Note: I remember I sent @cyphertrip a ton of anons about post-first-time with Namjoon for her kinky Mondays (the blessed day), and I’m here to actually write this into reality. This is not part of the end of year kink meme 2016 since no one requested anything like this but…
Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Rating: NC17-ish, but more M-ish Genre: romance, smut (kind of) Warnings: first time sex (disjointed flashbacks) Word Count: 2689
Summary: The memory of last night is fresh in both Namjoon’s mind and yours while you try your best to have an innocent date.
Today marks the three hundred sixty-sixth day since you said
yes to dating Kim Namjoon. Your one-year
anniversary is today, and you wake up at exactly 6AM by force of habit despite
having spent the night tossing and turning.
You’re meeting Namjoon later for brunch at some ridiculously expensive
French restaurant (his treat). And you
made a surprise reservation for two at a high-end Korean fusion restaurant for
dinner (your treat). In between meals,
the two of you were going to spend time doing normal, cutesy couple things, the
details of which were to be determined as the two of you walked around
You and Namjoon had this day planned out for a good month,
and you had even scheduled time off from work to enjoy a nice, long three-day
weekend with your boyfriend. It was
supposed to be a relaxing day to enjoy each other’s company and to have some
But you are the furthest thing from relaxed as you step into
the shower to get ready, your mind a complete, fumbling mess as you replay the
events of eight hours ago and how Namjoon had taken your virginity in the quiet,
comfortable space of his room.
Summary: Model UN!Phan where Dan and Phil go to a conference and are super touchy and everyone ships it, including the delegates in their committee.
A/N: I don’t think I’ve mentioned it here yet, but I’ve submitted a fic to phanficwritingcomp! Their results will be released will be released in about a week, but I’ll let you guys know what happens! Anyway, this fic was inspired by the recent Model UN conference that I went to, and for anyone who is still in school, I definitely recommend you go! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, because this is basically exactly what happens lol. Heeeeere we go!
…the first chapter of what I am tentatively calling Dueling Hearts.
There is a bit of episodic…ness(?) to this, but it is supposed to be taken in all at once overall, so details will be revealed over time. And nothing much happens in this chapter. And I should really post another one pretty much immediately. But I won’t.
I walk to the bus station and stop near an old lady, whom was also waiting for the number 5 bus. Another twenty minutes to wait in this cold I though to myself.
“You couldn’t help me lift my bag onto the bus when it comes, could you?” she said in a surprisingly clear voice for an aged person.
“Of course, don’t you worry about it” I replied.
She suddenly began to talk with freedom now, as if I was somebody she knew. I liked that. She had very short hair and I noticed a slight shaking of her head when she spoke.
She told me of her family and how she and some of them have had cancer. She continued to bombard me with the sadness of her life - “My husband ran away with another woman and I never saw him again” - but she had a smile on her face and a way with story telling that made it seem totally fine.
“Do I look 76?” she said in a joking manner.
“No way!” I replied, actually surprised.
We carried on talking about bus drivers until the bus finally arrived; twenty minutes late. She started walking towards the bus and I began to follow, with her roller-bag along side. It was too light to be any trouble, I thought, but didn’t take much notice since it was an elderly woman who had a slight limp, after all.
We sat down.
“I like talking to others who have faith. Do you go to mosque then?” she asked.
“Yes, I do” I replied.
“You see, I’m not like those others who hate other religions. We all came from Him and we will go back to Him.” she said.
I told her that what she said was so true and that there is a verse in the Qur'an of similar wording.
The bus was almost at my stop when she made her big move. At this point we had exchanged names, hers’ was Pauline.
“Kamran, don’t be annoyed. Could you please write down your name and underneath it, study and job?” she said somewhat apologetically.
“Of course I can.. I would love to” I replied as she handed me her diary.
I felt around for my pen within my bag until I finally scooped it out with my fingers. I opened the diary and was perplexed, for a moment or two, before realising.
The pages were filled with peoples names and prayers.
It all made sense. It was all to achieve this one goal of hers; to help people. I remembered two minutes before, when she had told me that she aids the salvation army and attends the Church in mornings and evenings, three times a week. Even her family stories were filled with her helpful ways.
I felt a moment of joy and wrote my name down in big font, amazed at this woman. I looked at her and was reminded of her disease, due to the remnants of her hair.
“Thank you very much. This is beautiful and kind thing to do” I said.
“You’re not annoyed are you?” she replied.
As I replied with the obvious ‘no’ I thought that this doesn’t happen randomly, nothing ever does.
Within our previous talks she told me she used to sing within the Church and in talent competitions. I didn’t take it for much but then, two minutes from my stop, she asked if I knew the song 'Jerusalem’.
She started singing the Hymn. When she was finished and I was nearing my stop, she said, “I don’t know why we met today, maybe God gave me this voice just so you could hear it today?”
Before I left the bus I asked what I should pray for her but she had nothing to say for herself.
they’ve been waiting for the bus for so long, josh just gets bored.
it’s late at night, both of them tired from long shifts, and hardly anyone’s around. some people walking to and fro on the opposite side of the street, but no one on theirs and no cars.
and still twenty minutes until the bus arrives, according to tyler’s bus tracker.
so josh gives tyler that Look, the one that means business.
tyler glances around, but only for posterity. there could have been ten other people waiting at the stop with them and tyler still would have bent his boy over and given him what he needed.
as it stands now, they both get up, kissing almost softly, as though it weren’t to lead to anything else.
then josh turns around and shimmies his jeans down to his thighs, rests himself against the side of the bus stop cover. “daddy,” he whimpers, one long pale finger finding its way into his mouth. “daddy, please. need your thick cock, don’t care who’s watching.”
no one is watching, tyler thinks. but someone could. those people across the street could easily glance over and see them, bathed in the warm light of the streetlamp, only covered on one side by a large advertisement for svedka vodka.
tyler stretches his boy quick and dirty, two fingers scissoring in his tight heat, wet with tyler’s spit. he hooks his chin over josh’s shoulder and tweaks one of his nipples over his shirt. “you look so slutty right now, baby. i love everyone knowing you’re mine, that i fuck this ass so hard every night that you’re ready to take me any time, anywhere.”
“yeah,” josh sighs, cheek pressed to the cool glass pane. “stretch me out so goo - fuck, tyler!”
tyler has pressed in, hand firm on the small of josh’s back, watching as his cock slides past josh’s soft, plump cheeks, spit glistening on his base. “fuck, josh. taking me so well, baby boy. just opening right up for me.”
josh is whining, scrabbling at the wall as his ass clenches around tyler in fits and starts. “b-big, daddy. so big.”
“too much?” tyler smooths a hand over josh’s hip and holds tight to the perfect skin.
so tyler pulls out, takes a seat on the chilly bus stop bench and lets josh clamber over him, sinking down at his own pace as tyler jerks him off with his shirt hooked back over his neck.
You heard your phone ding with the notification that you’d gotten a text messaging lazily got off the couch to check it. You were alone in the Twenty One Pilots tour bus, waiting for your fiancé, Tyler, to get back from sound check. You picked up the phone, expecting the text to be from your best friend, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was a text from Tyler with the only content being an emoji. The eggplant emoji, to be exact. You smile, knowing it’s Josh. You type back a reply text: “Hey josh tell tyler to hurry up!” Moments later, you get another text back, again the only context being emojis. Three, to be exact: “👌👽💀.” You shake your head and go back to the couch to finish your book.
The week is just one hell of a clusterfuck. First he’s late for the ten twenty-five bus on the blue line which means he has to take his bike uphill for five blocks to catch the next stop. Of course it means he comes stumbling in, a mess of flushed skin and sweaty hair, to work where his manager chews him out for smelling like a dead cat (she doesn’t know that it’s because of the cat he’d reached down and touched in his half-awake stress – decaying flesh was hard to get off your hands when it just twisted away to gnarled up goop – so he’s already writing a fifty dollar check to ASPCA out of guilt). it was one thing after another, after another, after another. An accident in the kitchen has him coming in the next day with a bandage on his neck, explaining away his clumsiness to his manager.
Today was the kicker, he’d closed up the cafe with his friend Lily promising her he would raincheck on drinks for another night. She’d smiled and left, leaving him to count the register, set the alarm, and finish up. A loud pounding knock has him jumping, looking up at the glass door and the behemoth scowling in at him. “Yo, fag, you seen Lil anywhere?” the voice booms out and the pieces click into place. Trystan only looks at the security cameras for a moment, feeling his throat get tight. No words, just a gesture to go around the back. Lily didn’t deserve to deal with this abusive asshole and he can’t remember the words but he knows it ends with Chance, all three hundred pounds of muscle, withering away to nothing by the time he lands the first punch.
Two hours later and he’s here, the cafe locked up, responsibilities left in the dumpster out back with Chance’s remains. The bar feels cold under his hands and suddenly there’s hands, the cold night air is making him aware of fresh wounds. It opens the careful stitches at his neck, making him hiss and curl up. There’s sounds, noises he doesn’t recognize.
Trystan breathes in iron with a slight grimace. Rubbing the back of his hand across his split lip, he turns his head spitting out blood into the alley. “Thanks,” he says hoarsely, assuming that the silence is because someone’s taken pity on him for the cosmic fuck up thus far. “I owe you for covering my ass, can I get you a drink or something?” When he finally meets the guy’s gaze, it hits him and he feels an awkward bloody smile wrench up without realizing it.