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milksuu · 6 months

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Sorry, Mom. I'm The New Cleaning Lady For Heartsteel

Pairings: various!Heartsteel x f!reader

Status: on-going (Cross posted on AO3)

Content/Warnings: 18+ content, explicit themes, suggestive language

Summary: Identity theft was a crime—that was obvious. But when it meant paying off the bills for basically existing and your mother’s hospital expenses, committing a felony didn’t seem like a bad thing. It was like that one quote, from that one band, with that one hit song: “Two sides to a story but they never tell me side.”

Or…something like that. Wait, what was their name again? Heartsteel? Sounds like a dating sim game.

[Reader takes the identity of her mother, who had been hired to be the new cleaning lady for an up and coming boy band named ‘Heartsteel’. Obviously, there’s no way they would ever find out. But that was a joke. Because they’re definitely finding out: one by one.]

“You…brought your own cleaning supplies?”

“You always need to be prepared, young man,” you replied, adjusting your duck-yellow cleaning gloves. They squeeked and flopped comically around your hand and fingers.

“Ma’am, you do understand today is solely the house tour.” The man folded his arms neatly against his chest, white brow raised. “In order to rely on you fully, you’ll need to be familiar with the estate first. I thought we discussed this beforehand. That and…we have cleaning supplies to provide you with here.”

You paused at the grand modern entrance. You lifted your bucket full of sponges, brushes, and cleaning spray from the dollar store. 'Buy-one-get-one' on all cleaning supplies was the grand deal of the day. How could you pass a penny-pinching bargain? Swallowing your shame, you settled the cheap items on the pristine granite floors.

“Oh, is that so? Must’ve slipped my mind. Age will do that to you.” You forced a chuckle, adjusting your sterile mask across your youthful face. “That and, I have such a passion for cleaning. I can't help myself. I see the inside of a house, and I just have to clean it. I’m sure you could understand that.”

“I don’t believe I could,” your employer said dryly. “Anyway, if you will, follow me.”

You nodded and shuffled along accordingly. As you stared into the back of his immaculately pressed business attire, a new-found horror struck through you: you had no clue what your employer’s name was. Frantically, you scavenged your pockets. From it, you pulled out a business card, holding it so close to your face you smelled the tinge of clean cologne.

YONE

RIOT RECORDS

DJ / PRODUCER

EMAIL: [email protected]

TELEPHONE: XXX-XXX-XXXX

“The bottom floor consists of all of the amenities; gym, entertainment area, recording studio and so on.” Yone stated as he stepped into the open-kitchen plan. When he regarded you again, you awkwardly plunged the card back into your pants pocket. “The boys have their own scheduled chores every week. They’re expected to do it without you having to help them. I’m trying to keep them humble, but easier said than done. Refer to the chore calendar on the fridge. And try not to interfere with it too much.”

“Okay—who switched my protein powder with flour?” Behind an opened cabinet, a heavy-muscled stacked man growled. “Guys. Seriously. This stuff’s expensive. Where’d it go?” When he poured the contents out into the trash can, he plucked out a note from the bottom of the canister. The small print read:

‘Protein powder tastes like dog food.’’

The weight of realization punched him square between the eyes. He threw open the pantry, where dog kibble was stored in a tub at the bottom marked ‘Ernest’. Sett pulled open the container, and sure enough, found his protein powder and scooper. There was no mistaking his favorite smell of cinnamon crunch isolate, now mixed with the scent of dry-bacon kibble. Another note pasted the inside lid:

‘Woof–Woof ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ’

“A–phe–li–os,” the name gritted between his canines. His ears flattened against his untamed hair, and crumpled the note to dust in his palm. “Oh–Ho. Mess with me all you want; but never mess with my gains. I’m gonna’ prank him back so hard tonight, he’s gonna’ be begging me to stop.”

“Sett,” Yone coughed, grabbing the Vistayan's attention. “We have a guest today. Our new cleaning lady.”

“Oh, sorry about that.” Sett wiped his powdered hand against his sleeveless shirt. He reached and took your rubber glove with a squelch. “Hey, how’s it goin’, Ma’am. The name’s Sett.”

You swallowed hard, hoping your glove would remain securely covering your hand. You feared if he pulled back, he would reveal a hand that wasn't so wrinkled for someone supposedly in their late-fifties. And that was according to your mother’s age printed on her driver’s license. Thankfully, you could tell he restrained himself to a delicate shake.

“Would talk more but gotta hit the gym. Nice meetin’ yah though,'' Sett started away, and called back over his shoulder. “Mom, can you take care of Phel for me? I dunno' where he hid the dog food for Ernest.”

Yone exhaled a silent sigh, and part of you felt pity for your employer. He seemed like a parent with a tag-team of overbearing children running around the house. Being a single parent was difficult; you knew this first hand from your own up-bringing. It made you grateful for your mother’s patience and attention. It was the reason you were here in the first place.

“Let’s continue with the tour upstairs,” Yone said, motioning you to a loft-style staircase. “The second floor consists of all the bedrooms and laundry room. At the end of the hall is my room. As it stands, it’s completely off limits to everyone, including yourself.” He turned a sharp chin in your direction, “Am I understood?”

You gulped and pressed your shoulders straight. “Of course.”

“Mommy, help me!” A bed of green hair bounced to Yone’s side, tugging at his tailored suit. “Kayn’s bullying me again. But I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear.”

“You’re such a crappy liar.” The presumed assailant, Kayn, stomped out of the hallway bathroom. Magenta hair stuck to his furrowing brows. With just a towel wrapped around his steaming waist, his abdominal muscles tensed, pointing aggressively at his target. “I was trying to shower in peace, until bubblegum pop princess over here came barging in trying to take selfies of himself. Did you know people usually shower naked? I’d like my junk not to be posted on social media, unless I’m the one doing it. For cash.”

“It’s not my fault you’re always going over your shower limit. News flash: we each only get fifteen-minutes. But you’re always breaking the rules! You know I take my selfies at the same time, at the same place, every single day. So how about you do us all a favor, and get some better time management?”

Kayn raised a vein popping fist into the air. “How about I get you a better face instead?"

Ezreal cried fake sparkling tears, cowering further behind their producer.

“Enough. The both of you,” Yone tightened around his words like a leash, restraining the quarreling pair. “For once, I’d like for you two to at least pretend you get along in front of others.”

The two whined and grumbled under their breaths till they fell to a silent agreement. But the peace treaty wasn’t upheld for long. You saw a zap of yellow from the corner of your eye. The image was so fast, you thought you must’ve imagined it—Nope. You definitely saw something. Kayn’s towel knot popped loose. And it wasn’t caused by an event of divine intervention.

The towel billowed towards the ground. And the world felt as if it was turning in slow motion, like one of those car chase movies with excessive explosions. Except, the only explosion here would be your very own heart.

Sure, you took an anatomy class here and there. In high school, you remembered the penis joke’s and games, and they never flustered you. Heck, not even when your friends set your desktop screen to a .gif of dicks spinning in circles—you found that hilarious. And when anatomy classes began in college, they were all very clinical, rudimentary, and otherwise a snooze fest.

But seeing one in real life when you’ve never had a boyfriend or a one night stand, was truly groundbreaking. Earth shattering, even.

Penis (en)counter: 1

While you were stuck in your prison of naïve embarrassment, Ezreal laughed and pulled out his cell phone, camera light shuttering a mile a minute.

“You little shi—!” Time sped forward again. With fast reflexes of his own, Kayn whipped the towel and knot back in place. “That’s it. You’re dead.”

“Uh–Oh. Time to run again,” Ezreal quipped, zooming off down the stairs.

With all bark and full bite, Kayn vanished like a cloud of smoke in pursuit. You coughed against the smog, while Yone merely swatted his hand back and forth, dissipating the gray wisps.

“You’ll have to excuse them,” he commented. “They share the same room, but have vastly different personalities. I arranged most of them together, thinking it’d help them understand each other on a deeper level. And ultimately, help them perform better together in the studio and on stage. My efforts are…yet to be determined.”

“That’s alright. Can’t be easy for young men their age to share anything. Especially with them being full of energy, testosterone, and other things. O-Oh, to be young once more…ah-ha…” you laughed nervously. Oh, God. What the heck were you saying? Honestly, you had to give pardon to yourself. You were still trying to recover from seeing your first penis up close and personal.

The image would be forever burned in your mind.

You were pulled from your self-conscious thoughts. Down the hall, a pair of shadowed eyes peeked through a sliver of door and frame. When your gaze locked together, the other pair of eyes shifted shyly from side to side. As if a poltergeist existed within the room, the visage faded back into the uncanny crack of darkness. The door creaked closed, with an audible click and lock.

Yone pursued straight to the door, and you stood a few paces back. If there was any chance that a ghost was inside living rent-free, you wouldn't be the first it possessed. You weren't a certified Ghostbuster.

But you also weren't a certified Dustbuster, either. No one will know, know one will know, you chanted the comforting hymn.

“Aphelios. Open the door. I know you’re in there. I can see the computer light flashing,” Yone stated, rattling the door knob. “Where’s the kibble for the dog? Sett told me you have it somewhere.”

There was a beat in the air. From behind the door, you heard feet pacing back and forth, and the sounds of finger taps against a phone screen. Yone’s phone pinged with an alert. He pulled it out, and opened his text messages.

‘I can’t open the door all the way. I set the bucket of dog food to fall on Sett’s head when he comes in. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ’

“For the love of…no more pranks today." Yone pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. "But I doubt you could even manage that. Whatever trap you’ve ensembled, take it down—now. And put the dog’s food back in the pantry. Unless you want to donate a cut of your earnings every month to Ernest’s pet store bill.”

Another pause, followed by begrudging phone taps.

‘Fine, m O T h E r…(¬_¬")’

“That might take him a few. Depending how intricate the set up was. I would be surprised if the only thing involved in this scheme was just the dog food.” Yone motioned you back down the stairs. “Last thing to see is the outdoor space.”

Continuing with the tour, you passed through the lower floor, stepping down a hallway decorated with awards and magazine clippings. From commercial modeling gigs to sold out venues, your eyes glistened at the polished look the group was slowly cultivating. Which you had to admit, completely contradicted their personal lives.

When you reached a sliding glass door that stretched from floor to ceiling, you stepped out onto a landscaped deck. Lush modern garden trims, a shaded outdoor lounge, and smooth sandstone pavement decorated the space. At the backend, an infinity pool rested in pristine stillness.

At the head of the pool, a person of sculpted bronze physique posed in swimwear on a lounge chair. When you approached along with your chaperone, he picked up his tropical drink, and tilted it in a cheering gesture.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mama gracing me with his presence. And look's like someone else is with him, too.” The man basking in the sun's rays and oil slicked, shucked his sunglasses onto his dread locks. “Let me guess. This must be the new cleaning lady you hired to pick up after our mess.”

“To a certain degree,” Yone replied. “But not all of the mess, K’Sante. Out of everyone, you should know better.”

“I only joke, Mama.” He grinned smoothly, taking a sip of his frozen alcoholic refresher. “Say, have you seen Sett? I told him to come join me for a tan by the pool. If he wants his muscles to truly pop, he needs to use some oil and not be allergic to the sun. The man is whiter than the sky is bright today.”

As he laughed to himself, Ernest left his chew toy at the far side of the pool, and came to sniff your shoes. With a smile, you slipped a very small piece of your long sleeve up, allowing him to sniff at your skin. The dog lapped his tongue around his slobbering chops, barking delightedly and pawing for you to pet him. You were more than happy to oblige.

These gloves came in handy after all, you thought pleasantly as globs of saliva fell in heaps over your fingers.

“What’s this? Ernest taking a liking to the cleaning lady already,” K’Sante mused at the sight. “Barely warmed up to us when we first met. We won’t mention the illegal trespassing but, call me impressed.”

With a wink, he flicked his sunglasses back down to the bridge of his nose. “That or he has a ‘ting for older women. Can’t say I blame ‘em. An experienced woman has a certain power that’ll make any grown man cry. And from my own experience, it is never for mercy.”

Oh, boy. You couldn’t imagine your mother being interested in the cougar life-style. Not that you would approve of it. And you were certain your father would descend from the heavens and deliver the backhand of God to any young man who dared otherwise.

Before Yone could address the unsavory statement, Ezreal burst through the backyard sliding doors. Still possessed with laughter, he hopped and skipped over pool chairs and tables. The merriment stopped short when Kayn caught up to the cheeky idol, snatching his wrist which held the phone. From the staggering halt, the phone slipped from Ezreal’s hold, somersaulting towards the pool.

“M-My phone!” Ezreal paled at the thought of losing thousands of stored photos of himself—Oh, and the blackmail photos he was going to use against Kayn, too.

Yanking his wrist free, Ezreal pursued the device. But Ernest’s rubber hotdog toy squealed beneath him, forcing him off balance. Kayn latched an arm around Ezreal's slim waist, and pressed him safely against his bare chest.

He huffed against Ezreal's ear. “You can’t swim, you idiot. Remember? Just let it go.”

Ernest barked at the surmounting commotion. Being the valiant guard dog with the perfect pedigree, he bounded on his thick paws to catch Kayn by the towel, with all the intent to keep them both from falling in. What a good boy! Unfortunately for Kayn, Ernest bit a bit more than he could chew.

Kayn’s voice bass boosted ten-octaves lower. “MY DAMN ASS!”

W-Whose voice was that? Was that even the same person? The thought rattled through you.

A chunk of Kayn's soft meat condensed in the jaws of a furry devil. A shock travelled up the nerves of his spine, into the the muscle fibers of his arm, shoving Ezreal forward. Ezreal flailed his hands in the air, desperate to find some semblance of balance—with no luck, at all. Fumbling on his tip-toes, Ezreal plummeted into the pool with a splash. Kayn stumbled from the after-shock of his spirit being bitten straight through his buttcheeks. His feet met the cursed rubber squeaker, sending him following suit into the pool. Except, the towel had its own plans. It decided to stay behind and not get involved.

Penis (en)counter: 2

“I heard some commotion, fellas. What’s goin’ on?” Sett stepped out from the sliding doors. He caught witness of Ezreal’s face treading water, gasping for bouts of air. Sett’s muscles popped at the sight, barreling towards the scene. “Don’t worry, Ez. I’m coming for yah, buddy!”

Sett launched himself into the air, preparing the most athletic Olympic dive ever conceived.

Kayn inhaled sharply as he broke through the water's surface tension. Recuperating his breaths, he slicked his wet hair back from his face. Looking down at the waters crystal reflection, an odd shadow grew in size around him. And according to the forecast earlier; there was no chance in Hell of clouds or rain. Lifting his nose to the darkening sky, he blanched in sheer horror. A body, massive enough to eclipse the sun, hurled down like a meteor descending to Earth.

What day was it today, Doomsday? He must've forgot; Kayn never bothered to look at calendar's, anyway.

Back to the painful mistress that was his life; a weak, painful moan escaped him. “You can’t be serious. This isn’t the cool death I deserve—”

Those were Kayn’s final words. A wave rivaling a tsunami consumed him, a random pizza chair float, and the immediate surrounding pool area. Standing in the designated splash zone, pool water soaked your soles, leached into your socks, and dampened your pants to the knees. From K’Sante’s spot, a shot of chlorine or two spiked his drink. He snatched his sunglasses off and shouted the words; “This was the last bit of banana daiquiri mix, you aboas! Now I have to go down to the liquor store and hope they sell it frozen already.”

Yone, with all the grace anyone could hope to be blessed with, merely side-stepped away. A single speck landed on his polished shoes. He narrowed his steely eyes, flicking away the insignificant drop.

You caught something flashing on the second floor of the estate. Looking up, you shielded your eyes from the glaring sun. From one of the windows, you spotted someone holding up a sign. You assumed it was Aphelios. The poster read:

‘4/10 Ezreal. 6/10 Kayn. 10/10 Sett.’

With a dramatic burst through the water, Sett hurled Ezreal over his massive shoulder, and walked out of the pool. Placing Ezreal onto his soaking back, he coughed and gagged against the awful taste of treated water.

He smiled at his new-found savior. “Thanks, Sett. I’m fine, but what about Kayn…”

The group shifted their attention over the silent, lapping water. After a bubble or two, the sight of Kayn’s bare bottom surfaced to the top. Floating like a wet and rounded land-mass, with the additional landmark of a pink dog-bite.

“Kayn! Hang in there, pal!” Sett launched himself once more into the water, creating another wave of soaking magnitude.

Although the drink had already been spoiled, K’Sante reflexively covered the top of his daiquiri glass. “For God’s sake, Sett. Take your time. It’s not like you’re saving the life of an innocent man.”

As chaos continued to ensue around the gang, Yone placed himself at your side. With a shake of his head, he crossed his arms, and sent a ghost of a smile your way.

“Welcome to Heartsteel,” he said. “Your first day starts tomorrow.”

Looks like your identity was safe…for now, at least.

an: thanks for reading! the rest of the this story will most likely just be on my AO3. You can find me @ milksuu. comments and suggestions always welcomed. <3

#heartsteel #league of legends #Heartsteel x reader #kayn x reader #ezreal x reader #aphelios x reader #Sett x reader #K'Sante x reader #Yone x reader #reader insert #league of legends fanfiction #cross posted on ao3 #divider by @benkeibear

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sentientcave · 20 days

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Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter One - The Perfect Gift

Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Stalking, Drugging, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Threats (open-ended), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real.

~3.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

"I told ye, she's perfect," Soap said, eyes on the window across the street. They could see you puttering around your living room, wearing a pretty flower print dress as you tidied up. "Good with bairns too, met her when I was pickin' up the niece and nephew from school. She was workin' for some rich family, an' they let her go because the wife found a pair of her knickers in her husband's briefcase." He snickered. He'd been the one to put them there, although, in his opinion, he’d been pushing the bounds for a long while anyway. Sure he’d essentially cast you adrift, jobless and with no one looking out for you, but, well, they were looking after you now, weren’t they? So it wasn’t all that bad.

"Good job, pup," Ghost said fondly, ruffling Johnny's hair. "Captain's gonna love 'er."

"How do you lads want to play it?" Gaz asked. "Could go in tonight. Won’t take much to knock her out, pack up her things, take her to the cabin. Get her nice and situated for when Price gets back."

"No point in waitin', is there?" Ghost asked. "Nice she's on the ground floor. Makes takin' 'er things easier. I'll go round 'n' check the windows in a bit. Should wait till after midnight. Don't want to be spotted by the neighbours."

"No' much risk o' tha'," Soap said. "Knocked over a bunch of bins last I was here and the cunts didna even turn on a light. Just the bonnie thing worryin’ while the rest of ‘em sleep sound."

Gaz lit a cigarette, nodding thoughtfully. "Small apartment too. Is there much to move?"

Soap shook his head. "Nah, no' much. Sweet girl lives simply. I told ye, she's perfect for the captain. He'll be able to spoil the fuck out of her, once she's broken in, aye?"

"Know 'e'll like that. Man needs a wife to dote on. ‘e’s been goin’ a bit crazy, all alone. An' 'e can train'er up nice."

"Think he might share?" Gaz asked wistfully, exhaling a stream of thin smoke as he sighed. "Nice soft girl like that-- Plenty to go around."

Ghost laughed. "Thought we'd 'ave trouble gettin' Johnny to keep 'is 'ands to 'imself, and you're the one droolin'."

"Scuse me for having eyes, mate. Just think she looks sweet."

"We'll get to see first 'and soon.” Ghost clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on lads. Let's get ready."

You wake up on the hard metal floor of a moving vehicle, your pounding head cradled in someone's hands. That's what you notice first, and the thumbs rubbing circles against your neck soothingly.

It has the opposite effect. Your eyes fly open.

“Hi, bonnie,” a somewhat familiar face grins down at you, blue eyes smiling, but too intense, glittering in the low light that filters in from the windows at the front of the truck. “How’s yer head?”

You grimace, trying to make sense of what’s going on around you. The back of the van seems to be filled with boxes. “Aren’t you Finn and Rory’s uncle?”

“Aw, ye remember me? Knew ye were a sweetheart.”

You try to sit up, but Johnny puts a strong hand on your shoulder and keeps you where you are. Your head feels too heavy to try and fight him, your muscles weak. “What’s going on?” you ask. “What— Is this a kidnapping?”

“Tha’s an ugly word, bonnie. We’re doin’ ye a favour, really. Settin’ ye up with someone respectable. Captain’ll take good care of ye.” He pats your cheek. “Whyna get back to sleep? Still a ways to go, aye?”

Maybe it’s just a bad, weird dream. You do feel foggy, like you’re not fully attached to your body, and keeping your eyes open is a struggle. You’ll wake up back in your own bed, and have a funny story to tell if you ever bump into Johnny again. He’s definitely too nice to be a kidnapper, right? Like, people don’t really do that sort of thing. It has to be a dream.

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes close again.

As you suspected, you wake up again in bed. The headache’s receded some, and there’s warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. You bury your face into the pillows, and then bolt upright. The pillow smells weird, like sweet tobacco and spice, and you don’t get morning sun in your bedroom. The window faces a brick wall across a narrow alley.

The room you’re in now is not your room. It’s sparsely furnished, just a dresser under the window and the bed you’re tucked into, and two doors, one that’s clearly a closet, and one that must lead out into the rest of the… house? Judging by the sound of birdsong outside, you’re out of the city.

You pad to the window and look out. There’s a van in the driveway, and three men carrying things in. One of them looks up and spots you in the window, waving cheerfully.

Not a dream. Fear grips you, ice sliding down your spine, shards settling in your stomach, needling and uncomfortable. Your sinuses prickle like you’re about to cry, but no tears come. You’re too dehydrated to summon them. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been out— It’s fully daylight outside, but you have no idea what time. A second look around the room finds a digital clock sitting on the nightstand, 3:05 glaring back at you in red.

There’s a knock on the door, and it pushes open. The man who walks in is handsome, smiling at you so beautifully that your automatic response is to try and smile back, although you feel that it’s flimsy, unsure. There’s no chance that this man is here to help you, but you at least hope he’s not here to hurt you either.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice is as pleasant as his face is, smooth and cheerful, although it makes you wary about him on principle. “You hungry?”

You shake your head. It’s not true, but you can’t trust that there wouldn’t be drugs in anything they give you.

“Well, come on downstairs, hm? Get some water at least. Maybe a tea?”

Your stomach churns. “I might be sick,” you manage to squeak out. He quickly ushers you out into the hall and into a bathroom. You don’t make it to the toilet, but you do manage to make it to the sink. If you had a little more fire in you, you might have tried to vomit bile onto the pretty man’s shoes, but it’s hard to shake the instinct to be good, not to make any trouble, to hope that they’ll just let you go. You’re not even sure what they want. You have no family to ransom, you don’t have any money to speak of, you’re just a fat little ex-nanny still paying off an English Literature degree from a second-rate college.

You turn on the sink to wash away the sick, and rinse your mouth out. Your hands start shaking when you realize your toothbrush is sitting in the holder next to the sink, like it belongs there. Your makeup bag is sitting on the counter too, and when you look down, you realize you’re standing on your own bathmat, taken from your home and arranged here, as if effects from your own house are supposed to make you feel comfortable. You look at your reflection in the mirror, and then at the man still standing in the doorway, his brown eyes all concern, as if he wasn’t party to a fucking nightmare.

You straighten up, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “What the hell is this?” you ask, trying to inject some authority into your quaking voice. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I’m Gaz. Nice to meet you. Johnny had lots of nice things to say about you.”

So that hadn’t been a dream either. You look around the room desperately, looking for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon, but Gaz seems to know exactly what you’re doing, and he steps into your space quickly to grab your hands.

“None of that. Come on. You’ll feel better after a tea, yeah? Then you can get ready to meet the captain.”

He leads you downstairs. Questions spin around your head, but you’re not sure if it’s worth asking. Gaz only bothered to respond to one of the three you’ve asked so far, and it wasn’t the one that you were most interested in an answer to. So you stay quiet instead, taking in the layout of the big room. A front door and a back door, and windows that look out onto a forest on one side of the property, and more forest on the other side, beyond a large cleared space with a neat garden and a few fruit trees. There’s a second building that you can just see the corner of from the kitchen window, more likely a garage than a neighbour.

Gaz backs you up against the counter and leans down slightly, his hands gripping your thighs. You panic, the touch surprising you, and slap him across the face. The sharp sound makes you freeze, like it wasn’t you that had done it. He takes advantage of your surprise to shove you up onto the counter and grab both your hands with one of his, all the friendliness draining our of his eyes in an instant as he points a scolding finger at you. You feel like you’ve done something naughty that you’re not fully aware of the implications of yet, a badly trained dog or a child. “I’m going to let that one slide, because I understand that this is a big change for you. But you’re not going to like what happens if you try that again, understood?”

You nod quickly, your own eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry,” you say, the instinct for appeasement rearing it’s skittish little head.

And then the smile returns, as pretty as before, storm clouds blowing away as though they’d never been there to begin with. “It’s alright, doll. Just don’t do it again. And definitely don’t try that attitude on with the captain.” He taps the pointing finger against your nose playfully, and lets your hands drop back into your lap.

The rules seem simple enough. Be good and sweet, and get friendly faces in return, to a degree. No matter how cooperative you are, you doubt they’re going to let you go home. Fighting back means consequences, and you’re not sure how far those consequences will extend. If you’re too much trouble, it’s not a stretch to imagine that they’ll just kill you outright and try again with a meeker woman. You don’t yet know if death would be the more preferable outcome.

You pull your sweater down over your thighs. The black zip-up hoodie isn’t yours (the word Riley is stitched onto the front of it), but it’s big, and even though it smells faintly of cigarettes, it affords you at least a little modesty and comfort, more than the tank top and the sleep-shorts you’re wearing underneath do. Riley must be the third man. Was he the captain? Or was there a fourth one somewhere?

Johnny comes through the door carrying your suitcases, and he grins widely when he sees you, the charming, boyish one that you’d thought was handsome before. It’s only unnerving now. “Didja have a good sleep, bonnie?”

“You drugged me,” you accuse.

“Weel, of course. You were no’ goan ta come all peaceable, and LT wouldna be patient if ye were cryin’ the whole way here.” He trots upstairs, and you can hear him drop the bags with a thump, before he’s clattering back down the steps and leaning against the counter next to you. “How’d’ye like yer new home, bonnie? S’a nice place, aye? Better than tha’ little shoebox back in the city.”

“I like my apartment,” you protest.

“Psh, ye’d say tha’. Puttin’ on a brave face since yer such a good girl. But it wasna verra safe, was it? No’ a single neighbour paid us any mind while we were loadin’ up yer things. No’ a good place for a single girl, aye?” He reaches out and puts a big hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Now ye’ll be taken care of, like ye should be.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of.”

“Nonsense. Ye’ll be glad, once ye get used to things. Already looks real homey in here, don’t ye think?” He gestures at the living room.

You twist to look, and your stomach sinks. Your throw pillows are on the couch, one of the afghans you crocheted hanging over the back of it. You recognize the titles of your books on the shelves. These men were nothing if not thorough, surgically removing your entire life and transplanting it to this house in the woods, with it’s wood panel walls and big, overstuffed leather couches.

He continues blithely, like he’s not delivering some of the most horrifying news you’ve ever heard. “Most of your furniture’s in the garage, ye can sort tha’ out with Price, aye? But we brought all yer clothes and decorations and whatnot in. Figure ye should wear tha’ pretty black sundress, an’ those long stockin’s with the clippy belt, ye ken the one? Cap’ll like those.”

They’d been through all your things. If you had anything left to throw up, you might’ve again. Gaz sets a glass of water on the counter next to you. “How d’you take your tea, doll?”

“Milk, two sugars,” Johnny answers for you. “Our sweet lass has a sweet tooth, aye?”

“How do you know that?” You can hear the quiver in your voice, and it doesn’t slip by either of them.

“Come oan, hen, ye ken I didna jus’ pick ye off the street. Did my research. Wouldna pick just anyone for the captain.”

“When he said he’d found the perfect girl, we didn’t believe him at first,” Gaz says, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen while the tea steeps. “But Ghost and I knew he was right, soon as we saw you.” He nods at the glass. “Drink your water. You haven’t had anything since last night.”

“Is it drugged?” you ask flatly.

“No, want ye awake for when Price gets here. Yer a real cute thing asleep, but we want him ta hear yer pretty voice and see that smile, aye?” Johnny reaches past you and picks up the glass of water, taking a big swig to demonstrate it’s harmlessness.

You take a careful sip when he hands it back to you, and then another, resisting the urge to just gulp the whole thing down. The door opens again, and the biggest man you’ve seen in your life walks in, wearing a black t-shirt and a mask with the jaw of a skull printed on it, pulled up over the lower half of his face. He looks at you dispassionately, and then at Gaz and Johnny. “What the ‘ell have you two muppets been sayin’ to the poor thing?” he asks, his voice rumbling like an avalanche. “She looks like she’s gonna faint.”

“Figure she’s just peaky,” Gaz says defensively. “I’m making her tea.”

The big guy swats Johnny’s hand away from your knee impatiently, and cages you in against the counter, one huge arm on either side of you. “How’re you feelin’ bird? Be honest.”

“Terrified,” you admit.

He chuckles. “Sensible, considerin’. But you don’t need to worry, olright? No one’s gonna hurt you, so long as you’re good. And you want to be good, don’t you, bird?”

You nod. You’d thought Gaz and Johnny were big, but this one’s huge, broad and tall and even scarier. It’s clear why they started off introducing themselves to you in the order they did. If this man had been the first thing you’d seen after waking up you probably would have gone into hysterics.

“Use your words, pet.”

“I want to be good,” you say obediently, because you don’t see any other options, at least for the moment.

“Good girl,” he says, and there’s the slightest hint of a smile in his dark eyes.

Somehow, this is the most comforting thing that you’ve experienced all day. You won’t be hurt if you’re good, and you are being good.

He pushes back from the counter slightly, giving you more space, takes the mug of tea from Gaz, and hands it off to you. “Small sips,” he instructs. “And maybe a biscuit, if you think you can keep it down.”

“Are you the captain?” you ask nervously, gripping the mug with two hands.

“Hm? No. ‘e’s still about an hour out. I’m Simon. Ghost to these two.” He fishes an open package of biscuits out of the cupboard and sets them next to you. “Once you finish your tea, we’ll get you ready. Want to make a good first impression, right bird?”

“Not really,” you admit. “I’d like to go home.”

He laughs, at least finding your honesty amusing. “That won’t be ‘appenin’. If Price dun’t want you, I’ll keep you myself. But I’ll tell you right now, you’ll like Price better. If you’re good for him, he’ll be real good to you, understood?”

You bite your tongue. It won’t do you any good to point out that a man that would accept a person as a gift is probably not capable of being good to anyone. Good is subjective, and the three men in front of you are lunatics. Their captain probably has the slightest bit stronger a grasp on his sanity, or a consistent moral code, if not a particularly righteous one. So you just keep your mouth shut, and drink your tea, and eat two chocolate digestives while Gaz and Johnny start collecting things to make dinner.

As soon as you set your empty mug to the side Ghost pops you down from the counter and ushers you upstairs with a big hand placed a little too low on your back. He tells you what to wear (down to the lingerie), but blessedly doesn’t insist on watching you get dressed. He does sit on the edge of the tub and watch you put on makeup, however, requesting red lipstick and winged eyeliner. Your hands are still a little shaky, but you manage to do as he asks. His eyes smile at you just a little when you’re obedient. You feel pathetic for not making a fuss, but you’re not sure what you can possibly do, except something stupid that will make them angry enough to hurt you.

He helps you into a pair of strappy red heels that had been languishing in the back of your closet before they dug everything out, and straightens the seam of your stockings, running his big hands up your calves. It’s like you’re a doll, dressed just how he wants, something to look pretty and say less than nothing, a gift for some other man you’ve never met to keep on a shelf.

Or worse, to play with.

You hear Johnny and Gaz greet someone downstairs, their voices loud and excited, and your heart skips nervously.

Ghost rises to his feet, smiling so big you can see it even with the mask. “Wait right here, pet,” he says firmly, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed while he goes off to greet his captain. “Want to introduce you proper.”

So you sit, and you wait, shaking and nervous, for what feels like eternity, until you hear Simon’s surprisingly light footfalls on the stairs again. He offers you a hand, and hoists you over his shoulder as soon as you’re on your feet, carrying you down into the living room.

“We all pitched in,” Gaz says, as casually as if he meant throwing in five dollars for a card. “But she was Soap’s idea.”

“Picked ‘er out special, Cap,” Johnny says. “She’s perfect for ye.”

“She?” an unfamiliar voice asks. “Don’t tell me you got me a dog.”

“Better than that, skipper.” Ghost laughs as he circles around the couch, and drops you carefully into the man’s lap, stepping into line with the other two. “We got you a wife.”

I've been low-key thinking about this concept since I read ohbo-ohno's Don't Leave Me Locked in Your Heart a while back (If you haven't read and you like a good dark fic, you should click that link, you may enjoy it). I think getting someone a person as a gift, or being given as a gift, rather, is a fun fucked up fantasy to explore. I'm not entirely sure where I'll take this but I promise to put in content warnings. Let me know if I miss something, I don't want anyone to be surprised by what they find!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

#cod mw fanfiction #cave writing #John Price x Reader #x reader #dark fic #Price please keep your dogs on leashes they are terrorizing women #The boys missed the real retirement party because they got emergency deployed and they've been trying to reschedule all year long #Good thing they've got such a good gift to make up for it #The homies in discord agree: These guys are unsettling

511 notes · View notes

tb3ih · 3 months

Text

APOCALYPSE ⨳ satoru gojo

[ the world is caving in for EX-BOYFRIEND!SATORU--he thinks ]

⨳ word count: 2.7k !

⨳ warnings. post-breakup, non-sorcerer!au, "treating wounds tension" + underlying notes of unfinished love. contains nsfw (MDNI) — oral & fingering (f!receiving), cunnilingus, missionary, creampie & aftercare (?)

⨳ notes, happy love day to the satoru enjoyers. everyone else... well, maybe you'll learn to enjoy him after this. ( thank you to @ktsumu & @difficultdomains for mothering this fic, i appreciate you both sm <3 )

there is nothing quite like the loneliness of being the strongest. GOJO SATORU doesn't allow himself to pay any mind to the void which separates him from the rest of his kind, though at times he wished he could rid himself of it entirely.

his pace is slow and lacking in rhythm, tall frame swaying and trying to keep him from planting face first into the pavement as his body carries him down the familiar path. the metal in his mouth has yet to subside and the male is nearly on the edge of consciousness until he recognizes the entrance to your apartment building.

he does not knock, simply entering the code at your door knob and praying it hasn't changed since the last time he's been there. and it hasn't, because no sooner after he presses the enter button, the lock clicks and a small chime resonates from the door, allowing him in.

the door doesn't creak, so he swings it open just slightly to allow himself in, but one step into the living room and suddenly he's forced into the wall of the hallway behind him, something cold and sharp pressed against his throat.

gojo satoru has never feared for his life, but the glow in your narrowed eyes as you hold him in place and press the knife against his throat has his soul threatening to escape through his throat. and then something shifts, your eyes changing in emotion and just as fast as you appeared because you're no longer against him, tucking the knife away in its holster and standing before him.

"satoru? what are you doin--satoru!" satoru doesn't remember your embrace being this warm when you catch his collapsed body, but then again he hardly remembers anything at all these days. "oh my god--is that blood? jesus, satoru!"

he hums out a reply, vision a little fuzzy around the edges as he tries to register the dimly lit living room of your apartment. he hears you curse out, muttering about how heavy the male was before setting him gently down on the couch. gojo's vision is going in and out, his consciousness indecisive because one moment, you're gone and the next you're standing over him, brows pinched in concentration as you clean something off his face.

"hold still," you say quietly when you feel him try to move from his position. you're seating next to him on the couch, tying off the stitches at his brow. putting your tools down, you wipe the bit of crimson from his pale face before covering it with a bandage. his cerulean eyes watch you unwaveringly, but you refuse to return his stare.

you may have only one life, but there were things better left untouched.

the rest of his bloodstained clothes remain in a heap on the floor near the couch, revealing that most of the blood you had previously witnessed was not his. you stand, grabbing your first aid materials and putting them on the counter. when you come back, you hold a glass of water in one hand and some painkillers in another.

you set them on the coffee table, sitting down next to him once more to adjust one of the bandages you notice has come loose around his shoulder. "y/n..."

you pause your movements, eyes carefully meeting his. you regret your decision the moment you see the way his irises spill with an emotion you wish you could get rid of as easily as you did your assignments.

"why are you here, satoru?" your voice is so quiet, you almost don't hear yourself. why did you come back? is what you wished you said, but you can't risk reopening a wound you've stitched up too many times.

the male purses his lips for a second, racking his mind for an answer that won't push you even further away from him. "i... didn't know where else to go..." he brings his other hand up to your face, fingertips ghosting your cheek out of fear he might break you if he does make contact. "please, you’re… all i have left…"

you inhale sharply, something forming in the back of your throat. "please, don't look at me like that," you beg, but you don't move an inch as he starts to move closer to you, his hand coming to gently hold your face.

"why?" it is quiet in the room and his face is only a breath away. he is close, too close, but you can't bring yourself to pull away.

something hot escapes your eye, the pain in your chest flaring up again and causing the nerves on your skin to ignite. "because," you start, voice breaking off a little before continuing in a whisper. "i might actually believe that you love me this time."

his thumb catches another tear before it can make it all the way down your cheek. "and what if i said i did?"

"you are a cruel man," you reply, never breaking eye contact with him.

something glints in those beautiful blue eyes of his at your words and you know you'd never be able to get rid of him even if you tried. "then maybe you can teach me a thing or two about being good."

silence settles around the both of you, neither of you wanting to say something that might unravel whatever it is that's built up in these few fleeting moments.

“oh, satoru,” you finally say, a bit of sad amusement tugging at the corner of your lip, “not even hell would be enough punishment for you.”

when his fingers go grab your chin gently and pull your lips closer to his, you can’t even find the strength in you to fight it. gojo pauses, lips moving from your eyes to your lips that are nearly touching his.

he licks his lips. “then why don’t you show me what is?”

[n]sfw under the cut!

and you’re not breathing anymore. because in that instant you are telling yourself you loathe the man before you as you bring both of your hands to his face and finally push your lips onto his, all the oxygen in your lungs no sooner chased out by everything that is gojo satoru.

though, you can’t say your partner is any better, because he’s pushing back with just as much force, lips molding against your fervently as his hands move to trail to your waist, lifting you with no effort to make you straddle his waist. you gasp, his fingers digging in just enough for the pain to be delicious as he holds you down against his clothed dick. you can feel the way gojo’s lips twist into a smirk that he’s got you wrapped around his finger, though you didn’t mind one bit.

when was the last time you’d done anything like this? your hips move off muscle memory, grinding down hard against him at a slow, but steady pace that has gojo groaning into your mouth. your fingers find his hair, combing, tangling, and pulling his soft locks while he breaks the kiss to let his lips travel from your jaw, down your neck, and to the sensitive spot of your collarbone.

“fuck, y/n,” gojo curses, pulling away to watch you pull off your shirt, lips swollen and pink while his eyes watch you behind a veil of something almost soft. you aren’t a fool though, you’re just as hungry as him.

his lips attach almost immediately to your chest when you fall back into him, a combination of his incisors and tongue leaving hues of scarlet as his mouth dances across your bare skin. you can feel how painfully hard he is through his pants, the moan that escapes his lips almost making you chuckle when you drag your hand from his face to his chest and finally to the waistband of his pants, palming his length through the material.

“damn couch is too fuckin’ small,” he growls against your skin, to which you respond by guiding him down to the plush carpet on the floor, the soft material on your skin not nearly as cruel as the leather of your couch.

he takes your nipple between his teeth, tugging gently before swirling around it with his tongue, causing you to mewl out at the pleasure. “well, i’ve never actually tried to get dicked down on it before, but i appreciate the criticism,” you breathe out, the snarkiness in your reply inciting amusement in gojo as he sees you’ve gone back to your original self.

“i was wondering when you’d gotten so soft,” he taunts, “thought i’d lost you forever.”

you scoff, “as if i’d let you think you’re the best in the business.”

he switches the two of you, toned arms caging your head in where you now lay on the floor. “prove me wrong then, gorgeous,” gojo says lowly. his eyes look as if they’re trying to devour you in the way that they trail down from your lips to your heaving chest, bite marks and hickies blossoming in reds and bruising purples all over.

he keeps his eyes on yours when his hand finds the drawstring of your pants, undoing them in the blink of an eyes before hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulling them off entirely. his hand comes to your panties, fingertips ghosting over the already-wet patch of fabric.

“you know, for a professional,” gojo starts, lips pulling into a mean grin, “you sure do let yourself get riled up easily.”

with one hand you pull his face down to yours by the back of his neck and with your other hand you grab the wrist of his hand pushing it against your aching cunt. “for a professional, you sure like to run your mouth,” you retort, continuing with a bit of impatience in your voice, “if you don’t shut up and fuck me, i’m going to have to ask you kindly to leave.”

at that, he chuckles, pulling your panties to the side to pressing a finger to your bundle of nerves. you shudder at the sudden contact, back arching involuntarily off the carpet as he starts to move. “well i guess i better get to it, then,” gojo chuckles lowly, dipping a finger into your soaking entrance. shifting his position, he moves down so that his head is in between your thighs before bringing his mouth to your clit.

you hear him curse against you and you sigh, thighs closing in on his head as he starts to working his fingers in and out of you. curling his fingers, gojo relishes the way you shudder involuntarily, walls clenching around his fingers as he speeds up his brutal pace. there’s a familiar tightening in the pit of your stomach and the pleasure flooding your head has the edges of your vision looking fuzzy.

“satoru…hngh–!” you’re a mess underneath him, hands shaking when they move to tug his hair harder. “s-slow down–please!”

the white-haired male hums against you in reply, detaching his lips from your clit to meet your eyes. “funny how you’re asking me to slow down, but this pussy’s beggin’ to be fucked,” he coos, watching the way you’re swallowing his fingers knuckles deep.

and you feel as if the world is a little off-kilter, the trembling in your thighs intensifying as your orgasm teeters on the edge of crashing down. and it’s just as you’re about to cum that he pulls his fingers from your aching cunt, leaving you gasping and sensitive from the sudden loss of contact. “satoru…?”

and that’s when you feel it, his tip prodding between your soaked folds, dragging against your entrance with a pace that can only be described as teasing. gojo’s face comes to settling in your neck, one hand pressed on the carpet beside your head to support him while the other continues pressing his cock against you. “‘m still here, gorgeous,” he murmurs into your neck, voice low and a little strained.

it’s taking everything in him to keep from pushing in and throwing every boundary between you two to hell. the lilt of your voice when you whined his name, the twist of your fingers through his hair, god, even just the taste of you on his tongue–it was driving him mad.

if this was heaven, gojo would willingly repent if it meant he could devour you.

and when you curse out, calling his name like a mantra, only then does he snap back to reality, your teeth finding his neck when he finally does push in, your gummy walls giving him nothing short of a warm welcome as you swallow him whole. gojo pulls out till it’s just the tip teasing your walls before slamming his hips back in, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with just enough force to have stars dancing in your vision.

“holy shit,” he breathes, groaning out at the feeling of your nails raking down his back. you feel his muscles flex as he adjusts above you, “i’m going to eat you alive.”

you place a feather-light kiss where you had just been biting down, whispering in reply, “so do it.”

and he’s smiling against your neck when he starts his brutal pace, grinding his hips into yours in a way that has a scream trying to claw its way from your throat. gojo is a muttering mess of moans and curses, the drag of his veins against your fluttering walls sending him into a state of euphoria.

you feel that familiar tightening in your core, the continuous teasing of his tip against your cervix making you arching into the white-haired male above you, your nails drawing uncertain and indecisive shapes into the contours of his back. “satoru… i think i’m–oh god, please…”

gojo is definitely not thinking straight. from ecstasy washing through his veins to the faint stinging of your nails carving into his back, he wasn’t sure if there was any going back. he can feel the way you clench around him, pushing him closer and closer to his edge by the second.

“y/n,” he rasps, unable to stop the stutter in his pace of his hips against yours. “...god, you–you’re everything…” this, here–the moment–is everything.

you almost don’t catch what he says solely out of doubt that he even said what he did. you don’t respond, only biting his shoulder to muffle the sound of his name as it comes tumbling off your lips in a scream. your orgasm washes over you and you let yourself go under, body shaking as gojo comes to finish following you.

and when he does, it comes crashing. hips slowing to a halt against you, you hear him groan, frame shuddering as he empties himself into you. you feel the warm flood your walls, both of your frames heaving for air as you come down from your highs. when he finally does calm down, you’re already fading in and out of consciousness.

you’re half-awake when gojo rolls off of you, taking his weight and his warmth with him when he gets up and collects himself. you don’t have time to actually feel the difference in temperature because only a few moments after he’s gone, he’s back again, arms locking your tired body against his chest as you’re lifted from the carpet.

you’re barely hanging on to reality when you feel like you’re being embraced again, only this time it’s a blanketing kind of warmth. “satoru…”

the male lays perfectly still against you, allowing you to adjust yourself and get as comfortable as possible. the moon peeks in from the sun window in your bedroom ceiling and gojo finds himself staring up at the distant twinkling of young stars galaxies away.

none of the stars have exploded and the moon appears to have stayed on its course. when he looks back at you, you’ve already drifted to rest, breaths rhythmic and nearly silent as you remain cuddled against him.

silly of him to think that the world was ending.

after all, you were right here.

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mochinek0 · 3 months

Text

In Sickness and in Health

"Damian, I need you to work with the new student on this project." his history teacher stated.

"What new student?" the young Wayne questioned.

'There's no one new here. Has he finally lost it?'

"Stay after class, please." they replied.

Damian simply nodded.

'At least if the new person is all in his head, I can work by myself.'

"The new student isn't here today as she's sick. They're also a transfer student." The teacher spoke, "Here is her address."

"You want me to go there and become ill?" Damian speculated.

"Not at all, Mr. Wayne. All I am asking is that you, at least, speak to her about the project." the teacher sighed, "She'll know better than anyone how long she'll be absent. Get her to write a note saying, I don't know, she gives you full control on the project or something. I'll deal with it from there."

"I can do that." Damian accepted.

'At least I can still work by myself.'

Damian looked down at the address in his hand an then back at the seamstress shop. Confused, the young Wayne entered the store and looked around for someone his own age.

"Can I help you?" asked an elderly lady.

"I was given this address for a classmate of mine." Damian explained, "I believe they mixed it up. Excuse me."

"Are you looking for Marinette?" they questioned.

'Marinette? Is that her name? Not American; he did mention they were a transfer student.'

"Yes." he answered, still unsure.

"Go through the blue curtain in the far back." the lady smiled, "There's a set of stairs that will take you to the apartment above the store."

Damian nodded and went to the back of the store. There was blue cloth hung up on a shower rod that parted slightly.

'A door would be better suited.'

Damian walked up the stairs to the second story and found single door. He raised his hand and knocked on the door. The door opened and he was shocked. There in the doorway was a girl with blue hair, up to his chest. She was wearing what seemed to be pajamas, had a blanket draped over her shoulders, a face mask, and a cooling cloth attached to her forehead.

'She is obviously seriously ill. How did she open the door? Why didn’t anyone else open it for her?'

"Who are you?" she questioned, hoarsely.

"Damian Wayne." he declared, "I was told to talk to you about a history project for school."

She moved away from the door and went stright to the kitchen.

"Sit anywhere you want. I haven't sat in the living room in three days. I'd offer you a beverage, but I don't want to get you sick and asking you to get it yourself, seems rude." the girl spoke.

'Polite; unexpected.'

"What are you doing?" Damian questioned, as he watched her stir a pot.

"Making soup for the week." Marinette answered.

"So, I should not expect you to return this week." he suggested.

"I usually eat soup when I'm sick and for the following days, to keep my immune system cleansed." she explained, "So, history? Leave me the details and I'll work on it."

"Mr. Hayes suggested you could write a note putting me in charge." Damian spoke.

"I can work, Damian." Mari remarked, "I don't need you coddling me because I'm sick."

'Coddle! I-The last thing I would do is….coddle her!'

Damian snapped, "I am giving you a way out! Get your rest and I will do it completely!"

"I'm on bedrest and as you can see, I'm functional." she growled back.

Marinette began to cough heavidly, enough to make her grip the kitchen counter. Damian watched as her breaths became labored, as if she had trouble inhaling.

'She calls this functional?'

Marinette grabbed a mug and poured hot water from a near by kettle. Damian watched as she spooned a small amount of tea leaves into a container and place it in the mug.

'Peppermint? She should try lemon, ginger, something citrus.'

"When are your parents getting back?" Damian asked, not moving from the doorway.

"I'm emancipated." she smiled.

'She's by herself?'

Damian looked around and noticed a small table with one chair. The living room had enough to seat up to three guests. There was also one door to the left, behind the living room.

"Leave the form and an email or something so I can send you my portion." Marinette called out, "If you don't like it, I can work in my room and you can work from out here."

Damian took out a pen and quickly wrote down his email at the top of the paper.

"I'll be back, tomorrow." he stated, leaving the apartment.

'Why is she so stubborn? She needs to rest. The simplest solution would be for her to rest this week while I work alone. What is she trying to accomplish?'

The moment she opened the door, Damian stared at Marinette annoyed. She had showed recently, but her hair was still wet. At the very least, she was wearing different clothes.

He scowled, "Where is the bathroom?"

"Oh, in my room, on your left." Marinette pointed out.

'Guess he really needed to go.'

Damian came back with a towel and threw it over her head, without notice. He quickly began to rub her head to get the moisture out.

"You're going to get worse with you hair looking like a wet mop." Damian stated, "Dry it completely."

Marinette remained silent and still. Damian stopped his movements.

"Marinette?" he asked, moving to face her.

'Shit!'

Marinette's eyes were wide and she was practially hyperventilating. She was clenching and unclenching her hands.

'She does not handle physical contact well. Is she going to be okay at school?'

Damian kneeled in front of her and showed his hands were raised in front of him.

"My apologies." Damian whispered, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Damian reached out and dragged his bag, next to the couch. He pulled out a small cylinder.

"I brought you some tea leaves. Citrus help you recover from illness." he began, "I don't believe peppermint will work." as he handed her the container.

Marinette took it and looked at it. She opened it and sniffed the tea leaves. There was lemon, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. There was some other stuff she couldn't make out.

"You......made this?" Marinette questioned.

'Why would he give this to me?'

Damian remained silent, but nodded. He didn't think she would noticed he took his time to make her something.

"I make my own teas." he replied.

Mari smiled, "Thank you."

Damian watched as her expression softened. She got up from her seat, letting the towel fall from her head, and quickly began to get things ready to brew the tea. Once it was finished brewing, she took a sip.

"It’s delicious, Damian!" Mari smiled, happily, "Maybe I should go to you for all of my teas."

Before he could respond, Marinette took her tea and went into her room. Damian picked up his things and saw she had gotten comfortable in her bed with her laptop on a tray.

"Were we not working over there?" he questioned.

"I don't want to get you sick." Marinette replied, "Besides, there's only one chair. I'll just email you-"

Damian left the room and returned with the chair from her kitchen table.

"I don't get sick, easily." Damian declared, setting the chair down a few feet from her bed, "h quicker we finish this, the more you can rest."

Marinette worked silently, sipping on the tea Damian had brought her. After an hour, Damian packed up his thing, declaring he'd return the next day.

This time, when Marinette opened the door, he could tell she was moving much more sluggish.

'She got worse! She's pushing herself for me. Damn her stubbornness!'

Damian quickly picked her up in his arms.

"You're-" she began.

"If I get sick, I will blame you later." Damian claimed.

"Sorry." Mari whispered.

Damian placed her back in her bed. He quickly rushed to the bathroom in search of a first aid kit or at least, a thermometer. Once he found it, he brought it back and held it out. Mairnette looked at it, in dissapointment.

"Use it." he demanded.

Marinette shoved it in her mouth and waited. The quick beeping notified them both something was wrong. Mari took it out of her mouth n tried to hide it. Damian was able to grab it with ease.

'102.5'

"I'm fine." Marinette declared.

"You are far from fine." Damian stated.

Damian took the thermometer to the bathroom and washed it, as well as his hands. When he returned, he found Marinette fast asleep. He found a cooling pad near by and placed it on her head. Damian remember a small cloth by the sink and wet it. He quickly cooled off her arms, her neck, and her legs, before covering her up. Damian took out a sticky note and wrote down his number.

Marinette woke up to the room being dark.

"Damian?" she called out.

She grabbed her phone and saw it was close to two in the morning. She set her phone down and felt a paper.

'Sticky note?'

She turned on the flashlight on her phone and looked at the note: Call me if you worsen-Damian.

'Aw. He's really sweet. I feel so bad for falling asleep on him.'

Marinette stood up and made her way to the bathroom. She grabbed the thermometer from the medicine cabinet and took her temperature. It read 99.2; it was the best it had been all week. She washed the thermometer and took some medicine. After, she made more of Damian's tea.

'Gonna need it.'

Damian arrived back from patrol to find an email from Mari.

'I thought I told her to call me if she got worse, not email me!'

He opened it in a panic and found it was her completed work for the assignment. Damian looked at the time. It was now three in the morning and she had sent it thirty minutes ago. He grabbed his phone and opened his contacts. Then, he froze.

'I don’t have her number! Fuck!'

Damian went over the next day and was surprised to see her more active. Marinette had answered the door happily and was dressed in white tank top, pink shorts, and slippers. She wasn't even using a blanket to keep herself warm.

"Damian!" She smiled, "Hey, did you get my email?"

"I did." he answered.

"Is everything okay?" Mari asked, "I didn't think I'd see you today."

"Why did you send it so late or early, I should say." Damain questioned.

"It was when I woke up." Marinette answered, "I'm sorry for falling asleep on you. I decided it was best to work on it, while I had a clear head. I'm feeling a lot better, so I should be able to see you at school tomorrow. I'm sure it was all thanks to your tea."

Damian nodded and held out his phone for her to grab. Marinette looked at it confused, but took it.

"I planned on yelling at you, for being up so late, but I didn't have you number." the young Wayne stated.

Marinette giggled, "And I should give it to you, why?"

Damian remained silent. He didn't think she would refuse to give her number to him.

"In case we are paired up again." he quickly spoke.

Mari added her contact information and handed it back.

"Sick Girl?" he questioned.

"So you know it's me." Mari answered.

He hated how right she was. It was likely that if she had entered her name, he would have forgotten it in a week and deleted it.

"Do you want to come in or was that all?" she asked.

"That was all." he said and quickly left.

Marinette closed the door an giggled.

'He's like a stray cat that came to say hi.'

Damian sat in class and kept his eyes on the door. Marinette hadn't walked in, yet, and it was almost time for the bell to ring.

'Is she still sick? Did her fever come back? I should have called her this morning to make sure she was feeling fine.'

The bell rang breaking him from his thoughts and then, she rushed in.

'Marinette.'

"Late." their teacher declared, "I will forgive you, this time, since you have been sick, Miss Duapin-Cheng."

Marinette nodded her head. It was finally time for history class and it was so different to see her in uniform. Damian could admit he more use to seeing her in pajamas or shorts, with her blanket curled around her. He was even use to her falling asleep, but some how the uniform felt less personal. He hated it. Damian watched carefully over Marinette. He had to make sure she was completely better. Her damn stubbornness left him worried about her pretending to feel better for his sake. Then, he saw it; the tense smile on her face. She was surrounded by their peers. It reminded him of the smiles his brothers' gave at parties. Damian walked over and grabbed her wrist.

"We need to talk about the project since you have been absent." he declared.

"Oh, okay." Marinette answered, as he pulled her away from everyone else.

"He could have been nicer."

"It's Wayne. When is he ever nice?"

"Lucky bitch."

"I can’t believe she was his partner."

"He probably did it himself, already."

"Yeah. He's just gonna give her a copy and put her name on it."

"I can’t believe he touched her."

"True."

"Better than him yelling at us to move or scram, again."

Marinette frowned as she heard what they said about Damian. That wasn't the Damian she knew.

"Thank you." Marinette whispered, once they were far enough.

Damian looked at her questioningly.

"For rescuing me." she answered.

"You appeared uncomfortable." the young Wayne spoke, " I was uncertain how you would react if one of them touched you. I understand if I made you uncomfortable, as well. My apologies for forcing you. Next time, tell them to leave."

"I'm not good at dealing with people; not anymore." Mari declared, "Besides, they should forget about me soon. I'm still 'new' in their eyes. I'm not trying to gain anything by talking to them. I don’t want to get to know them."

"I thought you weren't coming." Damian spoke, changing the subject.

"Huh?" she asked, confused, "I told you I was coming today."

"You were late." he growled.

"Oh." Marinette winced, "Uh….I have a feeling I will be in detention a lot."

Damian stopped and turned to her, waiting for an explanation.

"I have always been late to school, even when it was across from my house." she stated.

Damian sighed, "I'll pick you up in the mornings."

"No!" she cried out.

"Why?" he demanded, "Is that an issue? I have been to your place before, have I not?"

"I'm not a morning person." Mari replied, looking down.

He sighed again, "My brother isn't either, unless he has had coffee. I can bring you some." making a mental note to steal Tim's coffee in the morning from now on.

"Really?" Mari questioned, perking up.

"You better, at least, be dressed." Damian retorted.

"Pajamas count as being dressed, right?" she squeaked.

Damian glared at her, "Why would you still be in pajamas?"

"I'm not a morning person!" Marinette glared back, "I work late and-"

"The shop keeps you that busy?" he questioned.

"Oh." Marinette spoke, "No. I help in the shop sometimes, but that's not my job. I do commissions. She asks me to help some times, but she's going to let me use the sewing machine for free until I can buy one."

"How….long do your commissions take?" he sighed.

"Depends who it's for. If it's for my uncle, I tend to work three weeks straight. It also depends on the pay and timeline. If he called me right now and asked for something in six months, I wouldn't worry unless things began to pile up. It could also be one of my aunties."

'What the fuck is with her family? No wonder why she is emancipated! I can't believe they would work her that hard.'

"You're moving into the manor." Damian declared, "I'll even get you a new sewing machine."

"I am not!" she cried out, "I barely know you! All I know is you name and you make tea!"

"At this rate, I'll have to get you dressed and drag you to school!" Damian cried back.

"Who the fuck made you my babysitter?" Marinette shouted.

"Someone should be." he huffed, "You obviously need someone to take care of you. I don’t see why it shouldn't be me!"

Marinette squeaked and turned red. Realizing what he said, so did Damian.

The teacher watched as Damian took Marinette aside to talk. He was well aware that their assignment had been turned in three days ago. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was the closest he had ever seen Damian be comfortable around anyone. He also was aware of Marinette's past school and being bullied.

'I knew getting them to talk would be a good thing.'

DAMINETTE TAGLIST: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

TAGLIST: @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog

#daminette #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne #marinette dupain cheng #marinette in gotham #bullied marinette #emancipated marinette #sick marinette #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #history project #matchmaking teacher #maribat #damian worried #grumpy damian #mochinek0

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gold-dustwomxn · 5 months

Text

mystified

summary: after sudden attacks on women around town, you take a self defense class. ellie, your long standing crush is the instructor

fair warning, future chapters will include discussions of abuse and other heavy topics. each part will contain its own warnings please read them! eventual smut

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

cw: small interaction with a scary man, smoking weed

fluff fluff and more fluff, a little angst. protective ellie makes an appearance

inhale, exhale. grunts and bodies slamming against gym mats could be heard outside the big double doors of ‘miller’s defense studio.’ news of women being attacked at night had been circulating quite loudly in your sleepy town. dad says you should attend the free session, be able to defend yourself if anything happens. only problem was half the town was in here and you fucking hated being around large groups of people. you had your pepper spray keychain on you at all times, did you really need to learn how to fight? yeah, probably.

one of the many annoying things about being in such a small town is knowing everyone. at least your best friend dina and her boyfriend jesse were here to soften the blow of all of this chaos.

sat on the sidelines, you observe everyone attempting to show off sloppy, embarrassing ‘defense’ moves. jesse spots you and obnoxiously yells your name across the gym. rolling your eyes, you make your way over to him and dina.

“hey, ___ you’re late and you’re not gonna like what I have to tell you,” he smiles nervously. darting your eyes from him to dina, you eye them warily, regretting coming here even more now. “well? spit it out jesse.”

“jesus ok. well since you’re so late, there’s no one else for you to pair up with-“ you cut him off, “oh? that’s fine I’ll just watch then.” him and dina look at each other before she looks at you cautiously. “well, the only other person who doesn’t have a partner is the instructor for today.” you squint your eyes towards the front of the room trying to make out who it is, and oh fuck no, it’s ellie. the girl you’ve had a crush on for quite some time.

“ha, no fucking way. you guys can just teach me later. I am not making a fool of myself in front of her and the whole fucking town. you know I hate being the center of attention and she’s gonna demonstrate on me to teach everyone!” you turn your body attempting to walk away.

dina grabs your forearms softly trying to chill you out with her witchy, calming demeanor. because seriously how is she able to do that with just her touch? “you’re gonna be fine, ___. just breathe. no one else knows what they’re doing either, that’s why we’re here. you’re not gonna look like a fool,” she nods at you slowly, “plus, jesse already told her you’d be her partner.” she gives you an apologetic smile.

“ugh. why can’t you be her partner jesse? she’s your best friend.” dina grabs jesse’s arm and nuzzles into his side with a gross, love drunk smile. “because, I wanna be with my man. sorry, babe but you can do this. you can shamelessly use this as an excuse to be close to her anyway” she wiggles her eyebrows.

“oh my god,” you scoff and roll your eyes, “you guys seriously suck.”

an ear piercing whistle startles you, nearly making you jump out of your skin, and the room goes quiet. “good morning everyone, I’m ellie. welcome to miller’s defense studio. today, I’m going to be teaching you guys basic self defense techniques. learning self defense is more than how to prevent an attacker from overpowering you, but also about keeping a clear and calm head in the face of danger and how to gain the upper hand..”

her introduction speech fades from your ears as you observe her confident demeanor. dressed only in a simple white wife-beater tank and sweatpants, she still stands tall with a commanding presence. her hair sits in a low bun at the back of her neck, tattoo on full display while her toned arms move animatedly as she speaks.

you blink a few times snapping out of it as dina taps your shoulder and looks at you. “what?” she nods her head at ellie who is looking at you, waiting for you to join her at the front. your eyes widen briefly, “oh fuck.” you mutter under your breath.

you quickly walk up to her in embarrassment and she smirks at you as if she knows something that you don’t. she puts her hand on your hip and leans to turn on the bluetooth speaker behind you. “hey ___” she whispers in your ear. goosebumps travel down your body. fuck, this is gonna be a long day.

after some basic blocking and hitting techniques, ellie decides to teach everyone how to throw an attacker over your shoulder. many cry of “what if they’re taller or heavier?” blah blah, doesn’t matter. next thing you know, ellie turns and steps away from you, grabs your arm, squatting and lifts your hips against her ass before pulling your arm forward, rolling you off her hips onto the floor, wind knocked out of you, hand now around your throat. you lay there stunned, out of breath as ellie’s face hovers close to yours. you take a small glance at her lips before looking up into her eyes and she smirks, also out of breath. fuck, you were caught.

with everyone now practicing the technique, she grabs your hand and pulls you up. “you okay? didn’t go too rough on you?” she places her hands on her hips and looks you up and down so quickly that you could’ve easily missed it if you weren’t paying close attention.

you laugh “no, no, I’m fine. that was pretty crazy. when did you learn how to do all of this shit? I mean, I knew joel had this place obviously but I didn’t know you were involved in it.”

“hm.. well, when joel adopted me I had some.. anger issues, getting into fights all the time. he eventually gave up on trying to ‘change my ways’ and decided to train me how to fight properly so I wouldn’t hurt myself.. tricked me into taking out my aggression elsewhere, so I guess he ended up changing me anyway..” she chuckles “but, yeah I don’t teach or join in on the classes, I do it on my own time. joel’s been booked up so he convinced me to do this for him.” she scratches the back of her neck sheepishly and blushes. you wonder if it’s because she told you something personal or it’s because it’s her first time teaching.

“well.. I wouldn’t have guessed this was your first time. you really know how to command a room. you’re a natural,” you smile at her shyly. “dunno know if I really feel prepared to come up against an attacker though, maybe you could teach me some more.” you mentally pat yourself on the back for your brave attempt at flirting.

she laughs, “oh yeah?” moving closer to you. you look at her briefly before looking away. “mhm!” is what you come up with. jesus christ. she laughs again and nods. “alright, I guess I can make an exception for you and give you some free lessons. I’m gonna go do the closing speech or whatever the fuck joel wanted me to do..” she looks somewhere behind you and her eyes widen. you follow her line of sight and see dina and jesse look away abruptly. okay, suspicious.

as everyone is packing up their belongings, you make your way over to jesse and dina. dina smirks at you, “so?”

“so what..?” you furrow your brows. “how’d it go up there?” before you can respond, ellie comes over and greets you guys. “ellie! ___ and jesse are coming over tonight, you wanna come smoke and chill?” she looks at you as she answers “yeah, sure” she shrugs and then looks over at dina and jesse, “just text me and let me know.”

as you walk to dina’s house, the cold bitter air of winter sends a chill down your spine. all of a sudden you hear a car pulling up next to you and a window rolling down. the sound of a man’s voice has your adrenaline pumping. walking away quickly, you put your phone to your ear and pretend that you’re talking to someone “hey! you think you can help me with some directions? my phone is dead and I’m lost.” your heart is racing and you click off the safety on your pepper spray. another car comes to a screeching halt behind you. a slam of a car door and quick footsteps has you looking back in fear.

ellie comes into your line of sight and puts you behind her, looking at the man with a challenging gaze “is there a fucking problem here?” you hear a flicking sound and look down, eyes widening when you see a switchblade in her hand. he skids off and she manages to take a picture of his plates, putting the switchblade in her back pocket before turning to you. she gently grabs your shoulders and looks at you in concern. “you okay? what happened?” she looks down at your hands and you hadn’t realized until now that you’re shaking. “c’mon.” she grabs your hand and leads you to her car, opening the passenger door for you.

“why are you walking around by yourself? jesus, ___ you could’ve been..” she looks away from you, cutting herself off and shakes her head, clenching her jaw. “I would’ve picked you up.” she starts the car, and pulls away from the curb.

“I know! fuck. dina lives so close I thought- yeah it wasn’t smart knowing what’s been happening.” she turns her head to look at you briefly, her gaze softening. “just text me or something next time okay? I don’t want you walking around by yourself, I’ll pick you up.” you nod and take a deep breath. “thanks for the save,” you laugh, trying to soften the mood. she, however does not laugh which makes you even more nervous. great, you think, I pissed her off. she glances at you, noticing your nervous fidgeting. she briefly squeezes your hand “it’s okay, I’m just glad you’re safe” she gives you a small smile. you feel butterflies in your stomach. the rollercoaster of emotions from fear to anxiety and now to the feelings ellie is giving you are a lot.

“I’m gonna stop back home to show joel the pics of the plates and tell him what happened so he can take it to the authorities or whatever. I don’t really wanna be the one talking to the cops. you want me to drop you off at dina’s first?” she glances at you. “no, it’s cool I’ll come with you.”

ellie’s house can be described as old and rustic. outdated wood paneling lining the walls, decor and photos that give it a country feel, the cozy smell and crackling sound of the lit fireplace flooding your senses.

joel greets you warmly. small town means he’s seen you grow up, being friendly with your parents. his demeanor is rough around the edges with a don’t fuck with me attitude, but also very polite and caring. you now realize how similar ellie is to him.

as ellie explains the fucked up situation which occurred minutes ago, your phone vibrates in your pocket.

dina🤍: dont kill me pls but I have to cancel tonight. my mom found out im failing stats and she’s on the fuckin warpath. ill make it up to u promise xx

me: fuccck i’m at ellies rn she saved me from some shit i’ll tell u ab it later but now i’m nervous help🥲 sorry ab ur mom i’ll pray for ur soul

you lock your phone and put it back in your pocket. the internal panic of now having to be alone with ellie settles deep in your gut.

ellie walks over to you “alright, joel said he’s gonna deal with it. you all set to go?”

“did dina text you? check your phone.”

you watch ellie’s eyes glide across her screen and it gives you a moment to ogle over how fucking attractive she is. her long lashes, sharp jawline and freckles more pronounced due to the soft glow from her phone emitting against the low lighting of the room. she looks up at you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “uhh fuck, well, do you want me to take you home?.. or we can hang out here if you want.” she looks away from you.

“yeah, I’m down to hang” you smile at her. she gives a small smile back and blushes. alright, maybe she feels the same way I do. “okay cool, you wanna smoke and watch a movie?”

smoke hazes around ellie’s dim lit room and the movie in the background is long forgotten. you’re laughing so fucking hard with tears in your eyes, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re so high or if ellie is really that funny. “you really decked your foster sibling in the face because he borrowed your savage starlight comic ellie?” she scoffs and throws a pillow at you. “he did not borrow it.. he stole that shit and thought he could get away with it. can’t let people fuck around with you like that in the system. makes you an easy target” she takes another drag of the joint.

“uh-huh,” you grab the joint and take a hit “well, clearly these kids learned not to fuck with the big, bad aggressive ellie huh?” she laughs and rolls her eyes “oh my god, shut up, ___.”

ellie thinks about how she likes that you’re not taking pity on her for her fucked up childhood, and how it’s so easy to talk to you. it feels natural opening up to you, not being able to do that with other people, not even jesse. it makes her like you even more.

you groan as you try to peel your heavy, post high eyes open feeling warmth around you, inhaling a scent filled with clean laundry and a hint of woodsy cologne. you open your eyes and see a sleeping ellie, mouth slightly parted, breathing slowly. your eyes widen, realizing your head is on her chest and her arm is wrapped around you. you glance over at her clock that reads 3:54am. fuck, you don’t even remember falling asleep. you move slightly trying not to wake ellie to text your mom saying that you fell asleep at dina’s. ellie stirs and groans, pulling you closer to her. fuck it. you don’t know if this will ever happen again. you close your eyes and drift back to sleep.

#ellie williams #emmysfics #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie tlou2 #ellie the last of us #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams fanfic #tlou ellie #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams x female reader

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xpao-bearx · 1 year

Text

"Like A Virgin"

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader/Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader/Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

Read Part 2 HERE

Read Part 3 HERE

Read Part 4 HERE

SUMMARY: Steven Grant has come to the devastating conclusion that he was fated to be single forever. Marc didn't care for romance, Jake was only interested in one-night stands, and Steven was--well...Steven.

But when you started working alongside him at the museum's gift shop--a pretty girl younger than him with a bright smile and a cloying kindness he hasn't been the recipient of in a long time--he begins to think that maybe romance is in the cards for him.

Especially when you are just as awkward as him and sinfully lovely.

AKA "the man without love" falls for "the virgin".

RATING: 18+ minors please do NOT interact!!! This fic will contain romance, smut, and generally mature content (though not ALL parts will have explicit smut).

NOTES: I recently rewatched Moon Knight and have been in the mood to write my own fic after reading countless of amazing ones on here, then outta the blue Madonna's song Like A Virgin got stuck in my head and it got me thinking "Huh... This song is cute for Steven if he gets a girlfriend. ACTUALLY WAIT A DAMN MINUTE IT COULD FIT ALL THE MOON KNIGHT BOYS"

And so... Tada! Here's le result~ Although I'm still working out the details, this fic will have ✨️6 PARTS✨️ This fic will PROBABLY be quite self-indulgent, and at times the way the reader is written could be a bit similar to an OC. I'm so sorry if that is the case, but please understand that I'm writing this for fun and I'm just going with the flow!

Some things will also be different from the show. For example, all the boys are actually aware of each other in this fic. I try to stick as close as possible to the source material, but hey this is my fic and like I said I just wanna have fun 😂

Thank you sooo much and I sincerely hope you enjoy!! Likes, comments, and reblogs are STRONGLY encouraged and appreciated so please don't be a silent reader!

Now... Join me as I hopelessly thirst over this RIDICULOUSLY gorgeous man both in fiction AND reality \(^o^)/

Part 1: Didn't know how lost I was until I found you

Steven willed his legs to go faster, pushing through London's usual busy morning crowd and into the museum he was cursed to work at. Clutching his bag in one hand, and the other holding his small thermos of coffee as he prayed to any Egyptian god listening that Donna wouldn't catch him this time.

But, of course, the only Egyptian god within Steven's vicinity was Khonshu. And the old bird only cared about how his Moon Knight was upholding his duties as his "Fist of Vengeance", not of his Avatar's petty human responsibilities such as "keeping a job".

"Late again, eh, Stevie?" Donna's annoying voice mocked Steven, pausing in his tracks as he sighed deeply and begrudgingly turned towards his boss.

"Sorry, Donna." He shot the blonde a forced smile, his grip on his thermos tightening. "Got stuck in traffic. You know how it is, yeah?"

"I wouldn't because unlike you, Stevie, I'm never late." Donna returned his fake smile along with a roll of her eyes. "Anyway, enough chatter. You've got someone working with you at the gift shop from now on. Maybe this way you won't be late, yeah? Teach her how to actually sell some bloody candy."

Steven opened his mouth to retort, but was quickly cut off when his new co-worker--you--stepped out from behind Donna. You were younger than him, around your twenties, and you were such a shy little thing with your head slightly ducked down. Your E/C eyes peeked out from behind the glasses framing your delicate features, long lashes fluttering as you flashed him a sweet smile. Your fingers fiddled nervously with the pink midi skirt you wore, matching the dainty pink ribbons that tied your H/C hair in two low pigtails.

Your smile faltered as your gaze met Steven's dark brown ones. He remained silent, mouth hanging agape as he stared at you as if you grew two heads. Your eyes lowered, heart threatening to burst right out of your poor chest.

Did you do something wrong? Maybe you should've ditched the ribbons, you looked ridiculous, right? Why was he staring at you? Oh, god, why was such a HOT guy staring at you?!

"Hello, uh, I'm Steven Grant." Your head snapped up, witnessing the twist of Steven's lips into a kind albeit awkward smile that accompanied a friendly little wave. "Steven..." He seemed to be rethinking his words before, ultimately, the dorky side of him won. "...with a V."

A smile once again bloomed across your face, feeling more at ease this time. "Hi, I'm Y/N L/N. With anxiety!" You chirped the latter a little too cheerfully, a light blush dusting your cheeks as you inwardly slapped yourself. No, punched yourself. "O-Oh, uh, I-I didn't mean that! I-I mean, no, it was just a joke--but a really BAD one, oh god--"

As you rambled nonsensically, Donna arched a judgmental brow at you before noticing the utterly smitten expression on Steven's face as he watched you with a huge goofy grin. Now both of Donna's eyebrows were raised to her hairline before she slowly backed away, leaving you two to fend for yourselves.

At least this time, though, Steven wouldn't be late anymore.

'She's so...'

'Weird.' Marc piped up in Steven's head.

'Amusing.' Jake snickered.

'...lovely.' Steven finished, eyes gleaming the same way it does for Egyptology as he continued to look at you as if you hung the moon in the sky.

He adored you instantly.

♡•••🌙•••♡

It's been two months since you started working at the museum's gift shop. During that time, you and Steven got closer. He discovered that you were a college dropout, reaching a stressful breaking point one day and deciding to just work for the meantime before figuring the rest of your life out. And as it turns out, you weren't so shy after all; once you were out your shell, you were just as big of a dork as Steven was and whenever you two were together, your shift passed by quickly--too quickly.

From the very first moment, you and Steven got along splendidly. He was a complete sweetheart and it always shattered your heart whenever Donna harassed him with any snarky and insensitive remarks.

Steven was used to it so he didn't mind it too much. What he wasn't used to, though, was you. You who was always so kind, lending a listening ear whenever he went on a passionate tangent regarding Egypt and even encouraging him on his dream of becoming the museum's tour guide. You who always graced him with a genuine smile that reached your ears, eyes sparkling whenever you see him as if he was your favourite art piece in the entire museum.

You who always made his heart race, palms sweaty, mind swirling without fail.

You had an intense crush on Steven--a longing, really--but what you didn't know was that he felt the same about you. But perhaps it was more than that. He practically worshipped the ground you walked on, and it certainly didn't miss Donna's unexpectedly sharp eyes. She'd tease him whenever you left earlier than him, looking like a kicked little puppy as his gaze trailed after you.

Today was no different as he stared helplessly at you, and it was a wonder you didn't feel the invisible daggers boring into you. There were only ten minutes left before you were done for the day and you both were stuck in inventory, but for once in his life he loved doing inventory and he desperately wished that this incredible moment with you, alone, would last forever.

'You're so fucking pathetic, ese.' Jake echoed in Steven's mind.

Nowadays Jake was becoming more vocal, at least when you're around. Marc, on the other hand, remained tight-lipped. The mercenary would much rather have absolutely nothing to do with you at all costs.

'Shut up, mate.' Steven silently argued, brows furrowing as his eyes finally broke away from you and focused on organizing some Taweret plushies.

'Only saying the truth, ese. You've got her all to yourself and the only thing you can think of is that you wish this time would last forever?' Jake scoffed. 'Be a man and step the fuck up. You know you want to, especially with the way she looks today.'

Steven's burning gaze was right back on you, eyes darkening slightly. He hated to admit it, but Jake was right. You were always so pretty, but something about today made you look that much more.

You always dressed modestly, but with the weather warming up lately you opted for a black pleated skirt that fell just above your knees and a tucked in short sleeved yellow blouse with the top few buttons undone exposing the tiniest bit of your cleavage. You also wore matching yellow heels that perfectly accentuated your legs and it made him feral.

"Steven? Are you okay?"

His eyes met yours and a smile instantly curled up his lips, nodding his head as if he wasn't just ogling you like a total perv. "Yes, I just zoned out. Sorry, love." Ugh, the way he called you 'love' so casually had you swooning.

If only he actually meant it.

You nodded back, shoving your thoughts away and returning his smile before glancing towards a portrait. "A shame what they did to this, huh?"

Steven curiously followed your line of sight, seeing a portrait of the Ennead.

"Whoever did this made a major blunder. Isn't the Ennead supposed to have nine gods, not seven?"

"YES!" You flinched slightly at Steven's exclamation, whipping your head towards him only to see him with the cutest blush ever.

"Erm, s-sorry, uh..." Steven cleared his throat, sheepishly running a hand through his unruly locks. "I just got excited. I'm surprised you knew that. Not a lot of people do--or care."

"Well, I happen to know a fantastic teacher always talking about Egyptology." You giggled, grinning at him. "And thanks to him, he's caused me to become interested in it myself and do my own research."

"Really?!" The way his eyes lit up felt as if an arrow was shot straight to your heart, and if you didn't have any self-control you would've dropped to your knees and asked--begged--this gorgeous man to marry you right then and there. "Any particular god or goddess that you're most interested in?"

"Hmm..." You pursed your lips thoughtfully, and Steven had half a mind to kiss them senseless. "I'd have to say Khonshu."

'GOOD ANSWER. KEEP HER, WORM.' Khonshu's thundering voice suddenly boomed in Steven's head.

"She's not a dog, you stupid pigeon." Steven grumbled, rubbing his temples exasperatedly.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

"Nothing!" Steven answered quickly, forcing out a laugh. "Err, why Khonshu?"

"Well, I really like Astronomy!" You beamed. "And I find the moon to be one of the most beautiful things in our universe, so it feels fitting for my favourite Egyptian god to be Khonshu."

Despite Steven's distaste (to put it nicely) for the old bird, he could never find your response as such. Not when you looked so happy and comfortable sharing your interests with him, even though he did disagree with just one thing you said.

The moon doesn't even come close to being one of the most beautiful things this universe boasts. No, not when you existed.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!

The alarm on your wristwatch cruelly popped the blissful little bubble you both were in, you turning it off as you saw that it was the end of your shift.

A regular person would be over the moon that they were finally free from their corporate prison, but not you. Not when you wished you could spend more time with Steven.

"Well..." Your voice was nothing more than a whisper, a pout forming on your lips. "Guess it's time for me to go home."

"It appears so..." Steven mumbled, his heart sinking to his stomach as he watched you put away the remaining items you were in charge of.

'It's now or never, Steven. Do something.' Jake urged.

'Do WHAT?'

'Fucking Christ, you're hopeless.' Jake sighed frustratedly, Steven's eyes rolling to the back of his head and his shoulders slumping. After a few seconds, he straightened up once more and approached you.

You were faced away from Steven, and you were having difficulty setting the final box of souvenirs you had on a shelf when Steven's hands reached from behind you and easily lifted them.

Your breath hitched, feeling his broad chest pressed against your back. He was so close you could feel his warm breath tickling the nape of your neck, making you gulp.

"T-Thank you, Steven..." You murmured meekly, feeling so small as he had you completely caged. You tried to turn, but his hands suddenly dropped to your hips; keeping you in place with a gentle but firm grip.

"You look so pretty today, Y/N." He leaned down, voice deliciously low as his lips ghosted just beneath your ear and a shiver ran down your spine. "But I think you can look even prettier. How 'bout tomorrow you dress all nice, and we can meet up around seven p.m. and have the best steak in town?"

Your thoughts were all jumbled up. Was this really happening or just another one of your silly fantasies? Where the hell did Steven get this sudden confidence from?

And, perhaps you were just imagining it, but he sounded...different. Not quite like the Steven you knew. He had an accent, but not the one you've gotten so familiar with and loved.

But the ache in your heart--and another part of you--was much too strong to bear. You've waited so long for this, dreamt of this, and it was finally coming true.

You definitely made the right decision to dress the way you did today and you sure as hell weren't going to let go of such a grand opportunity.

"I-I'd love to, but..." You placed your hands on top of his own still on your hips, and you wondered if he can tell just how embarrassingly sweaty your palms have gotten. "I...I know you're a vegan, Steven, so let's go somewhere else. There's a new restaurant that just opened and they've got vegan options. Um, y'know, if it's okay with you..."

The corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile and he couldn't stop himself as he nuzzled his face against the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply and revelling in your addicting scent.

"Perfect." He then spun you both around so that his back was against the shelf, but you still couldn't see him. His fingers slowly, teasingly trailed upwards along your stomach before reaching your blouse's breast pocket, slipping off your name tag and putting it in one of your hands. "I'll see you tomorrow, hermosa." He chuckled huskily, giving you a light push.

You were utterly dazed, cheeks flushed and stumbling in your steps slightly as you exited the room.

'What the bloody hell was THAT?!' Steven panicked.

"What do you think, ese?" Jake scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I just scored you a date."

'Well, I hope you're happy! Y/N looked so shocked!'

"I feel like a million dollars and Y/N looked like she liked it." Jake snickered. "Quit whining like a bitch and just be grateful, Steven. And hey, she even chose some hippie vegan place for you. Doesn't that prove she's into you?"

That immediately shushed Steven, and Jake can feel that despite Steven's complaining Steven was very much overjoyed and was already overthinking the date for tomorrow.

Jake looked down his hands, still remembering the soft curve of your hips even through your clothes and smirked.

You won't be wearing any for long now.

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makeyoumine69 · 6 months

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Husband!Patrick Bateman having a breeding kink | NSFW HEADCANON

Pairing: Hubby!Patrick Bateman x Shy!Fem!Reader; CW: SMUT, p in v sex, creampie, oral (f), body worship, dirty talk, praise kink, etc. Links: [MASTERLIST].

✔ Patrick Bateman would be the last person to say that parenthood was his thing, but at the same time he couldn't deny that the idea of breeding you was kind of alluring and captivating, even depraved. He always saw you as a shy little girl, and just the thought of claiming you in such an intimate way made his manhood ache. ✔ If you asked him where he preferred to cum, Patrick would always say — inside. Before you two got married, you always took birth control pills since you were not ready to have children, but right after your wedding, Bateman started asking you questions about family, because every time you ran into anyone with kids, he could see your awestruck gaze — which was too eloquent, but once again, you were too timid to tell him about trying for a baby. ✔ Bateman didn't like anything to do with children, you knew that and respected that, until one day he came home from work to find you sitting on the couch with a glass of red wine — your favorite, the sort he would always remember. ✔ With feline grace, Patrick approached your small and attractive frame, which had already become family to him. "What's on your mind, honey?" ✔ You would squeak at his unexpected touch, but then immediately snuggle into his big and warm palm, because you missed him so much. "Oh, I didn't even hear you coming," you would smile, closing your eyes as his thumb gently slid over your lips. "Actually, I was thinking about us..." ✔ "Us?" He repeated, and only now did you notice that he was hiding something behind his back. "I'm intrigued." ✔ Slowly, Bateman walked around the couch and sat down next to you, his expensive perfume immediately enveloping you. ✔ "Uh, nothing serious, really," you tried to joke back, feeling the impending heat cursing through your form as the mere physical contact with his strong body made you feel so weak and small. "I was just thinking that... I'm so happy to be with you..." ✔ You could swear you just noticed his brown eyes gleaming with pure adoration at your words. "It's mutual, darling," Patrick purred, leaning down to kiss you on the lips, cupping your face and tilting it to deepen the kiss. "All day at the office," he gave you both a moment of respite. "I've been thinking about you." ✔ His lips sent you far away from here, his sturdy arms were your keep, when Bateman was around you feared nothing. When he broke the kiss, you felt something soft on your knees, and you couldn't contain your surprise when you looked down and saw a cute, plushy bear. ✔ "Oh my gosh," you grinned and hugged the toy — the sight of your childlike happiness made Bateman's heart flutter. "This is so adorable. Thank you, Patrick." ✔ "You're welcome, (y/n)," he almost whispered in a hoarse voice, his hands still on your waist. "If you like this plushy fellow so much, I can't imagine how our little one would react." ✔ You almost choked on the air, everything you wanted to say stuck in your throat like a lump. ✔ Jesus Christ, did he really mean it? ✔ "Our little one?" You asked him in disbelief. ✔ "Yes, dear," he replied affectionately before taking the toy from your hands as he was about to scoop you up in his arms. "Let's try for a baby so you can give this cuddly toy to our little girl or boy." ✔ "Patrick..." You gasped and wrapped your hands around his strong neck to pull him closer. ✔ And when your mouths clashed again, Patrick registered yours move as a 'yes'. A low guttural sound escaped his broad chest as he felt your legs loop around his waist as he carried you to his bedroom. ✔ Kiss after kiss, touch after touch, you both breathed so hard that the air around you became electric. With a sly grin, he possessively unfastened your silky robe, not wasting a second to nuzzle your collarbone, placing little hickeys here and there, dotting your skin with his marks of love.

✔ "Fuck, you smell so good, sweetheart," he hummed into your ear, removing his shirt along with your robe, leaving you completely naked. "Did you miss me?"

✔ "Yes...mhm," your muffled moan echoed off the walls of the fancy bedroom as his soft fingertips eagerly explored the curves of your body, paying special attention to your hard nipples. "I missed you so much, my love."

✔ "Oh yeah?" His husky voice made you melt like butter on a summer day. "Then show me."

✔ With a shaky breath, you gently took his hand and guided it down between your legs, and when Bateman saw how soaked you were, he couldn't help but chuckle with satisfaction, but the next thing you did drove him completely wild.

✔ A little embarrassed, you brought his long fingers, glistening with your taste, to your lips.

✔ "Such a nasty little girl," he crooned, watching you intently. "So wet for me already."

✔ With that, Patrick grazed your neck, then licked your soft skin and fondled your pretty breasts. Shaking beneath him, you arched your back towards him before lying flat on the bed, opening your legs to present yourself to his lustful gaze and eliciting a loud curse to escape his tensed chest. Bateman hovered over you like a predator catching its prey, pinning you down with his weight as he unzipped his pants, and the next moment he was slowly stroking his hard length, which throbbed painfully in his hand.

✔ "Patrick," you mewled suddenly into his mouth as he attempted to kiss you. "What if...what if it won't work?"

✔ "It will," he reassured you by pecking your cheek. Carefully, he removed the last of his clothes and positioned himself between your splayed legs. "Just don't fucking think about it," Patrick murmured in a comforting tone, while he peppered your inner thigh with little smooches. "It's just you and me," he said, getting closer to your pulsating core with each gentle peck. "Do you trust me?"

✔ Propping yourself up on your elbows, you looked down at his ruffled hair, flushed face and beautiful hazel eyes. "Of course...of course I do." You nodded and before you knew it, his lips found their way to your throbbing clit, leaving a sensual kiss just below the hooded area. Then, he parted your tender flesh to take your little tip into his heated mouth. "Awww, Patrick!"

✔ An electric shock pierced through your body with each flicker of his delf tongue along your delicate petals, his skilful digits moving in a sync with his mouth as he slurped at your succulent pussy. “Mmhm, I’d never have enough of this.”

✔ Holding you tightly and not letting you close your legs, Bateman returned to his feast, alternately sucking on your bundle of nerves and flicking his wet tongue around it, peering at your beautiful face from time to time, and — the way you frowned in pleasure was like fuel to the fire.

✔ The things Patrick could do with his tongue, his lips and his mouth were as delightful as a sip of water after a hot day, but now you wanted him to take you in the truest sense of that word, you wanted him to ravage you and you wouldn't accept anything less than that.

✔ "Pat-Patrick, please...I need you...I need you inside of me," you pleaded, your hand stroking his brown, messy waves. "I want you."

✔ "Uh, so soon?" Bateman mused against your oozing folds, without stopping to pump his rock-hard dick.

✔ "Yes," you tugged a little harder at his soft hair. "Fuck me."

✔ Patrick hummed in response, allowing himself to tease you a little longer before he got up on his knees and took the nearby pillow to place it under your ass — he lifted you up so easily, his absolute power left you no choice but to surrender to his possession.

✔ Swiftly, Bateman put both of your legs on his broad shoulders, leaving a short trail of quick kisses on your trembling ankle. "I can't wait to see you blossom with maternity." His raspy voice was the only thing that mattered as he aligned himself with your dripping opening and in one powerful thrust plunged his thick cock all the way in, drawing a loud whimper from your dry lips. "Mhm, fuck...you're so tight." ✔ It took Patrick a moment to pull himself together from the way your greedy pussy was clinging to his throbbing dick. With his eyes closed, he gave you a really deep stroke before he pressed your legs closer to his chest as he leaned on his fist, finding the rhythm that would make you lose yourself. There was no way to resist that blissful sensation of being so full, so stretched, so conquered. ✔ "Yes, just like that," he praised you, hammering his strong hips against yours without taking his gaze off of you. The sight was simply incredible — your half-open mouth, your knitted eyebrows, and all of it belonged to him, your every moan, your every gasp. "Take that dick like a good girl you are," Patrick gritted his teeth from the unbearable pleasure of your soft, velvety walls encasing his dick so fucking perfectly. "Fuck, you make me so proud." ✔ "Aahh, you're so big," you cried, closing your eyes and clawing at his hips. "Mmmm, Patrick...Patrick..." ✔ Your pleading made him growl in response, and instead of spanking you or being pretty rough — which he usually preferred — Bateman moved closer to your face and put both of your legs on each of his shoulders again. "Shh, I'm here, babe," he cupped your chin and angled your head to leave a sensual hickey on your jaw. "Look at me, (y/n)," he uttered, slowing down a bit as he felt your inner channel clenching around him too vividly. "Look at me." ✔ Quivering beneath him, you didn't want to test his patience any longer, so you complied, and your eyes finally met. "I'm...I'm close," you swallowed hard at your words, not even recognizing your own voice at first. "I love you...I love you, Patrick!" ✔ Bateman couldn't stop smirking at your declaration of love, but instead of just using words, he quickly pulled out of you, only to turn you on your side to give you some nice and deep backshots. ✔ "I know, honey," he rumbled, grasping your hip for leverage as he rammed into you mercilessly, each thrust accompanied by a nasty slap of his balls. "Tell me...tell me to cum." ✔ Clawing at your knee, you moaned pathetically as Bateman pressed you hard against the sheets, your small frame rocking violently as he fucked you into oblivion. "Cum for me…!" your voice cracked from the imminent orgasm. "Fill me with your seed...and breed me," you wrinkled the pillow underneath you as a white veil covered your vision. Once you felt Patrick convulsing against your body, his strokes became ragged and sloppy. "Yes...y-yes...please!" ✔ "Ah, f-f-fuck!" Your pleas only encouraged him to bury himself as deep as he could, his climax making him weak in the knees. The thought was so fucking astonishing; to spend his fertile cum in your womb, and soon your belly would swell with the fruit of your love. "Good girl...so good for me." ✔ Breathing heavily, he leaned down on you, pressing his sweaty cheek against yours and kissing your earlobe lovingly. Patrick purred some incoherent praises, wrapping one hand around your neck so you could rest your head on it, while another slid down your trembling body. First, he twirled your taut nipple, but then his palm suddenly changed its curse and sneaked between your thighs to rub your swollen clit. ✔ "Patrick...Patrick....a-aaah," you could repeat his name forever, but your own high washed over you like a tidal wave. "Mhmmm!" ✔ Even though you were shaking pretty badly Bateman easily held you securely under his massive body, enjoying the way you orgasmed and feeling so fucking arrogant that every twitch of your delicious body belonged to him.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 4 months

Text

Hated - Ethan Landry - Part 2

Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT. - Minors DNI

Part 1

Summary: Ethan's hated you for a while, but a little bit of time alone and a heated argument leads to something more.

A/N: Send in requests, I need the inspiration <3

As you sat down in the living room with Ethan, Chad looked back and forth between the two of you. He was suspicious, because you wanted to kill each other yesterday.

“Uh, I um,” Ethan mumbled, so you cut him off, “He was helping me get back into my school account. I locked myself out of it earlier.”

“Oh, cool. Well, the rest of the guys are coming over soon,” Chad said, as Ethan’s leg started to bounce. He wanted to have some alone time with you, and that can’t happen if the rest of the friend group comes over.

“When will they be here?” You asked, relaxing on the couch.

“In like, an hour. I’m going to leave in a few to get pizza, you guys want to come with?” Chad asked, as Ethan was struggling to sit still.

“I think I’m going to hang out here. It’s my turn to pick the movie tonight, and I need to pick the perfect one so Mindy doesn’t give me shit,” you said, exchanging a quick glance with Ethan.

“I have a ton of homework I need to work on,” Ethan said, as Chad headed to the door.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon. Don’t kill each other.”

The second Chad was out the door, Ethan was on you. You finally had to push him back, “Let’s go to your room.”

Your clothes were shed yet again, as Ethan hovered over you. “You want me to eat you out again?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips. His determination to please you was so attractive.

“Shouldn’t you let me take care of you?” You asked, placing kisses along his jawline.

“As much as I’d love that, I won’t last long. I don’t want to disappoint you,” he said, moaning as you lightly bit his neck.

“Ethan, it’s okay if you don’t last long. Please don’t think you’re disappointing me, because this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you said, trying to assure him that this experience was more about him than you.

“We can do this again?” he asked, his anxiety starting to fade.

“Of course we can,” you whispered, kissing him on the tip of his nose.

He walked over to his bedside table, rummaging for the unopened box of condoms that he kept just in case. After grabbing one and putting it on, he came back over to you, resuming his place on top of you. He nudged around at your entrance, his nerves getting the best of him.

“Hey, when you put it in, go slow,” he nodded, before slowly inching his way into you. He kept watching your face, looking for any signs of discomfort. He really wanted to take care of you, and it was mind-blowing. Most guys only care about their own satisfaction when it comes to sex.

Once he was fully inside you, you nodded for him to keep going.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” he said, as he continued to rock his hips into yours. It didn’t take long before you were close. He was filling you up perfectly, hitting all the right spots.

You reached your hand down to rub circles on your clit, and he felt like he could cum at the sight alone. You felt yourself tightening around him, and his eyes started to roll back.

“Fuck fuck fuck, I’m cumming,” you moaned, gripping his biceps as your body started to shake.

Ethan couldn’t form words as he filled the condom, the fucked-out expression on his face telling you everything you needed to know.

“Can we really do that again?” he asked as his breathing returned to normal.

“Only if you don’t start hating me again,” the small laugh that left your mouth was his new second favorite sound, the first being the way you moan.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” he said, as you both stood up to get dressed.

#ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #scream smut #smut #ethan landry

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redr0sewrites · 8 months

Note

having some dan heng thoughts........

he doesnt go into rut or anything, but he has a reeeeally high sex drive and hes good at hiding it. so if youre having a convo or chatting with someone hes gonna act all composed but the moment youre alone he'll cram his cock(s) into your hole(s) and plow you like theres no tomorrow. BONUS POINTS IF HES WHINIER THAN USUAL!!!

- liz (ive been holding onto this because i thought im sending too many requests HELP)

AAA LIZ!!!! THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS SENDING IN TOO MANY REQS PLS SEND MORE I NEED MORE HSR REQS!!! <3 dan heng is sooo delicious

🥀CW: smut, ehibitionism, switch/soft dom dan heng, imbibitor lunae!dan heng, marking, dirty talk, overall filth

🥀 minors dni

dan hengs tail swung sharply through the air, the only giveaway in his usually stoic demeanor. his horns glowed faintly as he stared down the person talking to you both. while others may have seen him as calm, you knew exactly what your boyfriend wanted.

you politely excused the both of you, and began to walk away, farther down the street with dan heng right at your heels. the minute you both turned the corner, he harshly grabbed you and practically dragged you to the nearest alleyway. it had been far too long since he had touched you, and his dragonic instincts had already taken over. he had barely managed to contain his lust when talking to that stranger, and now here you both were, alone, with one idea in mind.

"off. now." dan heng tugged at your clothes, pulling your shirt down from your shoulder to reveal your skin. he immediately began to press hot, messy kisses to your neck, ghosting his teeth over your collarbone to your shoulder. your breath hitched, and he bit down hard.

"slow down dumbass" you mumbled, trying to pull away so you could continue removing your shirt. dan heng whined in response and the both of you seperated long enough to remove your clothes before he practically pounced on you, shoving you against the wall and picking you up.

"i need you... need you so bad..." dan heng was muttering as he began to press sloppy kisses to your neck and shoulders, grinding against you fervently. suddenly he pulled away a little, aligning himself with your weeping hole.

you moaned, feeling him rubbing against your entrance. dan heng groaned in response, kissing you roughly and nipping at your lower lip. suddenly, he pushed into you, the both of you moaning in pleasure as he filled you.

"aeons, your so tight- its like your hole was made for my cock, augh~ made for me-" dan heng bit down on your shoulder so hard you were sure he drew blood, and you let out a wanton moan as his hips snapped against yours.

a small bulge formed in your stomach with each harsh thrust, you dragged his hand down to press on it. dan heng moaned as he felt the small bump grow with each thrust.

"mm~ taking me so well, need you so bad-" he was cut short by another loud moan, his hole body trembling in pleasure. the both of you were nearing your orgasms, and the pleasure was overwhelming.

"please- please i'm so close" he gasped, the sound of skin slapping against skin and loud moaning made it incredibly obvious what you both were doing, yet you couldn't find the energy to care.

"me too- ngh~ cum inside, please-" at your words, dan heng seemed to grow feral. his tail moved to wrap tightly around your thigh, and he slammed deeper into you as your hips stuttered to keep up.

"o-oh, aeons~" dan heng let out a needy sob, and at the same time the coil in your stomach snapped as your release tumbled through you. dan heng gave a few more needy thrusts, prolonging both of your highs as you both took shaky breaths.

dan heng pulled out of you slowly, a ring of sticky release coated the base of his cock. the both of you were soaked in your own release, and dan heng pressed a soft kiss to the skin on your neck he had previously marked. you sigh contentedly, pulling away to look at how ruined you both looked.

"wanna go home and continue this?"

bro i feel like this sucks im so sorry😭 i am actually so tired im still getting over being sick so it took me a while to get to this request again IM SO SORRYYYYY BUT FEEL FREE TO SEND IN MORE REQS LIZ!!!!!! I LOVE UR REQS!!!!!!!

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peachesofteal · 11 months

Text

Home

Part of the Sassy series.

Simon Riley/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. PTSD. Emotional hurt/comfort. Relationship issues. Feelings of sadness, anxiety, fear. Mention of attempted suicide. Alcohol use. Tenderness. Simon is soft for you. Simon is a good dad. The 141 is a found family trope. Angst with a happy ending. The gang's all here. Lots of crying. Home.

>You need to come down to the pub. >What? >Simon’s in bad shape. >It’s hardly noon? >Just get down here, Sassy.

The text from Price has you walking briskly down the street within a minute, jittery with nerves and heart racing in your chest. The pub is not a long walk, the shortest route is east two blocks, south two blocks, and a quick left turn into the pedestrian alley that runs between two large brick buildings, to where the red painted door is nestled in off the street.

It’s not a long enough walk at all, because it hardly gives you enough time to collect your thoughts. Your feet fly over pock marked asphalt, anxiety shifting around in your mind, finding the softest pieces of your brain to sink its teeth into and derail you. He’s okay, he’s just drunk. He’s okay, he’s just drunk. He’s not hurt. He’s fine.

You’re practically vibrating with nerves. Your body feels uncontained, unbound by laws and physics, like you could fall apart completely at any moment. Rip apart at the seams and disappear into nothing, never to be seen or heard from again.

It was a struggle, in the next moment, to not follow that previous thought up with ‘maybe it’d be better.’

You weren’t allowed to say those things out loud anymore. Or, so says your therapist. You weren’t supposed to think your family would be better off without you, this shell of a human that is neither a mother or a wife now, just a skeleton, just a nervous system, just a heart and a brain.

You grit your teeth.

You are still you. You are strong. You are a mother. You are a wife. You are loved. You are worthy of being loved.

You fight the eyeroll and repeat it on top of your other mantra for good measure.

Theo is okay. Simon is okay. You’re home. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear.

When you get to the pub’s front door, you stop for a second and stare at it.

Your hands shake on the handle.

There is no danger. There is nothing to fear. You are still you. You are worthy of being loved.

“What’re you doing ‘ere?” Simon slurs, and you chew on the inside of your cheek while Price stands opposite you, adjacent to the drunk man’s shoulder.

“Sassy’s going to take ya home.” Price explains gently, and Simon shakes his head furiously, eyes slamming shut like he’s suddenly been blinded by the sun.

“No.” He vows. You fight to keep your voice even when you try to reassure him.

“Si. Hey, it’s okay, you’re just-“

“No, Sass.” His fingers curl around the small glass that’s filled to the brim with bourbon, before he throws it back and wipes his lips on his sleeve. “Price’ll take me home. Go on.” The directive cuts, but you swallow the hurt down. You put him here. You did this.

“I can’t, mate. Got to meet the wife down the street for an appointment.”

"I can't go with 'er." He snaps, and you try not to choke the saliva that's building in the back of your throat with your nausea. Price looks at you over Simon’s slumped posture, mouthing something that looks like: ‘it’s okay, call the cab’, and you manage it in record time, the tracker on the screen showing a black vehicle pulling down the street a minute later. Your hands are still fucking shaking, and you can’t stop them, can’t do anything with them except hold them together in hopes they’ll keep you from falling apart.

“Okay Si, come on.” You’ve managed to get him out of the car, and into the house, but he’s fading fast. The irritation from earlier settling into drunk sleepiness, draining some of that tension that he’s always carrying from his body. You shift him so that he’s leaning on you, his massive weight nearly bowling the two of you over as you encourage him to take the step up. “Help me out.”

“Wy’re you here?” He slurs and you grimace, pressing your thigh into the back of his knee so it bends forward and then up to the next step.

“This is ou- my house.” Our house. It wouldn’t have been a lie, wouldn’t have been anything but the truth, if you had said it. Instead, you bit your tongue just in time. “Can’t take you to yours because you’ve drank the city dry of Kentucky bourbon, and I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Always ‘lone now.” He mumbles and you feel the burn of tears in your nose, under your lashes. Don’t fucking cry. “Ya shouldn’t be here.” He protests as you walk next to him, step by step, your arm wrapped as much as it can be around his waist.

“It’s okay, come on.” You heave him up the last stair to the landing, where you keep your hands on his hips and steer him towards the bedroom.

For a split second, you consider trying to push him towards the guest room but disregard the notion as soon as it comes. He won’t be comfortable in there. The bed’s too small. Don't want him to wake up confused either. He grunts when you herd him towards the master. Master bathroom is better. That way he won’t wake Theo if he gets up in the middle of the night to puke.

You manage to nudge him into the bed, heaving his legs onto the mattress and stripping his giant boots off, throwing them haphazardly in the corner while you glance at the bedside clock. Almost time for pick up.

“Our room.” He blinks, arm stretching across towards the middle, towards the side you always sleep on, the side you still sleep on.

“Yeah. Thought you’d be more relaxed in here.” You explain, tugging and pulling at the sheets. He’s so heavy, like dead weight against the fabric, but you don’t want him to be uncomfortable, and the sheets are knotted together under his back. His head lolls, body full of slack, blissfully unaware, floating high on a river of Kentucky bourbon and he looks like he’s about a minute from falling asleep. A tidal wave of longing sweeps through you, everything yearning to curl up into his side, bury your face in his neck and listen to the sound of his breathing.

You can’t. You ruined it. You ruined everything. Again.

“My sweet girl.” His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone and you can’t help but lean into it, close your eyes and take a lungful of air. “Don’ cry.” He croaks and you manage a smile, a small one, mostly for his benefit.

“I’m okay.” You try to reassure him, his brow crinkling in the center like it does when he knows you’re lying and he’s about to call you out on it. You wipe your face with the back of your hand and glance at the clock again. Shit. “Si, I have to go get Theo, I want you to try to get some rest.” He stays quiet for a while, eyes drooping before he agrees half-heartedly.

“Right, I’ll be ‘ere then.” He shifts, rolling partially on his side, and yanks your pillow into his arms, folding it down into his body until his chin is resting on it. You don’t move from his side until his eyes start to slip closed, the dizzying rhythm of drunken sleep pulling him under, and when you finally stand so you can go get Theo, you can’t help but lean over his shoulder and press a feather light kiss to his temple. I love you; you think. I’m sorry I fucked it all up.

Theo is, as always, pleased to see you on the sidewalk after the bell rings, his voice vibrating with excitement as he goes through his day, telling you about the things his friends did and the stuff his teacher said.

When you get about two blocks away from the house, you stop and he looks up at you in confusion, face creased in the center of his brows, the spitting image of his dad. You sigh, and squat down so you’re just about eye level. “Theo, I need your help with something when we get home.”

“Kay mum?”

“We need to be really quiet when we get home, okay? Dad is-“

“Daddy’s home?” He squeaks with glee, eyes wide and excited. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

“Daddy’s home but he’s sick… so he’s asleep. To help him get better we need to be quiet so he can sleep, right?” He nods, and you know he understands. “Okay. Maybe we can watch a movie in the living room with our snack instead of playing in your room, yeah?” He agrees wholeheartedly, and you melt a little. He’s so kind, so patient. Such a sweet boy, and you don’t think it has anything to do with you at this point. You consider yourself lucky he’s so resilient, because you’ve already gone and screwed up half of formative years.

When he gets to the front door, he puts his finger in front of his lips and makes a ‘shhh’ sound, the little gesture showing you that he remembers what the two of you discussed and you melt even more.

He’s definitely getting ice cream tonight.

The morning comes too soon. You spent most of the night awake after managing to get Theo in a bath without causing a huge ruckus and putting him to bed, agonizing on having to face Simon, who may or may not even try to slip away undetected. Not to mention, the three of you have dinner at the Price’s tonight, since Johnny is in town, and it will be the first time you’ve seen Kyle in months. You’re already anxious about that, on top of everything. Your nerves feel rubbed raw.

Your brain didn’t let you sleep, not fully, instead choosing to free fall through memories like you were watching a movie, bits and pieces of your entire life playing out in your mind like you were sitting in a dark theatre with a bucket of popcorn.

The first time you met Simon, the confusion over the skull that seemed so familiar, your brain automatically linking it to Mace’s and dousing you in nervous fear.

The first time he refused to show you his face. The first time you refused to give him your name.

The moment you saw him in the bathroom, felt the magnetic pull like magic. The time you caught him watching you, standing outside of the safe house, face tilted up towards the rain.

When he showed up at your house with a battered ultrasound photo and your name on his lips.

When you held his baby, your son, in your arms for the first time while he cried and kissed you over, and over.

The day you said yes to marrying him, when he got down on one knee in the nursery, hands shaking with nerves.

Sleep is brief. You’re half-awake on the couch, listening for any sound from either of them, staring at the floor while the rising sun casts shadow across the hard wood.

You hear the creak of heavy feet on the stairs, the hesitancy of someone standing at the top, unsure if they should come down.

What are you going to say when he does? What could you possibly say that would make any of this better?

Hey, I’m sorry I had a panic attack and abandoned you after we touched each other for the first time in almost a year.

Hey, I’m sorry I freaked out and left which caused you to spiral into a bottle.

Hey, I’m sorry I’m still a fucking nightmare that doesn’t actually deserve you.

“Morning.” He calls, and you turn to see him at the bottom of the steps, walking towards the chair next to the couch, the giant one that’s got an imprint of his body in it.

“Hey, morning.”

“You get any sleep?”

“A little.” The living room goes deathly silent, and you sit up, crossing your legs in front of you to face him. Say something. Say anything.

“Look, I-“ you start.

“Sass-“ and so does he. The two of you stop as soon as you realize you’re talking over one another.

“Sorry, you go ahead.” You follow up lamely, lip tucked between your teeth. He sighs, long and low.

“I’m sorry, you had to… deal with that. With me. Like that.”

“It’s okay. Not the first time I’ve seen you in rough shape.” You try to tease him, try to lighten the giant storm cloud that is bearing down on the two of you, but it doesn’t work. He grimaces instead. Smooth. You curse yourself. “I uh. Didn’t mind. It felt kind of… nice. To do something for you.” He raises an eyebrow, and you shrug. “You’re always taking care of me, you know?”

“You’re my priority-“ a bedroom door creaks upstairs, followed by the sound of little thundering footsteps, and you feel a pang of regret. Of all times to wake up early, baby. You can't fault him too much, he's so excited to see his dad. “you, and this guy.” He smiles across the room to where your baby stands with his blanket tucked in his hands, still in his pjs with a sleepy smile. “C’mere, bug.” Simon pats his thigh and Theo runs, scrambling up onto the chair and nestling into his dad, eyes still wearing their crust of sleep, hair all a mess.

“Breakfast?” you ask and Theo nods into Simon’s chest.

“Pa’cakes?” he asks hopefully, and you laugh.

“Sure, bug.” Simon looks at you over his head. “Will you stay?” you ask, trying not to let any emotion slip into your voice. It’s his choice. Don’t pressure him. He needs to be comfortable.

“Of course.”

He stays all day. You don’t intend for it to happen, but it does, and you don’t complain. The two of you dance around the other night gracefully, but it doesn’t feel awkward or awful. It feels… okay. Normal. Without the elephant in the room, you could almost close your eyes and imagine this as before, and your willingness to relax and enjoy their company, together, without getting lost in your own head, is something you’ve been working diligently on thanks to Dr. C.

It feels good. It feels good, when you settle Theo in his room to watch a movie while you figure out his dinner before dinner, just in case he decides to be picky later. It still even feels good when Simon asks you if you want a glass of wine before you start getting ready for said dinner, because he can tell you’re nervous, and you actually say yes without feeling guilty. It all feels great, until it doesn’t, and your little bubble pops.

“Do ya want to talk about the other night?” Fuck.

“Sure…” you taper off and he sits back in the chair, watching you with a scrutinous gaze, the one you’ve seen dozens of times, but not usually in your home.

“It’s important… that we’re honest with each other,” he says, and a knot twists in your stomach. He rubs the back of his neck anxiously, before taking a deep breath and continuing. “I need you to… acknowledge. What happened. I need to talk about it with you.”

“Okay.” You rush out. “I’m sorry… the other night, I- I made a mistake.” It’s the wrong thing to say. The words themselves are an error, and his face shutters, the beginning process of him shutting down taking over his body, his mind. No no no.

“A mistake.” He repeats and you shake your head vigorously.

“No, no. Not like that I didn’t mean… please. I don’t… I don’t know how to feel or say things the right way anymore and my head has been so messed up, but I swear I… I want to try. I want… this marriage. I want us.” You’re crying earnestly now, tears dripping down your face, nails clenched into your palms so hard it burns. “And I… I wanted to take it slow.” He nods thoughtfully but stays silent. “I lost my head, the other night and rushed into things without really thinking.” Why isn’t he saying anything? “You were not a mistake Simon, I swear. You’ve never been a mistake to me.” You gasp the last sentence, throat raw with your tears and your eyes clench shut, hands going slack. Your chest is tight, it’s so tight and the air feels thin, and… you’ve completely ruined this, again, it’s all you ever do now, is ruin things. You ruined your family, ruined your son’s life, ruined Simon’s life, ruined everything.

“Hey, hey.” You hadn't noticed, but his hand now curls around yours, pressure steady against where your pulse hammers under your skin. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “But we need to talk, Sass. Actually talk. Talk about where you are, how you’re feeling. Talk about a way to move forward.”

“Okay.”

“And I need to be honest with you about something. What happened the other night… it can’t happen again. I-“ He looks down to his feet. “I had a panic attack, after you left. I thought I was dying, I can’t… I can’t do that again. I have to be able to be present.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, but his grip slackens a little, and you feel your heart ripping into two pieces. Oh, Si. What have you done? “If I can’t be present, then I can’t take care of you, or Theo, or make sure nothing happens to the two of ya and I have to be able to-“ He abruptly stops, choking on the last sentence, and you watch as he straightens himself, twisting his back and rolling his neck. You stand, reaching for him, a tentative, seeking hand tracing along his forearm.

Asking for permission.

Asking for forgiveness.

Asking for everything.

He gives it to you. You fall into his arms easily, curling yourself into his lap, and he buries his face in your hair, shuddering breaths the only sound in the room, the only way you’d be able to tell he’s trying to compose himself. He dwarfs you, his embrace swallowing you up easily and you close your eyes, holding him as tightly as possible. You did this. You’ve let him down.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper and he shakes his head. “I am, I… I am, Si. I'm so sorry.”

“I know.” He answers, a hand smoothing over your hair and then down your back. “I know you are, sweet girl.”

You check the door lock four times, while Theo jumps from crack to crack in the sidewalk and Simon watches him carefully. The sun is starting to set, casting a orange pink glow over the street, lamps just starting to flicker on across the way, the sound of people out and about in the nice weather bouncing off the brick.

“Ready?” he asks, reaching for the bag on your arm. You nod, but reach out to grab his wrist when he turns to head down the block.

“I uh. I’m-“ you think you might be sick, and faint at the same time. You feel too warm in clothes, cold in your skin. You feel unsettled. Volatile. Why is this so hard?

“What is it?” He’s gentle, voice soft and coaxing, and you try to smile and reassure him, but it comes out wrong, lopsided and nervous. You can do this. Just ask him. Today was mostly great. He’s not going to reject you.

“I… was going to ask if you… if you wanted to come home with us tonight? After dinner.” His eyebrows raise, and something dark flashes across his face, something guarded.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Not for… that. Not for sex.” Jesus Christ. “I um… I thought maybe we co-could sleep together.” Oh my god. You’re blowing it. You feel like you might vomit all over his shoes. “Just sleep. In our bed. Together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… yes. I want to if you want to.” He’s silent for a long time, practically eternity, before he steps forward, and presses the lightest kiss to the top of your head.

“Okay, Sass. I want to.”

“Bloody hell. Feels like I haven’t seen ya in years.” Kyle pulls you into a hug and you laugh, head tipped back, pure joy on your face. You really did miss him.

“You look fit, Gaz.” You quip, and he preens just a bit. Simon scowls and raises an eyebrow from behind him. Price shakes his head like he’s already exasperated with the lot of you.

“Alright, alright. Stop hoggin’ the lass.” Soap shouts, elbowing him out of the way, and when he pulls you in for a hug, you’re not surprised there are tears smarting behind your eyes. Get it together.

“Hey, Johnny.” You hold him back, arms wrapped around his waist, and he gives you a squeeze before pulling away.

“Hey Sassafras. You well?” He glances at Simon, and then back to you. It has not escaped anyone that the three of you arrived here together. You nod, and he smiles. “Where’s my nephew?” He half yells, because Theo is half hiding behind Simon’s legs, a little overwhelmed by the noise.

“He’s here.” You rub his head affectionately, and he peeks out, eyes landing on Johnny right away and glee lighting up his face.

“’cle Johnny!” he shrieks, and then flings himself at the poor man, barreling into him with the strength of a kid half his age.

“Oof.” Johnny gives you a bewildered look and you shrug.

“Why are you surprised? You know his dad.” Gaz barks a laugh, and Price’s wife rolls her eyes, before giving you a hug herself and dragging you into the kitchen. Gaz has got Theo up on his shoulders now, and you see Price handing Simon a beer out of the corner of your eye before you slip away, leaving them to their conversations.

“You look like you’ve been crying.” She motions to your under-eyes, and you tsk. You really did try to cover it up, but the puffiness is hard to hide.

“It’s been… a day.”

“A bad day?” She asks, and you consider it. Bad? No. Good? Also, not entirely. How would you describe it?

“Not a bad day just… hard.” She reaches across the counter, squeezing your hand in a gesture of affection.

“If you need to chat…”

“Lunch this week?” you supply hopefully, and she readily agrees. It’s nice, having a friend. Having someone who gets it. Even though she’s a civilian, sweet as honey and soft as cotton, she’s still got an edge. She’s never shown fear, or disgust at the group of you. She married John, after all. And he loves her more than life itself. “So. What did you spend all day slaving away at in here?” you change the subject, and she giggles while popping a cork from a wine bottle.

“Fuck no.” She protests as she pours out two glasses. “I ordered catering. I’m not cooking for all you. You’re too picky.” She hands you a glass, and you chime your rim against hers.

“That’s fair.”

“How’s work, Sassy?” Kyle asks, bowl of salad extended towards Simon who turns his nose up at it.

“It’s good. Kind of dull.”

“What is it ye’re even doin’ now?” Johnny asks. He’s sitting next to Theo, who’s sitting next to Gaz, nestled between his two uncles like it’s a holiday, face beaming with happiness. They’re taking turns picking things off his plate too, since he’s already thrown a fit about eating vegetables tonight.

“I’m on a project. I’m just analyzing and compiling data for the DoD.” You try to keep it short, but Johnny raises an eyebrow.

“What kind of data?” You sigh.

“I’m tracking and analyzing the historical usage of Semtex.” You deadpan and his face lights up.

“Original compound?”

“Yes, Johnny.” You answer drily. Simon chuckles.

“You tryin’ to figure out how much is left floatin’ around out there eh?” You sigh again, louder for dramatic affect, and Price’s wife takes the cue.

“Okay, let’s talk about something other than bombs, hmm?” Gaz grumbles a protest, but she looks at Theo. “How’s school going Theo?”

“Oh yeah, sure use the kid!” Johnny playfully rolls his eyes, and you swing your toe into his shin. “OW!” He yells. You snicker. Price clears his throat. Whoops.

“’Cools fun!” Theo supplies and Simon smiles softly at him from across the table. You watch him, the crease in the corner of his eyes, the gentle slope of his lips, the warmth and love that he exudes when he looks at his son. It makes you soft, so fucking soft and weepy and… in love. You feel the burn of a tear and rub your face subconsciously before looking down to your lap. Fuck.

A heavy hand reaches for where yours sits, white knuckling the arm of your chair. A heavy hand wearing a gold wedding band, and you lean into it, hard, pulling his grip onto your lap, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles until you get your emotions under control.

“We’re gon’ miss you next week, Ghost.” Kyle says, cutting a piece of meat into a smaller portion and offering it to Theo who looks at it suspiciously. Simon coughs like he’s swallowed a fly.

“What?” you turn, and he grimaces. Price rubs his hand over his face, and Gaz looks between you and Simon like he’s confused.

“I’m taking some time off.”

“Well earned.” Kyle adds. “I’m sure Ale n’ Rudy ‘ll miss ya though.”

“You’re going to Las Almas?” Your head swings back and forth between the two of them.

“Wots lallamas?” Theo asks with a mouthful of food.

“Chew your food, baby.” You admonish. When no one else speaks, you raise your eyebrows and shake your head. “You’re going to Las Almas?” you repeat it, and Johnny shifts uncomfortably before answering.

“It’s just to help Los Vaqueros out.”

“With what?” you press, and now Simon is shifting nervously. “Soap.” You hiss and he holds his hands up.

“Valeria broke out-“ he starts.

“Someone broke Valeria out-“ Price tries to explain at the same time.

“Valeria’s on the lam and-“ Gaz uses air quotes around the word lam, and they all come to a stop when you laugh out loud.

“Oh my god.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’ll be out of your depth. She’s too smart for you all, and you know it.” The table goes dead silent.

“Well, if you’re lookin’ for something to do lass…” Johnny trails off suggestively.

“That’ll do.” Simon barks, and Theo’s eyes go wide. Gaz looks down at his plate. Price frowns. Simon takes a deep breath, before cutting a glance to you, and you give him a reassuring squeeze. It’s okay. You try to communicate with the gesture. It’s alright.

Price’s wife stands from the table, a hand on her hip, the other on John’s shoulder.

“Alright. Who wants dessert?”

Bugs chirp in the grass when you step up next to Price outside on the deck. Simon, Soap and Gaz are all in the living room with his wife, Theo asleep in his dad’s arms, cheeks squished together, sweet baby lashes laying softly on his face. Price taps his cigar once, twice, before clearing his throat.

“If you wanted too, Sassy, I could pull some strings. You could come to Las Almas.”

“Thanks, Price but uh. I wouldn’t pass the psych eval for field action? And I’m probably not able to be medically cleared either.” You point to your shoulder, the one that has the nerve damage in it, and he nods. “But, I appreciate the offer.” You sigh, turning around and pinning your hands against the railing, kicking your shoes together before blowing out a deep breath. “I never thanked you.” You say softly. “For taking care of him… during the- when I was- when we were separated. I know… I know he was in a bad place and you both really supported him.” Price nods, cigar pulling free from his lips. “And… I know we never really… talked it out but… I do forgive you.” His head tilts, eyes heavy with full of a world of things you can only imagine.

“What I did, what Simon and I did… it was a mistake. I made a judgement call based on the situation I was put in and… it was the wrong one.” He says lowly and you nod.

“It was, but I consider us square.” You close your eyes. “I remember you, that day. When you guys came for me. I remember… hearing you talk to Simon when the heli landed. When he thought I was already dead. When he-“ Your voice breaks, because it’s too much to try to remember, too much to pull to the forefront of your mind. The memory of Simon’s hoarse screams, his pleas, his hands stained with blood. Your own vision blurred red, Soap holding pressure against two of your wounds, Gaz wrestling a pistol from Simon’s iron grip, Simon trying to die alongside of you, refusing to exist in a world where you don't and Price’s shout, his command for Simon to stand down ringing out above it all. “You kept him alive, kept reminding him he had Theo at home, waiting for him, and I owe you for that.”

“You don’ owe me anything, Sassy.”

“Well, I like to think we’re even at least.” You smile and he nods, blue eyes twinkling under the porch lamp, cigar burning a red hole in the darkness.

“We’re even then.” He agrees, and you turn to look through the living room window, where Simon’s hand is resting gently on Theo’s back, rubbing a soft circle to soothe him as he sleeps fitfully.

“I gotta get them home.” You jerk your head in their direction, and he smiles.

“Goodnight Sassy.”

“Night, Captain.”

You are nervous as hell when you climb into bed that night. Theo’s asleep, locks triple and quadruple checked, water bottle filled and stationed next to your side of the bed. You’re half laying, half sitting up in a mound of pillows, wearing one of Simon’s too big t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts, tucked under the blankets and staring at the ceiling when the bed dips beneath his weight, his body sliding under the sheet next to you. He’s warm, so warm, like he usually is, and you’re yearning to sidle over and tuck yourself into him, the feeling so strong it nearly saws a hole through your heart.

Breathe. Just breathe. Everything’s okay. You’re home. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear.

“Sass?” His voice is even, gentle, calming, and you turn to face him a little more than eagerly.

“Hi.” You breathe. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t do anything stupid, or rash, or say the wrong thing, be cool, you can do it, you’re fine, you’re okay now, you’re-

“Talk to me.”

“I want to touch you.” you blurt, partially mortified, even though you can hear your therapist in the back of your mind telling you ‘It’s okay to ask Simon for what you want, if he’s okay with that’. “Sorry. I want- I want… you to hold me? If… you want to. Only if you want to. If you don’t that’s okay.” You frown, fingers twisted together. His gaze grows soft, softer than it was ten minutes ago or an hour ago, and he nods, opening his arm to lift the blankets so you can scoot closer.

When you do, he brings you into his chest, tucking your face into his neck and folding his arm along your back, heavy palm sliding up and down your spine.

Home. It feels like home. It feels like happiness, and being whole, and feeling like yourself. It feels like your bed, your husband, your son, sleeping peacefully within these walls. It feels like everything’s okay, feels like you’re safe, feels like you’re going to be alright. It feels like home, for the first time in almost a year and it shocks you, the emotional swell of your feelings pulling tears to your eyes because you realize, you finally see, that it was Simon all along. Simon is your home, Simon is your anchor, Simon is your sanity. The father of your child, the man you married, the love of your life. It’s always been him. How could you have been so blind?

You’re crying now, tears soaking his skin, the neck of his t shirt and he’s holding you tight, trying to soothe you, his hand now brushing away the rapid tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“You’re okay, Sass. It’s alright.” He tries to calm you, but it only makes you cry harder into him.

“I know!” you sob. “I know it’s okay.” You sound nonsensical, breaths coming in shorter bursts, and you can feel his muscles tightening, his own panic starting to build over the state you’re working yourself into. “I’m s-sorry.” You sputter. “I’m so sorry. I ruined everything. I ru-ruined us.”

“You didn’t, I promise.” He’s lying. He’s lying. He has to be, because how could that be true? After everything. After the hell you put him through. After the way you reacted the other night. After it all, how could he still be here, still want you? It didn’t make sense. You didn’t deserve him. You didn’t deserve anything.

“I don’t deserve you.” you cry, and he goes completely still, hand freezing on your skin, body frozen in the bed. You feel it, the stiffness, like he’s gone to stone, and it makes your heart race, makes you so nervous that your head spins until he speaks.

“I didn’t deserve you, for a long time.” He croaks. “I didn’t deserve to be in your life, didn’t deserve to be a father to Theo. Didn’t feel like I deserved to marry ya either. Could hardly believe it was happening, standin’ up there. Felt like I was in a bloody dream.” He leans back, tilting your chin upwards so he can look in your eyes, his own holding tears that match yours. “You gave me another chance. You forgave me. You showed me grace. Don’t you think you deserve a little bit o’ that yourself?” You take a shaky breath and consider his words. Do you? Do you think you deserve some grace? You close your eyes and count to ten in your mind.

You are still you. You are strong. You are a mother. You are a wife.

You are loved.

You are worthy of being loved.

When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you intently, his eyes full of hope, full of love and understanding, carrying the weight of decades of pain, the strength of survival, the burden of everything. The burden that you too, carry alongside him. The burden that the two of you have always shared, even before this year, last year, before Theo was even born. A burden born out of trauma and broken homes and bloodshed; a weight that doesn’t feel so heavy when he’s by your side.

Two knuckles stroke along the apple of your cheek, and you turn your lips towards his palm, pressing a soft, gentle kiss against his skin.

“I love you.” you whisper it, eyes wide open, looking up at him through blurry and tearful vision.

“I love you.” He says back, pulling your hand into his, kissing your pulse point tenderly, and then folds you back into his arms, your own limbs tangling with his until all you can feel, all you can see, or smell is him. Simon, your person. Simon, Theo’s dad. Simon, your husband.

Simon, your home.

#sassy series #simon riley #sass x simon #peaches writes #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x you #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #captain john price #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

Text

party on you (explicit)

genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT with an extremely small side of fluff lol

pairing: hoseok x reader

summary: the only thing stronger than your social anxiety is your big dumb crush on hoseok - and you're certainly not expecting it when he tells you the real reason he threw this album release party.

word count: 9.8k

contains: explicit sexual content aka PORN !!!! idol-verse, literally takes place at the JITB album release party, friends to lovers, erotic hand holding, they're both cute and dumb, a studio hookup 👀 dirty talk, thigh riding, cunnilingus, a single pussy slap lol, taint touching (?), HOBI EATS ASS, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, throat fucking, reader gets a facial, and a lil bit of cum eating, it's cute 😌

A/N: so, hi, i went to hobipalooza lmao. this is actually lowkey a songfic ??? charli xcx was one of the earlier acts on hobi's stage and. my god. seeing her live was a religious experience, and when she performed party 4 u i was like hnnnhghg this should be a fic. and now it is !!!! and i hope u enjoy 🥺🥺 i tried some new stuff in here, both soft and freaky lmao so i'm nervy to share!!! as always your support and feedback means the world to meeeee ok ilysomuch bye~

read on AO3 !

~*~

You collapse back against the cushions of your couch with a soft whine of distress.

The whole thing is really so ridiculous. You told yourself when this started that you could be chill about it. People get crushes every day. It doesn’t have to be a huge fucking deal. You’re a sane, rational adult, perfectly capable of admiring a man quietly from afar while doing your best to be a good friend to him.

And, yes, maybe also obsessing a little too much over what to wear when you hang out, and what to post on Instagram in case he might see it, and dear god, how long his hair is getting. All normal crush things.

But now, as you press your phone to your chest with both hands and sigh forlornly, you wonder if it might actually be possible to yearn yourself to death. To like somebody so much that your heart just fucking explodes. If anyone could be capable of inciting spontaneous combustion, it is absolutely Jung Hoseok.

And he wants you to come to his big fancy party– has specifically sent a day-of reminder text, like you didn’t already receive a formal invitation weeks ago.

You purse your lips, fighting to keep a smile off your face despite being alone in your apartment where no one can perceive you. Hoseok is always so good at keeping in touch, even when he’s in an insanely busy season of his life. You can picture him now, probably bustling around his place in a robe, getting ready while simultaneously sending everyone their own personalized message.

Everyone– when you last chatted about the party, he rattled off enough of the guest list for you to know that easily half the industry will be there tonight. And even Lizzo has gushed about how great of a texter he is. You try to ease yourself off the ledge with the comforting thought that this has to be just one courtesy text of dozens, his pretty painted thumbnails working overtime to send gratuitous emojis out to every idol in the city.

And somehow also to you. Because your big fat crush made you stupid enough to say yes to what is arguably your worst nightmare: A party full of cool famous people, where you will know no one except the guest of honor.

Skipping the party is not an option becomes your internal refrain as the hours tick by. You have to remind yourself of this even more emphatically when you wind up on the floor of your bedroom, having tried on every article of clothing in your closet and having decisively hated it all.

Skipping the party is not an option, you think again, grabbing your phone to check the clock. Your heart sinks when you realize how much time you’ve wasted being an anxious wreck– you had planned to be ready to leave five minutes ago, not laying half-naked on the floor, hair and makeup still undone.

But skipping the party is not an option. A pre-party cry, however, might be on the table.

Pushing yourself up to sit on your heels, you force the tears back while you aimlessly sort through a pile of clothes. You’re barely looking at what’s in front of you, but you pause to do a double-take as your hand passes over a particularly enjoyable texture.

When you manage to extract the item, you realize it’s a dress you’d forgotten about entirely– something a friend made you buy a lifetime ago that you’ve never worn because you’ve always been uncomfortable with how short it is. But it’s smooth baby pink satin, and as different from your usual as it may be, you recall not being mad about the way it stuck to your curves like water.

Fuck it. You’re already late, and if there’s ever a party where you can take a fashion risk, it’s one thrown by Hoseok. You can only imagine what he might have on tonight; it honestly wouldn’t surprise you if he showed up in the same fucking dress.

The thought of seeing him is enough to make your heart leap in your chest, and you do your best to speed through your usual makeup and hair routine despite the way your hands are starting to tremble. By the time you grab your purse and make it out the door, you’re thirty minutes late. That thirty minutes quickly stretches into a full hour before you’re stepping off the elevator onto the 19th floor of HYBE headquarters, feeling like an asshole.

Gorgeous idols and various other famous people stream in around you, dressed in clothes that appear casual but you’re sure cost double your monthly rent payment, looking less than unbothered about showing up late. You do your best to slip in unnoticed and stick to the perimeter of the massive room, feeling like an absolute fraud.

Thankfully it’s only a few steps before you find a table taken up entirely by pre-filled flutes of champagne, and you eagerly grab one, mostly just grateful for something to do with your hands.

It occurs to you how little you know about celebrity culture, because the party doesn’t even seem to have started yet: early 2000s R&B is bumping through the speakers, and it feels like every few minutes the elevator chimes to let another group of people trickle into the space. You find an unoccupied section of wall to lean against as you sip your drink slowly, hoping that if you try hard enough, you might actually manage to become one with the wallpaper.

Tipping your head back for another sip of champagne, you nearly choke at an unexpected voice from over your shoulder.

“You look like you hate parties as much as I do.”

You manage to not inhale your drink, instead giving a polite smile as your eyes drift across the crowded room. You’re too nervous to immediately steal a glance at whoever is speaking to you, though you’re sure it just makes you seem rude. “Hate isn’t exactly it.” You have nothing against parties, or people who enjoy them. “I just… haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to be doing, exactly.”

“I think talking to people is generally expected,” the voice quips. “So, hey, you’re doing great already. Keep it up and they might even think you’re an extrovert.”

You exhale a soft laugh, a slight heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

“But Hobi said I didn’t have to meet and greet if I didn't want to. So I’m taking that as full permission to enjoy free alcohol and read webtoons on my phone.”

Your gaze snaps over at the familiar nickname, and your mouth goes dry as you realize you’ve been casually conversing with none other than Kim Seokjin, who is absentmindedly fiddling with the thin green strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.

Fuck. Embarrassing yourself in front of random famous people was exactly what you were trying to avoid when you picked this wall to lean against. You’d figured the other members would all be out mingling in the center of things, not hiding in a corner. Who knew celebrities were just like you?

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, immediately dropping your gaze to avoid making eye contact when Jin looks up. He probably assumed you’d sidled up next to him on purpose, like some kind of creepy fan. “I’ll leave you alone, I actually really didn’t mean to–”

You glance up again only to realize Jin is laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.

“Wow, I’m so bad at this. That wasn’t me telling you to fuck off. I was just trying to sympathize.” He gestures lazily towards the stage at the front of the room. “Thankfully it looks like you don’t have to suffer my conversation any longer.”

A Jack in the Box graphic has started to flash, projected onto the screen. After a few seconds, the image stills, and a spotlight clicks on, following Hoseok as he emerges from backstage. You lean forward to set your drink on the closest table so you can join in the applause for him.

Hoseok looks as effortlessly cool as he always does, but even more so tonight, like someone has cranked his charisma up to the max setting. A real fucking popstar, a rockstar, even: baggy clothes, multiple layers of necklaces, chunky black boots, dark hair pushed back with a few strands falling into his eyes. He somehow even manages to make wearing sunglasses indoors look cool– probably because they’re immediately offset by the wide, sweet grin of his mouth as he addresses the crowd. You can hear that he’s nervous by how hard he’s trying to keep his voice even, and it’s enough to make you feel the flutter of butterfly wings in your throat.

As you pick your drink back up for another sip, you can’t help but wonder if Jin can literally see the hearts in your eyes, or a nervous little teardrop floating above your head like an anime character. You do your best to hide your smile behind your glass.

“J-Hope is pretty cool, huh?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, answering Jin’s question with a shy nod.

Hoseok descends the stage as the lights lower, and then the album intro is starting and there’s no more time for conversation. You watch from across the room as he drops down on the large built-in stairs next to Jungkook, who immediately wraps a supportive arm around his waist while Hoseok laughs like he’s embarrassed. You’ve always been in total awe of the way Hoseok can light up and command the energy of a room easily, then squirm away from it at the next second.

Jin gets waved over and gives you a small nod as he departs, and then you’re alone again with the champagne in your hand and the wall against your back and Hoseok’s music thrumming through your nervous system.

The album is nothing like you expected– you didn’t know what to expect, really– and you absolutely love it. You’ve always felt like you have a stupidly limited vocabulary when it comes to talking about music, particularly around Hoseok, but even you can manage to string together the thought that these songs are fucking special.

But then again, so is he.

In what feels like the blink of an eye Hoseok is taking the stage again to giggle through his thanks, bent slightly at the waist in overwhelmed appreciation, and then the pop playlist is switched back on and the lights are dimmed and you suddenly feel your palms start to slick up against your champagne flute.

You can’t help but wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now.

The obvious choice would be to finally go talk to Hoseok, but of course, he’s the man of the hour, so every other person in the room seems to have the same idea. You choose to hang back and watch as he weaves through the growing crowd, putting on a bored expression to pose for pictures, laughing excitedly as people shake his hand and speak to him in hushed tones, and flashing thumbs ups and peace signs left, right and center.

It looks exhausting, you think to yourself with a small smile. And this is why you’re not famous.

For the second time tonight someone manages to sneak up on you, and this time it’s accompanied with a gentle call of your name. You nearly drop your drink as you whip around.

When you find yourself face-to-face with Park Jimin, it takes a few seconds for you to remember how to close your mouth. What is going on?

“I thought that was you.”

You double-blink, unable to find any words at all. You have never met this man before in your life. Seen him dozens of times on your TV screen, sure, but certainly never formally introduced.

“I’m Jimin,” he says, and you have to swallow the urge to giggle in his face because, yeah, no shit.

“Hi, Jimin.”

“Hoseok is going to be excited that you’re here.” Jimin scrunches his face up a little, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling you this. “He kept asking me if I thought you would show or not. He really wouldn’t shut up about it.”

You find yourself stammering again, trying to figure out how the hell to respond. Why, out of everyone on the guest list, would Hoseok be concerned about you? And he’s talked to Jimin about you enough for him to know who you are, that he can recognize you on sight alone? Your head starts to spin, despite the fact that you’re only halfway through your glass of champagne.

“Since you don’t like parties,” Jimin says, like it’s common knowledge, as if it’s totally normal for this very busy and famous kpop idol to keep tabs on your socialization preferences.

You nod dumbly. “I, yeah. I’m just not very good at them.”

Jimin nods, pushing up the sleeves of his white Chanel sweater. “You just have to get comfortable with talking to people about boring shit. Did you try the food?”

You shake your head– the very thought is enough to make you feel a little sick. “I get, like, a nervous stomach?” You hate that it comes out like a question when it clearly isn’t.

“Aish, you and Hoseok are so alike,” Jimin rolls his eyes, hands on hips, but you can see he’s smiling a little. “I haven’t been able to get him to eat anything all day. And we ordered so much food, I don’t even know why. Like half the people in this room aren’t on fucking diets.”

“Jimin-ah!”

Both of your heads snap up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice from the other side of the room, distorted slightly by the thudding bass.

“Ahh, they’re doing pictures,” Jimin says with an exaggerated sigh, like it’s just so hard being desirable and photogenic. “Do you want to get a photo?”

You shake your head as emphatically as possible. “No, nope, absolutely not.”

Jimin pauses, squinting at you for a second in a way that makes you think that if you were closer friends, he’d be dragging you across the room regardless of your answer to the question. You watch as he clearly attempts to restrain himself.

“Well, don’t drink too much on an empty stomach, okay? I’ll make you a to-go plate of food before you leave.” He starts to walk backwards away from you, raising his voice a little so you can still hear him. “And please talk to Hoseokie when we’re done! Maybe then he’ll calm the fuck down!”

You can’t hide the smile that blooms across your face, and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis before turning around and pressing his way through the crowd to the photo wall.

The members take turns passing Hoseok around, punctuated by the snap of the camera: pinching his cheeks, leaning into him, clinging to his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his neck. You laugh out loud when Taehyung hikes a leg up high on Hoseok’s hip and tips back, a hand draped across his forehead, eyes shut, so fucking dramatic.

Hoseok stares down the camera like a professional, only to immediately dissolve into giggles between shots, tongue poking out between his teeth like he can’t quite handle all the attention. It’s enough to have you nearly fighting for your life.

The members crowd in for a few group shots, posing cutely until Jimin finally waves everyone back off to the dancefloor. He keeps Hoseok behind with one hand gripping his bicep, and your heart drops into your stomach when Jimin leans in to whisper something in Hoseok’s ear.

Oh, fuck.

You try to calm yourself down, reasoning that he could be talking about any number of important things, but then Jimin pulls Hoseok’s sunglasses off his face, turns him unmistakably in your direction, and gives his shoulders a hard push. It’s clear Hoseok doesn’t quite know where he’s going as he stumbles forward and squints at the party lights, so you throw back the last of your champagne for some assistance, set the empty flute on a table, and force yourself to be brave.

You run your palms nervously over the sides of your dress, trying to focus on the feeling of smooth satin as you cross the room to meet him.

“Hobi.” His eyes find yours and you watch as his face, still in party mode— all perfect straight lines and severe grace and supermodel apathy— softens, brightens.

“Oh thank god, you made it,” Hoseok huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Come here.”

He pulls you in for a hug, not the lazy one-armed greetings you’ve seen celebrities give each other all night but a real, solid embrace, both arms crossed firmly over the small of your back. You press your nose into the crook of his neck, the thin fabric of his tank top brushing against your skin. Heat radiates off of him in waves, and he smells so good, like expensive cologne. It’s dizzying.

“Hi,” you murmur, and it’s punctuated with a soft giggle when you realize you’re speaking directly into his collarbone. You move to extract yourself, but his grip tightens.

“Five more seconds,” Hoseok says with another half-laugh, and you gladly allow yourself to melt back into his arms.

He sounds slightly hoarse, you notice, probably from talking all night. You think for easily the millionth time that you have no idea how he does it, but this moment of softness makes you wonder if being the life of the party is a little more difficult than he lets on.

Hoseok hums a little, and the feeling rumbles through your chest, buzzing all the way down to your fingertips like an electric current. When he finally releases you, it’s with a soft sigh, something that almost sounds like reluctance. Your heart backflips at the thought.

The lights flash waves of rainbow color over his face, each one painting his perfect features with a slightly different energy: pink, blue, orange, green. You momentarily forget how to talk, but Hoseok doesn’t miss a beat.

“Are you having fun?”

You nod as decisively as you can. “I’m just awkward, but that’s not your party’s fault.” He giggles, gaze flitting nervously around the room, as you continue. “Seriously, it’s a great party. And I’m not just saying that because you have free booze.”

“Did you want more?” He asks quickly, then seems to think better of it. “Or, well, how much have you had? Do you need water?”

You smile a little despite yourself. “I’m fine, Hobi, thank you. You have better things to do tonight than look after me because I nursed a single glass of champagne. And besides, Jimin already tried to mother hen me earlier.”

A look of serious anguish crosses Hoseok’s face, and he glances back over his shoulder, but Jimin has evaporated into the crowd of beautiful people. “God, I specifically told him to leave you alone.”

You shrug. “It’s not a big deal. He was sweet.”

Hoseok’s gaze lands back on you, and it feels like your chest lights up from the inside out. You almost can’t look directly at him– it’s not unlike staring into the sun. You blink up at him once, twice, more than dazed, and then he laughs again, nose scrunching slightly as if to cringe at himself.

“Agh, I feel awkward. I don’t know what to say.”

You’re smiling, too. “That’s okay,” you say, because it is. You’re perfectly content to just stand here with him, unconcerned with the chaos of the party around you.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“And– well, I guess you’ve never been here before, right? Can I give you a tour? I can take you downstairs and show you my studio.”

Your cheeks start to burn from all the questions, from how fixed his gaze is on you. It’s overwhelming. “Hobi, this is literally your party. You should stay here. I was doing fine holding up the wall over there.��

“Come on, I really want to. Please?” He leans in towards you slightly, glancing around as if to make sure he’s not being overheard. When he speaks into your ear, his voice drops to a lower register for privacy, and you can’t ignore the chills that dot up your spine. “I can’t talk to one more person that isn’t you right now.”

You nod, every nerve ending in your body now hyper-aware of how very close he is to you. “If you’re sure. I’d like that.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, and you breathe a soft giggle at how ridiculous it is that he’s the one thanking you at this moment. Before you even realize what he’s doing, his hand finds your hand, delicate fingers intertwining with yours. The skin of his palm is soft and warm. “Let’s go.” He chases the words with a gentle squeeze.

Hoseok leads you into the elevator and presses the button for a lower floor. You’re a little surprised when he slumps back against the wall with a heavy sigh as the doors close, still holding your hand.

“Oh, I’m tired.” He says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself rather than to you. “It just hit me now. That was a lot.”

You squeeze his hand back, and his eyes flutter open to look at you. You press yourself up against the wall next to him. “You sound like me after any social event. And here I was thinking all night that you made it look so easy.”

Hoseok smiles. “I’m good at faking it. But I always collapse after stuff like this.” His eyes drift away from you and he stares into the empty space in front of him, his expression darkening slightly. “I just really hope they liked it. It’s so hard to tell what people think, or who’s only bullshitting you when they tell you it’s good. I’d rather they be honest with me.”

“Well, if it means anything, I loved it.” You say softly, your eyes searching his face. “And I’m not a bullshitter.”

Hoseok blinks, then nods once, his eyes not meeting yours. “You’re not. I appreciate that.”

The chime of the elevator seems to snap him somewhat out of his headspace, and he tugs on your joined hands to pull you through the doors as they slide open. “It’s just at the end of the hall.”

There’s something about Hoseok that comforts you all the way to your core, laps gently at the edges of your shyness until it recedes a bit. He just makes you feel like you can say anything without fear of judgment. Conversation comes easier with him, like this.

“How do you feel about it?”

“The album?” He asks.

You shrug. “Everything.”

“I’m very nervous,” Hoseok answers immediately with a bright peal of laughter, squeezing your hand again for emphasis. “I’m working really hard but… it all feels like uncharted territory. It’s so different to do it alone.”

His eyes jump from studio door to studio door as he leads you down the hallway. “I don’t know if people are going to like this side of me or the things I have to say. I don’t know if anyone will still care now that it’s just me. And ugh, I’m so unsure about the music festival. I’ve never done a whole show on my own before. I practice so much every day and I still don’t know if I can do it. Or if it will be any good.”

When he stops you outside of the final door at the end of the hallway, he seems to remember himself. “Wow, look at me. You were probably only being polite and I threw so much at you. This is just what goes around in my head. Every day and every night.”

“You sound stressed,” you say softly.

Hoseok purses his lips for a second. “I guess. I just really want to do well. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I would– what?”

It isn’t until he asks the question, regarding you with a confused expression, that you realize you’re shaking your head. The smile that has crept across your face is a mixture of disbelief and appreciation.

“I’m sorry,” you’re practically laughing. “Please, keep going.”

“No, no, what is that face?”

You chew on the corner of your lip, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “I just… I don’t want to dismiss your concerns, because I absolutely understand all of them. And I would be shitting a brick, no question. But you…” Hoseok’s eyes widen a little as you pause, drinking him in, the way concern tugs down the corners of his mouth. “You just have no idea. No idea what it’s like to watch you from out here. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

He pauses as if to consider your words. “What do you see?”

You don’t even have to think about the answer. It feels as steady and honest as the beat of your heart behind your ribs. “I see a fucking star. I see somebody who was born to do exactly what he’s doing. And, I mean, I think being nervous is a good thing, and I don’t say this to try and invalidate how you’re feeling at all. But I don’t see any possible future where you don’t succeed, Hoseok. It’s just... not an option. You’re going to get up there and kill it, I know you are. Because it’s you.”

Hoseok’s hand slips out of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his palms as he presses them to your waist to pull you close. Anticipation sparks through you. His eyes search yours intently, like he’s looking for something. “You really feel that way?”

“Completely. There’s no doubt in my mind.” Your gaze drops to his mouth, the way his full lips are parted slightly, and it occurs to you that maybe you’re talking about more than one thing now. “It feels predestined, to me… I don’t know. Inevitable.”

Hoseok makes a soft noise as he continues to close the distance between you. “Inevitable?” You tilt your chin up towards him, every cell in your body humming. “Like this?”

The way he kisses you is so gentle and sweet, you swear your heart leaps into your throat. You allow a second, maybe two, to move your mouth against his and get lost in it, and then you force yourself to break away, your mind reeling.

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“Hoseok,” you murmur, eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to navigate the discomfort of being vulnerable. “I– you should know that I really, really like you.”

“Really?”

The shock in his voice makes your eyes snap open again, and you can’t help but make a face of utter disbelief. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t realize how other people see me. You’re actually very hard to read.” Hoseok slips one hand off of your waist to push down on the door handle behind you, then gestures for you to step through. He keeps talking as he follows in after you, letting the door shut behind him. “I second-guess myself all the time with you. Jimin is so fucking tired of hearing about it.”

“Wow,” you say dumbly. “I had no idea.”

“You didn’t even text me back about tonight! I had no idea if you were coming.”

You start to laugh as the realization washes over you: you’d been so busy sighing forlornly and stressing about what to wear, you’d forgotten to actually reply to his messages.

“Okay, this time was actually an accident. But…” You sweep your gaze over his studio, trying to think. “I don’t know, I just always feel like I’m bothering you. Your life is so big and important. Even now: you should be upstairs being the star of your own party. Not down here with me.”

Hoseok shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want to talk to anyone up there the way I want to talk to you. I was such a wreck today when you didn’t answer.”

You can’t believe what he’s saying, even as he takes a step in towards you, his mouth invitingly close to yours again. “Why? I am quite literally the least important person on the guestlist.”

“Because,” Hoseok pauses for a second, then sighs. “I like you, and I was scared that you’d decided not to come, when I…” He’s practically grinning, and the tell of his scrunched up nose makes you realize– he’s embarrassed. “I threw this whole party just to have an excuse to see you.”

Your jaw drops open. “You what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

“Hobi.” You both start to laugh as you stare in disbelief, trying to process the most ridiculous statement you’ve ever heard in your life. “You could have just called me.”

“I tend to overthink these things.”

He’s close enough that you barely have to move to slide your hands up his chest and grip the lapels of his white button-down.

“I think I can help with that,” you murmur, and then you tug him back down into a kiss that makes your head spin.

The sweet nervousness of your first kiss has been replaced with urgency now, Hoseok’s mouth moving over yours like he’s hungry for it. You tug gently on your fistfuls of his shirt to move him towards you, stumbling backwards until you find purchase against the door of the studio.

Hoseok moves skillfully, tongue licking into your mouth while one of his strong thighs shifts to tease your legs apart and press between them. The quick succession of the two is enough to make your breath hitch, and it seems to encourage him more. The rough denim of his jeans grinds into your center, and your already-short dress has ridden up enough that the pressure drags hot sparks right over your core.

Your jaw goes slack as your focus slips, and you tip your head back against the door with a soft whine, circling your hips for more friction. “Fuck, Hoseok.”

His lips drop down to the exposed skin of your neck. The warmth of his mouth has your back arching, your nipples rubbed into stiff peaks under the thin fabric you couldn’t wear a bra with.

“You look so fucking good tonight,” Hoseok groans. “Driving me crazy in this little dress.”

There’s the soft brush of a hand on your thigh, and he teases the hem of your dress up higher and higher as your hips keep moving; his tongue darts out to lick a languid stripe over your collarbone. His other hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast over satin, deftly rolling the bud of your nipple between his long fingers, pinching with just enough pressure to coax a moan out of you.

“I like the sounds you make. Don’t want you to be shy with me.” Hoseok murmurs over your skin before he starts to suck deliberately at your neck, right on your pulse point. You couldn’t stifle the sound his mouth pulls from you even if you wanted to.

With all your attention drawn to grinding your clit against his leg and the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, your grip on the fabric of his shirt has loosened. Moving in a haze of pleasure, your hands fumble at his denim jacket, attempting to push it down his shoulders. Hoseok pulls back slightly when he realizes what you’re doing, though his fingers still lazily squeeze at your nipple.

“Let me just– hang on–” Hoseok untangles himself from you entirely with a sheepish grin, and you take the moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving in shallow breaths. You can feel the way your panties are soaked through as you press your thighs together, desperate for continued friction.

He’s moving quickly as he slips out of his oversized jacket and button down beneath it. You can clearly see the wheels in his head turning as he lays the pieces over the back of his desk chair, then immediately scrunches his face up as if to think better of it.

“Agh, sorry, sorry, one second–” Hoseok shakes out the jacket, then the shirt, folding both in quick yet precise succession before stacking the neat rectangles together and gently setting them on the small couch next to his desk.

Even in the dim studio lighting you can see his face is flushed pink with embarrassment as he returns to press you back against the door.

“I just– I don’t want wrinkles,” he says softly, and you’re very grateful that you no longer have to suppress the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him.

“I like you so much,” you giggle into his mouth, and it’s punctuated with a squeak when his hands slide down to firmly grab your ass. The fabric of your dress is so thin that it hardly feels like it’s there at all.

Hoseok must have the same thought, because he releases his grip only for as long as it takes to push the skirt of your dress up over your ass; now there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin when he squeezes you again.

“Like you,” he agrees, his voice husky. “Want to taste you.” Your core aches for his touch, clenches around nothing when he releases his grip and cracks a hand over the soft flesh of your asscheek.

“Please, Hobi.”

You find his mouth with yours again for a needy taste of a kiss, tongues sliding together. Your arms wrap around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer.

In one swift move he presses you flush against the door, and his hands slip to hitch your legs over his waist before moving back to your ass, hoisting your hips up to properly straddle him. You whimper at the grind of his erection through his jeans, right over your rubbed-sensitive center, and at the thought that he could fuck you just like this, up against this door.

Hoseok’s mouth doesn’t leave yours as he turns and carries you the short distance across the room, hands sliding to your hips so he can set you down on the desk. His lips are full and kiss-bitten red when he pulls back to look at you, pupils blown dark with lust.

“Sure this is okay?”

You meet his gaze, reaching up to dust strands of hair out of his eyes. His mouth chases the heel of your hand so he can press those soft lips into the center of your palm, chaste and sweet.

“It’s so much more than okay,” you murmur.

He’s smiling as he leans forward for another kiss, only pulling back to press his forehead to yours once you’re both breathless. “I have wanted to do this for so fucking long. You have no idea.”

His hands hook under the backs of your thighs to scoot you gently forward until you’re perched at the very edge of his desk, and then he sinks to his knees. Your legs that were slipped around his waist find new purchase thrown over his shoulders and you tense a little when your high heels scrape over his back.

“I can take these off,” you start, but he’s already shaking his head as his palms encourage your thighs apart.

“I like it.”

You’re nearly gasping for breath with anticipation as his long fingers slip under the band of your panties and you lift your hips up so he can pull them down. You manage to extract one leg to drape back over his shoulders, leaving the lacy fabric to dangle off the other as you open up for him.

Hoseok’s thumbs press to either side of your pussy, gently spreading your lips apart to admire how soaked you already are. Anyone else examining you like this would have you squirming away self-consciously, but there’s just something about Hoseok that’s different. You want him to know every part of you fully, intimately.

“God, you are so gorgeous.” His breath is hot over your skin, makes your cunt tighten needily as if to beckon him closer.

You lean back to brace your forearms on the desk behind you and Hoseok’s gaze jumps up to meet yours. He doesn’t drop eye contact as he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to your slit, both of you groaning at the contact.

His mouth moves just as it did against yours, and you let your eyes flutter closed as pleasure sears through you like a hot knife. Hoseok grunts a little, low in his throat when he adds tongue to his kisses, licking softly but deliberately to part your slick folds.

“Hobi,” you whine, rolling your hips up into him as he starts to apply more pressure with his tongue. “Fuck, ah, feels so good.”

Hoseok pulls off of you with a throaty gasp, like maybe he was so focused on eating you out that he didn’t quite remember to keep breathing. When you look down at him, his lips are wet and glossy, spread in a wide smile. “You taste so fucking good.”

You don’t even have time to ask for more before he’s hooking his biceps around your thighs and tugging your hips towards him, pulling you even closer to bury his face between your legs. This time he licks a stripe straight up to your swollen clit, pulling the bud into his mouth to suck on.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, digging your nails into the desk beneath you as sparks shoot through you and your clit twitches in his mouth.

Hoseok hums steadily around you, as if to once again encourage you to be vocal. He starts to nod his head as he sucks, his nose pressed flush against your pubic bone. Your hips fall in time with his rhythm, grinding back down on him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. “Shit, Hobi.” Your voice catches on a dazed, disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”

He doesn’t let up, squeezing his grip on your thighs that much tighter when you start to quiver beneath him. Your arousal coils tight and hot in your core as he works more not-so-shy noises out of you, breathy moans, needy whines.

You cling desperately to the edge of his desk, teetering equally on the edge of your own release. The wet slick wash of his tongue is lush, decadent, lapping at your clit between pulses of suction, and it’s all too fucking much.

“Yes, Hoseok, fuck!”

You cry out, your heels digging into the hard plane of Hoseok’s back as he works an intense, shuddering orgasm out of you. Your cunt throbs over and over as you come, a rush of arousal painting the crux of your thighs.

When you catch your breath it’s in uneven, shaky gasps, and the movement of your hips sharpens into jolts as you become hypersensitive to Hoseok’s mouth. He releases you almost reluctantly, still hovering close, continuing to dart his tongue out to gently lick up your folds.

“I don’t want to stop,” he says with a shy, blossoming laugh, the light catching the shine of his lips and chin when he glances up at you.

You’re dazed, beyond blissed out, unable to believe that any of this is real. You like him so much.

“Can I keep going?”

Just that sentence is enough to make you tighten all over again with anticipation. “I–” you laugh a little too despite yourself. “I want that. But I think my clit needs a second.”

Hoseok’s touch is featherlight as he circles a digit lower, over your entrance, as if to ask permission. “What about here?” Your pussy lips twitch even under so gentle a touch, but you ache for more; you like that it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah, yes. There, please, fuck,” you babble. He’s added a second finger to tease now, and you whimper when they finally press together into your sensitive cunt.

Hoseok is watching his fingers intently, and you can hear the way your pussy squelches as he pumps them slowly, can feel the tremors of your orgasm still shuddering through you, causing slick to drip from your center. You can only imagine what his view must be like, how you must look: dripping, needy, trembling for him, fingers gripping the desk and head lolling back.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, and then he dips his head down to lap below your entrance, tasting the juices that have leaked out of you. He pulls back to smack his other hand over your whole cunt, light enough that you barely feel the tap, but just the visual of it makes you squirm beneath him.

“So cute,” he smiles. His fingers rub circles into your front wall, becoming more insistent, and you breathe in shaky waves as you start to grip tightly around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, letting your eyes drop closed. Arousal blossoms through you like a heavy weight, your second climax already building, when you feel his other hand cup the join of your ass and thigh.

A soft whimper spills out of you as Hoseok starts to massage below your entrance, thumb working at a new bundle of nerves, like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s pleasure that makes you hot all over, makes the muscles in your legs shiver and tense when it’s paired with the crook of his fingers still working your pussy.

“Fuck,” you pant, “Hobi, what are– that feels so–” You’re starting to lose a grip on your words, sentences going incoherent as your head spins. It’s hard to think over all the sensation, the way your body is lit up like a live wire, and the sound of your cunt gushing around him as he fucks into your g-spot.

“Has anyone touched you here before?” He asks softly, thumb tapping at the thin bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. His head dips down for a chaste kiss there, then a second, adding a languid lap of tongue.

“N-no,” you whimper, toes curling in your shoes as he continues to drag his tongue over this delicate, sensitive place. “Keep going.”

Hoseok pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting him to you, and he lets it loose with a swipe of his hand over his mouth. His fingers slip out of you as he pairs a question with a smile. “Turn over for me?”

Your legs would be shaking even if you weren’t in fancy party heels, and you do your best to be graceful as you unsteadily spin, one arm keeping the fabric of your dress hiked up over your hips.

“Brace yourself on the desk,” Hoseok instructs, and you do, leaning forward until your stomach and forearms are flush with the wood, your bare ass hanging off the desk, presented for him. You spread your legs apart again and can feel the way your pussy drools arousal down your thighs. “That’s it,” he coaxes.

His fingers massage firmly into the flesh of your asscheeks, and your back arches up as you groan at the feeling. He spreads you just a little, enough for cool air to tease at your slick center; your hips wiggle towards him on instinct.

“Pretty back here, too,” he murmurs. “Tell me how it feels, okay? Won’t do it if you don’t like it.”

You clench for him in both places, even your fists grip tight in the fabric of your dress. “I’ll like it. Please, baby.”

“Baby,” Hoseok repeats back with a shy exhale. “I like that. I like you.” He leaves a sweet kiss pressed halfway up your thigh.

“Hobi–” you choke out a whine of his name as his breath ghosts over you, hands still firmly keeping you spread. His tongue returns to your perineum again, licking a hot, slow stripe that keeps moving up, up, until you feel the tease of warmth and wetness over your ass. “Oh, fuck.”

You’re so sensitive here, just the lightest drag of his tongue over your rim makes you moan, feet kicking listlessly as pleasure shudders through you.

“It’s good–” you manage to whimper, voice muffled slightly as your forehead drops against the desk, too, your whole body pinned down by his mouth. “–ngh, really good, Hobi.” Your cunt throbs when he does it again, as he falls into a consistent pace of long, steady laps that set off fireworks behind your eyes.

The ache in your core begs for touch, friction, and you oblige needily, tucking a hand under the weight of your hips pressed into the desk, a sweat-slicked palm for your mouth-wet clit.

Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. It’s only for a second that he pulls off of you, but you whine at the loss of his tongue, sated slightly by the gentle brush of his lips over the small of your back. “Gonna get yourself off while I eat you out?”

You grind a circle down with your hips, hissing at the white-hot pulse against your hand. “Yes, baby, please.”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement to dive back in, fingers gripping harder to spread you and tongue licking deliberately, tracing patterns that work more arousal out of your pussy. You’re unraveling fast from humping against your palm, hips jolting forward to make your clit twitch and backwards to press towards Hoseok’s mouth.

You’re already wound so tight that you’re too desperate for words, reduced instead to little breathless gasps– “ah, ahh”– as you speed up the rub of your hand, your hips. Hoseok’s tongue never falters, firm pressure laved over and over your sensitive, flexing ass.

With a soft hum of effort, you feel him press a little harder, tongue barely dipping in past your tight ring of muscle, and the sweet stretch of it is the final push you need.

You roll your clit just right over your palm a final time and then you’re shaking and moaning as everything starts to pulse. The all-over clench pushes a fresh wave of fluid from your cunt, rolling down the backs of your thighs, fat droplets of arousal that Hoseok chases with sloppy kisses as the waves of your orgasm shudder through you.

It takes a moment before you can say anything, do anything, limbs too heavy and brain too fucked-out dumb. You do your best to slide gracefully off the desk, but your legs shake with aftershocks that betray you, and you stumble.

Hoseok is quick to wrap his arms around you and guide your hips down to the floor next to him. You collapse in a heap of giggles, him tangled over your waist, the skirt of your dress still pushed up, your bare ass on his studio carpet.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok laughs, and you bury your face in the fabric of his tank top as an answer, not convinced your coherency has returned to you yet.

“Too good,” you murmur, words slurring. “Fucked me too good.”

“You’re so hot.” You can tell he’s blushing just by the tone of his voice, and you start to come to a little, slow-blinking back to reality and rolling over to look up at him. His dark eyes shine as he smiles. You don’t want to come all the way down from this dazed, happy place yet, you realize, and you curl a finger into the loop of his jeans, tugging him closer.

“My turn.” Your hands start to fumble to undo his belt buckle. His jeans are oversized, but not enough to obscure the print of his hard cock pressed against his thigh.

“Let me take you home,” he says softly, running a fingertip along your jaw. “This should be– I want you to be comfortable. I want it to feel good.”

“It all feels good,” you say earnestly, sitting up to tug at the button of his jeans, undeterred. “And you can take me home. But you’ve been so good to me, Hobi.” You manage to work his fly open, and you lift your gaze to meet him. “Let me be good to you.”

You resume your work, wriggling Hoseok’s jeans down his thighs until his hands cover yours and he takes over, stripping himself of his shoes as well. He reaches back between his shoulder blades to pull his tank top over his head, and your eyes sweep over his body, taking in his lithe figure and smooth, hard muscles. You trail the tips of your fingers down the defined lines of his chest.

“Fuck,” Hoseok starts to smile self-consciously, one hand drifting over his dick straining against tight black briefs with a slightly darker spot in the center where he’s left a kiss of precum on the fabric. “I don’t have any condoms here.”

You sit up on your knees in front of him, considering this. “Use my mouth.” The high of your orgasm has subsided enough now that you’re not quite shameless anymore, and heat blooms in your face as you continue. “Like, fuck my throat.”

He tries and fails to suppress a groan, and his delicate hands reach to cup either side of your face, thumbs rubbing circles into the hinge of your jaw. “You–” he laughs softly. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I mean it,” you say simply.

“But you really want to?”

You nod, half play-acting your shyness now, letting your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. “I’ve done it before. I like it.”

“Fuck,” Hoseok breathes. “I want to do everything you like.”

“Please?” You ask sweetly, and Hoseok is already getting to his feet, one hand still cupping your jaw.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So pretty when you beg to suck my cock.” You’re smiling, your fingers slipping under his waistband to slide his briefs down his legs.

“Take your dress off, baby,” Hoseok instructs as he steps back to finish pulling off his underwear. “Don’t wanna ruin it.”

You do as you’re told, staying on your knees to pull it over your head, your heart squeezing again when he takes it from you and treats it as gently as his own clothes. It’s oddly domestic to watch him fold the smooth fabric with shaking hands, naked except for his jewelry, his hard dick leaking against his stomach.

When he turns back to you, you take the opportunity to properly admire him. His cock is as flushed and gorgeous as the rest of him, thick and dripping wet from his tip. You duck down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under his head, then slide your lips up to gloss over his slit, slicking your mouth with his precum.

You look up at him, hands gripping the backs of his thighs; Hoseok’s eyelids are heavy with lust as he watches you work, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth. He groans a little as you pop just the head into your mouth and swirl your tongue over it, tasting the salt of him.

His hand slides to the back of your head, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows.

“Tap my foot if you need to stop.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet but firm, and his socked toes wiggle, brushing against your knee pressed into the carpet. “Okay?”

You hum your acknowledgement and maintain eye contact as he holds you still and slides his cock into your mouth. He starts off at a gentle pace, and you hollow your cheeks around him, pressing your tongue flat so it drags over his shaft as he starts to pump in and out of you.

As much as you want him in control, there’s a part of you that can’t help yourself– you lean forward, eyes fluttering closed, wanting to prove to him how much you can take. The head of his cock starts to stretch down your throat and you focus on breathing steady through your nose, your muscles jumping around him in a half-swallow.

“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, his voice dark and rough-edged. You can feel drool starting to leak out of your mouth, and the mess just makes it better. “You take it so well.”

His hips keep rolling, withdrawing his cock into the heat of your mouth only to push it back down the tight clutch of your throat. It gets easier as he starts to move faster, the weight of him pressing bright on your gag reflex in shorter and shorter bursts. It’s just enough to make tears well up in your eyes. They eventually spill over, staining your cheeks until your face is slick and wet, like the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat, all of it obscene and hot.

The hand in your hair tightens as he pulls you all the way down on his shaft until your nose is flush with his abdomen and your throat bulges, filled with him. He holds you there, eyes roaming hungrily over your face.

“You look so sweet with my cock down your throat, baby.”

The hum of agreement you try makes you gag a little, and he quickly releases, pulling out to let you gasp for air. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you smile up at him, dazed, and catch your breath.

“Was that too much?” His brows pinch together slightly with concern. You wipe a hand over your nose and shake your head.

“I want more, Hobi,” you purr, moving your face back towards his dick. You lean forward to lazily drag your tongue up his shaft for emphasis. “Want you to come on my face,” you admit as you fix your gaze on him.

You swear you feel his knees almost buckle when you take him in your mouth again.

“You are so fucking sexy,” Hoseok practically growls, hand returning to the nape of your neck. He pushes himself back down your throat and starts to pick up the pace. You want him all and take it easily now, drool slicking your neck and chest when you swallow around his length.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, and you can feel his cock twitch on your tongue as he fucks roughly into your mouth, chasing his orgasm. “Oh my god.”

Hoseok’s grip on your hair goes slack and he pulls out, hand pumping fast over his drool-glossed cock. He tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat with a heady whine when he starts to come. You’re up on your knees and ready for it, nose bumping his fist, face presented for him to paint. Warm spurts of cum hit your cheeks, tongue, lips, and you giggle a little as you try to hold still, as he makes another throaty grunt of effort and release.

“Shit,” he hisses as the movements of his hand slow, as he works out the last of it, stray drips already trailing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts. “Fuuuck.” His breathing is ragged, and you press a wet kiss to the tip of his dick as he recovers.

He’s clearly already focused on the mess he’s made of you, spinning in a dazed semi-circle before reaching to grab a box of tissues off of the desk. His bare knees thud on the carpet as he sinks down next to you.

You’re surprised when he leans in to kiss you, humming softly against your mouth, tongue even darting out to lick at the cum that drips off your lips. You smile into it, teeth gently grazing over his bottom lip.

“Hi,” he huffs a laugh as he leans back. “Was that okay? Not too much?”

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you say again, though your voice comes out a little hoarse. “Wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t. I like you. I–” your breath hitches slightly with nerves, and it’s funny to you, that it’s easy to ask him to fuck your throat, but hard to talk about the bigger feelings underneath. It’s more intimate, somehow, to be earnest. “You always worry so much about everyone else. I just want to take care of you.”

“You can.” Hoseok’s voice is gentle and warm. “We both can.” He pulls a tissue loose from the box, hovering close to you. “Let me clean you up.”

You’re too blissed out to stop yourself from giggling. “You have a whole party to get back to.” You nod dumbly at the verity of your own statement as he uses tissues to wipe cum and drool off your face, tear stains and smudged makeup from your cheeks.

“This,” he swipes a thumb down over your bottom lip, chases it with another quick kiss, “was so much better than a fucking party.” He adds the last of the dampened tissues to the small pile he’s made on the floor, tilting your jaw with his hand to inspect his work, to ensure perfection as he does with everything. “But I probably don’t have much longer before people start looking for me.”

“You should go,” you say quietly, trying to ignore the drop in your stomach.

His hand slips into yours for the second time tonight. “Will you come with me? I know it’s not really your thing.”

You falter momentarily– not because you don’t want to, but you can’t shake your own self-consciousness, this sense that you don’t belong here, rubbing elbows with all these famous people. But it’s hard to feel like any of that matters with the way Hoseok is looking at you, the soft turn of his lips in a barely-there smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” He gives your hand an affirming squeeze. “Do I need to remind you that this entire party is literally for you?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his antics despite the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “I still can’t believe you. What is this, The Great Gatsby?”

His laugh is high and sweet, hand untangling from yours to wrap both arms around your waist, and he pulls you into his chest, bare skin on bare skin, hearts beating together. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Hobi,” you relent. “I’ll go back with you. Besides, Jimin promised to feed me.”

You can feel Hoseok’s smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on, then. I promise it’ll be fun. If we get Jungkook drunk enough he’ll probably start dancing on the stage.”

“Now that I have to see.”

#hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #hoseok x y/n

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