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angled-blade · 1 year

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Being childhood friends with the Slashers

Slashers; Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer, Ghostface (Billy Loomis + Stu Macher), Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers (OG + RZ), Thomas Hewitt

To think that you were so close with them, it’s almost as if it weren’t coincidental.

• Billy Lenz

You only recall Billy as one of the only friends you had who had been so willing to try out all the weird dares back in middle school. You were fond of his strange antics, as it made you giggle at times. You kept his secrets as well, pinky promising him. Billy was really happy that day, his small hand holding yours the whole time. You never really thought you’d ever interact with him again after he had been pulled from public schooling altogether.

—

“___… ___’s here! Billy’s gotta call.. Right? Right! ___’s coming here!” Billy whispered under his breath, barely able to contain himself as he picked up the rotary right as you stepped inside the sorority home. He saw you from the attic window, your appearance remarkably the same, in which he identified in an instant. It made him giddy.

“Hello?” A voice responded. Someone that wasn’t you. Billy began to scream, his screams were calling for you all while he was simultaneously insulting the person on the other end. You were concerned, though you held the phone to your ear when one of the girls handed it to you teary eyed before exiting.

You didn’t expect to hear someone blabbering expletives and curses on the other end as he signed off with the name, ‘Billy’. What you didn’t expect was to recognise that voice, no matter how loud and unintelligible it was.

“Billy.. Billy..” That was when you realised, shock overtaking you. “Is that really you, Billy?” You murmured. You looked around the room nervously, though you were relieved that nobody was around.

“___!” He cheered, repositioning himself on his stomach as his kicked his legs. He was absolutely delighted to know you still remembered him, a coo escaping him.

• Bubba Sawyer

You had known the Sawyers since you were little, your family having been quite close with them as your father had been working at the same slaughterhouse as they did. With the automation of the slaughterhouse, your parents decided to move in response to it, much to your protests that went ignored. After moving away, contact with them began to lessen and got a lot more harder—though you missing them had gotten a whole lot more bigger, especially for Bubba. He was always so kind to you.

—

You didn’t expect your visit through the heart of Texas to have you running into the man you missed.

You saw that Bubba had been maskless, washing his face and his bloodied arms in the pond, maybe he was finished with butchering meat. The pond tugged at your heartstrings, seeing that it was where he and you always went to whenever your parents were busy.

“Bubba!” You hollered his name, your voice startling him at first. When he saw you, he was quick in running over to you. His pig-like squeals were amplified, wrapping his arms around you tightly. To the average person, those sounds from him would be unnerving—but you found it a familiar sort of assurance.

• Ghostface

• Billy Loomis

Billy was initially distant with you when you tried to talk to him at school, though he crawled back to you at the end of the day, shyly asking to be your friend in school. He would excitedly talk to you about movies, more specifically action. You reciprocated by rambling about the movies you’ve watched, too. Billy became something of a quiet protector, though, you two were already difficult to tear from one another in the first place, as it resulted in Billy being petty in the ways he sought for your attention. This friendship continued on until you made it to Woodsboro High, Billy making sure to keep his eye on you as he continued on with his plan.

—

Billy patted at the seat beside him, a smug smile across his features as he began to eat at his sandwich. You followed suit, setting down the books you had been holding onto from the previous class.

“How’s Mrs. Lake? She any good of a teacher?” Billy asked, chuckling at the sight of you huffing in frustration.

“Don’t even talk about it.. Anything you up to tonight?” You changed the subject, Billy catching onto it quickly, having known you for a long while. He nodded, a smile appearing now.

“I’m going to make a call tonight, nothing much, really.”

After answering, Billy returned to his sandwich after doing so, ending the conversation right after.

• Stu Macher

Stu had been dubbed as a problematic child long before you were even enrolled into the school. From what was honestly meant to be a day long interest in the new kid, Stu found himself quickly getting attached to you. He honestly craved the fact that you readily accepted him as he was and helped him focus on class in that really gentle way you did. Imagine his reaction when he heard the news that the school had offered you to be his aid in class, with you accepting it in a heartbeat? He was absolutely ecstatic. This arrangement continued until you two were in Woodsboro High, that fact itself had him quietly grateful.

—

“Uh, hey ___?” You hummed softly, indicating to him that you were listening. His tone alone already had you knowing what it was that he wanted. You quickly passed him your notes for him to copy down.

Stu smiled wide, patting your back as he always did. You knew that he couldn’t help the fact that he struggled finding ways to focus, so you always made sure to keep things easy for him to understand and recognise. By then, you always got the news from Stu as he boasted about the grades he had improving significantly.

“Andddd.. It’s all thanks to you~” Stu cooed, hugging you gently—which was uncharacteristic, but it showed how grateful he was.

• Jason Voorhees

You were practically attached to the hip with Jason, having been promoted to being his buddy throughout the time you were in camp. You didn’t mind it all. You met him purely by accident, being far more interested at the drawings he made at the bench that was behind the mess hall. Jason’s mother saw you, and the rest was history. You didn’t understand what was it with the others attending camp, but you made sure to protect him whenever you could from those bullies. You were pulled away from camp due to complications that you never knew. You honestly felt heartbroken when you found out what really happened.

—

Years passed.

No matter how long it had been, you couldn’t help but feel as if you failed Jason.

You shed many tears for him once you found out. If only you weren’t sick on that day, you could have stopped those cruel kids from throwing him in.

Here you were, resting white chrysanthemums on the bridge, right by the spot where it happened. It was quiet, as you would have expected, really.

You were startled by the sight of a hulking man donning a hockey mask as he stared at you.

What you didn’t expect was him dropping to his knees as if he didn’t want to intimidate you.

• Michael Myers

• ’78/OG

OG clung onto you similarly to a cat with a toy trapped in its jaws, unwilling to let go. His possessiveness over you was as prominent as it could possibly appear, making sure that he scared away the boys and girls who shyly came up to you in an attempt to play. You were his only playmate, never to play with another unless you wanted to betray him. That fact remained prevalent even after the incident on Halloween, due to your aura seeming unwelcoming to others ever since that day onwards.

—

You watched the news, overwhelmed with emotion as you read the headline over and over.

MICHAEL AUDREY MYERS: ‘EVIL INCARNATE’ PATIENT BREAKS OUT FROM SMITH’S GROVE SANATORIUM AFTER DECADE-LONG DORMANCY

“After all this time, you decide on escaping now.” You murmured, checking the calender. You sighed quietly at the coincidence. You felt a presence behind you a good few feet away, feeling eyes on your back. Having known Michael for as long as you did, a small smile now formed on your face.

“How fitting for you. Welcome home, Michael.” You whispered, turning around to face your friend after so long.

• RZ

RZ didn’t expect to make friends, seeing how it was his family that had him endure terrible treatment at school. He was surprised that you became someone who he felt protective over, being sure to keep an ear out for anybody who dare speak ill of you. While his size was puny in comparison to the other boys at school, he sure knew how to torment someone. RZ often pulled mean pranks, even going far to put his hobby of photography into the mix of the student’s bags. He even made sure to get the most gruesome shots to creep them out further. They stopped after a while, and he was never really caught per say… until that fateful night of Halloween, of course.

—

You didn’t know if it was purely by luck, but Michael found you as he basked in the aftermath of his murder spree. You were heading home, feeling eyes on you. You shivered, assuming it was due to a heightened paranoia ever since Michael had been taken away to the sanatorium.

You returned home, placing your keys on the side table. It was once you heard the back door creak open did you whip your head in its direction. Before you stood a man in a boiler suit who donned a white rubber mask. You remembered it all too well, knowing how it was one of a kind.

One thing that you knew especially was that mask your Michael wore on that Halloween night.

“Michael..” You muttered, his hand grabbed at his mask. He removed it, unveiling the long hair that he hid under it, further proving your statement. He stepped forward, his hand out for you to take.

• Thomas Hewitt

You were extremely close with the Hewitts, despite your parents warning you that it wasn’t for the best to form attachments; especially with people and places that aren’t permanent. You went ahead and did it anyway, being friends with Thomas Hewitt. He was the youngest of the Hewitt family and you learnt that he was really skillful with his hands in sewing. When you left you given Luda Mae your number for him to take. In exchange, he gave you a handmade handkerchief as his own version of goodbye to you right before you left, which made you cry on the spot. You kept in touch with him regularly as you moved, your relationship with him remaining as close as ever despite the distance.

—

“Guess what, Tommy!” You said, holding the phone closer to your ear as you felt your excitement course through you.

A grunt of curiosity escaped him, allowing you to elaborate on your words. He was in his bedroom, his head tilted to the right to avoid holding the phone as he sewed.

“I’m passing through Texas for something. Do you know what it means, Tom?” You asked giddily, your voice airy and light—indicating your elation. Thomas perked up at that, a few chuffs from him as if he wasn’t sure about it entirely, but a good feeling began to form.

“I’m going to meet—no, I’ll be meeting you soon!” You answered, unable to keep it quiet any longer.

Thomas paused on his sewing, making sure he heard that right.

“We’re finally going to be able to catch up face to face after—how long has it been? Ah, it’s been so long…” You sighed as you moved on to ramble what you could do.

With that confirmation, Thomas reacted with his foot thumping against the wooden flooring excitedly.

Sure, Hoyt was annoyed, but Thomas couldn’t care in that moment.

Notice anything different with the blog?

Asks are open! :D Please refer to my pinned post before making an ask, thank you!

Thank you again for reading this, please reblog!!

I hope you enjoyed this post, have a wonderful day/night!! (:

#billy lenz x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #jason voorhees x reader #michael myers x reader #og michael myers x reader #rz michael myers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #black christmas x reader #texas chainsaw massacre x reader #ghostface x reader

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nightraiderwrites · 26 days

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The Implications of an Unlocked Door

The nature of dreams.

Tws: unreality, explicit descriptions of violence -.-.-

The dream starts on a train.

It’s one of the trains that are used for local transportation; rides across a city or a town. The people who ride it are ordinary. Students, yawning off a night of study. Office workers, struggling to stay awake, balancing a coffee in hand. Old men, on their way to the gambling hole. Women on their way to the market.

To you, there is a crowd in a train, and this is a perfectly normal dream. Slowly, you take it in. The train moves over a bridge, and the sun rises out the window. Someone has spilled coffee on the floor. You can smell it. The seats are old.

The train rolls into a dark tunnel. Overhead, lights flicker on weakly, washing the compartment in dim white light.

This is, you think, a nice dream. A different world, a different time, where things are normal.

It’s in a split second of darkness when you see him. As the lights flicker, throwing the train car in pitch black, you see his eyes. Deep, ominous red.

You shudder involuntarily. This is a dream, you remind yourself. He cannot hurt you here. You are safe.

The tips of his hair are blue. There are deep bags under his eyes. His hands are hidden.

This is a dream, you remind yourself. You do not know how you know it is a dream, but it must be.

The train rumbles on. Above, the automated voice announces the next stop.

“I love you,” he says, voice thick and raspy, and then you know it is a dream because he had never told you that and you know he would never say it.

“I love you,” he says again, and you hang on every word like it’s the last thing you’ll ever hear.

You had forgotten, the cadence of his voice. He did not speak for so long, and the first thing you forget about a person is the sound of their voice.

You take a step closer. He takes a step back.

The train slides out of the tunnel, the morning light flooding into the carriage. You blink at the sudden light, and he’s gone.

The dream starts in the plains.

Morning dew soaks the knees of your pants as your hands grip his throat. He isn’t doing anything to stop you. Why isn’t he doing anything? Why isn’t he crying out?

Blood is splattered over your arms. It stains the white of your shirt, and you press deeper, your wait digging into his chest. He reaches weakly for your wrist. Darkness creeps over your vision.

It’s taking so long for him to die, you note impatiently. You should just snap his neck.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You exhale.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His face is turning blue. Ice starts forming around you, solidifying the dew on the grass. It spreads around you, driving away everyone else, but not you. No, the ice never touches you.

He loves you. You love him too much to let the tender bones give way beneath your hands.

There is no world in which you kill him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His mouth moves. “Fal-”

Morning dew soaks into the back of your white shirt as his hands grip your throat.

You understand now, why he didn’t struggle. His weight presses into your chest, and you feel your ribs crack, a little.

The thing about being choked is that you can feel everything. There is air that does not enter your lungs and there are knees pinning your wrists to the floor. Wet dew seeps into your clothes. There is no more blood on your hands.

He’ll snap your neck. Any moment now, and he’ll do it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your hands move on instinct. Your wrists are pinned with his knees, yes, but your fingers can still touch his legs.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You love him. He still kills you.

The dream starts in front of a glowing purple portal.

Lizzie stands in front of you. “Alright,” she says. It’s obvious to you that she’s a cat wearing a mask, but maybe you shouldn’t point that out. “We’ve got a weird magic portal, so obviously the most logical thing to do is go through.”

Everyone nods, like this is a perfectly normal thing to do. You think it’s insane, but no one else disagrees.

Katherine and Shelby lock hands. They share a kiss before stepping through the swirling magic portal. You watch as Joel hugs Lizzie and kisses Sausage carefully before jumping in as well.

You’re the last to enter. You watch as Pix and Jimmy and all the others go through and your heart aches.

Something tugs at you as you are about to step through; a hand, maybe, someone with hands the same size as yours, and familiar enough to grasp your own like nothing else matters.

Don’t go, the person begs, because you are sure it is someone now. If you go, you’ll be changed forever.

There is nothing more terrifying than change. You had woken up in this world with bleeding wings and half empty memories, and the world has done nothing but change.

The portal hums, almost menacingly. Change is scary. You don��t want to change. You want to stay exactly the same, because if you change, you’ll never know who you are. You’ll never know who you were. You’ll never know who you could be.

So you don’t go through. No one will notice if you don’t, so you stay. You shake your head and turn away from the glowing portal, boots heavy on the unsteady wooden platform.

You step. Left foot, right foot, feeling like you have been unmoored.

The platform isn’t built well. There is no one to catch you when your foot goes through the splintered plank and submerges you into the river.

The dream starts with your hand resting over a familiar door knob.

You hesitate. It’s night time. When you walk in, you know that Tango will be waiting on the couch, and Pearl will be upstairs, Pix will be in his room or out in his swamp base, and Gem will be…

Gem will be gone.

You turn the handle. “Hey, Tango,” you say. No one replies.

The lights are on, but the house is empty. There is no one home.

Fire crackles, casting a soft glow over the wooden flooring. Four pairs of shoes are lined up where you left yours. There are no dishes in the sink.

You climb the rafters. The paper eagle- the one from god -is gone. Your shelf is bare, the satchel you had brought to this world, your spare knives and the threadbare blanket that you had folded this morning are all gone.

Gracefully, you tip backwards and fall silently to the floor. The house is quiet, deathly still, almost as if it's holding in a breath. You don’t like that. Dead houses don’t breathe.

You climb the stairs, struggling to find your way in the dark. There’s never really a reason for you to come here, other than calling Pearl to dinner or dragging Pix to bed, so the beautifully carved handrail feels unfamiliar in your grasp.

It’s cold. Despite the fire you know was running in the living room, chill clings to your fingers and your breath fogs your vision.

There is no way it should be this cold. The stairs are slippery with ice and frost covers your sleeves. Your movements are stiff as you step, joints creaking and squeaking. But you’re so close.

The landing is two or three steps away. Surely you can make that. How long have you been walking up for? It’s impossibly close.

Squeeze your eyes tight. Squeeze them so hard you feel a hot tear streak down your cheek and turn to ice. This house is not your prison. This house is not your home. This house is not your love.

When you open your eyes, you are on the landing. The cold is gone. It is no longer dark.

Sunlight fills the hallway. Golden light falls through the window, lighting your path to the room at the very end of the hall.

You have a feeling about who is waiting. You missed her so much.

At first, your steps are slow as you feel your feet on the hardwood below. In your lungs, it’s like breathing sunlight. The air is like honey.

But you can’t take it anymore. You break into a sprint, cheeks hurting from how wide you’re grinning. You shouldn’t let yourself hope it’s her, but you can’t help it.

The corridor shortens, and you stop, breathless. A sun is carved into the door, and the soft morning light makes the rays glow. This has to be a sign, right? It’s her. It’s her. It’s her.

God, why are you hoping? It never goes your way. Everything you hope for never happens. People betray you, they leave you or you leave them. Nothing you hope for ever happens.

Still. You really hope it's her.

Your hand hovers over the familiar door knob.

Take a breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s only opening a door.

It’s only a small change.

You grasp the knob and turn. It opens, easily, as if it was made to be opened. As if it was made to be changed.

The first thing you notice when you walk into the room is the light. Every nook and cranny is filled, and you can see everything. From the shrine of candles on a table to a small bed tucked in the corner of the room, everything is… gold.

She’s leaning against the windowsill, eyes closed with a smile curling on the edge of her lips. Her hands are folded in front of her, and her crown shines gold. Soft breaths rise and fall in her chest.

You don't… remember her ever looking so content. There was always sadness or stress or a glance at the future creasing her brow or pulling her mouth into a frown. She had always been burdened with destiny, and you had never been strong enough to lift it.

As you stop in the doorway, she opens her eyes and turns to you. They’re green, with little hints of purple. It makes you pause, unnerved.

“False,” she says. She opens her arms, wide. It’s been so long.

You can’t take it anymore. No more waiting. No more looking over your shoulder a missing presence. No more cold.

You crash into her, buying your head on her shoulder. “I missed you,” you mumble. You sniffle. It really has been so long.

Gem strokes your hair. “I know,” she says. “But you’ve been so brave. I’ve been gone, but you’ve been so brave.”

Tears start welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want to be brave anymore,” you sob. They streak down, hot and fast. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Her hand stills. You cling to her like you’ll drown if you let go. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Gem murmurs. It’s strange. It’s almost like she’s apologizing for leaving you alone. You start to panic.

You pull away, breathing hard. “Gem,” you say, shaky. The world feels unsteady under your feet. Nothing is golden anymore. “Are you leaving again?”

The sunlight drips away. From the bed to the candles to the door, flashing the sun at you the color bleaches, fading away. Even the color on that gets sucked in towards the center. Gem’s room pales in comparison to her, and she herself grows in color, vibrancy bursting from her figure.

Your hands are still on her shoulders. It burns.

“Gem,” you repeat, desperate. She keeps leaving. Nothing good ever lasts. You should know this by now. “Gem.”

The room is faded, like a toy left in the sun too long. All the color has been sucked dry, and Gem is the radiant sun.

She’s still smiling softly at you. You hate it. No, that can’t be right. You could never hate Gem. But how can she be standing there, smiling…?

“False,” she says. “My knight. My loyal soldier. But most importantly, my friend.” Your chest is heaving, and you cannot let her go. “You are a good sword,” Gem tells you. Her eyes flash - purple, gold, green, gold - but she smiles, carefree. “You are a good sword,” she repeats, “but you are an even greater friend. Don’t forget that, okay?”

It hurts to look at Gem. You want to shield your eyes, look away, protect yourself, but you’ve never been good at caring for yourself. She is your blazing sun, and you are a helpless little dog.

“Don’t go,” you beg. She takes your hands off her shoulders and holds them tight. It burns. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh False,” Gem says. The color in her eyes finally settle into a deep purple hue. Wings like the rays of the sun emerge from her back, and her robes flow like the ocean. Her crown glitters gold. A wry grin plays on her lips. “Don’t worry.” You can hear her heartbeat, like thunder.

It’s terrible.

“I’ll always be Watching.”

The dream starts on a train.

The sun sets over the horizon, throwing the city in front of it into a midnight silhouette. You sit in one of the seats. There is no one else in the carriage.

Someone had spilled coffee on the floor. Brown stains the grimy carriage floor, glistening wetly in the dying light. The seats are old.

You sit in one, observing the sun set. A soft orange glow makes everything feel warm. Unsteady. Unreal.

Your teeth rattle as the train rumbles on. In your chest, you feel your heart; ka-thud, ka-thud, ka-thud, assuring yourself that you are still alive.

Where is this train heading? You don’t know. All you know is the tracks seem to stretch forever, into eternity.

There are things to ponder. Your purpose, for example. If there is no one around, if there is no one to dedicate your life to, what are you even here for? Did you ever matter?

Maybe. Maybe you mattered. More likely you didn’t.

Who cares, anyway? You?

Sometimes, thoughts are not there to be listened to.

The train heads into a tunnel. The lights remain off, throwing the carriage into total darkness.

When you come out the other side, he appears on the other side of the seats, facing you. His face is clean. His hair is yellow. There are no bags under his eyes.

“Hello,” you say. Swallow. “How have you been?”

He stares. “Oh,” he replies. “Good.”

The silence stretches between you. What are you supposed to say? What is he supposed to say? There is nothing that can be said.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” you say. Curl your fingers into a fist. Your nails dig into your palm. A lie. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

Across the carriage, his lips curl into a smile. Do you remember the last time he smiled?

“I know,” he tells you, but you know he knows it’s a lie. Everyone always says you suck at lying. “You’ve been very brave.”

Now he’s echoing Gem’s words. Gem left, so is he leaving too? You force the tears and the panic down, and shove them into a little locked chest inside your heart.

You close your eyes, leaning sideways. Your head lands on his shoulder. His breaths, steady and deep, are a soothing rhythm. He grasps your hand.

“Can you stay, this time?” you ask quietly.

His breath hitches. “Okay,” he says.

The train rumbles on.

So the implications of an unlocked door is this: it is just a door until you try and open it. Then, it gains either the adjective “locked” or “unlocked”. This means if you describe the door as “unlocked” you have changed it in a fundamental way so as the door is not just a door, but a door that you have interacted with and changed.

Therefore, the implication of an unlocked door is that a person existed to unlock it. A person has existed to change the door in a way that allows for further expansion and development. The door would have remained a door even if no one had bothered to try and open it.

Nevertheless, the sheer fact that someone opened the door showed they care about it. The door cares about the person too. It stands strong and guards the house. It unlocks for the person, allowing them to enter the home and rest.

A door is just a door until you try and open it. At the same time, a life is just a life until someone else enters it.

-.-.-.-

Hi :)

#nightraider writes #lifesmpmafia #falsesymmetry #unreality #violence

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babygorewhore · 9 months

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Unknown caller. Tate Langdon smut.

You get a call from a familiar voice from a movie you watched last night. And you’re in for a exciting treat. WARNINGS! Fingering. Knife play. Mask Kink. Lemme know if y’all want a part two hehe.

Last fic of the day! But don’t worry. More are coming!

You were walking home from college, exhausted from your class in psychology today. Your phone rang, an unknown number came through but you answered anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hello, y/n.” The voice was changed, by some sort of automated voice. But you couldn’t help but notice it sounded weirdly like Ghostface. Which was weird. You just watched the movie with your boyfriend last night.

“Um. Hi? Who’s this?” You asked, crossing the street. Your house was a few blocks away but your pace slowed as you held the phone close to your ear.

“Oh. Nobody special. But you’re special. Y/n.” The voice replied. You squinted your eyes.

“Why’s that?”

“For many reasons. I’m sure your boyfriend thinks your special.” You almost smirked. Tate. You knew it was him. The little fucker was always up to something. But he gave himself away.

“Tate? Is that you?” You questioned. Silence met you and you laughed. “Funny. But I think you’re cutting it a little too close. I know it’s you.”

“Maybe. But maybe not. If you don’t want a knife against your neck, you’d be wise to answer a few questions.” Tate answered. Ghostface answered.

“What are your questions, ghostface?” You teased.

“Do you like being scared?” He asked. You kept walking. Your house growing closer.

“Sometimes. It depends on what’s on screen.”

“I think you’d enjoy the movie, scream. Scary men in masks. Tormenting innocent girls.” He challenged and you giggled.

“Oh? Like you?”

“Im not scary. Im just curious.” He teased. You hummed and made it to your front lawn. He could come out this far, the murder house allowing him this space of access but you didn’t want to ruin the fun right away.

“How did you even change your voice, Tate?” You asked him.

“Sorry. I get to ask the questions. Not you.” He retorted and you smirked.

“Really?”

“That’s right. What’s your favorite scary movie?” The classic line.

You took your time answering. “Probably Saw. Or maybe hostel.”

“You like dismemberment? Interesting. An innocent girl like you. Liking such scary movies. It kind of turns me on.” You leaned across the gate, scaring at your window.

“Who said I’m an innocent girl?”

“Again. I get to ask the questions.” Ghostface said to you with a little more aggression. “Are you wearing any underwear?” You snickered and decided to lie.

“Nope.”

“Bad girl.” He said to you over the phone. You walked to the front door and emptiness met you as you went inside. “I hope you’re not lying to me. Bad things happen to liars.”

“And bad things happen to serial killers.” You responded, walking through the entrance. He was nowhere to be seen. You slowly started walking up the stairs.

“I haven’t even started asking the fun questions yet.” He whined.

“Ask away.”

“The real question is not who am I…the question is where am I?” Ah, another classic line.

“Tate, if you’re going to be ghostface. You can at least come up with something original.” You quipped, your hand gripping the stairway. You turned and walked into your room, which was his old room.

He wasn’t in there either. You sat on the bed.

“You want original? Then answer this. Your boyfriend. Does he make you wet?” Ghostface asked.

“Yes.” You answered simply.

“Good answer. But maybe we should test that theory. go ahead and put two pretty fingers inside you. Tell me how wet you are.”

You reached down, obeying him. You almost moan at the slick growing and you pulled them out. “I’m soaking.” You told him.

“Good girl. Now, put those fingers in your mouth. Tell me how sweet you taste.”

“Don’t you want to find out for yourself?” You asked him.

“Do as I say and you won’t get hurt.” You heard the clink, possibly a knife over the phone. You listened and put your fingers in your mouth, sucking the taste off.

“It tastes sweet.” You confessed.

“Lay back on the bed, open your legs.” You followed suit, waiting for his next message.

“Hello?” You asked, open and ready.

Your closet door burst open, Tate stood there but instead of his usual sweater and jeans. He wore a black long gown with black pants and boots. Along with the Ghostface mask. He looked formidable as he held a knife.

“Tate?” You questioned but he gave no answer as he grew closer, holding the blade out. He traced it on your bare legs, your skirt hiked up around your hips. The tip of the edge pressed against your thigh before he pulled it away.

“Take off your shirt.” He commanded, voice still altered. You listened and peeled off your shirt, leaving you in just your bra.

He ran the knife over your breasts, his hands bare. You recognized those big hands, you arched your back from the cool metal as it grazed your flesh. He’s never done that before. He maneuvered the knife around your breast, scraping your nipple. You shuddered as he pushed you flat against the bed. “Did I tell you, that you could move without my permission?” He asked you.

He placed the tip of the knife underneath your chin as his other hand disappeared in between your thigh. He expertly rubbed your clit with his fingers, circling the nub slowly. You pressed your thighs together, trying to create more friction but he slid the knife down, right over your stomach. “Don’t fucking move.” He barked at you.

You tried your best to listen as his pointer and middle finger slid easily inside you. He started pumping slowly and you desperately wanted to take the mask off and kiss him. You reached up but he pinned your wrists down with one hand as he pumped faster. Your core clenched around him as he smoothly curled his fingers up, hitting your spot.

“Tate. Please. Kiss me.” You moaned. Hoping he’ll listen to you.

He shook his head, mask still securely attached to his face as he finger fucked you. “I don’t think so. You don’t make the orders today.”

Your climax reached its peak as he pressed the knife harder against your stomach. You groaned, rolling your hips to his fingers as they didn’t slow down.

Finally, he stopped and pulled the mask off. He smirked wickedly at you. “Enjoy yourself?” He asked.

You smacked his arm. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Who said I played fair, baby?”

Taglist. @spill-the-t @evanpetersfansblog @icannot3 @howtobesasha

Message or comment if you’d like to be part of my Taglist.

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chirpsythismorning · 3 months

Text

Still going down the Surfer Boy number rabbit hole and it's getting fucking weird.

Basically I wanted to confirm that the number was visible on merchandise that is still dropping, specifically that Transformers collaboration because I heard about it vaguely, but didn't actually look at it myself to confirm.

And what I discovered is that the number changed...

Original number: 805-45-PIZZA

New number: 775-38-PIZZA

Now, when I saw this I was like SHIT this new number must mean that the original isn't important because apparently they had no problem changing it and leaving it unaccounted for.

But then I called the new number...

And low and behold it's the exact same voice. And mind you this voice is unrecognizable, like it doesn't sound like any automated voice I've ever heard before.

This is actually insane because tbh I did feel like I was reaching on that post yesterday where I talked about how the current message, which comes off like Netflix stopped paying the bill and the number is just unassigned now, could actually be a fake message with some sort of intention behind it.

And it appears that since these two numbers have the exact same voice and even use similar words... it is indeed intentional.

But what's even more crazy is the new message itself...

Current message for the original number:

The phone number you just dialed is available. 2499

Current message for the new number:

The phone number you just dialed has already been assigned to a customer and is parked at numbers dot m-e

Just for some clarity, if you want to check the message for the new number yourself please do. I am 97% certain that is what it says, but the very end I'm not as certain about. I would assume the word dot being used here signifies a period? But it sounds like after that is spells out the word me? So it's technically numbers.me?

I looked that up and it seemed like a dead end, just some telephone number solutions company.

Sort of leaving that part undetermined because I could be wrong about what it says.

What is noteworthy about this new message though is that it contrasts the original. The original number was referred to as 'available'. But the new number 'has already been assigned to a customer' and is 'parked'?

The message itself does sort of align with what people were probably expecting when they called the number after buying the transformer? Because they put it on there knowing people would call it and expect a message on the other end, and so it obviously had to match this idea of it being a pizza place answering. Which makes the customer and parking mentions make it seem like a pick up order or something?

But considering the original number's message has changed, and for some reason includes a mention of the number 2499 at the end, slightly off from the original 4992, I'm curious about what all these references to numbers being available vs. assigned and also changing could possibly mean?

We may know now that the original number is in fact a real (fake) message, and yet I still don't feel that much closer to cracking it.

What the hell is the original message hinting at? And what does this new message maybe add to it?

#byler #stranger things #surfer boy number #easter egg #surfer boy van #st theory #st5 predictions #i should say that as a twelvegate truther i'm not complaining #changing the first three numbers to 775 is actually so personal to me #also i still think the butterfly magnet is relevant in that shot of the number on the fridge...

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puffein · 8 months

Text

DEFLECTED | late spring [vii.]

summary: wanda's quiet life was upended by your abrupt disappearance. pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader, wanda maximoff x vision warnings: one swear word word count: 1192 a/n: wanda's pov! : DD i was so excited when i wrote her pov lool

series masterlist playlist!

Westview, New Jersey

Early-February 2024

Something's wrong.

Something is bothering Wanda's mind, her thoughts are whirring like lightning bolts ready to electrocute her at any minute. With every second she spends re-reading the same sentences written in her favorite book is another thought flashing right at her mind.

She lets out a breath, closing the book she dearly treasures, and like how her brain got accustomed to how she's doing this movement every second, her head turns down to where her phone is quietly seated beside her.

Wanda's eyes burn right through her phone, for the first time in her life, she wants her phone bombarded by a set of texts or if she's lucky enough to receive a single phone call from a certain someone. It has been weeks, nearing a month since she took the courage of texting you, hopeful that her single text triggered another hangout with her best friend but to her dismay, the text was left unread. She thought of different things and distracted herself with new hobbies but her mind always drifted off to you.

"It's February now.. The text I sent was in December.." she mumbles to herself, the soft cushions of her couch do not help her feel relaxed at all, nibbling the tips of her thumb's nail, she thought, fuck it.

Fast, swift movements, she quickly took her phone without a second thought, fingers hovering above your name. She stops, her mind blank as she stares at the contact photo she set out for her best friend.

A stolen photo she took, months before you and her became truly friends. You had teased her constantly about the story of the stolen photo, teasing her as a stalker and she would always reply with a tinge of red spreading right at her cheeks.

The corners of her mouth turned up without her control, reminiscing the college days she had with her best friend was the only thing inspiring her to continue whatever she had in mind. She wants you to be with her every step of her life, you're her best friend, the only person that truly matters to her and if it means making her look like an obsessive person, so be it.

So, she did. Her thumbs pressing firmly on the call button, she breathes out as she places her phone right at her ears. A single ring happens and then it goes straight to something familiar.

"The person you are calling is busy at the moment." the automated voice declares, she freezes. Her eyes darted across the room, her face falling, the beating of her heart increasing as an uneasy dread settled right at her being.

Wanda grips her phone, settling it right in front of her face. The phone trembles in her clutch, she opens the messaging app, staring at the last message she sent in the month of December. It says delivered.

She can't possibly be blocked if she got to send that message, right?

But today is February. A huge time gap between those two months, and she never sent another message, her courage was limited to only sending you that one message where she stated she was excited to see you again.

I didn't say anything weird, right? She thought.

Eyes boring right at the delivered message but never been read. Not wanting to acknowledge the possibility of her best friend blocking her, she types out another message to test out her theory.

The text bubble turns green. Like the leaves of the trees dancing right outside of her windows, the freshly mowed grass in her yard, the same color but in a different shade like her eyes. A different variation of green but it is still green. A sender's message should never be green. It just meant one thing, she had been blocked.

The very essence of Wanda's life has cut off any contact with her, all of your accounts are nowhere to be found, and even your precious account on that one app is now gone. She didn't know what happened, her mind was too loud but silent at the same time. The air seems to be useless for her at this moment as her chest constricts with its scream for air. Her sight became blurry, she was suffocating in worry and fright. Something must be wrong with her phone. There's no way she got blocked, right? By her very own best friend, the only person she had, her person.

"Hey, is something wrong?" a voice snaps her out accompanied by the sound of a door closing, she turns her head to gaze at her husband. A tall lean man standing right in front of their front door, suitcase in hand, necktie loosely hung, and face morphing into confusion.

Wanda turns her head away, wiping something under her eyes as fast as she could and standing up to greet her husband. With a shaky voice, she musters up a smile, "Nothing is wrong, here let me help you with your coat."

"How is your day?" she asks, folding his coat neatly in her arms, her gaze flickers right at his eyes for a second then moves on to the phone settled on the couch.

"The same old routine, my brother wanted me to do something different like investing…" His voice fades out into the background white noise of their suburban two-story house, she feels her breathing gradually increase as time passes by, the gravity beneath her feet seems to be losing its grip and purpose as her knees wobble.

"How do you know if someone has blocked your number?" she suddenly questions her husband. Her alert voice cut off whatever dialogue her husband was saying. The man in front of her stilled at her question, eyebrows frowning at the sudden uncomfortable tension his wife was emitting.

"If it rings once then an automated voice answers." he quipped, annoyance bubbling at how his wife cut him off. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing. I-I just remembered this book club thing.." her voice drifts off as she walks away from him, the door closing behind her as she rummages through her closet to find decent clothes for outside. Briskly walking towards their front door, Wanda was stopped by the tight grip on her arms.

"Where is this thing?"

"Just in the neighborhood, you can heat the dinner through a microwave or something. I'll try to be back before dinner, just in case I can't. I, um, emergency meeting. For this club, yes. I'll see you later, honey." Wanda didn't waste time hearing the reply from her husband. She knew the words she spitted out were rushed and definitely weird but she had somewhere to go, somewhere where she knows her questions can be answered.

Without any lingering doubting thoughts, she pushed away any possible aftermath of her actions as her feet grounds at the gas pedal of her car leading her into the route she never thought she would be taking. But desperation makes a person forget all their prejudices on some things even if the very same thing has caused her the insecurities locked hidden at her soul.

general masterlist ◄ ►

—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby @vivs46 @kyaraderuwez

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda marvel #wanda x you #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff marvel #wanda maximoff mcu

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lizzaneia-elizalde · 2 months

Note

I just imagine what would be the reactions of Orion (or also Viper) if their darling had a double personality, like with strangers they are shy and innocent and with friends or peoples that they trust, they are literaly a demon on disguise, exemples; dirty minded, troublemaker and keep being super weird for no reason-

Yandere! Human! Hunter x mermaid! Reader

What if: darling is two faced?

Hmm, Orion wouldn't mind actually!

He would be into it tbf. Well, that, and he adores everything about you. And, if you're shy and innocent with others but not him? Oh boy he would love that so bad.

"Love!" Orion beamed, leaning onto the railing as he smiled. "Seems that you went to the civilization. You good? You look... Well..."

You gave out an irritated huff. "I swear, they grate on my nerves!" Your tail splashed around you, annoyed beyond relief.

You went to the civilization earlier that day due to needing some supplies that you can't really automate yet like furnitures. You needed a new bed since the DIY one wasn't really comfortable. It was high time you bought a new one.

You floated on the surface, your shimmering body on full display for the hungry eyes of Orion.

"I had to act so nice and sweet to them just to make sure they don't harass me." You blew a wet strand of hair out of your face. "But god I want to claw their faces off! I don't care that I'm an outcast, fuck off!"

Orion bursted out laughing from your vulgar words. Can't say he didn't like it. He loved it immensely.

"Shut it, Orion. I don't need your mockery right now." You scowled at him. "One day I'm really going to show them!"

"show them what?" Orion hummed, taking off his shirt, displaying his formidable form that made you audibly gulp.

"uh... Um, show them that I'm... Thriving!" You said between breaths. Orion is impeccable.

"oh yeah? Thriving huh?"

Orion stepped on the ledge and dived down to the sea. Splashing you as you swam upright and finding Orion in front of you, in such close proximity.

He's looking at you intensely, with hooded lids of unfathomable desire for you.

You're not naive. You know what those eyes portray.

And god, you like it.

"So, let's swim around? Take your mind off of things?" Orion whispered, his voice husky and thick. It made you shiver and smirk.

You want this man so badly. And he also wants you too.

So, in an intricate dance, balancing on top of a tightrope none of you wants to step off, you both waited for the right time to break the tension.

But for now, as you feigned innocence yet relished in those feather touches, waist grabs, close proximities, you wished for this to never end.

And Orion too.

#lizzaneiaelizalde #yandere writing #tw yandere #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere boyfriend #male yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic

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hamsterclaw · 1 year

Text

Blue side

Hoseok's always known you as Namjoon's little sister. One day, he realises you're more than a match for him.

Pairing: Hoseok x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Brother's best friend AU, smut, angst

Word count: 7.7k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, fast cars

Jung Hoseok revs his engine as he rolls into the garage, a burst of bravado after a fucking hairy night.

Park Jimin goes to greet him. His sling’s off but he holds his arm up, bent at the elbow, wrist encased in plaster.

Hoseok pushes his door open, climbs out from his low seat gracefully, like he’s done it thousands of times.

He has.

Jimin takes in Hoseok’s appearance, really not that different from when he started the night except that he looks a little more dishevelled, a lot more weary.

His eyes ask the questions he doesn’t want to bombard Hoseok with, and Hoseok, always kind, says, ‘everyone’s on the way.’

Jimin lets out the sigh he hadn’t known he was holding in.

There’s a honk, obnoxious and unnecessary, and Hoseok exchanges a wan smile with Jimin.

‘Fucking kids,’ Hoseok mutters.

Tae parks up tight next to Hoseok, tailed by Jungkook on his bike.

Jungkook drops his helmet on the workbench with a careless clatter, hand already up to fluff his matted hair.

There’s a gap of time then, meaningless banter that no one takes in because they’re really just waiting for the rest.

In the end, there’s one last car, the tail end of the convoy.

Yoongi’s driving in that breathtakingly confident way he does when he’s tired. He parks without revving or honking, just cutting the engine without a pause.

Then everyone’s getting out.

A beautifully groomed Seokjin, a Namjoon just in his shirtsleeves, and you, curled into Namjoon’s side under his arm.

Your eyes meet Hoseok’s for just a second, clocking him.

You’re always aware of him, like he’s always aware of you.

‘The other car’s in the parking garage,’ Namjoon says, low voice more of a rumble than words because he’s been out all night and he forgets to modulate his voice when he’s tired.

Hoseok lets himself glance over you like he would anyone else, scanning for injury.

Drinking you in with his gaze because it’s all he’s allowed to do.

Namjoon’s arm stays locked around your shoulders. He looks at the group assembled in the garage.

Jimin’s already hit the automated doors, locking up. All secure.

There’s not really a lot to say but good night.

***

Hoseok and Namjoon have been friends for so long he can’t remember a time Namjoon wasn’t in his life.

They used to drive Hobi’s beat up Hyundai round the hairpin bends of Samo Hills, over and over, setting different challenges each time.

Who could make the fastest time.

Who could make the fastest time and not turn the blocks of soft tofu in the cooler boxes into mush.

Who could make the fastest time driving and then picking up a girl in the bar.

So dumb, and still one of the best times in his life.

Hobi’d always been aware of you in the periphery, how could he not be?

He’s spent as many nights in Namjoon’s house as he has in his own, especially since his old man started drinking so much.

He feels weird admitting it, but he only started to really see you when you started bringing boys home.

Namjoon, protective older brother that he was, was quick to adopt the role of guard dog, letting his height, and in more recent years, the width of his chest do the intimidating for him.

You’d been amused by Namjoon’s protectiveness initially, laughing it off. Then one day, you’d come home upset because some idiot had tried to make you do something you didn’t want to do.

Hoseok had been in the kitchen fixing himself a sandwich. He’s never thought of himself as any less obtuse than the next guy but a blind man would have been able to see you were upset.

You’d muttered a ‘hello’, politeness ingrained in you.

‘Are you ok?’ Hoseok had asked, peanut butter forgotten.

‘Guys are assholes,’ you’d said, your lip wobbling just a little.

The flare of protective rage had surprised Hoseok.

‘What happened?’ he’d asked, voice sharp.

You’d looked at him, uneasy. ‘Nothing.’

You’d grabbed a drink from the fridge, twisting the cap until Hoseok had held his hand out for it.

You’d passed it over, he’d opened it and handed it back. There was a mark on your wrist.

You’d seen that he’d noticed it.

‘I did that,’ you say, quickly. ‘I was trying to get a bracelet off, quick.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I didn’t want to give him a blow job.’

Hoseok had stared at you, trying to process.

‘He was an asshole,’ you’d said.

Hoseok had said, slow, ‘some dude gave you a bracelet, and wanted you to blow him.’

You’d looked at the ground. ‘I thought he liked me. I’m an idiot.’

‘Did he call you that?’ Hoseok had asked.

‘No, I called him that,’ you’d said. You’d smiled, rueful. ‘After I threw the bracelet at him and kneed him in the balls.’

‘Sounds like you took care of him,’ Hoseok had agreed.

You’d laughed.

‘Want a sandwich?’ Hoseok had asked.

‘Yeah ok.’

By the time Namjoon had turned up, you were watching TV together because Hoseok had sensed you didn’t want to be alone.

You’d started to spend more time together after that, not a lot, just the odd occasion when Namjoon was caught up.

Sometimes you’d go to the store together, pick stuff up for dinner. One time you’d parked the cart in the pasta aisle and stared at the packages of pasta for so long Hoseok had felt like he needed to say something.

‘I like penne,’ he’d offered, gently.

You’d smiled at him as you picked up a packet and placed it carefully in the cart.

‘Joon likes penne.’

‘We like a lot of the same things,’ Hoseok had agreed.

‘Cars. Girls. Books.’ You’d checked things off on your hand, fingers curling.

Hoseok had reached out, curled your ring finger into your palm. ‘Penne.’

You’d laughed and he had too.

When you’d got back home, Namjoon and Yoongi were in the kitchen. One look at their expressions and Hoseok had known something was about to go down.

Namjoon had asked if you could make dinner whilst they talked.

You’d looked at him narrow-eyed, and had said, ‘sure Joonie. I’ll eat it too, and leave you the scraps.’

For a moment the siblings had looked at each other, not alike physically, but so similar in their personalities that a wry grin had already started to curve Hoseok’s lips, even before Yoongi had reached over, picked the groceries out of your arms, and said, ‘I like scraps.’

Dinner had been more than scraps, you were a pretty good cook.

On their way out, Namjoon had told you the usual.

Not to let anyone in unless it was him or one of his.

Not to wait up.

To call the police if they weren’t back by sun up, because the life insurance wouldn’t pay out unless there was proof of death.

He’d been saying the same thing to you for forever, as long as Hoseok could remember.

You’d pulled him into a hug. Then, for the first time, you’d grabbed Hoseok too.

‘See ya later,’ you’d whispered in his ear, on tiptoe so no one else could hear.

‘Yeah. See ya, scraps,’ was all Hoseok could manage.

He thought about that hug a lot, wished he’d been quick enough to hug you back instead of standing there like he didn’t want to.

And then he drove, like he always did.

***

As soon as there was enough money you went off to college, fielding the teasing about being a genius with your usual good-natured comebacks.

You told everyone it was your brother who was the genius, and Hoseok doesn’t think you were wrong, just that you underplayed your own cleverness.

Namjoon had been obsessive about making sure you had enough, it wasn’t enough for him that you were getting your education, he didn’t want you to feel conscious about your own background compared to your peers.

Hoseok knew you well enough to know you would never let that kind of thing get you down. Not coming from where you were from.

He’d been dropping something off, close to the general area where you lived, though he was hazy on the details. He’d seen a billboard with a girl who looked a little like you, and, impulsively, had pulled over and texted you.

Hoseok: Hey, scraps, I’m in town. Want to meet up?’

He’d told himself he’d give you ten minutes to answer and if you didn’t he’d call it.

He didn’t have to wait long. His phone lit up almost instantly.

Scraps: I’m just out of class. Starving. Let’s eat?

Hoseok pulled up to where you’d said to meet, and there you were, pretty and fresh with your backpack double-strapped to you.

You’d slid into the passenger seat, and Hoseok had glanced at your friends, all looking curiously at him.

You’d seen his look. ‘They’re not looking because they’re worried, Hobi. They’re looking because you’re cute.’

Hoseok had laughed. ‘If your brother ever visits you —‘

‘Oh yeah, him too. Yoongi. Seokjin. You.’

You’d rolled your eyes. ‘Spent my whole life protecting you all from my friends.’

Hoseok’s tickled that you think that.

‘What do you want to eat?’ you ask, putting your seatbelt on, turning to him.

Your smile makes Hoseok feel light, easy.

‘Take me somewhere you like,’ he suggests.

You end up in some tiny place, squashed up next to each other. It’s bustling, filled with people, but all Hoseok remembers after is how you were so close your arm pressed against his the whole time, and how nice it made him feel.

He drops you off at your place, and you ask him, a serious look in your eyes, if you want to come up.

‘I should get going,’ Hoseok tells you.

Something like disappointment flits across your face, quickly replaced with your pretty, nonchalant smile.

‘Tell Joonie I’m happy, ok?’ you tell him, unbuckling your seatbelt. Then, you roll your eyes at him, aware of the irony. ‘Drive safe.’

The laugh dies in Hoseok’s throat as you put your hand on his forearm, and say, quietly, ‘For me.’

Hoseok promises you that he will.

***

You’re back for Christmas break, Hoseok’s heard.

He’s waiting by the car for Namjoon a couple days before Christmas, freezing his ass off. The engine’s running but he wants to be quick on his feet in case Namjoon or Yoongi needs help.

His breath’s coming out white, the air is that unrelenting cold it gets this time of year.

Namjoon and Yoongi emerge round the corner, and Hoseok’s adrenaline ebbs.

He gets in, flicks the lights on.

The cold draft that waves in as the boys climb in reminds him how quickly he acclimatises to the warmth.

Back at Namjoon’s place the lights are still on.

You open the back door as they’re walking up.

‘Merry Christmas yo ho ho,’ you say, a curl to your lip that doesn’t quite make it to sarcastic because of the brightness in your eyes.

‘Get inside, you’ll freeze,’ Namjoon says.

‘I’m dressed,’ you retort.

Even Yoongi’s not proof against your cheerfulness, managing a crooked smile as he steps past you.

‘Hobi,’ you say, warmly.

Hoseok slings an arm around you in an awkward side hug.

You don’t seem to mind.

‘When did you get back?’ Hoseok asks, taking the mug you pass him.

‘Yesterday,’ you reply. ‘I’m back until next week.’

Namjoon takes a gulp of his drink and coughs violently. ‘Shit, what’s in this?’

‘It’s eggnog,’ you say, serene.

Yoongi swirls his mug, suspiciously. ‘How much rum did you put in it?’

‘I don’t think you’ll be able to drive after this,’ you say cheerfully.

‘It’s almost undrinkable,’ Namjoon remarks, grimacing.

‘It’s ok,’ Hoseok says.

Yoongi snorts. ‘Cheers.’

You turn back to the stove. ‘I’ll make ramen.’

Hoseok, for just a moment, lets himself admire the graceful line of your neck.

When he looks away, Namjoon catches his eye.

They stare at each other.

Yoongi gets up, chair scraping obnoxiously on the wood floor.

‘Anyone want a refill?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ Hoseok says.

Namjoon breaks his gaze and says, ‘fuck it. Pour me another, Yoongs.’

***

It’s Christmas eve, and Hoseok thinks, hand on his heart, that if he never had eggnog again in his whole life it would be too soon.

Namjoon’s sprawled on the couch, flipping through movie options.

You come in, a tray in your arms full of Christmas themed junk food, and stare, surprised at the empty pitcher.

Hoseok hadn’t wanted you to feel bad about your terrible eggnog, so he’d challenged Namjoon to a drinking game whilst you’d been fixing snacks.

Like driving Samo Hills, it’d all ended up being a speed challenge in the end.

Hoseok doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know he’s as flushed as the stockings you’d pinned to the mantel. Three, one for each of them.

Namjoon’s phone rings, and he swipes blearily at it.

You pluck it out of his hand and answer.

Your tone makes Namjoon sit up.

‘It’s Jimin. Jungkook’s hurt. They need you.’

And then Namjoon’s stumbling upright, trying to stay up, moving like he’s on a rollercoaster.

Hoseok isn’t doing much better.

All he knows is, they need to find a way to get to Jungkook.

You’re moving faster than either of them, already in your puffy jacket, keys in your hand.

‘I’ll drive,’ you say.

‘No, you’re not going,’ Namjoon says immediately, reaching for the keys.

‘You’re not going anywhere without me,’ you say.

Namjoon looks at Hoseok helplessly.

‘Get the keys Hobi.’

You shove your hand in your pocket and look at Hoseok.

Hoseok’s never going to be the one to force you to do something you don’t want to do.

You’re shoving Namjoon’s jacket onto him, zipping him up.

‘Come on, Jungkook needs us.’

Namjoon’s been chugging water, the car windows wide open to the chill, trying desperately to sober up on the way.

Hoseok’s doing ok, he thinks. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again you’re pulling into a spot on the street, Namjoon’s low voice murmuring instructions.

Hoseok’s still more drunk than sober, but the adrenaline thrumming through his veins is helping tip the balance.

Namjoon’s got his usual set of instructions for you, but you cut him off.

‘Go help Jungkook, Joon. I’ll wait here.’

You say it firmly, calmly.

Hoseok watches the way Namjoon’s hand lands on yours, a rare display of affection.

Then he’s out, running alongside Namjoon.

***

By the time Hoseok gets back to the car, the darkest part of the night is over.

He knocks on the window gently, trying not to startle you.

The doors unlock, and he slides in next to you.

‘Where’s Joon?’ you ask immediately, scanning for your brother.

‘He’s gone to the hospital with Jungkook and Jimin,’ Hoseok tells you.

‘Is he ok?’ you ask, voice losing its sharp edge of panic now that you know your brother’s ok.

‘Yeah, Jungkook’s fine, his shoulder’s dislocated and he’s a bit banged up but he’ll be ok.’

Hoseok nudges you gently. ‘Move over, let me drive.’

You’re quiet as Hoseok pulls the car out of the space, puts on the radio to the station he and Namjoon always listen to.

A piano solo plays, a piece he likes. Hoseok finds himself sneaking glances at you in the flashes of streetlight as he drives.

You’re tired, and so pretty his heart longs for you.

‘Are you ok Hobi?’ you ask.

‘I’m fine, Scraps.’

His voice comes out raspy, low.

He takes the Samo Hills route because it’s familiar, even though it’s a little longer.

You put your hand on his, for an instant, and squeeze.

Hoseok says, when you’re pulling your hand away, ‘you can hold my hand. I like it.’

Your fingers flutter in the air between you, and then your hand closes over his.

This is a dangerous game he’s playing, Hoseok tells himself.

But he can’t help himself, not when he’s driving his favourite route, when the dawn’s just breaking, shades of midnight to shades of blue.

It’s his favourite time of day, the promise of another new beginning, another chance to remedy the fuckups of yesterday.

He tells himself that this can be his Christmas present.

You’re still holding his hand, and you hold it all the way as Hoseok drives you home.

***

Hoseok walks into your living room on New Year’s Eve to find Yoongi buried in his phone and raised voices from the kitchen.

‘Scraps looks less scrappy, and Namjoon’s being overbearing about it,’ is Yoongi’s succinct summary.

Hoseok raises an eyebrow and heads for the kitchen.

He immediately curses Yoongi in his head.

Less scrappy seems a gross understatement.

He’s torn between wanting to look his fill and wanting to grab the chunky sweater Namjoon’s holding out to you and wrap you in it.

‘You tell her,’ Namjoon says to Hoseok, exasperated. He turns back to you. ‘You’re gonna have dumb douchebags trying it on with you all night.’

‘Yeah, and you’ll have girls all over you. How is that different?’ you ask, patiently.

‘I can look after myself,’ Namjoon snaps.

‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,’ you shoot back.

‘You’re both pretty,’ Hoseok says, trying for levity.

Two sets of eyes glare at him.

Then you sigh.

‘Joonie, I can handle myself.’

Namjoon sighs, too. ‘I know you can.’

You reach out and unbutton one of his buttons, taking it down to the middle of his chest.

‘Now we’re even, ok?’

Namjoon rolls his eyes but doesn’t do his button back up.

‘Let’s go.’

The party’s a good one, at some guy’s mansion. The music’s banging, the place already full of people.

You disappear with a couple girlfriends, leading them away from Namjoon and Yoongi, throwing Hoseok a sideways glance that makes him remember how you said you were trying to protect them all.

He smiles at the memory.

Yoongi looks, nonplussed, at a girl who walks right up to him and asks his name.

He keeps her waiting just long enough that the confidence in her eyes starts to falter, then he lets her tug him away from Namjoon and Hoseok.

‘Fucking Min Yoongi,’ Namjoon says, but there’s affection in his voice.

‘The only man I’ve ever seen who can make women go crazy for him just by existing,’ Hoseok agrees.

He grabs a drink, watching in amusement as Namjoon executes a well-timed dimple flash at a very beautiful woman wearing a white crop top.

He follows it up with a casual flex of his arms, because he’s always been an overachiever.

Soon enough Namjoon’s got his arm around her, but he’s still looking around for you.

‘Hobi, have you seen Scraps recently?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Hoseok jokes, ‘I can babysit your baby sister for you.’

It’s a dumb joke, a throwback to when Namjoon’s overprotectiveness was a running joke amongst the group.

Hoseok only realises how it would sound to you when he sees the stricken look on your face.

You’re too slow, and too upset, to hide it.

Hoseok’s heart stops seeing you frozen in your tracks, barely two feet away.

You react first, tearing your eyes away from his, veering away from him even as he says your name and reaches for you.

Hoseok looks to Namjoon. He shrugs. ‘Let her cool off. We can talk to her tomorrow, ok?’

Hoseok can’t let you walk away, not like this. He starts after you.

By the time he finds you, you’re under some guy’s arm, smiling up at him.

Hoseok says, ‘hey, can we talk?’

The guy’s arm tightens around you like he owns you, setting Hoseok’s teeth on edge.

You smile, but there’s a look in your eyes Hoseok’s never seen before.

‘Don’t worry, Hobi. I’m fine. Enjoy your night.’

Then you’ve turned away, and there’s only so much of the guy’s hands on you that Hoseok can watch before he’s turning away too.

***

Hoseok’s got the kitchen smelling like coffee and fresh bread by the time you make an appearance the next morning.

You give him a smile of genuine pleasure as you accept your mug of coffee.

Hoseok doesn’t want to sour the mood but he needs to set the record straight.

‘About last night,’ he says.

Your smile doesn’t dim. ‘It’s fine Hobi,’ you insist.

‘No,’ Hoseok says, ‘What I said— it was just a stupid joke. No one thinks of you as an annoying baby sister. I don’t think of you that way.’

You search his gaze.

‘It’s ok,’ you say.

Hoseok knows that it’s not ok, he can hear it in the brittleness of your voice, he can see it in the way your eyes are shiny with tears.

You turn away. ‘I should pack. Thanks for the coffee.’

Hoseok says, ‘let me drop you off at the train station.’

***

You’re quiet as Hoseok drives, your seatbelt tight over your puffy jacket.

‘I’ll be in your neck of the woods next month,’ Hoseok tells you.

‘Yeah?’ you ask. You smile. ‘Let me know if you want to meet up ok?’

There’s a pause, then you say, carefully, ‘don’t feel obliged though.’

Hoseok wants to go back in time and punch himself in the face for what he said.

‘I want to,’ he says.

You’re looking out the window, at the icy road, the January slush.

Hoseok parks up, and you turn to him, lips parting to thank him because you’ve always been sweet like that.

He leans over, across the centre console and kisses you.

You let out a soft breath that makes him feel a little crazy for you.

Your lips are sweet and warm. You taste like coffee and cinnamon.

Hoseok pulls away to check your expression.

‘Is this ok?’ he asks.

You nod so quickly he’s endeared. ‘Yes Hobi.’

Your hand’s curled around his neck like you don’t want to let him go.

‘I’m gonna talk to Namjoon,’ Hoseok tells you. ‘If you’re ok with that.’

‘What are you gonna say?’ you ask.

‘I’m gonna say that I like you,’ Hoseok says. He puts his hand on yours. ‘That I’m gonna ask you out.’

The smile you turn on him is so pretty he kisses you again.

***

Hoseok parks up outside your apartment.

You’re at the door to greet him like you often do when he and Namjoon get back after a job.

The smile on your face falters even though he tries his best to smile back at you.

‘Hey, let’s get inside before you freeze, ok?’

He’s never been inside your apartment before, and he wants to look around but as he unzips his jacket you step forward and snuggle yourself into his chest for a hug.

Hoseok has a lot to say to you tonight but for now he lets himself lean into you just a little.

You smell so good.

You’re looking up at him now.

‘You spoke to my brother,’ you say, flat. It’s not a question.

‘I did,’ Hoseok says, figuring he might as well just come out and say it.

‘And.’

‘Namjoon’s worried about us dating,’ Hoseok tells you.

You’re both still standing in your hallway, next to the door.

You reach out and take his hand.

‘Let’s talk about it,’ you say. ‘Stay for a bit.’

There’s a nervous energy to your posture as you wash up after dinner. Hoseok dries the dishes after you wash them, stacks them up.

You turn off the tap and turn to him.

‘Want tea?’ you offer.

‘Let’s sit,’ Hoseok says.

You take the opposite end of the couch, pull a cushion into your lap.

‘Hey,’ you say, hesitant. ‘You don’t have to feel —‘

You pause like you’re searching for the word, but Hoseok thinks you’re just worried to say it.

He reaches for your hand.

‘You’re not going to hurt me if it was all a mistake,’ you say, and your candour takes Hoseok’s breath away.

You smile like you mean it. ‘We can forget it ever happened. You felt bad and we kissed. It’s no big deal.’

Hoseok can’t believe what a mess he’s made of this.

‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, because I like you. I like you a hell of a lot.’

He reaches out to cup your face.

‘I didn’t kiss you because I felt bad,’ he tells you, quietly. ‘I kissed you because I’ve been wanting to for years.’

‘I want to kiss you right now,’ he admits. ‘I promised your brother —‘

You cut him off by leaning close.

God he can smell your shampoo, familiar and sweet.

‘Forget my brother, Hobi. Do you want to kiss me now?’

Hoseok already knows he’s not going to say no to anything you ask for.

***

He’s lost track of time a little, lying in your bed like this, nothing but snow outside your window.

You’re in his arms, and he likes how you feel, all soft and warm.

He can’t believe he gets to hold you like this, that you’re burrowing your face into his neck.

Your lips press against his skin, and then there’s a thrilling moment when he isn’t quite sure it’s your tongue flicking against his neck.

Then your parted lips press against his skin and you suck.

Hoseok groans, hand coming up to tangle in your hair.

His cock presses against the seam of the nice jeans he put on because he wanted to look good for you.

He’s hard as you are soft.

From here he can see straight down your top, the curved mounds of your very pretty tits.

He can see the outlines of your nipples, pressing against the silky fabric.

‘Can I touch you?’ he wants to know.

You lift your lips off his skin, and the look you give him is so heated he can’t stop himself.

He kisses you again, hungrily, revelling in the feel of your soft breaths against his cheek.

You whimper as he hooks a thumb under the strap of your top, tugging it off your shoulder.

You do the same to the other strap, and Hoseok could cry at the sight of you.

He kisses over the tops of your breasts, moving slow, savouring the feel of you.

He flicks his tongue over a nipple, and a moan falls from your lips. Hoseok puts his lips to your nipple and sucks. Your hand curls around the back of his neck.

‘Don’t stop, Hobi,’ you plead. Hoseok doesn’t answer, can’t answer with your breast in his mouth, so he slides his hand around to your back, pulling you closer.

You’re moving against him with that careless grace he’s always liked. He’s no slouch at controlling his movements but he loves the way you press against him. He likes the way your hips rub against his, the friction against his aching cock just enough.

You’re spreading your legs under him, your fingertips hooking into the waistband of his jeans.

‘Can I touch you?’ you ask, so sweet and polite Hoseok wants to worship you and defile you, not necessarily in that order.

‘Touch me, baby,’ he says, voice low, raspy.

You undo his jeans carefully, drawing him out as he pushes his jeans down.

Your hand wraps around his cock, gentle, careful. You slip your thumb over the head, twisting slightly, making his hips rock into your hand.

‘You feel nice,’ Hoseok says, encouraging. He can’t look down, can’t watch you stroking him, because it’s too much. He might cum watching you, and he’ll be damned if he blows his load before he gets inside you.

‘Can I touch you?’ he asks, politely if not as sweetly as you asked.

‘Yes,’ you say, lips parted slightly as your hand tightens around his cock.

‘Here, baby?’ Hoseok asks. He pulls your loose sweats down, admires the smooth warm skin of your thighs. He splays his hand over your skin, slips a thumb under the centre panel of your panties, right over your core.

He groans at how wet you are.

‘For me?’ he asks, teasing.

Your eyes meet his, serious and dark as his fingers start to move inside you.

‘For you,’ you say, lip caught under your front teeth, plump, pink.

Hoseok curls a hand around himself, over your fingers, trying not to groan at the pleasure of it.

‘This is for you,’ he tells you.

‘I want it, Hobi,’ you say, voice breathless, high as he rubs his thumb over your clit.

‘You can have me,’ he promises.

He means it in so many ways he can’t say. He means you already have him, you’ll always have him, but he can’t tell you all that right now in this drugged haze of pleasure he finds himself in.

Hobi tries to show you instead.

He enters you slow, confidence building as he watches you writhe on his cock.

Your cheeks are warm, eyes bright, and you’re so beautiful he feels blinded.

So he closes his eyes.

Presses his lips to your skin.

Rocks against you, cock so hard he’s worried he’ll hurt you. Would be worried if it weren’t for the pleasured sounds falling from your lips.

You sound so pretty panting into his ear, gasping his name.

Hoseok can feel the way you push up to meet him, thrust for thrust, ankles locked in the small of his back.

It’s so you that it pulls him out of his head for a moment. You’ve always given as good as you got, always supported Namjoon, pushing against him trying to keep you out of trouble.

Your hand on his cheek makes his eyes fly to yours.

‘Hey,’ you say, a question in your eyes even as you hold him close to you.

‘I can’t,’ Hoseok says.

‘It’s ok,’ you say, simple, easy.

Like you’re the one comforting him.

Hoseok pulls out, laying on top of you, hard and aching.

He’s breathing quick, harsh.

You kiss him on the cheek with such tenderness he wants to cry.

‘It’s ok, Hobi.’ The sadness in your voice makes his heart crack, just a little.

Then you’re sitting up, getting dressed. It’s dark now, he can just about make out the silhouette of you against the window.

You’re beautiful even when he can barely see you. He knows you so well his mind can fill in the blanks.

Hoseok feels like the worst kind of asshole. He shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have touched you, let alone fucked you. And now you’re sitting by the window. It’s too dark to see your face.

You say, ‘hey, Hobi. It’s ok. We both love Joon.’

Hoseok gets up, kneels at your feet, your legs curled up in the armchair.

‘I’m sorry.’

There’s the faintest sigh, a thickness to your voice that hurts his heart.

‘Me too, Hobi.’

***

Hoseok, Namjoon and Yoongi arrive back at Namjoon’s to a darkened house.

Namjoon, always on high alert, is already on his phone calling you before Yoongi’s even flicked on the lights.

Hoseok’s up the stairs before he realises he’s moving. Your door’s slightly ajar, one look and he can see you’re not there.

Namjoon’s on the phone, his voice low, terse. ‘I’ll come and get you.’

He turns to them. ‘She’s down the block. I’ll walk her back home.’

‘What happened?’ Hoseok asks immediately, voice too brisk, snapping in his panic.

‘She’s fine,’ Namjoon answers. He’s already half out the door.

It’s only fifteen minutes before you and Namjoon are stomping on the mat before entering the kitchen, but Hoseok realises how tense he’s been when he sees your face.

You look a little tired and cold, and Hoseok notices you’ve got Namjoon’s jacket on, fluffy house slippers on your feet.

‘Someone knocked when we were out,’ Namjoon says. He looks tense, still.

‘It was probably nothing. I shouldn’t have run,’ you say. You’re slipping Namjoon’s jacket off, Hoseok can see you’ve only got a thin t-shirt on underneath.

You turn to Namjoon. ‘I’m going to bed. I really don’t think it was anything to worry about, Joon.’

Namjoon looks unconvinced, but he says nothing.

You nod to Yoongi and flick your gaze to Hoseok. He hasn’t seen you since he left your apartment that last time.

You look at him for a moment, almost like you’re expecting to say something.

Hoseok can think of a million things he wants to say to you, but he’s too slow.

You’re stepping past him, careful not to touch him like he was never inside you.

***

Hoseok’s trying to reach the cereal box on the top shelf, damn Namjoon and his long reach, when you enter the kitchen quietly one morning.

You’re in the clothes you went out in the night before, and he startles you so badly that your heels drop to the tiled floor with a clatter.

You look at them, and him, and decide to play it out with breathtaking audacity.

‘Good morning Hoseok,’ you say, like you have every reason to be in a very tight, very short black dress at 8am on a Sunday.

‘Hi,’ Hoseok replies. ‘Want breakfast?’

You look at his arm, still outstretched, and reach under the table to pull out a step.

You hop up on it and get the cereal box down for him.

‘Joonie does it on purpose so I don’t finish the good cereal,’ you say, rolling your eyes.

Hoseok laughs, and you do too.

Your laugh is pretty, and Hoseok realises with a pang that it’s been a while since you last smiled at him like this.

‘Late night? Who’s the lucky guy?’ Hoseok asks, trying to sound casual.

The smile drops from your face as soon as the question leaves his mouth.

‘Ah, no one,’ you say. You’re stepping away carefully, sliding along the counter, picking up your shoes. You laugh, but it sounds forced. ‘Nothing happened.’

Hoseok says, ‘Scraps?’

‘Scraps is exactly what I am,’ you say. You sound like you’re joking, but there’s no humour in your expression.

Hoseok’s reaching for you, but you’re turning to head up the stairs.

***

Namjoon says, ‘we need another driver, Jimin’s still out with his wrist.’

‘What about Minjun?’ suggests Hoseok.

‘He’s not free tonight,’ Namjoon replies.

‘Scraps?’ asks Yoongi.

‘I know you didn’t just suggest my sister for our most dangerous job in months,’ Namjoon says, eyes narrowed at Yoongi.

‘She’s like a sister to me too,’ Yoongi says, evenly. ‘Getaway is low risk.’

‘Not no risk,’ counters Namjoon.

‘Scraps is pretty good at looking after herself,’ Yoongi points out.

‘We’re not getting her involved in this,’ says Namjoon, sharply.

‘Involved in what?’ you ask.

Hoseok looks up at you, and like always, is struck by how lovely you look.

‘We need another driver for tonight’s job,’ Yoongi says to you.

‘And you’re not it,’ Namjoon says.

‘I can help, Joon.’

‘She can ride behind me,’ Hoseok says. ‘We’ll convoy her.’

Namjoon gets up. ‘We could ask Haru.’

You stop him from pacing, gently, a hand on his arm.

‘I can do it Joon.’

Namjoon looks at all your faces, the indecision on his face writ clear for all to see.

Gentle, as always, you tug at his arm. ‘Let’s take a walk, Joonie.’

‘It’s cold outside,’ Namjoon grumbles, but he’s already following you out the door.

It’s nearly an hour before you come back, flushed from the cold, shivering.

‘Hoseok, you’re in front like always, Yoongi you pull up the rear. Scraps will ride in between and she’s not getting out.’

Yoongi snorts. ‘It took you an hour freezing your balls off to work that out?‘

You lift the bag you’ve got dangling from your hand.

‘We got take-out too.’

The smile on your face is infectious.

***

Hoseok starts his engine, hands moving to the steering wheel and the stick shift automatically. He glances in the mirror. There’s just enough light to see your face.

You stick your tongue out at him, and Namjoon, beside you, says something that makes you laugh.

Yoongi’s lights flick on behind you, reflecting against the stark white walls of the parking garage. Taehyung and Jungkook are riding with him.

Jimin hits the gate switch, the shutters concertina up, and Hoseok does his customary rev as he rolls out.

He drives slow initially, letting you get used to the pattern of his driving. He drives through an intersection, through the part of town where tight streets give way to wider lanes and longer stretches of dark.

He rolls into a slip lane, joining the highway. The hand on the speedometer swings round steadily as he picks up the pace.

You’ve found a rhythm now, keeping just the right amount of distance between you. Hoseok knows Yoongi, behind you, will take care of the rest.

He can’t see Namjoon but he imagines he’s sitting back in his seat.

Hoseok puts pressure on the accelerator.

He drives, like he always does.

***

So far everything’s going to plan. Namjoon, Tae and Jungkook are out on the job, Hoseok’s circling the block, keeping an eye out.

There’s movement out of the corner of his eye, and Hoseok slows to get a better look.

The car pulls out in front of him quickly, too quickly.

Hoseok sees the gun, but he’s already reacted to it.

In his lifetime of driving up front, his reflexes have never let him down.

His car turns into the collision, headlights from the upcoming vehicle shining right in his window, blinding him.

He’s cut it fine, but he’s done just enough.

The other car hits him side on, crashing into the tail end of his car as he spins.

The impact is always jarring, no matter how much he tries to brace.

His airbag doesn’t deploy, thank god for small favours.

Hoseok comes to a complete stop with his arms braced over his head.

He turns his head, looking for you.

Your car’s stopped, lights on.

He can’t see you. Fuck, where are you?

The passenger door’s wrenched open, and you’re climbing over, undoing his belt, calling his name.

‘Get back in the car,’ Hoseok tells you, urgently. ‘There’s a gun.’

‘Not without you,’ you say. ‘Come on, Hobi, get your ass in gear.’

Hoseok climbs out after you, staggers to your passenger seat.

He risks a glance at the other car. The driver’s slumped over the wheel.

Yoongi rolls up alongside you. ‘Get the fuck out,’ he commands. ‘Scraps, take Hobi and go. I’ll take care of the rest.’

You’re still looking at him, so Yoongi promises you, ‘I’m not coming back without Joon. Go, Scraps.’

You reach over and buckle Hoseok in. ‘Are you hurt?’ you ask. Your hand cups his cheek.

‘I’m good, Scraps. Let’s go.’

***

Hoseok’s never been driven by you before.

If he had to compare driving styles, he’d say you’re most similar to Yoongi.

There’s a quiet confidence about the way you drive, it’s unflashy but he likes it.

You’re driving down Samo Hills by the time Hoseok’s phone lights up.

‘Joon’s with Yoongi. They’re all fine,’ Hoseok tells you.

For the first time tonight, your hands tremble on the wheel.

‘Pull over,’ Hoseok says.

He puts his hand on your shoulder, feels the way you’re shaking.

‘Pull over, baby,’ he says.

You pull into a layby, cut the engine.

The lights fade out, and it’s so dark he can’t see you at all.

All he can hear is the hitches in your breathing as you cry, and Hoseok’s so sick of not giving in to you.

He pulls you into his arms.

He comforts you the way he wanted to that night he came to your apartment.

‘You’re ok, baby,’ he tells you, smoothing your hair, stroking your back, holding you tight.

Your tears wet his face, and Hoseok swipes his thumbs over your soft cheeks.

‘Don’t cry, Scraps, please,’ he pleads.

‘I thought you were hurt,’ you sob, words staccato, drawing gasps of breath in between.

Hoseok’s pretty sure he’s bruised if not broken a couple ribs, but there’s no way he’s telling you that.

‘I’m fine,’ he tells you, tilting your chin. Your eyes search his face, lips parted slightly.

‘I’m gonna kiss you, is that ok?’ he asks.

You nod.

Hoseok nudges in close, breathes in your scent, and kisses you with all the longing he’s felt for you.

Since you first started hanging out with him after school.

Since he saw you with that absurdly cute backpack strapped to you.

Since that New Year’s eve where he had to watch another man touch you when it should have been him with his arm around you.

Hoseok’s not going to let himself make the same mistakes again.

You’re whimpering in his ear, soft sounds making his cock surge in his pants, making him chub up for you.

Hoseok leans the seat back as far as it’ll go, watches as you look him over.

‘Come sit on me,’ he says, his voice that raspy low tone he gets when he’s turned on.

You climb over him gracefully, all legs and big eyes.

Hoseok pulls you down to him. Your hips move against his, and he groans.

‘I want you, Hobi,’ you say, quietly, eyes shining.

‘You have no idea how much I want you,’ Hoseok replies.

There’s a devilish spark in your eye.

‘How much do you want me?’ you ask.

Hoseok blinks at you.

Christ. Are you pouting at him?

You’re undoing your jeans, the sliver of pink panties enough for his cock to press uncomfortably at the seam of his pants.

‘You left me all wet for you before,’ you say, when Hoseok doesn’t reply.

Hoseok can’t stop his groan as you push your jeans down and travel your fingers under the band of your panties.

‘You’re gonna make me cum just watching you,’ he tells you.

‘Are you hard for me?’ you ask, feigning innocence.

‘I’m so fucking hard,’ Hoseok tells you, honestly.

‘Show me.’

Hoseok undoes the fly of his pants, pushes them down. He watches as your eyes drop to the outline of his cock.

‘We haven’t got a lot of room,’ you say.

You tug your panties aside and roll your hips over his bulge.

Hoseok puts his hands on your hips.

‘You gonna let me in?’ he asks.

He draws himself out of his briefs, hard, leaking, already sensitive.

You brace a hand against the window and scoot forward.

Hoseok grabs your hips and pulls you down onto his cock.

‘Hobi,’ you cry, as he fills you.

‘Yeah?’ he asks. ‘You like me like that?’

You moan instead of answering, and Hoseok jerks his hips up against you.

‘Answer me,’ he says.

‘I like you inside me,’ you say, moaning as he bucks up again.

‘I like being inside you,’ Hoseok tells you. He squeezes your hip. ‘Fuck! You feel so good.’

He lifts up your top, pushes your lacy bralette up so he can touch your skin.

Fuck your tits look beautiful.

You look beautiful.

You’re biting your lip as you ride him, all slick and sweaty and breathless, and Hoseok could watch you forever.

He pushes up against the footwell, bucking up into you, hips slamming up into yours.

He can tell you’re close by the way you’re clenching around him, by the way your voice has gone high as you pant his name.

He pulls you down against him, mouth open against your skin, whispering praise to you as you take him.

You tell him you’re cumming, and Hoseok can’t hold back. He flexes up into you, grunting as he releases, hot streaks of cum that roll down his cock as you move your hips. You moan and bury your face in his neck.

Hoseok curls his arms around you, taking the weight of you, and closes his eyes.

Why has he spent so much time fighting this? You’re everything he’s ever wanted.

***

Hoseok stirs when you start moving. You put a hand on his chest, and he brings his own hand up to cover it.

You look at him, uncertainly.

‘Stay,’ he says.

He’s hardening again, the head of his cock pushing against your folds, so close because he hadn’t moved after he’d softened out of you the first time.

He shifts, moving so he’s on top of you, between your legs.

You’re looking up at him, eyes so wide he can’t help himself.

He kisses you again.

He pulls back just long enough to ask if he can enter you again.

This time, it’s slow.

Hoseok kisses you as he thrusts, your eyelids, your cheeks, the hollow between your collarbones.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he tells you.

His reward is a smile so bright it could light up the world.

The pleasure’s building, slow, and he thinks he could keep going like this, make you cum on his cock.

So he does. He rocks his hips against yours, whispering praise in your ear as he fucks into you.

You’re getting tighter now around him, arching against him.

He knows you’re close. ‘Hey,’ he says, raspy, low.

Good girl that you are, you moan, ‘yes, Hobi?’

‘Cum for me,’ he urges, reaching down, squeezing your ass.

He moves faster, which you seem to like.

He feels like he’s hurtling to the edge of a precipice, pleasure surging.

For a moment, he’s suspended.

Then he falls, and he takes you with him.

***

By the time Hoseok rolls back into the parking garage, the dawn’s starting to break.

He parks up in his usual space.

You’re climbing out the other side of the car, greeting Namjoon in a tight hug, grabbing Yoongi’s arm when it looks like he’s about to pretend he doesn’t want to hug.

Hoseok grabs Namjoon after you’re done with him, because he’s his closest friend, and last night was a hell of a lot.

Namjoon’s hold is tight, strong, sore on his broken ribs but Hoseok wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything.

He exchanges a look with Namjoon as he pulls away.

He has a feeling Namjoon already knows what he’s going to say before he turns to you, holding out his arm.

‘Come on Scraps, let’s go to bed.’

You curl into his side.

#jhope smut #jhope x reader #bts smut #hoseok fanfic

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