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irrlicht-ghostfront · 4 years

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@thefinaltaterthot You’ll love me.

TW/CW: temporary character death, toxic relationship

Alastor was a cruel and sadistic man. He knew that. He’s never been anything different. They’d call him a homicidal maniac and they wouldn’t be wrong. Hurting people was one of the things he did best. However, this pain never used to be of the emotional kind. He had no time for mind games. Emotional pain could take years to manifest and that was just too long to wait for. No, immediate, physical pain was better. He’d get to see the effects right away and it’d be over with.

Of course, perception in Hell changed quite a bit. For one, time was not limited. On the second, there was absolutely no need to hide. He could rip a man apart in the middle of the street and eat his flesh right then and there, and no one would bat an eye. He still preferred physical pain over mental anguish however. Old habits die hard, after all, and he’s never been a man of change.

Charlie was intriguing to be sure. Her plan was absolutely ridiculous and would never work. Redemption? They were all in Hell for a reason. Chances were slim that one of these fools actually managed to change so much that Heaven would open up for them. How would it even happen? Would an Angel come down from Heaven and take them? It was absolutely ludicrous. He chuckled to himself. But, her plan had one upside to it: he’d get to see a lot of sinners fail. It was promising to be fun; and if it turned out not to be, well – he could always just leave.

Without a doubt, seeing Charlie lose her hope would be the most worthwhile. She’d lose bit after bit each time a demon failed to actually master redemption. He was looking forward to spending more time with her.

“Hey, Al, wanna have a drink with me?” “No thank you Husker! I have a meeting with Charlie to attend!”

He didn’t turn to look at his friend. What was the point of seeing the dejected expression yet again? It was always the same.

Husk was in love with him.

Now, he never came and said it outright, but Alastor was no fool. People had tried to be affectionate with him in the past and they have looked and acted quite the same. Husk would try to get closer and he would utterly reject him. When sitting on the couch, Husk would inch closer every few seconds and right before he was next to him, Alastor would stand up to go somewhere else. When he was sitting at the bar to sip his whiskey, Husk’s claws would move slowly towards his hand. He placed it on the countertop deliberately so Husk would stage yet another attempt. And again, right before he reached his goal, Alastor would withdraw his hand.

He didn’t know why he did this. Husk was his friend, his loyal companion. He gained nothing from this. It would be better if he just spoke to Husk about this, stopping this all together but – for some reason, he couldn’t. Every reaction to Husk’s attempts came automatically and before he even realised what he’d done.

He couldn’t reject his friend. If he did, it’d break Husk. No, that wasn’t right.

Husk had come into Hell already broken, poorly held together as it was. Rejection would utterly smash the cat. Alastor had no idea why Husk chose to fall in love with him of all people. He should’ve chosen the first bartender that allowed him to sit on his tab.

But Husk chose him. Devil only know why.

“Hey, Al, happy hour in the pub just started, do you –“

“Great news! I hope you have fun there!”

He was a cruel and sadistic man, but breaking Husk’s heart quite like this didn’t give him the satisfaction it should have.

Why didn’t Husk just give up? He was clearly not getting anywhere, so why not give up? But to be fair, he didn’t make it easy on him. Anytime he saw Angel Dust sitting at the bar to talk to Husk, he would intervene and join them. He’d have no business at the bar, no need for a drink, and he’d still interrupt them. He didn’t know why. He just knew that Husk would hyper-focus onto him and Angel Dust would be left behind. Alastor didn’t know why he couldn’t let Husk have this, he truly didn’t.

Husk was his cat; and as such, nobody else was allowed to interact with him.

Husk was sweeping the bar while he and Charlie had a conversation in the same hall. She excitedly told him about her plans and how she envisioned everything to work and he decided to humour her. While he absolutely couldn’t wait for it all to fail, he encouraged her and even pitched in some ideas of his own. He already offered to broadcast across Hell, and Charlie agreed immediately. She had tasked Vaggie to write a message post-haste. To be honest, her enthusiasm was infectious. Much like her, he couldn’t await the first residents of this establishment. Of course, it was for quite the different reason, but it was excitement nonetheless.

“I’m quite fascinated by you, little princess.” He cocked his head and smiled widely at her. He noticed that Husk had stopped sweeping for a split second. Hm. Curious.

“Oh, ehm, thank you! I’m glad you like, well, me! You are quite different from what I expected, I must say.”

He simply nodded his head. Sure enough, the sinners described him as a force of nature and while they weren’t wrong, he wasn’t a brute. He quite valued civil talks.

“O-oh! Husk, wait, I need to talk to you!”

Husk had finished the sweeping, then. The cat stopped and looked over to them; and Alastor noted that he looked tired.

“Now, you won’t dismiss our princess, won’t you?”

Husk clenched his jaw, balled his fist and started walking again without a word. Now, this simply could not stand.

“Husker.”

Husk stopped.

He always stopped. Charlie ran up to him to discuss whatever she will.

He was cruel and sadistic, treating Husk like this. But he couldn’t stop.

Charlie was weeping. She was sitting on the sidewalk they’ve been walking on and crying her eyes out. Under her lay Husk, dead with a hole in his chest. Now, of course you couldn’t escape Hell by simply dying; only the weapon of an Angel would do the permanent trick.

But sinners could still suffer fatal wounds and a hole in the chest surely counted towards that. They had just been walking; him, Charlie and Husk. Husk had come along because Alastor had asked and also to carry any eventual bags they might acquire.

Gang Wars were quite frequent everywhere in Hell and there was no common decency to keep them in a confined space. But someone shooting at Charlie must have been a mistake. The only question was – why did Husk jump in? Recovering from such a wound was painful and took at least a week, depending on the fatality of the wound.

It also made Alastor angry. Husk wasn’t allowed to die. He wasn’t, but he did anyway and now someone had to pay. So, he ripped the offending sinner in half. Not enough carnage, but it would have to do. He stepped up to Charlie and Husk; and picked the latter up. Huh. If Husk were conscious right now, he’d quite enjoy that. Too bad he’d never know.

“Charlie”, he said to get her to focus. “Let us return to the Hotel and resume shopping tomorrow.”

He could see in her face that shopping was the last thing on her mind but he didn’t care. He simply teleported them back to the Hotel and dumped Husk onto his bed. It was eerie, seeing his friend ragdoll like this. Charlie was snivelling next to him.

“I’m going to go out for a bit.”

He didn’t wait for her approval, and Husk would not awaken for quite some time.

He didn’t understand. He just didn’t understand and he needed to clear his head.

Murder has always been his first choice.

Husk woke after roughly two weeks.

“Welcome back, Husker! I see not even death could stop you, dear friend.”

It was rude, greeting him like that when he just came back to life, but it was another automated response.

Husk blinked lazily at him. He needed a moment to focus his gaze and then he tried to sit up. Alastor didn’t stop him even though he should.

“You’re here”, Husk just said after he painfully managed to sit up. Ah. There it was. The look on his face, the one he always had in Alastor’s presence.

“Mhm”, he simply replied. Husk’s breathing was ragged and he should really lie back down. Well. Husk was back awake, no point in staying any longer.

“Will you stay?”

“I suppose I should take my leave.”

Two things said at the same time and Alastor stopped for a second. He could feel the hope in Husk’s chest swell.

And then he left.

#hazbin hotel #radiohusk #charlastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #fanfiction #pining #toxic relationship #temporary character death #ficlet #alastor x husk #alastor x charlie

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postscriptsonliving · 4 years

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the 1000% probability of floating adrift amid misplaced introspection

I wish I could give a reasonable excuse why I have, for too long, dodge writing any updates. You know how when everything’s a blur and each day passes by in such a swift manner and you’re too overwhelmed to write down and make sense of everything?

The last time I wrote anything remotely related to the pandemic was right before the lockdown. I was nonchalantly lamenting over the fact that I had no idea how to place my troubled feelings in the midst of all that’s happening in the world. Honestly? This disposition remains today — I still guilt myself to death whenever I feel bad about myself — except now I’ve become a lot more lenient, allowing myself to genuinely feel whatever the situation brings with it. And yes, “others have it worse” and “it’s not about me”, but repressing what I feel will not do anything to help them in any kind of way. I now know better that guilt in itself is also a selfish act and that empathy does not only go out in one way.

Besides, writing is an indulgent act, and I cannot not write about what I’m feeling. So, here I am.

Hello. I am 21, a college junior, living by myself, paying my bills, looking for a new city to live, and feeling so paralyzed.

These past few months were spent trying to grapple with the inevitable reality that time is moving fast beyond my control. I canceled my international exchange program. I left my full-time job. My sister moved out of the house to permanently live with her husband. A dear friend passed away. And as my world transforms and shifts in ways unalterable and drastic, all I can do is stare blankly at it and hope for time to heal all that was not meant to be. Yesterday, as I attended my Zoom class and looked at my friends through the digital veneer, I felt crushed by the fact that an entire year has been taken away from us. We were supposed to be having the best time, making mistakes, falling in love, relishing on what little remains of our youth and here we are.

Recently, I opened up to my mom that I can’t imagine living more years in this hellhole. Can’t take it anymore. I don’t see anyone (except my dog) that can convince me to stay (and let’s not talk about nationalism because I don’t have an ounce of that). The only thing constant about this place is the rate at which my indifference for it grows. Mom reassured me that I can go and move elsewhere when I’m ready, as long as I promise that I can survive.

It’s terrifying how easy it is for me to drop everything and leave. I feel like I’m wasting away my one life if there’s truly nothing that anchors me here. Sometimes, I look at my apartment and realize just how small the world I’ve built for myself. How longer will I confine myself in this 10x10 box? Why am I 21 and still have not a shred of clue of what step to take next? Why do I still feel the need to seek the approval of my mother when deciding for my life? Why can’t I just stop using social media and measure my life by the metrics designed by others? Why am I not in Europe? Why am I working myself to death at this age? Why am I saving up so much money?

The likeliest reason why I feel so paralyzed is that I cannot conjure an image of what can happen in the coming months. I’ve always delineated my future but with the months condensed in a time warp, I am defeated. The only thing I want to do now is get away from here—this place where the pace seems doubly tedious and suffocating— and even that act seems preposterous right now. This is self-indulgent, tone-deaf, and hedonistic, but who the hell is keeping tabs anyway? Why must I ask forgiveness for what I feel? Why do I have to seek exoneration and stand in tiptoes just to be what we conceived is right?

I’ll maybe stop feeling this way if I don’t feel like I’m wasting my life.

I want to tell myself: “Abi, stop acting like you’re ancient and hurtling towards demise. You’re 21, you’re young, and have achieved things and off to achieve more. Who cares if you haven’t figured some things out? A lot of people never figure them out themselves. Moving won't change anything. It’s doomed everywhere. Romanticizing places will ruin your life. You're living in the city everyone wants to live in, and your apartment is beautiful. Material things won't create happiness that lasts. You need to figure out what's going on inside you. Those are the things that dictate your happiness. The world doesn’t revolve around you and it sure won’t adjust just to fit your desire.”

Life isn’t a coming-of-age movie and this pandemic certainly isn’t a new plot device to further that narrative.

I have hit a dead-end once again, as you can see.

I guess it's simply impossible to rationalize my feelings since this juncture isn’t meant to teach us any lesson. Lives were taken, jobs were lost, businesses were shut down. The government is all to blame. The meaning of life should probably be the least of our concerns at this moment but worry not for this will go unheard.

I know these will soon just be stories and pictures for our children to ponder on. But right now, we’re living in it. We are here and the years ahead of us seem wretched as the world defines for us a new reality. And even though all that we can do is just wait and see wherever it takes us and however it treats us, I still genuinely hope that we all get to live the lives we want.

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irwintry · 5 years

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The Tilt-Shift Effect

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, brief mention of drugs

Author’s Note: i think i spent too much time on this honestly i dont even know how i feel abt it

playlist

Word Count: 6.2k

–– a phenomenon in which your lived experience seems oddly inconsequential once you put it down on paper, which turns an epic tragicomedy into a sequence of figures on a model train set, assembled in their tiny classrooms and workplaces, wandering along their own cautious and well-trodden paths.

Ashton had wealth, but he ate his cereal out of two-dollar plastic bowls from Target. He owned fourteen, specifically, so he could let them pile up in the sink for two weeks before he was forced to accept the grimy challenge of washing dishes. He had the cabinet space to hold up to twenty-one, though he figured that was a bit excessive. His laziness could only be condoned for so long. If he chose to purchase more, he’d be better off hiring a maid.

Sometimes, Ashton took up weird hobbies during his downtime. His works of crochet were hung on the walls of hallways, and his ceramic mugs got their daily use through early morning coffee fixes. Once upon a time, he tried beading, and his old girlfriend received most of the precious pieces. He had to do something other than songwriting or else it would fry his brains out.

He purchased a new pair of winter gloves the other day. He lived in Los Angeles–– he didn’t need a pair of winter gloves, let alone a new one. Ashton wasn’t spending money on pointless things because he was bored of his life. No, he loved his time on tour with friends. He loved sharing moments and memories that would last forever. And then, he would be home again, cooped up in the confines of his expansive home with fourteen plastic bowls and crocheted hallways. Ashton needed his life to be fast-paced, otherwise, he’d start beading again.

A few weeks ago, he considered writing a novel. He purchased a Nalgene, hiked up whatever mountain was closest (while simultaneously sweating enough to fill his new water bottle three times), and jotted down whatever emotions slammed into his head. He was hit with nothing. The destructive instinct of tossing his journal into the deep brush overcame him, and Ashton decided that if he were to write a novel, he’d need to go somewhere a bit more inspirational than the dry mountains overlooking smog city.

He suffered from tinnitus quite often, especially on airplanes or any high altitude above sea level (to be exact). Maybe it was partially due to his career as a drummer, or maybe it wasn’t. Whatever it was, and whatever the reason, he despised the perpetual ache. It ruined any social event or interaction for the two days following, but in this case, it ruined his right to think. After packing for twenty minutes, Ashton sped to the airport, his ear already clogged from the mountain climb earlier that morning. The information desk was his first destination, and then it was wherever from there.

“’m sorry, Ash, but you’re where?”

Ashton took a glance around at the baggage claim area. So, he could take the silver line, get a taxi or a limo, or schedule an app ride to wherever he was going. It was good to know he had options. But what the hell was the silver line?

He chuckled. “I think I took a flight to Boston.”

The other end of the phone call was silent.

Truth be told, Ashton hadn’t meant to fly to Boston. He hadn’t been tremendously picky when it came to choosing the final destination, so he picked a random time off of the top of his head, and whatever flight was scheduled to board then, he’d buy a ticket. Boston it was.

“Why the fuck are you in Boston?” Luke wondered, his sentence ending with a lilt and a laugh.

Calum entered the conversation. “Are you having an emotional breakdown?”

“Did you try beading again?” Michael quipped.

Ashton had to chuckle once more. He wasn’t sure he would ever tire of his friends. “Needed t’get out of LA, mates. To clear my head.”

“So, you chose Boston?” Luke spoke up through laughter again.

“’s not a bad city,” Ashton replied. The loud buzzer by his baggage claim began to sound, and a second or so later, the first suitcase tumbled down. “There’s Cambridge, too. That place can be pretty.”

“I think Ash will make the perfect Bostonian,” said Michael. “He gives off perfect Masshole vibes.”

Ashton snorted. “Thank you, Mike.”

“Anytime.”

Ashton noticed his bag was the fourth to slide down on the conveyer belt. “So, uh, does anyone know what on earth the silver line is?”

There are ninety-five to a hundred billion nerve cells in the human body, and right now, Ashton could feel every single one. The safari app on his phone had close to ten tabs open purely to help him understand the train system, but then he ended up freaking out and taking a Lyft instead. He had started to realize his mistake in coming here the moment he finalized everything with his Airbnb in Back Bay (wherever the hell that was). He could vaguely remember a few designated spots him and his mates hit for yoga or brunch when they had been in the city, but they were never here long enough.

The penthouse he was renting lacked activities, but the bathroom was nice. The lighting made his pores stand out a bit more than usual, so that was another downside. Also, he was two inches taller than the showerhead. Otherwise, he loved the place. The roof would be a nice touch if the temperature outside hadn’t frozen his nips off through three layers of clothing. With a sigh, Ashton tossed his belongings to the floor and collapsed onto the couch.

So, he didn’t know why he was here or what he was going to do while he was here. He hardly made it out of the airport alive, and he assumed that, once people knew he was here, walking the streets would be a damn nightmare. Maybe he could give himself cabin fever and write down whatever psychotic thoughts came into his head. That would be an interesting novel.

Ashton didn’t know what he was thinking, but he did know that he needed a fucking beer. And, like all great cities, there were plenty of bars.

However, despite the lovely array of bars, he needed a place that was lowkey. He needed the place three blocks west in its eighteen-table glory. He needed the distance murmur of conversations from old friends and regulars, and he needed that sharp sting of tequila sloshing down his throat. What he didn’t really need, was the live performance taking place in the closet-sized underground bar, but he felt bad that the ten people in there hardly gave a shit.

Ashton listened from a small round table by the wall. He didn’t know why–– maybe it was the alcohol, but the light strum of guitar and angelic singing voice traveled through every ninety-five to a hundred billion nerves in his body. His heart connected to the lyrics, the strings plucking as if it were on the guitar. Maybe this was why he was here.

You had noticed him from the corner of your eye, though your hands only froze for a split moment before you flickered your gaze back to the few men on barstools. This was the exact reason you had to perform with a lyric sheet before you–– unexpected guests like Ashton Irwin would wander in and listen to you sing.

Truth be told, this was your first time performing in front of a big name, and you were somewhat upset you had worked through your headache to be here. It should have been a sign when your guitar took twenty minutes to tune and when two cars almost ran you over on a crosswalk. It should have been a sign when your vanilla latte from Pavement burned your tongue and made you cry.

But here you were, singing lyrics you no longer felt with a shaky voice in front of a man whose eyes were glossed over from the alcohol. At least, that was what you assumed. His thumbs darted to the inside corners of his eyes and rubbed along the water line. You absolutely could not believe it. You had made him cry.

“Uh, thank you,” you said into the mic. Only Ashton was watching you, so truly, you were thanking him. “I’ll be back soon with some happy songs, I promise.”

He cracked a smile.

You had your back turned for under a minute as you put your guitar away, and when you stood to go talk to him, he had already gone.

“I’ve tried approximately seventeen coffee shops in the past week, and only four of them sold bagels, and two of those four had comfortable seating,” Ashton explained. With his phone nestled between his shoulder and his ear, he darted around the kitchen, a spatula for his eggs in one hand and a bottle of orange juice (for some reason) in the other.

“And, how many of those places had good coffee?” asked Calum.

Ashton sighed. “Seven.”

“How ya gonna narrow it down, then?”

Once he set down the bottle of juice, Ashton placed his phone on the counter and pressed the speaker button. A buzz of white noise filled the large kitchen. “Well, two of the seven had bagels, and one of those had good coffee, good seating, and bagels. But the problem is, those bagels weren’t that great. So, like...”

“Life really sucks for you,” his friend replied with a quick chuckle.

“And I still haven’t figured out how the fuck to ride the train, so I’ve spent like two hundred dollars on Lyft rides because I can’t walk, and– “

“Are you doin’ okay, mate?” Calum questioned, worry lacing his tone while Ashton struggled with scraping the eggs off of the pan and onto his plate.

He thought for a moment as he turned off the burner. “I’m– ‘m not doing bad. Jus’...” Ashton sighed. “A part o’ me doesn’t wanna leave, but I don’t have any reason to be here.”

There was silence on Calum’s end for a moment as well. Meanwhile, Ashton was pouring his juice. Truth be told, it was close to one in the afternoon, and he was just now having breakfast.

“And like,” he mumbled before letting out a quick huff due to the small juice spillage on the counter, “I feel kinda stupid. Like, I literally hopped on the first flight that caught my eye. I coulda gone to Milwaukee, or I coulda gone to Paris!”

“Boston’s pretty cool,” replied Calum.

Ashton shrugged to himself. “There was this really good singer at this bar the other day. Thought she was cute n’ all.”

“Did you get her number?”

“No,” he said. “I– I left pretty quickly. Dunno. I panicked. I haven’t been back since.”

“Why?”

“Dunno.”

“You should go back.”

Ashton’s brows knotted together. “Y’think?”

Calum let out a laugh. “You’re acting like a fourteen-year-old.”

Ashton sighed.

“Yeah, go back,” his friend continued. “Why not? If she’s not there, try one more time. And if she’s not there again, go to fuckin’ Belize. Ash, ya flew to Boston on a whim. You’re feelin’ burnt out–– you want to write a fuckin’ novel for Christ’s sake, mate! Maybe it’s all a path that leads to her. I mean, ya never know if you don’t try.”

Ashton nodded as he poked and prodded at his peppered eggs with a fork. They had cooled significantly now, and his hunger was only growing stronger. “I’m supposed t’be the wise one. ‘m older.”

In response, Calum snorted and uttered out a meek “yeah, right.”

“I’ll– I’ll go back tonight.”

And, Ashton did. His stomach twisted tightly as his long legs took him in quick strides across bridges and down busy streets. He kept his head down the entire time, his thin sweatshirt hood loose against his untamed hair (he hadn’t thought to put in the energy). The cold bit, and he figured he would have to invest in a nice winter coat from some store down Newbury. He heard it had a lot of nice stores.

The bar was quiet again, the same few guys still situated on their stools as if they hadn’t left in six days. He paid for a beer – didn’t matter what kind – and stalked towards the same table he had sat at before. Everything was the same, but you weren’t there, and he assumed you wouldn’t be. For a second, he hoped he had gotten the time all wrong, or maybe he had imagined the whole thing. Moments later, his beer had gone down a few centimeters, and you were rushing down the stairs with your guitar case on your back and a music stand in your hand.

“Sorry, sorry Stewart!” you yelped after banging the shoulder of one of the men at the bar.

“Jesus, Y/N, you don’t have t’rush,” he joked, but you continued on hurrying to get your things set up. “We’ll be here all night.”

You huffed. “Well, how ya gonna have an enjoyable night without me?”

Someone else chuckled. “I’ll drink to that.”

So could Ashton. His heart rate had tripled since you raced in wearing your cute bee socks. He hoped the flush of your skin meant more than the freezing temperatures outside, but he wasn’t entirely confident you had noticed him sitting there until you were situated on your stool.

“You missed out on the happy songs,” you said as you – to his surprise – gazed over at him. “That’s okay. I’ve got a few more in store.”

Ashton didn’t cry often when it came to happy songs–– he truly thought his reactions to music were pretty conventional. Somehow, you were able to evoke more emotion than he even knew he had. His beer had more tears in it than alcohol by the end of your set. He wondered why no one had discovered you yet, but then again, you fit perfectly in the position you were in: playing for only him to listen.

He wanted to do what Calum suggested. He wanted to talk to you and personally get your name without having to know it because he overheard it from Stewart. For some reason, every ounce of confidence that Ashton had spent years developing in the music industry stood no chance in comparison to you. He darted as soon as you smiled his way.

Ashton had burned through four bottles of Naked juice by the next evening. It was his compensation for hardly having a thing to drink at the bar simply because his brain chose to be infatuated with you for that short amount of time. Also, he bent the shower head by accident, and he almost locked himself on the roof last night when exploring.

In the morning, he had briefly forgotten where he was. There were ten texts from friends awaiting him as he fumbled with the coffee machine in the kitchen, and most of them had something to do with him flying across the country to a city that hardly mattered a thing to him. Ashton chose not to answer any of them. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation for his decisions; however, he felt as though he owed you his ears. You deserved to have someone who cared about your music.

You, on the other hand, had been hoping and praying that the previous night would run smoothly. Ashton had no reason to show again, and you assumed he had only been in town briefly. And then, he hid in the corner once more, eyes trained hard on you as the tears threatened to spill. You had to blink a few times to make sure your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you. This man played arenas holding thousands all across the world. You played for your roommates and middle-aged drunkards in a bar with a maximum capacity of thirty. He should not have been there.

Though the nerves were still there as you played through John Denver covers and original songs that would only see the inside of the bar, it was nice to have someone new listen in. It was numbing to only play for Richard, Frank, Steve, and Stewart. Now there was Ashton, the famous drummer who somehow found his way to Boston and somehow wandered into the same bar you played at a few times a week. Had someone filmed you and posted it online? Was he here pretending to be a talent scout?

You needed to know. But Ashton was good. In that same minute you were putting away your guitar, he slipped out again.

So, you figured he wouldn’t show anymore. Nobody of great importance stayed in Boston long enough. And then, he did show. For the third time in a row, Ashton was giving you his full attention, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. He showed a fourth time, and then a fifth. A whole two weeks had passed, and he was still showing up.

By this point, you convinced yourself that it was a-look-alike.

Ashton, meanwhile, was convinced that you were the reason he was here in the first place. He didn’t know if it was the cute giggle that escaped your lips when you slipped up on the chords, or the crinkles by your eyes once you let yourself get lost completely in a song. Or, maybe it was the precious pout you wore when there were mic difficulties.

It was possible he had become a bit too hooked.

“What even is there to do in Boston?” asked Luke while Ashton was busy avoiding ducks and squirrels by the edge of the pond. A part of him considered dropping his phone into the shallow waters, but his friends needed to know that he was doing okay.

“Uhh,” Ashton glanced around, the dead leaves and bundled-up strangers catching his eye. Truly, he should have picked Italy or something. “Ride a train. Eat food. Yell at cars.”

Someone cackled on the other end of the call. “You make me sad.” It was Michael.

“I’m fine,” the dirty-blond answered, “truly. It’s about Christmas time, so the lights are really nice. Depends on where ya go but things are like, kinda calm here. And, there’s this bar– “

“Jesus, Ash, have you even talked to her?” asked Calum.

“Well, no, but– “

“Her?” It was Michael again.

Ashton frowned. “Well there’s– uh, there’s this– “ He kicked at a few stones and watched them tumble into the water. “Girl.”

A chorus of ooo’s and laughter filled the receiver before Luke spoke up and said, “All right, Ash, buddy. What’s she like? Satisfyin’?”

“I-I haven’t even talked to her yet.”

And then, there was a moment of silence.

“She plays at this bar,” Ashton continued, “a few times a week. And, fuck, she’s like if Sara Bareilles and Phoebe Bridgers had a baby or somethin’. ‘m probably the only person in that joint who gives a flyin’ fuck about her. She’s so beautiful.”

“Well shit, Ash,” Michael interjected, “what’re you waitin’ for?”

“That’s what I told him!” Calum shouted.

Ashton didn’t know. He didn’t know after the phone call ended, and he still didn’t know on his walk back home. He thought about you too much to not give this a chance.

At home, he thought about you while making dinner or shaving his beard. He thought about you when coming up with strategic ways to get around the city without being seen. He thought about you once he finally figured out how the train system worked. No matter what, he thought about you, the cute girl who sang her heart out for people who only talked over her.

He wondered if you thought about him, too. There was no possible way you hadn’t noticed his presence–– you locked eyes too many times and it made his heart flop every damn time.

Ashton would spend the walk over to the bar thinking about what sweater you would wear that night. Would it be blue or red? Would it fit perfectly or leave enough room for another human to cuddle underneath? You took your shoes off when performing, so he began to think about what socks you would wear, too. The blue ones with cats? The frilly white ones? The rainbow ones with dinosaurs? His smile grew wide as he climbed down the stairs to the small bar.

Tonight was the night he would talk to you he decided. He couldn’t fall into the habit of coming and going, especially when he truly wanted to talk to you. Somehow, those billions of nerves held him back.

Ashton sat at a table closer to the tiny stage. You were in the middle of a song when your eyes glanced down to his figure, and he swore you could see his cheeks burning hotter than the neon sign beside his head.

“Hey stranger,” you said after the song had ended, and you sent a wink his way. “This next one is dedicated to you.”

His mouth fell open, but he quickly covered up the expression with a long sip of his beer. It was like you knew how to win him over. A few chuckles sounded the bar from behind him, but he couldn’t take it upon himself to care as your nimble fingers strummed a melody that felt like pure honey in his ears. Your voice was what made it sweet.

It was possible the small bit of alcohol that made the fuzz in head travel down his spine. The bubbling in his chest was an artist, for the smile it etched on his face was unlike no other he had felt. Ashton couldn’t imagine the sensation of actually speaking to you face-to-face.

“Thank you to my– my number one fan,” you mumbled shyly with the prettiest smile that could send anyone into a euphoric state. Your eyes were gentle as they peered down at him, and he swore his heart had taken a flight to Milan by now.

You turned around to pack your things, and Ashton had to restrain himself from fleeing like he typically did every time. Usually, he was better at this. He could talk to anyone back home without a single ounce of anxiety, but now, his feet did most of the talking. So, he imagined that he was stuck butt-first in cement and stayed still.

He didn’t know that you would nearly drop everything when you turned to see him there. Ashton fought free of his invisible restraints so he could rush over and help gather your lyric sheets, but he didn’t know he would be so shaky doing so. He hadn’t been this nervous since the first ever performance with his band.

“S-shit, thanks– thank you,” you sputtered, clearly flustered from the accidental mishap. You began to lightly laugh at yourself as you crouched down, and he admired that. “’m a bit clumsy.”

“Is that your name?” he asked and cracked a smile. “A bit clumsy?”

Maybe you had blushed, maybe you hadn’t. Or, maybe it was the few lights shining directly on the two of you from above the small stage. “Uh, n-no. ‘s Y/N.”

He smiled and nodded, reaching out his free hand to shake your own free hand. He knew your hands would be soft despite the guitar callouses, but he hadn’t realized how badly he wouldn’t want to let go. “Ashton.”

“Yeah,” you replied hazily, then your eyes widened before you rose to your feet. He followed suit as you stuttered out, “I-I mean yeah, I– shoot. I mean I know who you are, it’s just– “

“Y’okay?” He grinned. So, he wasn’t the only one who was nervous. That was good.

You nodded. “I’m– I’m great. Just confused.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well...” You shrugged and placed the sheets of music back onto the music stand. “You-you're not exactly a Boston native. And, you keep comin’ to this bar.”

“Cos’ you’re talented.”

“And– wait, what?”

Ashton’s smile grew. You truly did have more confidence on stage than you did in person; it just meant you were destined to perform. “I keep comin’ back to hear you. I like your stuff. I like your voice.”

You gazed up at him, cheeks hot, and you were desperate to get out of the harsh lighting you had been sitting in for close to a half hour. Behind him, the folks at the bar were chatting and gazing back occasionally at the two of you. “You’re... wow.”

“You’re really good.”

“Th-thank you,” you replied, “so much.” The smile had yet to escape you, and it was possible that it had grown larger. “Um, so why-why are you in Boston? Of all places?”

It hadn’t occurred to him that you would ask that question. Surprisingly, in the past two weeks, no one had. He went a few days without getting recognized altogether, but he knew he’d have to answer questions at some point. But, for now, he shrugged. He didn’t know the answer. “Spontaneous adventure.”

You chuckled. “To Boston...”

He laughed a little, too. “Yeah, to Boston.”

The simple question of “can I walk you home?” could only go so far. Ashton hadn’t insinuated anything, and you didn’t think he had either. But if both of you were honest, you didn’t want to say goodbye just yet. So, you told him to “hold tight” as you raced up to your apartment to drop your things off. He was in the same spot where you had left him, hands deep in the pocket of his pretty-penny coat that had a hood the size of Canada.

“Y’sure you don’t have plans?” he asked you, letting out a puff of air through the frigid night. Ashton didn’t mind the cold as long as he spent it with someone to preoccupy his thoughts. You were well-qualified for that–– he couldn’t think of anything else but you and the way the lights in the trees reflected in your eyes.

“It’s eight-thirty on a Thursday night,” you said. “Normally, I’d be in bed by now.”

Ashton let out a chuckle, and he couldn’t believe that he could have had this last week. You admitted that you had been hoping he’d stick around after all this time, and ever since that moment, he tried not to mental curse himself.

“Walk fast,” you muttered to him. “My favorite coffee shop closes in an hour and a half.”

You were taking him through parks and vacant neighborhood streets, and he was grateful. These were shortcuts he hadn’t thought to take himself. Besides, he’d rather enjoy them with you anyway. You hopped off of curbs, kicked stones in your path, and jogged across large fields whenever the two of you came upon one. He had never met anyone who found such joy in the little things, and he loved that about you. The night was cold, but you were happy.

Were you happy because you were with him?

Ashton tried to enjoy it as much as you (well, he did enjoy himself, but he preferred watching you enjoy yourself–– it meant more to him anyway). Watching the way your eyes lit up as a few snow flurries fell from the sky was enough to keep his mood steady for the next few months.

“If we get coffee fast,” you said, “we could go to the MFA. I mean, like, you would have to pay unfortunately because I get in for free, but– “

“The MFA?” Ashton asked you as the two of you turned a corner. Before he realized, you were walking up a few steps and opening the door to the coffee shop you told him about.

“Museum of Fine Arts!” you exclaimed before greeting the baristas in the small establishment. “Can I get a small caramel latte with almond milk and a molasses cookie, please? Both to-go”

He grinned, still watching you intently as if you were made of pure gold. Everything you said was drenched in it. Ashton didn’t know how to not fall for you. He pulled out his wallet before you could and handed the person at the register his credit card as he said, “small cider for me, please. Also to-go.”

“Excuse you,” you gasped, and then you pouted, and Ashton thought he was going to lose his shit. Either that or his cheeks would fall off from smiling so much.

“You worked hard tonight,” he said. “You deserve it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Dummy.”

Ashton liked the fact that the two of you spoke to each other as if you had been friends all along. It felt natural, and that only made him more nervous. If it felt natural after only knowing you for a few hours, he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel later on.

“Want some?” you asked, holding up the molasses cookie as you both began in the direction you came from. “It’ll change your life.”

“Uh, sure,” he replied, pulling off a bit of the cookie before placing it on his tongue. Ashton had never been a huge fan of molasses, but he didn’t mind it all that much. Nevertheless, he nearly moaned at the taste just to please you. “That’s crack,” he joked before taking a sip of his cooling cider. “MFA time?”

“You wanna go?” you asked with a small gasp. “You still wanna spend time with me? I’m shocked.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think tha’s a crime. You’re talented and fun to be around.”

“Half of the world is jealous of me,” you said.

“Yeah, well,” he sighed, “luckily, half of the world doesn’t know about you yet. Once they do...” Ashton didn’t want to think about you becoming overwhelmed with personalities and fans. He liked you here. He liked you now. And then, he realized he said yet. But you didn’t notice.

“I can only imagine,” you huffed through a mouthful of cookie. “Dunno how you’re able to get around here without strangers proddin’ into your life.”

“Ah, I’ve recently developed ninja skills,” he said. “And, I’m also Spider-Man, so I can jump from building to building. Oh, and I’m a mermaid, too so I can swim across the Charles if I need.”

You winced, and you even made an euughhh sound before saying, “I wouldn’t even stick a toe in the Charles if you dared me for a million dollars.”

Ashton felt his laughter deep in his chest, and he hadn’t expected it to echo as the two of you prepared to cross the giant field once again. And when you danced your way across the turf, he gladly held your belongings so he could slowly catch up to you. He was amazed that you felt no sense of embarrassment, but that made him even happier. It just meant that you were comfortable around him.

He didn’t mind paying for his ticket whatsoever–– he would spend all of the money in his bank account if it meant never leaving your side. You showed him all of your favorite pieces, like Dance at Bougival by the artist Pierre-Auguste Renoir (who, according to you, was definitely one of the best Impressionist painters), and you took him down to the Ansel Adams exhibit. That was his favorite part in particular; it was the kind of photography he wished he could create.

Most of all, Ashton didn’t mind standing back and admiring you from afar as your eyes scanned the wide canvases before you. He wanted you as close as possible, but he could appreciate your beauty in full this way.

“Do you smell potatoes?” you wondered aloud at one point, and truly, he did smell potatoes. The smell hit both of you before the sounds of whatever event was being held did. Soon after, you could hardly hear your thoughts over the band and loud chatter. “C’mon,” you said, taking his hand and pulling him down a large hall, “I wanna see if we can crash.”

Your hand was in his. Your hand was in his, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Your smile grew as you followed the blaring music into a great big hall. There were servers and chefs darting behind dividers, and from the middle of the room, you could see down into where the event took place. People were dressed to the nines as the band in the distance played a song he recognized from Notting Hill.

“Art installation,” you gasped, tugging on his hand. Meanwhile, he was trying to figure out a way to intertwine your fingers with his. “Do you think I could get them to let me in by wooing them with my magical voice?” you joked, giggling as your entire face lit up with laughter.

Ashton nodded. “You could woo them with your smile, darlin’,” he replied. The next moment, he managed to wedge his fingers in between yours, and you didn’t even think twice about it. Your eyes sparkled while you tried to sneak up further to catch a better glimpse at what was happening.

“Well, you could woo them with your smile... darlin’,” you said, shooting him a wink.

Ashton finally decided that Boston hadn’t been a bad idea after all.

“I’m not tired,” you replied despite yawning midsentence. “Promise. It’s only– “ You checked your phone. “It’s only two in the mornin’.”

“Bedtime for me, sweetheart,” Ashton chuckled. “But believe me, I don’t want this night to end either.”

You sighed, wrapped your arm around his as you rested your head on his bicep. Ashton felt the need to thank you for this. He felt warm around you, and not just because you were leaning into him. He had developed feelings for the idea of you during the past two weeks of witnessing your lovely performances, but tonight, he had developed feelings for the actual you. It was quite possible that you had as well.

“Where ya stayin’?” you mumbled against him.

“I have an Airbnb on the next street over from here,” he responded as he glanced down at your tired self all cuddled against him. It made his heart got berserk. “But ‘m gonna walk you back to your place.”

“You don’t have t’do that,” you said.

Ashton shrugged lightly. “I want to.”

You sighed again, letting your head fall back against him as he pulled you closer (if that were even possible). The two of you walked in comfortable, sleepy silence down a few more blocks and over avenues. At one point, he swore you had fallen asleep, yet your feet were still walking as normal with him blindly guiding you along. He didn’t recognize where he was whatsoever, though, within a few minutes, the two of you reached your destination.

“Hm, we’re here,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly before rubbing your eyes.

“So we are,” he said, mostly to himself as his brain sped through countless options as to what he should do next. Would he ask for your number? Would he tell you he’d see you again soon? Ashton didn’t know what to do, but the moment you stepped closer to him, he knew he needed to pull you in for a hug. He needed your warmth, and you gladly accepted his. And when you began to pull away, you stood high on your toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“See you tonight?” you asked, a lazy smile forming on your features as you slowly backed up towards the front door to the building.

He grinned, grazing his cheek with his fingers as he muttered out a satisfied, “see you tonight.”

Ashton started his novel the next afternoon, the words finally hitting his brain in just the right places as they found their home on an empty word document. He wrote and wrote, his fingers hardly feeling the repercussions of the endless typing, and before he knew it, it was time to see you again. A part of him wanted you here with him as he wrote–– maybe you were the inspiration he needed all along.

And when he walked into that bar he now knew all too well, you were already there to greet him with a smile so big, any satellite in space could see it. Ashton knew he would be head-over-heels from the get-go; however, he hadn’t expected to fantasize about stupid things like taking road trips or late-night kisses. They weren’t stupid per se, though they weren’t his typical fantasies. Sure, he had a hard time showering without thinking of you, but that made him feel guilty. He could bite his fist and pull his hair all he wanted, and he’d still wonder about how you liked your eggs or what your favorite color was.

He took you out to eat afterward, both to congratulate you on another fabulous performance and to make it known that this did, in fact, count as a date. He had even let the word slip out once or twice, hopeful enough that you would catch on and not feel uncomfortable. You made it clear that you were enjoying yourself nevertheless. You wouldn’t be playing sugar packet Jenga with him otherwise (at least, that was what he assumed).

An hour or so later, he was walking you home again. Instead of you reaching up to kiss his cheek, he bent down to kiss your lips, and the world felt okay once again.

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miserablesoldier · 5 years

Text

I Don't Know

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Possessed! Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes has been crushing on you from afar in the gym and Wanda has had enough and decides to befriend you but she wasn’t expecting to see what’s inside your head.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning: swearing, possession, kidnapping (?)

Author's Note: This is a one shot and I don’t tag people so please don’t ask, thank you. Feel free to listen to the song to get a gist of where I was coming from at 4 in the morning. IDK by Bruce Wiegner.

You knew exactly who he was as soon as the very first day you joined your local gym. You went out of your way to not catch his line of sight, meet his eyes or collide into him in any way.

You used very visible and bright blue ear phones and an arm strap that held your phone as music blasted into your ears. It helped to ignore him and the resident in the back of your head.

The voice in the back of your head didn’t belong to you, it belonged to someone or rather something demonic but you had no choice but to house it.

You made a deal, and now, you’re alive but you’re never alone.

It was a coin flip daily on the whether that was a good or bad thing. Seven out of ten times it was bad, but there were some good days and you prayed for those every time you woke up.

Wanda was working her body on the elliptical and saw almost immediately where her friends line of sight was staring at.

Her eyes caught the sight of you, running casually on the treadmill against the wall on the other side of the gym. She shook her head, exhaling and slowed down her rhythm and sliding off. Making her way to Bucky by the weights.

“You know it’s considered creepy to stare at a woman in the gym these days.” Wanda smirked, crossing her arms.

Bucky blinked and set the dumbbell on the rack. He shook his head with a chuckle. “I wasn’t staring.”

A lie. “Oh? Is the term ogling? Leering? Being a 100 year old virgin?”

“Wrong super soldier.” He said, avoiding the questions. He had to admit to himself he was staring but not in a creepy way (he hoped) as it was obvious that you were beautiful but it seemed he’s lost whatever charm he had in the 40s.

He just can’t seem to walk over to you, pick up a conversation with you like a normal, functional human being as he should be. You would come in nearly every weekday and run for an hour or two, then head to the swimming pool do your laps and then leave. Not that he knew your schedule or anything.

“Talk to her then, she’s not going to bite you.” Wanda suggested, shrugging her shoulders and looking over to you.

She had an idea.

And a point. “I can’t...” He's afraid, not of rejection, but of the possibility of him telling her all of his baggage, her running away from him, her being frightened of him and the darker part of him. He hated that.

“Then I will.” She left him, walking confidently over to you.

His eyes widened as he just stood there frozen, watching her walk over to you. A coldness spread through his stomach and straight to his heart, he was nervous and had those butterflies that they all talk about in the movies and books.

Wanda tapped on your shoulder, confused you slowed down the treadmill to a stop and pulled your earphones out of your ears.

Threading the ear buds and wires through your fingers, you rose an eyebrow and chose the polite route. “Yes?”

She looked familiar but you weren’t sure where to place her in your memory. She smiled warmly at you before speaking. “I’m Wanda, me and my friend, Bucky, have been going to this gym for a while now and he’s got this adorable crush on you. He’s too shy to say anything though.”

This was new. She looked back at Bucky and you followed. You saw him, and now you could place her. She was one of those Avenger folk.

Play the part of a bubbly, happy gym girl.

The voice told you and you conceded. You gave him a shy smile, he waved back to you. He was incredibly handsome, intensely strong especially with that metallic looking arm of his, but you couldn’t go there. That wasn’t your future.

Play the part, you remembered. You turned back to Wanda and smiled. “He's shy?”

She laughed and nodded. “Doesn’t look it but he is. Is it okay if I give him your phone number?”

“Not my name?” You smirked.

She liked you. “Well, he’ll need something to moan out.”

This could be fun.

Shut up, you willed the voice in your head.

You gave her your phone number. “My name is (Y/N).”

Wanda was thrilled. “Thanks, hopefully I’ll see you soon.” She winked and placed her hand gently on your elbow and felt something she shouldn’t have.

A dark, old presence.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

It feels so good.

I bet it’ll feel really good to kill him.

Her eyes widened, her fingers lit up with a red essence and it shot up straight to your forehead, sending you to a quick and deep sleep.

You fell forward against her, limp like a rag doll.

Bucky saw the whole thing and rushed over, making sure no one saw. He held you up and you rolled against him, he lifted you up, holding you as he would a bride.

He glared at Wanda. “Why did you do that for?”

She shushed him and ushered him to the emergency exit. “I accidentally read her and she wanted to kill you.”

He shook his head. He couldn’t process that right now. They made it into the car park, Wanda opened the back seat and he slid you in the back, closing the door and getting in the drivers seat.

It was much later, you slowly started to wake up but you kept your eyes closed for as long as possible. Feigning sleep, you felt the straps and confines around your wrists, ankles and abdomen.

You heard her voice, the one who knocked you out and a male voice, you assumed was Bucky's, the one that harboured some sort of crush on you.

Use that.

You’ve done enough, you thought and you listened to what they said.

“Oh, yes, Steve, we will be fine alone in the compound while you and the others are on mission. What could possible go wrong? Oh, right, we kidnapped a woman!” He hissed out.

Wanda tapped her foot. “She will wake up soon and we can find out exactly what she wants from you.”

Nothing, I want to go home. You sighed, announcing your consciousness to them both. They both stood up as you opened your eyes.

You noticed the gun in his hands, your eyes softened at him. “That won’t be necessary.” You winced at the pain in your back.

“I think it is, (Y/N), why do you want to kill him? Did someone from Hydra send you?” Wanda questioned you, her hands lit up red again, ready to strike when provoked.

Your brow furrowed, more confused than you were before. “I don’t know whatever Hydrant is, and I can explain what you think you saw in me.”

The light disappeared from her fingers and he lowered his gun. “What do you mean think she saw?”

You sighed, you hated explaining this part of you. “I am possessed.”

A silence passed.

Wanda spoke first. “Possessed? Like, um, demon possession from those horrible horror films?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I don’t spin, distort my body or crawl like a crab on the ceiling.”

Bucky chuckled. “Then what?”

“Twenty years ago, I sold my soul. Then, when my time was up ten years later I was killed and dragged into hell. In January of this year, I made another deal to come back but with a friend that takes up residence in my head.”

Another silence.

They didn’t believe you.

“Show me.” Bucky said, you looked up at him.

“I show you and I can go home?”

Wanda considered it. “Yes, but we keep tabs on you.” Until the team comes back from their mission.

Don’t make it worse.

You nodded and closed your eyes, they quickly flashed open pure black. Wanda took a step back but Bucky stayed where he was, staring at you, entranced.

The demon behaved and relinquished control back to you. You looked back at Bucky. “Still want to go on that date?” You laughed a little.

Bucky smiled. “Yes.”

I just want to find a way to get out of my mind,

Craving validation from some people I don’t like,

I don’t know them so why am I caring so much?

I don’t know

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #wanda maximoff #reader insert #marvel fanfic #fanfic #bucky x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #the winter soldier #marvel fics #mcu

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taeverie · 6 years

Text

Show Off [m]

“Say, where do you get all your money from?” you inquire.

Hoseok stops himself for a second, reluctant to reply. “I-I have another job…”

“What kind of job?”

“Something interesting—different. Don’t worry about it.”

Synopsis: You always wondered how your roommate made a ton of money out of the blue; you never expected that it was because he’s a prominent camboy.

[cr.]

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader // camboy!hoseok + room mate!au

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 7005

Includes: masturbation, dirty talk, orgasm denial, sub hoseok

A/N: julia and i roamed on one of sam’s blogs and ran into a certain vid… then this spiraled out *intense sweating intensifies*

It is around four in the afternoon, another lazy Sunday evening chasing its way in the confinements of your apartment. Your roommate has been out since early morning doing god-knows-whatever, wasting his day out in the city with friends or new girls. It is a typical Sunday for him to be out the entire day, only to come back to the apartment with a substantial amount of bags with immense goods inside.

It isn’t really a problem; you have moments of silence and tranquility in the apartment while he is away. The only thing is, you are left alone and bored out of your mind until he returns to pester you.

Speaking of your roommate, he just so happens to stride past the front door with, yet another, handful of shopping bags. You raise yourself from your seat to peer at him over the backing, a stern frown sketching on your face. It is exactly the same routine, he returns with many items from outlets, malls — you name it. You always wondered how he can afford so much merchandise from two jobs, one of them working at the local bakery down the street, the other he intends to keep a secret to the grave.

After he shuts the door he swiftly turns, body freezing when he meets your demeaning gaze. “What?” he asks, corners of his lips quirking upwards.

“Back again,” you begin, nonchalant, “with more bags? How come you always go shopping on Sunday?”

He shrugs and begins to pace to the living room, heavy bags dragging his arms down. “I just enjoy going out. I really don’t mean to buy a lot—it just happens.”

“How are you not broke?” you question, sourness lacing your tone. “You spend so much money every week! And somehow we can still afford to pay off rent for this apartment… and eat out!”

A faulty grin paints on Hoseok’s face, cold sweat dripping down his forehead as well, clearly guilty. “I-well, my job does pay well.”

“I didn’t think that working at a vegan bakery can pay you enough to buy luxury items. Oh my god, do you have a… sugar mo—”

“—no!” Hoseok exclaims, bags dropping to the ground out of raw shock. “I don’t!”

You press a hand to your forehead, disbelief in your tone when you retaliate, “Then where the hell do you get all your money from?”

“I told you already,” he rolls his eyes, “I have another job. Why do you keep bothering me about this? You always spill questions when you’re stressed, are you stressed?”

“I’m not stressed!” you argue, “Answer my question!”

“I told you, I have another job.”

“But you never elaborate on what—”

Hoseok quickly gathers his new belongings and heads for his room, shutting the door to block out any more of your nosy inquiries. “God,” you mumble under your breath and toss yourself back onto the cushions of the couch. “Whatever.”

You are entirely unaware of Hoseok’s secretive action to have him underneath raining money, and even with the three long years of friendship and one year of rooming together, he refuses to let you know.

How bad can his job be anyway?

Later on in the evening you lock yourself in the dim of your bedroom, eyes still locking on your screen as you browse the internet to find something fulfilling to watch, or another interesting article to read. But all you find is bland headlines and monotonous mini-shows; that is, until you come across a website that holds a handful of free treasures.

From dramas to eye-catching movies, comedy and sappy romances, everything is within one website.

Everything.

And you notice that when your cursor hovers over the label called “surprise me,” only to find the pornography tab beckoning your desires. You take a moment to think, when was the last time you watched some decent quality porn? Quite a long time ago, that is.

So you click on the tab and roam the page. Some videos have a price range to watch, invitations for subscriptions so you can never miss another video or stream from your favorite cam-person. You are trying to search for more free treasures on the page, but majority of the videos require a fee to watch.

“Jeez,” you whisper to yourself, “These people must be bathing in their own riches, what the fuck? Sixty dollars for a seven minute video, how lame—”

Then, you see it. A familiar face on the thumbnail of one of the few free treasures within the website; and it is none other than your roommate, Jung Hoseok. His signature cocky grin sketches on his face, the still image alone making it look like he is indulging. You contemplate whether or not if it is a smart idea to click on the video; you know, just to really make sure it is him. Just to confirm that this isn’t his “second job.” You swallow your breath, eyes peering over the bright screen of your laptop to your shut door before you dim the lights of the device and dive into the titillating video.

You press your earbuds harder into your ear and quickly follow the action by pressing the play button, regret immediately chasing after your inner desires. The introduction of the film starts slower than you thought: his palm lightly brushing on his toned body to fuel his flame of fervor, the other hooking its fingers at the waistband of his briefs, bulge limpid with a wet spot from his sticky precum. His identity is still temporarily hidden by his face being out of the frame; the only view you have to feast on is his thighs to his chest. Though despite the steady start, the show truly begins its inclination when he brings down his tight boxers to reveal his aching long length. His member is hard to the point of foment pain, yet still holds the capability to rouse every fraction of his being from light touches. The tip is a pink coral hue, twinging with torment that swirls together with passionate carnality, both begging for relief.

The man delicately wraps his hand around his sensitive member, exchanging the air with his lungs before he proceeds to graciously pleasure himself. He is leaning on one side, a single arm holding his body up steady on the bed, face still not in the frame.

Right, you think, there is no way it can be him.

He starts to pump himself carefully, almost as if the wrong movement or pace can set him up for a crashing disaster. You divert your attention away from his great length to take a moment to admire the golden of his skin tone and how defined his body is — especially under the shit quality of the video. You would like to imagine being inside the film with him, palms running up and down the man’s illustrious chest before you sneak them into his briefs. It looks absolutely delectable and all you want to do is… touch.

The man lets out a breathy groan that is enough to swim in your ears, desperation limpid in his lewd noise. The intoxication from watching the beginning action of the video is instant, your eyes unable to glance away from the screen for a second just in case you miss a delectable moment. His hand moves up and down his shaft easily, thumb periodically running over his slit to spread the translucent wetness around his delicate head. His hand is beginning to gain its own coat from his minimal dew, the luster clear in the video enough to make you gulp.

His wrist begins to jerk faster, hand smoothly sliding on his hard member as groans pour from the petals of his lips. As your attention is high, every fiber of your being enraptured by the lascivious sight, the man grows tired, uncomfortable from his position. He shifts his body a little, just enough to still keep his face out of the frame; then you start to think, maybe it isn’t your roommate you saw on the thumbnail after all — his face never crossed the video once.

Well, so you thought. Your previous foregoing suspicions come back to you quickly because the second you thought otherwise with retracting your impure thoughts, the camboy reveals his selfhood as he fixates his body upright against the wall.

And it is none other than your roommate, Jung Hoseok.

His legs are spread wide while he continues to mercilessly fuck his hand for relief. His jaw hangs open to have heavy breaths escape, eyes elegantly closed as he dives into the self pleasure. You stop and wonder what it is he is visualizing: who is he imagining to have him fall into such a weak state, the position he is fucking in, or if he is the one getting fucked? Shit, another crude scene crosses your elated mind of Hoseok begging for you, desperate to touch him and cum.

Hoseok looks incredibly lost in the pleasure he is earnestly prompting himself to commit. His moans that pour from his mouth become louder, mumbles blossoming into impure words. “Fuck,” he mumbles, “fuck yes.”

Hoseok uses the last of his strength that he can draw out to clasp harder around his pulsating length, increasing the much needed friction. It doesn’t take long for him to stop furiously rolling his hips into his lurching palm. He slows his pace, movements withering to desultory actions from the tiresome scene. Though, despite the appearance of Hoseok growing bored, your senses are kept keen, carnal at the enlivening sight. It is only when he turns his body over to prop himself on his arms, grinding against the soft of his mattress for more friction, for your eyes to flare wide with a sudden heat setting ablaze at your core.

Your roommate prudently rolls his hips hardly onto the surface, making sure that his whole length comes in contact with enough love to the fabric. His moans become louder, the noise echoing in your mind as your headphones feed more of the delectable melody to you. You cannot help but press your thighs together for an ounce of relief while you bite the outline of your lip.

Fuck, who would have ever thought that your roommate would be this hot?

Hoseok is nude, muscles defined as ever in the film, his chest heaving with every deep pant. You slowly notice the way he is grinding himself to the edge of his delectation to reach his goal of release. His thighs begin to quiver, eyes clamping shut like the calm before a storm. Then, it arrives.

His orgasm appears in a plethora: ripples of thrill waving throughout his delighted body, his mind being sent into a high heaven of pure jubilancy. His load spills out of his pulsating cock like rain, splashing itself into the soft fabric that adorns his bed. Along with the sweet scenario his candy-like moans melt away into the stuffy air, and he uses the tiny bit of sanity that is left to slow the rhythm until he empties himself. His arms tremble as he sheens a tired grin on his face while reaching for the camera, pressing the stop button to end the lustful video.

You didn’t realize that you have been holding your breath since his orgasm came upon him. You lean back against the wall, face still with an absent mind, for you have not the slightest clue on what to think of the situation. You really would have never guessed that behind your roommate’s guileless eyes is an expert sex beast. Not that you are complaining.

That video, in fact, is the scrumptious delight of your evening; and must you say, extremely hot. The temperature in your room has become noticeably warmer while you were lost in the high of watching your roommate jack himself off. There is an uncomfortable heat between your two thighs, a nervous sweat accumulating on your forehead. You cautiously look at the door once again before shamefully replaying Hoseok’s inviting video.

Then, you pull the perfunctory gesture of sliding your hands into your panties.

When you wake the following morning the waving feeling of guilt washes over you tide after minatory tide. It was fun pleasuring yourself to Hoseok’s video while it lasted, but all you can feel now is the polar opposite. You stare at your door as you groggily raise yourself from the bed, contemplating whether or not to step out into the apartment and see your roommate or not — to greet the newfound camboy, “good morning.”

What are you so afraid of? It is not like he knows you watched his video, or lingered on his profile — or even watched the reupload of his previous streams. He is unaware of the sinful actions you have committed, practically along his side; yet, why are you hesitant?

Reluctantly, you drag yourself to the door and swing it open, taking a peek down the hall as a cautious measure.

“You look guilty,” says a familiar voice behind you.

The hair on your skin rises as you jolt up, turning your body to face your roommate properly. “Hey!” you exclaim, “I do not.”

He laughs at your excuse of an argument and strides right past you. “Sure you don’t. Come on, I cooked breakfast not that long ago.”

The moment Hoseok becomes out of sight you feel all the heavy weight lift off your shoulders, peace rising and clearing the stagnant air. Right, you think, there is no way he can know.

And so you follow his footsteps and join him at the kitchen table.

You study Hoseok’s appearance, taking in every detail to the core: his lissome fingers, the veins visible in his muscular arms, and his perfect jawline. His digits are wrapping snugly around the handle of the coffee mug, and all you can think and crave for is to have them inside of you, his other hand holding you steady.

You grab onto your mug and take a sip of the orange juice, a cold sweat dripping down from your forehead. Thick silence becomes a present factor during breakfast — an unusual occurrence — and when Hoseok darts his eyes to your own, you immediately avert your gaze away. After all, how can you view him the same way after last night? It felt like an absolute dream, completely fictitious, but it is no mere fantasy.

“Are you alright?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” you respond, rapid.

Hoseok presses his lips into a tight line, examining your uncomfortable physique: the way your shifting in your seat, legs crossing tightly for a little pressure on your core, and clammy palms. Honestly, he finds it quite hot. “You look stressed.” He gulps.

You purse your lips and tilt your head to look at him, gaze falling onto his cherry blossom like lips. “What makes you say that?”

“You just look incredibly tense,” he informs. But all you hear is white noise. The fluid motion of his lips catch your attention, you crave to push everything aside to press against them.

“I might be a little stressed,” you reply with a smile.

“I see,” he continues, a little aroused, “you know there are easy ways to alleviate stress?”

“Like what?”

There is a long line of quietude before he replies, blocks of tension stacking one after the other. You hold your breath as you await his response. A sheepish grin sketches on his face, “Like masturbating.”

You crack a smirk, head turning away from his. “T-that’s funny,” you stammer, “but that’s also true.”

“I’m just saying,” he surmises, “watching porn really helps too.”

“Where is this coming from?” you inquire, genuinely curious. It isn’t like he heard you last night… right?

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Nowhere, I’m just tossing the idea out there.”

“Sure you are,” you reply, dry sarcasm lacing your tone. You intake a steady breath before following up with a question — awaiting for the honest answer you know all too well, “What are you, a camboy?”

Hoseok chokes on his drink, hacking for air as a response to your sudden question. “A what?” he asks for clarification, eyes flaring wide like heated glass.

You gulp a mouthful of air. “You heard me.”

“God,” he says under his breath. “Was my secretive way of making money really that irksome to you? When did you find out?”

Frankly, you are more surprised at how he is not shielding the truth with a blatant lie; instead, desperate questions come one after the other. “Last night.” You shrug.

Hoseok dissembles his act, a cheshire expression panting on his face. “Oh,” he says, easy, “last night? You’re telling me that you were watching my videos last night?”

“I-I what?”

He takes notice of your thorny shifts under the wave of the unpleasant situation, eyes fluttering and words becoming caught in your throat. God, this truly is the last scene you wanted to experience. How come this had to be discussed right off the top of the morning of all times? You watch your roommate’s adam’s apple bob. “I heard some… things when I came back last night.”

“Are our walls that thin?” you spit out.

“No,” he shakes his head, “you’re just loud.”

But not in this case. You refuse to speak another utterance as a sorry reply to his comment as you allow the scene to imbue in your mind: Hoseok heard you pleasuring yourself. He heard your whiny groans, heavy breaths, and worst of all, the whimpers of his name leave the petals of your lips. By putting two and two together, he heard every single one, loudly he says, all due to his video.

Hoseok chuckles. “Sorry, too much for breakfast?”

You slam your palms on your table, attempting to shift gears from the flustering topic. “What the fuck were you thinking to start doing something like that?”

“I wasn’t really thinking,” he admits, almost as if this isn’t a big deal at all to him, “It was around like twelve, midnight, and I was drunk out of my mind. When I woke up the next morning I thought I made a mistake until I saw the amount of donations made by others to encourage me to keep doing it.”

“Oh my god.” You press your hand to your forehead. “You literally did this on an accident, but you carried on with it anyway?”

Hoseok chuckles. “Pretty much.”

You shoot a stern frown at him, barely able to meet his fiery eyes. “So this is your ‘job’?”

“Yeah,” he replies, nonchalant.

“You’re unbelievable.” You groan.

“What?! I make good money. Hey, and I also use it to buy us some good food. You have no right to complain.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” you confess, “It’s your silly choice.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He grins. “So, what did you think of my videos? Honestly.”

You gather your porcelain plates and begin to walk to the sink, shrugging away his question like a demeaning insect.

“Y/N?” he calls, fighting to pester you.

“I’m not watching them again—or anything like that. I just wanted to try it out; after all, I don’t really like porn in general,” you fib, back turned to him so he is unable to meet with your coral hued face.

He sighs, disappointed. “That’s too bad then. Well, it’s okay. There are others who still enjoy what I make.”

“That’s great,” you mumble sarcastically. And within the same five seconds, you stride to your room.

Hoseok is left slumping in the wooden chair of the kitchen, immersing himself in deep thoughts. If you really weren’t interested, why did you spend an hour lingering on only his videos?

The answer to you is clear: because your roommate is so colossally hot to watch.

It is a given to why you roam his profile again later that night. It is quite surprising that it only took one night dedicated to carnal desires and his steamy videos to get you absolutely hooked. His media is inviting, wild, and it sends you into a state of thrill instantly — unlike the other people you have attempted to watch to divert you attention away from your roommate.

You double check the still of the night and await for your roommate to shut himself in his chamber across the far end of the hall before you start your excursion for jubilancy. You try to hush yourself to the best of your ability, paranoid that he would somehow be awake, confirming his suspicious of your fraud statement.

And that cycle repeats for a good week.

Hoseok’s sinful content is absolutely amorous to perfection; he knows what his viewers want, and what he wants. His face is chiseled to perfection and you never dived into the attention of his beauty — not until the first night of joyous sensuality. And after that night, you became absolutely hooked. His media of teasing his audience and providing pleasure to himself in creative ways is… almost addicting.

What are you thinking? He is your roommate for god’s sake — you live with a practical sex god.

If only you can look him in the eye, or even view him the way you used to.

Every time you walk out the door you find yourself scurrying, feet quickly kicking up the pace with every step to escape the most basic of conversations with your roommate. It’s quite funny: you cannot face him in person yet you can spend hours watching his videos and previous streams.

After a good, aching week of avoiding his presence the same case still stands.

So here you are again on your bed with your headphones in, dimming the screen of your laptop to brace for the amatory content. You are not sure why; Hoseok did say he is going to be out the entire night, so what do you have to worry about?

You shift in your bed to get comfortable and prepare yourself for the long awaited videos of the night. Your eyes are locking on your screen in a furtive manner, trying to remain sneaky despite being the only one present in the household. You sail your cursor over his profile, clicking on his most recent stream — a stream from early this morning. You smile at the sight, the thumbnail being his naked body, hand wrapping around his dick with a sly smirk on his face. It is almost as of the video is beckoning for you to click it, watch it, and then indulge in your own erotic fantasies along with him.

You click on the media and raise your volume, unsure of what to expect as its content. The beginning starts slow, Hoseok fully clothed in a white tee and loose basketball shorts, his erection already formed. He stares at the screen like he is watching the views rise bit by bit before he begins his show. He starts by taking a hold of the hem of his tee, tugging on it a few times while he reads the comments that scream for him to remove it.

And so he does.

Slowly and slowly, at such a tormenting pace, he peels off his shirt to reveal one of the many wonders of his body. The scene alone causes a pulsation at your core, making you inhale a shaky breath as you await for him to continue.

“I was going to wait ten more minutes, but if the donations get to a hundred within ten seconds, I’ll start right away,” he teases, a sly smirk painting on his face.

You raise an eyebrow at his proposition, pondering if the viewers at the time would aid in having him reach his goal — and they did. To your surprise Hoseok strips off his shorts like nothing, the glamour that is his hardening member showing itself off. Hoseok smirks as he peers at his own cock past the blanket of his lashes. He scoots back on the bed to provide an even better, easier view for his lovely watchers — for you. He begins by smoothly running his index finger up his shaft and back down, almost like he is teasing himself.

He releases another chuckle. “I bet you guys really want me to start,” he says, “it’s only eight in the morning and my roommate’s asleep, what if I wake her up?”

Your eyes widen when he mentions you, your face immediately flushing the shade of roses. “Not that I would have cared,” you mumble.

Hoseok takes a few moments to read the comments on the screen, his act evanescent. “Alright, fine,” he says, voice falling to a whisper, “I’ll start.”

He gains a tight grip around his cock, pleasure already reaching him as it shows on the expression on his face. His mouth hangs open, delicate lids slowly closing, and he starts to pump himself. Like always, he starts leisurely. He brings his hand all the way to the tip and spreads his hands out, allowing his dick to enter the gaps of his fingertips. His thumb runs over his leaking head to spread the wetness around, digit quickly becoming drenched.

“Fuck,” Hoseok pants and looks straight at the lens. For a moment, it feels like this whole entire stream is dedicated towards you and your secret desires. “It’s so early, but I’m so fucking horny.”

A groan that has been caught in his throat finally releases itself and Hoseok throws his head back, revealing a beautiful canvas to mark. “Fuck,” you whisper. Every video you watch of your roommate is more pleasing than the last — he really does not disappoint.

“Faster?” Hoseok reads off the comments on the screen. “You want me to go faster?” he cracks a smile, and begins to slow his action.

Your mouth begins to water at the sight; Hoseok is putting himself through his own version of hell. His member is pulsating, twitching, and his tip is an angry red.

“I’ll think about it.” He swirls his member with his index finger, toying with himself for a few moments before he coasts his hand away from his cock.

He paths to his inner thighs, digging deeper until he reaches his hole. He shudders at the dull contact of touching his entrance, his other hand giving diminutive attention to his twinging dick. You hear an airy moan that swirls with intense pleasure, and it echos in your mind over and over. You press your earphones deeper into your ears and bite onto the outline of your lip to hush yourself. Shit, is he seriously starting to finger himself? “Holy fuck,” you let out, palm sliding into your pants. “Why is this so hot?”

You then hear a couple of sinister snickers, but they don’t appear to be emitting from your headphones. Wary, you slowly raise your eyes to your door, only to find your roommate with a sheepish grin adorning his face. You yank out your headphones and shut your laptop, raising your blanket up to your chin. “I thought you said you don’t like watching porn in general?” he asks cockily and raises a single eyebrow to toss together his smug expression.

“Why are you back?” you spit out, “You said you’d be gone all night!”

“Answer the question, Y/N. What happened to what you told me about you not liking porn?”

You roll your eyes. “I-I don’t,” you bite back, “I was just… curious.”

Your hesitation confirms Hoseok’s assumption and he brushes off your puny defense like a demeaning fly, “Sure you were.”

“I was!” you repeat and rake a hand through your hair. “I was roaming out of, ahem, curiosity and your stream from today happened to be on there!”

Your roommate lets out another silly laugh. “Wait, you were watching my stream?”

You tilt your head, spotlight on you, and the mere sight of locking eyes with his own is enough to make you feel incredibly dizzy. After days of ignoring his presence, the one day you two spark contact again is when he catches you watching his videos. “Y-yeah,” you respond, braveness feign.

Hoseok remains silent for a few moments to think, drawing out his thoughts from the surface of his mind. “Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Because.” He starts to skirt to your mattress, taking a seat on the soft of it. He starts to inch closer to you, lust clouding his eyes. “I’m here. Instead of watching that stream, I can just give you a live show.”

Your lips part at his exclusive scheme; people would kill to be in your position. Immediately, you respond, “I-I guess.”

“You ‘guess’?” he repeats, rakish. “Well then I guess I’ll be heading to bed.”

You furrow your brows together out of sheer frustration, gaze dropping to his crotch where is solid member is standing out from his shorts. Then, you realize he is wearing the same outfit as the stream. You see a wet spot on his shorts and you lick your lips as a response; oh, what you would do for a taste right now. The second Hoseok begins to raise himself to head to his room, you crawl over your bed to latch onto his wrist. “Wait,” you utter.

“Yes?” he asks, innocence artificial.

“I-I wouldn’t mind the live show,” you admit, sight not meeting his.

“You wouldn’t… mind?” he echos and allows himself to fall back onto your bed.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Well then—” Hoseok begins to slide off his shorts like he is racing against the clock, quickly and bringing his boxers down as well to show off his semi-flaccid member. He grasps around his length at the base, slowly sliding it up to the tip. He moves himself back on your bed to be situated next to you.

He lightly grabs onto your hand to bring it to his sensitive cock, but the moment your fingertip comes in contact with it you pull away.

Hoseok freezes for a moment and looks at you with a confused expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to watch you,” you vouch, tone coming out somewhat authoritative.

He swallows his breath, refusing to retaliate words of defiance, and remains idle on your bed for a few moments. The initial excitement you hold while watching his videos still lingers, the opposite of what he feels. He feels nervous, gaze downcasting to his solidifying cock. “Okay,” he agrees, war in his mind coming to an end.

Hoseok moves himself to press his back onto your headboard to get comfortable, staring at you intensely past the curtain of his bangs. His shirt is still clinging to his chest, causing him a hint of unease. He starts to swirl his thumb over the miniscule bead of precum to spread it around his head. You hear him intake a sharp breath, eyes locked on his own before he clamps them shut at the sensation of his fragile member being satisfied by a light touch.

He starts to pump himself at a medium pace to allow himself to grow under his own graze, pulse starting to kick up when his imagination begins to run wild. You watch his hungry eyes as he begins to jerk himself off turbulently, cock hard to the touch. His mouth hangs wide open, heavy groans that sound like your name rip from his throat. You wonder what images of you he is imagining to have him give into his desires so quickly.

Hoseok moans, momentum losing itself when he takes a couple of quick breathers. But he carries on like nothing happens. There is a certain element to having you gawk at him like he is the most delicious of eye candy, him being nude and needy. “Hoseok,” you murmur. And the sound of your name sends him on another raging mission to push him to his relief.

The thought of you being in his position — so incredibly needy — of fucking yourself until your senses gives out crosses his mind, and it quickly shifts to an erotic fantasy of him pounding into you from behind, every thrust he makes inside of you earning an extravagant moan from your mouth. “Mm, Y/N,” he says in between unsteady breaths.

“What are you thinking of?” you ask with a sly quirk of your lips.

You watch how he grips onto his pulsating cock tighter; the sound of your voice practically sends his mind to overdrive. “You,” he replies instantly.

“What about me?”

“Y-you being wet,” he urges, “and needy the way- ah- I am. Me fucking into your pussy so hard…”

You giggle, the sight of Hoseok molding into your words one of the best scenes you have ever come to experience. “Do you want to fuck me?” you offer, raw intention of it being a jest.

He slowly bats his eyes open, darkened eyes boring straight through your own empty gaze. “Y-yes,” he pleads.

“Well, that’s too bad,” you hum, a bright grin crossing your face. “I think you’re fine on your own from what I’ve seen.”

“But- agh- Y/N…” He holds himself back from begging.

“Just keep touching yourself,” you extol.

Hoseok remains silent when he starts to jack himself off quicker by the second, eyes closing to dive into the pleasure. You snake your hands to his chest, running them up and down before snaking them up underneath his flimsy tee.

“How about we take this off? I want to see all of you,” you muse.

Your roommate hesitates before frantically nodding, arms raising in the air to allow you to strip himself of the pesky piece of clothing. Once the soft material is off he promptly meets with his sensitive length again to satisfy his needs.

You smirk at his desperation. “Do you need to cum?”

“So bad…”

“Alright,” you reply in a singsong manner, observing his relentless actions. You rub your hands on his chest prior to sailing them to his crotch.

Hoseok is left anticipating every single scene that will begin to unravel, the mere touch of your hands on his skin setting him ablaze. He releases an emphatic moan when you start to fondle his balls in one hand, the other gripping tightly on his delicate, sensitive head. “Ah, f-fuck, Y/N!” he moans, squirming under your touch. His hands soar to your thin sheets, gripping onto them for dear life as you start to help him reach his edge.

“Just relax,” you say calmly.

“I-I can’t,” he pants, “your grip on my– agh!”

You tighten your grasp around his length before sliding it down smoothly to the base, bringing it back up more compactly. And that action continues for a good twenty seconds, the groans from your roommate raising in volume and echoing off your walls.

He wiggles under your touch, allowing himself to fall on his side. “Y/N, I’m seriously g-going to cum.”

“Are you?” you ask.

“Yes!” he says with a kick of a blanket, the mixture of pain and pleasure now withering stark.

You start to slow your pace and loosen your hold around his cock, touches feather light to diminish the consuming feeling. You move your hand away from his member that pulsates with eager desire and place your palm on your thigh. “I don’t think so.”

“Y-Y/N!” he whines, the profound sensation of pleasure melting away the longer you hold off. You press your thighs together for diminutive relief, mouth watering at the sight of his cock, tip heavily scarlet, and jolting itself upwards.

Hoseok’s arousing imagination excites him more than it still should, riveting him into a swirl of different scenarios. He craves to have you switch places with him — to have you nude and begging to cum under his light touches. He covets to please you for what feels like eternally, only to pull away the moment you are about to release. God, he can’t take it anymore.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, “I’ll t-take care of this myself.”

Hoseok struggles to sit upright, hand shaky as he grips his throbbing member — but it does not do him any good. He whimpers and flips himself over, chest meeting with the soft of your mattress. He props himself up on his elbows and proceeds to rally his fancies. He starts to grind his hips down on your bed, his cock gaining the much needed friction that you refused to provide.

You laugh at how he looks: drowning in his desperate desires. He acts as if you are not in the same room as him — not watching him with avid eyes — and loses his mind in his voracious need for release. He grinds bleakly on the surface and takes a few breaks here and there; he just cannot cum.

“Do you need help?” you ask, breaking his moment.

He slows his pace, heart pounding when he releases a sigh. “Yeah,” he confesses, almost shameful.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Y/N,” he says, “please.”

The stiffness of his dick provides him with so much uncomfort, tears practically sting his eyes. All he wants is for his excitement to continue running, for you to ease his pain with pleasure. You press your palms onto his chest to move him back to the headboard, one palm coasting to his thigh to hold him steady.

Hoseok’s mouth is hanging open, chest compressing as he engages in his delicious fantasies. Your hand slowly wraps itself around his hardness again, hand twisting while you move down his length, and tightening when you slide up. You watch the way his cock tinges with a heavier crimson, pain building up as he approaches his release again.

Hoseok claws at your sheets, twisting them in his hands while he shifts under your touch. He strains his voice as he takes another step to the edge, only needing one more to release.

You start to speed up your pace, the song of Hoseok’s moans becoming louder with every pump that spikes his longing. “Ah,” he says with a pant of your name, “I’m almost there…”

Anticipation is furiously pulsing through his veins as you satisfy his crave; that is, until you pull away again. The music of your giggles swim in his ears, a tune that will quickly run rebarbative for him if you keep up this act.

“God,” he mumbles, “what the h-heck, Y/N?”

Hoseok brings his legs together, shying away from you since you fooled him for the second time. “Sorry,” you whisper, hands flying to his torso. You sail your hands in all sorts of patterns over his chest and he just absolutely loves it — at this point, he loves anything and everything.

His body fires up more, mind too dazed for him to speak.

You lean to the conch of his ear and whisper, “Keep thinking of me. Do you want to cum that badly?”

“Y-yes,” Hoseok painfully groans and glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“How?” You smirk. “By fucking me? Do you want to fuck my mouth?”

The scenario paints in Hoseok’s mind. You being on your knees, hands tight behind your back as you take his entire length it. He wants to see his cum drip from the outline of your lips, watch you swallow every salty bit like it’s your favorite drink.

“Do you want me to ride you?”

Shit, the thought of you bouncing on his dick is enlivening. Your hands are on lightly pressing on his chest, and they would be the same way when you are riding him like insane. He would marvel at the sight of your body on his, mouth agape from pure pleasure as you work for your release.

“Or do you just want to cum under my touch—maybe even my words alone.”

And at this point, Hoseok would take anything. He practically loses control, a million thoughts dashing his mind, making it overdose with passionate aspirations. You pull away from him and sit comfortably away, watching as he unravels himself with his own thoughts. The loudest groan rips from his throat, enough for the neighboring apartments to hear, and he slumps down in his position.

He looks absolutely fucked out, pants swirling with huffs of your name — almost as if you are touching him and driving him to the highest level of euphoria. His cum finally escapes from his member, spattering on his chest and on your thighs on its own, not a single touch on it as he lets himself loose. The thoughts that followed your rousing words have become enough to stimulate his senses, allowing him to give into what he has been craving the most: to cum.

Once his whole load is emptied, his member shrinks back, no longer hard after his ravenous fancies have dissipated. “Fuck,” he lets out with an airy laugh, “I didn’t expect this from you.”

You grab onto a dirty tee and begin to wipe his wetness off his body and the bits that splattered on you, leaving light stains on your clothing. “Why not?” You titter. “Think of this as revenge for lying to me the entire time.”

Hoseok smiles. “Of course. Hey, I don’t really mind this if it’s a consequence for lying to you.”

“God—” you toss the shirt to the floor— “I seriously cannot believe you.”

“Why not?” he asks while looking at you past the blanket of his lashes. “Not like you’re complaining. If you ever want another live show, just let me know.”

A soft smile paints on your face before replying, “Wow, I’m getting live shows from the glorious camboy, Jung Hoseok.”

All Hoseok can do is let out a fit of laughter at that statement; after all, it is true.

After all this time of secrecy, you would never expect that your roommate would be a famous camboy; let alone, be offering to entertain you in person.

Well, not that you’re complaining.

#bts #bts smut #hoseok smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #bts imagines #bts hoseok

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zefurrwrites-blog · 6 years

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Commission - In The Stables

Farms work you as hard as a horse http://www.furaffinity.net/view/25483186/

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“Why would I want to go to some dingy old farm” Jake groaned from his seat in the living room. The television in front of flashing a variety of colors as he played his game. His father sighed. “I’m tired of you and your brother doing nothing all day, running up bills, and not contributing to anything” his Dad lamented. His kids weren’t bad but just painfully lazy and spoiled. “Neither of you two even have a job. That was the deal this summer, remember? You’re 21 for Christ’s sake.” his father went on. Jake purposefully didn’t meet his father’s eyes. He knew the deal, he just hadn’t gotten around to holding up his end of it. Video games take A LOT of time after all. “Well you see I was going but…” Jake began. “But what? Lemme guess” his father said picking up a game case. “Screaming Weasels 2: The Weaseling?” he questioned. “It has twice the weasels than the first, though with even more content and more wea-” “Jake!” his father shouted making him shrink back. He ran and exasperated hand over his face. “Alright, I tried giving you two a chance, but it seems like you don’t even know the value of hard work” he said walking away with his phone. “Starting next week, you’ll be a farm hand on Barnaby Ranch” “But dad!” “No buts Jake. I gave you more than one chance. This is final.” Jake grumbled something unheard about stupid farms and dads. “Love you too kiddo.” *** “So he sent you to live on a farm? And I thought my parents were brutal” Jake’s friend, Samuel, said through his phone. They were video chatting as Jake rode a bus to a bus station. “I can’t believe Alex gets to live up at our grandparents while I have to rot on a farm” Jake complained. “Well Alex is a bit younger. And look on the bright side, no parents!” Samuel exclaimed. He waved his hands around for emphasis making Jake laugh. “Yeah whatever, yay. But that still doesn’t mean I like giving up my summer just to be some old guy’s errand boy” Jake shot back. “Do you know anything about this place?” Samuel asked. Jake shook his head. “My dad said he saw some ad online about it. Supposed to teach young boys ‘responsibility’ the value of hard work. An ‘unforgettable, transformative experience’” Jake said monotonously. Samuel snickered. “Yeah sucks to be you right about now then” “Such a concerned friend you are” Jake replied. The two friends laughing for another moment before Jake’s connection flickered. “Hey, Samuel, you there?” Jake asked tapping his phone. Samuel’s voice came in and out as the static increased. Before long, the connection died. Jake sighed and sat back in his seat. “Stupid piece of junk” he muttered. *** When the bus pulled into the station, every piled out of it. Most went their separate ways and only a few boys stayed behind. They were all around Jake’s age and in the same area. “Must be more unlucky souls” Jake thought. After a while of waiting around, a maroon van showed up to the bus station. The man who stepped out was quite built with slightly tanned skin. Jake figured it from working out in the sun all day. He had blonde hair and green eyes and wore a simple tank top and denim shorts with flop flops. “Afternoon all, my name is Sammy. I’m a foreman down at Barnaby’s Ranch. Are y’all ready to go?” he asked the small group of boys cheerfully. There was a mixture of less than enthusiastic responses. “Aw come on, don’t be like that. I promise you working on our farm won’t be the end of the world. It can actually be fun” he said with chipper enthusiasm. The boys piled out of the station, loaded up their belongings in the van, and headed their way to the ranch. Jake took a look out the window as the van drove by. Idle conversation between the other boys went on but he didn’t feel much like contributing. The landscape in the country was more entertaining to look at anyway. Trees lined the forests with summer crops springing up on farmland. An assortment of livestock could also be seen grazing the fields. Cows grazing by the roads as horses galloped up and down the pasture. The trip didn’t take long and soon the van parked in front of an old looking farm house. Sammy got out of the driver’s seat followed by the other boys piling out. Jake grabbed his stuff from the trunk and followed the others up to the porch. The door opened before Sammy could use his key. Standing there was an older man probably in his late forties smoking a pipe. He stroked his white beard in thought as he looked over the newcomers. Then a warm smile spread across his face and he laughed making his belly shake. “Uncle Barnaby, meet the new recruits. Recruits, this is Farmer Barnaby, he owns the joint” Sammy said. “Call me Uncle!” he said. “We’ll put some hair on you boys’ chests yet!” he joked. The other boys looked at him in slight confused as Jake took a better look at the man. He has thinning hair on his head with a pot belly. Only thing visibly covering him was a pair of denim overalls. His massive bare feet clomped as he turned and headed back in the farmhouse. “Well don’t stand there all day, come in come in.” The other boys filed in taking a look around the big home. Sammy eased his way to the front of the pack. “Okay so I’ll show you all to your rooms and tomorrow we can get down to work” he told them gesturing upstairs. The rest of the night was spent unpacking, getting to know the other boys a bit, unsuccessfully trying to call Samuel, and eating. The next day the group, led by Sammy, were showed what their tasks would be for the day. Jake was tasked with tending to the horses. All were accounted for except for the empty stall behind him. The sun was out in full force that day too making him wipe his brow of sweat. Halfway into his work he felt his phone vibrate. Jake reached into his pocket and pulled it out to see Sam’s face on the incoming call. Excited he dropped the rake in his band pulls the ‘accept’ button. Jake was met with his friend’s face full of worry. “Um, hi?” Jake said nonchalantly. “Dude where have you been I’ve been trying to call you forever!” Samuel answered. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m on a farm. There’s like, no service out here usually” Jake answered dryly. “Right” Samuel said realizing. Then he face lit back up in horror. “Shit, that’s right. Jake you have to get out of there!” Jake sighed. “What are you going on about?” Samuel turns his phone to his laptop screen showing multiple tabs on news articles. All talking about boys his age who’ve gone missing in the area. “What’s this?” Jake questioned. “That place you’re at is like a hotspot for weirdness. All these guys went missing around the same time, summer. And guess where exactly?” Samuel asked. Jake’s stomach dropped. “The ranch?” Samuel nodded. “But that could just be a coincidence dude” Jake argued. The connection started to act up again and before long it went dead again. “Son of a bitch” Jakes said hitting his phone. “Hard at work?” came a familiar voice from behind him. Jake jumped in surprise and turned around to see Sammy’s frame at the front of the stables. “Oh, sorry just took a little break” Jake replied. Sammy looked around the stable and frowned. “Hm, doesn’t seem like you’ve made much progress with you work.” “Yeah well, I get tired sometimes y’know?” he said innocently. Sammy grinned and nodded. “Oh I definitely know your type. No matter, we know how to deal with y’all here” Sammy said unzipping his pants. “Hey whoa man, what do you think you’re doing?” Jake said backing up. “Helping you get invigorated is all” Sammy said. Right before his eyes Sammy’s features changed. His nose and mouth pushing out as his nostrils grew large. His toes clumped together and grew out running his flip flops. Dense, brown fur rapidly grew all over him. His ears migrated to the top of his head as a tails grew up from his shorts as did his much larger length through his zipper. “Wh-what the hell are you?” Jake said shaking in fear. Sammy chuckled but it came out more like a whinny. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m a workin horse” he said laughing at his own joke. “This…can’t be possible” Jake said with wide eyes in shock. He didn’t have time to contemplate it however as a torrent of liquid poured down on him. It covered him head to toe and was stale and musky. Jake wrinkled his nose in disgust. He looked over to Sammy who held a dripping dick in his hands. “That oughtta do it” he said breathing heavy. Confusion gave way to anger as Jake realized what he was covered in. “Do what!? You just came on me you freak!!” he shouted. He took a step towards Sammy but buckled as he legs gave out. He fell to his knees clutching his stomach. “Awww fuck” he groaned in arousal as his pants tented. The cum covering him just moments earlier having disappeared from his skin. “I had a nice load saved up so you should turn fairly quickly” Sammy said learning able to stable wall. Jake barely heard the voice however as arousal swam through his mind, clouding it. It started in his hands. They tingled in a good way as soon his fingers widened. His nails also grew darker as keratin spread over them. Jake’s feet undergoing the same process in his shoes. As the heel pushed out his hoofed toes pushed through his shoes destroying them. Bone could be heard cracking as his hell shifted forcing his stance into a digititrade one. It also gave him the option of staying on all fours if he chose. Blond fur sneaked its way up from his thigh as darker brown fur took over his ankles. The blonde fur continued spreading over his body burying the skin beneath a dense pelt. Jake felt his ass rumble and turned out to see a nub growing out from his tailbone, his ass moving up in the process. As the nub continued to grow, his ass inflated as well and soon his puckered anus was visible. His erection was already painful being trapped within the confines on jeans and was only made worse as Jake’s groin mutated. The skin on his shaft mottled as a patch of skin grew around the base forming a sheath. As it grew in length, the mushroom head flattened to a medial tip. Jake’s moans were starting to sound reminiscent to whinnies as he fell deeper into the cloud of lust filling his mind. His chest barreled out and his neck grew slightly. His rounded ears pointed and migrated to the top of his head where he regained his hearing shortly after. As the blonde fur reached his face, it grew out. His nostril enlarging as he flared his nostrils. His mouth joining it forming into an equine muzzle. His shorts chose that moment to forcefully free his endowed length from its prison. Standing at full length it was at least a foot and half long now. Jake couldn’t hold back any longer and orgasmed. His usual small volleys paling in comparison to the stream of thick, yellowed cum shooting from his equine dick now. He let out an impressive whinny feeling himself come down from the coitus. A hoofed hand rested itself on his shoulder and Jaked looked up with glossy eyes into Sammy’s. “Now, let’s get back to work shall we?” END

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