints of your fingers, and his proximity makes each breath feel as difficult as wading through quicksand. You start to pull away a little, fearful of attracting attention, what with the two of you standing so painfully close in the midst of so many people.

“It’s fine, there’ll be bruises but it’s nothing serious.” He releases your hand to look at you with a gaze as liquid as melted caramel. For a second it feels as if this is the same Park Jimin you sat beside in the lecture theatre last week, the same boy whom you have an IOU with, the same one who said he’d claim it at any time.

But that moment is gone when Coach Kang jogs over in concern, and Park Jimin takes a step back. You can almost see his walls going back up as if they were the walls surrounding an impenetrable fortress.

“I’m okay, it’s just a bruise,” you tell Coach Kang, eyes still on the boy with the sunset hair who can’t seem to meet your gaze.

“Doesn’t look too bad, but you’d better sit out the practice game just to be safe. Get some ice on that asap.” Coach Kang confirms your injury with a grim nod of his head.

So you’re relegated to the bench with bruised fingers and an icepack for company. Watching Park Jimin in his element on the court is an art in itself, from the way he manoeuvres around the court with both speed and grace to the way he receives each ball with such precision and ease, but your mind keeps straying to his hot and cold behaviour.

When practice ends, you peel off the sweaty guards and stow them in your bag and take a deep breath before approaching Park Jimin. He’s taking off his own guards and dabbing at his sweaty face and neck with a blue towel, but he meets your eyes when you come to a stop in front of him.

“Hey, um… thanks for your knee guards. Can I get your number so that I can return them to you after I wash them?” You almost want to slap yourself at how much that sounds like a lame pick up line, but you paste a smile on your face instead.

He acquiesces with a small smile and cards his fingers through his damp tangerine hair, pushing the strands back, but to no avail when they just flop back onto his alabaster forehead. “Sure. It’s no problem at all.”

You dig out your phone and hand it to him and he enters his number together with his name. “I’m Park Jimin by the way.”

A little nonplussed at his sudden introduction, you almost drop your phone as he hands it back to you. He seems to be waiting for you to say something as his mocha eyes scan your face, but when you don’t, he stands.

“Text me, yeah?” And with that, he heads towards the exit of the sports centre.


That night, you sit in front of the washing machine in the laundry room of your dorm, watching Park Jimin’s blue knee guards spin round and round as your own thoughts circle around in your head.

His behaviour is beyond odd, you decide. It’s not normal even for someone who’s socially awkward or wary of new people, especially with his whole unnecessary introduction at the end. It’s almost as if he doesn’t even remember the events that transpired between the two of you the previous week. It’s almost as if he doesn’t remember you.

You give the washing machine a kick in frustration. Or it could be your need to constantly psychoanalyse everyone around you as a Psych major. Maybe the boy with the sunset hair is just a little forgetful and doesn’t care enough to embed you in his long term memory. On a wave of impulse, you reach for your phone and pull up a new message to Park Jimin, typing with your injured fingertips.

Hi Jimin, are you free tomorrow at lunch? I still owe you your knee guards.

You pause to read the message again once over before hastily adding your name at the bottom, seeing as there’s no way he’ll know this is your number and sending it before you can regret.

The washing machine doesn’t even get to complete its spin cycle before a reply pings back:


It’s an ambiguous reply that doesn’t tell you anything at all, and you give the poor washing machine another kick.


You can’t focus at all in Psych the next morning. Every time you resolve to focus on the professor’s slides, your eyes catch the orange head of hair in the front row from your vantage point in the back row. Your friend gives you a nudge when you’ve apparently been zoning out for the last 5 minutes, and you jerk upright, hitting your knee on the underside of your desk and wincing in pain.

The noise draws a few concerned looks from those around you, but they soon turn their attention back to the professor as he mentions that the following content will be tested on the midterm.

He’s rambling on about something called anterograde amnesia, and you have to keep a conscious effort to glue your eyes to screen as you mindlessly take down whatever’s on it for notes. As a result, you don’t even absorb the material at all, but you reassure yourself that you’ll catch up on your own once this whole mess is sorted.

The ‘mess’ namely being a certain Park Jimin.

When the lecture ends, you spring up from your seat and head for the aisle immediately, carelessly waving your friends a hasty farewell and bracing yourself for the flood of students heading in the opposite direction. The head of orange takes its time before finally rising and turning in your direction, and Park Jimin looks a little surprised to see you waiting for him.

It takes a while before he reaches you, and he greets you with a wave that nearly causes him to drop his laptop. Stifling laughter at his clumsiness, you scoop it out of his arms, resisting the urge to pinch his reddening cheeks as he grins in embarrassment.  

“Let’s go, slowpoke. I’m starving.”


“Thanks for these again,” you slide a paper bag across the table to him, and Jimin shoots you an amused smile.

“You didn’t have to return them so quickly. And you didn’t have to treat me to lunch either,” he gestures to the burger and fries.

You’re at the popular burger shack that students flock to after lectures, so it’s a little noisy but there’s no mistaking his words. He doesn’t even mention the IOU you gave him last week, and you watch as he unwraps his burger and takes a ravenous bite of it. When he catches you staring, he reaches for a napkin to hide his chewing self consciously, and once again he can’t seem to look you in the eye.

“I wanted to thank you properly,” you unwrap your own burger, hoping he buys your shitty excuse for wanting to see him again. “And besides, I still owe you from last week.”

At the mention of last week, Jimin stiffens, pausing in midbite. “What did you owe me for last week again?”

His tone is unnatural, sounding overly casual to the point of being forced. It’s totally unlike the Park Jimin who wheedled you into writing him an IOU that he seemed so eager to cash out. It’s much too significant to be attributed to a simple slip of the mind, and there’s a stubborn, niggling thought tugging at the back of your mind but you force yourself to continue eating as if it’s no big deal.

“Did you forget already? I even wrote you an IOU. I’m kinda hurt to know I mean so little to you.” You crack a joke in an attempt to smooth things over, since Jimin still looks tense in his seat opposite you.

“Oh! No of course I didn’t forget!” His entire demeanour relaxes, and relief floods his voice, along with a bright smile that illuminates his entire face. He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket. Unzipping the coin compartment, he retrieves your IOU note that’s folded neatly and presents it to you.

Pretending to be offended, you roll your eyes at him and slide it back across the table.

“You forgot about it, so I guess this meal doesn’t count. Better luck next time, kid.”

He attempts to hide his smile as he takes the note back, but whether he’s laughing at your playful jab or in anticipation of ‘next time’ is impossible to tell. He carefully folds the note back into his wallet with utmost care, making sure not to wrinkle it.  

“Next time for sure,” he says, almost to himself, with fingers brushing the top of the note that sticks out. “Now that I have your phone number, you realise it’s even easier for me to claim it right?”

And he’s back, Park Jimin with his endearing little hair ruffle and a smile that could light up the night sky.

“Anytime, Park Jimin.”


The next volleyball session rolls around, and luckily, your fingers are nearly fully healed. You adjust your knee guards in anticipation when Coach Kang announces that you’ll be playing a full 6 on 6 game in preparation for the midterm assessment, and he pulls out Park Jimin and the girl with the fuchsia knee guards to be team captains.

He awards Jimin the first pick, and he seems to be having a little difficulty in remembering the students’ names while picking. He has to resort to pointing and gesturing instead, repeating the name of each team member back to them as they join his side. His hands are constantly threading through his hair in his frustration, and there are lines creasing his brow. Soon, it comes down to the last member in his team and his eyes hover over you and another taller girl with a slicked back ponytail who looks like she’s born to play volleyball, and it’s his pick.

But when Park Jimin looks at you and the girl beside you with absolutely no recognition in the mocha depths of his eyes at all, the awful realisation hits home: he doesn’t remember you at all. You can only watch with bated breath as he takes in the other girl’s taller and leaner stature before gesturing toward her, and since the other team already has enough players, you’re left to warm the bench with a couple other newbies. Coach Kang assures you that you’ll be swopped in to play at some point of the game, and tells you to familiarise yourself with the rules while waiting.

As you watch him introduce himself to his team and struggle to remember all their names, the niggling suspicion that’s been there ever since that lunch comes creeping to the forefront of your brain. It’s impossible to ignore this time when you’re sitting on the bench with nothing to distract you. You’ve already had multiple encounters with him, each one more meaningful and poignant than the last, not merely a few hi-bye situations that would excuse his behaviour entirely. No matter how little you mean to him, he should at least remember you as the IOU girl, judging from the way he keeps the note in his wallet like a precious artefact, almost. Combined with the lesser, but still significant signs: introducing himself again, forgetting the IOU note, not remembering a single one of your classmates’ names.

He must have some sort of memory lapse.

It can’t be an entire memory wipe, since he always remembers and recognises you in Psych lecture the day after volleyball elective. And he seems to have no problem remembering to meet you for lunch after you texted him last week. It’s only the week after that all traces of his memory are wiped. The entire situation is confusing, too many maybes here and there that add up into a huge question mark. But with inadequate information, it’s impossible to confirm anything further than a hypothesis.

It’s definitely some sort of short-term memory lapse, but you can’t recall the exact term for it.

A whistle interrupts your thoughts as Coach Kang calls a few of the players from each side to swop out, and you head in to take their place.

Jimin comes up to you to direct you to your new spot, and as expected, there’s not an ounce of recognition in his eyes. Despite that, it still hurts to see him looking at you as a complete stranger, but you force a smile and provide your name for him, seeing a look of relief take over his slightly strained features when he doesn’t have to ask you for it.

You head to your spot at the bottom corner of the court, trying your best to keep your head in the game and off the boy with the sunset hair who doesn’t remember you.

A whistle sounds and the game begins with a serve from the opposite side, but its impossible to concentrate on the game when your eyes seem to be glued to the back of Park Jimin’s head, watching his sunset hair flounce with every lunge, leap and dive he makes. Your spot is perfect for a newbie since the front row of three manage to volley the ball back over before it even has a chance to reach the back row, and you’re left feeling even more frustrated and useless than when you were warming the bench. You continue to aim your glare at the back of Jimin’s head, willing him to turn around and look at you, willing him to remember-

“Heads up, back row!!!” A strained shout cuts through your jumbled thoughts, and you’re barely able to tear your eyes away from Jimin to see the ball arching toward the far end of the court, your end of the court. It feels as though your feet are rooted to the spot for a moment, your leaden arms unable to move a single inch as the ball approaches head on. You’re barely able to regain control of your limbs and try to position yourself to receive the ball when the boy in your row slams into your side, catching you off balance.

An excruciating pain engulfs your left ankle and you can’t help but let out a choked sob as you land on your right knee heavily. The shooting pain in your ankle clouds your mind and you can feel your throat start to close up as the agony threatens to consume you.

The game screeches to a halt and everyone else stops and stares as Park Jimin dashes over and falls to his knees by your side. With one arm around your waist, he gently coaxes you into a sitting position with your injured ankle stretched out. The boy in your row and Coach Kang, who runs an experienced hand over your shin to the swollen ankle, are quick to surround you as well.

Even a gentle probe sends shockwaves of pain through your system, and you bite your lip in order to prevent a whimper of pain from escaping. Coach Kang tells you to keep your sock and shoe on to control the swelling, ordering for the boy who slammed into you to run and fetch an ice pack. Jimin shifts from his position at your side to kneel at your feet. With hands supporting your calf, he raises your ankle to rest on his shoulder in one smooth, easy movement.

“Jimin, it’s okay, you don’t have to do that, I’m fine,” you make a move to shift your leg off his shoulder, acutely aware of the other students watching now that the initial shock has worn off. But the slightest movement makes you wince, and Jimin halts you with a hand on your thigh.

“I think you’ve caused enough trouble today right? And our team was winning too!” His grin makes his eyes curve into crescent moons, and his hand that rubs soothing circles into the flesh of your thigh, along with his jovial tone, take away the sting in his words. After a few minutes of applying the ice pack, Coach Kang deems the swelling to have gone down enough for Jimin to help you back to your dorm.


There’s something soothing about being on Jimin’s back and having his body so close to yours that the pain in your ankle has subsided to a dull throb now. Wrapping your arms loosely around his neck and perching your chin on his shoulder, you can see the glistening of his perspiration from the game still on the nape of his neck along with the darker rusty copper shade of his damp hair, but the scent of him isn’t sweaty at all. Rather, it’s a relaxing mix of a clean, spicy scent that must be his deodorant and an underlying hint of his natural earthy essence.

“You must think I’m a really clumsy person. I bet you’re secretly laughing at me for signing up for this elective in the first place, but it’s not like I had a choice. Uni regulations and all.” There’s a tinge of defensiveness in your voice.

He lets out a chortle of laughter that ripples through his entire body, causing his rhythm of light-footed steps to falter a little. “Why would I do that? Do I look like the type to laugh at others’ misfortunes?”

“You helped me last week and now this week too… at this rate I’ll never pay off my IOU,” you say as you direct him across a street and into the building of your dorm. At the mention of ‘last week’, his body involuntarily tenses up again, and you can feel every hard muscle under you taut with tension.

He flexes his grip on the backs of your thighs, playing for time before he answers. “Um, last week?”

You reach over his shoulder to hit the button for the elevator. This time, you know better than to put him in a spot, so you just gloss over his question. “Yeah, I can’t believe I sprained my fingers trying to spike a ball.”

His fingers loosen slightly around your thighs as he steps into the elevator and waits for you to press the button for your floor.

“Yeah, I didn’t peg you the type to have a tendency for self destruction,” Jimin says as he steps out of the elevator and heads for your doorstep. You burst out in laughter as you slap his shoulder, reaching over to unlock the door and push it open.

Park Jimin deposits you gently on your bed and makes sure you’re comfortable, arranging the blankets of your messy, unmade bed, removing your shoes and tending to your ankle. When there’s no more fussing left to do, he faces you and runs a hand through his hair, ruffling those gorgeous tangerine locks and biting his plump lower lip. You’re pretty fluent in reading Jimin’s body language by now, or at least good enough to recognise that his hair tousling is a sign of his nervousness.

“You’d better recover soon, I still have my IOU to claim.”

“Anytime, Park Jimin.”


You decide to give up on attending lectures for the remaining two days of the week, opting instead to remain cooped up in your room. It’s not until you’re struggling to get around your room in an effort to function normally that the answer comes. You accidentally knock over a pile of your psych notes, and the bundle at the top of the stack catches your attention. It’s a handout from last week’s lecture, titled ‘Anterograde Amenesia’.

Remembering your promise to catch up on last week’s content, you start skimming through the slides, highlighting the more important lines to help you focus better. But when you stumble across the words ‘short term memory’, you pause to read the whole paragraph again.

Anterograde amnesia is an inability to recreate new memories after the event that resulted in the amnesia. What results is an inability to record or store new memories. Range or length of short term memory varies from individual to individual, from as short as one week to as long as a year or more.

One week.

The final piece of the missing puzzle slides into place, the realisation gnawing at your heart and all of a sudden there are tears in your eyes, and you’re sobbing uncontrollably for the boy with the sunset hair and the sunshine smile who has no control over his own memories.

But the boy who can’t remember you remembers to visit you every day for the rest of the week to bring you your notes.

You’re more than a little surprised to see his cheery grin and silky, coral hair greeting you at your door on Thursday evening. When he ushers you back to your bed, insisting that you keep off your feet to let your ankle heal properly, all you want to do is engulf him in the tightest hug ever, as if that could somehow help him to regain every single memory he’s ever lost, to fit the missing pieces of him back together. As if you could somehow soothe the confusion that accompanies when he wakes up in cold sweat at the start of a new week with no idea where he is or what he has to do, the overwhelming loneliness every time he mistakes an unfamiliar face for a familiar one. The repeated trial and errors until he stopped trying to fight past the insurmountable force that prevents him from remembering, stopped making an effort to remember people, isolating himself from the rest of the world.

Until now.

He’s rambling on about the day’s lectures and tutorials, worrying over your still swollen ankle. When you tug at his arm and shift to the edge of your bed in a clear invitation, he hesitates a little, but obliges at your imploring gaze. You nestle into his side and he autmatically pulls you in close.

“Thank you, Park Jimin.”

“What? I thought you’d be cursing at me for bringing you homework.” The tell tale creases around his eyes deepen as he chuckles at his own humour. You roll your eyes in response, but can’t help smiling at this dorky, unguarded side of him.

The intoxicating warmth of his body, combined with the painkillers you took earlier starts to lull you to sleep, and you nod off with your arms wrapped tightly around him, as if to reassure yourself that Park Jimin is here, that he remembers. And you’re not sure if it’s just the figments of your sleep induced haze, but he holds you just as tightly, as if to anchor himself to a reality that he doesn’t want to forget.


Park Jimin leaves sometime on Friday morning for classes without stirring you from your deep sleep. It’s only when you awake well past noon that you realise his absence, but a note from him tells you that he’ll be back soon, and true enough, he makes a reappearance in the evening, this time bringing food with him.

It’s not till you’re digging into the creamy truffle infused angelhair pasta that he stops chewing to watch you. He abandons his fork to brush strands of his tangerine hair off his forehead, and that action of his has you pausing to raise an eyebrow at him.

“You look like you have something to say,” you reach for a napkin as he avoids your eyes earnestly.

“Um, I hope this doesn’t sound weird or anything… but can I visit you again on Sunday? Even though I won’t have any notes to bring you, but…” He’s mumbling his words, glancing down at his lap as his fingers fidget with the lid of his plastic container. His shy nervousness is beyond endearing, and you reach out to pinch the apples of his cheek gently.

“How is that weird when we practically slept together last night? You’re too cute I swear.” The tension on his face melts away at your words, and you tease him by squeezing his cheeks together for a second.

“Ah I’m not cute! That’s not a compliment, I’m a grown man, you know.”  

You lean forward to brush your lips against his nose.

“But I like cute guys. Especially cuties like you.” It’s obvious from the way he throws his head back in absolute rapture how much of a sucker he is for compliments. His laughter fills your entire room, and contentment fills you to the brim at the sight of Park Jimin truly and genuinely happy.


You know deep down the reason Jimin asks to visit you again on Sunday night, but when he shows up outside your door, you try your best to hide it. Instead, you greet him with an innocent peck on the lips before leading him inside.

You watch him as he approaches you and slides under the covers, turning to fit his body against your back as he slides his arm around your waist under your shirt. The feeling of skin on skin tingles through your entire body, and it’s clear that Park Jimin isn’t in the mood for giggles tonight.

His rough, calloused hands run over the dip in your waist, dancing over the curves of your body with a feather light caress. Park Jimin’s touch is almost reverent, as if he’s trying to commit every single inch of your body to his memory. He presses his nose to the base of your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair as his breaths send shivers down your spine. With your hands over his, you guide them up from your belly to the underwire of your bra before turning to face him.

You only have a second to take in the fully blown size of his pupils before the feeling of his velvet lips upon your own steals your breath away. He tastes like longing and regret with a hint of sweet matcha that’s so intoxicating, and it’s almost as if you can feel his desperation to hold on to every detail and stow them where his own memory can’t rob him. Jimin sits up to throw a leg over your waist so that he can straddle you, and you chase the taste of his lips and the wet laves of his tongue that has you tangling your fingers in those tangerine locks of his.

You scoot back a little to tug the hem of your shirt over your head, and his eyes devour the sight of you in your navy lace bra before his hands run along to the back clasp, searching your face for permission before undoing the hook and pulling the straps off your shoulders. Mesmerized, his eyes are filled with nothing but veneration as he drinks in the sight of your breasts for a moment, and his mouth descends upon a rosy bud like a man starved. Cupping the neglected breast in his other hand, he runs a thumb over the nipple until it pebbles, and you throw your head back as he worships you like a goddess.

Jimin pulls away for a second when your hands tug at the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, and then promptly goes back to peppering open-mouthed kisses all over your breasts, leaving blooming orchids of violet and indigo in their wake. Every press of his lips to your heated skin is purposeful, his gaze devouring you whole; in front of him you’re a blank canvas waiting to be brought to life by every stroke of his tongue. With a gentle nudge from him, you reluctantly tear your hands away from the expanse of his smooth chest and chiselled abs and lay back against the pillows as his sinful lips wander lower and lower until they linger at the waistband of your shorts. He sends you an overconfident smirk, as if he knows you’re soaking just from a few brief touches and the sight of him from this angle makes you kick off your underwear and shorts as he pulls them down your legs.

His hands are on your knees, applying gentle pressure until you give in and let your legs fall apart, baring yourself to his heated gaze. Even the sensation of his bated breaths upon your soaked core has you dizzy with need, and you lift your hips toward his lips.

“Jimin please,” your voice comes out in a breathless whine, and your begging is rewarded with a rough lick from the bottom of your slit, and a harsh suck on your clit that has you sobbing.

He alternates between broad licks with the flat of his tongue and concentrated suckles on your sensitive nub that has you thrashing beneath the firm grip he has on your thighs. Jimin clamps a hand over your hips, anchoring you to the bed and slides one, then two fingers into you with his free hand. The slight stretch resulting from his thick fingers and his direct attack on your clit catapults you to the edge embarrassingly quick, and you’re a moaning mess.

You’re all too aware of your arousal completely soaking Jimin’s mouth and chin, but he’s licking and sucking at every bit of it like he wants to gorge on you forever. You’re so close now, and all it takes is a rough scrape of his teeth across your clit to send white-hot sparks of electricity coursing through your entire body and you’re barely able to gasp out his name in the throes of your pleasure.

His talented fingers beckon inside you to help you ride out the remainder of your orgasm, but his eyes are fixated on your face as you come down from your high. When you’ve stopped pulsing around him, he withdraws his fingers and sucks at them, not wanting to waste even a single drop of your sweetness.

“You taste so good baby. Exactly like I’d imagined.” He gives you a shy smile that juxtaposes the filthiness of his words as he flops down beside you, drawing the covers over him and holding them up for you to join him.

“Wait, who said we were done? What about you?” you narrow your eyes when you realise he’s about to go to sleep just like that.

“No I’m okay, just come to bed,” he says with a feigned composure, but you notice that his knuckles are near white from how tightly he’s holding on to the covers and keeping them away from the lower part of his body.

“Don’t be an idiot, Park Jimin,” you roll your eyes at him before flipping the covers up from the other end, only to reveal the uncomfortable looking tent in his jeans. You tug the paisley print covers from his grip and move to straddle him so that your core is situated directly over him.

“_____, it’s really okay, you don’t have to do this, I won’t remem-” You shut him up by crashing your lips onto his and rocking your hips to grind onto him, a plethora of desperate moans falling from his lips.

Pulling away, you deftly unzip his jeans and pull down the waistband of his boxers. His flushed member springs free from its constraints, and before he can protest, you take the steely length of him and pump him up and down, digging your thumb into the slit.

His hands fly up to grip your hips with such intensity, forming petals of plum and midnight hues. Park Jimin is reduced to a whining, incoherent mess as you rise onto your knees to position him at your entrance.

You take your time teasing him, running his cock up and down your slit, letting his head dip in ever so slightly. Meanwhile, you revel in the pleasure of leaving your own mark upon him, teeth, lips and tongue imprinted all over the pristine expanse of his neck and chest. His whines continue to linger in the depths of his chest until he’s nearly sobbing with need.

“Please _____, I need to cum so badly,” he gasps as his hips rise repeatedly to try and sink himself inside your wet heat.

With trembling fingers you brush aside the mess of his sunset fringe across his forehead to reveal his fucked out gaze as he begs with another chorus of whines. You give in to the pressure of his hands as they pull you down toward his cock, and sit down on him fully.

Jimin lets out a long moan and you’re enthralled by the creamy expanse of his throat as he throws his head back. The burning stretch of his cock reignites a spark in your lower belly and you dig your nails into his shoulders.

“Fuck, you’re so tight and wet, do you like how my cock fills you up? Just like that, hmmm?” The slew of filthy words spewing from that sweet mouth of his should shock you, but at this point you’re too far gone and it only causes you to clench around him as he rocks his hips up.

His hands on your hips guide you to bounce and grind onto him, and each of his thrusts feel like a sledgehammer as the head of his cock repeatedly brushes against your sweet spot deep inside. Even though you just came a few minutes ago, the fluid motions of Jimin’s hips and his dulcet moans have you on the edge of another orgasm again.

“Jimin, I’m so close, please I need-” You can’t find the breath to finish your sentence, but he knows exactly what you need as he skims past your thigh to pinch your clit.

“That’s it _____, cum for me like a good girl. Wanna feel you squeezing my cock so badly baby,” he increases the pace of his fingers on your clit, and with a few well aimed thrusts, you come apart for him, and his name rips through your throat.

Pure bliss blankets all your senses and you’re left clinging onto his solid form beneath you as euphoria consumes you entirely. The feeling of your walls fluttering around him sends him over the edge as well, and Jimin grasps your hips to bottom out inside you, holding you still as his warm release coats your walls.

You both remain entangled in the other’s embrace as the high slowly dwindles. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he encircles your waist delicately as you climb off and collapse next to him. He immediately turns to you and spoons his body against yours.

“Finally paid off that pesky IOU,” your voice wavers a little, whether from the aftermath of Park Jimin’s talents in bed or the inescapable reality that dawns ahead, it’s impossible to tell. The way his arm surrounds your waist with his palm flat on your lower belly sends a rush of despair coursing through your chest as you remind yourself that in just a few hours, you’ll be strangers again, entirely indifferent to you.

His lips are pressed against the nape of your neck, and you close your eyes as a tear threatens to escape when you feel them purse into a smile.

“You wish. You still have so many unwritten IOUs. I haven’t forgotten about them.”

Except he won’t remember when morning comes.

A bittersweet smile crosses your face as you stroke his fingers that strum over your belly.

“Anytime, Park Jimin.”


His breathing steadies into an even rhythm along with the rise and fall of his chest behind you surprisingly quickly. The red letters of the digital clock at your bedside tell you that it’s already well past midnight, and since you have no idea when his memory reset takes place, you figure it’s better to be safe than sorry.

You gingerly remove his arm from where it drapes protectively across your waist with extra caution so as not to wake him. Figuring he’d probably not want to wake up next to a complete stranger who also happens to be naked, you sit up and reach for your shirt that you tossed onto the floor and pull it on. But your fidgeting stirs a movement behind you, and you freeze and stand up immediately, holding your breath and hoping he’ll go back to sleep.

“Where are you going? Come back to bed,” Park Jimin’s sleepy voice sounds from the muffled depths of his pillow, but when he doesn’t feel the bed dipping beside him, he forces himself awake and turns to regard you with eyes barely widened into slits.

You turn around to face him, dread like a leaden weight in the pit of your stomach as you watch him run a hand through his messy tangerine hair, causing it to stick out in all directions and rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the other. You expect him to sober up any moment now, to completely freak out to find himself naked in an unfamiliar bed with a stranger staring at him.

But he only gives you a lethargic half smile.

“_____, come back to bed, it’s cold without you.”

“Wait, you know my name?”

“Considering that we just had sex, I’d be a pretty shitty guy if I didn’t right?” His half smile widens into a teasing smirk as he regards your half naked form. Self consciously, you cross your arms across your chest.

“Has your reset not kicked in yet? Maybe it’s too early? Or-”

“I can’t remember anything other than the fact that you’re ____, my IOU girl and that you’re utterly gorgeous.” He doesn’t seem at all surprised that you know about his memory reset, and when you don’t respond, he reaches out and tugs you back into bed.

“You know that I know about your memory?” You allow yourself to be pulled back under the covers with him, still cautious and ready to back away to give him space if needed, but he only strokes your cheek with a calm smile.

“I was hoping you’d figure it out somehow, and I was waiting for you to mention it. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I just wanted to give you something you’ll remember, even for a short while. I just wanted the boy who can’t remember to never forget me.” You worry your lip with your teeth even as you slowly start to relax under his touch.

“I’ll never forget you now. Because this helps me remember.” He extends his hand palm side facing you, and upon closer examination, you see a scrawl of words covering it. The main area is taken up by a replica of your very first IOU note to him, complete with your name and signature and it looks like it’s been traced over several times. Around it there are smaller scribbles of your name and the location of your dorm among other things, but they’re all related to you.

Tears brim in your eyes as you read each word on his palm, painstakingly written in an effort to inscribe you into his memory.

“When I saw you at our second volleyball lesson, I had this feeling like I knew you already, that’s why I was so nervous when I approached you to give you my knee guards. I thought you were just another one of my misrecognitions. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off you that entire lesson, and I didn’t know why. When I got your text that night with your name at the end, things clicked and everything felt right, and when you mentioned the IOU from the previous week, it triggered my memory a little. I swore to myself that I’d come up with a way to remember you, but obviously it didn’t work by the time our third lesson came.

“When you kept mentioning the IOU on the way back on Wednesday, it gave me an idea as a way for me to remember you by, so every day I kept writing out your note on my palm. I wanted to see if this method worked so I asked if I could visit you on Sunday, since my memory always resets at midnight.”

His revelation is met with silence as you desperately try to sift out your thoughts and emotions enough to form a coherent sentence.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is choked up with emotion as you meet his liquid caramel gaze. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” you say in a near whisper, caressing the ink stained surface of his palm. The defaced skin of his hands only serve to emphasise just how much effort he expends into a simple task like remembering, one which most people take for granted. This is something in which it’s impossible for you to help him with, and the thought of having to wake up each week and watch him lose chunks of his memory, precious fragments of his life, is almost unbearable.

But Park Jimin only smiles and kisses the remnants of your tears away.

“Don’t be. Now each time I see you, you happen to me all over again.”

A/N: Thank you for reading!! It’s my first time doing something a little more angsty so it took me a little longer to work out all the kinks. I hope you enjoyed reading it and as always, please let me know what you think!

Admin Sky

I completely agree! She’s a tad under appreciated. Hope you enjoy!


• Totally has a cute high pitched sneeze.
• Is allergic to cat hair.
• Really, really wants a cat, though.
• Tried to convince her mom to buy her a Sphinx cat when she was little.
• Sadly, wasn’t able to have one.
• Grew up watching a form of, “The Power Rangers.”
• Still lowkey wants to be a Power Ranger.
• Super dedicated to her job.
• Someone please, force her to take some time off!
• Can’t survive in cold weather.
• Will be wearing six coats in frosty temperatures, shivering.
• “I’m fine!” She protests, visibly shaking under three heavy duty jackets, four pairs of pants, two pairs of socks, and long scarf.
• Not a fan of haunted houses.
• Has punched a guy in a haunted house before and almost broke his nose.
• She felt so bad afterwards.
• Has never went back.
• Tells a lot of dad jokes.
• So many bad puns.
• Stop her.
• Is 100% the kind of friend that’ll help you move, no questions asked.
• Watches sports.
• Has a jersey with, “Amari,” written on the back.
• Also, really enjoys old cheesy action movies.
• She upright refuses to watch romantic comedies.
• This is probably because the last one she watched made her cry.
• Never one to dominate a conversation, and is a really good listener.
• Like???? How does she remember that????? You talked about it weeks ago???????
• A fan of things that are small, like model trains and doll houses.
• Would totally have a whole tiny town if she had space to put it in her house.