#If he got too much close of me I would scream and I'm not kidding. He was terrifying and he loved this xD
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What Goes Down in the Forest
Pairing: Male Forest!Monster x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, predator/prey dynamic, fear play, biting, size difference, creampie, breeding kink, mention of pregnancy, rough sex, brat taming
Word count: 1.7k
A/N: It's raining right now so that puts me in a monster loving mood.
It was you who suggested this little game to him. The forest was his domain, he knew it like the back of his hand, moved through it seamlessly, with out any issue. And then there was you, you who kept tripping on logs, getting caught on crunches, slipping on the dirt all the while looking behind you to make sure you put enough distance between you and the tall monster chasing you.
To make sure you didn't get too lost he marked the trees you passed by every now and then. You didn't have to be scared of getting lost and even if you did you could rest assured he would bring you back home safe and sound.
"What are you so afraid of then?" The voice came from somewhere behind you. "Is is just adrenaline pumping through your veins that's making your heart beat so fast?" You heard him chuckle, "You don't smell very afraid to me. Horny little human, getting your kicks from something like this. I knew I chose right."
The trees and the wind carried and obscured his voice, still making it impossible to know how close he was. This forest, you learned, worked how he wanted it to.
Everything in here was his. Including you.
You stepped back without looking, your foot catching on the thick tree roots. You yelped, expecting a hard hit. Instead you felt strong arms wrap around you, shielding you from impact. "Are you alright?" His voice calmed you, as deep as it was.
You meet his eyes, deep green in a sea of stormy gray, filled with worry. In his forest you were under his protecting, just like everything else. "Pet, are you hurt anywhere?"
"Ah, no. I'm alright. Thank you for saving me. That... that was lame." You ducked away from his gaze only for one big, clawed hand to cup your cheek. His lips, and upper fangs, pressed against your lips, soothing your worried, "Did I ruin the mood?"
"Does it seem like you did? Look." He gazed down to his cock, still very hard between his legs, aching to be inside you. "I want you, clumsiness and all." He assured you in-between kisses. "Can you run for me again? Put up a fight for me? Or shall I take you as you are? You smell more then ready enough." His hands grabbed both of your hips and lifted you up, his nose pressing against your pants and breathing in the horny scent between your legs.
As much as you wanted to give in right now he just asked you to run for him. So you will run, you will fight and you will get him to rut into you until you can't walk.
You pushed on his slightly curved, dark green horns, feeling the intertwined branches and leaves under your fingers. They wrapped around his horns and his head like a crown, almost giving him an air of royalty, or a god. Truth be told you still don't know if he's either of those. All you knew was that he was the protector of this place.
Gripping his horns tight you wrestled his head away which elicited a deep groan from him. He snarled at you when you kicked him away and started running again, in any direction your legs carried you in.
Before you knew it you were out of breath again. Panting you leaned against a tree. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" The tree had claw marks on it! How the hell did you get turned around?! Was this a trick? He did say he liked to toy with his prey.
Or he somehow ran ahead of you and marked this tree before you got to it. Which meant you needed to run back. Unless that's what he wanted you to think! He was playing mindgames with you, and you weren't in the mood. The blood was not going to your brain at this time.
Two strong hands gripped you from behind the tree, one on your mouth, muffling your screams, the other around your hip, keeping you pinned. "Kicking me in the face? Brave human." His voice was now next to your ear. It was then that you realized that the voice and the arms wasn't coming from behind the tree but from inside it. A male body pushed itself from the bark, stepping next to you but your hands and mouth were still pinned, still closed.
He could do that?
As he looked at you in that helpless state he smirked, his pointy teeth catching your eye, "I'll have you know I've killed people for far less." He tilted his head as he bent closer, his eyes roaming across your body. "Lucky for you, I value the pleasure you provide."
"Do you? Because I haven't gotten any in a while. What would you do if I ended our contract?" You smiled at him, watching his cock stir in protest. "Who would fuck you then? You'd have to wait for some other poor human to get lost in here. But if you can make me feel good now, I might reconsider." The truth was you could do this, if you were an asshole or didn't love your boyfriend. But this was part of your game, you egged him on, wanting to see how he would react.
"And you think I would allow you to walk out of my life just like that after I made you mine? Everything in this forest is mine from the moment it steps foot in. That includes you, my pretty human cocktoy." His hand lazily stroked his cock as he approached you. "I decide if you leave here walking, or carried in my arms, with my cock still inside you. And since you don't seem to understand that I will have to remind your cunt who truly owns it."
His nails turned into sharp black claws and tore through your pants. The cold air hit you immediately. You watched as the green of his eyes eclipsed almost all of the gray.
"Wet and ready. Just how I want you." He growled as he grabbed your leg and pushed it up, revealing your dripping pussy to him. "There it is. My prize."
Rough hands held both your legs open as his cock pushed inside with single smooth stroke. His own pre-cum made it easier then ever before, you could already feel his seed coating your inner walls. "I love how you split me open with your cock." You had to get used to the size, the thickness, the slight structure of it that dragged and stimulated your pussy with every thrust.
His horns grew at your praise, hips pushing closer until they were flush against your own. "I love how well you take me. As if you were made only for me. My cock. My seed. My offspring. Yes... I should... maybe if I put a damn bastard child in your womb you'll see how much you love me."
Your back arched and pussy squeezed around him immediately. You didn't have to say you wanted it now, your body was doing it all for you. "Are you sure it's possible?"
"I will make it possible." He snarled. He pulled back until only the tip remained and then slammed in at full force. Again. And again. And again. "My seed will take." The truth was you were pretty sure it was quite difficult between you two. If you could have gotten pregnant easily you would already be pregnant. He hated condoms. "I'll make you swell with it."
As his pace increased the forest echoed with your moans, the wet pussy squelches, skin slapping against skin, the sound of wood being broken and healed. You pulled against the rough bark around your wrists, aching to get closer to your lover.
His claws dug into your meaty thighs, marking you once again.
It wasn't enough for him. No mark was ever enough for him. As soon as one healed he put a new one in his place. "Tell me you accept it, human. Tell me how much your womb wants my seed." He pushed in all the way, letting you feel his cock pulsing inside you, then pulled out, in and out, deep and long strokes that made your breath hitch. "Tell me!"
The booming voice made your body flinch and your cunt spasm around him. "Fuck! Don't stop now, keep fucking my pussy! It feels good, I-" You whimpered, taking in a quick breath.
He wasn't calming down, wasn't letting your orgasm end, pistoning in and out of you and clenching his teeth to hold his own orgasm back until you told him you wanted it.
"I want you to put a baby in me. Fuck me. Breed me full of your cum. Make sure every human, animal and demon knows it was you who got me pregnant, that it's your kid I'm carrying." The forest itself shook and awoke with his deep, guttural roar. "Right in there, right in my pussy, fuck it all in."
"Not a drop will go to waste." He promised as his hips came to a stop against yours, his arms finding the small of your back as your legs wrapped around his broad hips, feeling the soft fur starting at his hips and running down his legs. It was soft and sticky with cum. It should have been gross, but you loved how it was evidence of your love making. Simultaneously the bark around your aching, bruised wrists dissolved, which allowed you to wrap your arms around his shoulders, tangling your hands into the long black hair that run to his shoulders. "You know I love you. I truly do wish to have a family."
"Maybe it'll work this time. If not we can always keep trying." His forehead pressed against yours, "Hey, even if we can't I won't think less of you. You're the love of my life. And it's not like you see couples like us in nature a lot."
"Nature is supposed to bend to my will. At least in here." His nose brushed against yours, "Let me carry you home."
"Okay. But don't pull out yet. I'm comfy." He chuckled at your cuddly nature. He shared it, so he couldn't blame you. When he walked with you he left new flowers everywhere his foot stepped.
#monster romance#monster x reader#monster love#monster smut#monster boyfriend#monster x human#monster x female reader#monster x girl#monster fucker#terato#monster lover#monster lust
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DCxDP Fanfic idea: Wrong Number
Bruce prides himself in keeping all of his networks secured. If he didn't make it himself, he had the funds and connections to get him the best working on his systems.
He had backup plans in case the systems were ever hacked, of course, but he had yet to encounter a cyber attack that wasn't beaten away by his firewalls or his team.
Babs and Tim were far more feral when booting out unwanted guests. The level of protection was also transferred to his other systems that weren't Batman-related, just to make sure the connection between Bruce and Batman was never made.
That's why he never really checks his personal phone's caller ID, not the one he gave out as Brucie Wayne, but the one Bruce used for his real life without any masks- civilian or vigilante. The only ones who had the number- and the access- were his children and Alfred.
Not even the Justice League- those who were aware of his identity- knew of this number.
Bruce is in the middle of typing up a report for the next Wayne Board meeting when his personal phone rings. He figures it's Dick giving him a call to update him on his drive home or maybe Jason, as his son was planning on going to college.
"Go for Papa Bruce," He says, knowing his kids hate his phone greeting and doing it deliberately to spite them.
There is a long pause where he can't help but smirk thinking his child is either rolling their eyes or cringing too hard to properly speak. Eventually, a voice cracks over the speaker.
"Hello. I'm selling cookies to raise money for my own star. Would like to buy a box from me?" says a boy, not one he has taken in. The voice is young maybe not even double digits yet. Bruce is alarmed.
"Who are you?! How did you get this number?" He demands, yanking his phone to his face and seeing, with a chill, a phone number out of state.
His system had been compromised. By a child. By accident.
"My name is Danny!" The boy chirps. "I sell cookies. Like the Girl Scouts, but I'm a boy, and I don't scout."
"That's rather fantastic, lad. What kind of cookies are you selling?" Bruce asks to keep the boy on the line while sending an email blast to the others. It's a string of numbers that are code for compromise so they all know to close any communication channel until it's safe to get back on.
"Chocolate chip. Mint Slim. Oatmeal and peanut butter. I made them myself!"
Right. Bruce hooks up his phone, tracing the call. The signal bounces off the call, swinging up to a salute and falling back down to earth. In seconds he has the boy's location. It pings in a small town right outside of Star City.
He sends Barry a private message. His friend is already on the way to the location. He'll get the boy in a few seconds.
"How much for a box of chocolate chips? Those are my favorite." Bruce tells the boy, voice whimsical as his Brucie persona demands.
In an unsure tone, the boy pauses, then whispers, "I don't know. No one ever let me get this far."
"How about twenty for a box of dozen? I'll buy five boxes for each of my kids that live at him," Bruce tells him, and the boy gasps.
"That could buy me one whole night in a hotel!"
Bruce's insides freeze. What did he mean-
"Hey! No! Let go!" Danny suddenly screams. Bruce's heart launches- he hates it when kids get hurt, especially those that sound like Danny- until Barry's voice comes over the speaker.
"I got him, Mr. Wayne. Thank you for alerting the Justice League Hotline." That's code for This is not a threat to you Batman and Bruce allows himself to relax just a little.
"Narc!" The boy shouts, outraged, before the call drops. Barry is likely taking over the situation, which means Bruce can leave it in his capable hands.
After reassuring his kids that he is fine and that they are all safe, he suits up and meets the Flash in the Watch Tower. There, he learns that Danny is only seven years old and has been living on the streets for a while.
The boy had been surviving by baking some cookies to sell on the side of the street- where did he bake them? The boy would not say- until he got the bright idea to try to sell through phone calls like he had seen on TV.
He punched in random numbers at the community center phone and gave his pitch about a star, thinking people would be more willing to buy from him if he had an excellent reason.
Barry had left him with CPS, but he looked devastated about that. It turned out that Danny was a meta and had likely been kicked out of his home once it was found out based on what he said of his parents.
Bruce felt he should assure Barry that Danny was fine and look into his placement to help settle his more sensitive teammate's nerves.
He was unhappy that Danny was not in a good placement; there were far too many reports from a concerned neighbor to make him think it was a safe place. Given the fact that placement had a lot of meta kids that "fell through the cracks," Bruce worried he had just stumbled across a trafficking ring.
He would sick Barry and Jason on them. Just to ensure they wouldn't see the light of day again.
Still, that did not fix his mistake with Danny, the little cookie seller.
Bruce hacked into the system to move Danny. He thought about where he would move the young child but ultimately had him in Wayne Manor.
Just until he could confirm that he would be safe. He certainly didn't think about the adorable little boy who called him with his heart in his hand and got sent to a terrible place for three weeks because of Bruce.
Danny arrived at Wayne Manor with a happy little bounce and a chipper outlook on life than Bruce was expecting. "If it isn't Mr. Narc!"
God, he going to adopt the boy, isn't he?
(Danny has been thrown into a different universe, aged down to a child. He survived by overshadowing people into letting him spend the night baking cookies.
He was thrown into a somewhat typical home, but the nosy neighbor down the street took far too much notice of his overshadowing, and now he was being moved again.
Maybe he can terrorize Mr. Narc now instead? )
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#Danny de-age#Dimension travel#Crack#Basically He overshaowed people and everyone lost their minds about it#Barry will fight Bruce for Danny#Danny will make it his life goal to be Bruce's life hell
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special brownies [weedrry]
summary: harry and y/n accidentally eat their roommates special brownies.
warnings: mentions and use of weed (edibles), being high, swearing, kissing, biting, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk.
word count: 2,396
a/n: i came up with this idea very randomly and i have written it as fast as i possibly could lmao anyway, the whole thing is about accidentally getting stoned, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please don't read! if it doesn't, enjoy <333
//
It’s been a long week and Y/N is feeling it. Between classes and shifts at the cafe, her feet are sore and her mind is tired. She wants nothing more than to cuddle up on the sofa with a good tv show and pass the fuck out.
And tonight is supposed to be her lucky night. Tom has a night shift and Harry has a hot date. No boys, no roommates, no interruptions.
There’s just something about knowing she’s got the flat to herself all night long, and she can lounge about like the lazy girlie her heart yearns to be.
She starts with a long, relaxing her aching body in the hot soapy water until her skin begins to prune. Y/N takes extra time to moisturise her body and brush her hair. Even treats herself to a face mask while she does so.
When she leaves the bathroom, it’s almost 7 p.m. and Tom has already left for work. The apartment is clean, and most importantly, quiet.
She’s a bit too excited in her movement to the sofa, a squeal slipping from her lips. Too caught up in her head, she doesn’t notice Harry leaning against his bedroom door, arms folded across his chest.
It’s not until he clears his throat that Y/N jumps out of her little happy dance with a scream. A smirk sits on his lips, amused by the way she scowls at him.
“What the hell are you doing here! You’re supposed to be out on a date!”
Her tone is accusing, pointer finger jabbing at the air in his direction. She notices his attire; grey shorts and a white hoodie. Y/N’s shoulders slump.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she huffs.
“What? I thought you liked hanging out with me?” Harry follows her to the sofa, sitting on the opposite end of her.
Y/N crosses her arms furiously. “I do! But I was so excited to have the flat to myself for just one night.”
Harry’s brows are raised suggestively, that sick fucking smirk on his lips again. Y/N lunges a pillow at his face. “Not for those reasons, you perv.”
He barks out a laugh, hugging the pillow close to his chest as he props his feet up and on Y/N’s lap. He watches how her bottom lip pouts out and his face softens.
“Look, if you want me to fuck off out for the evening, I can.” Harry offers.
She scoffs. “That is what you were supposed to be doing.” A moment of silence passes and she sighs. “Sorry, that came out rude. I'm not about to kick you out of your own flat – though I am going to force you to watch the last three episodes of The Rookie with me.”
Harry makes no attempt to hide the groan that follows her words. It’s not that he doesn’t like the show, it’s that he hates the show. He’ll never understand Y/N’s weird obsession with emergency services.
First, it was Criminal Minds, then a month later she binge watched 9-1-1 Lone Star in six days. Now she’s on the newest season of The Rookie and he’s sure she only started season one at the beginning of the month?
“Do we have to?” he grumbles.
Y/N throws another pillow at him. “Yes. You’re the one interrupting my night, you could at least do it quietly… and with snacks.”
Her voice trails off at the end of her sentence and Harry has to bite back a grin. She could never be mad at Harry, she loves him and his company far too much. Tom, on the other hand… yeah, she would definitely be mad if it was him crashing her lazy girl night.
Harry stands from the sofa, wandering through to the kitchen. He grabs two bottles of water in one hand and scans his eyes through the cupboards in search for a suitable snack.
They’ve not been shopping for a few days, so there’s only some dry crackers, a half-eaten bag of cashew nuts (ew, Tom), and granola. Harry contemplates ubering some cookies and milkshakes when his eyes land on a bakery box on top of the microwave.
He squints as he reads the writing on the top of the box.
Tom’s. DO NOT EAT!
Harry flips the lid, six thick slices of dewey chocolate brownies. They’re like fucking slabs… he’s sure Tom won’t mind if he and Y/N share just one between them.
He pops a (massive) slice on a plate and toddles back to the kitchen. The show is paused on the opening scene, Y/N shuffled to get comfortable on the sofa. She raises a brow at the snack in question.
“We’re sharing a brownie?”
Harry huffs as he sits. “S’all we’ve got in the kitchen, and they’re Tom’s. Didn’t wanna take the piss when his little sticky note clearly says DO NOT TOUCH!”
Y/N snorts, breaking the brownie in half and handing Harry the bigger slice. She takes a bite, face screwing slightly.
“These taste a little funny… nutmeg, maybe?”
She turns to Harry who doesn’t say anything and still hasn’t taken the brownie. The look on his face irks her. She huffs, swallowing. “I feel bad that your date cancelled on you.”
His eyebrows almost raise to his hairline. “And what makes you think she was the one to cancel?”
“Was she?” Y/N asks.
Harry takes the brownie with a sigh. “Yeah.”
//
They can’t stop fucking giggling.
The show is long forgotten about, has been for the past thirty minutes. They’re both feeling warm. Harry stripped from his jumper and Y/N changed into some little shorts and one of Harry’s baggy t-shirts.
Neither of them know where this amusement came from, but there is absolutely no calming either of them down. They’re sneakily sharing a second slice of Tom’s brownies; eyes on the door in case for some reason, he comes home an hour after his shift has started.
“They taste so weird, but I can’t stop eating it.”
Harry chokes out a laugh, eyes welling with tears because he just finds Y/N so fucking funny tonight.
She’s a mess too, eyes squinted and shoulders hunched as she laughs uncontrollably. They’re both crossed-legged on the living room floor, knees knocking gently.
The more she chews, the more she begins to recognise that unfamiliar taste… the way it lingers on her tongue. Her laughter slows for a moment, as if realisation is beginning to dawn on her.
She stares at Harry with wide eyes and parted lips, mouth still full.
“Oh, my god.”
“What?”
“They’re fucking weed brownies!”
Harry can’t breathe, struggles to look away from the fear and shock on Y/N’s face. His whole body begins to shake with laughter and Y/N finds herself following.
“Harry, it’s not funny!” she shrieks. “This is so bad, Harry.”
She’s laughing through her words. Even she can’t take herself seriously in this state.
“D’you wanna play Just Dance?”
Harry’s words only make her laugh harder. The remainder of her brownie is thrown at his naked torso. Harry wastes no time to tackle her to the ground, hovering between her legs as he tickles her sides.
He's blowing raspberries on her neck, eliciting loud cackles from her mouth. Y/N tugs at his hair, her legs flailing around his hips when he nips at the skin on her throat.
They don’t say anything. She continues to chuckle, and Harry continues to bite.
Their laughter has fizzled out into breathy giggles. Neither of them are sure when Harry’s bites turned into kisses. When their fingers became intertwined. When her legs closed around his middle.
And neither of them say a fucking thing about it.
Harry’s lips travel up her neck and across her jaw. She finds his mouth feverishly, nothing but tongue and teeth but to the pair of them, it’s the best kiss they’ve ever had.
They’re needy, hot and wanton all of a sudden. Like a switch has been flipped and they’re clinging to one another like lifelines.
Harry holds her hands above her head, fingers tangled. He’s hard, rock hard. Pressing into Y/N’s tiny fucking shorts so much he’s sure he can feel her arousal through both of their clothes.
He ruts against her, testing the waters. The moan he receives sends all blood down south. He’s always known sex to be incredible when you’re high. The thought of him sharing it with her? God, he could bust there and then.
He releases her hands so he can feel up her thighs, skin hot and smooth. Their lips don’t separate, not once. She lets her hands fall into his curls, nails scratching at his scalp and she tugs at the roots.
Harry’s moaning into her mouth, eager and desperate for more. He takes her shorts off quickly and strategically. So quickly that she doesn’t notice until she feels a cool breeze between her thighs.
Y/N’s eyes roll to the back of her head, more than ready for whatever the fuck he wants to do to her.
They haven’t hesitated, not once. Not until Harry's hands are at the waistband of his shorts and he wonders if he should grab a condom or just go down on her. He knows she’s on the pill, just like they both know they’re both clean.
Harry gets tested once a month and Y/N doesn’t sleep around.
She answers his inner turmoil for him and tugs his shorts down the best she can. Harry breaks the kiss for a split second to tug his shorts to his knees. He’s back to kissing her as quickly as he pulled away, tongue against hers. Hot and messy.
Y/N feels his tip twitch against her clit, an airy sigh echoing into Harry’s mouth. He lets his fingers swirl around her wetness, smearing it across her smooth cunt and coating his thick shaft in her arousal.
They’re panting messes, eager, desperate and horny.
When he lines himself at her entrance, she locks her legs around his waist. Harry bumps forward, a shrill cry slipping from between their lips at the sensation of one another.
Harry wants to give her a moment to adjust, but Y/N doesn’t. She wants it hot and hard. She wants the pain. She wants to feel every fucking inch of him.
She probably should’ve warned Harry how she gets when she’s high. How much of a whiny, cock-hungry whore she can become. Then again, how was she supposed to know they’d accidentally eat their roommates special brownies?
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry chokes as he bottoms out.
Y/N’s struggling to catch her breath but she’s never loved the burn in her lungs more. “Fuck me, H.”
He twitches inside her. “Fuck me hard.”
His hips begin to roll, cock nuzzling itself deep inside her. He can feel everything. Every bump, dip, swell. God, she’s fucking soaked, leaking down to the floor but neither of them care.
Harry slowly begins to quicken his pace, arms bent at the elbows either side of Y/N’s head to prop himself up. She doesn’t loosen her legs around his hips. She needs him as close as he can possibly get.
Even his cock buried to the brim in her cunt isn’t enough. She needs his soul touching hers.
“You’re so fucking tight.”
“Yeah?” she breathes. “You gonna fuck my tight cunt, baby? Fuck me like you own me.”
He can’t believe his fucking ears. He’s always found Y/N attractive, but never in his wildest fucking dreams did he expect her to be this goddamn filthy.
Harry loves it.
His thrusts grow harsher. She has no time to catch her breath between hits, her mouth in a constant state of slack – eyes rolled back and eyebrows pinched.
“My perfect little cunt.” Harry seethes.
The noises of her pussy are like electric waves in Harry’s ears. He feels them in his soul, like sparks and jolts. He’s never felt more alive.
He’s fucking into her manically. Behind closed eyes all he can see shapes and colours of need and desire. Sex has always been good, always been great high. But this? Fuck, he’s never felt something so otherwordly.
He never wants it to end, wants to spend the rest of his life fucking her like a whore. She’s tugging his hair, likely making his scalp bleed but he loves it. He’d bleed a fucking river just to feel her cunt around him again.
“I’m gonna come!”
Her words awaken something animalistic within Harry. Like his life depends on feeling her release around him – like it’s what he was born to experience.
He chases her high, nipping and suckling on her neck, fucking into her cunt as fast as his restrained hips will allow. Y/N’s a blubbering mess, a sight Harry never wants to forget.
Fuck, he doesn’t think he could if he tried. This will forever be etched into his mind – her face, her body, her perfect cunt. Jesus, he’s never been so into sex in his life.
Her body begins to tremble uncontrollably, legs locked tight around his middle as she cries his name and pours over him.
Harry’s gruff and desperate moans mix with hers. She’s impossibly tighter, squeezing him; begging him to never let her feel anything but full ever again.
Harry wants to die buried in her cunt.
It takes every single fucking ounce of willpower he has to pull out and release across her thighs – painting the filthiest picture anyone could imagine.
It’s a struggle for either of them to catch their breaths. Hot and heavy panting that soon turns into light laughter, that even sooner, turns into contagious giggles.
Their bodies shake with every chuckle, Harry’s mouth ghosting hers until he nips on her bottom lip.
“We are never to talk about this, understood?”
He grins widely. “Whatever you want, Princess.”
She hums, eyes full of lust. Harry’s still achingly hard, despite coming more than he ever has before. He dips his head to her neck, sucking at her soft skin. His cock twitches against her thigh and she breathes deeply, blinks slowly.
“You wanna go again?” his voice is muffled by her neck.
She grins, legs wrapping back around his middle.
“Whatever you want, baby.”
#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles smut#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#imagine harry styles#harry styles oneshot#harry styles fluff#harry styles fic#harry styles angst
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Hello,Im just here to spread the sub SKZ agenda :3
So sleepy Bang Chan letting the reader do whatever they want to him
sleepy much?
pairing: idol!chan x fem!reader
genre: smut, fluff, drabble like thing
warnings: established relationship, riding, blowjobs, chan is sleepy but he doesn't do much sleeping 👀
a/n: I'm so sorry anon this took me like a month- I'm sorry I hope u like it!
credits: dividers by @cafekitsune ♡
It was a very busy day for stray kids today and it ended quite late. By the end of the day, Chan was too tired to even eat. The first thing he did when he came home was hop into the shower, change and pass out on your shared bed. You were cuddled up next to him, hands wrapped around his bare torso as you felt a heat between your legs.
You rubbed your thighs together, remembering the photoshoot he had from earlier, how much skin he showed for that magazine. You felt bad for wanted him to fuck you so late at night but you couldn't help it, the desperation got to you as you gently patted his back, hoping it would wake him up.
“Hmm, what happened?” He asked, moving to look up at you, guilt filling your stomach as you noticed how tired he looked. “I uh,” you started, trying your best to express yourself without sounding like your selfish. It seemed that he caught on because when he looked down, your thighs were pressed firmly together. He smiled to himself, laying on the bed again before closing his eyes.
“You can do whatever you want to me.” He said, his voice deep and almost dreamlike. You smiled to yourself, happy that you can fulfill your needs. You moved down to remove his boxers, looking up at him as you took his softened cock in your hands, pumping him gently before putting the tip inside your mouth, sucking softly.
In no time, his dick was hard in your mouth as you bobbed your head up and down, his fingers entangled in your hair. “Thought you were sleepy?” you asked, coming up to catch a break. He rolled his eyes, his hands sleepily grabbing yours as he looked up at you. “Ride me?” His voice was deep and soft, eyes looking small and pleading.
You smiled. Who were you to deny him?
In less than 20 minutes you had him spurting ropes of cum, silently screaming under you as he sleepily grabbed your hands, the viens on his neck more prominent than before.
"so much for me b-being sleepy...”
this photoshoot has done some shit to me-
@bbgnyx @junglyric @hyunevlogs @thatonenoona @smuttystraykidsthoughts @lokislilkitten @yessa-vie @chartrucewhore @changbinswh0re @hyunlar @yaorzu-blog @skyisnthere101 @silverstarburst @himynamesjadon @massivesoyeondelusion @itzyeunusiastrie @not-the-herb-sage @ifudontlikegidlefucku @yo-peeps-itzz-asher @asherinthebuilding @hayleyinthebuilding @iwishmiyeonismygf @nathan-idk @soleil-like-the-lillies-or-sun @audreyyy-yyy @leointhehouse @kian-it-means-king @atlas-idk @astrid-thats-it-idk @nevandisappears @adonisdoesntgivetwofucks @vanillacupcakefrosting @cianaaaaaaaa @vannipak @tae-ig @joshuanotfound @ivydoesit23 @minjunsworldsposts @fauna-flora11 @ryanerror141 @maya-yay @ophelia-and-yes-i-stan-skz @rockyhedgehog
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DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARISE, COPY & REPURPOSE.
#stray kids#stray kids hard thoughts#stray kids smut#bang chan#bang chan smut#sub bang chan#bang chan x female reader#bang chan x reader#bang chan x y/n#bang chan x you#yay#hope ya like itt
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Hiiiiiii so idk if you saw how Kourtney Kardashian revealed her pregnancy to Travis Barker but it SCREAMS Rockstar!Eddie to me…
Just imagine him jumping off the stage after a show all sweaty and shit, kissing you over and over again, just over the moon so happy… I- it’s doing things to me 🥵
AN | I have not seen it, but looked it up, and it’s totally rockstar!eddie! Enjoy 🥰
Warnings | Language
Pairing | Rockstar!Eddie x Fem!Reader
Word Count | 2.3k
Masterlist | Main, Eddie
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"No way," you looked between the small stick in one hand and the box in the other. You weren't sure if you were more excited or nervous or downright terrified, "no way!"
You looked in the mirror and studied your reflection; you were wild-eyed and flushed, hair in a messy bun and still in pajamas. You'd basically woken up and run to the store as such and still hadn't made much progress. You were much too excited.
Today marked the second period in a row that you'd missed. Combined with the way you'd started to feel lately, you couldn't help but wonder. And that led you to this moment - finding out that you were pregnant.
Your first thought was to call Eddie right away to tell him the good news. You hadn't been trying to get pregnant but you hadn't been trying to prevent it either. But - Eddie was still away, so close to being home from the tour Corroded Coffin was currently on. Tomorrow night was the hometown and last show of the tour. You'd see him soon.
And that gave you a wonderful little idea.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"Nancy," you called her as soon as you'd gotten showered and dressed, still feeling like you were in a daydream, "I've got a big favor to ask!"
"Uh oh," you could hear the amusement in her voice, "what did you get up to this time, trouble?"
"I may or may not have gotten myself knocked up," you waited with baited breath for her to catch on. Trying to keep it casual and nonchalant was already proving to be a challenge. It took her a few moments before you heard her excited gasp.
"You're pregnant?!" She was practically squealing in delight as you nodded enthusiastically, barely remembering that she couldn't see, "oh my god, that's amazing! When did you find out?"
"Like an hour ago," you still had the test on the kitchen counter next to you, "you're the first to know."
"Yay," your best friend sounded like she was tearing up as well, "I'm so happy for you. Seriously, this is wonderful. Our babies will be able to grow up together!"
"And Steve and Eddie can be the dorkiest dads ever," you sighed softly, "I haven't told Eddie but since tomorrow's the last show of their tour, I figured I'd surprise him then. I have an idea-"
"I'm in!"
"I haven't even told you what the plan is yet!"
"I don't care," you loved her tenacity, "I'm in regardless!"
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Later that evening the two of you were camped in your living room, with big, colorful markers and poster boards. Your plan was to right some sort of announcement on them to Eddie, letting him know that you were pregnant. You played around with a couple of different ideas, but eventually settled on one. You'd be front and center at the show tomorrow and would make sure he saw your sign.
"Do you think he's even going to notice?" You looked at your handiwork and let out a long sigh, "or do you think he'll ignore it? Maybe he'll think it's just a random fan."
"Seriously?" Nancy scoffed playfully as she nudged your leg with hers. You offered her a sheepish grin in return, "he always looks for you. He's…such a sucker for you."
"Hopefully," you couldn't help the way that her comment made you feel. You knew he loved you, that much was always obvious, but knowing others saw it too was an entirely different type of sensation, "especially now that I'm carrying his kid."
"He's going to freak out," you raised your eyebrows in question and she shook her head, "freak out in a good way! He's going to he terrified, but he's going to be a great dad. And you'll be a great mom. Swear."
"I hope so…if not I've got months to agonize over it," you finished coloring in the big block lettering of your word and leaned against the couch, "was it both incredibly amazing and terrifying for you when you found out?"
"Duh," she teased softly, "its normal. No one's got it all figured, but that's okay. It's going to be amazing."
"What if I'm not ready?"
"It's a little too late for that, I think," she winked at you, and your entire face flushed. You'd always been all in for Eddie - this just made you even more sure of that.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"I'm having second thoughts," you looked over at Nancy who was standing to your right with a huge smile on her face. She understood your nerves - she'd felt the same way the first time she told Steve she was pregnant. You were clutching the poster in your hand so tightly that your knuckles were turning white, "maybe I shouldn't."
"You should and you will," she wiggled the poster in her hands and offered you what she hoped was an encouraging smile, "we're here, the posters are ready, and Eddie will be on stage any moment!"
"Okay," you felt sick to your stomach, but you were pretty sure it wasn't anything due to your pregnancy, "right."
Before you could argue with her any further, the crowd erupted into deafening cheers. The sudden shift in the excitement caused you to startle for a moment before nerves settled into your bones. You were in the front VIP area, close to the stage as you often were, which gave you a perfect view of the stage.
You almost swooned when Eddie came onto the stage along with the rest of the band. The crowd was cheering their name and you couldn't help but join in. This was exactly where he was meant to be - he owned the stage with grace and ease.
Eddie gave a little speech before the band rolled into their set. Any remaining nerves went away as you sang and bopped along to the music with Nancy. It was easy to lose yourself in the moment, but you were quickly pulled back into reality when you saw Eddie looking around the crowd. He was looking for you, just as it always was.
You heard your heartbeat in your ears as everything around you seemed to disappear. You weren't in a sea of thousands anymore - it was just the two of you. His pretty face lit up with a saccharine and beaming smile as his eyes found yours. Your own smile in return was practically ethereal as you blew him a kiss. He winked before slipping back into rockstar mode and continued playing his heart you.
You always wondered how he could even find you, considering the bright lights of the stage made it difficult to see much of the audience. He said it was because his heart always knew where to find you. He called him a dork; he called himself a hopeless romantic for you.
"Oh come on," Nancy practically squealed as she held onto your arm, "the two of you are disgustingly precious!"
"I know," you admitted softly, "I know."
As the rest of the show went on, you kept trying to find the perfect moment to hold up your poster. You decided to save it for the last song - what better way to end the show?
You shouted your little plan into Nancy's ear and, to no one's surprise, she totally supported the idea. Once they started playing the last song you threw up your posters and started calling Eddie's name loudly. The two of you were attracting attention from all around you. Part of you expected to find angry looking faces ready to tell you to keep it down but instead you found a lot of excited faces.
"Eddie!" You shouted his name at the top of your lungs, jumping up and down to capture his attention. That seemed to spark something in him and he turned towards you. It took him a few moments to lock eyes with you, but once he did you saw him look at the posters the two of you were holding up.
His expression blanked for a moment before he seemed to realize what they said. In big, bright letters your sign said, Eddie, I'm pregnant! while Nancy's said Eddie, she's pregnant!
“Hold on,” Eddie stopped playing, looking at you the entire time as he grabbed his mic, “pardon me for a moment.”
And with that, he practically ripped his guitar off and set it on its stand at the edge of the stage before jumping down into the audience and making his way over to you, pushing eagerly through the crowd. He stopped right in front of you, reading over your sign again before looking at you with a nervous expression. His heart was beating so wildly that he was surprised that it didn’t burst through his ribcage.
“Baby,” his voice was almost trembling as you looked at him with teary eyes, “are you serious? We’re having a baby?”
“Yes,” and just like that, the tears were running down your cheek as you nodded at him, “I’m pregnant.”
“No fucking way,” he eagerly, but still tenderly, took your face in his hands before leaning in to kiss you. You could feel him smiling against your lips as he kissed you; the fact that you were in the middle of a giant crowd didn’t both either of you. He pulled back and gently brushed away your tears, “we’re having a baby?”
“We’re having a baby,” you confirmed as he looked at you incredulously. To him you were, and had always been, pure magic. You were the girl of his dreams and now you were having his baby? It seemed like a dream, “surprise!”
“Best surprise ever,” he promised as he kissed you again. He looked back at the stage and then at you, “let me, ugh, let me wrap things up real quick.”
“By all means,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek before nudging him back towards the stage, “I’ll be right here.”
He nodded before almost running back to the stage, leaping onto it and grabbing his beloved guitar again. He turned back to the rest of the band and they looked at him in understanding, already well aware of where this was going.
“Ladies and gents,” he looked through the crowd that was eagerly watching him, “I think I’ve just gotten the best news ever from the best person ever. My girl - she’s pregnant!”
Your entire body warmed up as you shook your head at his antics. But you knew him and loved him, and the fact that he was immediately so excited made your heart feel happy and relieved. You could feel the crowd turn to you as they started to cheer.
“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and now she’s giving me the best thing ever,” he took a moment to breath, already feeling a rush of emotion bubble up, “baby, I love you so much. And, on that note, we’re gonna end this night on a song that I wrote for her when we first started dating. So if you know the words, sing along!”
He launched into your song, one of many, and a huge part of the crowd joined him. It was such an odd thing to have so many people singing one song in unity and to know that it was al for you. Eddie might have a been a lot of things, but he was the love of your life. That much you’d always known.
Sure, the idea of being pregnant and having a baby was terrifying, but with Eddie at your side, you were sure it would all be okay.
-
After the show, you made your way backstage, not even having to bother to flash your access pass as you looked for Eddie. You felt electric, but you couldn’t wait to have a moment alone with him.
As soon as you were in his proximity, he spotted you and made his way over to you. This time he was able to wrap his arms around you and pulled into his body, hugging you tightly.
“Eddie,” you laughed softly, feeling him pepper kisses all over the side of your head, “I can’t breathe!”
“Sorry,” his cheeks pinked as he looked you over, almost as if he was trying to see any visible sign of your pregnancy, “I’m just…wow. You’re pregnant and I’m just…wow.”
“I found out yesterday,” you reached into your pocket and handed him one of the several tests you’d taken, “and I wanted to surprise you.”
“Best surprise ever,” he looked at the small stick with a look of awe etched into his features, “and that little reveal? Baby, you’re a genius. This is…fuck, I’m so in love with you.”
“Are you…happy?’ you asked softly, still craving the reassurance despite his clear indication of happiness.
“So happy,” he brushed his knuckles along your cheek, sighing softly, “this is amazing, baby. There’s no one else I’d ever want to do with this. But, it’s about you too - are you happy?”
“Yes,” you promised, taking his hand and settling onto your belly, where soon you’d be able to see evidence of your child, “happier than ever. I love you so much, Eddie.”
“I love you too, baby,” he whispered so only you could hear it. You felt him gently rub your belly, “and you too, baby. Both of you - so much.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson imagine#joseph quinn#st#rockstar!eddie
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Just Say it Out Loud!
Hobie brown x reader
Headcanons. Angst. 1st part. 2nd part.
a/n: i loved all your comments <3. You can find more here “ Hobie's masterlist” ꨄ
Hobie hasn't stopped thinking about you and his daughter, ever since you met again he can't stop feeling guilty for everything he lost and everything you've been through.
He never thought that he would be the type of man who abandons his children or his pregnant girlfriend and that thought is burning deep indise himself.
Hobie can't help but look at the families and imagine that this could be him with his girls, it's obvious his heart hasn't stopped beating for you;Hobie brown still loving you and he's ready to say it out loud.
And that's why Hobie is right outside your door, knocking while holding a teddy bear in his hand.
Hobie has been prepared for this moment, to see you again and is ready to apologize and tell you how much he loves you ; he wants a chance to love you and raise his daughter with you.
But as soon as you open the door and see him, you burst his bubble of fantasies.
"You have to go Hobart" Gwen told him that he should be prepared for this, but hearing you speak so coldly breaks his heart.
"Y/n...Luv...Listen to me...I.." you let down his defenses, Hobie is never intimidated but he has found that you make him nervous.
"No, I don't want to listen to you and I definitely don't want you near my daughter" you mutter before slamming the door in his face, but you forget his stupid super strength.
"She's my daughter too" he murmurs preventing you from closing the door.
“ know I screwed up, I shouldn't have left ya that night, but I wanted to protect ya and I'm sorry if I left but I thought it was for the best even though it never felt right…I was wrong Y/N”
“I don't care about Hobart, you made your choice deal with the consequences, she doesn't need you! ”
“She needs a father!” their screams manage to wake Rhea up, making her cry as she sobs for you, you sigh in frustration and Hobie calms down, watching you leave him in the hall to go calm down your daughter.
Hobie can hear you cooing to her and he can't help but smile at your loving voice. Feeling brave, he come in your flat.
On the wall there are a lot of photos, there are a lot of Rhea and in each one of them she is happy; Rhea is a happy kid. Hobie has no doubt that you have been a good mother and he also wants to be a good father to his daughter.
He's holding a picture of you holding newborn Rhea and he can't help but sob.
He doesn't blame you because you didn't look for him, 'cause he knows that he was the one that got away, but he would have liked to know that you were carrying his kid.
“You have to go, Hobart” you watch him hold your first photo with Rhea and you almost feel pity because he will never know what it's like to hold his daughter.
Hobie looks at you and then looks at the photo "you know she needs a father Y/n"
"Hobart, she would only be in danger with you, I know it and so you do"
"I know I can protect her, both of you" he murmurs but your betrayed heart doesn't believe him.
"She just needs her mom"
+ Bonus
“Rhea, sweetie. C'mere with mom ”you call your little daughter.
"Mommy!" Your daughter finally comes to you, but she is not alone, in her little hands there's a teddy bear, who is wearing a jacket like Hobie's. You can't help your heart melts.
Maybe... Rhea has the right to know him.
But not today.
#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown x you#hobie brown x fem!reader#hobie brown x y/n#hobie brown x female reader#hobie brown#hobie brown headcanons#hobie brown hcs#hobie brown angst#hobie brown drabble#hobie brown blurb#hobie brown imagine#hobie x fem!reader#hobie x you#hobie x reader#hobie x y/n#hobie headcanons#astv hobie#spider punk x you#spider punk x y/n#spider punk x reader#spider punk#hobie brown spider punk#spider punk hobie brown#spider punk headcanons#x reader
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the shape of your body (explicit)
genre: fluffy slowburn smut
pairing: jimin x reader
summary: the same day you finally manage to speak to your months-long public transit crush, you end up seeing much more of him than you bargained for.
word count: 24k 🙇♀️
contains: explicit sexual content~*~ (after a slow burn lmao) - new york city grad school AU, strangers to lovers, reader is an art student, public transit thirsting, jimin is a dancer and a nude model, namgi and vhope as side characters, basically everyone is gay (they're ART STUDENTS in NEW YORK CITY it's called realism 💅), a smidge of member x member side character relationships, jimin is biromantic demisexual 👀, conversations about body image issues/past relationship struggles/demisexuality and libido, soooo much making out, a couple "failed attempts" at sex, accidental voyeurism (but not how you think lmao YOU'LL SEE), showering together non-sexually, and: fingering, clit stim, nipple play, come eating/sharing 🤭 an attempted blowjob, face sitting, & protected sex (multiple rounds 🥵)
A/N: asjdshgkdfjgs i can't believe it's done 😭 there were so many times i thought i would never finish this fic !!! i have too many friends to thank for talking me off of SEVERAL ledges where i was convinced this whole thing was trash and that i should just stick to short porn or perhaps simply never write again. i'm so glad i saw this one through because there are concepts in here that are deeply important and personal to me wehhh 🫠 i sincerely hope y'all enjoy this one!! thank u for enduring mostly radio silence while i was in jimin lockdown, and of course, happy early birthday to mini, the light of my mf life 🥰💜
(oh and LDOMLT ch 8 is coming next so buckle tf up bitches 👀)
an eternity of smooches to @haliiimede for beta reading and just generally being the best fucking person on planet earth ✨ AND TO @goodsoop FOR THE DEMI SENSITIVITY READ VERY SORRY THAT I AM THE WORLD'S LARGEST IDIOT AND FORGOT TO CREDIT..... i love you both 🥺
read on AO3!
~*~
You’ve taken the subway thousands of times since moving to New York.
Morning rides, squeezed nearly to death between commuters in suits blinking back sleep and school-uniformed kids scream-laughing and paper coffee cups gripped tight by winter-numb fingers.
Long trips with your sketchbook on your lap, riding the line all the way to Pelham Bay Park and back, to surface above ground out where there’s a little more space to breathe, until the setting sun floods orange glow between the buildings just before you descend again.
Late nights coming home, Namjoon’s head thudding back against the train window behind him as he dozes off, one arm thrown around your shoulder to ward off any drunk creeps, his free hand interlaced with Yoongi’s on his other side.
It’s always been the three of you, first in friendship, and now that the two of them have figured out they’re something more, you don’t mind it. But when it’s late and you’ve had enough drinks to feel warm all the way through, to melt something open inside of you, and you glance over to see a loving flicker of eyelashes exchanged as Namjoon leans down and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s temple, you can’t help it.
There’s a little bit of an ache there, right behind your ribs. Sometimes.
But mostly, when it comes to the train, you take the 6 to school. You go through the motions this morning the same as you always do: headphones around your neck, bag slung over your shoulder, immediately dropping into the first empty seat you see as the train doors shudder closed and the car starts to move. Six stops down, 51st street to Astor Place, five days a week, you know it like a heartbeat.
You just wish you knew him, too.
Subway Boy, as Yoongi affectionately labeled him the time you got two pitchers of margaritas deep and made the mistake of confessing to your roommates about your crush— if it can even be called that. Can you truly have a crush on someone you know nothing about, not even their name?
Well, you know a few things.
He must live further north than you, because on the days you see him, he’s already on the train when you board at 51st.
He must like music, because he always has a set of fancy bluetooth earbuds in.
You’re pretty sure he’s an athlete of some sort, because he’s usually carrying a gym bag—and because during this summer’s heat wave, the one and only time you’ve seen him wear shorts, you nearly fainted at the thick, defined muscles of his thighs.
He has an affinity for jewelry, delicate silver always glinting through the multiple piercings in his ears. At odds with this, he seems to prefer to dress comfortably, and you’ve seen him in enough branded school t-shirts and sweats to figure he must also be an NYU student, though you can’t say for sure if he’s undergrad or graduate.
You deeply hope you’re not crushing on someone who still needs a fake ID to drink, but there’s no way to be certain.
Most importantly, you know that he is absolutely stunning. Elegantly handsome, with expressive deep brown eyes, skin like glass, and round cheeks and full lips that flush frozen pink on particularly frigid New York days. His hair has changed colors a few times over the months that have passed since you first took notice of him, but it’s currently a honey blonde, and long enough that he often reaches up to card a hand through it. He does it now, pushing loose strands back to expose his forehead as he frowns down at his phone.
On days where you share the same car, you notice very little else that happens on the ride, thoroughly entranced in Subway Boy’s beauty and his mystery. The train could probably catch fire and you’d miss it entirely.
Today happens to be one of those days, and excitement glitters in your bloodstream as you realize he’s seated across from you. The rush of seeing him always feels like its own reward, some kind of cosmic sign that the day is going to be a good one.
And then the train stops moving.
There’s an audible reaction from a few people in the car, and you glance up a moment later when a voice buzzes over the intercom. You’re able to make out “attention passengers” and very little after that, just the basics about some sort of unforeseen interruption of service and that the train should resume moving again soon.
You sigh, knowing very well that the MTA’s definition of ‘soon’ does not often align with typical human expectations. Figuring you’ve got some time to kill, you reach into your bag to retrieve your sketchbook and the first pencil you can dig out of the bottom.
“What did they say?” A voice, quiet and deep, surprises you before you can even flip to your in-progress page.
You glance up to find Subway Boy staring at you, forearms braced on his knees as he leans forward into the gap between his seat and yours. He’s got one bluetooth earbud pinched between his fingertips and a confused look on his face, having clearly missed the announcement.
Heat floods your face at the feeling of his eyes fixed on you, and it takes you a second to form a response. “Uh— I didn’t get most of it. Something about unforeseen interruption. And that we’ll be moving again soon.”
A muscle works in his jaw as he rolls his eyes. “Typical.”
“I don’t think they know what ‘soon’ means,” you murmur, mostly to yourself as you tear your gaze away from Subway Boy and return to the sketchbook in your lap, rifling through to find your latest half-finished drawing. When you hear him huff a laugh, you have to bite down on the hopeful smile that threatens to shine across your face.
“Definitely not.”
You force yourself to keep your eyes on the page, assuming Subway Boy must go back to his music when he falls silent after his last comment.
With featherlight flicks of your pencil, you start to add a little depth to the quick study you were working on last night, Yoongi’s half-peeled tangerine that he left abandoned on the coffee table when he stepped out onto the fire escape for a smoke.
Subway Boy’s voice catches you off guard a second time. “Are you drawing?”
You bite down on your lip again, a nervous habit, and you nod as you tilt the page so he can see from across the car.
“Wow.” You wonder if you’re imagining the way his voice seems to soften a little. “You’re really good. Are you an artist?”
You can’t help it— your gaze flits up to meet his again. It’s nearly overwhelming to lock eyes with your Subway Boy and hear him compliment you, like something out of a wild daydream. “I guess so,” you remark, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a small smile as you say it. “I’ve certainly paid NYU enough money in my attempts to become one.”
“Know the feeling,” he scoffs, but his eyes smile back, pulled into crescent moons.
“What did you pay them for?”
“Currently, a dual MFA/MA in dance and… teaching dance. Really went all-in on the dancer thing.”
“Oh.” Your eyes widen automatically. You’ve wondered— and yes, occasionally drunkenly speculated with your roommates— what Subway Boy’s line of work might be, but you have no idea why dancer never occurred to you. Because now all the pieces suddenly fall together in front of you: the toned muscles that flex beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, the natural grace he exudes, not to mention his perfect posture.
Of course he’s a dancer. It makes perfect sense.
It occurs to you, a beat too late, that a wide-eyed ‘oh’ is not the most normal response to a truly innocuous answer to a question asked of a random stranger.
But the smile in his eyes doesn’t falter. “I feel like I see you on this train a lot.”
Your stomach flutters like butterfly wings, and you have to look away, back down to the safety of your sketchbook. “Really?”
There’s an extra pause before he speaks again. “Man, sorry. Think I misread that. Now I feel creepy. I promise I’ve only noticed you a normal amount.” Your eyes snap back up to find him wincing slightly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.
“No, no, I’m— it’s not—” you stammer, trying to recover. “I, uh— me too, I have too. Noticed you. A normal amount. I… I don’t know why I just pretended like I didn’t.”
Subway Boy leans forward, head dropping down with a genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders, and you can’t help but laugh too, out of sheer embarrassment. He’s beaming when he rights himself again, and it sends a thrill buzzing through you, all the way down to your fingertips still clutched tight to your pencil.
“That makes me feel better,” he admits. “At least we’re both creepy.”
As if the universe itself is intervening to save you from any further humiliation, the train shudders back to life and begins to move again. The sigh you breathe is a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.
“That’s definitely a new record,” you say shyly as you move to shove your things back in your bag. “Maybe the MTA actually looked up what ‘soon’ means.”
His focus is tracked over your shoulder when you look up again, and his eyes dance left to right to chase the patterns in the subway tile as you pull into the next station.
“Guess it’s a miracle,” he says softly, not making eye contact.
“Must be,” you murmur back, letting your gaze drop to the floor, unable to hide your smile now.
He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, but the warm flush stays in your face for the rest of the ride. When the train pulls into the Astor Place station, you and Subway Boy get to your feet simultaneously, so quickly that your bags knock together as you pull them over your shoulders.
“Sorry,” you say in unison, immediately sharing an exhaled laugh at the synchronicity of the moment.
The doors slide open and he gestures for you to go first before following after. It’s a surprise— he’s never gotten off at Astor before, and when he doesn’t take the option of heading in another direction but instead falls into lockstep next to you, you seize the opportunity.
“Astor Place today, huh?” You hope the observation still falls into the category of ‘noticing a normal amount’.
“Yeah, first day of a new gig. What about you? Class?”
You nod. “Pretty standard stuff. But we start a new unit today, so that’s fun.”
“You in grad school too?”
“Yup, MFA in studio art.” You can’t help but tease, just a little. “Only one master’s degree for me, I’m such a slacker.”
His eyes squint again as he smiles. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re not, like, eighteen.”
“I thought that too!” You keep talking before you can stop yourself. “I mean, when I was… noticing. I distinctly remember thinking, like, please let me not be thirsting over a straight-up child right now.”
“Ahh...” Subway Boy trails off, and you can see a faint pink starting to blossom in the apples of his cheeks. “You were thirsting?”
You can’t help but scrunch your nose up slightly, resisting the urge to full-body cringe at your own stupid mouth. “We are now officially both creepy.”
He fidgets a little with the strap of the dance bag slung over his shoulder. “Hopefully I’m living up to the hype.”
You’re grateful to reach the art building before you can dig your grave any deeper. You nod your head in the direction of the glass doors as you slow to a stop, and he does, too. “This is me.”
“It’s actually me, too,” he remarks, glancing up at the building as if to double-check. “But I have a little bit, so I’m gonna grab a coffee I think. But it was nice to finally talk to you. Not that— sorry, that was weird. Take out the finally. It was good to talk. Meet a fellow starving artist and all.”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, until you finally work up the courage to ask the question. “Do you have a name?”
“Oh!” His eyes widen, more heat-blush coloring his face. “Yeah. Park Jimin. Probably could’ve led with that.”
You give him your name, and his voice is like music when he repeats it back.
“Well, good luck in class,” Jimin says with a nod. “And hopefully I’ll see you around sometime.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and then he pauses as his words seem to catch up to him. “Well, I mean. I guess I know I will. On the— train— yeah, I’m gonna go before I say any more stupid things.”
“Bye Jimin,” you giggle, and he gives a shy departing wave before he spins on his heel. As he walks away, you can’t help but notice the way he drops his gaze and shakes his head, like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his social performance.
And just like that, Subway Boy has a name— one that loops in your head as you float to class, barely feeling your feet touch the floor. Park Jimin. It’s sweet like him, warm sunshine in your veins as you shoulder open the door to the studio, grab a seat, and start to get set up.
A voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin as Kim Taehyung leans in, having occupied the seat next to you while you were off in la-la land. “Know what the new unit is?” You start to shake your head, then realize it was a rhetorical question when he waggles his eyebrows and continues. “Life drawing. Ready for some naked people?”
You roll your eyes and grab at the strings of his gray beanie, pulling it down over his fluffy hair and eyes in one swift tug. “Bro, we are literally in grad school. Stop acting like a virgin.”
“Like you weren’t thinking it too,” he grumbles to himself as he shoves the hat back up his forehead.
You shoot him a look as your professor signals the class to settle and launches in. It’s the same routine as each unit you’ve rotated through in your graduate studio, so you only half-listen, mostly distracted by Taehyung tearing open the paper wrapper of a red heart-shaped lollipop and popping it into his mouth. His latest oral fixation in his millionth attempt to quit vaping.
You lean down to dig into your bag, trying to ignore the sound of hard candy clacking against teeth as you fish out both pencils and charcoal to give yourself options. You pull a couple of each out of their cases, glancing up in an attempt to refocus on the professor, who is still talking.
It takes a second for your brain to process the image in front of you. His shy smile has been replaced with a serious, professional expression, but there’s no questioning the familiar face, the posture, the silver jewelry, the way he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Subway Boy Park Jimin is standing in the center of the room, wearing a short black satin dressing gown.
Your jaw goes slack. It feels like it happens in slow motion as you watch Jimin’s strong hands move down to undo the sash at his waist before he shrugs off the flimsy fabric and lets it fall to the floor. And then he’s not wearing anything at all.
You lose your grip entirely on your handful of pencils, and they hit the studio floor with a clatter that certainly feels deafening, each one choosing to roll off in a different direction.
Taehyung glances over at you, brow slightly creased. The lollipop tucked in his cheek impedes his speech slightly, but not enough that you can’t understand him. “Now who’s the virgin?”
You crouch down, praying that maybe you can gather your things unnoticed, but it already feels like every pair of eyes in the room is burning a hole in your back. To his credit, Taehyung at least helps a little, extending a sandaled foot to kick any pencils he can reach over towards you. You scramble around the room to chase after the rest, and you can’t bear to look up and see if Jimin is watching you or not. You’re not sure which would be worse.
Fighting the urge to army crawl out of the room, you grip both hands tightly around your materials as you return to your seat, then tuck everything into the tray of the easel in front of you. You’re a professional, you tell yourself. It’s not like it’s your first time drawing someone nude.
It’s just your first time doing it when you happen to have a crush on them.
But it’s fine. You let out an exhale to ground yourself, then pick up a pencil. It’s just a body.
You vaguely recall hearing your professor explain that you’d be moving through ten quick-sketch poses to begin with, each held for only a few minutes, before switching to a few longer sessions for the rest of class. As you were too busy chasing your pencils around the room, you’ve missed the first pose entirely, and you have to work quickly to get a very rough outline of the second before Jimin moves again at the professor’s instruction.
He switches so fluidly from one pose to the next, and you have so little time, it’s enough to get you out of your head just trying to keep up. You find yourself falling comfortably into a flow state, focused on little more than lines and shapes in front of you and the act of reproducing them on your page. It’s an exercise you know well, and the repetition of it soothes you.
The studio is quiet, save for the scratching of pencils on paper and the soft classical music your professor has switched on.
By the time you finish sketching the tenth pose, it feels like you can breathe a little easier, and your professor offers Jimin a quick break just as you lean back to admire your work. You do your best to quickly duck behind your easel as he stretches, then reaches for a bottle of water set on a nearby table.
Taehyung removes his sheet of sketches and sets it aside before leaning in, pressing his face against his easel to match yours. “He’s cute. Bet he gets like, infinite ass-pussy. Just the absolute most.”
“Shut up, Tae!” You jerk your foot out to kick the leg of his chair, and a boxy grin stretches over his face as he giggles. You stare daggers back. “You’re too damn horny today. Like you didn’t just get your ass eaten in the supply closet last week.” The rumor had spread through your cohort practically overnight— probably started by Taehyung himself.
The menace in question shoots you an over-exaggerated wink. “And I’d do it again, too.”
You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”
The professor claps to get everyone’s attention again, and you peer around your easel to watch as Jimin resumes his place at the center of the room. You settle in for the first of a few longer, more detailed sketches, trying desperately to keep your cool about it. But Jimin is unquestionably gorgeous.
He turns to the side for the first pose, arms wrapped around his muscular torso and eyes downcast, fingertips and thumb resting over his neck and chin as if to cradle his own face in his hand. After a long stretch of time where you manage to get most of a sketch done, the professor cues him to move into a second pose, and he faces the back wall, reaching up to drape his arms over each other, crossed wrists resting delicately on the crown of his head.
You could easily see him as a statue carved out of marble, and you try to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat as you attempt to translate his beauty onto your page each time. You have to hold in several sighs as you work on outlining the strong, toned muscles of his back and thighs— not to mention his perky ass. You can’t help but wonder if the rest of the class is struggling silently, too.
You’re beginning to think you might survive after all when the professor asks Jimin to move again and he does, shaking his body out slightly before reaching to grab a provided stool and shift it to the center of the room. He takes a seat, abdominals flexing as he leans back on his hands and unabashedly lets his legs fall open.
Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.
You try desperately to keep it together as you start your third sketch with unsteady hands. The minutes tick by, and you aren’t aware of Taehyung’s eyes on your paper until you hear his stupid whisper again. “Why aren’t you drawing his dick?”
He’s not wrong. There is a noticeable blank spot at the center of your page. “I’m getting there,” you huff. “Worry about your own sketch, Tae.”
“Girl, you are literally doing detail shading on his legs and he doesn’t even have a penis. What is he, a Ken doll?”
You grit your teeth and refuse to dignify Taehyung with a response. Fine. You can do this, you tell yourself. Don’t think. Just look and draw. It’s not a big deal.
With a hard swallow, you trace your eyes down his body, and… well, you don’t know what you were expecting. It’s just a soft penis resting limp between his legs, framed by an extremely regular pair of balls. Nothing scary, though you can’t quite will the heat back out of your face, can’t manage to silence the recurring thought that makes your stomach drop— it’s cute.
You resist the urge to smack your head against your easel as you finally fill in your sketch’s dick.
You somehow manage to survive the rest of class, but relief still floods your veins when your professor signals for everyone to wrap up what they’re doing for the day. Jimin starts to come alive again from the fixed pose, tilting his head to one side until something cracks audibly in his neck. You tear your gaze away for fear that his eyes might find yours, and shove everything into your bag as quickly as you can, not even caring what ends up where.
“Where’s the fire?” Taehyung questions beside you, but you ignore him.
You zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder, then make a beeline for the exit, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. It’s only once the studio door swings shut behind you that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to keep yourself from outright sprinting to your next class.
~*~
The rest of the day rushes by in an overwhelming blur, your focus entirely shot by the events of the morning. You collapse into a seat on your train home, hugging your bag to your chest, thankful for the first time in your life to not be sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.
When you turn your keys in the lock and stumble in the front door of the apartment, the divine smell of what could only be Yoongi’s cooking immediately hits you full-force. You find him in the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, searing a large steak in a cast iron pan for what must be a planned date night with Namjoon.
You wrap your arms around his tiny waist from behind as you approach. He responds with his usual greeting: a soft grunt of mild discomfort.
“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, trying to sound as sweet as possible.
“You just did,” Yoongi notes.
You decide to let his sass go, since you really do need help. “Two more?” Yoongi hums, somewhat affirmative, and you continue. “I know you work like 47 jobs and never get any time off—“
“Some of us have to pay rent without the luxury of stipends or rich parents, yes—“
“But is there any way I could… maybe possibly encroach upon your date night just this once? It’s an emergency. I need advice.”
Yoongi sighs, and you shift to peek over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around him as you watch the way he tilts the pan to one side, collecting butter on a spoon to baste over the steak as it cooks. You squish your cheek into his bicep.
“Lucky for you,” he begins, his tone relenting, “Namjoonie just called. They’ve got him working late to prep for the exhibition next month. So date night was canceled anyway.”
“Aw, Yoongiiiii.” You squeeze him tight enough that he makes another disgruntled noise, and you finally release your grip. “I’ll be your girlfriend tonight.”
He rolls his eyes, but willingly plays along. “Then get the wine, darling?”
You fall into a typical routine: Yoongi pulls a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven as he lets the steak rest, while you grab a bottle of red at his instruction and fight with the corkscrew in an attempt to get it open. Yoongi watches you, slow-blinking, unamused.
“You wouldn’t last an hour in the restaurant industry.”
“Either help me, or shut up,” you hiss through clenched teeth.
When you finally get settled at your tiny kitchen table, Yoongi nods as if to prompt you while he fills each wine glass with a heavy pour. “Let’s hear it.”
You take a deep breath before launching in and recounting the events of your day, trying not to choke as you simultaneously stuff your face with food. Yoongi eats and listens quietly, no discernible reaction on his face save the occasional lift of his eyebrows. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as you finish detailing the way you ran out of the studio the minute class ended.
“Alright. So you saw Subway Boy naked, big deal. Do you know how many dicks I’ve seen?”
You groan. “Spare me the details, please.”
“But this is what you wanted, right?” You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t play coy now. You’ve been lusting after this kid for months like a weirdo. So why are you stressed?”
“Because!” you huff, frustrated. “It’s— it’s out of order. It’s not like he chose to get naked in front of me specifically, he obviously just thought it was going to be a roomful of strangers. And it seemed like maybe we could be friends or something, but now I don’t know if I should keep pursuing that or just leave him alone. I want to be respectful, but I don’t want him to think I took one look at his penis and decided I didn’t like him anymore, but then it’s like, how do I hold a conversation when he and I both know I have seen his penis, not only seen but studied it, drawn it, and will continue to, weekly, in detail, from multiple angles—“
“You are absolutely overthinking this,” Yoongi laughs into his glass of wine, downing the rest before he continues. “Just get on the fucking train and say hi like a normal, well-adjusted human. This is my advice to you.”
You sigh as you shove a roasted potato in your mouth. “At least you’re a good cook.”
“I’m a great cook,” Yoongi corrects you as he gets to his feet. “Now help me with these dishes.”
~*~
Yoongi’s advice continues to echo in your brain as you lapse back into something like normalcy for the rest of the week.
When the day of your studio class rolls around again, you find yourself hustling not to miss the train, having hit snooze on your alarm a few too many times that morning. You fly down the subway steps just as the 6 is pulling into the station, and you try to ignore the way your pulse is already quickening, telling yourself it’s just from rushing and nothing else.
Pulling the strap of your bag up on your shoulder, you make it to the platform just as the train doors slide open, and your heart instantly leaps into your throat. There he is, leaning against a pole, overwhelmingly beautiful as ever. Park Jimin.
He’s scrolling through something on his phone and hasn’t yet looked up to notice you, and you find yourself frozen in place, jostled angrily by commuters exiting and boarding the train on either side of you.
Panic floods your veins. There’s no time to talk yourself off the ledge, no time to remember Yoongi’s words of wisdom, no time to do anything but make a snap decision. So you do the only thing that feels right: you turn around and sprint back up the stairs and out of the subway station.
The sidewalk is equally bustling, and you try to dodge people while you think through what to do despite the way your head is spinning. You were already going to be cutting it close for time today, and you don’t exactly have the disposable income for a taxi or an Uber. As you try to settle your racing thoughts, your eyes alight on a rack of Citibikes.
Fuck it. You don’t have a better option. Securing your bag on your back, you quickly scan the code to unlock the bike, then shove your phone in your pocket and swing your leg over the seat.
You’ve never biked in Manhattan traffic before, but it can’t be that difficult, you tell yourself. Definitely easier than sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.
Thankfully the street you’re on has a defined bike path, and you do your best to follow the flow of traffic, squeezing your hand brakes to slow to a stop when you hit a red light. It’s been years since you’ve ridden a bike that wasn’t stationary, but it comes back to you relatively easily, like— well, riding a bike.
When you hit a long stretch of green lights, you do your best to pick up speed, trying to make up for lost time. An approaching red light threatens to slow you down again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as it flips to green at the last possible second.
Just as your front tire rolls into the intersection, a deafening car horn nearly gives you a heart attack. You instinctively slam your grip tight around your brakes, and your bike screeches to a halt so fast you’re almost flung over the handlebars. A taxi just barely veers around you as it plows down the intersecting avenue, and you gasp for air, adrenaline coursing through your system.
Holy shit.
You drop one foot to the ground for leverage as you try to get your pulse back under control— you’re pretty sure you just saw your life flash before your eyes. Reality feels a million miles away, but you’re vaguely aware of someone shouting after the car as it speeds down the street.
“Fucking asshole!”
It takes a few seconds for you to realize that it’s a familiar voice, and when you do, you whip around as best you can with a bike between your legs.
“Yoongi?!”
“Oh my god,” Yoongi groans, knuckles blanching as he presses down on his own brakes. “What the fuck are you doing?”
You squint, taking in the helmet strapped over his wavy dark hair and the insulated bag tucked into the basket on the front of his bike. “Since when do you deliver food?”
He grimaces, speaking up to be heard over the noise of traffic. “I just do it to make extra money when my hours suck.”
“What about the coffee shop?”
He shakes his head. “They only have me opening Mondays and Wednesdays right now.”
“What about the bar?”
“That’s just weekends, reliably. Sometimes extra evenings, but only if someone calls out.”
“What about the—”
“Christ, woman!” Yoongi cuts you off with a growl. “The food’s gonna get cold if I have to sit here and run through my entire résumé with you! Are you alright? Why aren’t you taking the subway?”
“Because!” you snap back. “There is a man on that train whose dick I’ve seen and I… I don’t know how to handle it! Okay?!” Though you don’t intend to raise your voice, it comes out loud enough that a group of high school kids on their phones exchange stifled giggles as they fast-walk around you.
“Well you need to be fucking careful,” Yoongi chides. “Biking in the city is not for the faint of heart. And if I’m not allowed to give in to my suicidal ideation, you’re not allowed to crack your head open on the pavement all because you’re trying to avoid a penis.”
“Fine,” you spit back through gritted teeth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to class.” You push off the asphalt, legs still shaking a little with excess nerves as you re-find your balance and make your way cautiously through the intersection.
The rush of wind in your ears isn’t quite loud enough to drown out Yoongi calling after you as you bike away. “It’s only weird if you make it weird!”
When you somehow make it to Astor Place in one piece, you dock your bike and quickly sprint to the building, well aware that you’re already late. It’s only once you push the studio door open that you realize how truly frazzled and out of breath you are, and though you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, you can feel every pair of eyes in the room on you. You hold a hand up in an apologetic wave and hurry to find your seat.
Trying to collect yourself, you begin to unpack your materials as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the class. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Kim Taehyung’s voice beside you.
“You’re sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?”
He’s got an eyebrow cocked when you look over, and you give him the most powerful death glare you can muster, enough that it must actually scare him. “Shutting up now,” Taehyung murmurs, voice shaking slightly as he returns to his own sketches, and you huff an exhale as you attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.
Class passes surprisingly quickly once you manage to get your breath back, much in the same way it did the week prior: you do your best to compartmentalize the body in front of you from the human person you have a giant, embarrassing crush on. It goes decently well in the moments where Jimin is frozen in a fixed pose, just lines and curves and light and shadow for you to emulate. During the breaks when he comes alive again, you hide out behind your easel, trying to ignore Taehyung’s inane bullshit and wishing you could disappear entirely.
The second your professor dismisses everyone for the day, you stuff your things back into your bag, hoping to once again speed-walk out of the room.
But despite your better judgment, you can’t help yourself this time. As you get to your feet, you glance up to watch Jimin pull his dressing gown back on, only to realize his eyes are already on you.
You’re distinctly aware of how much of a mess you must look from biking over, and the fact that you almost assuredly smudged charcoal on your face when you reached up absentmindedly to scratch an itch mid-sketch.
Jimin’s plush lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and the bottom drops out of your stomach.
With a hard swallow, you avert your gaze from his, sling your bag over your shoulder, and quickly make your escape through the studio door. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat even after he’s out of your sight, and your hands shake like a leaf all the way to your next class.
~*~
That night, sleep evades you until the early hours of the morning, and it feels like you’ve only just begun to doze off when the harsh noise of your alarm pulls you up from dreaming. You roll over in bed and glare accusingly at your phone, then shut it off, promptly letting the waves drag you under once more, seminar be damned.
It’s nearly noon when you finally make it out of bed and stumble into the living room in your sweats. Namjoon is curled up in his reading chair, a feat for someone of his size, surrounded as always by his massive stack of ever-changing ‘to read’ books. He glances up from the one that’s open on his lap, clearly surprised to see you.
“No class?” Namjoon’s voice is rough-edged, like he’s only just woken up himself.
“Skipped,” you grunt. His eyes track you as you cross the room and collapse face-first onto the couch.
“Is this about the penis?”
The cushion muffles your groan. “Not you too.”
You hear the distinct fluttering sound of Namjoon closing his book and shifting in his seat to give you his undivided attention. “Seems like you want to talk about it.”
You turn your head to the side to take in your roommate. “Maybe. Are you gonna give me the same stupid advice your boyfriend did?”
He smiles softly, one dimple flexing at the corner of his mouth. “I can try to be gentler.”
You huff as you flip onto your side, pressing your palms together and slipping them under your cheek. “Sounds like you’ve got the details already, so please. Enlighten me. Tell me how I’m supposed to handle seeing this guy naked once a week in the name of art.”
“Didn’t William Blake say ‘Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed’?” Namjoon poses it like a serious question, brow creased as if in contemplation, and you roll your eyes.
“I don’t know, Joon, did he? I said enlighten me, not write me a thesis.” You reach up to grab a couch pillow and fling it in his direction, missing by several inches. “Did Blake have anything in there on dealing with a naked crush and trying not to make it weird as fuck?”
“Well, does he seem weirded out by it?” Namjoon counters, patient as ever.
“I don’t know.” You shrug unsurely as you play back your last interaction with Jimin. “He smiled at me yesterday, at the end of class.”
Namjoon steeples his fingers together, leaning forward slightly in his chair, interest clearly piqued. “Okay, and what did you do?”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “I… threw all my shit in my bag and ran out of the room.” When you crack an eye open again, you can see Namjoon trying and failing to keep the smug smile off his face, his dimples giving him away.
“Maybe you could try smiling back next time?” he gently suggests.
You sigh, because you know he’s right. “You make it sound so easy. What’s next? You’re going to tell me to talk to him?”
He laughs a little. “I’d quote another poet, but I fear you might launch more projectiles at me.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s hear it, nerd.”
Namjoon clears his throat for dramatic effect before launching into a recitation. “‘It’s cool, not tryna put a rush on you / I had to let you know, that I got a crush on you.’”
There’s a wide grin on his face as you sit all the way up. “Did you just quote Biggie Smalls at me?”
“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”
You feign annoyance, but you can’t quite hide the smile beneath it, and you get to your feet as Namjoon continues to mumble a verse of Crush on You under his breath. “Whatever. I need to do laundry.”
“Oh—” Namjoon pauses to interrupt himself. “Lucky’s closed, by the way.”
Already halfway out of the living room, you whip around again at the mention of the laundromat you’ve been exclusive with for the last few years. “What?”
He nods solemnly. “Me and Yoongi found out the hard way last week. They’re putting in an Equinox.”
Your face twists in disgust. “A stupid bougie gym?! You’ve got to be kidding me. Where am I supposed to wash my fucking clothes?”
“We found a place a few blocks up. Quick Clean, or something like that.” Namjoon shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send you the address. It’s not bad, just a little more expensive.”
“This is such bullshit,” you groan as you stomp back into your bedroom, the day already off to a terrible start.
In a gentrification-induced rage, you angrily shove the contents of your overflowing laundry hamper into the giant yellow IKEA bag hung up in your closet, just barely managing to fit it all. Glancing at the mirror on the back of the door, you briefly consider changing out of your sweats, or at the very least doing something with your hair, but you shrug it off— it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone at the damn laundromat.
You grab your headphones off your desk and sling them around your neck, double-check that your sketchbook is still tucked into your bag, then lug everything out to the front hallway. You pull your slides off the shoe rack and slip your socked feet into them.
“Bye, nerd!” you call over your shoulder to Namjoon before the front door slams shut behind you.
By the time you make it to the weird new laundromat, you’re sweaty and pissed off. You knew the walk to Lucky’s by heart, but you had to do this one while looking down at your phone GPS and trying not to get hit by a car. Not an easy feat while carrying every article of clothing you own over one shoulder.
You miss the way the nice old man who owned Lucky’s would greet you warmly and sneak you a cup of coffee from his pot in the back, the way his cat would roll over on the front counter for belly rubs, the way there was always a deeply entertaining telenovela playing on the ancient tiny TV.
The stupid Quick Clean has none of these things, just a shitty pile of magazines in the seating area and weirdly sticky floors. You slam into the front door a little harder than is necessary to push it open, the bell tinkling violently overhead as you enter. The only compliment you can give the place is that it’s relatively dead, save for a couple people on their phones or half-asleep in chairs as they wait on their stuff, and two guys in the corner loading armfuls of wet clothes into a pair of dryers.
You grab a machine a respectful distance away from them and swing the door open when a laugh that’s nearly musical gives you pause. Unable to shake a sense of familiarity, you glance over at your neighbors again, just in time to see one of them reach up to run a hand through his honey blonde hair.
Your IKEA bag hits the sticky floor with an audible thud as panic kickstarts your heart.
This isn’t fucking happening. Of all the laundromats in New York City, you did not just manage to stumble into the one currently being used by Park Jimin.
But even before you can catch a glimpse of his profile, you’re already certain it can’t be anyone else. You’ve spent too much time familiarizing yourself with the slope of his neck, the definition of his forearms, his dainty hands. There’s no mistaking them, adorned today with several silver rings that catch the dim fluorescent light as he grabs more of his clothes from the washer.
The desperate need to turn around and run rises up in your chest, just as before, but this time you steel yourself. You can’t keep running away forever— particularly not when you pulled on your last clean pair of underwear this morning.
A rush of heat floods your face at the thought of the many pairs of underwear in your bag that will soon be sent spinning around this washing machine, where Jimin could easily see, but then it occurs to you that you have seen his penis. Maybe the trade-off will put you on slightly more equal footing.
But you really don’t need to be thinking about Park Jimin’s penis in this laundromat right now.
Shaking your head slightly to try and banish the thought, you set about your laundry routine, trying not to drop any unmentionables on the floor when you dump the contents of your tote into the washer. You dig quarters out of your bag and slot them into the machine, then press the button to start the cycle.
With a final exhale to steady yourself, you turn to look over your shoulder again, only to find Jimin leaning up against the empty dryer next to his, unabashedly watching you with a small smile on his face.
It occurs to you now that you couldn’t have put less effort into your appearance if you tried, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every random stain on your sweatpants and your extremely fashionable socks and slides combination. Jimin’s just in a white t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans today, but literally everything looks fresh off the runway on him. You suppress the urge to walk out the door and go lay down in traffic, and instead take Namjoon’s advice: you smile back and even lift your hand in a shy wave.
You drop into an empty chair across from your machine and watch as Jimin starts to cross the room to join you, his eyes never leaving yours. Before he can make it, you suddenly become aware of someone else sliding into the seat beside you.
“You didn’t tell me she was cute, Jimin-ah!”
Eyes wide, you turn to see Jimin’s friend sprawled out next to you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His wavy dark hair peeks out from under a lime green beanie, and he’s swimming in an oversized long sleeve tucked into baggy pants, cinched tight at the waist with a Gucci belt.
“Jung Hoseok,” he gives you a nod. “Friends call me Hobi. You can call me whatever you like.” The way his wide smile pulls his mouth heart-shaped makes you giggle a little, slightly dazed by whatever the fuck is happening right now.
You hear Jimin sigh as he takes the open seat on your other side. “Please ignore Hoseok’s tendency to come on way too strong. If it makes you feel any better, he’s as gay as they come.”
Hoseok flicks his wrist just so. “Guilty as charged.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” you say with a shrug, your gaze flitting from Jimin to Hoseok and back again. “I have two gay roommates, so.”
Hoseok hums, clearly interested. “Gay together or gay separately?”
“Gay together.”
He narrows his eyes. “Open to a third?”
You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected question. “Uh, I’d have to ask.”
He looks like he’s going to say more, but Jimin interjects. “Hoseok— can we get a minute?”
Hoseok’s lips pull together, fish-like, and he nods as he gets to his feet. “Say no more. I’ll just, uh…” He fumbles, looking around for something to do, then crosses the room to take the open seat next to the sad pile of magazines. “…do a little light reading.” He picks up one at the top of the stack, holding it up for you both to witness. “Oh look, the queen died!”
You bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, but Jimin’s face is surprisingly serious when you look back at him. “I just want to say one thing,” he murmurs, voice low, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”
Nerves settle in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight. “Jimin,” you start, and when he opens his mouth to keep talking, you blurt out the first thing you can think of.
“I’m sorry,” you say in unison, and there’s a beat where you both blink, equally taken aback by the other’s apology. It’s quiet apart from the rumble of the laundry machines and the distinct sound of Hoseok smacking the magazine over his mouth, clearly more invested in your plot line.
You break the silence first. “Wait, why are you sorry?”
Jimin’s eyes drop down to the floor, one black boot toeing nervously at the tile. “I figured you were upset with me because I didn’t warn you.”
Your eyes widen in surprise when you play your initial conversation back. “Oh my god— when I said graduate studio art, you… you knew.”
He nods, somewhat remorseful. “I was kind of hoping that maybe it would be a different class, but. Yeah. I figured. I’m really sorry, I should’ve—”
“No, no,” you interrupt. “I get it. I’m not mad, obviously I didn’t even put it together until right now.” You pause for a second and can’t help but smile a little. “And, I mean, how do you just casually work that into your first conversation with someone? ‘Great talking to you, ready to see my dick in five minutes?’”
Jimin’s head tips back when he laughs, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. “Right.”
You can feel your own face grow hot as you realize what you’ve just said. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to— clearly I don’t know how to handle this. That’s why I wanted to apologize, for avoiding you and being weird.” You twist your hands uncomfortably in your lap. “I’ve just never been in this situation before, and I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to talk given… the…” Every cell in your body screams at you not to say the word ‘dick’ again. “Yeah. I thought it might be easier to keep my distance. Keep it separate.”
Jimin’s eyes drift back up to find yours, and his casual beauty is so stunning, it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. He shrugs softly. “I mean, maybe it would be. But I don’t want to.”
“Great,” you manage a laugh, still breathless. “Because I nearly died on a Citibike the day I didn’t take the subway.”
He laughs, too. “Not gonna lie, I missed seeing you on the train.” You’re not expecting it when he extends a hand out. “Friends?”
You realize belatedly that he’s offering a handshake, and you gently take his hand in yours. His skin is soft and warm, a contrast to the cool metal of his rings that press into your palm as he squeezes.
“Friends,” you echo with a smile, squeezing back.
There’s a sudden thump and a cackle as Hoseok falls out of his chair with a peal of laughter. “You are so fucking weird, Jimin-ah!” he gasps from his spot on the floor. “Who shakes hands?!”
The two of them keep you more than entertained until the buzzers on their dryers sound a second apart from each other. You learn that Hoseok and Jimin are roommates, that they met as dance majors in their undergrad program, and that Hoseok now works as an adjunct instructor and freelance choreographer.
“Because some of us decided we wanted to actually make money instead of digging ourselves further into debt,” he explains with a sly grin and smack delivered to the back of Jimin’s head.
You watch as they meticulously fold, Hoseok regularly leaning over to redo Jimin’s work and chide him about wrinkles, and then they stack the clean laundry back into their bags and head for the exit.
“Bye, new friend!” Hoseok calls as he maneuvers the door open with his foot, and Jimin pauses at the threshold, the bell overhead tinkling gently.
“So… guess I’ll see you on the train?” he asks, like he’s still a little unsure, and your heartbeat flutters.
“Guess so.”
“Cool.” He gives you one last soft smile before he disappears after Hoseok. The bell sounds again when the door shuts behind him, as if to snap you back to reality.
The floating feeling in your stomach doesn’t quite dissipate even long after Jimin has left the laundromat. While you wait on your clothes, you flip to a blank page in your sketchbook and start on something new: the outline of a hand extended in mid-air, rings glinting like an offered promise.
~*~
The next week, Jimin is waiting for you on your morning subway ride, the dance bag that he usually keeps tucked between his legs set on the bench next to him. When he sees you step through the train doors at 51st, you watch him reach over to swing the bag down to its rightful place on the floor, freeing up the space. An open invitation.
You can’t help but feel a little shy as you sink down next to him and murmur your thanks. There’s something about being this close to him that just makes your mind go blank, puts you at a loss for words entirely.
To your surprise, he doesn’t try to strike up conversation either. Instead he plucks one fancy bluetooth earbud out of his ear, gives it a diplomatic swipe across the fabric of his joggers, then holds it up, pinched between his fingers in front of you.
Another invitation, you realize dumbly.
The corner of your mouth turns up as you pluck the bud out of his hand and press it into your own ear. The music that must have paused itself upon the earbud’s removal resumes, and your smile grows when Jimin quickly unlocks his phone to restart the song from the beginning.
An acoustic guitar and a light, pretty voice fill your ear, underscored by a gentle yet driving beat, not unlike the rumble of the train beneath your feet. It’s like the rest of the world fades away to nothing as you stare down at his sneakers next to your shoes, hyper-aware of the mere inch or two of space between you in this moment.
As if to prove your point, the train comes to a sharp stop, enough to make you slide a little on the bench and then you’re suddenly not just close but touching, all the way down, an unbroken line from shoulder to hip to knee.
When you look over in surprise, Jimin is already looking back at you. You swear you can feel warmth radiating out from him at every point where your bodies press together.
After another dazed moment, you come to your senses enough to scoot over, breaking the contact with an embarrassed laugh as you feel your face grow hot.
Your gaze drifts back down to the floor, only to snap up again at another brush of contact, this one not initiated by you or by the motion of the train. Instead, you realize Jimin has spread his legs an inch wider to purposefully touch his knee to yours again and leave it there. You blink softly as you look over at him, but he’s staring firmly out the window of the subway car now, smiling with just his eyes.
For the rest of the ride, you think of little else but Jimin’s knee pressed against yours and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.
You stay in comfortable silence, music floating in your ears as you exit the train at Astor Place together, until you reach the studio, where you finally return the borrowed earbud. He smiles as he tucks them both back into the case, then pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter first.
Jimin shoots you a final look before your paths diverge, and you sink into your seat with a small, dreamy sigh. Your bliss is short-lived when you hear Taehyung’s voice over your shoulder.
“That was fast.”
You whip around to shoot him a look. “What was fast?”
He makes a face, like it’s obvious. “You’re already banging the model and it’s been, what, two weeks?”
Taehyung’s just close enough that you can lean forward and smack him on the arm, and he hisses in a way that has to be an exaggeration. Thankfully he seems to take the hint, and manages to actually keep his mouth shut as the professor commands everyone’s attention at the center of the room.
When Jimin emerges in the usual black satin, you try to keep your composure, but you can’t ignore the chill that dots up your spine when he lets the fabric fall to the floor.
Nevertheless, you sink into the routine of class, the thrill of Jimin’s naked body now equal parts familiar and exhilarating. The only difference is that today, when you’re dismissed, you make no effort to quickly pack up. You instead purposefully take your time, adding a few extra details to your last sketch before you finally start putting things away. Your gaze flickers up distractedly to see Jimin pulling his dressing gown back over his body as he moves to close the distance between you.
“Hi,” he says simply when he reaches your easel, and you smile.
“Hi.”
“Sorry, is, uh— is it okay that I talk to you, when I’m—” He gestures vaguely to his lower half with one hand, using the other to keep himself covered.
You swallow hard at the thin layer of fabric and everything you know lies beneath it. “Yeah, it’s okay,” you say, hating how breathless you sound.
“When are you done with classes today?”
It takes an extra second for you to remember your own schedule. “Uh, six.”
Jimin fidgets with the satin material in his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous. “Would you… want to get dinner after? With me?”
Your stomach flutters as you nod. “Yeah, yes. I’d like that.”
~*~
When you emerge from your last class, you find Jimin waiting for you on Astor Place, and you’re not expecting it when he greets you with a single question: “Do you like sushi?” You answer affirmatively, and he nods over his shoulder. “Then let’s walk this way.”
You end up tucked into two seats at a place you’ve never been to before, where rolls and other plates of food zip past you on a steadily moving conveyor belt. Jimin shows you how to pop the plates out from their protective domes, and you gather a small feast of options on the table between you to share.
“So,” you start with a nervous smile, chopsticks hovering in midair. “Can I ask the obvious question?”
He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”
“What made you decide to nude model?” The words alone send fresh waves of heat and nerves through you, sparkling in your chest. “Or have you done it before?”
“I haven’t,” Jimin confirms with a shake of his head, then he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth as if to buy himself time. He chews, bringing a hand up as he speaks with his mouth still half-full. “Do you want the real answer?”
You nod, and his adam’s apple jerks as he swallows. There’s a look on his face like he isn’t quite sure what to say, and then he exhales a weighty sigh. “I’ve struggled with my body for a really long time. Especially in undergrad.”
Your eyes widen slightly— you weren’t expecting such a serious response.
“Dance doesn’t typically have the best culture for that to begin with,” he continues, “and I’d spend literally all day staring at myself in a mirror, so I would just… pick myself apart. Always convinced I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to lose more weight, always.”
The thought of it makes your heart ache, but you let him talk.
“I’m through the worst of it now, so please don’t feel like you need to be worried. But I have some friends who’ve done this kind of thing before and it seemed like, I don’t know, a good challenge?” His brow creases, contemplative. “I really love art, so I thought maybe if I did it, I might be able to see my body in a new way, through the eyes of other people. Of artists.” He pauses, then nods, like he’s said his piece.
It takes you a second to respond. “That’s… beautiful, Jimin.”
He looks down, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Sorry if that was too heavy.”
“I can take it,” you say softly, and it’s enough to make him glance back up in surprise. “Thank you for telling me.”
A faint color floods his face. “Thanks for listening.”
You eat in a silence that’s oddly comfortable, and when you both reach for the same piece of sushi and end up knocking chopsticks together, he lets you have it, picking up the thread of conversation again as he smiles. “What got you into art?”
You make a face, chased by an unsure shrug. “Is it bad if I say it’s the only thing I feel like I’m good at?”
Jimin laughs a little. “I don’t know that I believe you.”
“I mean,” you lean back in your seat. “Maybe not the only thing, but I’ve just never been able to see myself doing anything else. I’m not cut out for the corporate life, as much as my parents wish I was. Art’s always been the thing that I go to in my free time. When I’m feeling so much that it’s overwhelming, or so numb that it’s like I can’t feel anything, the act of creating something just… brings me back to center again.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s an outlet, I guess.”
“Well, if it helps, you’re very good at it.”
“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. “But it’s not even about being good, at least not to me. Maybe it sounds weird, but I don’t really have any interest in being the best. It’s art, so it’s all subjective anyway. I just wanna make stuff.”
Jimin smirks as he adds another empty plate to the growing stack in front of you, tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “I could stand to be more like you.”
“Your turn,” you shoot back. “Why dance?”
At this, he actually brings a hand up to cover his face, and his voice is muffled under his palm when he responds. “I can tell you exactly why, but it’s embarrassing.”
You shift a little in your chair to get a better look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s not like I—” you cut yourself off before you can very obviously finish the sentence with ‘haven’t seen your dick’, and you shove a piece of sushi in your mouth to shut yourself up, so fast you nearly choke.
Jimin laughs loudly into his hands, and then you’re laughing too, dropping your head down on the table to try and chew your food without asphyxiating.
“Okay, okay,” he gasps when he can finally manage to take a breath in. “I’ll tell you.”
He sets his chopsticks down, overly serious. “When I was little, I was obsessed with Titanic. Specifically the scene where they dance together, and Rose rises up on her toes in front of everyone.” There are practically stars in his eyes as he recounts the moment, and you can’t bear to cut him off. “I just thought she was so beautiful, and I wanted to be like that. Almost broke my toes trying to go en pointe barefoot like an idiot.”
You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a flicker of panic in Jimin’s face, like he’s worried he overshared. “I have to be honest,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Titanic.”
His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”
Already expecting the reaction, you grimace and nod. “I know, I know. Everyone gets mad at me for it. Go ahead.”
Jimin’s eyes flit from your face to the remaining piece of sushi on the plate between you, then back again. “I mean, we can go solve this problem right now, if you want.” He pauses, then admits with a giggle, “I have it on DVD.”
You shrug, trying to act casual despite the way your pulse has started to quicken. “They canceled my morning seminar for tomorrow, so I’m down.”
He leans forward to steal the last piece of sushi with a smug smile. “Then let’s get out of here.”
It’s a short train ride back to Jimin’s place, and you make it in the front door just in time to see Hoseok slipping out of what looks to be his bedroom. You barely process him as the same person— tonight his dark hair is swept off his forehead, and he’s in nice dress pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to display the delicate spread of his collarbone.
“Hi kids!” he calls in greeting, and you wave back as you kick your shoes off.
Hoseok crosses to grab a mirrored pair of aviators and his keys off the table by the front door. “Daddy’s going out. You two have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s waiting for a joke to land, then cracks a grin. “By which I obviously mean do whatever the fuck you want.”
As Hoseok pulls the door shut behind him, you follow Jimin into the living room, where you perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he disappears into the kitchen. “Do you like prosecco?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard.
“Uh, I think so,” you say unsurely. “I don’t think I ever developed enough of a palette to have wine preferences.”
“White and sparkling?”
“Sounds good,” you respond, and then you hear the distinct noise of a cork popping before he returns with a bottle and two glasses in hand. He sets everything on the coffee table as he takes a seat next to you, then leans forward to fill both glasses nearly to the brim.
Jimin’s face flushes when you giggle softly at the pour. “Sorry— I like to drink. You don’t have to finish it all.” You shrug and take a healthy pull from your glass. It’s crisp and light, with little bubbles that fizz and pop all the way down.
“Hoseok calls me a lush,” he admits with a shy laugh as he picks up his own drink and turns to face you, sitting back against the arm of the couch. You shift to mirror him, curling your socked feet up under you. He takes a sip, then seems to think better of it, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table again. “I did want to tell you something. A couple of things, I guess.”
The sentence makes your stomach twist, and you try your best to ignore it. “What’s up?”
Jimin’s lips press together for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever he’s about to say. “I’m not, like, trying to be presumptuous by telling you this but I just— I don’t want it to go unsaid and then come up later and be a whole big thing, so. I just want you to know that Hoseok is my ex.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but certainly not that.
“We dated freshman year of undergrad, for… maybe three months? It was the kind of thing where I knew I was bi in high school but was too scared to act on it, so when I moved to New York I just, like, dated the first gay person I met? Which was probably a little shitty of me. We quickly realized we work much better as friends, and it was a very mutual thing. No hard feelings.”
You nod slowly, trying to keep up. “And you’ve lived together since then?”
“No, no,” Jimin replies quickly, and he nearly grimaces as he continues. “At the end of last semester, I, uh… I got out of a pretty bad long-term relationship.” The way he says it makes your heart sink a little. “And she and I lived together, so Hoseok was extremely gracious and offered to take me in.”
He reaches for his glass of wine again, then pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “Ideally the number of exes I’d be living with would be zero, but. You know. This is definitely the better option, at least until I can figure out what comes next.”
A pause settles between you while he takes a long drink and you try to process all this new information. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” you say softly, and he shakes his head as he swallows.
“Don’t be. It was a very good thing. Long overdue.”
“Well,” you correct yourself, the corners of your mouth pulling up. “Then I’m sorry that it took so long.”
At this, he smiles back. “Me fuckin’ too.”
After one more sip, Jimin sets his wine back down on the coffee table, then rolls off the couch— surprisingly graceful— to retrieve Titanic from the small collection of movies lined up on the shelf beneath the TV.
“Ready?”
“This better have a happy ending,” you murmur over the edge of your wine glass. Jimin laughs so hard he nearly tips over.
He settles next to you again as the movie starts, painted pretty in the blue glow of the TV, and you try your best to watch the movie, but it’s hard to keep your eyes off him. Partway through you notice him grab a pillow off the back of the couch and hug both of his arms around it, curling up small.
Cute, you can’t help but think to yourself, and you can feel heat settle in your face as you try to refocus on the story.
When you reach the dancing scene Jimin sits up a little, lips parting slightly, that same starry look in his eyes as when he explained it initially. The mental image of a younger version of him equally enraptured by the moment nearly makes your chest cave in.
The movie goes on, and you’re draining the last of your second glass of wine when out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin’s eyes go wide. Jack and Rose are closely examining a rare diamond necklace, and you don’t understand what he could be reacting to until Kate Winslet delivers her next line.
“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”
Your eyes go just as wide as Jimin’s, and you let out a laugh of disbelief that’s nearly a scream. “Oh my fucking god, Park Jimin! You did this on purpose!”
“I swear, I didn’t! I didn’t even think about that part until right now!” He shakes his head desperately as he gasps for air, and he doubles over with his own laughter, rolling right off the couch, arms still clutched tightly around his pillow.
“I literally cannot believe this.” You dissolve into giggles as you sink to your knees on the floor beside him, close to tears.
It takes time for you both to recover, but Jimin eventually manages to pull himself back up to sitting, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. He lets the pillow drop to the floor and presses both of his palms down into it as he leans towards you. “But hey, maybe that’s why I like you.”
He’s so magnetic, so beautiful, you can’t help but lean in, too. “You like me?”
There’s a warm glow of color in his cheeks, and you’re not sure if you can blame it entirely on the wine. “I do.”
Your lingering smile slowly starts to soften, and now your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. “So what, you’re Rose and I’m Jack?”
His gaze drops to your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “Uh-huh”. Imaginary violins swell in your head as you surge forward to close the distance and press your lips to his.
Jimin’s lips are soft and warm, and your head spins as you sit up on your knees and lean into the kiss. While his mouth moves gently against yours, his palms press to the small of your back, and the heat of his hands radiates through the thin fabric of your shirt. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, partially for balance and partially in an attempt to pull him closer to you.
He tilts his head, and you whimper against him when you feel his tongue trace delicately over your bottom lip. He returns a breathy noise back as he licks slowly into your mouth, like he’s taking his time, like he’s not in any rush.
Even though you can feel your arousal starting to build, heavy in your gut and slick between your thighs, you realize: you want him to take his time with you.
You’re surprised at the loss when he suddenly leans back, just enough to break the kiss, still keeping you held close. “Is it, um—” he clears his throat, then tries again. “I don’t… want to go any further. Than this. At least not tonight. Is that okay?”
Your eyes search his, and you’re a little breathless when you manage to get the words out. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m good with that. With whatever you want.”
“Okay.” You exhale a laugh when he reaches over to find the remote on the coffee table and pause the movie. “I want to keep kissing you, if that’s alright.”
“Yes, please,” you murmur against his lips.
Jimin shifts a little, and you follow his lead, letting him tip you backwards onto the floor, your arms still looped around his neck, one hand now tangling in his honey blonde hair. He drops a forearm down to the carpet beside you, his other hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist, knees bracketing your hips as he covers your body with his.
He alternates between sucking on your lower lip and gentle passes of his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your waist tracing a lazy path down to your hip and back up again. Something pulled tight inside you starts to slowly unwind, blooming open as you sink into the rhythm, into him.
It’s been such a long time since you’ve just kissed someone like this, without it feeling like part of a race to get naked. And you’ve never been kissed like this in your life— so soft, so attentive. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even with your back pressed flat to the floor.
You lose track of how much time passes as you trade open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s living room carpet, until he finally pulls away again. Still in a daze, you shift the hand in his hair to gently cup his face, not quite able to believe that he’s really real.
“God,” Jimin breathes, laughing quietly to himself. “I really like you.”
You smile as you blink up at him. “I like you too, Jimin.”
Rolling over, he drops down onto the floor next to you with a blissed-out sigh. He stretches his arms overhead, spine arching like a cat, then lifts up again to glance back at you. “Do you want more wine? ‘Cause we’re only like halfway done. This movie is stupid long.”
“I could go for more,” you answer with a shrug, still smiling.
In one swift move, Jimin flips his legs over his head and effortlessly somersaults up to standing, and your eyes go wide. “How do you fucking do that?!”
“I’m a trained professional!” he calls over his shoulder as he sashays into the kitchen.
You giggle a little. “I would break every bone in my body.”
He’s humming prettily to himself, and you hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the pop of another bottle being uncorked. You pull yourself back onto the couch as he rejoins you and pours fresh wine into both glasses, and a sudden curiosity urges you to ask a question. “Is Titanic your favorite movie?”
Jimin shakes his head, but says nothing, and the strange hesitant expression that flashes over his face just makes you that much more intrigued.
“Let’s hear it.”
His eyes flit over to you, then back to the wine glasses. “You’ll laugh.”
“I won’t!” you exclaim, lifting a hand when he scrunches up his nose, doubtful. “Promise.”
With a reluctant sigh, Jimin sets the bottle back down on the table, staring straight ahead as he admits, “It’s The Notebook.”
You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep your mouth in a straight line. At least you manage not to laugh. “I— wow. Really?”
He nods like the reaction is expected, picking up his wine glass and settling back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know, there’s just something about it. It’s comforting, to me.”
“You’re such a romantic,” you murmur, gently nudging his thigh with your foot until you coax a smile out of him.
“You know what?” Jimin’s voice is thoughtful now, more self-assured. “I am.” He takes a sip of his drink before he continues. “For a long time I didn’t want to be. Or thought that I couldn’t be. I used to always try to be so. I don’t know. Masculine, I guess. I think some of it had to do with denying my sexuality, but even once I got around to accepting that, there was still this part of me that would just never allow myself to be… soft.”
His gaze drops down to the wine in his glass, and you sit up, tucking your legs underneath you to scoot closer to him until you’re side by side. “I like you soft,” you say simply, and he looks over at you, still smiling.
“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”
“That’s okay.” You lean into him to seek a kiss, made sweet from the wine. He hums a little against your lips before you pull back. “Same time next week?”
~*~
Just like that, you fall into a regular routine with Jimin: sharing his headphones on the morning train, sketching out the shape of his body in studio, then picking up takeout and wine to bring back to his place and split over a movie. As predicted, The Notebook does make him cry, and when you show him Kimi no Na wa the week after, hot tears stream down your face at the final scene, the way they always do.
He takes your head in his hands as the credits roll, his thumbs swiping at errant tears on your cheeks. You chase a sniffle with an embarrassed laugh. “Okay. We’re even now.”
On your fourth movie night, partway into Moulin Rouge, something emboldens you when you see Jimin reach for his usual couch pillow. You lean over and gently pry it out of his grip, then shift to tuck yourself into his side and curl your legs up in his lap instead.
“Better?”
“Mm-hmm”, he murmurs as he ducks down to nuzzle against your cheek. “You’re warm.”
These nights end the same way each time: you ride the train home with a wine-soaked buzz in your brain and flushed, kiss-bitten lips, your fingertips brushing over your own mouth at the memory of his.
Once a week quickly turns into more. The two of you coordinate laundromat afternoons where you listen to music together as you wait for your clothes. You usually end up drawing to pass the time, and sometimes Jimin dozes off, head tipping over onto your shoulder so gently that you can’t help but smile down at your sketchbook.
At his request, you help him dye his hair pink in his tiny apartment bathroom, and it somehow suits him just as well as honey blonde. You both get dizzy from laughter and cleaning product fumes as you desperately try to scrub the bubblegum stains out of the tile before Hoseok comes home.
When you finally introduce Jimin to your roommates, the four of you crammed all-too formally around the kitchen table over Yoongi’s cooking, the interaction feels like a cross between a job interview and a prom date meeting your parents. You choke on a piece of chicken that you nearly inhale when Namjoon offhandedly refers to Jimin as Subway Boy, and Yoongi smiles wide enough to show his gums as he gladly recounts your months-long crush in great detail while you bury your burning face in your arms.
But Jimin takes it in stride, laughs into your mouth as he kisses you over the sink while the two of you wash the dishes.
“Subway Boy, huh?”
“I will drown you,” you murmur as you pull away, brandishing the spray hose like a threat.
It’s easy and slow. This blossoming something, a nameless but undeniable spark, the calm comfort of Jimin’s arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers intertwined with yours, his head dropped down on your shoulder.
~*~
You dig your phone out of your pocket as you shoulder open the door to the dance building, pulling up the text from Jimin to double-check his practice room number. A train delay made you slightly later than your agreed-upon time, but you know the takeout bag of Indian food dangling over your wrist will easily earn you his forgiveness.
It doesn’t surprise you that he’s the only one left in the room when you find it, nor that he’s still reviewing the choreography with an expression of severe focus. You hover in the doorway, waiting for him to look up, but he’s entirely concentrated on his own reflection in the mirror.
His movements alternate between delicate and powerful, explosive and restrained, and you have to hold in an outright gasp when he launches his body into an aerial and lands it effortlessly. But then his feet falter in a split second of hesitation, and you can see his expression tighten, clearly frustrated.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face, and he doesn’t even try to keep going with the rest of the dance. You take the opportunity to step a few more paces into the room, and his eyes jump to you in the mirror.
“Hi,” you say softly, suddenly a little nervous to be intruding on the moment. The corner of Jimin’s mouth turns up, but his eyes seem far away, and you can tell he’s still raging at himself in his mind.
“Hi, sorry,” he sighs. “I just— can’t get this. It’s like my body isn’t doing what I tell it to.”
“You need food.” You try to say it gently as you cross the room, holding up the smiley-face adorned plastic takeout bag. “And perhaps the enigmatic charm of Rachel McAdams.”
This seems to shake him out of his thoughts, at least a little. “I do like her.” He steps close enough to slip his arms around your waist and pull your body flush against his. Sweat glistens on his collarbone in the dim practice room lighting. “But I like you more.”
You roll your eyes as you playfully smack a hand against his solid chest. “Stop lying.”
“‘M not,” he insists as he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Rachel McAdams has never once brought me masala dosa.” You giggle despite yourself, and when his lips drop down to your neck, it’s enough to make your breath hitch.
A spark ignites in your chest that doesn’t go out, not on the subway ride back to your apartment, not through dinner and a movie, and certainly not once you’re most of the way through the second bottle of wine. As the credits start to roll, you waste no time, turning in Jimin’s lap so you can properly straddle him and take his face in your hands.
You trade decadent, easy kisses, and Jimin’s hands settle at the small of your back, his thumbs massaging gentle circles into your hips. A shiver rolls up your spine when he shifts a little and you realize you can feel a growing bulge through the fabric of his joggers, pressed firm against your thigh. He breathes a soft sound into your mouth as his tongue slides over yours, and you’re so overwhelmed, you barely register the sound of keys in the lock or the front door opening.
It’s Jimin who reacts first, turning his head to break the kiss as his cheeks flood with color, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi storm past, heading for his room. He lifts a hand up to his face to shield you from view as he goes.
“Don’t stop on my account!” Yoongi’s voice is dripping with derision. “By all means, continue fucking on our shared furniture!”
“We’re fully clothed, asshole!” you snap in response as Yoongi slams the bedroom door behind him, hard enough that it rattles in the frame.
When you look back down at Jimin, his face is twisted in an expression you take to be embarrassment. You drop your head down on his shoulder with a frustrated groan, the moment successfully killed.
“Do you…” you pause, turning your head to the side but continuing to ask your question into the fabric of his shirt. “We could go to my room, for more privacy, if you want?”
He hums his agreement, and when you peel yourself off the couch and head for your room, he follows. You spin back around to face him in the doorway, so fast he nearly knocks into you.
You brace your hands on the doorframe as you survey him. “We really don’t have to… do anything, if you don’t want to. We can just talk.”
Jimin nods, and you step aside to let him enter first, pulling the door closed behind you as you follow. He takes a few tentative steps into the room, and you walk past him to drop down onto the floor next to your bed, then pat the carpet to encourage him to join. There’s a flash of something over his face, and then he sinks down beside you. It’s only now that you realize how quiet he’s gotten.
“What is it?” you ask, suddenly a little nervous.
He stares down at the soles of his feet, pressed into each other, his knees tipped open like butterfly wings. “Does it make you feel bad? That we’re not—”
“No,” you answer immediately, and the honesty of it resonates in your chest.
“I know we’ve been hanging out for a while,” he continues, voice low. “And I do want to, you know. Hook up.”
“Jimin,” you lean forward to place both of your hands over one of his, settled atop his knee. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. When you want to, I want to. But I like everything we’ve been doing, too. It’s not like we’re not… intimate.”
His gaze flits up from the floor to meet yours. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you.”
You close your fingers around his hand, pulling it off his leg and up to your face so you can brush your lips over his palm.
“I don’t think that at all,” you murmur against his skin. “Promise.”
There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes when you look back up at him. “Okay. Sorry, I know it’s stupid. Like why do I need reassurance from you when I’m the one being difficult?”
You press your cheek into the warmth of his hand, toying lazily with the rings on his fingers. “Why are you so convinced that you’re difficult?”
Jimin huffs a small sigh. “This conversation has not gone this well in the past.” His eyes drop to the floor again, and after a moment’s pause, he keeps talking.
“My ex and I struggled a lot with…” he shakes his head, as if he’s trying not to say ‘everything’. “Sex. With me wanting it, with us having enough of it. I think it gave me a complex. I could be physically, you know, ready, but then as soon as she’d touch me I’d get in my head about everything and freak out and immediately want to stop.” He pauses, worrying at his bottom lip.
You pull his hand into your lap, your fingers delicately tracing over his in an attempt to provide some comfort. He shrugs when he starts to speak again. “And then, I don’t know, I guess she was just trying to share her side, but... she would make me feel so bad about it sometimes. Because I was genuinely trying so hard but it was like I was never good enough.” Another pause, and this time he sniffs a little. When his eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling, you can see he’s holding back tears. “It felt like she didn’t want me anymore, not if there wasn’t sex. So I left.”
“Jimin,” you breathe, and he flashes you a small grimace, clearly embarrassed by his own dramatics. With a grunt of effort, he turns sideways and flops backwards onto the floor of your room, and you scoot closer to him, your hand still playing with his.
His gaze roams over the ceiling as he sighs. “I don’t want you to think I was this perfect person and she was some awful bitch. She loved me a lot, and I’m sure she was struggling with not feeling wanted either, in her own way.”
Your voice is soft when you interject. “Two people can just be… incompatible. It doesn’t mean either of them is a bad person, or that it’s anyone’s fault. Sometimes things just don’t work, no matter how hard you try.”
Jimin’s mouth pulls up on one side as he shakes his head, eyes squinting. “How did you get to be so smart?”
You can’t help but laugh a little, lacing your fingers together with his in your lap. “Years of making terrible decisions.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze before you ask a question. “Did you struggle with this before, or just with her?”
His mouth twists slightly, unsure. “Yes and no? Both? My desire has always… fluctuated, I guess. Been a little shy.” A smile spreads over his face, and he hums a note. “Like, you know how people say love at first sight isn’t a thing? That it’s just lust?” You nod, prompting him to continue. “I think, at least for me, it’s the opposite. I can fall for somebody, and fall hard, like that.” He snaps loudly with his free hand. “But lust… I don’t know, it takes longer. It’s like a slow burn thing.”
You nod again, processing his words for a moment before you respond. “Well, I’m in no rush.”
Jimin sits up, voice thoughtful as he untangles his hand from yours, and it’s clear he’s getting more comfortable opening up to you. “Right after the breakup, I did a lot of research. I found this term, demisexual, that felt pretty accurate.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know. I mostly just think that... I am who I am. And the people who get it will get it. Like you.”
Before you can even speak, he sweeps an arm under your calves to drag you into his lap in one swift move, and you squeak a little in surprise as your world tilts.
“Demisexual. I like it,” you giggle as he guides your legs to wrap around his middle. His hands slide up your thighs, grabbing at your hips to tug you closer so he can trail kisses along your neck.
“Biromantic demisexual, technically,” he murmurs, head tipping up to find your mouth again.
You drape your arms over his shoulders and hum against his lips as he kisses you. “It suits you.”
Another soft noise escapes you when Jimin manages to maneuver to standing with you still in his arms. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and your legs around his waist, and his hands shift down to your ass to firmly hold you up. You squeeze your eyes shut automatically in fear of being dropped, then flutter them open again when you feel your back press into the soft cushion of your bedspread.
Jimin is hovering over you, forearms dropped down to the bed on either side of you. His eyes search yours for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss you again, so fiercely this time that it leaves you breathless. You can’t help but whimper as his tongue slips into your mouth.
When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to your collarbone with a groan. “It’s late,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your neck. “I should go.”
You nod responsibly, despite how desperately you want him to stay.
You walk him out, and his sweet parting kiss leaves your heart hammering in your chest, enough that you slump against the frame with a sigh once you shut the door, your knees suddenly weak.
Light on your feet, you follow the faint noise of the TV to find Yoongi in the living room with Planet Earth on at a barely audible volume. He glances at you, his mouth a flat line, then reaches for the remote to turn the sound up a few notches. You drop down on the couch next to him, and it’s silent for a moment, save for the calm narration and the crinkling plastic of him tearing open a bag of Turtle Chips.
“How’d it go?” he finally asks, voice monotone.
“It’s good,” you answer softly. “We’re good.” You fold your legs up under yourself and sneak a look at Yoongi out of the corner of your eye. You’re still a little pissed, but you also want advice. Damn him for knowing everything.
“Have you heard the term ‘demisexual’ before?”
Yoongi nods, still chewing as he replies. “Yeah. Like asexual spectrum, right?”
You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”
He shoves a few more chips in his mouth before he continues. “Is that what your Subway Boy is?”
“I think so, yeah.”
There’s a long pause while you watch penguins march across the screen, and you think that might be the end of it. Then Yoongi clears his throat. “You know, I’m somewhere in there too. Not completely asexual, but definitely not… not.”
Your eyes widen. “Really?”
Yoongi snorts. “Don’t act so shocked. These walls aren’t that thick.”
“Is Joon?”
He smirks, like you’ve just told a joke. “Decidedly not.”
“Oh.” You blink, trying to process. “How do you deal with it?”
Yoongi makes a face, like he’s never thought about it before. “We just communicate, I guess. Be respectful even when we don’t necessarily understand. And, like, Namjoon watches porn, and surprisingly reads quite a bit of erotica—”
“Okay, okay,” you cut him off. “I don’t need all the details.”
He huffs a dry laugh at your discomfort. “It’s not always easy, sometimes it’s frustrating for both of us. But we make it work. We love each other.”
You chew a little at the inside of your cheek, and then you can’t hold in the question any longer. “Is it weird that the idea doesn’t bother me? Jimin said it was a huge issue with his ex. Like, does that make me on the… spectrum?”
Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, you might be? But not necessarily? I don’t know, sex matters different amounts to everyone. Some people don’t mind not having it that often. You don’t have to put a label on it unless you want to, you know?”
“Yeah, makes sense.” You nod slowly as you digest the idea. “Thanks, Yoongi. I appreciate the education.”
His only answer at first is a noncommittal hum, and then he points a finger at the few inches of wine in the bottle you left sitting on the coffee table. “Gonna finish that?”
“It’s all yours,” you say. “Consider it atonement for going to first base on the couch.”
Yoongi grabs the bottle by the neck and immediately drains it. “Apology accepted,” he grunts as he sets it back down. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He extends his bag of chips in your direction and you happily reach in for the biggest handful you can manage.
~*~
During your next movie night, Jimin can’t keep his hands to himself.
They pet up your thighs, your legs draped over his, then slide up to your hips, fingertips tracing patterns over the waistband of your leggings and toying at the hem of your shirt.
His mouth has a similar problem: he leans in to press kisses along the line of your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, sucking delicately at the spot that makes your nipples tighten and sends a shiver through you.
“You’re missing the movie,” you remark, raking a hand through his peachy-pink hair, shadowed at the roots where his natural color has started to grow in. He’s typically good about keeping himself restrained until the credits roll, but you’re barely halfway through Pride & Prejudice, haven’t even cracked a second bottle yet.
“Fuck the movie,” he growls against your skin, and you bite back a whimper when his teeth scrape over your neck. You can’t ignore the way your core is starting to ache from his insistent mouth.
His lips find yours again, and you giggle softly into him. “You’re in a mood.”
“Just been thinking about you,” he murmurs between kisses. It surprises you a little when he suddenly pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. “Should we— do you want to go to my room?”
The air hangs still and heavy between you, and you worry at your bottom lip for a moment. “Are you sure?” When he nods, dark brown eyes blinking up at you, your mouth turns up at the corner. “I’d rather we not traumatize any more roommates if we can help it.”
You lean over to pause the movie before sliding off his lap and getting to your feet, and then you reach your hands out for his and pull him up next to you. “Come on.”
Jimin’s bedroom is so perfectly him that it relaxes you, feather-soft comfort every time you step inside. His bed isn’t made, because it never is, the thick white duvet pushed down on one side where he stumbled out from beneath it this morning. He keeps it dark, blackout curtains drawn to support his night owl lifestyle, and the room is bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights he’s strung up along the ceiling. A myriad of posters and art prints and polaroids are taped to the walls, some beautiful, others sentimental— he even managed to coax you into tearing a few of his favorites out of your sketchbook. You still don’t think they’re anything special, but nevertheless, it makes your heart squeeze in your chest to see them on display with everything else. Like they belong here in this room, like you do too.
The door clicks as it shuts behind him, and then his mouth is on yours again, kissing you dizzy while he backs you up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He guides you to lay down, and his hand slips beneath you to drag you up the bed with him as he crawls over you.
His hands come up to tug at your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he breathes.
You nod, staring up at him and not quite able to believe any of this is real. “You can do anything you want to me.” With a smile, he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you sit up a little so he can pull it the rest of the way off.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Jimin murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, then down between the valley of your breasts. His hands slip down to palm at your tits, squeezing gently, and he mouths at the stiff peaks of your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette. You untangle briefly, only for as long as it takes to get the lacy thing off of you entirely and tossed over the edge of the bed.
You shiver a little as the air hits your bare skin, and then the warmth of his body covers you again, and he ducks down to close his mouth over your nipple and suck. The plush softness of his lips and the firm suction combined are enough to make your eyes roll back, and your spine arches up beneath him when he drags his tongue in a circle over the sensitive bud.
“Shit,” you groan. Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, and it feels like your only tether to reality.
It’s easy to believe it’s the waiting, the anticipation of this moment, that makes every little touch light you up like a live wire now. But something tells you it will always feel like this.
While his lips shift to your other breast, one hand slides down to cup your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle friction into your center. You circle your hips to press yourself against the flat of his palm, sighing at the brush of indirect contact and the heat that thrums through you from the pressure on your clit.
You feel Jimin’s weight shift on the mattress as he kneels next to you, and his lips find yours again at the same time his hand slips into your leggings, two fingers tracing the seam of your panties to make you whine softly. If he couldn’t tell before, he must be able to now: how wet you are, enough to drench the lacy fabric so it clings to your cunt, dripping arousal to show how badly you want him.
He’s surprisingly forceful when he tugs the damp fabric to the side, but so gentle again as he slips one finger and then a second into your tight heat. Your mouth drops open as he curls them up to rub at your g-spot, stroking into you over and over while your cunt squeezes tight around him.
Your head drops back on the pillow and you groan. “Oh, fuck, Jimin.”
You can hear how soaked your pussy is as he pumps into you, and the wet squelch of his fingers working inside you would make you shy if it didn’t feel so overwhelmingly perfect. The pleasure edges your breathing with soft sounds, and Jimin swallows them when he kisses you again.
He shifts slightly for a better angle and then you feel the heel of his palm grind down against your clit. It’s enough to make your hips buck up under him with every press of his hand, his insistent touch shooting sparks of arousal through you.
It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, and you’ve wanted this with him so badly for so long, but even still, it surprises you how quickly he can bring you to the edge.
“Jimin,” you break the kiss to gasp against his mouth, unable to believe how close you already are. Close enough that all you can do is cling, to any part of him you can reach: his hair, his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt. “Jimin, Jimin, fuck.”
“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he groans, and he says the next part softer, like it’s just for him. “My girl looks so pretty on my fingers.”
The pace of his movements doesn’t falter, nor does the heavy weight of his palm as he ducks down to capture your nipple in his mouth again. Your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in to the last knuckle with each thrust of his hand, and your nails dig desperately into his forearm as you feel your orgasm crest.
His teeth graze lightly over the tight bud of your breast, and it’s enough. With a final whine, the arousal that’s been coiling inside you snaps, and your back arches up off the bed as you come hard on his fingers.
Jimin’s fingers keep stroking you through it, the flat of his palm rubbing rough circles against your clit again and again and again and it feels like you might never stop coming. You moan as it rolls over you, wave after wave, until his touch is so overwhelming that you have to pull your trembling thighs together, and he finally relents.
Spent, your body sinks heavy into the bed, and you can’t help the dazed giggle that flutters out as afterglow starts to bloom behind your ribs.
Jimin hovers over you, dropped down onto his forearms, full lips pressing indiscriminately to your flushed skin, all over. You snake a hand through his hair to pull his mouth up to yours, and he kisses you slow and deep.
When you break apart, you tip your forehead to his. “Can I touch you?” you ask, still a little breathless.
“Please,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours again before he pulls away with a small, embarrassed smile. “My pants hurt.”
You sit up on your knees and he does too, and you bite down on your lip as you reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it over his head, and then there he is, beautiful as ever. Familiar, yet somehow all new.
Jimin shivers and whines when your hands run across the bare skin of his chest, teasing over his soft brown nipples before starting to trace a path down to his stomach. You lean in to kiss him, and he outright groans into your mouth when your fingertips tease along the band of his boxers that peeks out over his jeans. You gently bring your palms to his hips to guide him, and he’s pliant for you, shifting backwards at your suggestion until he’s seated, leaned back against the headboard.
Your hands shake slightly as you unbutton and push down his jeans, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh of relief. He’s so hard, you can understand why the tight denim must have been painful: his dick is still straining even now, a thick outline pressed into the fabric of his underwear, and there’s a dark patch that clings to his tip where he’s started to leak precum.
You tug his boxers down with enough force that his length smacks heavy against his stomach, and he makes a strangled noise in response, eyes squeezing shut. His hips jerk violently beneath you, and your jaw goes slack as you watch his cock twitch, and keep twitching, until a steady pool of milky gloss has leaked out over his stomach.
“Shit,” Jimin hisses as he comes practically untouched, and he gasps for air to try to speak. “Fuck fuck fuck— ‘msorry, thought I could—”
You can see him starting to spiral, can feel the panic starting to heat up inside his body, so you take his face in both of your hands. “Jimin.”
“This has never happened before— fuck, I don’t— this is so—”
“Jimin.” When you say his name again, firmer this time, he goes quiet, his eyes still shut tight. “Look at me,” you murmur, and he does, lashes slow-blinking open. “It’s okay. Okay?” Your gaze searches his, trying to convince him. “I like everything about you. Everything you do. You’re perfect.”
Clearly trying to steady his breathing, his chest shudders with effort, and you gently circle your thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He makes a soft noise as his eyelids drop shut again, his cheek pressing into your hand, letting you carry a little bit more of his weight.
It’s quiet for a moment, and his voice is unsure when he speaks. “There’s tissues… in the—”
“Can I take care of it?” you interrupt to ask, your voice low. His eyes blink open again to look at you, and a dark glint flickers there as the unsaid meaning of your question washes over him.
“Y-yeah.”
You take your time moving down the bed to settle between Jimin’s thighs, and you stare up at him, waiting for any indication that he wants you to stop or doesn’t feel comfortable. But he just swallows hard, his adam’s apple jerking in his throat, and nods.
Leaning down, you drag your tongue in steady, long strokes over the flat plane of his stomach to lick the mess up.
As you get the last of it, you’re surprised to feel his hand cup the back of your head. You don’t resist when he pulls you up for a kiss, then licks into your mouth to taste himself, the salt and slick of his cum sliding between your tongues.
When you break apart to swallow, Jimin’s voice is a whisper. “That okay?”
You nod, unable to bite back your smile. “You’re… really fucking hot.”
He smirks as he finds your lips again. “So are you.” The next kiss is sweeter, and then he pulls back. “If you want, we can keep— or I can go down— I don’t want—” He can’t finish any of his half-started thoughts, and you smile, lovingly running your palms over his thighs, back and forth.
You want him so badly, more than anything, but you try to breathe through it. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, that self-critical flash in his eyes, the same furrow in his brow that creases when he gets frustrated with himself.
“I’m not saying no because I don’t want you,” you preface. “But I just don’t want you to feel stressed or get in your head about it. I want it to feel good, and I’m in no rush. Next time, okay?”
His lips are still a little pouted, but he nods, and you lean in to sling your arms around his neck. “C’mere.”
You tug him down to the mattress, and your half-naked bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, hands tracing gentle patterns over bare skin as you kiss.
When you eventually end up with your cheek pressed to his chest, you listen to the sound of his heartbeat settling, his breathing evening out. You speak softly in the quiet of his room. “My roommate’s doing an exhibition on Friday. Will you come with me? I’ve been promised there will be free booze.”
Jimin tightens his grip on your waist, his voice slurring like he’s half-asleep. “Mmm, my favorite person and my favorite thing.” There’s a pause, and he sighs. “That sounded bad. Promise I'm not an alcoholic.”
“I know,” you laugh, dragging your lips over his collarbone, then grunting a little noise of frustration as reality starts to set in. “I have class early tomorrow. I should go before I fall asleep here.”
He whines his disapproval, but when you glance up you can see the fight going out of him, his eyelids starting to flutter closed. You lean up for one, two, three more kisses before you force yourself out of bed to find your bra and your shirt. “I’ll see you Friday?”
“Mmkay.” He inhales deep, like he’s coming up for air. “Text me when you make it home safe?”
“I will,” you promise, and you do.
~*~
Namjoon’s exhibition is laughably fancy for what really just ends up being a room full of gay, overdressed art students. The ridiculous finger foods disappear in minutes— all the broke grad school kids came hungry— but you and Jimin gladly hover around the table of champagne flutes instead, giggles sparkling between you like the bubbles that fizz in your glasses.
You’ve been trying to drag him away to actually take in the art, but he keeps necking his drinks. “You’re supposed to sip it, you demon!” you chide with a laugh as he does it again, picking up a fresh glass and throwing all of it back in one gulp.
He smirks slightly as he shakes his head. “It’s more fun this way. Try it.”
You roll your eyes, hiding the grin that threatens to stretch over your face in the rim of your drink before following suit. He’s not wrong: a rush of warmth creeps up your neck as you swallow, the world softening around you, and it’s made sweeter by the kiss Jimin leans in for. When he pulls back you can see his face is flushing, too.
“Come on, Mr. Park,” you murmur, your free hand intertwining with his as you set the empty glass down and retrieve another. “Take me on a tour.”
Jimin grabs another flute too and then you’re off, and he actually manages to drink this one slowly as you weave through the gallery, the click of your footsteps underscoring the gentle classical music that floats through the speakers. You lean into Jimin in comfortable silence as you take in each art piece, sipping delicately at your champagne, occasionally hooking your chin over his shoulder just for the thrill of being close to him.
“These are all beautiful,” he hums appreciatively as you stand in front of a wide, impressionist landscape, swirls of color that shift into shapes when you step far enough away, but dissolve into unidentifiable blobs of thick-textured paint up close. “Namjoon did a really good job curating.”
“Mm-hmm,” you nod, but your eyes are on Jimin and everything else pales in comparison. He’s dressed up for the occasion, tight black jeans and a white button-down with a leather jacket thrown on over top. His hair is styled, pretty pink strands pushed back off his forehead, and his asymmetrical silver earrings glimmer in the low lighting. The result is so stunning you’ve had a hard time focusing on anything but him tonight.
A thought that’s been running through your mind all evening resurfaces again as you swallow the last of your glass of champagne.
“They should put you in a gallery.” You didn’t necessarily plan to say the thought out loud, but say it you do. Jimin quirks an eyebrow and you decide to double down. “But not here. Somewhere better.”
“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.
“The Louvre,” you counter, and he outright laughs, his head tipping back.
“The Louvre?!”
“You heard me,” you giggle, your body pressed against his side. “You’re art.”
Releasing your hand, he wraps his free arm around you to pull you into his chest, the smile still lingering over his face. “And you,” he murmurs, “are drunk.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Your voice is muffled slightly as you speak into his collarbone.
You tilt your head up for a kiss, and it seems to surprise both of you how quickly the atmosphere changes. It might be the more-than-several glasses of champagne to blame, or the fact that you’ve found yourselves in a corner, hidden away from the rest of the exhibition’s patrons, but the soft spark that ignites between you quickly grows into a licking flame at the touch of your lips. It’s heat-blush passion as your mouths move against each other, and you’re trying to keep quiet despite the weight of it, heavy in your core, this shared, unspoken need.
“Jimin,” you breathe into him, overwhelmed by all that he is.
He shifts, nosing at your jawline as he speaks into your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere?”
The suggestion makes you a little unsteady on your feet, your high heels threatening to topple over, and he catches you with a hand to your waist when you falter. “Like, somewhere here?”
“Too far to go all the way home,” he purrs, the hand on your body squeezing gently. “And you look too good.”
Your head swims as he kisses you again, and he pries the empty glass out of your hand, setting it down on the nearest table with his. A hand returns to the small of your back, then slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your black dress. His mouth paints a smile over yours, and you grab his wrist. “Follow me.”
Stumbling your way through the gallery, trading laughs under your breath like confidants and kisses when no one is looking, you lead him back to the coat check closet at the front, thankfully left vacant by whichever freshman had been roped in to the thankless job. With a final glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re unseen, you push the door open and tug Jimin inside after you.
As soon as the coat check door closes again, he has you pressed against it, his tongue slipping hungrily into your mouth. His hands skirt up the curve of your hips as he slots a thigh between your legs, firmly pushing up the hem of your dress to grind into your clothed center.
You both freeze where you are at the sound of a moan, one that very distinctly does not come from either of you.
Jimin tries and fails to suppress a nervous laugh. Unable to make out anything in the dark, you reach your hand out, smacking aimlessly at the wall next to you until you find a lightswitch and flip it on.
“What the fu—” The man who made the noise in question flings a hand over his face at the sudden intrusive wash of fluorescents, but you’d know him from his voice alone. Kim Taehyung still has one hand gripped tight to the metal bar of a coat rack, back arched and legs spread for whoever his latest victim is, with his pants and boxers shoved down to his ankles.
Before your alcohol-soaked brain can put together a smug comment about how Taehyung needs to get his ass eaten at home like a normal human, Jimin’s voice surprises you.
“Hobi?”
You clap a hand over your mouth as you realize the man on his knees, pulling his tongue off Taehyung’s rim with a look of utter confusion, is none other than Jung Hoseok. His eyes are wide as dinner plates as his head snaps up to take the two of you in.
“Jimin?!”
“Oh my god.” You start to laugh so hard your knees buckle, and Jimin has to wrap his arms around you to keep you upright. “How the fuck did you two even meet?!”
“Do we really need to have this discussion now?!” Taehyung growls, and it only makes you laugh harder.
“Come on, come on—” Jimin is collapsing into giggles himself as he fumbles for the handle behind you. He simultaneously attempts to pull you off the door so he can swing it open. “Let’s leave them to it.”
You smack the lights off again as you make your escape, Jimin’s grip still hugging tight around your waist as you laugh until your lungs nearly give out. The lobby is thankfully empty, all the attendees pressed deeper into the gallery, so you loop your arms over his shoulders as you recover and pull his mouth back down to yours, unable to stop yourself.
“Let me take you home,” you manage to say in the space between kisses. Your tongue feels heavy when you speak; his is champagne-sweet. “Joon and Yoongi will be here for a while.”
Jimin’s agreement hums, buzzing on your lips. “Wanna take the train?”
You’re grateful the subway car you stumble into is empty, because the pull of Jimin’s mouth is too magnetic to be ignored. You don’t think you could stop kissing him if you tried.
It’s practically a race back to your apartment once you emerge from the station, partially to get out of the cold night air, though you hardly feel it with Jimin’s jacket slung over your shoulders and your body flushed hot from alcohol and desire. As you climb the four flights to your walk-up, both of you giggling and gripping tight to the banister, the spiral of the stairs sends your world spinning. You feel dizzy-drunk on wine and laughter and lust alike, and maybe something more. Something you don’t have words for yet.
It takes you three tries to get your keys in the door, and when you finally manage to get it open, you kick your shoes off and make a beeline for your bedroom, dragging Jimin along after you, hand-in-hand. Thankfully he has the foresight to remember to shut the door behind you, because all you can think about is him: the rich musk of his cologne, the taste of his tongue, the warm blush of his skin under your palms.
The leather jacket hits the floor and you step over it, walking backwards as he licks into your open mouth, shameless.
You nearly fall over when you bump up against the bed and almost lose your balance, and then you reach for the buttons of his shirt at the same time he goes for your dress. The two of you laugh your frustrations against each other as your arms tangle and get in the way.
“You first!” you insist, and he relents, lets you unbutton the starched white fabric of his button-down so he can shrug out of it. Your fingers move to undo his belt and then he takes over, impressively coordinated enough to be able to kiss you while kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, stripped down now to his black boxer-briefs. He pulls your dress up over your head, and then your barely-clothed bodies press together all the way down, the ache in your core now an undeniable throb.
Jimin takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, and you slip one hand between your hips and his to palm at him, earning an appreciative hiss. You rub at him over the front of his briefs, teasing, then dip your touch beneath his waistband.
His cock hangs heavy between his legs, but he’s not quite hard yet, maybe from the cold, so you take him in your hand and start to pump. For fear of too much dry friction you try to go slow, and he groans into your mouth as you twist your wrist a little to circle your thumb over his frenulum.
He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom against your skin. “Sorry— gimme a second.”
Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize. D’you wanna try laying down?”
When he nods, you release your grip on him so he can sink down onto the bed, crawling backwards up to the pillows. Knelt down on the mattress, you settle in the space he makes for you, thighs spread and knees tipped open, and you push his briefs down enough to free all of him.
You hook your thumb and index finger under the head of his dick to pull it flush against his stomach, allowing you better access to drag your tongue in little kitten licks up his shaft. Your other hand moves to massage gently at his balls as you take his tip into your mouth and let it bulge against your cheek, let him slip against the soft wall there to make saliva pool on your tongue, sloppy on purpose.
It’s still not working, not really, and when your gaze flits up to him again, Jimin’s face is pulled into a grimace. Heat rushes up your neck, and you pull your mouth off him and immediately right yourself. You shift backwards a little on your knees as your pulse starts to race. Does he not want this? Did you misread some sign, or push him too far?
Jimin must be able to read the look in your eyes, because he groans as he presses his face into his hands. “It’s not you. Think I drank too much, I don’t— i-it feels good, I—it just—”
You’re not exactly sober yourself. The receding white noise of panic makes it hard to think, hard to know what to say. “I-it’s okay. It’s okay.”
“I just—” he tries again. “I really want to do this, I don’t know why— it’s fucking embarrassing.” The blankets muffle the sound as his palms smack flat against the bed on either side of him in clear frustration. You move out from between his legs, still trying to catch up, and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he pulls his boxer-briefs back over himself.
“Jimin,” you murmur. The bed creaks when you shift to lay next to him, to tuck into his side, and you reach up to run a hand through his hair, a little sticky with the product holding it in place. An anxious, thrumming quiet settles over both of you as his eyes flutter closed.
The words finally come to you in the silence; you can only hope they’ll reach him. “I had so much fun with you tonight. That doesn’t go away.” The crease between his brows softens a little, so you keep talking. “It’s not your only chance, okay? I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here.” Your free hand slips into his on the bed next to you. “And I want you with me.”
He sniffs a little, so quiet you nearly miss it, then turns in towards you. Your noses bump together and your mouth turns up at the corners as you continue. “It’s late, and I… can’t promise there isn’t more ass-eating waiting for you at home. Do you want to sleep here?”
Jimin’s eyes blink open, glassy, and then he nods.
“Come on,” you say softly, sitting up and tugging on your still-joined hands. “How about we shower?”
In the bathroom, you run the water scalding hot, and when you both step in you nudge Jimin forward to stand under it first, then press against him from behind. Your hands wrap around his waist to slide over his stomach as you tilt up to reach his ear when you speak. “This okay?”
He nods, hums a little, and you move your hands up over the whole of his body. Hard lines and soft curves, a work of art you know so well, you can see it when you close your eyes as you map his skin with your fingertips. You nuzzle into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, then press a kiss there. “I’m right here,” you say again, not even sure if he hears you.
But his head turns, and you feel one of his hands slide over yours on his chest. “Will you wash my hair?” he asks softly, and you tip forward to bring your mouth to his, convinced you’d do anything he asked of you.
It’s intimate, the way you take your time running shampoo and then conditioner through his silky pink strands, dragging your nails over his scalp and applying gentle pressure that makes him sigh prettily in response. Jimin steps further under the showerhead both times to rinse the product out, and if a few tears slip down his cheeks, they’re lost to the spray of the water where you can’t tell the difference.
But he does manage the ghost of a smile when you reach to grab your washcloth and he gets there first. “Your turn.”
Once your body and then his are scrubbed and rinsed clean, you shut the water off and grab thick, fluffy towels that you dry off and wrap up in. In the dim light of your room, you pull on an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, then dig out a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. They’re fairly baggy on you, but they fit Jimin perfectly, and the image of him in something of yours makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest.
You run two glasses under the kitchen tap that you set out to ward off any potential hangovers, and you even manage to find a spare toothbrush for him to use. When he emerges from the bathroom again, still absentmindedly toweling his damp hair, you’re sitting on the bed with your feet tucked under you.
“Do you want to watch something?” you offer gently.
He shakes his head as he stifles a yawn. “‘Mtired. Think I just wanna sleep.”
You pat the bedspread next to you, an invitation. “Then let’s sleep.”
Under the covers, you curl up together, soft and warm from the shower, scented lavender and mint from your body wash and toothpaste. Jimin’s legs tangle with yours, an arm wrapping over your waist, and you press your cheek against the hard plane of his chest with a small sigh.
You listen as his breathing slows, each inhale a little further apart from the last, to the point where you think he’s fallen asleep. You feel yourself start to follow after him, and the last thing you hear before you’re dragged all the way down is Jimin inhaling deep, then mumbling softly into your hair. “Thank you. For everything.”
~*~
Light streams in between the cracks of the window blinds, painting warm shapes over your eyelids that gently wake you. You sigh and stretch as you slowly come all the way up from dreaming, your eyes still heavy-lidded. When you roll over with a soft grunt, you find Jimin fast asleep there, his face smushed into the pillow, one arm slung lazily over you.
The corner of your mouth pulls up, and you have to fight the urge to dot kisses all over his face, deciding to let him sleep instead. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to roll out from under his arm without waking him and slip quietly out of bed, easing the bedroom door closed behind you.
It’s early, and the apartment is still, washed in morning gleam and the gentle hum of New York City traffic on the streets outside.
You stumble into the kitchen with a stifled yawn, swinging open the fridge and leaning down to retrieve a pack of bacon and the half-empty carton of eggs. Humming quietly to yourself, you dig a pan out and set it on the stove to heat.
Arms slide around your waist, making you jump a little before you melt back as Jimin nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You can feel his body through your t-shirt, still warm from sleep and bedsheets he must’ve only just crawled out from under.
Not quite graceful, you turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck to seek a kiss. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice hoarse on your first spoken words of the day. “How are you feeling?”
Jimin’s mouth is still slurred from waking up when he answers. “‘Mgood. You look good.” His gaze roams down your body and back up, as if to take in your oversized shirt, your bare legs, your hair still messy from sleep. “So cute like this.”
You scrunch your nose slightly as you smile up at him. “Want breakfast?”
A heat starts to pool between your legs as his hands slide further down your back. He pushes your shirt up so he can grip your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing separating his skin from yours.
“In a bit.”
You can’t help but squeak when, in one swift move, he bends his knees and lifts you off the ground. Impulsively, your legs spread to wrap over his hips, thighs squeezing tight to hold on, and your arms cling around his neck as laughter flutters in your chest. Before you can act on the urge to bury your face in his shoulder, his mouth finds yours again, and the way he kisses you, hungry and deep, makes nothing else in the world matter.
He carries you back to bed, nudging open the door he didn’t quite close all the way with his shoulder, then using a foot to push it shut again. Your muscles unclench when he sits down with you in his lap, and you unwrap your legs from around him, your knees sinking soft into the bed.
You can’t quite shake the thoughts of the night before. “Jimin,” you start, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t—”
“Want to,” his voice is low, ragged edges from sleep. “Doing it ‘cause I want to. I want you. Do you want me?”
You nod, leaning back to look at him, your arms still twined over his neck. “More than anything.”
There’s no rush this time as he shifts backwards up the bed and you crawl over him to settle into his lap again. No tension that’s been building all night, no alcohol buzzing in your systems, no urgency. Just your bodies, half-dressed in sleep clothes, intertwining like they were made to fit together.
Your kisses are sweet and unhurried as Jimin’s hands slip beneath your oversized t-shirt, delicate fingers tracing up your waist. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he licks into your mouth. When he rolls a nipple between his fingers, your breath hitches, sparks of arousal shooting all the way down to your toes. A weight blossoms in your core as you reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, and you shiver a little in the morning air.
“Beautiful,” Jimin says quietly, reverently, and you take his face in your hands.
“You are too,” you murmur, your eyes searching his. “So beautiful.” Your hands slip down his body as he kisses you again, your fingertips outlining the contours of his chest, gently brushing over his nipples to make him groan into your mouth.
Jimin’s hands come to rest at the curve of your hips as your mouths move together, where he teases his touch under the band of your boyshorts. He pulls back just far enough to ask, “Can I take these off?” and you nod.
You shimmy the thin fabric down your thighs, dropping onto your ass with a laugh so he can tug them the rest of the way off, one ankle at a time. As you sit up on your knees again, his hands come to grip your thighs, and he shifts lower on the bed until he’s laying flat on his back next to you.
“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.
“Yeah?” You bite down on a small smile.
He hums. “Can I— will you please, uh… sit on my face?”
You can’t help but giggle. No one has ever asked so politely. “Yeah, okay.”
It’s slow, languid, the way his full lips close delicately around your clit when you settle over him, how he alternates with lazy passes of his tongue, not unlike the way he kisses you. The pleasure pulls your spine arched and your head tips back, palms pressing flat to the bed beneath you.
“Jimin,” you gasp, “baby, feels so fucking good.”
His tongue is heavy as it drags down your folds, thick when he sinks it into your cunt to taste the slick arousal that pours out of you and drips down his chin. Your hips rock into his mouth, his nose inadvertently bumping against your clit as he licks you like he doesn’t want to waste a drop. Your walls cling tight, crammed up full of him.
With a slurp and a gasp for breath, he withdraws, his tongue made hot from being buried inside of you, trailing wet warmth as he licks back up your pussy to lap at your clit again. Your arms threaten to give out when he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, lips pulsing an insistent rhythm that makes you moan and writhe above him.
“Jimin, Jimin.” The pleasure is decadent, thick, wine and honey, made sweeter by the beautiful boy pressed between your thighs. Emotion bubbles up inside of you to twist with your pleasure, and you tighten a hand in his rose-blush hair as you moan again, nearly a sob this time, a dam breaking.
Jimin hums against you, fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thighs, like he can tell you’re at the edge without you having to say a word, and it’s enough to send you tumbling over it.
“Oh fuck baby, yes, fuck.” Your toes curl tight over the bedsheets as your pussy flutters, throbs, gushes. Your vision whites out as you come hard enough to make your thighs shake, hard enough that your stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding you up. Jimin’s mouth works you through it, tongue stroking flat and slow to coax pulse after pulse out of you, until everything melts into shaky aftershocks and your thighs clench around him, over-sensitive.
He pulls back when you start to squirm, lips smacking wetly on a final kiss to your pussy, and heat flushes your face at the sound of it. Your limbs feel heavy as lead as you slip off from on top of him and collapse down onto the mattress with a floaty sigh, your pulse still thudding brightly in your ears.
You’re only distantly aware of the way the bed shifts as Jimin slides down next to you. You follow his touch on instinct, turning into him when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your hairline. Heartbeat still slamming in your chest, mind hazy with morning orgasm glow, you hum contentedly as your eyes flutter open to find him palming at a thick bulge tenting his– well, your sweatpants.
“Looks like it’s cooperating today.” Jimin’s voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.
With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. “What do you want to do about it?”
He laughs hoarsely. “I would love to finally fuck you, if you’ll have me.”
“I don’t want anybody else.” The thought spills out before you can worry if it’s too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.
At Jimin’s guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. “There’s condoms in the nightstand,” you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.
He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each other’s mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like you’re afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.
“Thank you.” Jimin’s low voice sends a ripple through you. “For waiting for me.”
You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. “It wasn’t waiting, Jimin. Really. I’ve loved every second with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”
“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.
The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. “Fuck, Jimin.”
There’s a pause when he’s pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. “God, you’re so tight. Does it hurt?”
You shake your head— you’re so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.
Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.
“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.
“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”
He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.
Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.
The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”
“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”
You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.
You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.
“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”
Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”
A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”
You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”
He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.
As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.
That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.
“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”
This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.
As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.
“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.
“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”
Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.
A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.
With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.
Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.
“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”
A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”
Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”
The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”
He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”
“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.
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Now Expanded on AO3 here
The bed is hard and cold, not anything he isn't used to, but uncomfortable all the same. Especially with the way his body aches right now.
He wasn't even supposed to be on the ground, running into burning buildings wasn't really his main job description anymore. It was just...
The woman was screaming for her cat. And Tommy loves cats, he has his own, Missy. She's probably wondering where daddy is right now.
Who is he kidding, she probably didn't even notice he left for work.
No one is probably noticing he's missing. He likes the people at harbor, his coworkers, but they aren't family like the 118, Evan has told him how half the station will be sitting bedside vigil when any of them get injured. It must be nice to have that. After his childhood, shipped from one foster home to another, kicked out at 18, a family like that is something he's always wanted; fuck he acted like an absolute asshole just to try to get the old 118 to like him.
He's just mulling over whether calling Eddie and asking him to pick him up whenever they discharge him is too much when he hears the squeak of sneakers on the hospital floor and glances towards the door.
In stumbles Evan, looking scared and adorable and making Tommy's heart beat so fast the monitor actually beeps a few times in warning.
"Tommy, hey, are you okay?" He says, scrambling towards him, dragging a chair over with a loud scrape that has Tommy wincing at the sound.
For a moment all he can do is stare over at this human ball of sunshine, something in his chest unknotting. Fuck he really didn't think anyone would come, how did he...
"I, I'm okay," he says, trying to put on a brave face for Evan. He's older, more experienced, he should try to be calm and not get emotional.
"You look like shit," Evan says in that earnest way he has, sitting there and taking Tommy's hand in his own. His thumb brushes over Tommy's bruised knuckles, his concerned expression staring straight into Tommy's soul.
"Oh..." he says as he feels something crack open in him. Because Evan is here, he's holding his hand, he's worried for him he... He wants to take care of him, its written all over that adorable face. And well, that's, its not really something Tommy ever has anymore. "I'll be okay," he amends, and his hand squeezes Evan's even if it hurts a little. "How did you even?"
"The hospital called me. Apparently I'm your emergency contact?" Evan asks, and there's confusion there, but also something that looks like that same giddy contentment that Evan gets whenever Tommy does something to make him happy.
Fuck. He forgot he'd done that. That looked crazy and desperate, they'd only been dating a couple months.
"Uh, yeah it was either you or Chimney," he said, and fuck if that didn't sound pathetic. It wasn't like he didn't have friends. He had a lot actually, but none that he trusted implicitly like that. To see him weak and vulnerable. Chimney had saved his life though, and Evan well...
Evan leans in and kisses him. "Well I'm glad you did because I might not have known otherwise. Chim is at work right now so."
They sit for a while, Him recounting how he saved the cat but got blasted out a first floor window by the explosion. There wasn't any serious damage but he hurt like shit and had a lot of bruises and scrapes.
"Would you want to, y'know, come home with me and I can take care of you? Or I can stay at your place," Evan asks and fuck, fuck he is Not going to cry, he is not that kind of guy. But then, before he can answer.
Eddie rounds the corner, followed closely by Chim and Hen. Eddie's in plain clothes but Hen and Chim look like they came directly from the station.
"Tommy, shit, you okay?" Eddie asks, and Hen and Chim are looking at his chart by the bed and this is. Its too much. Its exactly what he wanted but wasn't at all expecting.
"I'm," he starts, looking at Evan for a moment before deciding, "I feel about as bad as I look, yeah." Evan squeezes his hand and his heart starts racing again and the monitor is beeping a little and he feels a tear going down his cheek. Evan wipes the tear away and then they're all talking. About what happened as Evan explains it for him, about a call where Hen saved a dog a few months back, about whatever. And fuck if Tommy doesn't feel safe, feel like he belongs.
Later that night, laying in his own bed, Evan having dragged him onto his broad chest in the same way Tommy usually does to him, he starts to think he could get used to this. He really hopes he can keep Evan, keep all of this for himself. Missy curls at the foot of the bed and purrs and he thinks, yeah, I feel like purring in contentment too.
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The Outsiders x Reader fluff - Sodapop Curtis
Authors Note - I had to hype myself up for this because I procrastinate too much.
Sodapop Curtis -
• I feel like writing this is so simple because this man is concerningly affectionate??
• There's so many sweet things he'd do
• Whenever he started flirting nobody even noticed because he's like that naturally
• Unlike Dallas he actually asked you out straight up.
• He almost threw up before asking you and was literally jumping up and down when he got home
• Darry had to grip his shoulders to keep him on the ground
• He wouldn't shut up about you??
• Before and after you started dating, you're his conversation
• The gang is so sick of it
• Your first date was so perfect
• He'd do everything
• Open doors for you, push your hair behind your ear
• 😭❤️
• Whenever you were driving to your date, he hyped himself up to hold your hand
• But when you beat him to it he almost wrecked the car
• He was smiling the whole time after that
• He was already smiling, but now it was full out grinning
• Compliments.
• Every fucking day.
• Your hair, your outfit, your body, your eyes, your voice, your personality
• Makes sure you know just how perfect you are everyday.
• Your first kiss.
• Fuck romcoms, this was so much better.
• 100% used some shit pickup line on the end of your first date just to kiss you
" darlin'.. what kinda lipgloss you got on? "
" strawberry.. why? "
" mind if I have a taste? "
• Screaming. Crying. Hollering.
• He was so surprised it actually worked
• Like Dallas, pet names are just normal at this point.
• Darlin', sweetheart, doll, baby
• Either that or some really sappy shit like sweetcheeks
• He's super sweet but I know damn well Sandy made a dent in him
• You know how he's super affectionate? He needs just as much affection.
• A lot of times you just lay down, hold each other and talk.
• You lying with your head on his chest, him playing with your hair as he talked about the time Steve nearly burned off his hair at DX.
• He's always toucuing you in some way shape or form
• Holding your hand, resting his hand on your thigh as he drives, kissing your cheek
• He's a PDA whore.
• Tries to help you with your homework but it ends up with him being way more confused then you.
" Hun, I gotta admit.. I ain't cut out for this. Go ask Dar. "
• Takes you out every Saturday
• Normally to the drive-in or some diner the gang talked about
• He's so loyal to you it's not even funny.
• Tells you every night about the girls who flirted with him at DX.
" You wouldn't believe it doll. I told her I ain't interested 8 times, everytime she just flipped her hair and kept on talkin'. "
• You always laugh your ass off because all these girls think they have a chance
• But you know damn well Soda would never do that
• One time a girl flirted with Soda infront of you
" You're real' sweet n' all, but I got a girlfriend "
" Aw cmon.. just cheat.. for me "
• The way you verbally harassed her.
• Sodapop nearly made out with you right then and there
• He 100% said I love you within the first month
• Almost cried when you said it back
• Talks about your future a lot
" How 'bout we name our kid Brooke? "
" I'm never havin' kids, Soda "
" Aw c'mon... can ya' imagine how good lookin' they'd be? "
• Kisses you an ass ton
• Always holds you close near the gang because he knows damn well half of them would fuck you given the chance 💀
• Saves up money to get you gifts
• Tries to remember the things you like for gifts but always scrambles it around
• Loves when you visit him at DX
• Makes his work days 11x better
• Literally so sweet to you
• You're crying? He'd literally drop everything to comfort you. Tired? He's already asleep with you.
• Talks about cars way too much
• Every day you have to explain you don't know what the fuck a carburetor is
• He's so used to having you around he has no idea how to operate without you anymore
• Like if you start sleeping together every night (keep it pg) and you have a school trip or something, he genuinely can't sleep
• He literally has to hold the pillow to sleep.
• Ponyboy was basically kicked out of the room because of you
• Still mad at you for that
• Your voice puts him to sleep
• If he lays on you while you're talking and you start playing with his hair, he'll literally be out in 2 minutes tops.
• He literally loves you so much and reminds you every chance he gets it
• The gang teases him but he doesn't care because you're way better than any of their girlfriends
• He's so perfect??
• Like you don't even understand how God did this.
• He's hot as hell, he's sweet, funny, caring
• He's the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.
• I love him so much 😔❤️
Steve's next
#the outsiders#the outsiders headcanons#dallas winston#sodapop curtis#johnny cade#ponyboy curtis#steve randle#two bit mathews#darry curtis#the outsiders x reader#the outsiders sodapop#sodapop x reader#soda x reader#sodapop curtis x reader
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𝕽𝖎𝖉𝖉𝖑𝖊
Sumary: Part 2 of 𝕳𝖎𝖘
Pairing: yandere! adult! Tom Riddle/Voldemort x fem! reader
Warnings: dark content, yandere/toxic behavior, death eaters, kidnapped reader, hints to torture,
Same timeline as in Part 1
A week has passed since you got kidnapped by the dark lord himself, and it hasn't been an easy or calm week. Luckily, he wasn't around you often because he had so many meetings with different death eaters to give them new missions and updates on his plans. Much to his dismay. Every time he had to leave your side, he wasn't in a good mood, and everybody knew that.
Unfortunately, he intended to actually have a romantic relationship with you. Until now, he hasn't forced you to anything, but you knew it was only a matter of time or your behavior.
Even though he wanted to give you some time to get used to everything, he still insisted on sleeping in the same bed as you. It wasn't as bad as you imagined it at first, but it was still uncomfortable. Mostly, he suddenly hugged you from behind, hid his nose in your hair or your neck, and dozed off. Getting free was impossible. He almost clinched to you, and when you tried to escape his arms, he just tightened his grip.
Escaping would be a real problem. You didn't even know where this mansion was. Were you in England? Or was this in Scotland or completely somewhere else?
Was only the mansion surrounded by Death Eaters or the scenery around it, too?! Did Tom think you would try to escape or not?
Lost in your thoughts, you didn't hear the knock on the door. When the person entered, you were relieved that it wasn't Riddle. It was Narcissa.
"I knocked, but you didn't awnser. The Dark Lord wishes to meet you,"
As on your first day, you followed her. She was pretty fast so keeping her pace was a bit difficult. Once you reached his so called 'office', Narcissa immediately walked away and left you alone with him.
When Tom saw you, he basically ran to you and pulled you into his arms. His breath was so loud for you, and you hated his touch to be honest, but at least it wasn't something worse.
"I missed you", he whispered into your ear.
Suddenly you realised that you two weren't alone, the curly head of Bellatrix was behind Tom. He seemed to notice your discomfort.
"Bellatrix, leave. I want to be alone with her", she was obliviously mad at that but still left the room without a word.
He turned his head back to you.
"Better?"
You didn't do anything. Fearing that a wrong awnser would make him mad, you just hugged him again and hid your face in his chest. Hugging him wasn't something you enjoyed, but if you closed your eyes and just felt his warmth, it was a little comfort in this so cold building and every time you hugged him, it made him happy, and a happy Tom was better than an upset one.
His clothes smelled like a library, or just good old books, which calmed you a little. In libraries, you have always felt safe. With no bullies around or other loud students, it felt like heaven.
And a safe place was now all you needed. Since he even talked about having kids, you knew some bad things would come, though it was questionable if he intended to do it with you 'wanting' this or if he didn't care.
"Tom?" You had to ask him, even if it would make him mad...
Instead of saying something, he kissed the top of your head to show you he was paying attention.
"What if I'm not ready for kids? I mean, I would love to start a family with you, but I'm scared", Liar liar pants on fire, was all your brain screamed.
Instead of freaking out, Tom was really calm. He put his hands on your shoulders and looked straight into your eyes.
"It's okay, my love. Y'know I was scared too, I was scared that something would hurt you without me being able to protect you, but after I killed this mudblood. I realised that nothing could take you away from me",
So badly you wanted to scream 'I didn't and still don't want this! Get yourself to therapy, you creep!' But you didn't dare it and your question still had no awnser. Would he dare to harm you for his 'lust' or should you consider it a wish? Again he pulled you close and hid his nose in your hair.
You somehow found comfort in his touch and immediately you knew that you had to run away as soon as you had the chance. Otherwise you might not be able to keep your sanity.
This man kidnapped you! Killed people! Hurts and tortures others every day! He is mad! You mustn't feel this way when he hugs you! Especially if you didn't even want this touch!
But still, you were scared to end this hug. Somehow, Tom couldn't get enough of physical contact with you, and if you pulled away, he might freak out like on your first day.
Flashbacks of how he threw the whole table through the room made you shiver, and you knew if he wanted to harm you, he could easily do it. Obviously, he didn't even fear the ministry. What could you do against him?
Even your wand was taken away from you. You were literally helpless in this situation. Tom wouldn't just hand it over once you asked nicely... most likely giving you your wand back would be the proof of trust towards you.
But every day you had to stay here, increased the possibility of getting mad.
Maybe even the food or the drinks that were served to you had a little bit of love potion in it. Not enough for you to fall for Tom immediately, but enough so you would fall for him over some time.
This couldn't and mustn't happen!
Even one more day here could become dangerous. You had to flee! But you also had to be clever. If you would start to act weird, he might realize that you were up to something. Though some 'making him happy' wouldn't hurt as well...
"Tom, do you have one more meeting with your death eaters today? I don't want to be alone all this time..."Your voice really sounded sad, and you even let out a sigh at the end. Luckily, you have always been a good actress.
"Yes, one late at night. You'll be asleep when I return. And I also don't like being parted from you, but we'll find a solution, okay?" You nodded for a yes and even could fake a small smile towards him.
OK, fleeing when it was night was scary, but also easier. In the dark, you could easily hide from preying eyes and maybe even get a safe distance to this place. It had to be tonight. Another day here would be too risky.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once you were back in your room and Tom was about 10 minutes gone, you changed from your nightgown to a comfortable jeans and a warm hoodie, beneath you also wore a T-shirt just in case and of course a warm jacket.
Silently, you opened the door towards your room. Without a wand, your survival skills wouldn't be the best, so you had to find a wand first. It didn't matter if it was your or not. As long as you could make simple spells like 'Incendio', it was enough.
Luck was once on your side. In the office of Tom, you found your own wand in the first drawer. Back on the corridor, you conjured the disillusionment charm on yourself. It wasn't the safest option but better than nothing.
You kept running the stairs down until you were at the ground floor of this mansion. Out of the front door, you sticked to the walls just in case someone wanted to look outside the window.
Surprisingly this was much easier than you thought...
It was pitch black, which was a blessing and a curse at the same time. You could barely see your own hand, but this also meant that no other person could see you from afar and chase after you the moment they saw you.
Around the mansion was a huge fence, so you had to open the old gate that was rusty and squeaky ! Not good...
When you opened it, it didn't make as much noise as you feared. But still, you had to run now, which was very hard in the dark, but you didn't dare to make any light with 'Lumos'. In the worst case, they already knew that you were gone and made up teams or something to find you. Well, 'they' were 'him' in this case.
You ran until you saw trees around you. You weren't exactly the sportiness in person, but all the fear that built up over the days you were captured started to overcome you and gave you so much adrenalin that you managed to keep running. Fear also from the fear of him finding you again and doing worse things to you than he already did.
You felt your head becoming hot and your legs getting tired. Your vision was almost blurry, so you had to stop. Though you didn't see much, you saw three trees around you, and the floor was covered in dark leaves. You tried to calm your breath so you didn't make too much noise. You also tried to hear as much as possible.
But you didn't hear any steps or any running, nor any speaking. The only thing that was heard was the wind, the chill wind that felt like heaven. Not only because you just ran away as fast as possible, but also because you never heard the wind in the mansion. Neither did you feel it against your cheeks in the past week.
The air also felt much better. It wasn't thick and warm. It was fresh and cold, and you even smelled the forest you were in. The trees had their own smell, just like anything else did.
And finally, you felt happiness again.
You wanted to scream it out, but couldn't. So, instead, you threw yourself into this feeling and started to twirl yourself around in the forest.
Now you knew how hamsters or other small animals felt. In the past week, you were in a different kind of cage, but still a cage. You weren't able to do your own hobbies that became a need to you. No going out to hear the birds or just smell the grass. Cause he didn't want it. Somehow, you felt like a little pet to him. He could do to you whether you liked it or not. You were at his mercy. He could have just let you starve when he thought you didn't act like he wanted you to. Or maybe just lock you in a room cause he thought you were annoying. But also do anything else to of with you.
The thought made you sick to the stomach. No one should live a life like that. Silently, your eyes began to burn, and then the hot tears rolled your face down.
If he would manage to bring you back, you knew you would go crazy. You weren't some kind of thing that he could possess. You were your own person with needs and wishes, but if he would ever realize that was the question.
In fact, now you saw that Tom didn't really love you. In his twisted mind, he did, but he saw himself more as your 'owner'. He 'loved' the idea of you with him but not you as the person you were. In his mind, you weren't even allowed to have any friends that he saw as bad influence, neither would he tolerate you doing something that could hurt you.
He just wanted a real-life doll of you that did whatever he wanted, but still loved and adored him. But conflicts belonged into a relationship. Two people can't always share the same opinion.
In the end, this realization was what got you captured again.
You were so deep into your thoughts that you didn't hear the mad laughter you hated. The craziness in a voice. Bellatrix. Once she saw your silhouette, she started to laugh again. Actually, she didn't want you to return at all. But maybe she could add some bloody scratches before she returned to the dark lord. If she was the one who brought you back, he would definitely praise her! That was something no one would take away from her. And again, a 'stupor' met you, and everything went pitch black. Again...
#harry potter#reader insert#x reader#fanfic#dark themes#tom riddle x reader#tomxreader#voldemort x reader#voldemort#yandere#yandere x reader#tom riddle
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Adam x reader but they’re still alive and she’s the third wife made for him and he eats pussy for the first time 🫢🫢🙏🏻🙏🏻🧎♂️🧎♂️🧎♂️
You ready my fucking mind! I was thinking about this for a few days.
Pairing: Adam x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, first time cunnilingus, praise, hair-pulling (for Adam), cum eating, praise, clit stimulation, Adam's ego, Adam hates Lucifer
Word count: 0.7k
A/N: I am actually taken back by how much I love Adam. He's an asshole for sure but he's a charismatic asshole.
Adam moved his body against yours, quick rapid-fire cumshots making your insides tingle with warmth. It coiled at the pit of your stomach and stayed there, uncomfortable and heavy and annoying as hell. Maybe more annoying.
"Thanks for the fuck, Babe." His satisfied smile was cute if a bit too smug, like he just accomplished something big by coming inside your pussy. You whimpered as he pulled out, "Woo-hoo-hoa. There's so much, keep that shit in there, are you even trying to make kids or nah?"
Naturally procreation was high on the list of priorities for the two of you. As his third wife you wanted to give him something his first two wives couldn't, a real family. "As much as you are. But you know that's not the only purpose of sex right?"
"Of course not. My dick feels so damn good when we have sex!" Adam pointed down at the mentioned dick, half-hard and covered with both your cum.
"Yeah... and what about me?" You took his hands and pushed them towards your pussy.
"Oh. Oh yeah. I guess I can finger you. Gotta push that fucking cum back in." He chuckled and bent his middle and ring finger, his long digits closing in to your pussy before you grabbed his wrists, "What the fuck, you bitch?! I'm trying to be nice! You don't want my fingers or something?!"
How the hell was the one offended here? "I didn't say that Adam. I... want your mouth. Okay, happy? Is that what you wanted me to say?" Instead of grinning in victory like he usually did when he got you flustered he blinked in confusion. "Don't you think it's only fair after how many times I sucked you off?"
"W-Well... but... you love to suck my dick!" God he was so childish sometimes. How was he the first man and the man you fell in love with? God truly does work in mysterious ways. "I shouldn't have to eat pussy to make you feel good."
Okay. Time to pull out the last weapon you had. "Bet Lucifer knows how to eat pussy."
Adam was human. He was. But the look he gave you in that moment would make any demon shiver. "What was that?! Think I can't do better then that asshole?!" He pushed himself down and pinned your legs apart, "Fucking watch me, Babe." He was all talk right now. The moment you smiled at him he looked... awkward. He was the first man, he should be good at this, he should be good at everything.
Yet his licks were slow, experimental, insecure, way too light between your folds. "Adam. You can lick harder." He let out a grunt and quirked his eyebrow at you, he hated being told what to do. "I need you to lick harder, it would make my pussy feel so good if your tongue could- ah!" There it was. A little praise, a little persuasion and he was doing as you asked.
"Can't forget about this little thing right here." His teeth pressed against your clit, your pussy clenching and pushing more of his cum out. "I see how it is, you want more huh? Enjoying yourself? Tell me."
"Yes. You're doing good, Adam." Your hands brushed through his messy brown hair, not so much directing him as giving him a reassuring massage, "Your tongue is divine."
"You bet this cunt it is. Praise me more, Babe, scream. Let everyone hear how good I'm giving it to you." Adam's tongue descended lower to your cum-filled hole, pushing back and forth, "Damn I taste good. I see why you like swallowing it." Of course he somehow made this about himself again. It didn't matter. He was still doing as you asked, making you feel so fucking good.
"That's right, you're making me feel good with your tongue. Only you can make me feel like this. Only you can make me come from eating me out." That was all he needed in order to do just that. To know he was your one and only. Your hips bucked into his face, your back arched, toes curling while he licked and kissed and finally went back to sucking your clit. "Adam! S-Sto- oh my god- wai-!"
He wasn't stopping. Adam always did as he wanted. You came on his tongue, in his mouth, and now that he's accomplished that he wanted to do it again. You watched his tongue move across your clit, spelling his name on it, "There. Now this clit, this cunt, is all mine."
#hazbin hotel x reader#adam x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel headcanon#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel smut#adam imagine#adam headcanons#adam fanfiction#adam smut#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel x female reader#hazbin hotel#x female reader
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SHE'S MINE (PART THREE)
summary: you and ethan form a plan but in order for it to work, you need to make it look believable…
warnings: scream vi spoilers, language (cussing), blood, gore. follows the plot loosely. happy ending, i promise.
pairings: ethan landry x fem!reader
authors note: here's the final part! i just wanted to say thank you for all the likes and reblogs!! it's honestly so sweet of everyone and it means a lot to me! i have a bunch of ideas for ethan so look out for more imagines and hopefully a masterlist for easier navigation (i'm still new to this lol) :-) i love u all so much
❗️: u can find part one here and part two here <3
——————————————————————————————
To say that you were surprised when finding out about Ethan and his relation to Richie Kirsch would be an understatement. He had been someone that you had hated and even vented to Ethan about when you two first met. It just seemed very ironic. Although Ethan did love his brother, he knew the things he did weren't right once he realized how much shit he put you through.
The late night calls because of your nightmares, the flashbacks you would get whenever someone touched you too roughly, having to avoid the scars on your body because it brought you back to Woodsboro; it opened his eyes.
You weren't entirely shocked to find out Quinn was the other Ghostface that attacked you. She always had some unsaid vendetta against you and you realized now it was just because of your history. What did shock you was to find out Detective Bailey was the mastermind behind it all—not only that, but he was also Ethan and Quinn's father.
He showed up the moment you and Ethan met your friends outside their apartment. Mindy had stolen you from Ethan, leaving him alone with Chad, who was asking him questions to confirm his whereabouts. Luckily, you made sure to practice what to say with him on the train ride there. It seemed your excuses sufficed because Chad nodded, apologizing for thinking the worst.
While on your trip to the run-down theater, Chad had taken Mindy, thanking you for lifting her mood (you three had always been close since you were kids). You walked in the back alongside Ethan, holding his hand to calm your nerves which ended up in you receiving a look from Bailey. You don't think he knew you noticed but ever since you found out about him, you had been unintentionally tense around him.
The memorabilia that had been collected scared the hell out of you. It increased your worries despite knowing everything would end up being okay.
Tara seemed to notice how your breathing began to increase and stepped closer to you. "Hey, you okay?"
You looked at her, faking a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just going to get some air."
The group all watched you leave. Chad was going to follow after you but Tara stopped him when they saw that Ethan had already been on your trail. She smirked at him.
"You owe me five bucks," Tara informed him.
"Shut up," Chad replied, shaking his head.
No one found you two suspicious. If anything, your sudden relationship seemed to throw them off your tracks.
Everyone left the theater, finding you two on the steps, you tiredly laying in his arms. Tara smiled at you two, gesturing for you to follow. When you got up, Mindy reclaimed you as her own again, pulling you away from Ethan as she needed your comfort. You talked with her the whole walk to fill her mind with distractions.
They all needed somewhere to recoup and to come up with a reliable plan. You offered your apartment, knowing theirs was most likely still a crime scene. Yours hadn't been messed up in the sense that there was no broken doors and bloody messes all over the floor. Mindy actually agreed, saying she wanted to sit in Anika's room alone for a little bit.
"Don't mind the mess," you joked once entering. Your books were scattered about the place. "And the…blood," you muttered when you saw some it trailing where you had dragged yourself across the kitchen.
None of them cared much, getting right into what to do next. You ended up leaving to your room because your stitches were hurting like hell and you didn't want to cause any alarm to them about it.
You sat there, alone for a few minutes until you heard a quiet knock on the door. Honestly, you were expecting Tara, or maybe Chad because he kept eyeing you frequently, but Ethan peeked his head inside and you sighed of relief. He gave you his awkward smile and entered slowly, shutting the door softly behind him.
"Hey, are you feeling okay?" he asked, walking over to take a seat on your bed beside you.
You nodded, holding back a wince at the movement he caused which made you flex your muscles. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Nothing I'm not used to."
"Your stitches," he realized aloud, leaning closer. "Shit, I forgot. Do they hurt?"
"Sort of," you responded, gripping your stomach as if it would make the pain go away.
"Is there anything I can do?" He looked at you softly, as if his eye contact could harm you.
You forced a smile. "Distract me, please."
"Well, I, uh," he stuttered. "I came up with a plan."
"A plan?" You questioned, confused.
"Yeah. I talked to my dad while at the theater and I found out the last steps he and Quinn will be taking," Ethan informed you which wasn't exactly the distraction you wanted but nevertheless, it was useful. "He doesn't know about you, or about us so I have him convinced that the reason I saved you was because I wanted to kill you myself."
You widened your eyes. "Oh."
"Obviously, I'm not going to—"
"I know, E."
He nodded before continuing. "Quinn's going to get Gale next. Then she'll be heading for us. I'm not too sure what she wants to do but I know it'll involve someone in the group in order to keep them all from going to the theater. My guess will be Mindy. When that happens, she'll go for you next so you have to stick with me."
"Go for me next?" you repeated for more clarification.
"I told my dad that I wanted you there for act three. Quinn will knock you out, take you to the theater, dress you up in a robe and frame you as a Ghostface." He paused, scanning your expressions. It wasn't a bad idea, actually, other than the fact that you'll be framed as a psychotic murderer.
"Okay, so I just have to pretend that I don't know?" you questioned, wanting to make sure.
"Yes, exactly," he answered. "They're under the impression that I'm going to kill you so they'll tell Sam and Tara you're the Ghostface to throw them off and when the reveals happen, you'll be given to me."
You nod slowly, taking a second to let all the information sink in before worrying aloud. "What if they don't? What if Quinn ends up hurting me again?"
"I won't let anything happen to you," he declared, grabbing your face in his hands. "She knows better now."
Your eyes softened as you nod again for the last time. Then you fell forward into his arms, just wanting to be held. He did as told, being careful with your injury, and just played with your hair which made you smile.
"You know, when I said distraction, that wasn't really what I meant," you mumbled into his chest.
He furrowed his brows. "What did you—" then he stopped himself when he realized. "Oh."
You laughed until it turned into a wince. He pulled you apart from him to make sure you were okay. You nodded silently, diving right back into his arms again. It gave you comfort.
You and Ethan stayed close to each other the entire time you were with the group. He didn't want you to be without him, afraid losing you for one second would mean he would lose you forever. His hand was interlocked with yours or settled on top of your thigh—whatever physical touch he could get from you. You even ended up falling asleep on his shoulder inside the van with Kirby, Chad and Mindy.
Then when you guys detected the call was coming from Gale's apartment, kudos to Quinn, that was where you all headed to next. It was where you learned that Gale had actually survived her fatal attack which you wanted to snicker at because Quinn failed again but you held it back to not look weird.
Sam had created a plan with Kirby and Bailey to head to the theater in order to lure Ghostface and lock him in. Apparently that was Bailey's idea which made sense seeing as he was one of the Ghostface's. So you all headed to the train station in order to get a lift to the rundown area.
Someone had ended up shoving you away from the group, elbowing you right in the stomach. You had to pause, grunting in pain until you looked up and couldn't find anyone. You forced yourself to suck up the pain and roughly shove everyone out of your way which helped you catch sight of Ethan's worried expression, searching the crowd presumably for you.
He found you almost immediately, adjusting his backpack and running straight to you.
"I'm sorry," he apologized when he got to you.
"It wasn't your fault," you reassured him.
You two finally reached the train right when it began to ride away from you. You groaned, knowing everyone had caught it together but then you saw Mindy ahead, doing the same thing as you.
"Mindy!" you hollered, causing her to turn and let out a sigh of relief to find out she wasn't alone.
"Thank god," she muttered. But then she saw Ethan and pulled you away from him protectively. "Get your Ghostface ass away from us, Ghostface."
Ethan gave her an offended look, watching as she created a safe distance from him. He kept looking at you two, making sure you were okay but Mindy would gesture for him to stop with arm movements. It caused him to roll his eyes.
When you entered the next train, you tried to convince Mindy to stick close to him in order to eliminate one of you from being attacked. She didn't listen but knew better than to force you to stay with her so she told you to "go to your boyfriend". You scoffed playfully at her childish behavior, finding her stubbornness amusing.
You had to squeeze through people to reach where he stood in the middle. When he saw you, his expression softened as he went forward to help you. Thankfully, there was a seat open right by where he stood so you sat there, mindlessly staring around as the train shook you.
The lights kept flickering and it gave you immense amount of anxiety. Ethan's eyes seemed to be fixed on Mindy, as if making sure she was okay as well. It must have meant Quinn was nearby seeing as she was targeting Mindy next.
Once the train finally came to a stop, Ethan turned to you and helped you up since your wounds were hurting more than usual. You instantly looked for Mindy but couldn't find her, sending you into a panic. You let go of Ethan, pushing people out of the way until you saw her lumped figure against the back of the train, a large stab wound in her gut.
Ethan and you both let out a jumble of curses while helping her up, leading her out of the train while calling for help.
You three were escorted to the nearest hospital where she went under immediate surgery and you even got yourself checked. Your stitches had reopened—which explained why they hurt so much—so they sewed them back together and even wrapped it up which made it feel a lot more secure.
The doctor released you, letting you return to where Mindy's room was. When you reached her floor, it was strangely quiet. Ethan had left you earlier, saying he needed to find Quinn, which you didn't pay much mind to as you assumed it was so he didn't look suspicious.
You scrolled through your phone, having not received any texts from Tara or the rest of the group that wasn't with you which made you nervous. They were probably busy setting up the theater but you couldn't help but assume the worst. In the midst of your distraction, you found yourself stepping into an unknown liquid which caused you to look from your phone to the floor.
It was blood.
Your mind immediately went to Mindy, but before you were able to worry about her, you were smacked across the head which sent you falling to the hard floor. Your vision started to become black when you swore you heard Ethan's voice.
"Ssh. It's okay, I got you."
- -
You awoke by the sound of excessive footsteps happening all around you. The bright lighting in the room caused your head to throb, making you squint your eyes until you felt well enough to open them all the way. You immediately recognized the room and knew you were inside the theater. You had no idea where Ethan was or what the hell was going on but you were positive that answer would come soon.
Slowly, you started to get up from your position, propping yourself up on your elbows. You looked around but your eyes couldn't help focusing on the black robe covering your entire body. Even though Ethan had informed you about this beforehand, you still felt yourself starting to panic.
What if he changed his mind? What if this was the plan all along; make you think he was on your side just to easily lure you into this trap. No, no, Ethan wouldn't do that.
"Look who's awake," the familiar voice that belonged to Detective Bailey spoke.
You searched around the room until his figure came into view, wearing an evil smirk. "What the hell is going on?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Actually you did. "You know the plan. You know why we're here; to stop Ghostface. It was pretty easy to convince Sam that Kirby was mentally unfit and had taken the mantle in her own hands for the best friend she lost…but she couldn't do it alone. That's where you come in."
"What are you talking about?" Your voice was groggy. Your mind was still fuzzy from the hit you received so his voice didn't really sound as close as it was to you. "Are you saying that Kirby's Ghostface?"
"Well, to Sam and Tara she'll be," he told you. Then he crouched to reach your level. "And you'll be to."
"What?"
"Kirby needed someone to do the dirty work for her while she couldn't." He shrugged, his voice becoming more and more angered as he continued talking. "Don't worry, you won't be the only one. My own accomplices will take the fall with you until the time is right. But we have to fuck with Sam somehow. We have to make her feel betrayal to throw us off her radar for the best reveal. Make her feel what she's made us feel for the past year."
"You're Ghostface?" you questioned. Your fogged up mind was really helping you play the part of confused.
He nodded. "And so are you."
You looked at him in disgust. "What the fuck?"
"It has to be this way, Y/N," he tutted in sarcastic sadness. It pissed you off. "You were the easiest pawn in this game. Your betrayal will weaken them the most. It's the perfect fucking idea!"
"Fuck you!" you yelled, kicking him straight in the face.
You were able to throw him back. Your uneasy state didn't help you much in your favor because as you lifted yourself up, your knees gave out. The mix of pain coming from your wounds plus your throbbing head made you nauseous that you didn't even completely register the feeling of Bailey gripping you by the hair until the cold touch of his gun was placed against your temple.
Unable to move in general, you froze.
"Unless you want your brains splattered across this wall, I'd suggest you follow my orders," he threatened. You winced at the rough shake he gave your head in order to emphasize his words. You immediately surrendered to which he noticed and nodded at. "Good."
He let go of your hair forcefully, it caused you to fall forward, catching yourself. You heard shuffling coming from behind you but when you turned to look, his back was the only thing you could make out. "What are you doing?"
"You need this to complete your costume," he responded, walking back over to you. He was enthusiastically holding a mask in the air. "This is Mickey Altieri's mask. I thought he would fit you well, you know, once I paint you to be this psycho who wanted to kill your friends for fun."
You glared at him. "They'll never believe you."
"Oh, I think they just might." He nodded, forcing the mask over your face which you tried to fight against. Then, there were gunshots heard which made you flinch and Bailey chuckle. "It's showtime."
He forced you on your feet by your robe, holding you tightly in his grip as he dragged you out of the room. You had no strength so he was basically holding your entire weight as you struggled to find balance. With your lack of stability, there wasn't much you could do and also because you felt his gun poking your back as if to keep you in your place.
"Get away from the girls!" Bailey announced his presence, pulling you along with him like a rag doll. "It's over, Kirby! I got you and your partner!"
"What the hell are you talking about?!" Kirby questioned in utter disbelief and you didn't blame her.
"Cut the bullshit!" Bailey hollered. "I saw this one helping you out to stage your attack!"
"What?!" Kirby's voice rose an octave.
"Who is this, Kirby? Huh?" he asked, referring to you as he shook you in his grip.
"I have no idea, okay?! It's not me!"
"Well, I'll just have to see for myself—" he was muttering to himself, using the hand that held his gun to rip the mask off your face. "Oh my god…"
"Y/N?" Sam looked at you in betrayal.
"What the fuck," Tara whispered, backing away from you.
"Stop! It's not me!" you yelled, squirming but he readjusted his grip. "It's not Kirby either! He's lying!"
"Y/N Y/L/N?" Bailey questioned. "How could you? Where the hell are the others?!"
"You're insane!" you yelled at him. You redirected your attention to them, finding it hard to breathe. "I'm not Ghostface! He is! He knocked me out and forced me into this costume! Please, you have to believe me!"
"Did you and Y/N kill Quinn?" Bailey asked in anger, his question targeted at Kirby. "Did you two kill my daughter?!" He shook you, looking at you when he finished his question.
"Jesus Christ!" Kirby let out.
"We didn't do anything!" you answered, feeling your voice beginning to give out. "You know that, you asshole!"
"Whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen to him! Y/N and I are innocent!" Kirby defended you both. "He's probably Ghostface."
"Why would he kill his own daughter?" Sam couldn't help but question, glancing back and forth between you and Kirby.
"Because he's a psycho!" you answered loudly.
"It doesn't make any sense—"
Kirby's voice overpowered Tara's concern as you saw her eyes go wide and gun straighten. "Behind you!"
You heard loud footsteps rushing toward you from behind but everything went silent the moment Bailey shot his gun, landing two bullets in Kirby's stomach. She fell to the ground, causing you to gasp. You let out another shriek when you felt a pair of strong arms grab you from behind, restricting you from movement as they dragged you along with them to stand beside Bailey.
It was Ethan.
"Great job," Bailey complimented. "Both of you."
"What the fuck?" Sam breathed out in confusion until she saw your frightened figure still being held. You saw guilt flash across her face for not trusting you.
"Let her go!" Tara screamed, heading for you but Sam had to hold her back.
It caused Bailey to chuckle. "Oh, you should've seen the look on your faces. To think your only friend would betray you but she's actually innocent; just ended up being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Fuck you!" You let out.
Ethan covered your mouth with his gloved hand and you instinctively relaxed in his grip but forced yourself to fight him in order to make it look believable. You assumed he wanted to make sure your words wouldn't end up pissing Bailey off so he didn't do anything rash to you.
You were fading in and out of reality. You weren't paying attention until Bailey nudged Ethan to take off his mask.
He pulled it off with a smile on his face.
You looked up from where he had you, your mouth dropping into a fake gasp. "E-Ethan?"
"Hi, baby," he whispered in your ear. "Mindy was right. It was easy to juke the roommate lottery. I mean, all I had to do to meet you guys was to room with a conceited, condescending asshole, literally named Chad. Fuck, it felt good to kill him!" His tone made you flinch; he sounded really insane. Then he rose his mask in the air. "This was your grandmother's Sam; Nancy Loomis. Really runs in the fucking family, doesn't it? And speaking of family…my names not Ethan Landry. Isn't it, dad?"
Tara looked lost. "Dad?"
"Had to keep it secret. I mean, I had to get close to you guys somehow," Ethan stated, leaning his cheek to be against yours. He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek which would've made you blush in any other circumstance. "Had to have Y/N for myself."
"You're psychotic," you told him.
Catching him off guard, you managed to shove his arms away from you. Tara and Sam were prepared to pull you away but he gathered you rather easily as you didn't make it much of a battle to. You just needed to look like you weren't comfortable with being in this position.
What startled you was the feeling of his blade being placed against your throat. "Not so fast," he whispered.
You gulped. Now you were really afraid.
"Let her go, you asshole!" Tara shouted.
Ethan pulled the knife away and rose it at her which absentmindedly made her flinch. "Oh, come on. Y/N doesn't mind this. Don't you, baby?"
"Fuck you," you breathed out.
"So vulgar that mouth of yours." His attention was purely on you as his knife was placed back against your throat.
Tara watched in disbelief, shaking her head.
"Ethan was the one who came up with this plan," Bailey said proudly, squeezing his son's shoulder. "He knew how easy it would be to make Y/N fall for him. It kept him from looking suspicious because nobody suspects the caring boyfriend."
They both began to chuckle together. You rolled your eyes at them. It caused Ethan to dig the knife deeper into your skin, on the verge of slicing you.
"Wait," Sam interrupted them. "If it's you two, then that just leaves…"
While they all gawked in betrayal at Quinn's reveal, Ethan leaned his lips close to your hair to cover his words. "You okay?"
You glanced at him and you could see the apologetic look in his eyes for the position he had you in. You nodded very slightly before trying to squirm out of his grip again.
"Hey, roomies. You didn't see that one coming, did you?"
"Yeah, because you died!"
"Kind of didn't." Quinn tilted her head. "I had to get off the suspect list. Stab Gale Weathers, stab Mindy in the train, take Y/N because Ethan couldn't do it himself!"
Ethan rolled his eyes.
"It's funny, isn't it," Quinn continued. "Poor Y/N. She was just trying to help her friends which only led her straight into the trap. Come on, how fucking stupid can you be?!"
"Let her go," Sam stated sternly. "She has nothing to do with this!"
"She has everything to do with this!" Quinn yelled back, walking over to where Ethan still held you. She traced the tip of her knife along your stomach which caused you to shiver as she pressed into your stitches. "She's a killer, just like you, Sam. That's why it'll be easy to frame you both."
"What?" Tara questioned.
"Oh." Quinn jumped from her spot. "You didn't really think we'd take the blame for it. It'll all fall onto Sam, the villain of Woodsboro. She couldn't get enough so she just had to go on another killing spree and she couldn't do it all alone! She needed someone to help her."
"Y/N's not a killer," Sam stated matter-of-factly, watching in disbelief. "Neither am I. We're not killers."
"Oh, shut up!" Quinn snapped.
Bailey walked forward, pulling out a mask from his jacket and raising it for her to see. "You're a killer just like your father."
"No, I'm not!" Sam yelled.
"Yes, you are, you motherfucker! You killed our brother!"
Tara furrowed her brows. "You said your brother died in a car accident?"
"No, no, no, you sweet dumb thing," Ethan jumped into the conversation. "He died in Woodsboro at the hands of your bitch sister with the help of Y/N, here."
Sam's face fell in realization. "You're Richie's family."
"Now she's finally getting it." Ethan smirked.
He gripped your robe, tugging you carelessly to follow him as he and Quinn ventured around the seats in order to get behind Sam and Tara, significantly trapping them. It caused the two to tense and you as well. You weren't sure what was going to happen next.
"Y/N didn't kill him," Sam declared in annoyance. "I'm the one who slit his throat; I'm the one who watched him bleed to death as he cried like a fucking baby."
"Shut your whore fucking mouth!" Quinn lashed out, walking forward to push Sam, catching her off guard.
"Hands off, Quinn!" Bailey demanded loudly which seemed to set his psychotic daughter in place. "Before we get into that, we have something else that needs to be done first." It seemed all their attention fell on you. "Ethan, why don't you go take care of Y/N. Plant her body just where we discussed."
"No!" Tara yelled, attempting to head toward you but was stopped by Quinn, who stepped in front of her with her knife.
Sam pushed Quinn, causing an uproar as they tried to fight her but Bailey put their actions to a pause by facing the gun to their faces. They both shuddered and stopped fighting, having to watch you be dragged away.
"Go, Ethan," Bailey instructed.
"No, no, no," you heard Tara cry out until he pushed you inside the room and the door was shut, silencing all sound.
"God," Ethan groaned, dropping the act, even dropping his knife in the process as he rushed towards you, grabbing your face in his hands as he checked for any injuries. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay? They didn't touch you, right? I didn't mean anything I said; I promise. I hate this so much—"
"Ethan," you interrupted his rambling. "Hey, it's okay. I'm fine, I promise. I've been through worse."
Not wasting another second, he leaned down to pull you into a passionate kiss. Several emotions were coursing through you but once feeling his lips on yours, you felt yourself relax as if you two weren't on the verge of being potentially murdered by his fucked up family.
He couldn't pull away, afraid if he did, he would lose you so you had to be the one to do it—even if it hurt you to. "What's the next step?" you asked him.
"Faking your death," he told you casually. It almost made you want to laugh. "They're too indulged with Sam and Tara to pay attention to us. Besides, they can't hear much but I have to make this look quick."
You nodded, listening as he was about to get into what he wanted you to do next but the sound of footsteps caused you both to go rigid. When you looked past his shoulder, you felt relieved when you saw Kirby, miraculously still standing despite the amount of injuries she had endured, with her gun aimed at Ethan.
"Let her go," she instructed him.
"Kirby, wait," you interrupted, pushing him behind you so now her gun was facing you. "He's innocent."
"What? But I heard him. He killed Chad—"
"I didn't. I didn't hit any major arteries," Ethan defended himself.
"What are you talking about?" Kirby questioned.
"Ethan was Ghostface but he had to be in order to keep me safe so I offered to help him kill Bailey and Quinn for saving my life," you explained very vaguely, your words slurring together. "Please, you have to believe me. He would've done something to me by now if he wasn't."
Kirby took a second to process your words before she began to slowly drop her aim. "Okay. Okay, I believe you."
"Good," you thanked her, turning to Ethan. "What's next?"
"Down the hallway will lead you into the room where the back entrance is located. The plan for them is to make Sam understand what she's done before attempting to kill them both," he told you and Kirby, who had approached you two to watch your backs for any unwanted guests who would pop out. "Our backs will be facing you two and which gives you both the opportunity to get either of them because they won't see you coming."
"Okay." You nodded. "You got that, Kirby?"
"One step ahead of you," she responded.
"And this is for you." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a large hunting knife. "For your protection."
You chuckled breathlessly, taking it from him as you looked up from the knife to him. "We got it from here," you assured him. "Go before they find you suspicious."
Ethan nodded, preparing to leave until he paused, leaning down to pull you back in for another kiss. You sighed into his lips, wanting nothing but to kiss him all day and not have to face the reality that lied outside the room.
"Wrap it up, lovebirds," Kirby said in impatience.
Ethan pulled away, his cheeks flushed red. "Be safe," he demanded more than said.
"You too," you told him, smiling.
He squeezed your hand, as if reassuring you, before he let you go and headed towards the door. He grabbed his knife, taking a second before finally leaving the room.
"Let's go, kid," Kirby demanded, already walking away which gave you no choice but to follow.
She took lead as she was the one with the gun, securing the place before gesturing for you to follow.
While stopped at a corner, her peeking past the wall to make sure it was clear, you couldn't help but question aloud to distract you from your thoughts. "How are you still alive?"
Kirby turned and gave you a look, as if saying 'right now really isn't the time'. You sucked in a breath and nodded, letting her go back to what she was doing.
When you both made it to the room Ethan was talking about, you found Chad propped up against a counter. He looked dazed, on the verge of passing out—or dying. You immediately ran to him, crouching to his level.
"Chad, hey? Can you hear me?" you asked stupidly, grabbing his face.
"…Y-Y/N?" His voice was quiet and weak.
"Yeah, it's me," you answered. "I need you to hold on just a little bit longer, okay? It's almost over with."
"I'm trying," he hissed through his teeth.
"Y/N, when should we make our move?" Kirby asked, making you look to see her peering through the window.
You rubbed Chad's arm reassuringly before getting up to look through the other one right beside her. You could see a video of Richie when he was younger playing on the projector, causing you to scoff.
Kirby glanced at you and back at the scene. "That's the fucker who got you guys last year, isn't it?"
You nodded, feeling angry. All the pent up emotions you forced yourself to swallow over the past year were resurfacing. "Let's get them now."
She nodded, opening the door very quietly. You put your finger to your lips, gesturing for her to stay silent as you crawled forward to the memorabilia. Kirby whispered a bundle of words but you didn't listen as you discreetly reached up at one of the cases, opening it and stealing the knife that was being displayed.
You had no idea who it belonged to previously but you needed to get it just in case Tara or Sam needed one.
When you crawled back to Kirby, she had a surprised mixed with disbelief look on her face. "What the hell?"
"I had to get one for Sam and Tara," you responded.
"Just get behind me," she instructed, which you followed because she was someone you didn't want to piss off.
Kirby took a moment of contemplation, preparing herself before she leaped out, shooting perfectly at Bailey. She had two shots in his stomach but was stopped from continuing as Quinn tackled her to the floor.
You jumped out from your spot, stabbing her straight in the back and throwing her off Kirby.
"Y/N?" Tara questioned, running toward you.
You gasped in surprise when you felt her body being thrown on you, her arms wrapping around your waist. You had pry her arms off of you. "Here, give this to Sam," you said, handing her the knife. "Kill that motherfucker."
"I thought Ethan killed you," she said sadly, tears in her eyes.
Before you could respond, you fell forward into Tara's arms as Quinn stabbed you in the middle of your back. She pulled it out and was prepared to land another one until Ethan shoved her back to the ground, keeping her in place by shoving his knife straight into her chest. At this, Tara looked extremely confused, helping you gain your balance.
You glanced behind your shoulder to see what she was looking at and groaned as you straightened your posture to help yourself stand. "He's on our side," you let out before you pushed her toward Sam. "Just go help Sam—hurry! I'll take care of Quinn."
Tara nodded, making sure you were okay before running back to where Sam was struggling to keep Bailey down.
You turned to help Kirby up from the floor. She dusted herself off and grabbed her gun. "Thanks."
Then you two hovered over Quinn, who was gasping for air as Ethan twisted the knife, causing her to gasp. He pulled it out, blood flying to coat his face as she winced loudly.
Kirby rose her gun, aiming it at her forehead but you stopped her before she could pull the trigger. "Wait."
"What?" Kirby asked, confused.
You didn't answer, leaning down instead to hover above her face as she struggled to move, let alone speak. Blood was spewing out of her mouth as she tried to say something, probably an insult of some kind.
You straddled her waist, gripping her hair as you brought her face close to yours. "Ready to die just like your brother?"
Quinn's eyes widened but she wasn't able to do much as your knife sliced her throat, causing blood to run out. You stood up, returning back to your spot between Ethan and Kirby, watching as she took her last breath. Her eyes fell motionless, staring at the ceiling.
You turned your head to look at Ethan. "You okay?"
Ethan glanced at you, nodding. "Yeah. She was always a terrible sister, anyway."
His response made you smile. Kirby watched the two of you with a smile of her own. "You two did good."
"So did you," you complimented.
She ruffled your hair, earning a smile from you.
A gunshot caused you three to jump, turning around, prepared to attack but became aware that it was from Sam. Tara had the knife in her hand, covered in Bailey's blood as Sam was the cause of the bullet between his eyes.
When you approached them, Sam flinched at the sound of footsteps and rose the gun.
"Hey, it's just us!" Kirby hollered.
Sam nodded until she furrowed her brows, turning her aim at Ethan. He widened his eyes in fear, raising his hands.
"No, wait!" you shouted, jumping in front of him like you had done with Kirby previously. "He's with us."
"What?" Sam questioned.
"It's true," Kirby confirmed, taking a spot next to you in order to shield him as well. "He was the one who told us what to do in order to save you guys."
"But your dad and sister—"
"Are insane," Ethan finished her sentence. "I wanted nothing to do with this. The only reason I helped was because they threatened to kill Y/N," he explained to them, making you reach to hold his hand to comfort him. "I'm sorry for what I've caused and not being able to stop them before we got to this point. I'm really sorry."
"Sorry won't bring back the people we lost," Sam told him.
"I know." He nodded sadly.
"Sam." Tara brought her hand up to force her sister's arm down, making her lower her aim. "He helped us and he saved Y/N. He could've just let us die."
"We don't have time for this," Kirby groaned in annoyance, sticking her gun back into her holster. "You have to get to Chad. I'll call for help."
"Chad?" Tara questioned.
Kirby nodded, leading her into the room where he was situated. She left you, Sam and Ethan alone for any further conversation that needed to be made as she went to go help Tara and call the police.
Sam sighed, dropping the gun. "I can't forgive you, Ethan but I'm sure as time goes by, I can find a way to. You mean a lot to Y/N and she means a lot to me. So, if she's able to trust you and then I am too," she told him, giving a brief smile until she turned serious. "But if you do anything to hurt her, I won't hesitate to—"
"Got it," he interrupted, nodding sternly.
"Good," Sam responded. "I'm glad you two are safe."
"I'm glad you are too," you told her sadly, walking forward to give her hug. "Don't believe anything they said, Sam. You aren't like your father."
"I know, Y/N/N," she whispered, caressing your head.
You heard soft chatter coming from outside the theater room, catching your attention. "It must be the police."
"Let's go," Sam told you both.
You nodded, letting her walk first as you grabbed Ethan's hand in yours. Before you two continued, you paused, turning to face him with a sad expression. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Ethan smiled, genuinely smiled, looking down from where you held his hand back into your eyes. "I will be because I got you and I couldn't be more thankful."
You grinned. As long as I got you.
#ethan landry#ethan landry x reader#ethan landry imagine#ethan landry x you#jack champion#scream imagine#scream vi imagine
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"I Have a Room Here"
Thanks to @stargazing-enby for the screaming, @rei382 for the alpha, and @annanother-thing for the beta!
2.5k words.
TW: Minor panic attacks. Draco has anxiety.
“I have a room here,” he blurts out.
He’s in the hallway, making his way out of the building when he sees him entering. Sees his eyes widen in recognition. Sees his carefully constructed world set to crumble around him.
“I— I mean I live here. Now. I’m not here illegally, or doing anything dodgy. While I'm—” His leg jigs. “I— I have a room here and I like it and I can't move, please don't make me.”
He frowns, and it's almost convincing, almost makes him believe he's not just a lion lying in the grass, waiting to pounce.
“I'm not here to make you leave. I have a room here too. I moved in last week. Ask the landlord.” He regards Draco for a moment. “I couldn’t make you move if I wanted to, Draco.” He pauses, as though for effect. Draco’s skin crawls. “And I would never want to do that.”
He knows it's a lie, that it’s just a matter of time, but he nods and scarpers anyway, door slamming too loudly behind him.
*
“Oh.” Draco claps a hand to his mouth, heart pounding when emerald eyes land on him.
“No, wait—” he calls, and Draco curses the way his entire body freezes.
“You don’t have to leave. Just— come and do your laundry. I’m almost done anyway.”
He can’t keep from chewing his cheek whilst loading the machine. And then his change won’t fit in the slot. And then the air, too humid and sweet and dizzying, starts to close in around him.
“Er, Malfoy—”
“Shut up.”
He can feel him staring, can imagine the self-righteous look, can hear the taunt in his voice.
“I just—”
“No.”
His eyes sting, his fists clench, and the stupid coin keeps hitting the steel slot.
“Please, can I—?”
“Just leave.”
He’s wailing and he knows it, but a moment later there’s a sigh and slow footsteps recede, and he finally takes a shaky breath.
On the next try, the coin clunks into the machine.
“You weren’t in so I signed for your parcel,” he says.
Scowling isn’t polite in these situations, but it’s all he can do right now.
“Th—thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he shrugs slightly. Draco fiddles with a bit of brown tape. “You can look at me, you know. I’m not going to burn your retinas with my ugliness.”
The forced lightness in his voice fails to hide a deeper ring of something, and it’s unmooring. He never used to play games like this, and it makes Draco’s hair stand on end.
“If that’s all…”
There's a beat, but then he sighs heavily. “Yeah, that’s all.”
*
“Hey, Malfoy, you’re okay.”
He’s not okay, how can he be okay? He can’t find his keys and he dropped his change and his coat is too old so rain’s dripping down his back and there were all these kids and where the fuck are his keys—
“Draco.”
He blinks, bright eyes suddenly there while warmth holds his elbows. Which appear to be shaking.
“I’ve got you, breathe with me, okay?”
He can barely swallow, let alone breathe, but he chases that voice regardless, the praise so kind his knees tremble and ungodly noises crawl up his throat.
“Better?”
Too much time has passed when he asks, and now too much tiredness weighs down each slower, steadier breath. Bronze hands still hold him gently, and he squirms at the wetness on his face.
“I— I have to go.”
*
His smile is tentative yet blinding, and his ‘Hey,’ is low and private, like they’re sharing a secret instead of passing on the stairs.
“I got your note.” He stops, so Draco has to stop too, right on the stain on the carpet. It looks like a hippo from this angle.
“You’re welcome, Draco.”
It sends shivers down his spine, hearing his name like that, and he sounds so real, so genuine, he can’t stop his eyes from flicking back to his. They’re just as dazzling as ever, and happier than should be humanly possible. He feels his cheeks heat.
“I want you to know, I’ll always help you if I can. So, if you need something, just—” he shrugs, “knock on my door.” Then, when Draco’s brow pinches, as it always does, “I mean it, Draco. I’m not going to make you move. You can trust me.”
And when his voice is so gentle, he really wants to believe him.
*
“Fuck, sorry.”
Footsteps run towards him as he bends to pick up the apple.
“Apparently one of my shopping bags broke, and, well, decided to attack my neighbours with fruit.”
“Maybe they’re trying to escape your horrendous hair.”
His bark of laughter covers Draco's choke at his reckless words, and Draco's stomach does a weird flippy thing at the sound.
“Maybe.” His grin could light up an entire city. “It’s either that or it’s trying to escape the crumble it’s destined for.”
Crumble. His mouth waters, and from the quirk of his lips, it’s far too obvious.
“You could come over for some, if you wanted?”
“Uh— I— I don’t— Um—”
He chuckles softly, and it shouldn’t sound fond.
“Just think about it,” he says, and there’s that soft, too-beautiful-to-be-real smile making his head spin again. “I’ll save you a bit.”
*
He swallows hard. “I'm returning your bowl.”
“I can see that,” he grins too easily, lounging against his door frame. “Did you enjoy it?”
Too much. “It was pleasantly surprising.”
The answering laugh curls his toes and flips his stomach. “I'm honoured to receive such high praise.”
“Don't get used to it.”
“Oh, no,” he smirks. “Of course not.”
Draco bites his lip as the silence extends, hands too empty, cheeks growing hot.
“I could make some tea, if you'd like?”
It's quieter than the other requests—more gentle. Devoid of all pressure but cushioned by tentative hope, and Draco begins to want.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, tongue too traitorous for his heart. But he gives a light huff, and through his lashes, Draco glimpses that sugar-sweet smile.
“Okay, not yet.” And it's a promise Draco knows he'll have to keep.
*
The bass drums through the walls, into his skull, and his fingers clench.
'Get some space. Take a break,' his head whispers. But outside is too dark, and his chest tightens.
'It's just a bad night. Just one party.’ He tells himself, trying to stay calm. Then fails when his thoughts run away from him.
His feet landing in his hall tell him he's moved, as do his shoes, now on his feet, and his jacket in his hand, but he can't tell how they got there. Someone knocks on the door before he reaches it.
“Sorry, I didn't want to startle you,” he says, hair wild enough for birds to nest in and just as cozy. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay with— this.”
He doesn't mean to whimper, or sway on the spot, but another shriek of laughter lances through him and it's so loud it hurts.
“Obvolvere,” he murmurs, and then it's barely there, just a distant thud beneath his feet, and his eyes flutter closed.
“Thank you.”
He says it before he can think through the lingering buzz, but he can't summon the energy to care.
“It's nothing.” His molten emeralds shine only with concern, and for the first time in months, he feels cared for. “Get some sleep, Draco.”
“Wait—” He blinks, panic hissing at the threat of him leaving. “Um, would— would you like— t—tea?”
A slow smile warms him from the inside out.
“I'd love some.”
—
“You should sleep.”
He knows this. Knows from the way his eyes are heavy and itchy and weeping. Knows the disappointment at the idea of letting him leave, the fear of the noise—the gap between them—returning.
“You're one to talk.”
Potter snickers, and it's unfairly pretty. “I'm not the one falling asleep on his sofa.”
“Hmm.” It's all he can say, eyes drifting closed once again.
“C'mon,” he murmurs, and then there's a hand, solid but gentle, at his elbow. “Bed.”
He stumbles willingly into Potter's solid warmth and sighs. Safe.
“I won't come in,” Potter murmurs, chivalrous to the core. “Just wanted you to get some decent rest.”
“Will you—? Um, I mean, when will—? Can we—?” His brow hurts from wrinkling.
“Can I come see how you slept, tomorrow?”
He shivers at the care in his voice.
“Yes.”
*
He's always kept his word. Draco knows this—scorned him mercilessly for it in a previous life. Yet still his heart leaps, relieved, when Potter smiles at him as he opens his door.
“Hey,” Potter breathes, and butterflies, beautiful and wild, explode everywhere in Draco's chest.
“Hi.“
*
“A movie I wanted to watch just came out on video,” Potter says. “Want to watch it together?”
Draco barely knows what movies are. He nods immediately.
Potter’s too-bright smile is impossible not to return, Draco’s stomach jumping like the kernels of corn Potter shoves in the microwave. They smell almost as good as him.
“Okay,” Potter soon sits beside him, remote in one hand, bowl of popcorn in another. He flashes Draco another smile, a hint of nerves hiding in the dimples of his cheeks. “I hope you like it.”
He nods, knowing he won’t be able to focus on anything but the warmth coming from just centimeters away.
The buttery smell emanating from the bowl is too alluring, and after Potter’s crunched on a few mouthfuls, it seems socially appropriate to reach for some popcorn too. His fingers brush Potter’s. Electricity crackles on his skin.
“After you,” Potter murmurs, his smile as sweet as the kernels. Draco thinks kissing him would be even sweeter.
*
His mouth waters at the scent wafting from the oven, and he bites his nails.
The last three haven’t been right—too burned; too flat; too bland. But this one smells dangerously promising.
He still jumps when the timer dings, despite watching the final seconds tick down, and the heat of the oven takes his breath away. But these lemon cupcakes are golden, springy, and perfectly risen.
He flits from the sofa to read, to the radio, to the bathroom to clean whilst waiting for them to cool, then painstakingly slathers on the lemony icing. Once they’re arranged just so on a plate, he sucks in a deep breath, hesitantly walking up the corridor.
“I made cupcakes,” he blurts as soon as the door starts to open, Potter’s face not yet fully in view. Potter’s kind chuckle threatens his already shaky grip on the plate.
“I can see that. They look amazing.” Potter leans forward, inhaling deeply. Draco curses the heat rushing to his cheeks. “I could make some tea for us both, if you want?”
Heart rabbiting in his chest, he nods once. “Y-yes, please.”
Potter’s beam warms him down to his toes.
*
Cooler air teases at his cheeks, the first hues of autumn painting the leaves. He burrows further into his thick scarf, letting his eyes fall closed.
“You look so cozy,” Potter audibly smiles as scuffed his trainers crunch on the gravel path.
“Not everyone can be a walking radiator,” he snips, knowing the scarf doesn’t hide his smile at Potter’s chuckle.
“Well excuse me for having good circulation and a bit of meat on my bones.” A shoulder knocks into Draco’s, then stays much closer than before. He has to remind himself to breathe.
“You’re not excused.”
Potter’s laugh seems to dance on the breeze, loud, and carefree, and infectious, and Draco wants to bottle the sound; to clutch it close and bask in it. Then the shoulder knocks into him again, and this time long, sure fingers hook around his gloved ones, halting the earth in its path.
“Hmm, what if we get a hot chocolate and a cinnamon bun?” Potter asks, low and private. “Would I be excused then?”
Tentatively intertwining his fingers with Potter’s, Draco forces his voice to stay steady.
“We’ll have to see, won’t we.”
*
“I should probably get going,” Harry frowns. “Apparently, I have to be up in the morning.”
“However will you cope?” Draco rolls his eyes, his heart sinking slightly all the same.
“Your kind words support me endlessly, did you know?”
Draco pokes his tongue out. Still, the warmth of Harry’s leg pressed against his disappears, and he rushes to stand too. To delay the inevitable. Harry just smiles, slots their fingers together. Squeezes tight.
“I’ll come round tomorrow? After 3?” he asks, standing in front of the open door but facing Draco, emerald eyes sparkling and kind and reassuring.
“After 3,” Draco nods. “And we’ll make pasta?”
“We will,” Harry promises. “I’ve already got the garlic bread.”
“Good.”
The seconds stretch into more, but his grasp on Harry’s hands never wavers, and neither does Harry’s smile. Then those emerald eyes flicker lower, to Draco’s lips, and Draco’s breath stutters.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco,” Harry murmurs again, lower this time, closer too. Draco’s vision clouds as Potter creeps into his space. Just close enough for soft, plush lips to brush against his.
Draco just stands, still as a statue, barely breathing.
He manages to gulp as Harry leans back, wanting to melt back against Harry’s lips.
“T-tomorrow.”
*
“Cuppa?” Harry asks over his book. His hair is mussed from lying down on the sofa. Draco wants to run his hands through it.
“Cuppa,” he says, stretching. “I’ll help.”
A hand finds his, warm and soft, guiding him up from his seat and safely into the kitchen. His grasp feels empty when Harry lets go and moves towards the kettle, but he turns to dig out some mugs anyway. Harry always came back.
There are teabags already plucked from the barrel and waiting when he turns around again, and a hand on the centre of his back tells him Harry’s reaching for a teaspoon, while he gets the milk.
“We make a good team,” Harry murmurs close to his ear, an arm snaking around his waist.
“Hmm. Maybe you’ve just been stalking me,” he whispers back, leaning into him.
“Always,” Harry grins, pressing his lips to his temple.
*
Warmth. Endless warmth is all he knows as he slowly floats into consciousness.
“Morning, gorgeous,” Harry’s sleep-husky voice rumbles in his ear.
“Mm,” he moans into Harry’s chest, purring when fingers stroke through his hair. “Too early.”
He grumbles when Harry snickers, jostling him unfairly, but then the arms holding him in place tighten around him, and maybe he can forgive the indiscretion.
“So I guess I’m not allowed to go to the toilet yet, either?” Harry asks. Draco wraps his legs more firmly around him.
“Message received,” Harry chuckles again, lips close enough to graze his forehead. Draco sighs approvingly when they stay there; a prolonged kiss.
Long seconds, minutes, or hours later, his hand finds Harry’s jaw, thumbing gently over the stubble that’s grown in, then leans up to capture Harry’s lips with his.
“I really like our room,” he murmurs.
Harry smiles against his lips, giving him another sweet kiss back.
“Me too.”
#autumnsnugglingwrites#my writing#drarry#draco x harry#harry x draco#hpdm#harry potter x draco malfoy#draco malfoy x harry potter#dmhp#harry potter#draco malfoy
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Obey me mom mc baby’s first word is calling the the brothers daddy if you are ok with it
The Brothers reactions to Mc's kid calling them daddy
Warning(s): cussing, not edited
A/N: sorry but I dont do fem readers so mc is gn in this. Thank you for requesting!
[Side character ver]
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Lucifer
Diavolo had called you for a last minute meeting and Luci was happy to babysit.
He was in his study doing paperwork with the kiddo playing with a little toy on his lap and babbling to themself away
he wasn't really paying too close of attention to what they were saying
it's normal for children around their age to babble and try to talk and imitate what the people around them are saying.
did that make sense? I'm trying to sound smart I don't even know if that's true honestly
But he dropped his pen
and almost the baby
when he felt them tug at his tie and start stumbling saying daddy.
He quickly gained his composure and held them closer to him and continued to work
with a very obvious smirk
that may or may not have slowly turned into a warm lil smile
Overall, rly fuckin happy, might even very subtly brag to his brothers about this. He won't tell you about this btw, he wants you to have that first word moment with them.
Mammon
Screamed
the bby started crying then he also started crying and panicking.
He was babysitting for you like usual,
he always insisted on being the person to do it
even if he was busy from sunrise to sunset, he would still demand to he the one to take care of them when you couldn't.
The two of them were relaxing on his bed with the baby on his chest, surrounded by all their favorite stuffed animals
all of which he got them
anyway, they started playing with his glasses and babbling like crazy
neither of which were that much out of the ordinary, they have been very talkative and grabby lately
but when they babbled he always responded and had very long entertaining conversations with them,
he does this with babies you can not change my mind
then the baby started slapping his chest and saying dada over and over again.
Like I said, he screamed, bby cried, he cried, then nap.
When you get back you find them asleep cuddling on Mammon's bed
and obv you join them.
Overall, he is going to brag to EVERYONE about this, surprise surprise. He takes that title with so much pride that Lucifer would tell him to pump the brakes.
Levi
Surprised pikachu face
even if he spent every waking hour with your baby and specifically taught them to call him daddy
he would still be very shocked.
He was showing the lil goblin some baby friendly games while you were taking a nap in the bathtub bed
they kept trying to take the controller from him
but he wouldn't allow it, it was one of his favorites and he didn't want them to get all their baby slime on it.
The baby would start to get fussy but then he would find a way to calm them down somehow
this carried on for a little while until the baby hit his chest and yell dada.
Like I said he was in shock, for a long while too, the kid managed to get the controller from him, and only snapped out of it when you shook him asking if he was okay.
Overall, he thinks he was hearing things, it will take at least 10 more times for him to finally believe it, and honestly he doesn't know how to feel about it and will prob go into an excisional crisis of sorts.
Satan
You were exhausted from studying for exams and really needed some sleep
and Satan was more than happy to offer you some help with your child and give you a chance to sleep
so now here we are
Satan sitting in a rocking chair reading a book to the baby who he is cradling in his free arm.
At first the bby was very talkative, babbling all about, and playing with anything they could get their hands on
eventually tho he got them to calm down enough to, seemingly, pay attention to the story he was reading to them
sometimes they'd grab at the book when there was an illustration on the page
to which he'd bring the book close to them so they could touch it.
Eventually the little one started to get sleepy and drifted off to sleep
with quite the grip of Satan's shirt
their quiet nonsensical babbling never stopped tho
but that was alright, he found it very amusing and adorable and was content in watching them rest
that was unit he was able to make sense of the word daddy
he was shocked but just shook it off and held them just a bit tighter.
Overall, he is so happy! will rub it in Lucifer's face he also doesn't tell, he thinks you should have the joy of hearing your child's first words, and will also try and teach them your parental title to them.
Asmo
Squealed so loud I'm p sure a few windows broke.
He was hanging out in your room with you and your baby for the day
watching movies
cuddling
yatta yatta you get the idea
anyway, the bby was playing on the floor surrounded by their toys on the floor while you two were doing ya thing
then they started babbling at Asmo trying to get his attention and show him a toy
he thought it was cute and pretended not to hear them
and it was all giggles with yall unit the kid threw the toy at him and yelled,
"DADA!"
you two were stunned
to stunned to speak
but when you did get yalls shit together he picks them up and did a lil spin around squeal.
He instantly rushed to the store with them to find matching clothes and new toys.
Overall, if you couldn't tell already he's quite happy, and he will rub it in everyone's faces. He may have cried a little bit but he surprisingly didn't care all that much
Beel
He and the lil stinker were hanging out together in the kitchen
well kinda hanging out?
he was making dinner with them strapped to his chest in that baby carrying thing
I think that counts.
Anyway, like I said he was cooking,
he'd taste test it then let the baby taste test it as well
only when it was safe for them ofc
and he'd change it a bit if they didn't like it.
Eventually the food got to a point where the baby really liked it and kept grabbing his hand when he tried to take the spoon away
but he managed to gently take it away and continue cooking
the kid was not pleased by this and started throwing a little fit
and Beel was quick to start rocking them so they'd calm down
didn't work very well
all he got out of trying to calm them down was a chocked out a little,
"dAdDY-"
which did nothing but shatter his heart
and he quickly went to you for help.
Overall, shocked for like the splitest of seconds then quickly went back to fulfilling the title, he does mention it to you, he wants you to know about your babies first word.
Belphie
Confused and pleasantly surprised...
This man constantly demands cuddles and naps
and the fact that you have a child changes almost nothing
only adds another member to the mandatory cuddle party.
Yall were in said mandatory nap
which was much needed for you, you were fuckin exhausted
and so was Belphie, as always
but the baby...
not so much, so they woke up before either of you
but do not worry
they made it their mission to wake the sleeping demon.
They started by climbing onto his chest and slapping his chest/face
and obv it didn't work at first so they upped the antics a bit.
Belphie eventually woke up to tiny hands slapping him and a tiny voice yelling
"DADDY"
over and over again.
He was very shocked, he picked them up and sat up to make sure he wouldn't go instantly back to sleep
for a minute he thought he might have been dreaming but when another giggly "Daddy!" came out of the mashed potato shaped being, he sighed and laid back down with them on his chest.
Overall, like I said he is presently surprised, he'll tell you when you all wake up again. also refuses to let them go for the next week.
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#obey me#obey me hc#obey me satan#obey me lucifer#obey me leviathan#obey me mammon#obey me asmodeus#obey me belphie#obey me beelzebub#obey me brothers#obey me boys#obey me fluff#obey me crack#obey me mc#obey me baby#obey me headcanons#obey me requests#obey me x reader#headcanon
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The Dirt (Your Version)
Summary: Meeting Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee was a coincidence. Being friends was a choice. But falling in love with them both was beyond your control.
Or
A rewrite of The Dirt with all the highs and lows of Mötley Crüe from your perspective.
Pairings: Nikki Sixx x Reader, Tommy Lee x Reader, Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee x Reader
Word Count: 4.3k
Trigger Warning- Suicidal thoughts, self-harm, child abuse, heavy mentions of cancer (you all know what's coming)
Previous Chapter
Chapter 18- A is for Angst
"Y/N..." Vince began to say but seemed to be in too much shock to finish the sentence.
Fuck. Fuck. Fucking, fuck.
Vince was never meant to see the cuts. Not again. Not while his daughter was dying in hospital.
"I-I gotta go. Sorry."
You were on your feet and out the room before Vince could say or do anything.
It was late at night, the only people walking around the floor were a few nurses with clipboards who didn't look twice in your direction. The hospital was quiet which you were grateful of because it didn't take long for the elevator door to open. However, just as you stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor, Vince slipped in between the closing doors.
Damnit.
"Show me." He ordered, his voice forcefully stern as he slammed the 'stop' button on the control panel forcing the lift to come to a stop between floors.
There was no getting out of this. It was too late to lie, and it was too late to escape the elevator. And Vince knew it too.
"No." You simply responded folding your arms across your chest defensively. "There's nothing to show."
Vince's expression hardened, his jaw clenched and unclenched as he stared at you with an unreadable look in his eye. For a few tense seconds, neither of you moved or said anything. The silence in the enclosed elevator was deafening. You could practically hear your heart thumping in your chest while your hands trembled a little by your sides in anticipation for what was to come.
Your brother never yelled or got angry when you were kids, but right now, he looked on the verge of snapping.
He didn't need to worry about this. His daughter was in hospital with cancer. He shouldn't have to worry about his little sister too. You didn't want him to worry or know about this in the first place, but now he did.
Suddenly, Vince stepped forward and grabbed your hand before forcefully yanking your sleeve up exposing the cuts on your inner arm. He stared down at your skin taking in the fresh angry red cuts mixed between the still healing scars. Tears were beginning to rise in your eyes, but you forced them back.
Vince let out a frustrated sigh dropping your hand and rubbed his face before his brown eyes met yours. And he did not look happy.
"Why?" He questioned.
You shook your head, "it doesn't matter."
"You're cutting yourself and you don't think it matters?!" Vince shouted, his voice raising an octave as he stared at you in utter disbelief. "At least tell me why?"
"I don't know."
"Bullshit!"
"I don't know!" You shouted back.
"Do you want to fucking die? Is that it?" Vince questioned bluntly, his voice rising along with his anger. "Is your life really that bad? My daughter has fucking cancer! And you're slitting your wrists, for what? Attention? Or are you trying to kill yourself?"
You averted your eyes and stared down at the ground. Vince could always read you like a book, and you did not want him to know how close to the mark those last few words actually were.
"Answer me!" Vince screamed taking a step closer causing you to flinch back on instinct.
Memories of your father's anger and wrath washed over you. Vince wasn't anything like your father. Sure, he had a bit of his bad temper, but Vince would never hurt you, not like your father used to.
"I- shit." Vince swore softly under his breath realising that he had scared you. "I'm not him, Y/N."
You took in a deep breath and met his gaze, "I know."
Vince remained silent for a moment his eyes filled with guilt and worry before he spoke, his tone now calm and levelled. "Please tell me why you're doing this to yourself."
"It helps." You admitted, your voice coming out a mere whisper.
"What?"
"It helps. I-I don't know, it just helps."
"Helps with what?" Vince asked, but he didn't sound angry anymore, he just sounded confused.
How were you meant to explain it to him though? Vince wouldn't understand, and you didn't want him to.
"You swore you'd never do this again." He whispered shaking his head. "You fucking promised!"
"Yeah? Well, you promised that it was me and you against the world, but then you fucking left! You abandoned me just like my mother did!"
Vince's body physically recoiled, his eyes widening, "is that why you did this? Did you cut yourself because I left?"
There was so much guilt and pain in his voice it broke your heart.
"No." You answered quickly but then paused because you couldn't tell him why. You couldn't tell him that the car accident and Razzle's death still haunted you. You couldn't tell him that seeing his daughter dying in hospital was bringing up old feelings about your miscarriage. You couldn't tell him that him leaving Mötley Crüe affected you on the scale that it did. You had no right to complain about those things and feelings especially not to Vince.
"I don't want to wake up one morning to find that you've killed yourself, Y/N." Vince suddenly said, snapping you out of your thoughts like a punch to the face.
"You won't." You insisted, shocked at his words.
It wasn't like you hadn't thought about it. Most days you thought about it, but you were too weak to pull the trigger. You'd never be able to go through with it which was why you silenced those suicidal thoughts with a blade to numb the pain.
"You don't need to worry about that." You answered, pulling the sleeve of your shirt down before meeting your brothers' sad eyes. "It's not about wanting to die. It's more about being able to live."
"I don't understand."
You smiled sadly, "I know. But you don't need to worry about me, okay? I'm fine. You have enough on your plate anyway. Just focus on Skylar, Vin."
You leant over and pressed the button on the control panel causing the elevator to shift before it began to descend back down to the ground floor once again.
Vince didn't say anything after that, but you could feel his eyes watching you like he wanted to say more but seemed unable to.
After a few seconds the elevator came to a stop and dinged before the doors slid open exposing the empty lobby of the waiting room. You hesitated before taking a step towards the door but then a hand grabbed your shoulder.
"I can't lose you too." Vince said, his voice barely above a whisper.
You turned to face him. His brown eyes were laced with tears which only made the tears you had been fighting back earlier resurface as you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying. You wanted to tell him that Skylar wasn't going to die. That she would get better and be out of the hospital soon. But you both knew the chances of her surviving weren't good. Skylar was dying and the doctors might not be able to help her.
Instead of saying anything, you stepped forward and pulled your brother into a hug. Vince's body was stiff in your arms for a moment, but he was soon wrapping his arms around your back and hugging you tightly.
-
After Vince finding out, you didn't dare add to the cuts on your skin in fear of him checking and seeing anything fresh. But you picked at the scabs of the older ones making them bleed and start the healing process again. It defeated the purpose but made it a little easier to breathe.
A week later, you were sitting beside your niece's bed reading one of her favourite princess books trying to distract her from everything that was happening.
"Can you read it again?" Skylar asked once you closed the book.
Her little voice sounded so weak, and you were instantly opening the book back up again, holding it out for her to see the bright colourful pictures.
"Absolutely." You smiled softly at her, hating how pale and frail she looked before you began to read the book from the start once again.
A few minutes later, Sharise walked back into the room after speaking to a doctor and by the look on her face, you knew whatever the doctor had said wasn't good. It never was.
"Skylar, sweetie." Sharise began to say sitting down on the edge of her bed and grabbing her daughter's small hand. "The doctors need to do another operation. It's only going to be small and after that, we can go home. Does that sound good?"
Another operation?
How many more times were they going to cut this little girl open? How much more could a four-year-old endure?
Skylar looked up at her mother and said in the weakest, saddest, most innocent voice you've ever heard; "mummy, I don't want to die."
You had to get up and leave the room right there and then. And once you were out in the corridor, you burst into tears.
Memories of that day in hospital with Nikki and Tommy after your miscarriage flooded over you. The pain and sadness of losing a baby hitting hard and now again at the possibility of losing your niece was killing you.
Skylar knew that what was happening to her wasn't normal. She knew that all the smiles and jokes coming from you adults were forced, that the relatives and friends who visited never used to cry when they saw her.
In four months, she had gone from a happy four-year-old to a sad wired-up dying child.
Then, one day, you were walking into the hospital with a new stuffed animal for Skylar when you were greeted by the doctors. They had that look, the look that said everything and nothing at all. You braced yourself and knew before a word was spoken that this was it.
Before the doctors could confirm your fears, Vince came running into the hospital shouting something about receiving a call from Sharise, but he came to a halt in the waiting room when he saw you standing by the doctors.
Vince was by your side instantly, frantically asking the doctors what was going on and if his daughter was okay. But then the doctors lowered their heads and looked between the two of you sadly.
Vince's eyes filled with water before they even spoke. The tears hung there suspended, covering his eyes like contact lenses, until the doctor said the dreaded words, "she's gone." And then the dam burst, and tears drenched your brothers face.
-
Skylar had passed away in her sleep. The doctors reassured you all that it was painless, but that was a lie. Skylar had been suffering and in pain for months. It was anything but painless.
Vince was a total mess. And after leaving the hospital that day, you stayed with him at his mansion. He was incapable of showering, changing his clothes or doing anything for himself. So, you stepped up.
He slept with the blanket Skylar had died in from the hospital. It was dirty and needed to be washed, but there was no way you would ever wash it. The blanket, although smelt like a hospital, also smelt like his daughter and it was the only thing he had left.
You had no idea how to help Vince. You couldn't even help yourself.
The cuts on your wrists that had finally healed were now fresh and bloodied under the bandage secured over them. Skylar's death hurt more than anything, but you hid your own feelings to be there for your brother.
Sharise's parents organised the funeral and you feared your brother wouldn't be able to get himself cleaned up and sober enough for his daughter's own funeral, but with your help, he did.
The funeral was held at the cemetery and was kept small and lowkey. It wasn't advertised, not wanting to risk paparazzi showing up and snapping photos. So, you had no idea how your father and stepmother found out about the funeral.
The last time you saw them was the day you and Vince had run away from home. You hadn't seen or heard from them since, until now.
Your stepmother looked the same as the day you had left. But your father had aged dramatically since that horrible day. The drugs and alcohol having finally caught up to him.
Vince didn't notice their appearance from where the two of you sat in the front row and to your relief, your parents didn't come over. They shifted to the back of the crowd and took their seats silently while the rest of the family and friends slowly wandered in and filled up the rows of chairs. You didn't tell Vince that they were there. He had enough to deal with.
You sat silently holding your brother's hand while staring at the pink casket. It was so little. She was so little.
By the end of the service, Vince had gone through all the tissues you had stashed in your pocket. He was a blubbering mess and through your own tears, you tried to be strong for him.
Eventually, everyone began to filter out the cemetery after giving their condolences to Vince and Sharise on their way out.
After seeing your nieces pink casket get lowered six feet down, you had completely forgotten that your father and stepmother were even here. And it wasn't until you thought everyone had left and you stood up about to lead your brother to the car when they approached you.
"Your mother and I are so sorry for your loss, son."
Your entire body became impossibly still hearing your fathers voice for the first time after all these years. Vince's own body had turned tense as he lifted his head and looked passed you to where your parents were standing.
Slowly, you turned around and came face to face with your father while your stepmother hovered in the background silently.
"What are you doing here?" You questioned, glaring at your father through your sunglasses.
"We don't want any trouble. We heard the news and wish we could have met Skylar before she passed." Your stepmother spoke up softly.
Vince was on his feet beside you in an instant. He hadn't moved an inch since the funeral started, but his body was now practically vibrating with sudden rage.
"I was never going to let you meet her!" Your brother sneered, pointing at your father and ignoring his mother. "I was never going to let you fuck up her life like you tried to do to ours!"
Your fathers' nostrils flared, a predatory expression shifting over his face and even though you weren't a weak child anymore, that look still had you flinching back a step, your heart hammering in your chest. But Vince didn't back away, instead he stood up straighter ready for a fight.
"I didn't fuck up your life. Look at you now. You're famous, son. You're welcome."
"I did this!" Vince growled. "Y/N and I did this ourselves with no help from you!"
Your father shook his head, "I made you who you are. You owe me."
Oh, hell no.
"Get the fuck out of here!" You ordered, marching forward and planting yourself between him and Vince. "You're nothing but a poor, fat, old man trying to use his sons grieving state to his own advantage. So, get the hell out of here!"
Your father stared down at you, a mixture of surprise and anger washing over him at your words and courage. 10-year-old you would have been terrified right now, but you were done dealing with your father's abuse. You were done with everything.
"I wish your mother never dumped you on our doorstep." He snarled.
"I wish you weren't my fucking father!" You snapped back, but that only made your fathers face break out into a sickening grin and your blood turned to ice.
What were you missing? Why the fuck was he smiling?
"I'm not your father, Y/N."
You blinked, thinking you had heard him wrong, "what?"
"Your mother was a whore. I knew her well, but I never had sex with her. You're not mine, but she dumped you on our doorstep and then blew her brains out the next day."
Your mouth opened but no words came out. Your brain seemed to be short circuiting, unable to process the bombshell your father had just dropped.
He wasn't your real father? All this time... all these years, you thought your mother might've been out there somewhere, but she was dead. She killed herself after giving birth to you.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Vince questioned from behind you.
"She's not your sister, Vincent. You two aren't even related."
No.
That wasn't possible.
Vince was your brother. You were siblings. You were related. You had to be related.
"Get out." You whispered, shaking your head at him as hot tears filled your eyes. "Get out of here! Get the fuck out!"
You stepped forward and shoved your father's chest roughly causing him to stumble back a step.
"Get the fuck out of here!" You screamed at him, the tears in your eyes falling down your cheeks.
Although your father was older now, he was still fast.
His hand was suddenly around your neck. Not hard enough to be strangling, but not not hard enough to be painful. Your father was yelling, if his red angry eyes and moving lips were anything to go by. But you couldn't make out his words, it was like you were underwater, everything muffled and just white noise.
The fingers tightened around your neck like a vice.
You choked, gasping for breath as you tried to pry away his fingers, but he only squeezed harder blocking the air from getting to your lungs.
The pain pulled you out from under the make-believe water, and the first words you heard were-
"I kept a roof over your head and food on the table! You're not even my fucking child but I took you in and gave you everything! I kept you alive! I kept you both alive! You little shits owe me!"
"Honey, stop!" Your stepmother shouted in the background somewhere.
If you weren't being strangled to death, you would have commented on how it only took her 20 something years to speak up against your father. Usually, she'd just turn her head away and pretend the abuse never happened. Guess she finally grew a backbone after all this time.
Your father ignored her but didn't get a chance to say anything else before Vince suddenly yanked him off you and threw him backwards. Your father stumbled back a few steps, unable to keep his footing before falling on his ass in the dirt.
You doubled over grabbing your neck, coughing and struggling to breathe. You sucked in shallow shaky breaths trying to get air back into your lungs.
Vince now had your father pinned on his back throwing punch after punch and there was nothing the old man could do to stop it. His mother was crying for him to stop, but all Vince could see was red. All the rage and anger that had been simmering inside of your brother after losing his daughter had erupted out of him. He needed to let out his emotions, so you didn't try and stop him straight away.
"Don't you ever touch her again! Don't you ever show your fucking face here again! Do I make myself clear?!" Vince screamed slamming his fist down against your fathers bloodied face and showed no signs of stopping.
"Vince. Come on." You said, your voice sounding weaker than expected as you reached over and grabbed his elbow stopping him from laying out another punch. "He's not worth it. Let's go."
To your relief, Vince simply nodded breathing heavily through his nose as he staggered up to his feet allowing you to guide him away. His mother rushed over and dropped to her knees beside your father not saying anything to either of you as you walked away.
Once you returned home, Vince's anger had subsided, and he switched back into a protective big brother while he inspected the damage your father had caused. He hadn't mentioned Skylar since the funeral. He was trying to distract himself from thinking about his daughter, so he focused on you instead. Vince had fractured his hand from the punching, but all he cared about was the darkening finger shaped bruises around your neck.
"We're not even related." You whispered, using all your strength to keep yourself from crying.
Vince's eyes shifted away from the bruises on your neck before meeting your gaze, "I don't care what that asshole said. We were raised together. We did everything together. Playing, fighting, surfing, singing, everything. You're my sister."
"Am I?" You asked, your voice a mere whisper as you thought back to what your brother had said in the studio.
'Vince, come on, I'm your sister.'
'Not anymore.'
Your brother's expression dropped, and he lowered his head with a heavy sigh remembering his own words all too well.
With everything that had happened in the last few months, neither of you have had a chance to really talk about that day in the studio. You never bought it up because there were bigger things to worry about and neither did Vince... until now.
"I didn't mean what I said that day." Vince admitted, lifting his head to meet your eyes. "I was angry. I was lashing out and I shouldn't have said what I did. But you and me? We're siblings. You're my little sister, don't you ever forget that."
-
Over the following week, you slept in Vince's spare bedroom upstairs. You didn't want to go back to your house alone and Vince didn't want you to leave because he didn't want to be alone either.
Neither of you knew what to do. You were both messes, but you tried to be strong for him.
Vince had gone back to drinking heavily and it broke your heart seeing him like that. If he kept going down that path, he was going to drink himself to death and that possibility scared you more than anything. A small part of you wondered if that was what Vince wanted.
Did he want to drink himself into an early grave? Could he not bare being on Earth without Skylar?
You were so scared of the answer that you didn't dare ask. It wasn't like you hadn't thought about it either. Just one deep slice of the knife and it would all be over. The pain, the grief, the sadness, everything. It would be so easy to just end it all, but you feared that if you did then Vince would do it too and that horrifying thought was enough to stop you.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Vin." You whispered, leaning against the doorframe watching Vince sitting on the porch steps already halfway through a bottle of vodka trying to drown his sorrows.
"Is that right?" He said, glancing over his shoulder. "Roll up your sleeves then."
Vince raised his eyebrows, challenging you to do it because he knew for a fact that you had been cutting again. He never saw you do it though. You always hid it from him, but he knew.
"That's what I thought." Vince turned away taking a sip from the bottle. "You don't understand how this feels... the pain of losing a child."
"I... I kind of do."
Vince lowered the bottle from his lips, "what?"
Ah, shit.
Were you really about to tell him?
You, Tommy and Nikki had agreed not to tell Vince. But that was back when you thought your brother didn't know about the three of you being together. Things had changed.
"I know how you feel because I felt it. And I feel it every day. So, when I say that I am sorry Vince. I really mean it."
His brows furrowed in confusion as he slowly turned to face you properly.
You smiled sadly at him through the tears now threatening to spill from your eyes. A dread of realisation washed over your brother, his face turning pale.
He figured it out.
"Were you..." He seemed unable to finish the sentence, so you simply nodded.
"I was pregnant. I had a miscarriage."
His eyes widened into saucers, jaw practically hitting the floor.
"What?!"
You slowly walked over and sat down on the porch step beside him taking the bottle of vodka and swallowing a few mouthfuls because if you were going to talk about this, you were not doing it sober.
"Why-why didn't you tell me?" Vince asked and his voice sounded so sad, so hurt that you had kept this to yourself, and it broke your heart.
"I couldn't." You whispered, blinking back tears.
"Was it after I left?" He asked, guilt heavy in his voice.
"No. It was before that."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"You would've killed the father."
A beat of silence passed between the two of you before horrible realisation hit him like a slap to the face.
"Nikki or Tommy?"
He didn't sound angry though. He just sounded sad.
"Honestly? I don't know." You admitted, staring out at the dark ocean in the distance.
"Jesus Christ." Vince swore softly under his breath before reaching up and wiping away the tears you hadn't realised were in his eyes too.
"I know it's not the same but... but I'm here for you, Vince. Let me help you."
"Fuck… I’m sorry." He whispered, glancing over at you sadly before he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side while he cried silently. "I'm so sorry."
You weren't sure if he was apologising to you or to Skylar or both. It didn't matter though. You rested your head against your brother's shoulder and let him cry while overlooking the beach that had once been your safe haven as children.
-
The next day, Vince checked himself into rehab and committed to it.
With Vince gone, you didn't know what to do.
You couldn't stay at his house and the thought of going back home to your own empty cottage made you want to cry. You were happy Vince was getting help, but now you were left alone. No brother, no niece, no baby, nobody. You were alone... again.
If you went back to your house alone, you knew it would end badly. So, that afternoon you found yourself standing in front of a familiar wooden door knocking hesitantly. There was no answer for a couple of minutes, and just when you began to talk yourself out of it and turned to leave, the door suddenly opened.
Nikki Sixx stood in the doorway visibly shocked by your presence, but when he saw the bruise around your neck and tears in your eyes, he stepped forward and pulled you into his chest without a word.
Then, in the safety of his arms, you let your guard down and cried properly for the first time in a long time.
-
Next Chapter
MASTERLIST pinned to profile
If anyone wants to be tagged just let me know
#motley crue#nikki sixx#tommy lee#nikki sixx x you#nikki sixx x reader#nikki sixx fanfiction#tommy lee fanfic#tommy lee x reader#vince neil#mick mars#the dirt#imagine#pov
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Text
An Animalistic Disaster
Summery:Where you reveal a bit of your past and go on a shopping trip with the girls (And Pentious).
Masterlist
CH-14 :Past memories and a shopping trip
Tw: domestic abuse.
"When I was six, me and my mom went to live with mom's brother, my uncle and aunt. They had a daughter and a son, Melody and Skylar.
Melody was younger and more timid than me. I gradually realised that Melody was almost like a puppet to her parents. They gave all their focus on Skylar. Which would make sense since he was a kid then. But they took it too far.
They would never try to discipline Skylar. It was clear her parents had a soft spot for him. Skylar understood that very clearly and would abuse that."
You sighed, remembering what used to happen in that household.
"Skylar would scream and hit Melody whenever he wanted and if we as much as raised our voice on him, he would cry endlessly in front of his mom like we hit him brutally. Before you say anything, he would only do that whenever his parents were around to hear, so that little shit knew what he was doing.
And of course his mom would believe him every fucking time. So since I couldn't make him behave, the best course of action was to lock myself up in my room so he couldn't get in and cause trouble for me."
"That sounds horrible...." Charlie gasped.
"That's not the end of it." You sadly smiled. "I haven't even told you why I'm hated."
"I hated how they treated Melody from the bottom of my heart. I would speak up for her since she couldn't.
She would often seek refuge in me and stay in my room away from everyone. I read her my different storybooks, showed her my favourite shows and shared my experiences. Gradually she began to think for herself. She began to stand up for herself. Her parents hated that.
They blamed me for corrupting their sweet child with my venomous company. They were mad they couldn't control Melody like before.
Their scolding and hitting got worse from then. There were times we would stay locked in my room for hours while her mom kept shouting all shitty things she could say about me. She even told Melody, A child, to live with me instead of them if she liked me that much."
"Please tell me you guys did something about that later..." Vaggie almost pleaded.
"When things got worse and I couldn't take it anymore, I finally told my mom one day after she got home from work. I didn't want to tell her at first before cause I didn't want to make her worry. My mom and aunt had a huge argument then. Later finally, we rented a small house for ourselves."
'But what happened to Melody?' Angel quickly asked and Charlie translated it just as fast. Everyone had the same question in their mind.
"She...stayed back. I asked her to come with me but she smiled and shook her head. She said she wanted to stay and make that place better."
'Ya gotta hand it to the kid. She had some real guts to stay in a family like that'
You nodded at what Husk said after Vaggie translated it.
"She really had. We did get to see each other from time to time in our family gatherings and such and kept in contact through texting and calling sometimes. But I'm glad to say our bond ever wavered no matter how long we are away from each other "
You said with a small smile looking at everyone.
"Melody has learned to be her own person since I left despite still being in those harsh conditions. And even after all this time, I've never gotten close to her parents for this reason."
You finally finished talking and looked at them for their reactions. Charlie almost immediately tackled you into a hug.
"I knew you were great person! Thank you thank you thank you!"
"Thanks for what Charlie?"
"Nothing don't worry about it!"
Charlie was relieved that you were actually a good person. She doesn't have to feel guilty for defending you. She hugged you tighter in happiness almost choking you.
"C-charlie, can't breathe-"
"Oh sorry sorry"
She quickly let you go and smiled brightly at you. "You're a nice person (Y/n)." Vaggie gave you soft smile.
Everyone in the room was thinking the same thing. The earlier suspicion on you vanishing in an instant.
"Yeah well anyways" you scratched your neck while blushing from all this attention you're getting plus seeing all their eyes on you. "We should eat dinner and go to sleep. I plan on going shopping tomorrow. I want Charlie, Vaggie and Niffty accompanying me since they turned human."
"We get to hang around in the human world?" Niffty said excitedly. You chuckled noticing her enthusiasm.
"Yes you can plus we'll be doing job hunting for you guys. We don't know how long it'll take to find a job so we should start searching from tomorrow "
"Awesome!"
With that, you all slowly went around cooking while chatting, making jabs at one another. Angel was almost thrown into a cooking pot by accident but Charlie noticed it immediately. Other then that, everything was fine.
After sleeping again in previous positions, you woke up to Vaggie calling you this time. You smiled at her and went to the bathroom to freshen up.
After you finished,you went to the kitchen to see Charlie cooking this time with her tongue out a bit upwards as she was flipping pancakes very carefully. It was honestly quite adorable to watch. Vaggie was about to call you but you put a finger on your mouth, making Vaggie go quiet.
You slowly tiptoed behind Charlie making Vaggie look at you confused. Just as Charlie finished flipping a Pancake, you went 'Boo' in her ear playfully. But you didn't expect what happened.
Charlie let out a surprised yelp as she let go of the pan. A bright golden light engulfed her as something fell to the ground in a thud.
As the light disappeared, there was Charlie again, but in her sheep form.
'Oh no, oh no, oh nononono! I'm not getting stuck in this form again!'
She started to scream in panic with sheep sounds and ran around. Vaggie quickly tried running after her to try and calm her down. She picked up a very scared Charlie and held her close as you looked over with guilt.
"Hun calm down, breathe." Vaggie patted Charlie as she looked looked up at her girlfriend teary eyed. "Try to see if you can become human again okay?"
Charlie nodded and calmed her nerves as she tried to imagine herself as human again. After some time, a golden light engulfed her again as she again reappeared as human in Charlie's arms.
"Vaggie, I'm human again! I'm human!" She said shaking Vaggie. "Yes, I can see that...but what happened? Can we turn to our human and animal form at will?" Charlie shruged, not knowing. You came forward looking down.
"I'm really really sorry Charlie. I didn't mean for that to happen.." you said meekly.
"It's alright... It just gave me a little shock that's all" Charlie said nervously laughing. "But at least I turned back again."
'What happened? Why are you all looking so shaken?' Husk said stepping into the room alongside Angel and noticing the pair on the floor holding each other as well as you looking at them apologetically.
After Vaggie told him his eyes were wide open. 'Wait, no shit? That actually worked? Let me see if I can try.' Husk and Angel both tried to imagine themselves as humans but nothing happened. 'Guess it only works with those who already transformed..' Angel sighed.
"Make sure to let others know about this and oh-" Charlie's nose picked up a burning smell. "MY PANCAKES!" She quickly ran towards the pan to salvage the food before it's fully wasted.
You volunteered to eat the slightly burnt pancake as an apology and after that, it was time to go shopping. You, Charlie, Vaggie and Niffty all dressed up in your clothes. Vaggie gathered all the animals before going.
"I'm leaving my front door open in case you all need something. But for this reason, I'll need you all to stay close to the house as well to guard it." You said looking at all of them.
"Especially you Alastor, you're the only one that can do something if a burglar comes by." Since you saw how Alastor could fight even in this form in the woods, he was the best option.
'Yes, yes, I know you can't do anything without me. You girls can go ahead without worry. I'll keep watch." Alastor said in a bored tone but inside he was fuming with pride that you relied on him the most.
"Now then, we shouldn't take too much time. Be safe you guys. You're free to go." With that you went to get the car ready as your three companions waited patiently.
Sir Pentious was about to slither back to the cabin but stopped seeing Cherri head towards your car. Being confused he quickly followed her. Cherri jumped into the car's open trunk while you weren't looking and Pentious did the same.
'Misss Cherri what are you doing here? We're supposed to be back at the cabin!' Pentious whisper shouted.
'Wha- Hey what the fuck man. Don't creep up on me like that!' Cherri was a little spooked seeing Pentious behind her. She thought she was being discreet.
'And I'm going to the town with them! I can't wait till I've transformed see what the world is like now since I'm the last. So I'm hitching a ride!'
'But isn't thiss a bad idea? What if sssomeone sees uss?'
'Oh quit your yapping. You can leave if you want.'
But he could not even if wanted since the trunk closed on them followed by the car starting. Cherri had a grin on her face and Pentious had a look of worry.
Niffty decided to sit next to you on the car and Charlie and Vaggie sat behind. While driving, you started some songs for everyone to enjoy.
All three of them were enjoying the sight of human world as they were practically glued to their windows. Especially Charlie since she spent her entire life in hell. Even though they went outside in your cabin, it was nothing compared to driving through various places like this. The sight of them made the corners of your lips turn up.
"By the way Niffty, did you get any powers like us?" Vaggie asked suddenly remembering.
"Not really, no. Me and mr.Alastor tried really hard to see if I had any type of powers but nothing worked." Niffty answered while her eyes were still glued to the window. "But I can turn into a dog again at will now!"
"I see..oh and (Y/n). Can I request something..?" Vaggie asked sheepishly.
"Hm,yes? What is it?"
"Can I get some glasses? I think my eye sight has lessened.."
"Oh yes sure! We'll get your eyes checked then!"
Finally you reached your place. You parked the car and you three finally stepped outside. Suddenly Niffty started sniffing the air with her ears moving.
"Niffty? What's wrong?" Charlie asked concerned. Niffty didn't answer as she stepped behind the trunk and opened it.
"Uh-huh! Found you! I knew I heard some weird sounds coming from the back!"
"What? Who's there?" You went to stand beside Niffty and found Pentious and Cherri red handed.
You quickly pulled the hood down and looked around see if anyone was starting at you. Having a squirrel was fine but people might report you to the police if they saw you have a snake in your car, thinking you're a poacher. And the worst thing is they'll take him away to who knows where.
"What the fuck are you guys doing here? You guys should be at the cabin!" You hissed through your teeth at them.
'What? Taking a stroll couldn't hurt! Plus this dumbass followed me here himself.' Cherri said looking at Pentious. 'I wass only trying to ssee what you were doing!'
You sighed. You couldn't leave them both here. Who knows what they'll start doing if they're left alone. You don't want to have any more trouble in your hands. Rummaging through the car, you found a big shopping bag that you usually use for groceries.
"Jump in here and not a single peek from either of you got it?" You said holding the bag in front of them.
'Got it!' Cherri grinned as she jumped inside and Pentious followed. You gave the bag to Niffty.
"Niffty can I ask you to take care of this bag? Make sure none of them peeks their head out of try to come out okay?" You requested her with worry. "Can you do that for me?"
"Mam,Yes Mam! I'll make sure of that!" She copied military style and gave you a salute making you chuckle a bit.
"I'll hold onto that then"
After that was over, you guys went to buy foods and two extra mattresses for now. Then you guys went to buy clothes. They didn't buy much since they could just wear your clothes for the most part as you suggested and bought personal items. You'll have to spend more money on the boys clothes when they turn human. And finally on Vaggie's glasses.
After a successful trip, you four bought some ice creams as you headed towards your car. Cherri did try to sneak out a couple of times but Niffty made sure she couldn't. Some people on the street thought the three of them were cosplaying and wanted to take selfies but you quickly declined.
You also collected some informations on the places looking to hire right now. You decided to sort through them later. You led them through a shortcut to reach the parking lot faster. You spent more time than you planned on getting sucked in the fun hanging out with them.
All in all it was a successful shopping trip. That was until you turned a corner while walking and bumped into someone making you spill your ice cream over them.
"I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!" You quickly yelled out looking at the shirt that now had a stain and some bits of ice cream falling to the ground from the shirt.
"Oi look where you're going bitch!" The guy yelled out pushing you away from him. You would fall to the floor if Vaggie didn't catch you in time. "Careful!" She yelled out.
As the guy started to come closer Charlie moved in front of you defensively. "She said sorry already! So please stop this!" She pleaded as you stood up again.
"Fuck no. That bitch ruined my shirt and now she'll have to pay for it!" The guy shoved Charlie aside and grabbed your collar making you look at his face.
Niffty was standing behind Vaggie still holding onto the bag as the scene transpired in from of her. She started growling unknowningly as she took a step ahead.
Sir Pentious and Cherri were listening to everything that was transpiring outside.
'Shit, something very bad is happening outside!' Cherri said looking a bit nervous.
'It sounds like (Y/n) is in trouble..' Pentious said as they both peeked out of the bag just as you were grabbed by your collar.
'(Y/n) no..I can't let anything happen to her!' Pentious said as he jumped out of the bag. Niffty finally noticed him. "Pentious you're not supposed to be out!"
'She helped us all these time, fed us, took care of us. The least I can do is protect in danger!'
His body began to grow bright yellow. Vaggie who was about to jump onto the guy, stopped and looked behind her.
The man's disgusting breath hit your nose like a tornado. He raised one hand to hit you as you quickly prepared yourself to defend. But a hand came from behind you, catching the attackers raised one.
"I don't think it's in proper manner to hit a lady."
A.N: So I've realised that I should probably make the chapters longer otherwise there's gonna be a huge number of chapters by the time I'm finished.
So yeah, heads up for that! (・∀・)
Also I didn't tell here before, but I'm planning on a QnA if I reach 1k votes and kudos in ao3 and wattpad. I already reached 1k on wattpad and now for the ao3 (~‾▿‾)~
You guys can ask the cast or me any questions during that. But of course, no telling spoilers.
Tag list: @legostars @glowinthedarkbones1150
@darifes @aria-tempest
#hazbinhotel#hazbin hotel#Charlie x reader#Vaggie x reader#husk x reader#angel dust x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#sir pentious x reader#cherri bomb x reader#niffty#alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#Charlie#Vaggie#husk#human charlie#human vaggie#human niffty#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel husk#alastor x you#hazbin alastor#alastor the radio demon
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