#fawn fest
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Fawn Fest — Love In Every Stitch
Prompt: Hehehe I used knitting for this prompt! But this is a very special addition for fawn fest because it a gift to my friend @thefangirlofhp !! Happy Belated Birthday!! I'm also pretty sure the one year anniversary of our friendship is coming up which is insane to me because I feel like we just started talking the other day. I am so grateful to have you in my life!! Thank you for all the times you've made me laugh, all the help that you have given me on my writing, and all the times you've listened to me ramble about anything and everything. Thank you for gracing the world with beautiful writing. And thank you for just being you <3
Rating: T-ish
Warnings: Language, mentions of a character death
Word Count: 2.9k
AO3
Azriel stretched his scarred hands after setting down the two metallic needles that he had been holding for hours — for the past 40 minutes the tension had been building in his hands from the tedious movements, but he didn’t want to sleep without finishing his work.
His knuckles sang with relief as he stretched his phalanges and his tightened scar tissue slowly melted into relaxation as he massaged his hands.
“How does this look?” Azriel asked, nodding to the creation that laid flat on the coffee table.
He could hear the fridge shutting behind him and then the heavy footfalls of Cassian moving across the hardwood floor, and Azriel tensed as his brother approached. Azriel had spent his entire weekend working on the project in front of him, and despite his reputation as being clueless, Azriel knew that his brother understood why he dedicated 48 hours of his life to knitting a cardigan that would be useless in a few months. But that didn’t stop Azriel from dedicating all of his free time to making sure that every single stitch was perfect.
With a groan Cassian sat down next to him, Azriel could feel the leather of the couch sinking from his brother's weight, and Cassian leaned forward to drop his can of beer on the coffee table next to the small cardigan.
Azriel looked at him sharply, silently warning his brother not to spill, and Cassian rolled his eyes and scooted the frosty can across the table.
Cassian picked up the small article of clothing and inspected it, and Azriel had to admit that the sweater looked ridiculous in Cassian’s large hands. The entire garment had alternating pink and purple rows — Azriel did his best to knit small flowers into the design, and he thought that he did a good job, but now that someone else was looking at it he was hit with a sudden wave of anxiety.
“You actually made this?” Cassian asked, turning the cardigan around to look at the back and running his fingers along the rows of stitches. “Just this weekend?” Azriel nodded his head in response, his eyes trained on the cardigan because he didn’t want to see whatever expression was on Cassian’s face, but he was aware of the way Cassian shook his head and let loose a low whistle. “She’s going to love it, Az. They both are.”
Cassian set Azriel’s work back on the table and clapped his brother on the shoulder.
“Are you going tomorrow?” Azriel asked.
“Yeah, I can give it to her if you want.” Cassian offered, reaching over to grab his beer and opening it.
Azriel waited until the pop and fizz had subsided before saying, “No, I’ll give it to her myself.”
A choking sound came from Cassian’s throat, and Azriel finally looked at his brother to see his eyebrows raised to the top of his head and beer dripping down his chin.
Once Cassian managed to breathe again he said, “I should have known, really, especially since…” His voice drifted off, and his eyes landed on the cardigan that Azriel had knit.
Azriel simply nodded his head in acknowledgment of what Cassian had left unsaid.
With a stretch, Azriel stood and said good night to Cassian before turning in for the night.
___
Azriel didn’t know what to expect at a child’s birthday party, and in reality he should have expected screaming children to be a part of it, but that didn’t stop him from internally cringing as the loud shrieks of laughter filled the air and grated on his nerves.
And they were all running.
All of them. Not one single child stood still. And two of them almost knocked Azriel over as they rushed past while playing an intense game of tag — they had almost knocked the gift out of his hand, but Azriel had managed to clutch it to his chest just in time.
“You made it!” Elain’s voice called out through the noise, and Azriel swiveled in her direction. His body answered before his brain could think. He instantly relaxed as his eyes landed on her smiling form, and the small child that was resting on her hip.
“Ash! Cash!” The birthday girl beamed as she saw her two uncles, and she slapped her pudgy hands togethers as they approached.
As they walked closer Azriel could see her golden brown eyes — eyes that were just a hair lighter than her mothers, but just as warm and friendly — gleaming with happiness. She leaned forward, almost toppling out of Elain’s hold, and reached her arms up so that Azriel could grab her.
Her legs clung to his chest like a spider and her arms wrapped around his neck.
There was something that absolutely floored Azriel every time he held Sofia in his arms. Maybe it was the fact that she was so small and warm that it set off his protective instinct. Maybe it was because the young girl had immediately taken to Azriel, not once had she ever been frightened of his size or the markings on the backs of his hands, and she always just seemed happy to see him. Maybe it was because Sofia was so damn fragile and innocent that it stunned Azriel every time he saw her. Or maybe it was because there was so much of Elain in her that it caused such a reaction in him, but as he felt the racing of her heart beating in her tiny chest his resolve to protect her from the worst part of life strengthened.
“Happy Birthday Sofia.” Azriel said and planted a kiss on her forehead, and little brown curls that had escaped from her pigtails tickled his nose.
“Momma says I’m five!” Sofia said, grinning broadly in a way that caused her cheeks to puff out like a chipmunk. “She also says to thank you for coming,” The little girl placed her hands against Azriel’s chest and toyed with the buttons on his jacket. She looked a little sheepish as she leaned closer to him. “She got mad ‘cause I forgot to thank Fey.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and her brown eyes turned wide and glassy. “But I didn’t mean it.”
“You should probably thank Cassian.” Azriel whispered as he leaned forward, making sure that his face was as serious as hers, and stifled the laughter that bubbled in his chest as she eagerly nodded along — little brown curls flying.
So, Azriel handed her to her other uncle and looked at Elain and ignored the way his heart strained in his chest.
“Hi, Lain.” Azriel said as he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, placing one hand on her shoulder while the other gripped the present he had wrapped in newspaper. He had spent so much time on the actual gift that he had forgotten to get the wrappings for it, so he hoped Sofia didn’t mind unwrapping cartoons off an old shoe box.
“I didn’t think you would be able to make it,” Elain said smiling, and if Azriel was to believe his own eyes, then she was blushing and the pink tint to her cheeks was because of him. “I know how hard it is for doctors to take a day off of work. It really means a lot,” Elain leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and Azriel felt his breath turn heavy in his lungs. Her lips brushed against his ear as she spoke. “Her father couldn’t make it.”
His body stilled at the words, and he turned to look at the little girl who was climbing over her uncle and laughing brightly.
“Graysen’s an asshole.” Azriel said through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into her shoulder. The thick green sweater she was wearing bunched up under his hand.
“At least she has you,” Elain said softly, placing her hand over his. “Her favorite uncle.”
Azriel nearly fell apart at the seams from the warmth and happiness shimmering in Elain’s eyes.
“He doesn’t deserve you as a wife, Elain.”
Azriel could hear her breath hitching in her throat.
“Pretty soon he won’t have me as a wife.” Elain said in a hesitant voice, and it wasn’t until then that Azriel noticed the absence of a ring on her finger.
“Elain—”
“We can talk about it later,” Elain cut him off and pressed another kiss to his cheek and Azriel swore that he could feel the Earth spinning on its axis. The leaves on the trees suddenly turned vivid — fiery red and burning oranges. And yet the beauty of the fall day around them was dim in comparison to Elain. She took a step away from him until she was just out of reach and motioned to the gift. “For Sofia?”
Azriel nodded stiffly and handed it over to her.
His heart went from freezing to doing somersaults to flatlining to spinning, and Azriel barely remembered to follow Elain and Cassian as they walked towards the gift table. Sofia was smiling over Cassian’s broad shoulder at him, and Azriel forced a smile in return.
Elain. Elain single. Elain without a husband.
He tried to calm himself — He was a fucking doctor, he knew how to keep his head cool and his hands steady under pressure, but the thought of Elain finally free from her fucking rat of a husband sent every cell of his being spiraling.
There were so many nights where Azriel held Elain’s crying and shaking form as she wondered where her husband was, and so many times where Azriel had dropped everything when Graysen didn’t show up — like when Elain’s father had died and Graysen couldn’t come home from his damned business trip, so Azriel had traveled with Elain to the funeral and held Sofia’s sad and confused body to his chest, small tears running down her plump cheeks as they lowered her grandfather into the ground.
Azriel remember every fucking second of that trip, especially as Elain looked at him with watery eyes and said he was more of a father to Sofia than Graysen ever was. He loathed himself because he let himself feel a small tug of hope in his chest during some of the worst days in Elain’s life. And ever since then he was waiting for the day where Elain would finally leave her shitty husband — she deserved so much better. Someone that actually showed up. Someone that actually cared about her and Sofia.
“You good?”
Cassian’s voice lurched Azriel out of his own head, and Azriel looked up to see Cassian looking at him with concerned eyes.
“All good.” Azriel said with a tight nod of his head.
“Ash needs cake!” Sofia said, her back practically breaking from the way she leaned backward to look at Azriel. Her messy pigtails floating next to her face.
“I’d love some, sweetheart.” Azriel said, catching Sofia as she leaned further back.
Her sharp giggle rang through the air as she enjoyed her two seconds of freefalling.
“Shoulders!” Sofia screeched and she climbed over her uncle, and Azriel laid two steadying hands on the child. “Momma!” Sofia shouted as her tiny, pudgy fingers gripped Azriel’s inky hair. “Ash needs cake!”
Elain looked over her shoulder at them, and Azriel would have given anything to know what she was thinking.
He watched as she sliced a piece of cake — the corner piece with extra frosting — and handed it to him. He tried not to read into the way her fingers lingered against his.
“Bite?” Sofia whispered as soon as her mother walked away, her heavy breath next to his cheek. Azriel turned to look at her and immediately noticed how her eyes were trained on the massive slice of cake, and Azriel wondered how long it would be until she started drooling. He quickly sunk the plastic fork into the vanilla cake and stuffed it into her mouth before he found out.
“Tank you.” Sofia said, crumbs flying out of her mouth. A bit of frosting was smeared on her face and Azriel lifted a thumb to wipe it away.
The two silently shared the cake and by the time they were done it was time to open presents.
Azriel easily lifted Sofia off of his shoulders and sat her at the head of a picnic table, on a large wooden chair decorated with pink and purple flowers.
He dutifully took all of the discarded wrapping paper that Sofia threw around as she unwrapped her presents and placed it into the trash bag that he had taken from Elain’s hands.
Eventually, Sofia was handed a present decorated with peanuts comics. She ripped the paper away to expose the box beneath, and Elain raised an eyebrow at Azriel and said, “Size 13 converse? They might be a bit big.”
Azriel rolled his eyes with a smile and urged Sofia to open the box.
A soft gasp fell from Elain’s lips as she took its contents.
Two chubby hands gripped the cardigan that Azriel had made, and Sofia looked at it in wonder. Her pink mouth fell open and her innocent eyes widened, and Azriel couldn’t remember ever seeing an expression that was so pure and wholesome.
“Pink,” Sofia whispered almost reverently, “Purple,” Azriel had never seen eyes that wide before. “I want to wear it please,” Sofia turned towards her mother and extended her arms out, showing off her present. “Please Momma.” She shook the small cardigan.
Elain moved quickly, taking the sweater from her childs hand and tucking it into the crook of her elbow. She undid the zipper on Sofia’s sweatshirt, revealing a matching pink shirt underneath, and maneuvered Sofia’s soft arms into the sleeves of the cardigan and then buttoned the silver plastic buttons on the front of the cardigan.
Azriel was more than a little relieved to see that the cardigan was a hair too big, so that it had a little more life in it than he had previously expected.
“No eating while you’re wearing this, darling, we don’t want it getting dirty,” Elain said as she kissed Sofia on the cheek, the small girl twisted to show off her new sweater. Her little arms stretched out as she looked at the sleeves with a dazed smile. Elain took a step back, leaning into Azriel as she whispered, “She loves it.”
“I thought she might,” Azriel, smiling down at Elain. “I figured pink and purple would be a safe choice.”
It was well known that Sofia loved anything and everything in those colors, and more often than not her fingernails were painted in differing shades from the palest pink to bright magenta to the deepest purple.
“It’s unique,” Elain commented as she looked at her daughter. “Where did you get it?”
There was a beat of silence, which caused Elain to turn her face towards Azriel. But Azriel kept his eyes trained on the preening child.
“I made it.” Azriel said in a tone he hoped was casual, but he could feel Elain stiffen at his side.
“Az,” Elain whispered and placed her palm against the back of his hand, over the scars that mangled his skin. “Thank you — That’s amazing. How did you even find the time? How —” Her fingers pressed closer to his skin, and Azriel finally turned to look at her and the way that she was looking at her, as if he had somehow pulled the stars out of the night sky and handed them to her as if they were diamonds, made his knees quake. “Thank you.”
Elain leaned on to her tippy toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. The soft skin of her lips barely connecting with his, but it was enough to make Azriel dizzy.
“Pretty?”
They pulled away at the sound of Sofia’s little voice.
Azriel looked at the little girl who had her hands fisted in the hem of her sweater, and he noticed the nervous way she looked around and the pink blush on her plump cheeks. His heart nearly melted at her bashful expression.
Sofia looked at them with large doe eyes as she waited for their answer.
Azriel dropped the trash bag from his hand and let it fall to the grass at his feet, and he placed his hands on his knees as he knelt towards Sofia.
Delicate blonde lashes lined her eyes as she looked at him, as if she was nervous about what he would say.
“Beautiful,” Azriel said and kissed her forehead, “Just like your mom.”
Sofia bent a little at the knees and smiled at the words.
“Thank you for my present.” Sofia said, wrapping her arms around herself.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“He worked all weekend on it, bunny.” Cassian’s booming voice came from across the table, and Azriel turned towards it to see his brother with his arm wrapped around Nesta’s shoulder.
A loud gasp came from the little girl.
Azriel looked and saw two brown eyes staring at him in amazement.
“Ash made it?” Sofia asked as she fingered the fabric. Azriel slowly nodded his head. “How?”
Azriel raised his hands and pantomimed knitting and said, “Well, I use two needles and I wrap the yarn around the needles, and I move the needles like this and it creates a stitch.” The little girl's eyes followed the movements of his hands.
She let go of her sweater and brought two hands out to clasp one of Azriel’s, her small, pale hands gently moving over the gnarly scars on his skin.
“Beautiful,” Sofia said and pressed a wet kiss on the back of his hand before dropping his hand completely and reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
--
tagging: @thefangirlofhp @sakurakittypeach @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @feyredarlinq @alwayssara @nyxreads @rinadragomir @secretpuppyflower @captainbrucebanner @ultadverb @irisesforelain @shedoessoshedoes @magnolia-blossom87 @sheena-beene @nivem565
#elriel#elain archeron#elain x azriel#pro elriel#azriel#elriel fanfiction#elriel fanfic#fawnandshadows writing#fawn fest#fawnandshadows fawn fest
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Anonymous asked:
I hope the mun of this blog has or is having a good day so far!
Ty ty that really means a lot <3
#Fawn speaks || ooc#ngl this whole week for me has been pretty garbage.#ive had at least 3 different sob fests to and from work due to some irl stuff thats happened \#esp yesterday i went to talk with my mom she asked me to get her starbucks and i cried all the way to starbucks#and then cried all the way back. then i cried all the way home.#any little bit of positivity is nice rn
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✰ POSITIONS, F1 DILFS
[ starring ] sebastian vettel, kimi räikkönen, fernando alonso, jenson button, lewis hamilton, kevinmagnussen
[ tw ] fem!reader, smut (+18), dom!drivers, mention of sex toys and tapes, dirty talking, fem and male oral receiving (+ choking on dick)
. minors do not read .
sebastian enjoys sitting back to watch you play with yourself, be it your dainty fingers buried deep inside your pussy and coated in your juices, or the dildo, the copy of his cock, he had gifted you months ago when he was away; the sight of the grip your greedy pussy has on the plastic phallus and your body writhing in the sheets, whorish moaning his name to pled for relief, thighten his trousers but rather than bouncing you, feeling your tight little satch, he leans forward, breath fawning onto your wet tights, resulting in goosebumps.
you'd cry out silently, legs shaking as you ram the toy faster into your warmth. "what did you say, liebe? (love) care to repeat?", the man would ask, his rough hands grabbing your thick tights. "want my big dick inside you? fuck you till you can't remember your name and see stars no more, huh?", he'd taunt you with a massive smirk on his pinkish lips. "that what you would like, don't you, my dirty girl?"
kimi prefers on being hands on, having you knee in front of him to suck him off. tears have already escaped your eye and stained your hallowed cheeks, while his right hand sits at the back of your head, hair kept in a ponytail to manage the speed and the desired depth. your glossy eyes holding contact with his lustfilled gaze and the choking sounds as well as the moans that send off vibrations around his dick, makes him pull your face against his pelvic bone to deep throat him. the tightness of your wet mouth let's his cock throb slightly, the taste of salty pre cum hits your tongue once again.
slowly, kimi would face fuck you, forcing your lips to touch his pelvic whenever he pulls your head towards him, forcing your jaw to go slack and take his long cock all the way as saliva runs out of the corners of your stretched mouth, trailing down your tits and eventually hitting the carpet. "you love being my good girl, eh? then choke on it."
nando loves to grab your plump ass whilst hugging you whenever it is in public or in the privacy of a room — if his action is made in the later situation, the innocence of his touch quickly turns into nibbling playfully on your ear and neck, leaving small marks to show his claim of you. his finger would dip inside your clothing to touch your already wet pussy, gently brushing past the outer lips to rub your clit, which will transform you into mush against his body. wanting to eat you out, nando would lay you down on the bed if there is one, probing pillows under your hips to get an easy access to your wetness. he's godsend, festing on your pussy as it would be his last time, resulting in leaving you a breathless moaning puddle of a mess. "please don't stop, papi."
jenson would be the guy who'd twirl, pull and nib on your stiff nibbles as you stroke his growing dick whilst watching a sex tape of yourselves to get in the right zone. in his opinion its one of the easiest ways to set the mood; watching a homemade video of him plowing inside you from behind against a hotel wall or having you cuffed on the bedframe, fucking your little hole hard as you cum over and over again — he'll feel your breath stock whenever his recorded self hits your g-spot or lands a spank on your brightly coloured ass, and the slick of your snatch drips on his leg, that's between yours, rubbing over your cunt.
"in another life, you'd be a pornstar, darling", jense would whisper in your ear as he moves above you, running the fat leaking head of his cock against your awaiting pussy.
lewis would have you in sixty-nine, tongue tracing the rim of your snatched hole as you kitten-lick off the precum of his massive dick and nibble softly on a bold vein, chasing a groan out of the fit male. as soon as you reach past the half, he'll push his cock upwards, causing you to choke on his dick — his less dominating hand keeps your head down as his other hand sinks two fingers at the same time inside you roughly, sending you over the edge, a process he continues over again till you tap his thight two times.
"fucked you good, huh?"
kevin likes nothing more than seeing you completely relaxed and giggling during a session of soft, romantic sex; it's his favourite way to return to a relaxed state of mind after a race and running behind his small children. he'll have you ride him though he'd control the pace while pressing your face against his neck to feel you sucking kisses against it. whenever kevin would push hard upwards inside you, he'd hear you purr like a catita or moan, rambling about how he should just throw you down and fuck you, but this will just result in his next pushes slower, teasing you to show you who's the "boss".
POLY/MULTI DRIVERS — SINGULAR DRIVERS
#f1 smut#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#sebastian vettel smut#kimi räikkönen smut#fernando alonso smut#jenson button smut#sebastian vettel x reader#kimi räikkönen x reader#fernando alonso x reader#jenson button x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton smut#kevin magnussen smut#kevin magnussen x reader#f1
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hmmmm, chosuki both "marking their territory" after one of reader's friends gets a little too touchy?
Love your work <3333333
𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: when i tell you i was grinning once i saw this in my inbox, lol, finally chosuki yessss!! ty for loving my stuff ☆
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso + Yuki x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - threesome - oral (m! + f! receiving) - fingering (f! receiving) - anal (f! receiving) - anal fingering (f! receiving) - cowgirl 69 + missionary positions - breast fondling + nipple play + sucking - biting/marking - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, honey, sweetie, sweet pea) - mild possessive behavior.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k
“Damn, Y/n, you’re so lucky to have such eye-catchers fawning over you!”
“Pfffthaha, oh, stop it! You’re drunk; stop swinging around!”
There’s one thing in this world that both Yuki and Choso don’t play about — you.
You are the sweetest and most prized treasure they cherish with their very hands. Being in a poly relationship tends to be a hard thing to manage for Yuki and Choso. The two lovers were never in luck to find the right person who didn’t match their vibe or wanted to change the dynamic they were going for. But with every dark tunnel, there’s a light on the other side. And thanks to the blonde and dark brunette’s stars, you were their saving grace.
God, they adored you very much — the best partner they could ever have. The way you’d wake up to them and give them a kiss with a soft ‘good morning,’ how you make lunch for Choso before he goes on his way to work, or texting sweet messages to Yuki to check how she’s doing or telling her about this new place that opened around the area for all three of you to explore. Blind by your smile and caring charm, Yuki and Choso live in eternal bliss and happiness, knowing you have blessed them with your presence to return home to.
Their love for you is mutual and genuine, authentic in that they wish to spend their days — no, their entire lives! — being with you. They see you as their muse, as theirs. So, it’s predictable that they’d be secretly jealous when they’d have to share their piece of heaven with others.
Especially now when all three of you had been dragged by some of your old college buddies for a night out at the pub. Figuring this would be a perfect opportunity to introduce your friends to your lovers, Yuki and Choso were invited over to enjoy the merits of this occasion. What the two partners hadn’t expected was how close you all were — albeit a little too close for their liking.
You all sat at one big round booth table, Yuki and Choso being separated from you as your friends wanted to have you by them for just the night. Again, it made the two lovers feel uneasy. Even when a girl friend grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers with hers enthusiastically, the blonde can’t fight the twitch of her ruby eyes. The friend goes on to say, “Nah, are you kidding? I think those two are the ones who are lucky to have Y/n! They’re such an angel; anyone would feel like they’ve won a million dollars if they got with someone like them.”
Then, a guy who was visibly buzzed joined the praise fest. “You’re so right! I’d do backflips every day if I scored someone so gracious and sweet as Y/n,” the drunk man brings a hand on your shoulder and nestles his cheek to your shoulder. Choso attempts to keep a neutral expression, but caramel eyes carry a tiny hostile aura. “I’d make sure to love on them every single day, kiss their feet when they walk, wash their hair when they ask—“
“Okay, lover boy,” you stop him before your drunken friend digs his foolish grave even further, and it’s hard to hide your giggles. “I think that’s enough Crowne and tequila for one night.”
You and your friends laugh and continue to strike up a conversation to catch up on material. However, you’re so engrossed in the others’ talk that you can’t sense the tension that’s brewing from the other side where your lovers sit. The two survey the scene with silent eyes, with Choso hitting his leg to stop the bounce of his knee and Yuki tapping her fingernails on the table surface.
All they could do was watch you, their treasured partner, share your attention with those who cherish you. Although, internally, they wanted you all to themselves. Yes, it was selfish; however, you can’t blame your lovers for being a little protective of you. Specifically when it seems your friends don’t appear to respect your boundaries when in their company.
So for that, it’s no surprise they instantly pull you into the bedroom once you three return home. Hungry kisses are exchanged between three pairs of lips, lustful hands stripping you of your clothes and throwing you onto the bed, where they meet in seconds to feast upon you.
“Hahhh, fuck…Hmmm, yeah, lick right there, honey.”
“Mmmm…Mmahh!! Choso, your tongue—Ohh! Feels so good…”
The brunette man is lying down on his back with you straddling above him, his face and mouth buried into our folds, licking around your labia and sucking your essence that seeps out from the pleasurable motions. His hands knead the flesh of your inner thighs as you hum along to the touch. Simultaneously, you use your tongue and mouth to give pleasure to Yuki’s slit, the blonde releasing shaky moans as she rides on Choso’s length with her ass.
The tall woman peers down to watch you orally please her. She strokes your head with a pleasant hand and sends praises. “There you go, cutie,” she bites her lip. “Lick it real good.”
Her commands egg you on to keep going, using the motion of her hips to your advantage to predict how far in you can keep lapping her chasm. Your hands crawl to her waist to massage, using the leverage to keep your lips on her at all times. And to your effort, she is sighing happily at the gratification you give her. It has her rock her hips ever harder, taking in Choso’s long shaft with hunger.
The man below you grunts at the motion, stuffing his face more into your cunt to suck harshly. And you can’t help but jolt, muffled squeals vibrating to Yuki’s core — and she relishes the feeling.
“Look at you, baby,” Choso slowly licks your chasm, sending shivers up to your shoulders. “You’re all wet and ready for us, huh? So good for us,” He kisses your clit and places lazy licks, and you fight to lose your balance.
“Hmmm, yeah, so good for us…Although—mmahh,” Yuki throws her head back at Choso’s dick scraping her insides at the right places. “Can’t say you were good when we were…Hohhh..at the pub.” You bat your eyes towards her in confusion, yet your tongue and lips remain busy. “Letting those people touch you in front of us; what were you thinking?”
You remove your mouth from Yuki to explain, her slick connected to your bottom lip. But before you could utter a word, your body jerked to the sharp instance of pain on your inner thigh. Choso had bit you, licking the place his teeth sank in before throwing in another nibble. You shriek, turning to plead to the man to be easy; however, the woman grabs your head and brings it back to where it’s supposed to be. “Don’t forget about me, sweet pea,” she chuckles at your feverish laps on her wet folds. “Give me my attention…”
She moans to your work, satisfying her with the flick of your tongue on her delicate clit. She rocks her hips even faster, prompting Choso to groan and buck his pelvis to her puckered hole, and his mouth remains glued to your chasm. He then sneaks a finger to toy around your asshole, and a sharp gasp erupts from your figure when he inserts the digit inside.
“—Khhaaa, oooohmy fuckin’—Gaaahh!” Flicks to your clitoris tag along with the push of his finger inside your ass, playing with the texture by scraping the walls. And when his tongue goes inside your vagina, you clamp onto him with vigor. Fuck, I’m so close…! “Yukiiii, pleaseee, can I cumm?”
“Aww, why should I let you,” her sweet tone distracted you from the sneaking bit of the man’s teeth on your thigh once more. “Do you deserve to cum? After letting other people touch you like you forgot you had your lovers present?”
“Hahhhnn, I’m sorry; I—shit… didn’t mean to upset you both…Ooof!” Choso switches his finger with his thumb, pushing it to and fro inside your tight entrance. Your eyes screw shut, “Please forgive me, you two are the only ones I love…”
“You swear on that, honey?” A glint shines in her magenta orbs.
You nod hurriedly before placing kisses on Yuki’s thighs and trailing them back to her vagina, “Yessss, I love you both so much, no one knows how to love me as you do…” Your hips sway involuntarily — not a problem for Choso, who sticks to you no matter what. “Mmmm, only you two know my mind and body, and I wouldn’t want it any other way…”
Blonde brows eyebrows screw together; fuck, you knew what to say to make Yuki fall for you all over again. Her cunt clenching on nothing but the love your words carry. Jesus, you were too much. Without a word, she gently withdraws your body from her body so she can lift her body off of Choso. She then flips you over; now you’re the one lying on your back, with the tall woman stationed behind to snake her hands to your breasts.
Choso’s pigtails have long been drawn down for his hair to fall to his nape, and strands of his walnut-colored hair stick to his forehead. Maneuvering to his knees, he examines your anticipated expression, shaky wails coming out your puffy lips as Yuki places soft kisses on your neck. She also places bites wherever her mouth can reach, her hands busy cupping your mounds, groping the mounds, and tweezing your nipples. With how hard she was sucking your skin, you’re sure there’d be hickeys when you wake up in the morning. The man strokes his dick at the sight before him, inching closer to be between your legs.
“Choso…” The way you said his name made him feel warm; the mark across his nose exuded streaks of his blood that threatened to fall. His ears and shoulders get pinker, and your breath hitches when he slaps the tip onto your saliva-coated slit.
“Who do you belong to, Y/n?” He says it low to your ear, and you chew on your lip when he licks your lobe. His mouth travels down, leaving harsh sucks on your neck and clavicle along with Yuki. Two mouths on your body have you whimpering like a fool, so sensitive to their touch that you could wither away. “Hmm? Who loves you most, sweetie?” He comes down to your chest that’s occupied by Yuki’s worshipping hands, popping a nipple into his mouth to suck with care.
“Hahhh, you, Choso, my darling…” you sigh into the sense of his mouth licking diligently around your bud. Your face turns in Yuki’s direction, smiling at the golden-haired woman before claiming her lips. “And Yuki, my love…”
The two of you kiss slowly yet maintain the same passion you have for each other, noses brushing against each other and tongues swirling before smacking lips together. The brunette lifts his head from your chest, straightening his posture to insert his cockhead inside your vagina. You mewl into Yuki at the insertion, and it doesn’t stop as the woman slithers a hand to your clit to swipe. You break the kiss in a huff, making the blonde snicker.
“Mmmph…Jesus Christ,” Choso trembles at the warm snug of your cunt as it accepts his length, pushing in for every inch of him to be swallowed in. When his base meets your southern lips, you hiss at how full you feel from his size. “You know how much we love you, right, baby?”
You nod to him, Yuki placing another hickey-worth kiss on your shoulder. “Your love makes me full, honey…Ohooo…!”
“And don’t forget that…” Choso snaps his hips, drilling his long dick into you and making precise hits to the walls of your chasm. You squeak beneath him, the tip of his cock poking your sweet spots with ease, and you’re gripping the sheets to keep you steady along with Yuki’s hold on you.
The blonde woman flickers her ruby eyes to Choso and beams, “You know you’re hot as hell when you’re all possessive, right?”
“Shut up,” he shushes her with a kiss, humming to her lips that reciprocate his feelings as lovers. The only noise that fills the room is your whines and wails from the hands fondling your body and the shaft plunging so far inside you that you can’t contain the ecstatic screams originating from your inner being. Good God, this felt so fucking good; being wanted and loved by these two is a sensation incomparable to anything. You want to drown in it, be immersed within it, have your senses be robbed of their very being until you fall deep into sleep in their embrace. This feels so worth it, so satisfying…
…Until you look at yourself in the mirror and find so many fucking hickeys all over your body, all the way from your neck to the grave of your thighs. This was not a sight to see after waking up, especially on the morning your friends from last night invited you over for brunch.
Needless to say, you pulled your lovers aside and gave them an earful. The two nodded to your words, saying “Sorry…” throughout your rant as you tried to find an adequate outfit to conceal their markings, feeling a little bad that they got carried away with you last night.
All is good, in any case. Because now they know that you are theirs both in mind and body.
requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸
© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.
#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#choso x reader#choso smut#choso kamo x reader#choso kamo smut#choso kamo x you#choso x y/n#yuki tsukumo x reader#yuki tsukumo smut#yuki jjk#tsukumo yuki#yuki x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk imagines
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༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝
— pairing: professor!spencer reid x bimbo plus size ta!reader
— summary: there's no denying the bubbling tension between you and professor dr. spencer reid.
— warnings: unspecified age gap, the reader is a teacher's assistant, this is a whole fluff fest, and there are some sweet kisses!
— wc: 639
⋆ a/n: hi hi hi @deadbolted!! so i hope you don't mind but i changed the reader from being a student to being a teacher's assistant! this whole fic turned out to be very sweet and i appreciate your request! :]
masterlist | AO3
You stare at the professor in amazement, your chin resting on your palms as you watch his lithe hands grade papers with a swiftness you could never obtain.
“I like that you know stuff.” You murmur mindlessly, your eyes tracing the path of the red ink until the paper was stained with a 98%.
“Oh yeah?” Spencer asks with a tiny smile on his face, his focus still on the tests in front of him.
If he was going to be honest, you were supposed to be helping him grade said papers, seeing as though he had chosen you to be his teacher's assistant. It wasn't that you were dumb per se, just more… prone to distraction. He was pretty sure it was his fault if the heart eyes you were giving him was anything to go by.
Usually unwanted affection would make Spencer uncomfortable, but there was just something about you that piqued his interest.
You didn't throw yourself at him or flirt shamelessly. Of course you fawned over him and he pretended he didn't hear the soft whisper of your voice squealing about how handsome he looked in his suit combo – which was something Spencer had been kind of unsure about when he had put it on in the morning.
“Mm-hm.” You hummed. “I think it’s cool.” Spencer could almost laugh, but he didn’t, instead his bottom lips rolled between his teeth to hold back a large smile. “I teach seminars, I kind of have to know stuff.”
“Whatever,” You respond with a shrug. “You still know more than me.”
That stopped Spencer’s scribbling, the man’s eyes now fully settling on you. The movement was unexpected and it caused you to flinch slightly, your gaze that was once fiercely set on him fluttered in a way that signaled you were flustered.
“I’m going to have to disagree.” His voice was almost a whisper and your faces were a lean away. “Really?” You asked brainlessly, your tone almost breathless sounding. “Really. I think you’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met.” Your cheeks heat and your eyes fall on his beard that is growing darker and thicker with each passing day. Then, they trail towards his lips.
“I- I don’t know.” Your tense shoulders loosen and you pull away. “Hey, no, don’t do that.” He chides softly. Spencer leans his head down in an attempt to search for your eyes. “I swear that I’m not lying. I’ve seen some of the work you’ve done for other classes, and you are brilliant.”
“You promise?” You ask meekly. “Yeah,” He nods. “I promise.”
There was a beat, then two, then three, before Spencer found himself leaning down and gently brushing his lips against yours.
You freeze and for a moment he fears that he may have read the situation wrong, but then you press into him, your lips finally locking. It’s not hungry or urgent, just sweet and experimental, mouths moving unsurely to try to find a pace that’s right for the both of you.
Sure this was wrong, so very wrong, but if you ask Spencer there’s a lot of things wrong about his life, and for the first time since his imprisonment, this is the only thing that actually felt right.
Your hands shyly place themselves on his stubbled cheeks, his own hands reaching up to do the same. His thumbs paw at your cheeks when he tilts his head to side slightly, his tongue brushing your bottom lip asking you for entrance.
Your mouth opens up shyly and your tongues dance together languidly, and you pull away when a small moan bounces between you.
You both are breathing heavily – quietly – all the while still holding each other.
For the first time in a long time, Spencer doesn’t know what to do, but he knows he’ll figure it out.
ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna
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𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨
Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader
Summary: It's been a year since you've seen Elvis - he hasn't called or reached out to you once, yet you still can't forget about him. Summer rolls around and you find yourself back in Vegas, picking right up where you left things with the singer that brings the heat to the desert every year, and you can't help but fall harder and deeper...
Word count: 6,7K
Warnings: basically a smut fest. reader losing her virginity, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), kissing after oral, somewhat uncomfortable first time for reader (that shit hurts, hello???), they fuck multiple times- woops.
A/N: I tried to keep it short and sweet, but anyone who knows me that's a damn joke, because I always get carried away HA. I kinda hate the ending but oh well, I had to stop somewhere. Hope y'all like it!
← part one | masterlist →
A whole year had passed since that night you shared such an intimate moment with Elvis.
He had asked for your number before the two of you said goodbye but you didn’t expect to hear from him. You didn’t, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.
You didn’t want to become just another foolish girl that was completely head over heels for the singer, but you couldn’t help yourself, no matter how hard you tried.
He’d been on your mind every single day for that whole year.
You listened to his records, read everything the magazines printed about him and would even watch some of his movies to hear his voice. Your boss at the local art gallery you worked at in Tucson, your hometown, even caught you daydreaming a couple of times and snapped you out of it which was highly embarrassing.
The whole thing was embarrassing, to be quite honest.
You were in love with a man who was fawned over by thousands of girls across the globe and he most likely didn’t even remember you. After all, you hadn’t been the first girl he brought up to his suite in Vegas.
You hid those feelings well for your parents though, who thought you were just infatuated by the superstar and dealt with the amount of times you played his music through the house. Your father secretly liked it – you’d heard him sing along plenty of times when he thought no one could hear him.
But your best friend Emma knew better. She was the only one who you had told what happened between you and Elvis and like the supportive, and sometimes tad overly excited, best friend she was, she made it her own personal mission to save up for another trip to Vegas the coming summer.
You picked up a few extra shifts at your job and even babysat the children in the neighborhood and before you realised it, summer was there and you and Emma made the six hour drive to sin city.
Las Vegas was as exciting as ever. With Elvis’ residency being promoted like a summer festival, Elvis fans were everywhere – walking the strip to spot him or any of his entourage members, taking up hotel rooms in the numerous accomodations in town and shopping, dining out or seeing afternoon shows by other artists to kill time.
Vegas was thriving off of the tourists and if you could, you would want to stay here for the rest of your life. Despite your innocent nature, the sinful aspect of it all drew you in.
“What if he does recognize you…” Emma retorts to your worries as you lay side by side on a tanning bed by the pool of the International hotel. You two had booked so many months in advance that you were assured a nice room in the crowded hotel. “and asks you up to the room again. This is Vegas, baby, anything can happen!”
Emma grins widely as she looks at you over the rim of her sunglasses, wiggles her eyebrows and then laughs as she pushes them back up the bridge of her nose, reaching for her margarita. You laugh with her and sigh deeply as you watch some people in the pool splash around, chattering and hollering adding a nice atmosphere to the pool area. “Oh please, Em, I bet he won’t even recognize me. He’s been to other places for the past year and God knows what kind of girls he met.”
“You’re hotter,” Emma says matter-of-factly as she puts her drink down and lays back on the sunbed, soaking up the rays of the harsh Vegas sun.
“You haven’t even seen the other girls,” you snort softly, looking at her even though her eyes were closed behind her glasses.
“I don’t need to. I’m your best friend and I’m obligated to tell you, you’re hotter. And even if I wasn’t, I would still tell you the same thing.”
You couldn’t contain the smile on your face and let it spread across your features, playfully slapping Emma’s arm. She always knew just what to say.
Ofcourse you didn’t think you were ugly, but you would always compare yourself to other girls that seemed just a little more prettier. A little skinnier, their skin a little more flawless, their clothes a little more expensive.
Emma often talked you out of it though, because she was right when she’d tell you that wasn’t the way to live your life.
You did have to admit that your confidence had grown in the past year, even if it was just a smidge. Your boss gave you more responsibilities at work which had you come into contact with customers face to face more often, which included handsome business men and rough around the edges cowboys who came in to buy an art work.
They’d flirt with you more often than not and their blatant but sweet compliments even helped you with your blushing. In a way, you’d grown used to the men in Tucson, so hopefully you’d be the same around that one man from Memphis.
If you’d even meet him again.
“Okay, let’s say he knows who I am and he invites me up to his suite again,” you said, sounding a little more light hearted. “I think I wanna have sex with him.”
“You already did, Miss Foreplay.”
“That wasn’t.. sex!” you whisper loud enough for Emma to hear above her own laughter, gasping as you chuckled. You sat up and swung your legs over the edge of the sunbed, leaning in closer to your friend so nobody else was able to hear you. “I’m serious, Em. I want to.. I want him to.. you know.”
Emma pushed her sunglasses into her hair, turning her head to look at you. She laughed and rolled her eyes playfully. “You can say it, Y/N, it ain’t some kinda disease. You want him to pop your cherry,”
The way the word ‘cherry’ rolled off her tongue so sensually it had your cheeks heating up a little, but you quickly forced the heat back down, slapping your friend’s arm once more.
This time with a little more force, which made her pout and rub her arm.
“Don’t say it like that!”
“Fine. You want him to fuck you then.”
“Emma!”
The girl next to you laughed loudly and quickly avoided you before you could assault her poor arm again. You shook your head but laughed along with her – she was impossible at times, but you loved her like a sister.
You and Emma had tickets to several shows Elvis did at the hotel. You were staying for two whole weeks and would attend a few shows during the week, and every show during the weekend.
While getting ready for the dinner show that started at 7, the phone in your hotel room rang. The sound startled you a little, hoping it wasn’t the front desk with a noise complaint because you and Emma had been playing music while getting ready – and Emma was singing along in the shower, sounding like a dying cat.
You put your curling iron down after switching it off and ran into the room from the bathroom, picking up the phone. It was the desk clerk, telling you you had an incoming call from an individual named Jon Burrows.
You didn’t know anyone by that name, but thinking it could’ve been work related, you accepted the call.
But as soon as you heard that deep voice and that Southern drawl, you realised this wasn’t Jon Burrows.
“Hi Cherry,”
Your heartbeat started picking up, resembling something of a group of wild horses gallopping.
“Elvis?” You questioned, sounding breathless and in somewhat of disbelief.
He didn’t confirm, but you knew it was him. Especially when you heard his deep, rich sounding laugh which felt like a comfortable blanket being wrapped around you.
“Now why didn’t ya tell me you’re in Vegas, honey? I called your house and your Daddy told me you were already here, comin’ to see me..”
You looked at Emma as she wandered out of the bathroom, waving your hand like a maniac to the radio that was playing. She frowned but took the hint and switched it off, walking closer to you to silently ask who you were talking to.
“Well, I’m sorry, Elvis,” Emma immediately widened her eyes and sat down next to you, pressing her ear close to the phone. “I didn’t.. I didn’t know how to reach you..”
You mentally cursed yourself for such a lame answer, but it was the truth. You didn’t have his number, and in that whole year, he never called you.
At least, not to your knowledge.
“You comin’ to see the show? How long are ya staying?”
“Me and my friend will be here for two weeks, and yes, ofcourse we’re coming to the show. We wouldn’t want to miss it.” You made sure your voice sounded extra sweet and Emma nearly toppled over when Elvis said, “That’s my girl.”
“Don’t make any plans for after the late show tonight, honey. I want you and your friend to come to a little party, okay?”
Emma looks at you and immediately nodded yes. You agreed and after talking to Elvis for a few more minutes, he hung up to get ready for the show. You put the phone down and looked at Emma, who was staring at you with wide eyes before you two squealed like two teenagers.
“Oooh, that man wants you, believe me,” Emma smirks as she gets up and turns the radio on again, dancing happily through the room while getting ready.
As always, Elvis was amazing on stage – his moves making you feel things and his vocals were superb. He recognized you in the crowd and during the moment where he wandered through the crowd and kissed girls, he made sure to press an open mouthed kiss onto your mouth, his tongue playfully flicking against your lips.
You were already on cloud nine, fantasizing about what would happen during the rest of the night when you’d have him alone. You were praying that that party wouldn’t last very long.
It turned out the party was held in the dressing room and you nearly fainted at the sight of Cary Grant greeting Elvis when you stood next to him. They talked for a short while and you couldn’t even keep up with the conversation, so many things around you were happening.
Emma was standing across the room, talking to Charlie Hodge and by the way she was squeezing his arm and throwing her head back as she laughed, you could see they were hitting it off.
Good for her – Emma had horrible taste in men, often falling for the bad boys, but Charlie Hodge seemed like a nice man. And a funny one, because you could hear your best friend’s flirtatious laughter all across the dressing room.
Elvis and you didn’t talk much one on one, as there was always someone who came up to strike a conversation with him. But he kept his arm around your waist, because he liked knowing that you were still there, close to him.
To him, it wasn’t strange at all. He acted like you’d always been there, like you belonged to him and only him.
It sent your mind spinning, or maybe that was because of the two Cosmo’s you’d already had.
The party was nice – everyone was having fun, talking to each other, enjoying each other’s company and sipping drinks. But it was like Elvis could read your mind when he looked at you and leaned in closer.
“Let’s get outta here. I want to be alone with my sweet little cherry,”
The way he whispered in your ear nearly had your knees buckling, but instead you flashed him a smile and quickly nodded. Elvis slipped his hand into yours and as he signed to Red and Sonny he wanted to leave, the four of you moving out of the room. You exchanged one more look with Emma, who grinned widely at you and blew you a kiss, mouthing a “have fun!” to you before she disappeared out of your sight.
After walking through a few long hallways and a short ride on the service elevator, you arrived at the top floor of the International and you disappeared into the suite with Elvis.
“You know, I really missed ya, honey,” Elvis smiled at you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close against his chest, making you stand on your tiptoes a little due to the height difference.
Again, you wanted to ask him why he hadn’t called if he missed you so much but you knew better than to ruin the moment.
You hugged him back, telling him you missed him too and in this moment, you felt like he truly cared about you.
Like you weren’t just a fan, or just another girl that would tend to his needs for the evening.
“Why don’t you go take a shower an’ we can relax, hmm?”
It could sound so innocent, but with what you had planned for tonight, you knew it was the beginning of something very sinful.
Elvis led you to the bathroom and handed you one of his silk pyjama button ups, this time in a shade of crimson red. Once again, he didn’t give you the bottom half of the set but you didn’t mind it, nor protest against it. As he left you alone to take a shower in the other bathroom in the suite, you locked the door behind you and turned on the shower. You washed your body, making sure to leave your hair and make-up untouched.
Thank God for Emma who hounded your ass for making sure you were trimmed nicely – your bikini line, legs and pits waxed, only a little bit of pubic hair left on your vulva.
You turned the shower off after a little bit and dried yourself off, making sure to spray some perfume in your neck that you carried in your purse and sneaked into the bathroom. You put on the button up, leaving your panties on top of your folded clothes on the sink. You quickly brushed your teeth with the spare toothbrush in the bathroom and took a deep breath before you walked back into the bedroom, smiling shyly at Elvis who was already sitting in his bed against the headboard.
His hair looked like he’d just dry-blowed it, soft and fluffy. He was wearing his own set of pyjamas in black and the tan skin that was visible due to half of his top being left unbottoned made arousal slowly creep its way to the surface.
Talking turned to cuddling, cuddling turned to kissing, and kissing turned to wandering hands creeping up your top.
You were nervous, God how nervous you were, but this time you didn’t stop him when he cupped your breasts.
A soft gasp left you when he caressed his thumbs across your perked nipples. He looked at your face to see if he was taking things too far, but as he saw the flush on your cheeks and the way you were looking at him with pleading eyes, he figured he could go on.
As long as you did not tell him to stop, he wasn’t going to.
Slowly he got on top of you, wiggling himself in between your legs which you eagerly opened and wrapped around his waist this time. He moved his hands out from underneath your top, fingertips working quick as he flicked the buttons open one by one.
“Cherry,” he spoke softly, his eyes finding yours. “Have you been touched in the past year?”
The question rolled off his tongue so casually as if you were just making conversation, but it caused goosebumps to tingle along your skin. You looked at him and shook your head slowly, unable to control the heat that was crawling up your neck, reddening your skin.
“N-No..” you whispered, feeling exposed as the fabric of your top fell open, your breasts on full display for him. “Only by myself,”
You didn’t know where you’d got the courage from to say such a thing, but it slipped out before you could stop it. Elvis smirked, his hands back to cupping your breasts, squeezing them a little firmer.
“Is that right?” he hummed lowly, keeping his eyes on your face as he leaned in closer to your chest, his soft lips connecting with the supple flesh of your right breast. “Did ya think ‘bout me when touchin’ yourself?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, his tongue poked out to swirl it around your nipple. A gasp and then a moan slipped past your lips and you gripped onto his shoulders, arching your back a little.
“Yes!” you moaned out, perhaps a little more desperate than you intended to. “Y-Yes.. Always.. thinking about.. you..”
Your words came out breathless as he sucked onto your nipple softly and he grinded against you a little. You could feel the outline of his cock pressing against your folds and you were pretty sure you were staining his silk bottoms with your arousal.
Neither he or you cared and you grinded back against him, trying to rub your clit against his length.
Elvis could see the difference between last year and now. With those flushed cheeks, he knew you were still the same girl but there was a flair of eagerness lingering about you now.
You wanted him and he sure as hell was going to enjoy taking you, stripping away your innocence completely.
Just as you were about to reach out to unbutton his shirt completely, he was already moving lower onto the bed. His lips dragged over the curve of your breasts and along your stomach, his hands sliding up the back of your thighs to spread your legs and give him the view he’s been so eager to see all night.
Your perfect exposed pussy… right there in front of his nose. So beautiful, so pink, so untouched.
He looked up at you through his dark lashes as he kissed your inner thighs, grinning against your skin when he felt your legs trembling with anticipation. He could practically smell your arousal and it had him groaning softly as he rubbed himself against the mattress slowly.
You wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth on the most intimate part of his body but he decided to take things slow. He knew you were eager but he wanted you to experience it all, and he wanted to be the one who could make you feel this good.
His fingertips caressed through your folds, spreading your slick all over your lips before he pressed his thumb against your clit, adding a little pressure. You were looking down at him the whole time, not wanting to miss a second of this sight, and he loved hearing you moan softly the way you did.
By the end of the evening, he intended to have you screaming for him.
“My Cherry’s got such a pretty pussy,” he whispered as he grinned at you before looking down at your wetness glistening against your skin. He ran his middlefinger down your folds, slowly pushing it inside of your entrance. “All for me to play with,”
You gasped and gripped onto the sheets, your muscles immediately tensing up around his digit. He let out a soft laugh as he pulled his finger back before sinking it into you completely again. “Relax, baby. It’s jus’ a finger,”
Just a finger that already had you moaning louder, like a damn cat in heat. You moved your hands to your face to cover up your mouth and muffle your moans, and Elvis let you – for now. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, moving his finger in and out of you a little faster.
Then he added another finger and you were clenching around him so viciously, he was thinking you were going to push his fingers out of you at one point by just using your muscles.
The thought of feeling that feeling around his cock had him grinding against the bed a little more.
But Elvis wasn’t a quitter and he pushed the two digits deeper inside of you, fingertips curling inside of you and caressing that special spot. Your hands couldn’t contain your moans anymore and they once more found the sheets as you arched your back, spreading your legs wider.
He repeated the action a few more times, fingering you at a steady pace until he couldn’t take the sight of his fingers coming out so wet anymore. It was too tempting.
“Let’s see how sweet you taste, Cherry,” he smirked as he pulled his fingers out and grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing his fingertips into your skin a little to keep you still.
Without warning, he leaned in closer and dragged his tongue from your entrance to your clit. You gasped as your hips stuttered and he held onto you firmer, looking up at you as his tongue swirled slowly around your clit, before he gently sucked it in between his lips.
The sight was downright sinful.
But even though you couldn’t get enough of it, you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling into the back of your head as his tongue slipped through your folds again.
He put your legs over his shoulders, his hands moving up your sides until they found your breasts again. He fondled them lightly, pinching your nipples in between his fingertips softly as his tongue worked wonders on your eager pussy.
“Mmm, Elvis!” you moaned out freely now, unable to contain yourself. The sounds leaving you, the way you were moaning out his name, made you feel so… slutty.
And yet, you were loving every second of it.
He groaned against your skin, his hands slipping down to your hips as his eyes shot open and stared up at you. He wanted to see your reactions to his actions and make a mental reminder of it – the way your teeth sunk into your lower lip, the way your eyebrows knitted together. And the added roll of your eyes as he sucked on your clit was very much appreciated.
You didn’t know what an orgasm felt like. Sure, you had touched yourself but when that pressure would start building in the pit of your stomach, you stopped.
Because truth be told, you were nervous about it – scared even. And now that Elvis was the one who was causing the muscles in your tummy to tense up like that, you felt as if you were about to crawl out of your own skin.
Tangling your fingers in his now messy hair, you tried to get him to stop, tried to get away from him, but the raven haired devil wouldn’t let you.
He’s been between enough girls’ legs to know that you were close to falling apart. Could feel it by the way your thighs were trembling on his shoulders, hear it in the way your moans turned a little more high pitched, a slight hint of panic hidden on the back of your tongue.
You could practically feel him smirking against your clit as he slipped in a finger, pumping it in and out of you in a steady pace. There was a slight sting, though it was barely noticeable due to the orgasm that had you on the verge of tears.
You clamped your hand over your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut, your other hand still in his hair as he just wouldn’t stop while you were falling over the edge. If it wasn’t for Elvis holding onto your hips to keep you down, you were sure your hips would’ve lifted off of the bed with the way they were bucking upwards and you were writhing in the sheets.
You could barely recognize your own voice as you moaned out, Elvis’ name falling off your tongue like a mantra.
Elvis slowly loosened his grip on your hips and let you spread your legs, raising his head to look at you with a smug grin spread across his face. You pushed some of his hair out of his face and then let out a breathless laugh, running your hands through your own hair.
Elvis loved the way you were looking at him with those half-lidded eyes that held stars in them, cheeks flushed the way he likes.
“Jus’ like I thought, Cherry,” his whisper is low, his voice a little raspy as he kisses your lower abdomen. “Jus’ downright teeth rottin’ sweet,”
Your cheeks heated up even more as he crawled his way back up, kissing you, letting you taste yourself. It made you moan softly in his mouth, allowing him to take the pyjama shirt you were still wearing completely off.
In a matter of seconds, Elvis’ clothing pieces flung across the room as well, thanks to your greedy hands.
Foreheads pressed together, moans exchanged into each others’ mouths, Elvis thrusted his hips forward slowly as your small hand wrapped around his hard cock. You figured if you would do something wrong, you would know by his reaction, but now he seemed to enjoy it with the way his tongue was dipping into your mouth now and then, eyes closed as he grunted and his jaw clenched.
Elvis had planned to take his time tonight, but he couldn’t take one more second of foreplay. He wanted, needed, to be buried inside of you.
“Can I put it in now, honey?” He whispered as his eyes flutter open, looking at you with a small smirk as he remembered how a year ago you were nearly pleading for him not to put it in.
But tonight he could see how much you wanted it, there was no way in hell you’d put a stop to it now.
At least, he prayed you wouldn’t.
A sense of relief washed over him when you bit your lip and nodded, yet he still wanted to hear you say it. “Are you sure?”
“Y-Yes,” you inhaled a shaky breath, squeezing his cock softly in your hand as you loosely wrapped your legs around his waist. “I want you to be my first.”
You felt vulnerable speaking those words and Elvis smiled, fingertips caressing some hair out of your face and gently tugging it behind your ear. He pressed a kiss onto your lips and nodded. “I’ll be real gentle, okay?”
Slowly letting go of his length and having your hand replaced by his own, you put your hands on his upper arms. He didn’t rush it – didn’t push it inside of you at once, instead caressing the tip of his cock through your folds and rubbing it onto your clit for a little bit.
But it was going to have to happen eventually and even though you’d anticipated it, the feeling of his tip finding home at your entrance still made your muscles tense up and your nails digging into his skin a little.
“Relax,” he whispered, looking into your eyes before kissing the corner of your mouth. “Jus’ try an’ relax, or it won’t feel good, cherry,”
Truth was, it wasn’t going to feel good either way. Emma had already warned you about this, even going as far as to say she had bled when she lost her virginity.
God, how embarrassing would that be… although you doubted Elvis would mind it, because he seemed like an understanding man, but you still didn’t want it to happen.
You inhaled a deep breath and nodded, trying as hard as you could to relax, but it was barely working when he pushed himself inside of you at a snail’s pace. Inch by inch his cock disappeared inside of you, stretching you the way his fingers, or your own, never could.
He let out a deep groan that came straight from his gut as he finally bottomed out, having missed someone so incredibly tight engulfing him.
“E-Elvis… It h-hurts..” you looked at him with wide eyes, nails pressed into his arms so firm you were sure small crescent moons were created in his flesh but he didn’t stop you.
“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, leaning his elbows on the bed on either side of your head, slipping one arm underneath your head to keep you close to him. “But it’ll feel better in a little while, ‘lright? Jus’ relax..”
You trusted him and you really hoped he was right, because now you were so full you could barely speak. He could see the tears twinkling in your eyes and as he lovingly kissed your cheeks, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, you melted into his arms a little more.
He held still inside of you for quite a while, letting you get used to the feeling of being filled with something the size of his cock – which, for the record, was definitely not small.
Perhaps someone who’d been so blessed wasn’t the right person to lose your virginity to on a physical level, but then again… go big or go home.
Emma would be proud of you.
And all craziness aside, you were happy that you were losing your virginity to Elvis Presley. Not because he was famous, but because he was so gentle and sweet, taking his time with you and being patient. It was good to have someone older, someone with experience who knew how a woman’s body worked instead of taking what he wanted and calling it a day.
This was truly a special and intimate moment and you were losing yourself into it more and more.
As you felt you were relaxed enough, you whispered to Elvis that you were ready and boy, were you wrong. The second he slowly and softly started thrusting into you, those tears that had blurred your vision were starting to roll down your cheeks. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing him closer into your embrace which made him hide his face in your neck – you didn’t want him to see your tears, nor did you want him to stop.
A million of girls have been through this for centuries.
If they could do it, so could you.
“Don’t cry, honey,” he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck. Damnit, why does he seem to know everything? “Jus’ relax… Give all of yourself to me..”
He kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear and they helped you relax and your muscles to lose that tension – must be witchcraft, you were positive of it.
Step by step, slowly but surely, Elvis picked up the pace as he heard your gasps and soft cries turn into soft moans. The sting was still very much present, but the burning sensation had subsided and you were sure that had everything to do with the grunts and deep moans leaving Elvis, and the sight of him on top of you. He had pulled his face out of your neck again, his eyes boring into yours and while you usually hated eye contact this intensely and for so long, now you couldn’t find it in you to look away.
You were lost in those oceanic blue orbs and when he smiled that sweet smile at you, you couldn’t deny the fact that you were sickly in love with Elvis Presley.
It wasn’t just idol infatuation.
You were totally, completely, irrevocably in love.
Sex was a tricky thing to human kind. Some people used it as a meaningless way to get what they want or to meet their needs, and other people view it as something sacred, something meant to be shared with only that person who you love more than anything in the world.
You had no idea it could be this good, never believing Emma when she said that once you’d done it, you would only want more and more. You’d turn greedy, goddamn near feral because it was such a raw and primal instinct… perhaps that was why it was considered a sin.
You’d never think you would turn into one of those girls that would crave sex and felt like they’d just die if they didn’t get it. But Elvis had that kind of effect on you.
The sun had long risen over Las Vegas but the suite was still dark due to Elvis’ dark curtains being drawn. It must’ve been around 6 or 7 in the morning, but neither of you had slept a wink.
When he’d popped your cherry a few hours earlier, it had hurt. The second time you did it, there was still a slight uncomfortable sting. But by the third time, you were a moaning mess as he turned you around and pressed your face in the pillow, the sound of his balls hitting your clit with every thrust filling the room.
If it wasn’t for the sex daze you were in, you’d be embarrassed by the way you were already crawling onto his lap again after the both of you had taken a shower. Your limbs felt weak and Elvis felt the same, but you couldn’t help yourself and Elvis couldn’t deny you.
“Goddamnit,” he groaned as you straddled him and sunk down onto his length, your hands on his chest, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I created a monster.”
You laughed softly at his words as your cheeks flushed crimson, although that could just as well be because you were so worked up. Elvis grabbed onto your hips and pulled you down a little more, gasping as you fept his tip grazing your g-spot.
“O-Oh… Elvis..” you moaned, biting your lower lip harshly. “S-So deep.. like this..”
He smirked, moving his hands to your ass to squeeze your cheeks in his palms before landing a soft slap on the left one. “That’s right, baby. Can’t get enough of bein’ filled, can ya?”
You giggled softly and started thrusting, slow at first but quickly working your way up to a faster and more steady pace. Didn’t take long for you two to become a bunch of moaning messes once more, going at it like damn rabbits.
It had felt like Elvis had taken a piece of your soul from the moment he’d entered you for the first time and you willingly gave it up for him to keep. You had blossomed into a new person tonight – broken out of your cocoon, going from girl to woman.
Elvis bent his knees a little, heels pressed into the mattress as he grabbed onto your hips and kept you from moving. Instead, he took over and thrusted up into you in such a pace that you had to grip onto his arms to keep steady.
“Oh, fuck!”
He was surprised by the profanity coming from you, but definitely not disappointed. He liked his ladies soft spoken in public, but inside these four walls it was a whole different story. Those rules didn’t apply and especially not to you, because he enjoyed this side of you.
Added more fuel to his fire.
“Shit, I fuckin’ love that pussy,” he growled as he clenched his jaw, his fingers most likely leaving marks on your skin. You threw your head back and Elvis took the opportunity to watch the softness of your skin, he could’ve sworn he could see your heartbeat pulsing underneath it, and the way your breasts bounced along with his thrusts.
He wasn’t going to last long and neither were you with the way he was pounding into you, hitting the right spot every time his hips came up. You were moaning so loud that you wouldn’t be surprised if the downstair neighbors could hear the whole thing.
Though before the two of you could reach climax, he wrapped one arm around your waist and switched positions so fast you barely noticed it until you were laying on your back and he was pounding into you like a mad man. The beads of sweat that formed on his forehead, the animalistic growl that left him when he pulled out of you after a few more thrusts to release strings of cum onto your breasts and stomach was a sight to behold. This man was extraordinary.
You’d fallen over the edge right before he’d pulled out and you were clenching pathetically around nothing, wrapping your arms around him to keep him somewhat close, careful not to mess up the masterpiece he’d created on your skin. His lips found yours, kissing you for a little bit until he hid his face in your neck.
“I think I’ll keep you… My personal little Cherry,” he grinned against your skin and you scoffed softly.
“What am I? A puppy?”
He pulled his head back to look at you and raise an eyebrow, playfully nudging your chin. “Oh, she’s been fucked a couple of times and immediately has an attitude, huh?”
You laughed softly at his words, cupping his face to playfully squeeze his cheeks together. He leans into your touch and softly bites down onto your thumb before kissing it.
“You ain’t a puppy,” he said as he smirked, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You’re jus’ a little baby.”
“I’m not a baby!” You exclaimed, pretending to be offended as you gasp.
He nodded his head and leaned his face closer to you, pecking your lips while he talked against your mouth. “Uh-huh, you are. A baby with pretty little feet and little red cherry cheeks,”
Instantly, you blushed and pouted against his lips, which made him laugh softly. “As long as I’m your baby, I’ll take it.”
You didn’t mean to say those words. They felt too bold for you to be saying and you half expected him to turn serious and tell you not to get things in your head, but instead he looked into your eyes and smiled.
“Ofcourse,” he said, patting your hair. “You’re my little cherry and I don’t like sharin’..” his fingertip caressed across the black star sapphire diamond engraved into the ring you were still wearing around your neck.
For the whole past year, you had not taken it off once.
“We should clean up and sleep,” you whispered, ignoring how his words had sent your heart aflame.
“I wanna get ya ‘nother present,”
He was already getting up and pulling you off the bed, letting you wander off into the bathroom to clean his cum off of you. This time, you left the door unlocked and seconds later, Elvis came in with his jewelry box.
“Elvis, no.. Put that away. Let’s sleep..”
“Honey,” he said sternly, although you could hear he was playful at the same time. Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you closer to him and grabbed a ring, slipping it into your finger, looking at it and when decided he didn’t like it, he took it off of you and rumbled through the box to find another piece. “We can sleep when we’re dead.”
You let out a laugh and shook your head at his antics. While he was putting jewelry on you, from rings to bracelets, your eyes were on him.
This magical, weird, funny, sweet man that had the world at the tip of his fingers and probably one of the richest people in the country, and yet he had no problem giving away his gold as if they were pieces of candy.
You didn’t care about the jewelry, though. Or about the money, or about any of the luxury. All you cared about was the man next to you, a child like smile of excitement rooted on his face.
You didn’t want to think about it all ending, so you forced yourself not to. Because all that mattered was right here and now, and this night (and morning) of two people’s souls connecting the way they’d done.
They say you never forget your first time and you wholeheartedly believed that statement. How in the world could you ever forget Elvis Presley?
Taglist: @peaceloveelvis @notstefaniepresley @jhoneybees
#elvis#elvis presley#elvis x reader#elvis presley x reader#elvis smut#elvis presley smut#elvis x y/n#elvis presley x y/n#tamwrites
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୨♡ Ｗｉｎｔｅｒ Ｋｉｎｇ ｘ Ｈｅｒｏ ｒｅａｄｅｒ ♡୧
Some more headcanons for your soul! Trying to fill up this tag with quality writing <3
Request: Nah fam, nobody's submitted one yet.
GN reader
Romantic
Please I need more content of this zest fest. Headcanons under the cut!
︵‿︵‿୨♡ Ｗｉｎｔｅｒ Ｋｉｎｇ ♡୧‿︵‿︵
-So, going under the assumption that since you're a hero (kinda like Fionna or Finn)
-you're buff.
-He fanboys about it.
-He LOVES doing the 'damsel in distress' bit.
-He's the damsel.
-He's in distress.
-I'm serious, he was just kidnapped.
-Go help him now.
-Candy Queen sees your existence like a challenge.
-Putting the stakes higher,
-actually trying to kill the Winter King, (or do the cake batter thing, idk.)
-and waiting to see if you do anything about it.
-You do.
-You kick Candy's butt.
-Always.
-You sometimes team up with the ice scouts on rescue missions, or just for training in general.
-Winter is just...
-Fawning over you constantly.
-If you'll allow it, he'll follow you like a lost puppy, or ask you to carry him around.
-PRINCESS CARRY HIM RIGHT NOW.
-RIGHT NOW
-He loves feeling small and dainty in your arms.
-Even if he's taller than you.
-Let him have this.
-He loves how caring you are.
-He just wants to crumple you up and stick you in his pocket (affectionate)
-He's a silly little guy that thinks you're strong and cool.
-Every once in a while, after rescuing him from the obnoxious clutches of the Candy Queen, he wants you to do the dip-kiss thing.
-you know the one
-He's so in love with you it's unreal.
-While he's perfectly capable of defending himself, he's a king! He has a certain image he needs to uphold!
-So he just likes it when you get to show off how strong you are, while also protecting him.
︵‿︵‿୨♡ ＷＡＨＨ ♡୧‿︵‿︵
thank you for reading! Here's another complimentary piece of artwork!
reblog for a beginner writer?
Requests are open! Send them to my ask box! Be shameless!
#winter king x reader#fandom#brainrot#winter king#x reader#fionna and cake#fionna and cake x reader#the winter king#he's so babygirl#headcanons#my headcanons#winter king fanart#winter king x male reader#winter king x female reader#winter king x gn reader#he's so silly
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love bites (boxer!steve x librarian!fem reader)
summary: you and steve are up to no good at another munson party.
uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.
♡ the king of the ring ♡
the rockstar eddie setlist by @carolmunson
tags: alcohol, biting!! this is a fic literally about biting!!, general horniness, blood (it gets briefly freaky), smut!
eddie munson’s rocker pad, california july 1991
The thick, humid air of Eddie Munson's living room (in the east wing, not to be confused with the others) reeked of smoke, sweat, and liquor. The black leather cushions, though tainted and creased beneath your bodies, became a place to rest when schmoozing with the models and rockstars became exhausting to yourself and Steve. When you came to a Munson fest (Munson ft Rink, though at this point they were one in the same), you always scampered off with Stella to meet her beautiful, long-legged friends and sneak expensive snacks from trays. She was always the first to hand you a sweet, tingly drink, and after a brief glance around to make sure Steve wasn't looking, you knocked them back like water.
But Steve always knew just what you were up to with your friend when you came back like this—glossy-eyed, swollen-lipped, cheeks flushed and a little bleary. You fawned over him, clingy and tooth-achingly sweet. It was hard for Steve to get upset with you when you pooled into him like putty; when you had your head in his lap like you did right now, blinking up at him with labored breath as he ashed a Marlboro into a steel tray on the arm of the sofa.
You had the sofa to yourselves, half-clothed bodies rotating leisurely around you. With your legs sprawled out across the cushions, you left no room for visitors—not to mention, Steve glared at anyone heading your way. Even in a room full of people, Steve only wanted to be with you.
"You look so handsome when you smoke like that," you mused, tone slicked with arousal. Something about alcohol roused you into a sweaty, mewling mess.
"Do I?" Steve grumbled mindlessly, cigarette returning to his lips for another drag.
You nodded dazedly, reaching up to skate your fingers along his jaw where stubbled collected. The musky smoke of his cigarette crawled from his mouth in a grey, misty cloud. You watched it dissipate into the air in awe, nails skating down his throat. He swallowed beneath your touch, feigning nonchalance. He cupped his hand against the swell of your thigh, caressing the bare skin with his scratchy palm. You struggled to swallow a shiver, thighs rubbing together in your little silver dress. Your heels were slipping off where they nudged against the opposite arm of the sofa.
"Mhm. I think it's hot."
Steve chuckled, shoulders bobbing beneath the brown leather of his jacket. You slipped a hand beneath the material, running your palm over his firm pec. You wished he'd take the jacket off—you wanted so desperately to see those broad shoulders. The sheer size of him above you made your stomach throb with want.
Steve moved his hand from your thigh to your cheek, cradling it with a firm touch. His thumb rubbed into your cheekbone, but you frowned when he ignored your comment, giving his jacket a tug.
He ashed his cigarette again, humming. "I think you're drunk."
You rolled your eyes, grateful you were lying down while you did. "I'm not drunk. I'm tipsy, Harrington."
The cigarette paused on its ascent toward Steve's mouth, the latter turning to tip his chin down and squint at you. His lips pursed with distaste, hand a little more solid against your cheek.
"And mouthy," he droned.
You snorted, fluttering your feet. Steve propped his elbow on the arm of the couch, pulling a drag from the cigarette between his fingers.
"You love it," you chirped back, grinning slyly.
Steve said nothing, unimpressed with your liquored attitude. Sometimes, liquor made you pouty—other times, it made you snarky. Steve wasn't sure which he preferred. Right now, with your head pressing into his thick, denim thigh, big, shimmering eyes blinking up at him (glasses abandoned at home), there were other things on his mind.
The music shifted in the room, something heavy on the bass and drums, low register and quintessential rock and roll—and for fuck's sake, you were horny.
"You know what we should do?" you practically purred, playing with the shimmers on your dress.
"What?" Steve mumbled around his cigarette, puffing out more smoke.
Tongue sliding over your teeth, your lips coiled into a mischievous grin. "Play bitey."
Steve sucked a breath through his teeth, seemingly uncaring but suddenly flushed pink in the cheeks. You waited, toes tapping together in your shiny new heels, rubbing your thighs together again. The music thumped through the floor below you. People chattered and giggled, filtered in and out of the room. Steve glanced at the masses of them, gazing toward the doorway where white light gave way to your friends in the entryway. Eddie and Stella, clinging to each other and half-drunk (shockingly sober on Eddie's part), were an earshot and a few feet away.
Only one of you seemed to care.
"Angel," Steve huffed, head shaking. "C'mon—"
"—what?" you squawked, shuffling to prop yourself up on your elbows and tip your head back at Steve. He tried not to stir at the way your neck bared in this position.
"It's...we're in public, baby."
You threw your head back with a groan. "Ugh, so what? What, are you scared?"
Steve cocked his head at you, slow and steady, stare ominously blank. "What d' you just say?"
Normally, you'd grow bashful at that grumbling tone. But the bubbly had you all turned around, and even though Eddie and Stella were slinking into the room to greet more of their guests, you were determined.
"You heard me. Are you scared, Harrington? Scared I'll embarrass you in front of our friends?"
Steve blinked. For a moment, you just stared. Steady, unwavering eye contact that seemed impenetrable. And then Steve stamped out his cigarette, setting the ashtray on the end table beside him. You readied to sit up, but his callused hands snatched at your biceps, using a tight grip on your limbs to hoist you into his lap. He yanked down your dress where it bunched at your hips, hands splaying across the globes of your ass to pull you as close as you could get. Your grin grew breathless and satisfied.
"You wanna play bitey, baby?" he practically growled.
You nodded, pulling a handprint-splotched arm to sit in front of Steve's mouth, forearm bared. "If you think you can handle it, baby."
Steve's mouth split into a grin, pearly white incisors suddenly a piercingly sharp sight. He sat up, shaking loose from the stiff leather confines of his sweaty jacket. He whipped it toward the other end of the couch, leaving you to stare at his broad shoulders and arms, straining in a tiny black t-shirt.
A chuckle hummed from his chest pressed against yours, and then his arm was just beneath your chin in line with yours: forearm bared. He eased back into the cushions again, spare hand resting on your ass.
"Ready, angel?"
You tipped your mouth toward his arm, eyes glinting. "Ready, champ."
Another laugh tumbled from his mouth, cocky and sharp, head shaking as he approached your arm with an open mouth. "1...2..."
The first chomp was always light. Teeth barely scraping the hairy surface of his warm flesh. A gentle pressure, almost nice. But when your eyes locked, shooting challenging daggers through lashes, you deepened the bite. Steve followed suit, delivering a jolt in your chest. The pain, though just a sting, stirred your insides.
You increased the pressure, closed your jaw a little more. Steve pulled you closer to his chest with the hand on your ass, fingers digging into the sequins of your dress. His arm muffled your yelp when he matched your bite.
Like a pair of dogs with a bone, you sat on the sofa in the middle of the room and gnawed on each other like no one else was home. Except the room was full, and your friends were standing on the other side of the couch, slack-jawed and furrow-browed.
"Okay, so...what am I lookin' at?"
"I don't...know. But...is it just me or is it kinda hot?"
Eddie tossed a bewildered look toward his girlfriend, who continued to nurse the drink in her hand, steadily fixated on the pair of you sinking your teeth into each other on the sofa. Cheeks a little warm, lip captured between her teeth, Stella seemed to be enjoying this more than Eddie thought.
On the couch, pain pulsed through your arm with a numbing thrum. Steve’s eyes crinkled in the cutest way when he scrunched his nose. You were sure to draw blood. You steadied yourself on his biceps, nails digging in, and Steve felt like he could bust in his pants. It had been a while since you played bitey, and in fact, you’d never played it outside the bedroom. But there was something enticing about the way you straddled his lap and lapped at the chunk of his skin between your teeth.
A metallic taste filled your mouth, blood drawn collecting on the edge of your tongue. You pulled away first, but only to lick away the crimson liquid boiling over in the ridged tooth-mark indentations on Steve’s forearm. He released you just the same, breath shallowing as your tongue made a circle around his throbbing wound.
“I win,” Steve remarked lowly, unable to pry his hooded eyes away from your red stained lips.
You pressed a gentle kiss to the shape of your mouth on his skin. “Good job, baby.” Cradling his arm, you blinked up at him with a doe-eyed gaze. “You wanna collect your prize?”
Steve hauled you into the air, legs wrapping instinctually around his waist. “Fuck yeah, I do. Let’s go.”
You circled your arms around his neck and latched onto the spot below his ear, giggling as Steve balanced you in one arm and used the other to collect his jacket. The room fell away in whoosh behind you, air whipping against your bare arms as Steve rushed the door.
Meanwhile, Eddie and Stella waved a futile goodbye as the pair of you disappeared through the door.
“There they go,” Eddie snickered. “Fuckin’ freaks.”
Silence swelled between the rockstar and his starlet. Stella eased into his side, fingers hooking into his belt loops. Eddie looked down at her, meeting her waiting eyes.
It only took a moment of staring for Eddie to bob his head excitedly and loop his arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, let’s take this party upstairs.”
"Way ahead of you."
♡ ♡
"Fuck, fuck—shit!"
Steve had you on your tummy, drooling into the sheets, ass hoisted high. It rippled with every eager pummel of Steve's hips, painted with splotchy handprints from Steve's sudden and animalistic excitement. You'd barely even made it to the bedroom before he had you naked, your mutual bite wounds still throbbing like pulse points. He had his hand shoved between your thighs the entire ride home, and your puffy clit was already sensitive and abused by the time you fell face first into the bed.
"Foul fuckin' mouth, baby," Steve grunted, hot breath cupping your ear.
You could only whine, gripping at the sheets with weak fingers. Your thighs trembled and your eyes watered, but it wasn't enough. Steve quivered with need, abs clenched tight. He slipped his hand between your stomach and the mattress, gliding it to rest against your sternum and pull you up. You eased into him, sticky skin clinging like Velcro to his chest. He slowly slid his arm to trap your body against him, pressed across your shoulders and collarbone like a seatbelt.
"Do it, baby," he murmured against your neck, teeth scraping the slick skin.
Gasping for air and struggling to find balance, you dropped your head down until your chin met his forearm. The shape of your teeth started to purple where blood pooled beneath the skin. You covered the wound with the hot dampness of your open mouth once more. Teeth sinking, tongue lying flat against salty skin. Steve's canines pierced the tender, veined meat where your shoulder met your neck with careful precision. You clamped down harder on him with a shriek.
Arms caged around you like ironclad restraints, Steve humped so slow and deep you felt like you could pass out. Stirring around, unnervingly meticulous. Waves of nausea overwhelmed you.
And then the room burst into flashes of white, and your own shrill scream popped your ears. The skin of your neck split, releasing metallic warmth across Steve's tongue. Muscles stretched and worn, he eased you back down to writhe against the bed, splattered like roadkill across the sticky sheets. Still buried deep inside you, pulsing milky spend gently in and out, Steve draped his tired body across your back.
It was his turn to lap at your bleeding wound, pressing kisses to the burning shape of his teeth. He smiled lazily at the swollen sight.
"Hmm," he purred, scraping it with his teeth to make you shiver. "Hope it bruises pretty for me."
♡ ♡
#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington#steve harrington smut#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x y/n smut#steve harrington x female reader smut#steve the hair harrington#joe keery#boxer!steve#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington au
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OBLIVION
[Pairing]: Wednesday Addams x OFC/Fem!Reader
[Summary]: Everyone has vices, some more than others. Wednesday has quite a few: her morbid curiosity, her vindictive or cruel demeanor, and most recently—finding any reason to kiss you.
[Warnings]: Soft Angst. Friends with Benefits. Wednesday being bad at emotions™️. Mistletoe trope.
[Note]: Tis the season!
Library Blog || AO3
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"Don't you want to follow your ludicrous traditions?"
You felt your heartbeat quicken in your chest. Only shallow breaths were made from your lungs as they passed through your parted lips. You wanted to screw your eyes shut, but you forced them to remain open.
If you closed them, Wednesday would only lurch forward like a starved animal.
"Not with you," your jaw clenched, tension stiffening your body like you had gone through rigor mortis.
Wednesday didn't seem to mind your biting words or tone as she leaned closer. You felt like a wounded fawn as you were trapped between the wall and Wednesday's body, and her arms trapped you on either side of you.
You could smell everything that was Wednesday Addams, an invasion you were helpless to resist. The scent of old books and rain hits you like a relapse that makes you want to crumble to your knees.
And Wednesday knows it.
"Then you wouldn't have been so stupid to be caught under the mistletoe with me."
Wednesday's words are always vindictive, even if her tone is not. They ring in your ear because as desperate as you were to not understand her, you did. She's angry with you, but—she craves you.
But the thing about Wednesday Addams is that she's a stranger to all these feelings. She hates every part of feeling them, and she hates you for making her experience it. In her endeavor to not be like her mother, you're the pages she's torn out of her book.
And you just can't be that—you can't. Not for Wednesday.
Not when—
"You're the one who said this was ill-advised," you reminded Wednesday. "When I asked you to go to the Yule Fest, you're the one who said no."
"Because I don't want to go to some repulsive, colorful festival," Wednesday raised her brow at you.
"But you want to kiss me under the mistletoe?"
Wednesday's jaw clenched—the way it did whenever she was forced to acknowledge her feelings for you. God, you were annoying.
"I'm done with the no-string-attached kisses," you shake your head at Wednesday. "Unless you're going to agree to go on a date with me, I'll refrain from participating in this tradition with you."
"It's bad luck to forgo tradition," Wednesday rebutted without missing a beat.
You scoffed. "You always have an excuse, don't you?"
"It can't be helped that my synapses are superior."
"Wednesday—"
"Fine, I'll go to the nauseating Yule Fest with you."
Your mouth snapped shut, and you eyed Wednesday's impassive face with suspicion.
"Really?"
"What? You think I'm a liar?"
You rolled your eyes. "I think you'll come up with any reason for us to kiss."
"I wouldn't have to if you would cease from coming up with any reason for us not to."
You then wondered why you liked Wednesday so much as you stared at her expressionless face. She was so—
You huffed and admitted, "I hate the way you pick and choose when you want me."
"I always want you."
And it was the first time Wednesday had ever admitted something within that realm of feelings.
"You think I'm always trying to come up with excuses to kiss you," Wednesday's jaw clenched, and you felt her fists next to your arms close into tight balls. "But because you're just as obstinate as me, I'm also trying to come up with reasons why you shouldn't stop kissing me."
Fuck, you cursed, swallowing the lump in your throat. Vices were a dangerous, dangerous thing, and this was going to be your worst relapse yet.
And just like that, you lifted your hands to pull Wednesday closer. One hand slid against her jaw before cupping the back of her neck while the other gripped her shirt desperately.
The kiss was bruising—the kind Wednesday liked.
Soft.
And warm.
You were always a little surprised, no matter how many times you kissed Wednesday, how soft and warm her lips were.
The way Wednesday wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer to her, always made you feel like you were one step away from oblivion.
That was probably her plan every time.
"Why are you like this?" You mumbled between kisses.
"Wednesday is full of woe," Wednesday muttered before she pressed her lips against you insistently.
It was devastating how she constantly found herself reluctantly eating the words she told her mother the first day she arrived at Nevermore.
"Don't I know it," you replied, and Wednesday pulled back for just a moment to see your face as you said it. The way your eyes glistened with mischief and your playful smirk had her consuming your lips again.
Wednesday's not sure whose idea it was to kiss under poisonous berries, but it was quite romantic.
When the two of you decide you've made out under the mistletoe long enough (not because it was enough, but Wednesday was sure she heard a door opening upstairs), you grinned lightly at her.
"We should wear the matching snoods Enid made us at the Yule Fest."
"Don't push it."
#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday addams x you#wednesday addams imagine#wednesday addams fanfic#jenna ortega x reader#wednesday x reader#wednesday addams#mm: my fics
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February Filth Fest - Day 27
Pairing: Wolf!Chan x Fem!Reader
Prompt: Hybrid (furry)
WC: 3.4k
Summary: Your yearly visit home to catch up with your neighborhood friends was something you looked forward to every summer. Especially your fleeting moments with Chan. There’d always been something inexplicable about him, about the two of you.
TW/CW: Knotting, rut/heat (implied), breeding, predator/prey, dubious consent. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Extended tw under the cut,
Dubcon all the way. Obviously two sides to wolf!chan, this might fit better under omegaverse? I’m not a consumer of either hybrid or omegaverse really so I’m sorry if i get stuff incorrect. This gets dark, reader kinda likes it? Sort of more Werewolf than wolf. i’m unsure of what kind of tw/cw are needed but I think i covered it.
“Let’s play wolves,” Chan’s eyes flash amber. Smiling, but not. It’s not Chan’s smile. He stalks closer.
“Chan?” Fight, fawn, or freeze and your body has elected the latter of the options. Standing still as he circles around you
“C’mon, let’s play wolves. Like we used to.”
“C-Christopher. You’re scaring me.” Pulse rushing loudly between your ears it’s hard to think. Full animal instincts kicking in. He presses his wide chest to yours, lips to the outer shell of your ear.
“Run little wolf.”
It had started when you were young. Pretend games you’d play with the neighborhood kids, wholly innocent. The first game was “three little pigs” where the “big bad wolf” would stalk the playground, trying to stop the “pigs” from getting to their “houses” but as the neighborhood grew so did the game. Now you were rival wolf packs, able to act together in teams, almost a large scale tackle football game without the ball. You were kids pretending to be wolves, you were rough with each other. It was all in the name of pretend.
This did not feel like pretend.
It was a split second, calves tensing beneath you and jolting your body forward into a full sprint in no particular direction. Not until you are well into the woods at the edge of the neighborhood park do you realize just how utterly fucked you are. It was your fault. Of course it was your fault. You’d pushed Chan to come out with you to the old playground to kick back a couple drinks and reminisce. You’d seen how antsy he was, unable to say no to your insistent pleas. You’d even kept him out an hour passed when he said he’d need to be back for unnamed “prior engagements”. How stupid could you have been.
There’d always been something different about Chan and his family. Unnaturally beautiful, unnaturally charismatic, natural leaders. Chan was one of the few neighborhood boys that stuck it out with the girls during the great puberty divide. Never falling victim to “girls have cooties.” Always ready with a small bit of chocolate to satisfy sudden craving. The girls of the neighborhood loved his gentle and understanding nature. Good at playing both cute younger brother and doting elder.
From behind the large tree you’d concealed yourself with your hearing strained. Sense of sight dulled by the lack of light every other sense was sent into overdrive. But why were you running from him? It was just Chan, just Chan playing around. You repeat it over and over trying to make yourself believe it. It’s just Chan. The sound of a twig snapping sends you into high alert, spine stiffening. If it was just Chan why are you reacting like this? He’s going to laugh at how good he’d gotten you.
Another twig snaps. Your nails dig into the rough bark of the tree.
This was ridiculous. You felt ridiculous. Just turn around and head back out the way you came. There’s a telltale tickle to the back of your spine, some vestigial nerve that tells you he’s almost on you. Holding your breath you hear more snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves. You crouch in place. Fight, fawn, or freeze. The noise of the woods stops suddenly.
Silence.
You can hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears.
Silence.
You stand up slowly and place your back against the tree and that’s when you seem them. Two flashes of amber in the dark.
Fight, fawn, or freeze.
Your breath catches in your chest. He’s terrifying. Perked pointy ears sprouting from his head, muscles swollen and hulking, eyes flashing in the full moon light. He’s not Chan. You’re not even sure he’s Christopher. You're not sure what he is. Your caught breath is forced into a shrill scream as a sudden force nails your back in place.
“Caught you little wolf.” Chan’s hands grip your shoulders, pushing them
You bare your teeth at him and growl. “Fine Chan, if you want to play wolves, I’ll play wolves.” you think. And then you latch your arms around his elbow and drop your weight to escape his caging.
The last time you played wolves it was an equal match. Chan had lost his baby fat but not yet built the muscle has now. You’d had time to adjust to your changed body but lost the androgyny of your younger self. It started as many wolves games did, playful threatening to kiss the other person. Harmless, neither of you actually intended on kissing the other, just saying things to get under the skin of the other person until they snapped. The game ended with the two of you out of breath, grass ground into your jeans and bodies in a tangled exhausted knot. You’d known the game had changed but you weren’t sure how.
Chan caught your escape move in a backhug, pinning your arms at your sides. It’s stronger than a hug, almost suffocating. Legs kicking and thrashing you try to free yourself. Teeth biting into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, you moan and go limp. Pain and then pleasure sweeps over your body in a second. Both you and Chan sink to your knees, still connected by his bite, onto the forest floor. One thick arm shifts upwards, hand palming your breast and kneading. The other shifts downwards to your waistband, fingers deftly slipping beneath. It's difficult to even think of fighting as your body relinquishes its weight into his chest with a sigh.
“If you’re giving up, little wolf, I get to claim you,” he sounds happy yet it comes out menacing, hands still working in tandem. Your head lolls back to his shoulder in sharp contrast to your body tensing and pulsing and squirming. Something in the bite, you tell yourself, you convince yourself, something in the bite. You must be bleeding out from the bite. The forest blurs. The bite was so-
“You smell, so good my little wolf,” he mutters as he rubs his face against your collarbone. “Now that we are out here, now that you smell like you…” he trails off into a growl. “Now that you smell like my mate.”
“Mate. His little pretty wolf,” you think dumbly, Eyes slide back in your skull as waves of pheromones roll off of Chan and crash into you. You jolt back into your mind. No. Not mate. Not his mate. Whatever he means by mate.
He licks the unmawled side of your neck, taking the flesh between his teeth and leaving a small imprint. Mate. You say the word over and over in your head at varying tempos, enthralled as he marks up and down your shoulder and neck. The repetition of the word nearly hypnotizes you. Chan’s hand works its way under and up your shirt and bra, thumb passing over your pebbled nipple. The insistent press of his hardened cock reminding you suddenly of the reality of the situation. “Chan, we’re too old to play wolves anymore,” you murmur in his ear.
“I was never playing wolves.” He nearly roars as he shoves you over face into the dirt, a total shift from mear millisecond before. The fabric of your shirt bunched tight in his fist, pressing into the small of your back and forcing you into an exaggerated arch you are all but pinned beneath him.
Tears prick the corners of your eyes. He’s not Chan, he’s not your Channie. He’s not the kind boy who’d venture bravely into the drugstore when it was nearing that time of the month. He’s not even the gentle man who insisted on obeying curfew. He’s an animal.
You feel his fingers dig into your lower back around your pants waistband. With a swift yank he pulls both your pants and panties down to your knees as though it were nothing. Two rough fingers rub up and down your slit, teasing your entrance. Despite your tears you are embarrassingly horny. Desperately horny. Your pussy is practically dripping on him.
“No more fight ok?” He dips into you slowly. “No more fight or it will hurt.”
You nod. Just his fingers fill you well. Your body betrays you as it fucks back at every thrust of his digits into your cunt. Lewd squelching sounds fill the air, taunting him. If he wasn’t obsessed before he was now. Obsessed with your glistening folds, wet and pretty just for him. Releasing your shirt he wraps the same arm around your waist, hoisting you into his lap. From this angle he adjusts his arm to better pound into you using each part of his magnificent arms.
“My mate, my little wolf,” he’s whispering again, two fingers deep in your slick pussy. “Feel better?” He plunges into you, over and over. “Feel better to be a good little mate?”
Pulse elevated and blood rushing from your brain to your cunt it’s too much to think. He’s right. It is easier.
Chan senses your orgasm coming before you do. Heartbeat accelerating, breathing shallow and quick, blood pressure dipping. He can feel all of it. Immediately as you peak he slows down, riding you through it, digits stroking your inner walls slowly and persistently as they clench and pulse around him, dripping down onto his hand.
Entire body relaxed and draped over his lap, you’re on a far away planet. You want to kiss him. You want him to hold you. He doesn’t. You moan as he slides his fingers from you, licking them clean with small accented pops.
He grunts. Another animal instinct.
Both palms pressing into your ass cheeks he spreads you, night air cool to your overheated body. Face disappearing you feel a wet wriggling intrusion at your exposed holes. Tongue licking messy fat stripes up your slit to your ass Chan eats as though your cunt was his favorite flavor of ice cream, greedily sucking and slurping. Fucking his tongue into your little hole he makes your legs shake and knees wobble in protest of the overstimulation. You want to cum again, christ you want to but it hurts. It’s too soon. Abdomen burning and tensing as his lips wrap around your clit, you need it and want it but it just hurts so much.
Fat shameful tears roll down your cheeks, the pain feels good. A dark part of you needs him. You need him to claim you. Another orgasm squeezes out of you, sobbing, walls clenching around nothing. He laughs, a short puff of air coming in contact with your oversensitive nub, making you squirm.
“Breed?” He affectionately pats your pussy. As though he was planning on giving you a choice.
“Please,” you whimper softly. Even to your ears you sound so desperate it makes you want to hide, curled in a tiny ball.
Dropped into the dirt of the forest you hear him unzip and pull his pants down before grabbing your waist and lifting you, manhandling you, up and against the tree. Standing back to shuck your pants fully off you can finally appreciate him. Every inch of his body is tense, muscles fully activated. Fat cock head glistening with precum, his shaft is equally frighteningly thick, only more noticeable by comparison as it prods your stomach.
“Will it fit,” you ask breathlessly as he hitches one of your legs over his hip, squishing you together, dick rubbing between your pelvises.
“Hastto,” he mumbles into your collarbone. “Yermymate.”
He’s positively pussy drunk as he slides his dick up and down your folds, coating himself in you before aligning with your entrance. Teasing your swollen lips his tip barely pushes past the ring of pelvic floor muscles, it’s so tight It burns. The slide downwards is slow and stead as gravity works with his strained rocking to spear you on him. Your eyes squeeze shut and you brace your arms over his shoulders, pressing up and away from the source of pain.
Chan’s heart hurts hearing your small whines. He wants to be kind, the human part of him deep down wants him to be gentle and slow and have properly trained you, prepared you for this eventuality. Calm. The wolf needs to be calm if he wants this, if he wants you like Chan wants you. The wolf wants to grab your waist and pull you down onto him. That part of him knows the pain is temporary, necessary even. But it waits by the wish of the man who shares this body.
“Hurt?” Chan nuzzles the tear stains on your cheek. His nails grip the bark of the tree.
“A lot!” the words bubble up into a yelp, your standing leg shaking, foot on its tiptoes. He withdraws and you go limp, panting.
“Ground,” simple and gruff, but you do it.
Hands and knees in the grass and leaves and dirt you feel him crawl between your waiting thighs. He plunges forward with a grunt to the same depth as before. You groan and falter forward onto your elbows. Fabric of his shirt pulled up between his lips he watches his hips gently rock the two of you back and forth, each small thrust pushing him slowly further into your tight warm cunt. Pussy lips tightly stretched around him the blood from his body rushes down, engorging his already rock hard erection. The worst is yet to come for you, the human in him knows this to be the case, but the wolf is ecstatic.
Writhing and whining you know his cock isn’t even half in you and it’s splitting you open. You’d had a few partners but none with as impressive of girth as his. His palm rubbing your sacrum to calm you he inched forward, “good mate. Taking me so well. I know my little wolf I know,” his chest swells with pride as he watches your pussy straining to accommodate him. “Good mate, only little more.”
The stretch is painful but addictive, dosing out little jolts of pleasure as you rock back onto him. Something deep within you, a small part that evolution forgot to remove, knows that as painful as it is, the sooner he can be fully seated in you the sooner the pain can be soothed and overwritten. Chan leans over and kisses between your shoulder blades. A small gesture of comfort. Still somehow inhuman. It’s only when he is this close that you hear his small yips and grumbly growls under his breath. You want him to stay there. You want to hear him. You want him close. Arm shaking and stretched behind you, you try to grab onto whatever you can of him. Taut muscles push back at your fingers, his thigh. A mistake. A huge mistake.
The wolf seizes him.
He howls.
In one swift motion he wraps his arms under your shoulders and pulls you back onto him. You gasp as the wind is knocked out of you. It burns. You’re so full. You can’t get any more full. His cock fills any space left inside of you. Your walls spasm around him trying to adjust to the intrusion. If he hadn’t held you your face would certainly be resting in the mud again. Legs fighting and scrambling, too weak to be of any use, you scream.
Barely giving you time to adjust he pulls you off and slams you back down again. Slow, steady and bruising. Noises get knocked out of you, noises you’ve never heard yourself make. Sensory input on overload your mind fuzzes, giving yourself over. Chan pulls you up like a ragdoll, head lolling back onto his shoulder, still kneeling in the dirt.
“Good. Mate.” he punctuates his thrusts. “Pretty. Mate.” He puts his hand below your belly button, cradling you. A groan rumbles in his throat feeling the bulging imprint of the head of his cock forcing your stomach to distend. “Gonna look so good and round. Perfect for pups. My pups. My mate.”
“Full. Channie please. Too full.”
“You can take it.” He is stupidly earnest in his proclamation. His fiercess has drained slightly, transformed into excitement and bliss. Hips slowing back into a gentle rocking of their own accord he nuzzles and licks the bruised mark on your shoulder. Lost to the feeling he barely notices the half moon indents that litter his skin. Your jaw unhinged and tongue inviting he presses two fingers against your tongue, wetting them with your spit before taking them to circle your throbbing clit. A man focused and dedicated he quickly works you up, legs shaking and chest heaving.
“Tha’s’it. Greedy pussy- suckin’ me in.
“M-m-m-more-” you shudder.
Having properly turned your legs into useless appendages you’re silently glad Chan seems happy enough to handle you like a human fleshlight. Vision blurred, ears filled with the rushing of your heartbeat, with every strangled gasp you try to gain hold of your senses, lost to the luxury of submission. Bodily fluids trickle down and mix into the earth mixing and mudding up your skin. Your walls clench around him, trying their best to force the cum from him but coming up with nothing. He keeps going, harder although it seems impossible. Suddenly you’re glad for the cover of the forest, your screams and grunts echoing into the tree cover. You could never, not even with the thickest soundproofing, be this primal anywhere near human societies. Not without the cops being called or an angry note from a neighbor.
Between the raucous moans your body warns you of a new presence, rubbing at your entrance. Looking between your legs in horror you see a red swelling at the base of his dick attempting to squish itself into your abused hole.
“What is that?” You scream as he pumps. “Channie. Chan. Chris? CHRISTOPHER?” Your voice grows shrill with panic as the section of swollen cock pushes more and more insistently, catching on your pelvic floor.
“Mate,” he snarls. “Gonna mate. Got to mate. Knot you so deep. Won’t run. Can’t.”
Hocking a glob of spit at the base of his cock onto the knot he wastes no time as you babble incoherently. Teeth sinking back into the previous bite the pain pacifices you, leaving you limp in his arms as he jams the knot past the tight ring of muscle and bone.
Pressure blocking your ears, your vocal chords are too tense to make a sound as your mouth hangs in a silent scream, both you and Chan flattening into the brush.You tip at the edge of consciousness, bright white pain searing in your gut. The slow drag of his knot past your gspot muddles the agony with ecstasy, body releasing around him almost as if to better lubricate and ease it in. A sick sense of pride blooms in your chest. Distended with his seed, it’s over. It’s fucking over. As he tenderly licks the wound at your shoulder you sigh. The ground is warm, the ground is where you’ll sleep.
Chan is still hunched over you, panting, wolfish ears flattening back down. Cock still pulsing into your walls, knot snug to your cervix. His kisses litter the shell of your ear, your neck, your shoulders. Small apologetic pecks as he rolls you to your side.
“I’m - I didn’t mean to tell you this way,” overwhelming guilt settles in Chan’s brain, replacing the wolf that curls to rest at the back of his mind, happily swaddled. “I didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t- it didn’t- fuck.”
“I’m cold.”
“I can’t-we can’t move too much but-” Chan wrapped himself over you, guarding you from the air. He’s warm and heavy and sticky and he smells earthy but somehow all of this is comforting. This is Chan.
“How long like this?” You mumble sleepily.
“Maybe 30, or 40 minutes? I’m…” he drifts off again. Stomach expanding and contracting you can feel his heavy sigh. “Words can’t describe. I can’t- I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you about me, about my family, about my pack. It feels stupid now. I’m sure you can guess. I tried to use the wolf for good but sometimes. I shouldn’t have agreed-”
“Chan shut up.”
“Right.”
In silence you kiss his skin where you can reach. Draped over you as he is. Words are not for tonight. Not for the half wolf breathing into your hair. Not until you are long cleaned up and toweled off. Not until you are out of the woods. No more games. No more pretend. Just you and him.
#bang chan smut#bang chan x fem!reader#chan smut#chan skz smut#stray kids smut#skz smut#wolf!chan smut#february filth fest
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Fawn Fest - interceptions
Prompt: Hi!!! How are you?? I would like to request a prompt from the Fawn Fest list. I would love a football-themed Elriel fanfic. I really hope you agree to write it!! ☺ for @bookstaninthesoul
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings: none! Just a bit of fluff :)
“There is no easy way to say this,” Cassian said gruffly, his dark hair clinging to his sweaty skin. He had one arm heavy over Elain’s shoulder and the other over Rhys as all three huddled together. “But we’re losing.”
“How is that hard to say when you have to say it every year?” Rhys grumbled as he leaned closer to them — His black hair pushed back off of his face, and his violet eyes constantly glancing towards Feyre, who was in her own huddle with Azriel and Nesta.
Elain felt slightly dwarfed by Cassian and Rhys, who were bending at the waist to get to her level, and she bit her lip to keep herself from smiling.
It was very obvious why they lost almost every single year.
Cassian, shirtless as usual, was constantly peacocking for Nesta — and Nesta would intentionally distract him and use Cassian’s attraction to her advantage, which was very effective. And Rhys, well, Rhys used every excuse to touch Feyre. Ever since they had gotten together Feyre and Rhys were the most affectionate couple that Elain had ever seen. So affectionate that they would both forget that they were in the middle of a game and Elain would look down field and catch them locking lips as Azriel grabbed the ball from Rhys.
Elain wasn’t completely sure if Feyre was getting lost in her boyfriend, or if she was also using his adoration to her advantage. Either way, Elain was happy for Feyre. Her sister had spun into a depression from her last boyfriend, Tamlin, and Rhysand was there to help her through it. For whatever reason, Rhys was the only one who was able to reach her.
And then there was the obvious reason as to why the other team was winning.
Azriel.
Elain wasn’t exactly sure how he did it, but she was certain he was responsible for their success. Yes, Nesta and Feyre were both physically fit and active, but he was the one coming up with all of their trick plays, his eyes were constantly watching their team to discover any weaknesses, and he was the one who stood there quietly while Nesta and Feyre would be gloating at the end of their game — Even though Azriel was always quiet, she could feel the pride radiating off of him after a win, somehow his smirk was louder than both Feyre and Nesta combined.
Cassian played every sport known to man, and every year he grew more frustrated when the other team would win their family's football tournament. Yes, their team could crank out a few wins every year, but it was always Azriel’s team that won the tournament.
“Maybe,” Elain said, drawing the attention from both Cassian and Rhys. “You can throw it to me, since they won’t be expecting it?”
Elain didn’t really care about winning, but it was obvious that Cassian and Rys both did. She enjoyed playing it, and watching the game on tv, but she was mostly here to spend time with her friends and family. She wasn’t super active or coordinated, so Cass and Rhys mostly used her to get in Azriel’s way and slow him down.
They knew she was his weakness. Even though Elain didn’t quite understand it.
Azriel had no qualms about tackling Cassian and Rhys, and all three boys would be beaten up and achy by the end of the game, and even Feyre and Nesta would be sore from Rhys and Cassian’s attention, but Azriel was always gentler with Elain. He would place his large hands on her shoulders or waist to move her out of the way, and if he had to tackle her it was in a way that almost always had him falling on the ground first and then swiftly rolling her off of him so they could both scurry away like nothing happened.
Feyre smiled when she saw it, and she would playfully nudge Elain in the ribs which caused Elain to roll her eyes. Her sister seemed to think it was because Azriel had a crush on her, and Elain would remind Feyre that Azriel was a gentleman, to which Feyre would say, “That’s not what I heard,” and then they would both blush and drop the conversation all together.
Cassian and Rhys both looked at her, and Elain smiled broadly at them.
“I promise I know how to catch a ball.” Elain said, which caused both them to grin.
Cassian nodded his head with a wide smile and said, “Alright, Lainy,” His big hand squeezed her shoulder as he said her name. “Will go long, right down to the end zone by the tree. And Rhys, you’re going to throw her the ball after pump faking it to me. Lainy, you go right down the center and I’ll go right.”
They all nodded in agreement.
“You losers ready?” Nesta shouted from her side of the field. Elain could see a bit of bike shorts peeking out from the sweatshirt Cassian took off and handed to her the second Nesta said she was cold. Her hair was loose and wild and somehow looked incredibly chic on her.
Feyre was standing next to Nesta, excitedly shifting her weight from side to side without lifting her feet. She was dressed in yoga pants and a cropped hoodie with her brown hair braided down her back.
She wondered how her sisters looked so good in athletic wear — not that Elain looked bad, per say, but the cropped t-shirt she was wearing stretched around her boobs in a way that Elain tried to ignore, and her yoga pants clung to all of her curves in a way that Elain quite liked except for when it came to her hip dips.
She envied her sisters just a bit for their lean limbs and long statures because they made the most casual outfits seem effortlessly cool and put together, whereas on Elain she either looked frumpy or overly sexed up.
Elain wished she looked frumpy today.
“Yeah, yeah,” Cassian said as he grinned wolfishly at Nesta. “Just line up.”
Cassian crouched with one hand one the football, prepared to snap it back to Rhys who was standing behind him.
Elain was more than aware of Azriel lining up in front of her, and she took great effort to keep her eyes averted.
Azriel had presence — even when he would just stand quietly with his arms crossed, Elain could feel him.
“Good luck.” Azriel said softly, and Elain’s eyes shot to his.
He was already looking at her, his hazel eyes intense as they both ignored the calls that were being shouted to their right.
Eventually, Elain snapped out of it and ran when she was supposed to. Right down the center and Cassian broke right, and Elain ran with her eyes focused on Rhysand, her hands prepped to catch the ball and cradle it to her chest. And they did, right after Rhysand faked to Cass, he sent the ball spiralling right into her hands. Her short legs put a small amount of distance between herself and Azriel…and then they put a greater amount of distance between them…and then she had crossed into the end zone while Azriel reached his fingers out to grab for her.
She could hear Cassian and Rhys hollering and celebrating from downfield, but she let the football slip from her fingers as she turned to face Azriel.
Hints of dimples appeared on his face as he congratulated her.
“You did that on purpose.” Elain said as she glared at Azriel, her arms crossed over her chest, and she ignored the way it made her breasts strain against her shirt. Azriel, ever the gentleman, ignored it as well.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He said, placing his hands on his trim hips.
A blush scorched her cheeks — He was really going to make her say it outloud. Cassian and Rhys were too far down field to hear their conversation, and they were too busy celebrating to care. Feyre and Nesta stood next to them rolling their eyes.
“You could have tackled me and you didn’t,” She said in a low, furious voice. “You let me have that touchdown,” Azriel’s face remained impassive, but something shifted between them. “And you never,” Elain bit her lip. “You always go easy on me…am I that bad?”
“Of course not,” Azriel said quickly, and Elain raised her eyebrow and he unintentionally confirmed what she had said. He sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair, the dark curls falling against his forehead as he looked at her. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.”
“And you know what I’m thinking?” Elain asked, her voice raising just a bit. She continued before Azriel had the chance to respond. “Your brothers don’t go easy on my sisters, so I don’t understand why you treat me with kid gloves… I know I’m not the best, but you don’t have to go easy on me.”
Her gaze was locked on the ground, onto the large pile of leaves that Cassian had raked up for them earlier in the week.
“Fine,” Azriel said in a low voice, and he leaned forward just a bit, forcing Elain to meet his eyes. “I won’t hold back anymore, Elain.” The way he said her name caused her to hear thunder.
Azriel walked away before she could respond, and Elain was left feeling breathless and slightly threatened as she bent to pick up the football.
It turned out Azriel had been holding back more than she had thought, or maybe he was just doing it to torment her, but now Azriel was always on her. His hands gripping her waist as he moved her out of the way, as if she was a ragdoll he had to move out of his way…and his grip, it was different. Before his hands dropped away before Elain could register his light touch, but now — now Azriel was using his hands to get her attention.
His hands were heavy and rough on her form, as if he was no longer afraid to touch her.
His hands lingered and gripped in a way that caused her blood to sing as it rushed through her, and Eain wondered if he even knew about her body’s reaction to his touch. She was sure the soft gasps that escaped her whenever he touched her gave her away, but his face betrayed nothing.
And now he tackled her.
Not the way he tackled her before, when he ensured that his body cushioned hers as they fell, and when he would untangle them as soon as they landed. Now, Elain landed on her back with Azriel’s body on top of hers, pressing her body into the cold ground.
And even though the ground was solid and cold beneath her and the air chilly around them, Elain felt unbearably hot every time they fell together.
And he didn’t jump away as soon as they landed, no, he made sure that Elain felt him. Felt the hard planes of his muscles, felt his breath on her sweat dampened skin, and felt the weight of his knowing eyes. And once he finally pushed away from her to stand again, Azriel would extend an outstretched hand to her as an offering, and Elain felt how perfectly her small hand fit in his rough palms.
He was on her. Constantly. So much so that everyone else started to notice.
Her sisters started shooting her knowing smirks, and Rhysand gave Azriel a warning look — one that had more meaning than Elain could decipher — and Cassian’s mood turned a little sour, and Elain didn’t know exactly why…it could be because Azriel’s newfound attention made it even harder for them to score, but every time Azriel had Elain on her back beneath him Cassian grew a little more bitter and a little more impatient.
“Do you guys have any ideas?” Cassian grumbled the next time they formed a huddle. This one was more tense than the others, Cassian’s heavy arm wasn’t over her shoulder, and Rhysand wasn’t even bothering to hide the love struck looks he was shooting towards Feyre.
Elain chewed on her lip thoughtfully before raising her eyes to Cassian’s sullen face.
“I have any idea…”
Elain faced Azriel, her eyes trained on his face as Nesta prepared to hike the ball to Feyre.
As soon as the snap happened Elain launched herself at Azriel. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms went to his neck, and it was really a leap of faith because she had no guarantee that he would catch her, but Elain decided somethings were worth the risk.
Azriel didn’t even hesitate to catch her. Elain wasn’t even certain he thought about it, but he reacted. His hands landed underneath her bum, and while he took a step back to catch himself, he didn’t let them fall. And he didn’t drop her. Despite the hustle coming from their brothers and sisters, their attention didn’t move from one another.
Their breaths merged into a tiny cloud between them, and their eyes were a bridge of connection between them.
“I like this new strategy.” Azriel whispered, pressing them closer together which caused Elain to gasp.
“I thought it would surprise you,” Elain said, leaning forward to press her forehead against his… she had never really thought of Azriel in this way…as someone she would be touching, as someone she would let touch her. “Did it work?”
Elain could hear his breath catching in his throat.
She has always thought that Azriel was exceptionally handsome, the kind of handsome that was almost painful because it didn’t seem real, the kind of handsome she would see in movies and magazines — and Elain had always quietly admired him like she would a piece of art.
“In the best way.” Azriel said, his golden eyes dropping to her lips.
Elain was vaguely aware of cheers coming from down the yard, and she thought that her sisters had scored the winning touchdown, but the only thing she knew was how perfect she felt in Azriel’s arms.
tagging: @thefangirlofhp @sakurakittypeach @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @feyredarlinq @alwayssara @nyxreads @rinadragomir @secretpuppyflower @captainbrucebanner @ultadverb @irisesforelain @shedoessoshedoes @magnolia-blossom87 @sheena-beene @nivem565
#elriel#elain x azriel#elain archeron#pro elriel#azriel#elriel fanfiction#elriel fanfic#fawnandshadows writing#pro elain#fawnandshadows fawn fest#fawn fest 22#fawn fest
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“Playing a Game You Can’t Win” Sanji Becomes More Dominant (Part 2) (Slightly NSFW)
Dom! Sanji x Sub! Black Fem Reader
Part 1 Here
Bad Summary: Sanji overhears your need for him to be more assertive to what you want him to do to you in bed and he takes you up on that offer
Thank you for 800 followers! I’ll try and finish the final part today!
CW: Kissing, Sensual Massage, Dom!Sanji, Sub! Reader, Fingering, Teasing, Begging
-
During dinner you felt a shift in Sanji’s mood. He was more quiet, he only gave you short lived answers to your questions, and he barely even looked at you. Did you do something wrong?
The rest of the day was rather busy so you had already forgotten the conversation you had with Robin and Nami. You wanted to speak with your Blonde man after dinner because he seems different and you didn’t really like that.
The clatter of dishes being washed by him was the only thing noise between you both this evening as everybody has left to their own business. Usually, you two would be talking and joking around but Sanji haven’t even looked your way since everybody left. It felt so unlike him and you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Sanji?” You turn yourself in your chair to face him fiddling with your fingers. He hums still not facing you from the sink, “Are you okay?”
Sanji stops his cleaning, he actually didn’t mean to ignore you he just had a lot on his mind tonight. He began to feel bad, cleaning his hands dry, he turns and walks over to you with a warm grin.
“I couldn’t be happier, Y/N.” He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, and then hovers his lips over yours. Usually you were prepared for a very wet and excited kiss with a small serenade but Sanji made you blink open your eyes in confusion. There was no kiss, just words from him, “I was just thinking about something that’s all…”
“Oh…okay…do y—“
“How about we take a shower together, and then I give you a massage? You been working all day today, Princess I Gatta spoil you.“ His silver covered knuckles brush against your cheek, he looked down at you with a sly smirk holding his unlit cigarette in the corner of his lips, and you look up at him like a little lost puppy pushing yourself into his sweet gentle touch. “You’d like that right?”
“Uh..” You jerked yourself back up for a moment feeling his thumb now rub against your bottom lip. “Yes. I’d —id like that.”
“Okay. Let me finish in here and you just be in the shower when I come, okay?”
“Okay!” You perked up hearing how monotone his deep voice was. He wasn’t fawning over you, he wasn’t sounding like he was offering you something as if he was worshiping your feet, but
It was a demand.
Maybe you were just tired thinking that …and bit horny. You both haven’t had sex in about a week due to troubles with enemies the past few days.
You get in the shower and clean yourself of all the sweat and grime from today’s work. You touched your cheek, still feeling where Sanji’s cold silver rings rubbed against you made you lost in thought. He always wear those rings during sex, but you haven’t been pleasured to feel them wrap around your ne—
“Hey you.” Sanji pulled back the curtain breaking you out of thought. “Is there anymore hot water for me?”
“Mmhm!” You smiled biting your bottom lip. Oh? Sanji not going into a complete bleeding fest? Usually it takes him 5-10 minutes to mentally prepare for seeing your supple golden skin under the water, clinging to your body nearly dry humping you, but nope. Not tonight. Sanji got in and bathed with you.
“Face me let me wash you.” He fingers crept around your waist tightly to turn you to look at him, your eyes immediately trailed down his lips down to his wet chiseled torso, but before your eyes went somewhere else Sanji coo’ed “You’re so beautiful, Y/N..”
He softly scrubbed the soapy towel on your chest down to your tummy admiring every stretch mark, scar, and curve you have, it was a sincere comment that made your heart swoon and reminded you why you fell in love with Vinsmoke Sanji.
“You are too, Sanji.” You giggled, you placed your hand on his cheek making him stop his focus on your body and looked you in the eyes, “I love you, Sanji…always will.”
You kissed him letting your fingers run through his hair you didn’t mind having a little bit of shower sex before bed, but Sanji had different plans.
The kiss got more heated when you slid your tongue in his mouth slowly moving one of your hands down his chest to grab his d—-
“Wait wait wait baby..” he fought his own temptations and pulled off your sweet soft lips holding your arms. “I—fuck..um…”
“Oh I’m sorry—I um…I got carried away I just haven’t…kissed you in a while I’m —-“
“No! No! Don’t apologize, sweetheart—it’s okay…” Sanji breathed out to clear his throat. As hard as it was to deny you of more kisses He had to let tonight go how he wanted. He had to call the shots tonight. “If we have sex now you’ll be too tired for your massage.”
“Oh! Right the massage I forgot I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He patted your head before kissing your forehead. “Let me rinse you off and we can finish….good girl.”
If you were facing him still he would have clearly seen the switch in your face and how quickly you bit your lip. Sanji has never called you good girl and it makes you clench at how it rolled of the tongue for him.
You both got out and got dressed for bed in the bathroom, but Sanji suggested you just put on underwear and wrap the towel around you where in the moment seemed like a good idea since you were getting a simple massage. He walks you back to his room which kind of made you look back when you both passed your bedroom door, but he just rubbed your shoulders and told to he wanted to do something different tonight.
“Oh wow…” He opens his room and it smells so good ! It was perfectly warm coming in from the candles and the aroma was something similar to vanilla and cinnamon. He had a few towels, oil and a small rectangular gift on his bed. You actually forgot how much you enjoyed Sanji’s room. “It’s so nice in here! Sanji you—-“
In a Swift movement he pulled your lips onto his, it was passionate and slow making a small whimper escape into his mouth.
“Strip.”
Was all he whispered to you before pulling away, his natural scent brushed past you as he grab one of his cigarettes to light. You knew Sanji wouldn’t get mad at you for not listening, but we’re you really sure about that?
“I said,” You didn’t even feel the clasps of your bra unhook falling down immediately exposing your breast, “Strip, sweetheart….panties too okay?”
You didn’t have much of a response as you moved your hands down from your breast to rid of your underwear. You could feel Sanji’s hungry gaze on you as he was sitting on the bed watching.
“Come here…lay down on your tummy for me.”
It was a tinge of shyness you felt creep up inside the pit of your belly laying on the bed fully naked while he was in his tank top and pajama pants.
Something was different.
“You’re not mad at me are you, Sanji?” The worry in your voice nearly made Sanji break. He never had to hear this level of concern from you, but even though he wanted to prove to himself tonight he can be the dominant man you want him to be he will do it in a gentlemen like manner.
Well try.
“No! Never that, darling.” He placed the towel on your butt caressing it a little, “You could never make me mad I just want to make you feel good, okay? You ganna be My good girl and take what I give you right?”
That damn knuckle caressing again. You feel yourself clench again onto nothing as he rubbed the back of your thighs.
“Yes—“
“…yes..what?”
You froze for a second…what did he want you to say?
He hates “Daddy”
He isn’t a “Captain “
So…
“Yes, sir.”
Sanji could feel his cock twitch, but you wouldn’t know seeing the new twinkle in his eye, so it must have been the correct word. He kissed your forehead and got back on the bed.
You heard his palms rub in the oil and began his magic.
Its been less than 10 minutes and you’ve already felt yourself get embarrassingly turned on. You felt him put the warm oil on your now exposed butt and felt the liquid rush down your slit.
“Sanji!” You jerked at the teasing feel of it pour over your lower body, he chuckled and continued to massage your inner thighs.
“Just relax sweetheart..”Trying to do so seemed too difficult when the up and down motions of his hands kept brushing against your slit.
Eventually you just couldn’t take the subtle touches and your mewls seemed to not be enough for him to get the hint. You never had to beg for Sanji to please you, but now you were under his spell, you felt weak against his touch, and so nearly cried to him,
“Sanji…Touch me…please…”
“I am touching you baby..unless you wanted me to rub somewhere…or something else.”
He was clearly toying with you. Sanji didn’t want to give in to your pleads too quickly he wanted you to ache for it. And you wasn’t used to that, you could almost hear his amusement in his tone when you whine again and he slaps your butt lightly as a consequence for being so impatient and rubbing it right after to soothe you.
“Sanji…please….I wanna…” You were so caught up in the THOUGHT of him inside you you didn’t catch the spit on the side of your mouth until he cleaned it with his thumb.
“You wanna what baby? Drink some Water?”
“I want…your fingers inside me..” you shoved your face in your arms feeling a bit of embarrassment having to be vocal about what you want, but Sanji found it so attractive and hot seeing you like this, seeing you not demand. Maybe listening to that conversation was something he needed to remind himself who’s really in charge.
You whined his name immediately feeling his index and middle finger slide inside your cunt just way too easily, a small reward for Sanji of how good he was making you feel.
“You like that?”
“Yes! Yes Sanji i do please don’t Stop!
Sanji loves you, he really does, he loves you so much he would die for you, however tonight you may question that because after seeing how good you looked so submissive and obedient under his touch, tonight—
He wanted to break you.
Part 3 (final)
#one piece smut#TimikosSanji#one piece headcanons#black reader#one piece#sanji#sanjionepiece#sanji imagine#one piece x female reader#sanji smut#sanji x black reader#sanji x reader#female reader#one piece x black!reader#black foot sanji#x female reader#one piece scenario#x chubby reader
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2023.11.04
Complete fics posted on AO3 this day
1. The Hierophant by @hsvh-hp [M, 29k]
►Draco lowers his wand on the Astronomy tower. By sunrise, the war is over.
2. Lightweight, Pottah? by sasukelover69 [G, 1k]
►Prompt: One character breaks into the other's apartment thinking it's their friend's house and they're really drunk, but the owner of the apartment thinks the other is cute and lets them stay over.
3. The Poems You Leave Behind by KamiWheyy [G, 2k]
►Harry Potter keeps finding little notes - little poems. Draco Malfoy likes poems. What else will Eighth Year bring?
---
Fest/Exchange
1. Fawning Over You by Anonymous [E, 39k]
►Harry's not sure which would be worse: Ron and Hermione finding out he buys Draco Malfoy's premium pornography and an extra gift off his wishlist every week, or Draco Malfoy finding out Harry has a horrible, distracting, embarrassing crush on him.
★ Harry/Draco Career Fair 2023 | @hd-fan-fair
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Showstopper 📸 2: The rumors really are true
Hoseok knows the rumors.
Everyone in the industry knows the rumors.
Min Yoongi is a player. Min Yoongi is a snake. Stand in front of Min Yoongi’s camera, and you will be just another one of his victims – prey for him to use as he pleases and toss away when he gets bored.
Still, when Hoseok gets the call to audition for the magazine at which the elusive Min Yoongi works as the lead photographer, he does not hesitate to say yes. This is Hoseok’s dream, and he will be damned if he lets some industry hotshot stand in his way. He is an up-and-coming model who has worked with some of the hottest, most chaotic people in the business; surely, one man is not capable of hip-swishing into Hoseok’s life and throwing a wrench in all his plans.
📸 Hoseok x Yoongi
📸 word count: 17.8k
📸 strangers to lovers, model & photographer au, angst, smut, fluff, slash, nsfw, 18+
📸 warnings: thick thick tension; a bit of jealousy; inappropriate boss to employee conduct; Hoseok in a merkin; explicit mentions of sex; mention of giving & receiving a handjob with a stranger in a bathroom stall; a kiss; angst!!!; bestie Jimin is chaos in human form; Namjoon is both a kind friend and a snitch and we love that for him; Yoongi is bi/pan.
📸 notes: HI WOW I DID NOT MEAN TO LET A FULL YEAR PASS BEFORE UPDATING THIS FIC!!! i actually really love this one and i am sad that it took me so long to return, but i am back here, with 2 more chapters in the works!!! also, i don't know anything about modeling contracts & everything is made up!!! please have fun!!!
📸 written for the BTS Found Fest!
📸 thanks to @neoneunnajimin for beta reading.
📸 posted jan. 2024 | read on ao3
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For a week and a half, Hoseok's life is a whirlwind of photoshoots and wardrobe fittings. He rubs shoulders with some of the biggest names in the industry and overhears talk of making him the face of a jewelry or perfume line. Seemingly everyone fawns over Hoseok, gathers around the monitor to look at proofs, and praises him for his work.
"You make it look effortless," he hears a lot, "like you were born to do this."
Show-stopping, Hoseok thinks, mind always returning to the booth at the pizzeria, to the soft but insistent look in Yoongi's eyes, over which a wild mess of dark brown waves hung. And to the car ride home after that shoot in his home studio, to the gentle way Yoongi squeezed his knee.
During the week and a half, Hoseok sees Yoongi daily, and he does his best to appear unaffected by Yoongi's sleepy appearance swaddled in layer upon layer of dark clothing. Despite looking soft, Yoongi is stern and cold at work, which Hoseok has to adjust to at first.
But there are glances and compliments thrown Hoseok's way that are warm and full of depth, and he clings to those like a lifeline. He finds he is always waiting for the day to come when they have a remote shoot that Yoongi drives him home from, or another meeting over dinner, or, if he is really lucky, another shoot in Yoongi's home studio.
After an intense week and a half that has Hoseok feeling as exhausted as he feels hopeful, on a sunny Saturday morning, Hoseok wakes to find a text message that fills him with as much excitement as it does worry.
Magic Min
Are you free for lunch? There are some potential contractual items that I would like to discuss with you.
Hoseok scoffs at potential contractual items, rolling his eyes at how Yoongi always seems so stuffy over text. He wonders if Yoongi would ever be the type to send an emoji if they were to become that close, then feels his cheeks warm at the wayward thought, laughing it away almost as quickly as it arrived.
If they were to become close...Hoseok knows that one does not simply become close to a man like Yoongi. Even Namjoon, who seems to be Yoongi's closest confidant – daresay his friend – is responded to in simple grumbles and shrugs more often than not.
But still, Hoseok likes to imagine it. His soft, gummy smile; his deep, contemplative eyes; the way his hands leave behind a trail of warmth wherever they touch, lingering and making impressions for Hoseok to trace over and over again later. If only those impressions were more tangible, like a soft press of lips, a bruise sucked into skin, scratches of blunt fingernails leaving behind welts, and, god forbid, drawing tiny droplets of blood.
A shiver runs down Hoseok's back, and he shakes his head before slapping himself on the cheek twice, forcing his wandering mind back to earth. He lets out a deep huff of air that had sat trapped in his lungs.
He really needs to get laid if this is how he reacts to seeing a very cold business-only text message from a man he hardly knows. Even if that man happens to be soft and pretty as a petal and calls him show-stopping.
With another stern slap to his cheek, Hoseok clears his throat and types out a response—
Hoseok
Sure. When and where, boss?
—and then throws his bright orange and yellow comforter to the side in a rush as he bolts into the bathroom to shower and begin his skincare routine, eager to put his best face forward.
Hoseok speeds through his routine but takes care not to skip any steps, then he rushes back to his abandoned phone, relieved to find Yoongi's response only came in seven minutes ago.
Magic Min
Craving burgers. There's a spot not too far from you if that sounds good.
Attached is a link to a burger joint that Hoseok has been to several times over the years, and he smiles to himself as he realizes he will be meeting Yoongi again. Yoongi, who he has seen every day since Monday, and nearly every day the week prior, with the exception of last Saturday and Sunday.
Hoseok
Ah, I know that spot! Sounds great.
Hoseok clicks off the screen of his phone and squeezes the device tight in his palm, considering what kind of outfit would be best for such an outing. He is surprised when it takes less than a minute for a response to come in and bites his lip as he reads it over.
Magic Min
Great. Is noon good? Or do you need more time to fuss over what to wear?
Ah, there it is, the classic Min Asshole charm. Hoseok had nearly forgotten about just how obnoxious Yoongi can be, and he rolls his eyes at how he always knows just what to say to get under his skin. The man does have a point, though; does Hoseok have enough time to fuss over what to wear?
A glance at the clock shows it is just after 10 am, and Hoseok sighs with relief. Thanks to his early shoots, he has grown accustomed to waking up earlier than usual.
He even went so far as to ignore his friends last night when they insisted he join them at the club, feeling exhausted from a busy week. He likes to think of this as his glow-up era; a time for him to grow and mature, and not wake up all puffy and depressed from a hangover. Frankly, his friends could learn a thing or two from him.
Hoseok
Noon works just fine, thank you very much. And no need to send your goon to pick me up. I'll walk.
This time, when Hoseok spins away from his bed, he brings his phone with him, eager for another response despite knowing that in under two hours, he will be seated across from the man at another wooden booth.
He gazes wistfully at his closet, trying to come up with the perfect game plan while being wholly distracted by the thought that, at any moment, his phone will buzz to life with a new notification. When it does, Hoseok gasps happily and wastes no time opening the message.
Magic Min
Goon? I'm telling Seokjin-hyung you said that.
Hoseok
Please, I'm not afraid of him.
Magic Min
You should be.
With a coy bite of his lip that tugs into a smile, Hoseok watches Yoongi's response come quickly, and then he sets his phone down, deciding he has work to do and that he cannot allow a man to distract him.
Time flies when he is having fun, and after an exciting hour of pulling shirts and jeans from hangers to hold in front of himself in the mirror, he finally gets dressed in a white tee tucked into distressed blue jeans with a black bomber jacket on top that has a pretty watercolor flower pattern of deep pinks and bright greens.
He applies a little makeup to accentuate his eyes and lips, then uses a little product to style his hair in a way that suggests it is, in fact, unstyled. Simple. Tasteful. Perfect.
By 11:30, Hoseok is antsy and begins to circle around his place, unsure whether or not this outfit calls for a purse and slinging several over his shoulder before deciding the added weight just heightens his anxiety. His jacket pockets are accommodating enough for his phone, wallet, keys, and lip balm, so he shoves everything where it belongs and searches the restaurant to find out how long it will take him to walk, nearly shouting with excitement that it is twenty minutes away and that his misery will soon be over.
Hoseok slides his feet into and kicks his feet out of several pairs of white sneakers before deciding to wear the first pair he tried on, then checks his phone to see that it is 11:36. Close enough, he decides, as he shoots Yoongi a text and heads out the door.
Hoseok
Be there in 20!
As Hoseok makes his way through the hallway of his building, down the short flight of steps, and out into the warm, late morning air, his heart begins to pick up to a more excited pace. Whereas before he was antsy about leaving, now he feels nervous about arriving.
He knows he has nothing to worry about, but there is such an aura to Yoongi that feels stifling at times, especially when Hoseok walks into a room unsure of which version of the man to expect. Will he be cold or warm?
When Hoseok's phone buzzes, he is a little surprised to receive a response. Yoongi is definitely better than average as far as communicators go, but Hoseok assumes he will be there early anyway, waiting in a booth that is tucked away in a corner.
Magic Min
I should arrive first, but if not, save us a booth, please, and thank you.
With a soft smile, Hoseok takes pride in how well he was able to predict Yoongi's actions and sends a thumbs-up emoji in response before tucking his phone back into his pocket and fishing out his lip balm.
His lips are certainly not in need of being balmed, but there is a sharp chill to the breeze, making him feel self-conscious about them becoming dry. Or, perhaps, he just needs something to fidget with for a few moments.
The walk to the restaurant is quick, taking Hoseok past several bars and cafes he was a regular at while in college. He misses the cozy, grimy atmosphere of certain dives, but this area is usually so packed with students that it tends to result in long lines and unnecessary drama. In the middle of the day, this stretch of businesses tends to be less chaotic, and Hoseok is relieved to find the street in front of the burger spot is mostly empty, save for a familiar black sedan.
The pep in Hoseok's step trips him up once his right leg hesitates to move forward for a second just split enough to throw his rhythm off, and his palms tingle as the door to the sedan opens to the sidewalk and a familiar mess of dark hair appears from behind it. Yoongi stands with the door ajar and rests his arm on the top edge of it as Hoseok approaches, giving a smile warmer than anything Hoseok could expect, stirring butterflies to take flight in his stomach.
Then Hoseok's gaze drifts to the driver's side where, through the windshield, he sees Seokjin give a playful snarl before opening his door and standing tall in a clear attempt to be intimidating.
"Yah!" Seokjin yells, nodding his chin to Hoseok, who approaches and stops beside the front passenger tire, keeping his eyes on Seokjin despite feeling Yoongi's gaze burning into him. "Yoongichi says you called me a goon!"
At this, Hoseok raises his eyebrows and turns his attention to Yoongi, doing his best not to absolutely swoon at the sight of him as he shouts, "Did he?" in response.
Yoongi mirrors his eyebrow raise and shrugs, giving Hoseok a smile far too playful for his heart to handle, and drawls, "I told you I would."
Turning back to Seokjin, Hoseok responds, "Well, you do come to his beck and call. And you drove him here today! Very goon-like behavior if you ask me."
Seokjin gives an incredulous shake of his head and begins shouting in a rapid succession of syllables, "Yah, Hoseokah, just because you have neither the class nor income to require an assistant—"
But Yoongi clears his throat, cutting Seokjin off with a raspy, "That's enough," with a fond smile as he steps away from the vehicle to close the door.
"This isn't finished, Hoseokah!" Seokjin shouts before getting back into his vehicle, and Hoseok shoots him an okay hand sign while mouthing the word before swallowing thickly and turning his attention entirely to Yoongi.
"I told you to be afraid," Yoongi chides, and Hoseok feels his cheeks warm.
"What could he do?" he asks, fidgeting his hands in front of him while attempting to keep his voice level and cool. "I'm sure he's all talk."
Yoongi stands with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing a navy blue knit sweater with a neckline and bottom hem that appear fashionably distressed. Hobo-chic, as Hoseok likes to call it.
Despite wearing loose-fit light denim jeans—cuffed at the ankle over a pair of navy and tan Nikes—Hoseok's eyes fall immediately to his ass the moment Yoongi turns to enter the restaurant, and he thanks his lucky stars that the sweater is loose enough cut to at least partially cover him.
Sadly, Hoseok thinks, a butt like that is never fully concealable, and he lets out a sad sigh, lamenting over the knowledge that under all that material, Yoongi's gluteus maximus truly is maximus to the highest degree.
It takes a moment for Hoseok to realize Yoongi is holding the door open for him, and when he lifts his gaze to find him with his arm outstretched, looking at Hoseok over his shoulder with a squint in his eyes, Hoseok clears his throat, blinks heavily and mutters, "S-sorry, your hem is weird...I was trying to figure it out."
Yoongi responds with a noncommittal hum at turns, entering the restaurant and releasing the door, which Hoseok quickly steps past as he rubs his clammy palms against his denim pants and attempts to get his head on right. He cannot be sexualizing his boss, especially when this same boss has a reputation for being a player. Getting wrapped up in a guy like Yoongi – more than he already is – is a bad idea. He knows it is a bad idea.
The restaurant is busier than Hoseok expected, and Yoongi leads him back to a booth in the far left corner. Although Hoseok appreciates his penchant for getting as far away from other humans as possible, it does cause his nerves to spike knowing that the two of them will be more or less secluded once again. While at work, there have been so many other people around that Hoseok has not had a moment alone with Yoongi since the time in his home studio almost two weeks ago.
"The reason I asked you to join me here," Yoongi begins before Hoseok has a chance to settle into the wooden seat, sliding to the center while watching Yoongi thumb through his phone, appearing bored, "is because I have already been getting campaign offers for you, but you do not have an agent on file."
"Ah," Hoseok responds, grabbing the menu despite already knowing what he plans to order so he can space out while looking down at it rather than up at Yoongi. When he affirms, "I do not have an agent," his voice betrays him, coming out a bit more meekly than he would like.
"Well, for the time being, I can act as one for you," Yoongi offers as if it is nothing, making Hoseok glance up with a start to find Yoongi's eyes on him with his phone cradled in both hands. "I'm familiar with campaign managers. They would be showing in my magazine anyway, so I would still be leading the shoots. It cuts out a middleman and makes everything far more efficient for both of us. And, you would make more money."
"More...mon—" Hoseok's lips feel stuck in place as Yoongi responds to his inquiry before he has a chance to completely voice it.
"Well, I certainly would not take a cut for acting as an agent. I already make enough from your pretty face as is."
The words pretty face ricochet around Hoseok's brain, and he nods shallowly while his vision goes foggy, turning Yoongi into a beige, black, and navy-colored blob while he attempts to wrap his head around the offer. Taking on high-end brands is the dream, and Yoongi presenting the prospect as if it is the easiest thing in the world has his mind racing.
"Which company?" Hoseok asks once he finally has his wits about him, and he blinks Yoongi back into view to watch his stern face become soft with a smile.
Yoongi opens his mouth to respond just as a server approaches, and Hoseok is so focused on the words he never says that the appearance of another person makes him startle and swear under his breath.
Through a chuckle, Yoongi orders the two of them beer, then asks Hoseok if he needs a moment to look at the menu, smiling when Hoseok shakes his head and mutters, "Nah, I know what I would like," and orders his usual double cheeseburger and fries.
As the server leaves, Hoseok takes a fortifying breath in the hope of returning to the conversation at hand, but he feels strangely out of it, spacing out at the wooden table between him and Yoongi.
"Dior," Yoongi says, and Hoseok gasps as he looks up, searching Yoongi's face for a hint that he might be joking. This would certainly be a horrible joke, but Hoseok is still not sure he has Yoongi's sense of humor figured out.
Instead, when Yoongi does nothing but watch him squirm, he responds, "Be serious," with a frown.
"I am serious," Yoongi responds. "Men's wear and cologne. They want you in the front, center, and back of my magazine modeling their products."
The highest paying positions in a magazine – the money shots, as he and the boys call them. Dior wants Hoseok to model the money shots for them.
"This feels fake," Hoseok mutters, finding it absolutely impossible to wrap his mind around. Sure, he is a stunning man who works hard for his craft, and yes, he did manage to get one of the most important fashion magazines in the country to want to work with him...but Dior?
"What did I tell you?" Yoongi asks with a slight frown, leaning forward with his elbows against the table.
Instinctively, Hoseok sits back, creating as much distance between the two of them as possible. Yoongi continues to watch him silently and patiently, and Hoseok begins feeling embarrassed to be under such a scrutinous gaze.
"With you, I can be great," Hoseok mutters, knowing he is selling himself short even now, unsure why he finds it so hard to be excited about his dream beginning to come true.
"Show-stopping," Yoongi corrects as he raises his brow. "You will be great. Better than great."
The server sets down two dark beers, and Yoongi presses one toward Hoseok before taking his own and having a drink. It tastes similar to the beer they had at the pizzeria – malty and just a bit hoppy – and Hoseok finally finds a small smile gracing his lips as Yoongi's words begin to fully sink in.
"Dior," He says with his lips pressed against the chilled rim of his pint glass.
"Dior," Yoongi confirms, and this time, when Hoseok meets his eye, he cannot help but feel a burst of affection behind his ribs.
As he takes another drink from his glass, Yoongi's eyes stay on him as if he is eager for a confirmation of some kind, with his expression hard to read, save for a glimmer in his eyes.
"How does a company like Dior know I exist?" Hoseok blurts.
"I submitted some samples to them," Yoongi responds with a shrug, making Hoseok's eyes widen; he cannot believe Yoongi would do something like that for him.
"But…why?" he asks over the rim of his beer glass.
Yoongi tilts his head slightly, eyes drifting from left to right over Hoseok's face. "Are you so shocked that I would see something in you that Dior might want?"
Truthfully, no. Hoseok knows he has talent and can look the part for Dior. Perhaps he is just surprised that Yoongi would extend this type of kindness to one of his models.
"No," he admits, watching as the edges of Yoongi's mouth rise. "Not shocked about that, just surprised that you went out of your way to submit samples. My cover hasn't even gone to print."
"And yet they chomped at the bit," Yoongi mutters with a smirk.
If Dior sees something in Hoseok, he knows he would be a fool not to accept. Especially if Yoongi seems to have an in with them.
"Alright," Hoseok says, setting his glass on the table and nodding his head. He holds out a hand, which Yoongi glances down at before slowly raising his own, only grabbing onto it when he says, "We have a deal, boss."
"Well," Yoongi adds with a chuckle while allowing Hoseok to emphatically shake his large, warm hand, "we don't have a deal yet; we need to discuss the actual contract. But I am glad that you are so excited."
Hoseok releases the handshake with a nervous chuckle and returns to gripping onto his chilled beer glass with both hands. Meanwhile, Yoongi lifts his phone and begins going over a contract, explaining the terms to Hoseok. The food is dropped off mid-conversation, and Yoongi mutters,
"I'll send a copy to you, and tomorrow you can come by and sign it if you have time?"
Tomorrow. Dior wants to sign him, Yoongi wants to see him again tomorrow, and Hoseok stares at his food while his heart thumps happily in his chest.
* * *
The night is a blur of alcohol and grinding against the hot, sweaty bodies of his friends. Hoseok does not tell the others why he is celebrating, not wanting to jinx things.
But he does whisper to Jimin while on the dance floor that there is talk of a pretty big offer and that tomorrow, he and Yoongi will be going over the contract to finalize details. And then, from there, everything fades to black.
Hoseok wakes up feeling exhausted and stretches his limbs with a deep groan. Try as he might to remember what else happened the night before, he falls short. He was talking to Jimin about Yoongi, and then...?
A jolt of anxiety works its way through Hoseok as he worries he may have said too much about Yoongi. He rubs his palms over his eyes in embarrassment as he reaches for his phone to check his notifications. Thankfully, there is nothing but a message from Jimin that does not seem to suggest Hoseok said too much, although it does suggest that he did say something.
Jimin
Don't forget, we agreed that you would wear something slutty to his studio today!!!
A pact between Hoseok and Jimin to wear something slutty could mean that Hoseok has confessed his feelings for Yoongi – especially for Yoongi's ass. But it could also be a completely innocuous, everyday occurrence. And there really is no way to know without finding out.
With a deep, fortifying sigh, Hoseok gets to work.
Hoseok
And was this slutty pact apropos of anything, or just something we decided on for shits and giggs?
It takes approximately ten seconds for Hoseok's phone to begin ringing with a video call, and he rolls his eyes, runs a hand through his hair, and sits back against the wall, holding the device at a flattering, high angle. He does not have a chance to say one word before Jimin's voice is booming through the speaker, matching the wide expression on his face.
"You silly whore!"
Hoseok clears his throat as he responds, "Good day to you too, sir."
"Do you really not remember the conversation we had last night about Magic Min and his big, pretty hands?"
With a scoff, Hoseok feels affronted, mostly by his own drunken loose lips, and he presses a palm to his chest and gasps. Jimin cracks up laughing, then opens his mouth to say more before Hoseok cuts him off, feeling a sudden surge of paranoia.
"Wait! Scan around the room so I can make sure nobody is there."
With a huff, Jimin complies, muttering under his breath about how he thought they were best friends, but apparently, Hoseok does not trust him. Jimin's room is bright and floral, with clothing draped over absolutely every surface, and Hoseok is pleased to find that there are no other men in the room to overhear them.
"What did I say, exactly?" Hoseok asks with a raise of his eyebrows.
"Wow," Jimin laughs, shaking his head, "you really did black out, huh?"
With a groan, Hoseok grows impatient, and he raises his eyebrows, urging the other to go on.
"Alright, alright," Jimin concedes with a huff, laying flat on his back with his phone held in the air, pink hair fanned around his sleepy doll face. "You mostly muttered about his hands and his ass, and said you wanted to shoot your shot."
"Oh god," Hoseok grumbles, feeling embarrassed and letting his arm drop to a less flattering angle. "Did Jeongguk overhear me?"
Jimin rolls his eyes and laughs. "No. Jeongguk and Taehyung were sucking each others faces all fucking night, they did not overhear a single thing any person in the entire club had to say."
Hoseok senses a bitterness in Jimin's tone but chooses to ignore it, pressing on. "And then what? Is that really all I said?"
"Yes!" Jimin insists, opening his eyes wide and angry. "You waxed poetic about his round little ass for like an hour. It was honestly too much. Too much! You need to get laid, preferably by him; I never want to hear about it again."
"Alright, alright," Hoseok grumbles, pouting and feigning offense. "Sorry for confiding in my best friend. I'll just find some other pretty twink to pour my heart out to."
Jimin sticks his tongue out and opens his mouth to respond, but a text notification from Yoongi pops down, and Hoseok stammers, "Sh-shit, he's texting me, gotta go!" and ends the call to the sight of Jimin looking as if he is ready to start yelling.
Hoseok sits up straight, runs a hand through his hair as if to make himself presentable, and swallows thickly as he opens the message.
Magic Min
If you are available to go over the contract today, when might be a good time to send my goon to come pick you up?
Hoseok checks the time, relieved that it is only 10 am, and shoots off a quick text as he fumbles to get his feet untangled from his comforter.
Hoseok
I'm free any time after 12.
The jostling around makes Hoseok feel nauseated the moment he stands, and he wobbles on his feet, letting his butt hit the mattress while he attempts to breathe through the hangover-induced vertigo. After a grueling handful of seconds, he trudges forward to the shower and begins his routine, leaving his phone behind.
Hoseok sits on the floor of the shower while water that is just slightly too hot for comfort beats down at him. He hugs his knees to his chest and rests his chin in the dip between them while attempting to weigh his options in a reasonable, mature manner.
Already, he is falling for Yoongi's charm – there is no doubt about that. But if the man is going to be acting as his manager for the Dior shoots, there is absolutely no way he can encourage anything to happen between them.
Although they are going to be signing a contract, it still feels too risky to allow Yoongi to have any more power over him than he may already have. Say Hoseok develops feelings for him, and Yoongi finds it to be some sort of weak spot that Hoseok has, making him vulnerable and easy to use. Hoseok could lose everything.
After enough deliberation and spacing out, Hoseok shampoos his hair while remaining on the floor, then he begrudgingly gets to his feet – feeling incredibly woozy in the process and clinging onto the wet white tiled wall. He washes and rinses his body as best as he can, then gets out, shivering as he wraps a fluffy towel around his shoulders.
Hoseok towel dries his hair and body, then walks out into his bedroom in the nude, weighing his options. He could still dress slutty just to see where he might stand with the man, but even then…knowing could be too dangerous. It is probably in his best interest to dress casual – but still cute – and keep all of his impure thoughts about large, veiny hands and a perfectly round butt at bay.
Before deciding on an outfit, Hoseok returns to his bed to check his phone. And although he is pleased to find a response from the man himself, he is a little disappointed by the message.
Magic Min
How about 3? I have a prior engagement this morning, but I can be ready to sit down with you then.
Three is still several hours away, and Hoseok flings himself down onto his bed with an indignant sigh and groans. Sure, he has plenty of ways to spend his time between now and then, but the anticipation is going to eat away at his insides. He is far too eager to see Yoongi again.
He supposes he could get dressed and go down to his favorite cafe for a nice greasy egg sandwich and attempt to work on his hangover, in the meantime. And if he dresses a little slutty for his errand and ends up wearing the same outfit to meet Yoongi later, that is his own business.
Hoseok
3 sounds perfect, boss!
* * *
At 3 pm sharp, Hoseok receives a text message from the number he has affectionately saved in his contacts as Goon Squad, letting him know that his car has arrived. Hoseok shoots back a thumbs-up emoji, then slides his feet into black chelsea boots, checks his hair in a mirror beside the front door, pats down his pockets, and – with a spritz of Armani Code for women – does a twirl and heads out.
He has opted for a similar outfit as the one he wore yesterday, but this white tee is stretched at the neck and hangs off one side, showing his clavicle. His tight blue jeans are ripped, and he wears a black leather belt and a thin black choker, completing the look with a black denim jacket.
When Hoseok gets out to the sidewalk, he is pleased to find his favorite goon Seokjin parked at the curb in a familiar black sedan. As soon as he opens the passenger door, Seokjin tuts his tongue, making Hoseok laugh.
"Yah, no speaking to me," Seokjin snorts, holding up his palm as if to deflect Hoseok's greeting.
Hoseok gives the presented palm a high-five, chuckling to himself as Seokjin gasps, and then he settles in and buckles his seatbelt. Without another word, they take off down the street, making exactly one and a half blocks before Seokjin starts conversation.
"Yoongichi tells me you're being pursued by Dior."
Hoseok turns to Seokjin with his lips sealed tight and waits for the man to turn to him impatiently before raising his eyebrows.
Exasperated, Seokjin sighs, "You may speak," while waving his hand in a circle in Hoseok's general direction.
"Yup!" Hoseok chirps happily, flashing a wide smile that Seokjin clearly finds aggravating.
Seokjin looks between Hoseok and the road several times, shouting, "What? That's all you have to say for yourself?"
With a shrug, Hoseok turns his attention out the window, watching as the buildings along the street become more expensive. "There's not much else to say." As Yoongi's apartment building comes into view, he adds, "I'm excited."
"Well, good," Seokjin responds with just a hint of insistence. "You should be excited. Yoongi is extremely picky about who gets those top ad spots, but I had no doubt it could be you."
Although Hoseok's heart pounds, both from the weight of Seokjin's words and the proximity to Yoongi's apartment, he keeps his voice as calm as he can while crooning, "Awe, you're just saying that to butter me up."
Seokjin gasps, affronted, making Hoseok giggle as he shouts, "I butter up no man!"
"Sure," Hoseok responds, doing his best to sound unconvinced.
As they pull to the curb, Seokjin sits back in his seat and waits for Hoseok to exit. "I trust you know the way," he chirps when Hoseok makes no move to get out.
Hoseok unfastens his belt and opens the door unceremoniously, offering Seokjin a wave of his hand but saying nothing. His palms are prickling with sweat, and he is more than a little anxious about seeing Yoongi again.
He also has no idea whether he should alert Yoongi to his arrival or if Seokjin has, but he shuffles through the entrance and toward the elevator, reaching for his pocket to retrieve his phone to send a text.
Right on time, the elevator doors slide open, and Hoseok glances up to find Yoongi standing with one arm crossed over his chest and the other holding his phone, which he is looking down at. Hoseok hesitates long enough for Yoongi to glance up and raise his eyebrows.
He stumbles forward, struggling to pick up his feet fast enough, hoping Yoongi does not notice. If it were not for the very gentle tug of the corner of Yoongi's mouth, which Hoseok spots just as he enters the elevator, he would think his little flub had gone undetected.
"Nervous?" Yoongi asks softly, almost invitingly, sending a chill along Hoseok's spine.
"I guess so," Hoseok admits; no use in trying to play it cool when his career is being discussed.
It is not as if Yoongi is unused to these types of conversations with models, although Hoseok does wonder how many of them Yoongi has acted as an agent for. Now that he is standing in the elevator – the door of which is sliding open on the fourth floor – Hoseok wonders if he has made a mistake.
Yoongi presented the idea as if it was the simplest thing in the world, but could Hoseok be giving this man too much power? Should he have done some research to find out how to be prepared for a situation like this?
Yoongi exits the elevator first and punches a number on the keypad to unlock his studio, then he steps inside, holding the door with the tips of three fingers. Hoseok follows behind, silently taking in a deep breath of the musk that hangs around the room, eyes lingering on Yoongi's fingers as they brush away from the edge of the door and drop.
Once inside, Hoseok kicks out of his sneakers and robotically walks toward the couch, where Yoongi has set a stack of papers and a glass of water on the table before it. He shrugs out of his leather jacket and drapes it over his arm, hugging it tightly to his tummy.
"Would you like something to drink?" Yoongi offers, veering off toward the kitchen.
"Water is fine," Hoseok calls back, walking past where everything is set, so Yoongi can sit there.
The leather cushion whines under Hoseok's weight as he sits, and he scoots forward, knees tilted in toward the empty spot where he assumes Yoongi will sit, with his hands resting on his thighs. He places his jacket to the side, bunched up against the cushion.
Yoongi approaches and sits where Hoseok expected he would, also scooting forward on the edge, somewhat stiffly, like he is regretting having sat at all. He leans to set the glass of water in front of Hoseok, and Hoseok instinctively leans away.
"The contract is pretty simple," Yoongi drawls, sounding tired. "Please take all the time you need to read it over if you have not done so already. We have lawyers on standby if you would like for me to get anyone on the phone, but this contract does not differ much from the one you have already signed with me. When you are ready, come knock on the studio door and we will continue to discuss what comes next."
"Oh," Hoseok mutters, somewhat disappointed that Yoongi is going to leave the room. "Okay. Sounds good."
With a sigh, Yoongi places his hands on his knees, stands, and walks off toward the studio. Hoseok follows his movements, noting the very simple attire of a black tee tucked into black athletic pants with white stripes on the sides.
He is surprised to see Yoongi so dressed down and wonders what kind of prior engagement he might have had before this meeting. He wonders if Yoongi is dating someone; could they be upstairs in his apartment right now? Something like envy swirls in his insides, and he decides he needs to stop thinking about this.
Hoseok reaches for the glass, letting the cool condensation on the outside cover his palm and pull him back to earth. The water is cold as it goes down, making Hoseok shiver, and he has a nice big gulp of it before setting it back onto the table.
With a deep, fortifying breath, he unceremoniously wipes his palm onto his pant leg, then reaches for the contract. And he does his best to read through it – he really does. But he is distracted by Yoongi's proximity, even from the other room, and he keeps catching his thoughts drifting back to the man dressed down in black, wondering what he might be working on in his studio.
From what he can tell, there is nothing that gives Yoongi any more power or money; although Yoongi is stated as his representative, nothing changes in terms of how much decision-making power he has, as he still has full control over what does and does not make it into the magazine, and he remains the lead photographer. All of these are already stipulations for Hoseok working at the magazine in the first place.
No cuts or shares of Hoseok's profits will make it to Yoongi's pockets – he sees the word entitled a lot, referring to his own earnings – and if Hoseok is unhappy with the Dior campaigns, he has the right to sit down with Yoongi and the Dior team and discuss his desires, including but not limited to backing out of the contract. It seems – if he is reading correctly – that he really has nothing to lose.
Hoseok wonders if he should sign the document before realizing Yoongi had never left him with a pen. So, he gets up with a quiet sigh – contract in hand – and walks toward the studio. Anxiety rises with each step, and he knocks on the partially open door, then peeks his head inside.
Yoongi sits leaning back with his eyes closed, hands resting between the back of his head and the seatback of the chair. It takes him just a moment to open his eyes, notice Hoseok, and slowly sit forward. Hoseok makes note of how surprisingly toned Yoongi's upper arms are before they slowly drop down to his sides, and how pretty he looks with his eyes closed and face completely relaxed.
"Come on in," Yoongi says as he reaches forward and clicks a button that shuts off his monitor, causing the faint white glow of the screen to go out. The lighting in this room is dim, made more so by the absence of that light, with only a gold glow from a deskside lamp to fill this space consisting of a black ceiling, floor, and walls.
"Everything looks fine," Hoseok says as he steps slowly through the room, doing his best not to clench the contract in his hand, wondering why he feels so tense.
"Good to hear," Yoongi responds, standing from his chair.
Yoongi reaches for the document, which Hoseok hands over, and he sets it down, leaning his left hand against the desk. Hoseok's eyes trace the veins in Yoongi's arm as he turns to the last page, finds a pen sitting uncapped and ready on his desk, then signs and dates it.
"I get no shares or profits; you are entitled to everything you make," Yoongi says as he uses his fingertips pressed to the center of the papers to spin them so they face Hoseok. "And, I am sure you noticed, there is a clause in this contract that gives us the right to break it without consequence. This is simply a formation to provide a document stating my agency over you during these shoots."
"Thank you," Hoseok mutters as he gently takes the pen from Yoongi and signs and dates the contract.
Yoongi stands hunched over the desk with his palms planted firmly against it, and when Hoseok looks up from signing, their heads are surprisingly close together. Hoseok's eyes drift down to Yoongi's lips for only a blink of a second, then he meets his eye and gives a soft smile.
"Now what?" Hoseok asks.
He feels like he should stand up straight or take a step back – anything to lessen the tension that hangs thick and inviting the longer he and Yoongi hover in this proximity. The dewy, soft musk that emits from Yoongi is intoxicating, and Hoseok takes a slow, silent inhale, filling his chest with it.
Yoongi smiles, rolls his shoulders back, and stands up straight, much to Hoseok's chagrin – though he knows it is for the best.
"Celebrate?" Yoongi suggests, raising an eyebrow.
"Celebrate, how?" Hoseok asks as he stands up straight, heart pounding.
Yoongi shrugs. "I should have a bottle of champagne in my apartment. Shall we?"
"Oh, s-sure," Hoseok stammers as Yoongi begins to walk past him toward the door. The prospect of seeing Yoongi's apartment has Hoseok feeling excited and far more nervous than signing the contract could have.
Yoongi exits the studio and hovers around the door, closing it once Hoseok has walked through. Then he motions to the couch and says, "I'll be right back," walking toward the front door.
Although he has absolutely no reason to feel disappointed that Yoongi is not inviting him up, his tummy stirs nauseatingly. Yoongi has invited him up before, so why is now any different?
With a nod and a very forced smile, Hoseok makes his way over to the couch and plops down. As soon as the front door clicks shut, Hoseok lets out a deep sigh and rests his head back, closing his eyes in an attempt to get his wits about him.
Pining over Yoongi is of no use, especially now that the man is contractually bound to him as an agent, at least through the duration of the Dior shoots. For all he knows, it could only take them a week or two before everything is shot and ready. But it could also take months. Either way, he can manage to keep it in his pants that long; it is not as if Yoongi has ever made a move on him.
He even questions whether he has feelings for Yoongi at all or if Yoongi's past tryst with Jeongguk makes him want to dip his toe into the pool out of spite for his friend. He has always been the competitive type; perhaps thinking he could get more from Yoongi makes him want to see just how far he could go. Hoseok knows he needs to knock off this line of thinking.
It does not take long for Yoongi to return, and by the time he does, Hoseok has already convinced himself to stop thinking about him so fondly. Just because Yoongi is handsome, and has a deep voice, and is insanely wealthy, and is the head of a very popular magazine, does not mean Hoseok should get his panties in a twist whenever the man smiles at him. Frankly, Hoseok tells himself in a very stern inner voice, it is embarrassing behavior.
When Yoongi enters the flat clutching a bottle of champagne in his fist, his hair is tousled – messier than when he left. Hoseok does his best not to overthink it, but the way his waves frame his pretty face is distracting. Yoongi merely smiles as he enters and walks to the kitchen.
"Join me over here?" Yoongi calls, causing Hoseok to tense and look over his shoulder. "In case popping this open makes a mess."
"Sure," Hoseok says under his breath as he stands and pads over to the kitchen.
The kitchen is all long rectangles of light wood laminate that almost appears grey, with countertops in white and grey marble, with hardly anything atop. Everything appears far too sterile; this does not seem like the kind of kitchen someone like Yoongi would actually enjoy using.
Then again, Hoseok reminds himself, he does not know enough about Yoongi to be making this type of judgment call. Perhaps the man really is as vapid and empty as this space. Still, he wonders if the actual kitchen Yoongi uses in his apartment is any different.
Yoongi opens a cabinet that is practically bare of contents, pulls out two long-stem champagne flutes, and sets them on the kitchen island. Hoseok stands along the side of the island, with Yoongi in front of him, just to the left.
As Yoongi twists the end of the wire muselet that holds the cork in place, his smile grows, causing Hoseok to smile in turn. Hoseok expects a loud sound to follow the uncorking and manages to jump anyway, despite how soft the pop is. Yoongi pulls the top of the bottle free, only spilling a little foam as he tips the mouth toward one of the glasses and begins to fill them.
"This is a very big deal," Yoongi says as he waits for the carbonation to drop and continues to fill the flutes, stopping when they are just over half full of actual liquid, with bubbles up to the brim. "I have already given Dior the go-ahead to begin sending outfits, so we can begin the shoots either Tuesday or Wednesday."
Yoongi slides a glass toward Hoseok, then grabs his own and continues. "As for tomorrow, I want you to spend the day with Namjoon. He will take you to the spa for a facial and full body massage, and then to get a manicure and pedicure. On Tuesday, Namjoon and I will figure out what to do with your hair. I like that you have grown the back out a little; I think we can work with it."
In just a few short minutes, Yoongi has managed to give Hoseok enough information that he simply stands with his fingers wrapped around the stem of his glass and heavy blinks. As everything settles over him, Hoseok clears his throat and manages to mutter, "Oh—okay."
Yoongi chuckles and shakes his head, then holds his glass up, and Hoseok follows suit, lifting his own. "You got Dior," he says, and Hoseok swallows a lump.
"I did, thanks to you," he says before he can stop himself, cringing inwardly over how he must sound.
Yoongi watches Hoseok for a beat before tilting his glass forward and tapping it against his. Hoseok lifts his to his lips, then takes a slow sip. The bittersweet liquid fizzes against his tongue, and he savors it as he slowly swallows it back.
"You're quiet today," Yoongi teases with his glass held to his lips.
The comment makes Hoseok feel shy, and he hopes his warming cheeks do not betray him by turning red. He almost apologizes before realizing he has nothing to be sorry for, and instead says, "It's just a lot to take in all at once."
"Fair," Yoongi says, tipping his glass back and emptying its contents into his mouth.
"I'm very grateful," Hoseok says, raising his glass to drink more but pausing and lowering it. "How long do you think we will be shooting for this particular contract?"
With a shrug, Yoongi leans forward on his elbows against the marble, watching Hoseok with his head tilted. "A few weeks, maybe. It depends on how they feel about the photos."
"And then what?" Hoseok asks with his lips against the rim of the glass, tilting it back to finish its contents.
Yoongi stands up straight and continues to regard him with a difficult-to-read expression, head slightly tilted. "What do you mean?"
As soon as Hoseok sets his empty glass down, Yoongi lifts the bottle and fills it back up. Hoseok leans on his elbows, displeased with how they dig into the hard, cool surface.
"I just mean when the contract ends," he nervously clarifies, "will there likely be more? Or will this be a one-time thing?"
"I suppose we have not discussed long-term plans," Yoongi says as he scoots forward a glass two-thirds full of champagne, to the brim with bubbles. "Ordinarily, models shoot with us with the goal of getting onto the cover and centerfold. You're already achieving that."
Hoseok reaches for his glass and straightens back out, lifting it to his lips. He supposes that with the cover promised to be his, there really is nowhere else he can go with M Magazine, outside of ad campaigns.
"Once you have the shoot with Dior under your belt, there will be an endless line of companies looking for you. And not just with my magazine; companies will want you front, back, and center of countless publications. I will be shocked if you are not invited to fashion shows after this."
"So I will need to find a proper agent," Hoseok laments, already concerned about what that process may look like.
"Eventually, it would be for the best," Yoongi agrees, lifting his glass to drink half of its contents. "I know people; I can start making phone calls and finding out who would be a good fit. You will want to conduct interviews and make sure to find someone who can best represent you."
With a sigh, Hoseok lets his arm drop slowly, resting his elbow against the marble with his glass dangling between his fingertips. Already, he feels a bit tipsy, and he realizes he should have eaten something before coming over here.
"Seems like a lot," he grumbles quietly.
"It's not too bad," Yoongi responds.
Hoseok drinks back the rest of his champagne and sets the flute down. When Yoongi shoots his drink back and reaches once more for the bottle, Hoseok chuckles.
"I should probably eat something," he admits, eyes falling to the marble counter.
"I could order some take out," Yoongi offers.
Hoseok's gaze lifts to find Yoongi with his elbows against the countertop, eyes on him. Tension hangs, and Hoseok wonders if Yoongi feels it. He hopes desperately that Yoongi does not.
"Alright," Hoseok agrees. Yoongi was the one who told Hoseok to never turn down payment when it is offered, and he thinks food counts as payment.
"There's a halal spot I like," Yoongi suggests, and Hoseok's stomach grumbles in response just thinking about falafel.
"Yes, please," he says perhaps a little too eagerly, making both of them chuckle.
Yoongi wastes no time taking out his phone and placing an order, and Hoseok sips on his champagne, easing into the idea of sharing more meals with his boss.
He turns and leans against the countertop, elbows against cool marble, and looks at the poster-sized magazine covers on the other side of the room. He wonders whether Yoongi ever hung Jeongguk on his wall but decides not to ask.
* * *
Spa day with Namjoon is everything Hoseok could hope it would be and so much more. The two of them wear matching black tees and joggers, which they agree upon over the phone before Namjoon picks him up, and they swing by a cute little bakery for pastries and coffee, and then set out for a day of pampering, all of Yoongi's dime.
Namjoon is excellent company and participates in each activity. He even has his nails painted a shimmery black while Hoseok gets a manicure, and apologizes profusely for being so ticklish during a pedicure.
They get facials and massages, and Hoseok does his best to ignore the deep, whiny grunts Namjoon makes while the masseuse walks across his back, all while struggling to keep his own sounds at bay. At the end of the day, when they are both properly pampered and feeling relaxed, Namjoon pulls up to a museum.
"No spa day is complete without a leisurely walk through some galleries," he insists, and Hoseok agrees.
He hardly sees any of the art, busy instead thinking about Yoongi and all that he has already done for him. Eating with him last night felt so comfortable, like spending time with a friend. A friend for whom Hoseok has a big fat fucking crush on, but a friend, no less.
Except, Hoseok knows Yoongi is not his friend, and therein lies so many conflicting feelings.
While in front of a giant painting of water lilies, Hoseok clears his throat and mutters, "Hey, Namjoon? Can I ask you something?"
"Of course," Namjoon responds, standing tall and turning his attention to Hoseok.
"Does Yoongi always go out on a limb for people?"
Namjoon chuckles and says, "Yes and no. Mostly no. Why do you ask?"
Hoseok swallows thickly, eyes trailing across the painting. He has no idea why he suddenly feels so shy. "I guess…I don't know…I heard he has a reputation for being cold…but he's been super nice and helpful to me."
"You're a good investment," Namjoon says simply.
It is not quite the answer Hoseok wants to hear, but it does make sense. "Ah."
"And I think he has a bit of a soft spot for you," Namjoon says, much quieter, making Hoseok perk up. "But you didn't hear that from me."
"Yes I absolutely did!" Hoseok responds, turning his full attention to Namjoon. "Say more!"
Namjoon chuckles and sways before turning and slowly walking toward another large painting of flowers, these ones standing tall in a vase.
"He just seems softer these days," Namjoon mutters with a shrug. He turns to Hoseok, showing off his dimpled smile as he says, "He's even being nicer to people."
This is alarming, and suddenly Hoseok feels eager to change the topic. It feels dangerous to think that Yoongi has a soft spot for him.
"I suppose having a good investment puts the man in a good mood," he says, shrugging the information away despite the quickening of his pulse.
"It's true," Namjoon replies. "So don't make the same mistake the others did and catch feelings. I see the way he looks at you…ignore it. I'm serious."
Hoseok rolls his eyes. "As if," he grumbles despite knowing he already is catching feelings, and fast.
* * *
Hoseok's first day as a Dior model is perhaps the best day of his life.
Namjoon dresses him in grey with a thick, long-sleeve shirt tucked into matching pants. He includes a demi-skirt that attaches with a buckle around his waist, hanging over his left leg in long pleats down to his ankle, and he picks out chunky, futuristic-looking white and grey high-top sneakers. To complete the look, Namjoon chooses a thick silver necklace and black sunglasses, and he slicks Hoseok's hair back.
"Look cocky," Yoongi instructs with a stern expression, eyes only leaving his camera viewfinder to give quick orders. "Chin up like you own the fucking place."
Hoseok obeys, smirking and tipping his chin upward. He raises an arm, hand held out as if to show off – as if to say, watch me shine.
"Perfect," Yoongi says, dropping his arms to his side, camera in his right hand with the strap wrapped around his wrist. He winks, giving Hoseok butterflies as he says, "Show-stopping."
* * *
The rest of the week feels like a blur. Hoseok is dressed in more lavish designer clothing, all of which he is given at the end of each shoot. He cannot wait to brag to Jimin; he plans on waiting until he has enough of the men's collection to bring Jimin over and open up his closet with fanfare and applause.
Despite his cold demeanor at work, Yoongi offers to drive Hoseok home twice, both times claiming he has business on that side of town. Both times squeezing Hoseok's knee and telling him he is doing great.
Hoseok's heart pounds as he exits Yoongi's car for the second day in a row. He glances back from the door of his apartment building and then scurries quickly inside when he realizes Yoongi is watching him.
"What am I doing?" he mutters to himself as he sprints up the short flight of stairs, eager to get all of his energy out.
He unlocks his apartment and leans against the door to close it tight, winded and attempting to get his thoughts together. It is impossible not to dwell on what Namjoon said to him on Monday about Yoongi becoming softer with him around.
His wandering thoughts always circle back to wondering whether Yoongi has feelings for him. I see the way he looks at you, Namjoon said, and Hoseok cannot stop dwelling on it.
It infuriates Hoseok to think about how badly he wants to text Yoongi and call Yoongi. He wants to be invited to eat another meal with Yoongi, and he wishes he could ask Yoongi for his opinion on random bullshit like fallen empires and wainscoting – anything to get the man talking; it doesn't matter what the subject is.
He wants to cultivate an actual friendship with Yoongi, but he has no idea what that looks like. How does someone befriend an enigma? How does Hoseok – a man who is working on becoming a star – befriend someone whose full face has never knowingly been seen at public events?
Hoseok kicks out of his sneakers and paces around his living room. He really wants to go out and drink with his friends, but he has an early morning tomorrow. It is the final day of shooting for Dior, and he has to pose with a bottle of cologne.
So instead, Hoseok opts to take a bath. He leaves a trail of his clothing from the living room to the bathroom, and once the tub is full of warm, bubbly water, he sinks all the way down until only his face sticks out.
Hoseok's phone buzzes against the closed lid of his toilet, and he perks up. Although he is curious about the source of the buzz, he feels too relaxed and warm to lift his arm. But then it buzzes again and again, and his interest becomes too piqued to ignore.
With a sigh, Hoseok lifts his arm from the sudsy water, dries his hand on a towel that is folded beside his phone on the toilet lid, and picks up the device. He unlocks the screen, opens his messenger app, and nearly drops his phone in the tub.
Magic Min
Excellent work today, Hoseok!
Magic Min
All week, really. You're killing it.
Magic Min
How comfortable do you feel with shooting nude?
Hoseok very unceremoniously dries his other hand, throwing water and bubbles onto the tile floor in the process, lips moving around unvoiced words as he reads and rereads Yoongi's last message.
Hoseok
Nude???
Hoseok has never been one to shy away from nudity. While in college, he even posed nude for the figure drawing classes, and he was obsessed with seeing all the different ways the students managed to capture his likeness.
But posing nude in front of his crush feels nerve-wracking, even if he has already posed in his briefs and gold paint.
Magic Min
For the fragrance shoot, I was thinking we cover you in some kind of shimmery dust and pose you with the bottle resting against your skin. Something delicate and tasteful.
Delicate and tasteful. Hoseok hangs on those three words.
Hoseok
I can handle that! Sounds fun.
Magic Min
Perfect. I'll call Namjoon and tell him to bring a merkin for you tomorrow.
Hoseok does a search for what a merkin is, and it takes a moment for his eyes to communicate to his brain just what he is seeing. But then he realizes that it is a small, adhesive accessory to put over his dick and balls so that he can be nude but covered without needing to have underwear on.
He gasps and nearly drops his phone into the tub again. Then he tosses his phone onto the towel atop the toilet and sinks back into the water.
* * *
Hoseok cannot stop staring at his reflection, eyes glued to the skin-toned swath of fabric that covers his junk in a thin little pouch. He turns and eyes up the small piece of fabric that comes from between his buttcheeks and sticks to his skin, and marvels at the wonders of human creation.
"How does it feel?" Namjoon calls from the other side of the door.
"Like a thong, I guess," Hoseok responds. "But smaller."
"Can I come in?"
It takes a few seconds for Hoseok to process Namjoon's request, and he stares at his nearly nude body in the mirror, stammering around, "Y-yeah, uh, I guess."
Namjoon opens the door quickly and slips into the black-tiled bathroom. He holds a canister of spray-on glitter, and he eyes Hoseok's handy work quickly, making sure the adhesive does not run the risk of coming loose.
"I never get used to seeing these when they're skin-toned," Namjoon says as he removes the cap from the can and begins to shake it. "It's so strange to see a man naked but with no dick, you know?"
Hoseok laughs, feeling his anxiety lift some. "Totally."
Namjoon reaches into the pocket of his flowing black slacks and pulls out two black masks. "I don't need either of us breathing this shit in," he says as he hands one to Hoseok and then puts the other over his mouth and nose.
"Thanks, Joonie," Hoseok says as he puts his mask on. Then he stands up tall and waits to be sprayed.
"This is gonna be cold," Namjoon warns, making Hoseok chuckle. This is the second time he has heard that since joining M Magazine.
Namjoon is quick but thorough as he sprays cold glitter all over Hoseok's body. Then he ushers Hoseok from the bathroom to the makeup chair in the next room over and uses a powder on Hoseok's face and neck, and adds some to the already existing shimmer on his shoulders and chest.
"How often do you guys do nude shoots?" Hoseok asks as his nervousness begins to ramp up.
Namjoon's face is mere inches away from his own as he applies black mascara to Hoseok's lashes. "Not too often. Why?"
Hoseok shrugs, staring at Namjoon's concentrating face. "It's just…you know…this is the second time I've been stripped down and covered in gold."
Namjoon cracks a smile, then takes a step back. "You're not wrong."
"I get it," Hoseok says, finally allowing himself to blink. "I'm pretty sexy."
"Of course you are," Namjoon quips back. "Everyone Yoongi scouts is."
Once again, Namjoon comes in hot with shit that is not quite what Hoseok wants to hear. But he is grateful for how candid Namjoon always is with him. It's nice.
"All set?" Namjoon asks.
Hoseok nods, feeling a bit shy to leave this room.
"It's just me and Yoongi on set, so you don't have to worry about too many wandering eyes."
With a deep exhale, Hoseok mutters, "That's a relief."
The studio is warmer than usual, for which Hoseok is thankful. He walks with careful steps and approaches what looks like a bed resting in the middle of the room with a black backdrop. A fuzzy white sheet hangs from the small, raised mattress, and when Hoseok approaches and presses his hand into it, he is surprised to find it is filled with water.
"I want you on your stomach," Yoongi says, approaching from another room, causing Hoseok to startle and gasp. "Would you be offended if we placed the cologne bottle against the small of your back?"
"N-no," Hoseok mutters as he assesses how the hell to get up onto the water mattress. Luckily, Namjoon walks over with a small wooden step stool and offers Hoseok a hand.
Hoseok very carefully crawls to the center of the mattress, knees digging into whatever hard surface is beneath, and then he lays down. As he does, the mattress dips and creates a shape reminiscent of a cloud around him.
"Arms bent with your chin resting on your hands," Yoongi instructs, and Hoseok does as he is told, anchoring himself up on his elbows. "Maybe bend your legs? One more than the other, like you are kicking them back and forth."
Hoseok lifts his feet and bends his right leg more than his left. Then he does his best to take slow, shallow breaths in preparation for the bottle to be placed.
"Namjoon, would you mind adding some shimmer to his feet?"
Namjoon mutters, "Of course, boss," and very delicately brushes shimmer onto the bottoms and sides of Hoseok's feet, making him thankful he got a pedicure earlier in the week.
It feels awkward to lay in place, especially with a cold glass container placed on the small of his back. But Yoongi is quick with his shutter and wastes no time getting the shots and asking Hoseok to sit up.
"Legs bent and crossed in front of you, with your feet elongated and pointing downward," Yoongi instructs. "Hold the bottle close to your face and give me a simple cold expression."
Hoseok lifts and crosses his legs, pointing his toes downward and doing his best to keep his merkin shielded behind his shins. He drapes his free arm over one knee, elongating his fingertips, as well, and holds the bottle close to his cheek, staring into the lens.
"Stunning," Yoongi mutters, causing Hoseok's heart to pound.
Yoongi continues to position Hoseok while Namjoon stays close by to gently dust gold shimmer over his skin, and the morning moves rather quickly. Once they are finished, Namjoon brings a long, fuzzy black robe out for Hoseok to cover himself with, and staff members enter, moving objects around to create a new set.
"Break for lunch," Yoongi says, flipping through photos. "I just have a quick shoot to finish with another model, then I want to go over these with you when you return."
"Sounds good, boss!" Hoseok replies, chipper and satisfied.
He leaves the set in slippers and the robe, entering a common space where a table of food is laid out. Sandwiches and platters of fruits and vegetables greet him, and Hoseok grabs a white ceramic plate and gets to work filling it.
Then he sits and enjoys his food, staring ahead at the empty white wall while thinking about the photoshoot. He had been so nervous that he hardly made eye contact with Yoongi – which was easy, considering Yoongi's eyes rarely left his viewfinder.
Once he is finished eating, he walks the plate over to a plastic grey tub and places it inside with other dishes. Then he decides to return to the set and wait for Yoongi to be ready to speak with him, feeling eager to find out what he thinks of their shoot.
Only, when he enters the set, he stops in his tracks. Yoongi has his camera hanging around his neck, leaning close to a model, and he very delicately pushes the model's long, jet black hair behind her ear. She says something that Hoseok cannot make out, then giggles, and when Yoongi leans closer to say something that makes her giggle more, Hoseok feels the urge to throw up.
"Oh, hey Seok," Namjoon says as he leaves the makeup room and approaches with his arms crossed over his chest. "Break over so soon?"
Yoongi turns to look at Hoseok at the same time Hoseok tears his gaze away to nod at Namjoon.
"I was bored," Hoseok lies, nodding toward the makeup room. "Left my phone in there."
"Ah," Namjoon says, nodding in understanding. "Well, Seori just has one outfit to model, so Yoongi should be finished quickly."
Hoseok swallows thickly and nods, muttering, "Sounds good," while trying not to let his smile betray him.
"Just give me a couple minutes," Yoongi calls, and Hoseok nods, eyes looking anywhere but at him.
Yoongi proceeds to photograph the pretty model, who smiles brightly, giggling each time Yoongi tells her to move her limbs this way and that. Hoseok watches as she gives intense fuck-me-eyes to Yoongi and his camera, and waits somewhat impatiently as she takes her time praising Yoongi a little too flirtatiously and rubbing his bicep with her hand.
"Alright, Seori-ssi," Yoongi finally says, placing a hand over hers to make her stop. "I have more business to attend to, but thank you for being so flexible and coming in last-minute."
"I'm always flexible for you, sir," she says with a wink, to which Hoseok rolls his eyes before smiling sweetly and saying, "Nice work," when she walks by.
"Sorry for making you wait," Yoongi says, staring down at his camera. "Step into my office?"
What Yoongi calls an office is the entire second floor of the two-story building. It is half the width of the building, on top of the makeup, equipment, and common rooms, and it overlooks the entire studio from a glass wall that stays mostly covered by thick black curtains.
Hoseok follows Yoongi up a set of metal stairs with his hands sunken deep into the pockets of his fuzzy black robe. To his chagrin, Yoongi walks ahead, ass on display in tight black slacks. To make matters worse, Yoongi wears a tight black short-sleeve tee tucked into his slacks, and when he holds his office door open for Hoseok to enter, his arm flexes.
Yoongi's office looks a lot like his apartment studio, minus the kitchen. Large brown leather couches create a square around a dark table made from strangely shaped reclaimed wood, poster-sized magazine covers line the walls, and on the far end of the space is a large wooden desk with a brown leather top and several brown leather chairs surrounding it.
Photography equipment and set pieces are stacked here and there, and the lighting is quite dim, only shining in a purple glow from the high corners, near the ceiling. The long black curtains are pulled completely shut, blocking out any light that could come in from the studio.
Yoongi flips on a switch, brightening the space only slightly with a yellow glow, and he makes his way toward his desk, feet somewhat draggling, causing him to waddle ever so slightly. Hoseok follows, letting his gaze fall from Yoongi's ass to the dark wood floor, and he approaches the desk and begins to have a seat in one of the leather armchairs.
"Come around this way," Yoongi says as he plops down into his computer chair and clicks the monitor on. "You can sit on the desk if you want. I don't care."
Hoseok hesitates, then rounds the desk. Ordinarily, he would opt not to sit on the desk in a robe and merkin, but he suddenly feels far more worn out than he had moments ago and does not feel like pulling a heavy leather chair over from the other side.
Yoongi clicks around on his screen, then opens up files from today's shoot, filling the large monitor with nothing but Hoseok's skin covered in glitter. His ass and hips are prominent in many of the images, and he glances at Yoongi, watching the way his eyes trace along Hoseok's curves.
"What did I tell you?" he asks, smile breaking out across his face.
"You've told me a lot of things," Hoseok responds somewhat sheepishly, eyes glued to Yoongi's smile.
Yoongi chuckles, then turns to Hoseok. He sits back, crosses his arms over his chest, and says, "Under the right lighting you're show-stopping in the nude."
Hoseok rolls his eyes dramatically and then begins to laugh, and he is thankful when Yoongi laughs, as well.
Yoongi flips through the photographs, pointing out shots that he favors and complimenting Hoseok's expression and body language. They decide on a full body shot for the two-page centerfold and two closer shots for single-page spreads – one of Hoseok holding the bottle close to his face and the other with the bottle dangling from his outstretched hand. Then Yoongi shuts off his monitor and sits back with a sigh.
"Thanks for being so accommodating," Yoongi says, staring at Hoseok as if he has more he would like to say.
Hoseok shrugs. "It's no big deal. I had fun."
Silence hangs, making Hoseok feel tense. He watches Yoongi, who watches him, and he does his best to block out the interaction he witnessed with the model Seori, but it feels impossible to take his mind off of it.
"Need a ride home?" Yoongi finally asks. "I have to go that way."
"Sure," Hoseok responds. "That would be nice."
Yoongi stands and hovers in a way that prevents Hoseok from standing up from the desk.
"Sorry you had to see Seori flirting with me," he says so quietly, Hoseok wonders if he is making it up.
When Hoseok says nothing more, Yoongi's lips tug into a smirk. "I saw the way you were staring daggers into her."
Hoseok opens his mouth to respond, but only a scoff comes out. When Yoongi still doesn't back up, Hoseok raises an eyebrow and says, "I was staring daggers into both of you, actually."
"Oh?" Yoongi asks, smile widening. He slips his hands into his pockets, and Hoseok stops himself from looking at the way the fabric hugs his crotch.
"Not that I'm surprised, or anything," Hoseok continues, eager to see how much he can get away with. "You have a reputation, after all."
Yoongi sneers and Hoseok cannot tell if there is playfulness behind the look. It makes his anxiety spike, which he does his best not to show. When Yoongi finally does open his mouth to respond, Hoseok's heart pounds even harder.
"Don't tell me you are jealous, Hoseok."
"Jealous?" Hoseok bites back, tasting bile on his tongue. "Why would I be jealous?"
Yoongi leans close, warm breath wafting over Hoseok's face, smelling of mint. "Flirting is all part of the job, you know. Sometimes it's easier to get these models to do what I want when I make them think they're special."
Anger rises, and Hoseok stares into Yoongi's eyes. "And what are you doing, now? Do you also call this flirting?"
Yoongi scoffs, mouth forming something between a smirk and a scowl. He looks briefly down at Hoseok's lips and shakes his head.
"No. Right now I'm preventing myself from making a mistake."
Hoseok intakes a shaky breath, eyes falling to Yoongi's lips as he mutters, "A mistake?"
"Mmhmm."
"What mistake?" he asks, looking back into Yoongi's eyes.
Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth and shakes his head, then he takes a step back and nods toward the door.
"Keep the robe if you want to. That way you don't get glitter on your clothing. I just need to close everything down and I'll meet you downstairs in a moment."
Hoseok nods, slides from the desk, and turns to leave the room. All he can think about is the fact that Yoongi seemed eager to kiss him just now, and he feels dizzy from the thought. What else could he have meant by making a mistake?
He wonders if Yoongi used the same bullshit line on Jeongguk.
Hoseok makes his way down the metal steps and walks into the makeup room, which is the first door on the left at the bottom of the stairs. Namjoon has folded his clothing neatly and placed the garments into a large paper bag, with Hoseok's phone and wallet on top of the pile.
"At least one person in this building isn't a confusing fucking asshole," he mutters under his breath.
Hoseok pulls his phone from the bag and shoots a text off to Jimin—
Hoseok
Tonight. Drinks. I need to let off some steam.
—then he turns to exit the room, shocked to find Yoongi standing in the doorway.
"Boss?" he asks as Yoongi closes the door behind him and locks the handle.
"Can you keep a secret?" Yoongi asks, making Hoseok's heart go haywire.
Hoseok swallows thickly and nods, muttering, "Y-yeah."
"Good," Yoongi responds, closing the space between them. Hoseok leans away instinctively, pressing his lower back against the makeup counter. "I wanted to kiss you. Was it obvious?"
"Yeah," Hoseok utters softly, nodding. "It was."
"It seemed like you wanted to kiss me, too."
Hoseok swallows thickly, gaze falling to Yoongi's lips. "Yeah. I did."
"But you understand why we can't do that, yes?"
Hoseok is painfully aware of the power Yoongi could hold over his head if he allowed even a sliver of intimacy to take place between the two of them.
"I do."
"Good. Glad to have that cleared up."
Yoongi is far too close for comfort, and Hoseok wishes he would take a step back and let him breathe. But instead, Yoongi stands still and quiet, watching Hoseok as if he is waiting for him to say something.
But what the fuck could Hoseok possibly say? Thank him for wanting to kiss him? And for having the wherewithal to hold back? He would rather not say a word and hope that they can let this go without ever bringing it up again.
"Shall we?" Yoongi finally asks, taking a step back.
Hoseok lets out a deep breath, heavy-blinking as he nods. "Alright."
Yoongi turns and opens the door, and Hoseok gives him space before grabbing his bag and following. Now that all of that is out in the open, Hoseok feels strange about letting Yoongi drive him home. He can definitely afford to use a cab service now, but he decides he would rather spend that money later, at the club with Jimin.
The ride home is quiet, and Hoseok cannot decide whether it is a good thing or not. Knowing Yoongi may have similar feelings for him only serves to make him feel more anxious around the man.
Then again, Yoongi could just be using it as leverage to make Hoseok more accommodating. As he said, he flirts as a means to get models to do what he wants.
Hoseok hardly says goodbye when Yoongi pulls up to his place, and he does not turn to look at him, uttering a quick, "Thanks," before taking his leave. The moment he is inside his building, panic rises, and he feels the overwhelming urge to cry.
* * *
"He what?" Jimin screams over loud club music. Hoseok looks around, thankful their other friends are nowhere to be seen. "I'm sorry, what the fuck?"
Hoseok nods and sighs. "Jeongguk was right. Dude's a fucking asshole."
"What kind of man teases you about the possibility of him making you jealous and then says, with his whole fucking chest, that he wants to kiss you but that it would be a mistake?"
"An asshole," Hoseok sighs.
"Man, fuck that guy." Jimin is all riled up, stomping cutely in his shimmery black boots. He wears a black mesh top and a black tennis skirt with a white stripe just above the bottom hem, accentuating his incredible legs.
Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, causing glitter to rain down. Rather than shower when he got home earlier, he just changed out of the merkin and into a tight white tee and black booty shorts, and met Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk for drinks at a small dive bar while waiting for the club to open. He is still covered head to toe in glitter.
Hoseok is rather drunk and has switched to water. And despite the night still being somewhat young, he feels the urge to call it a night and crawl into bed.
"When does your Dior contract end?" Jimin asks, tilting his head in concern.
"Not sure. It could be over now, unless they decide to shoot more outfits."
"Annoying," Jimin huffs. "He should be more clear about that kind of thing."
Hoseok hums.
"The one time the man can't fucking communicate," Jimin adds, making Hoseok laugh despite not really feeling in the mood to.
"I'm grateful for all he has done," Hoseok says. He takes a drink of cold water from a flimsy plastic bottle that crackles loudly with each movement. "But it would have been better for him to just…not be the way he is. None of it is necessary."
"Exactly."
"Like, if he wants to kiss me then fine, whatever. But he doesn't have to corner me and make it into a whole weird ass thing!"
"Exactly!"
Hoseok sighs. "I might go home. Now that I'm out and drunk, I just feel sleepy."
"Valid," Jimin says, nodding. He turns and looks through the crowd long enough to spot their friends grinding on the dancefloor not too far from them. Then he turns back to Hoseok. "Get yourself to bed. I'm gonna try to suck one of their dicks tonight."
Hoseok rolls his eyes and pretends to gag, earning him a slap on the arm. He sits forward and wiggles his phone out from his back pocket, opens an app to call for a cab, then thumbs over to a message he received while ranting to Jimin.
Min Asshole
Think you could come in tomorrow? Dior wants one more outfit, and the deadline for the first draft is Monday.
Hoseok sighs and tips his head back, closing his eyes while contemplating his existence. It would be foolish to turn down more money, but he would rather pull his teeth out than see Yoongi again so soon.
Hoseok
Just saw this. I can, but I might be hungover.
Hoseok is shocked when his phone rings, screen lighting up with the name Min Asshole in big white text. He sighs and ignores the call, then sends Yoongi a text.
Hoseok
At the club. 2 loud 2 talk on the phone. I can call in 10 when I get home.
Min Asshole
Do you need a ride home?
Hoseok scoffs, then checks on his app to see that a cab will be arriving in three minutes.
Hoseok
Nah, taking a cab.
Min Asshole
If you're up to shoot tomorrow, we can do it any time. I can pick you up whenever you're feeling up for it, even if it's later in the evening.
Hoseok
K.
Jimin sighs loudly, pulling Hoseok's attention.
"Sorry. Min Asshole wants me to shoot more tomorrow."
This news causes Jimin to stand straight up, expression opening with surprise. "On a Saturday? You gonna do it?"
Hoseok shrugs. "May as well. I got a car coming though, so I'm gonna call it a night. Have fun with your…you know."
Hoseok lifts his hand and mimics sucking dick, pushing his tongue into his cheek. Jimin giggles and slaps him once more on the arm then opens his arms for a hug, which Hoseok steps forward to accept.
"I'm sure one of them would be accommodating if you wanted to join us," Jimin offers, waggling his eyebrows.
Hoseok wouldn't mind making Taehyung or Jeongguk whimper, but he's just not in the mood. "Thanks anyway, but I'm tired."
"Alright," Jimin says, reaching for his bright blue drink and chugging the rest of it back. "Text when you're home!"
"Will do," Hoseok says.
His phone dings, signaling his car is pulling up, and he grabs his jacket and makes a beeline for the door. The driver says nothing the entire ride, and Hoseok stares out his window, doing his best to stay alert despite feeling rundown and exhausted.
Once home, Hoseok shuffles up to his apartment, throws his belongings to the floor, and shimmies out of his clothing on his way to take a quick hot shower. He towels off in a hurry, rushes through his nightly skincare routine, and climbs into bed nude, clenching his phone in his hand.
He wants to call Yoongi and give him a piece of his mind but he refrains, thinking in circles instead about Yoongi's behavior before drifting to sleep.
When he wakes up, he feels exhausted. He sighs as he rubs the comforter in search of his phone, then he turns the screen on, sees that it is 9 in the morning, and closes his eyes to sleep longer.
Unfortunately, his bladder has other plans for him, and after several long moments of laying as still as possible, he gives up with a groan and throws his comforter aside. He decides that he will go ahead and start the day, but he is not going to be happy about it.
Begrudgingly, he shoots a text to Yoongi and slowly starts his morning routine.
Hoseok
I'm up. What's the plan, boss?
Hoseok is surprised when two hours pass before he hears anything. He half expects Yoongi to be the type to get up bright and early, ready to work. He is halfway through an episode of SpongeBob SquarePants when his phone vibrates.
Min Asshole
Pick you up at 3? Have you eaten?
With a little over two hours to spare, Hoseok decides he may as well agree and get it all over with. And although he has plenty of time to feed himself, he considers allowing Yoongi to spend more money on him.
Hoseok
3 works. I have not eaten.
Three dots appear and Hoseok watches, waiting for a response to come.
Min Asshole
Perfect. Joonie keeps talking about this chicken spot that just opened in the neighborhood, so I plan to send him to grab a to-go order. Come hungry if that sounds good.
It does sound good. Hoseok sends a thumbs-up emoji and sinks onto the couch. Between now and then, he plans to do nothing but space out.
What he does not plan, however, is to fall asleep. Hoseok wakes to the sound of his phone ringing, and when he sees Min Asshole on the screen, he begins to panic.
"Shit," Hoseok mutters as soon as he answers the call. "I passed out."
"Oh," Yoongi says. "Do you need time to get ready?"
"Nah," Hoseok says through a yawn, sitting up tall to stretch his back and neck. "Just need to put on some shoes and brush my teeth. But, uh, not in that order."
"Cool," Yoongi responds. "Take your time."
"Are you here already?"
"I am."
"Alright. I'll be quick."
Hoseok hangs up the call and shuffles to his bathroom to brush his teeth and run a comb through his hair. He wears a set of black silk pajamas that he stumbled into this morning and he opts to stay in them, sliding his feet into fuzzy black Ugg slippers.
He finds a small black handbag and packs his phone, wallet, and keys. Then he locks up and heads down the stairs and out into the sunny day.
Yoongi is on his phone when Hoseok tries the door, and it takes him a second to put his phone away and unlock the door.
"Good afternoon, sunshine," Yoongi drawls as he eyes up Hoseok's attire. His musky, floral cologne cloys Hoseok's senses, making him fight a sneer.
Hoseok grunts, gets settled, and puts on his seatbelt. With a low chuckle, Yoongi drives off.
"Hungover?" he asks at a red light.
Hoseok keeps his eyes ahead but can see Yoongi turn to regard him. He shrugs and says, "Not so much after taking a nap. Now I'm just trying to wake up."
"That's good."
Hoseok nods somewhat listlessly and Yoongi laughs.
"You're mad at me," he says.
Hoseok shrugs, thankful for the light turning green so Yoongi has to look at the road.
"Just tired," he lies.
"Alright," Yoongi says.
The rest of the ride is quiet. Yoongi parks beside the curb in front of his building, and right as Hoseok gets out of the car, Namjoon pulls up behind them.
"Great timing!" Yoongi shouts as he makes his way to Namjoon's vehicle.
Hoseok does the same, albeit dragging his feet. Namjoon hands Yoongi a white plastic bag full of brown takeout boxes, and Yoongi walks ahead to unlock the building.
Hoseok hangs back to greet Namjoon in a half hug, glad there is not more for him to carry.
"He told me," Namjoon mutters, rubbing Hoseok's back.
Hoseok tenses and then sighs. He supposes there is nothing to worry about with Namjoon but he does feel rather strange about it. What did he tell Namjoon, exactly? That he wanted to kiss Hoseok but chose not to?
"Thanks for the chicken," Hoseok says as they make their way to the building, trailing behind Yoongi, who stands in front of the elevator, waiting.
"Yoon mentioned you might be hungover today," Namjoon says in a commiserating tone. "Nothing cures that quite like greasy food."
"True," Hoseok chuckles. "Fried chicken always hits the spot."
They make their way to the fourth floor, and Hoseok kicks out of his slippers and walks over to the couch, to the spot he always sits. Yoongi takes the food into the kitchen and begins to unpack everything.
With Namjoon around, Hoseok is able to forget about how much he hates Yoongi's stupid, pretty guts. He averts his attention from Yoongi's messy long hair and how it falls in waves around his face. He successfully ignores how good Yoongi looks dressed down in a black t-shirt and tight blue jeans.
Namjoon wears a soft white sweater with lapels that hang open, showing hints of skin, and loose-fitted blue jeans from which his toes barely stick out, and he looks soft and snuggly – the perfect distraction from his asshole boss.
They eat fried chicken and tteokbokki, then Namjoon works his magic making Hoseok's eye bags disappear. Yoongi presents Hoseok with a silk shirt to replace his current silk shirt, and Hoseok begins to unbutton his top right here in the middle of the small, dimly lit studio.
Since these two men have seen Hoseok almost entirely nude, he has no interest in modesty. He is too physically, emotionally, and spiritually tired to care. And if he wants to flaunt himself in front of the asshole who enjoys teasing him, that is his own business.
Hoseok shrugs his black top to the floor and then carefully puts on the Dior shirt. It is loose-fitting and covered in the light blue Dior logo with a tan background, which repeats in diagonals along the entire garment.
"There are matching pants, as well, but it sounds like they just want closeups of this piece," Yoongi informs while Hoseok makes delicate work buttoning the shirt.
He buttons it all the way to the top, and then Namjoon approaches to smooth the fabric down over his shoulders and chest, straightening the lapels. Then he holds out a hand, ushering Hoseok to go to the far end of the room and stand in front of the black wall.
Yoongi switches on the lighting equipment and begins to shoot without instruction. Hoseok stands up straight, expression flat, twisting and leaning every so often, alternating looking at the camera and off to the side, in time with Yoongi's rapid shutter.
Once they are finished, Yoongi thanks Hoseok for his time and Hoseok walks across the room, grabs his black silk top from where Namjoon draped it over the back of the vanity chair, and leaves the room. He unbuttons the Dior shirt, shrugs it off, drapes it delicately over the back of a sofa, and quickly puts his own shirt back on before gathering his handbag.
"Need a ride?" Namjoon asks.
Hoseok looks up, finding Yoongi leaning in the doorway of his studio while Namjoon approaches to slip on his shoes.
"Sure," Hoseok says. "That would be nice."
He slides on his fuzzy slippers, waits for Namjoon to be ready, and gives Yoongi a limp flick of the wrist as a goodbye, not bothering to see whether Yoongi waves back. Once he is in the elevator and the doors slide closed, he lets out a deep sigh.
"You didn't hear this from me," Namjoon says, making Hoseok whip his gaze to where Namjoon stands to his right. "Seori, the model with the long black hair, is someone Yoongi used to sleep with. That behavior you walked in on…it's just the way they are."
"Man," Hoseok grumbles, feeling his heart sink. "The rumors really are true."
Namjoon laughs and sighs. "Unfortunately."
"I fucking hate him."
"Seems like you like him."
Hoseok rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Unfortunately."
"I'm surprised you're not trying to shake me down for what he said to me about last night," Namjoon teases as the elevator door opens.
"What's the use?" Hoseok asks as they walk through the lobby toward the front door. "I don't think knowing how he feels about me would make this situation any better. And I don't want to make you snitch on your friend."
"Good point," Namjoon says as he opens the front door to the building and holds it for Hoseok to walk through.
"How many ex fuck buddies does Yoongi have at the company?" Hoseok asks as they approach Namjoon's little black sports car.
"Sure you wanna know?" Namjoon asks.
The car beeps unlocked, and Hoseok sighs as he says, "No."
On the drive home, Hoseok decides he would like to get drunk once again. And as soon as Namjoon drops him off, he sends Jimin a text saying as much. It is only half past six, so Hoseok lays on his couch and takes another nap before waking up and getting ready.
Hoseok wears the black silk pajama top to the club, unbuttoned over tiny white shorts, with his hair styled messily, still wearing the makeup Namjoon applied earlier. He and Jimin take far too many shots, Hoseok finds someone cute to exchange sloppy handjobs with in a bathroom stall, and then he gets home just in time to black out on his way to bed.
Sunday is a blur of waking up only to take care of bodily functions and return to bed. He more or less sleeps the entire day away, ignoring his friend's calls to join them for a meal, and he wakes up bright and early Monday morning in a sour mood.
He is difficult all morning, barely looking at or speaking to Yoongi. For the first time since joining M Magazine, Yoongi complains that Hoseok is not giving enough and that his photos are not turning out as well as they should be, making Hoseok's mood worse.
Yoongi wraps up the shoot, does not offer to show Hoseok any of the photos, and when Hoseok returns from the makeup room, thumbing through his phone to order a cab, he overhears Yoongi telling one of the female models, "I was thinking that I want you on the next cover, instead."
Anger rises, and Hoseok storms out before he can say something to Yoongi that he might regret, and as soon as he is out into the bright evening air, tears pour down his cheeks.
"Fuck this," he grits, crossing his arms over his chest. If he is this easily replaced, all over a kiss that never happened, he is certain that he does not need to work with Yoongi anymore.
What kind of ego must a man like him have if this is the way he behaves? God forbid he is not allowed to fuck every single person who sashays into his studio.
Although he attempts to keep from crying in the back of the cab, a few stray tears roll down his cheeks. Once he is inside his apartment with his shoes and jacket discarded in the middle of the floor, he storms over to his fridge and takes out a bottle of soju.
On an empty stomach, Hoseok drinks the bottle and two more, crying while SpongeBob SquarePants gets into silly little antics on the television. He wants to call Yoongi and give him a piece of his mind, but he texts Jimin instead.
Hoseok
All men do is lie.
Hoseok is not at all surprised when Jimin responds immediately, and he feels thankful for his best friend.
Jimin
Tell me about it, honey.
Hoseok
I'm so close to calling Min Asshole and giving him a piece of my fucking mind. He is aggravating!!!
Jimin
Have you been drinking?
Hoseok
Maybe…
Jimin
Hmm. Maybe you shouldn't call him. Although! It might be good for you to get your feelings off your chest. Maybe a well-penned text would be good.
Hoseok
Not sure I could say how I feel clearly through text. I'm fucking pissed, for real.
Jimin
Do you think he would fire you if you called him and cussed him out?
Hoseok sighs. At this stage, he is already getting the magazine cover taken from him, so what does he care if he loses everything else? He has already been paid for his time, and most of the Dior goodies are in his bedroom.
Hoseok
I don't really care, honestly. It would be a blessing to never have to see his stupid face again.
Jimin
Fuck it. Call him.
"Fuck it," Hoseok says to himself.
He thumbs through his phone, finds Yoongi's contact and calls him. As the phone rings, Hoseok stands up, stumbling from the way blood rushes to his head. He feels antsy, and with each dial tone the phone makes, his anticipation and anger build.
The call goes to voicemail, infuriating Hoseok, who hangs up. He is not eager to vent to the cloud where Yoongi can have access to his anger any time he pleases. He needs to do it where the man can hear it in real-time.
Hoseok paces around his living room, drunken rage coursing through his veins. He considers calling Yoongi back when his phone begins to ring.
As soon as Hoseok answers the call, he opens with, "I'm quitting."
His mind is made up, there is no backing down; no way in hell he would consider allowing Yoongi to continue to torment him.
After a pause, Yoongi asks, "Hoseok…what is this about?"
"I heard you before I left," Hoseok says, words slurring a bit. "I heard you telling that pretty bitch that you were going to give her the cover instead of me! I'm not tolerating this kind of treatment! All because you wanted to kiss me? This is fucking ridiculous!"
"Hoseok," Yoongi says calmly, "are you at home? Can we talk in person?"
Hoseok scoffs and shakes his head. "You are insane if you think I ever want to see you again."
"I don't want to do this over the phone, Hoseok. I'm coming over. Be there in ten."
"I said no!" Hoseok shouts, stomping his foot like an angry child. "You don't get to just push people around, Yoongi! No means no!"
"Hoseok," Yoongi sighs. "I'm not giving your magazine cover away. I'm putting Sunmi on the next issue. The one after yours."
Hoseok stops in his tracks and mulls over Yoongi's words. His voice is much softer as he says, "But you used the word instead."
"Instead of another model who was slated to be next. I changed my mind."
With a huff, Hoseok stares at the wall. He has no idea what to say, but he is not eager to back down from his threat of quitting.
"Please let me come talk to you about this."
Hoseok sighs, squeezes his eyes closed, and mutters, "Fine."
"Good," Yoongi says. "I'm already halfway there."
"You're insufferable," Hoseok mutters, surprised when Yoongi chuckles.
"I know." There is a pause, and Yoongi says, "Be there soon."
"Fine," Hoseok responds before ending the call.
He makes quick work of rinsing and recycling his soju bottles, making a little too much noise in his inebriated state, and he picks up stray clothing that had been left in the middle of the living room floor, chucking it unceremoniously to his bedroom floor instead.
By the time Hoseok returns to the living room, Yoongi is calling again.
Hoseok accepts the call and grunts, "Hmm?"
"Let me into the building," Yoongi says.
"Wow, no please?"
"Pretty please?" Yoongi teases.
Hoseok shuffles over to the call box near his door and presses a button. Through the phone, he can hear the front door buzzing, followed by the sound of Yoongi letting himself in.
"Second floor, apartment 222."
"I know," Yoongi responds nonchalantly.
"If you know then why did you call? You could have just buzzed from the box outside."
Yoongi hums and Hoseok closes his eyes, listening to the deep, rough sound accompanied by the creaking sounds of footsteps traveling up the old wooden stairs.
"I know," he says. "But this way, I can hear your voice."
Curse the stupid little butterflies in Hoseok's stupid little tummy. He rolls his eyes at Yoongi's confession and does his best to play it cool.
"You're literally going to hear my voice when you get to my apartment."
"Lucky me," Yoongi responds in a tone that is far too playful for Hoseok's own good.
Realization hits that Yoongi is just outside Hoseok's door, and his anxiety spikes. His plan backfired in the worst possible way, and now he is moments away from having his handsome boss inside his apartment while he wears an oversized white t-shirt and very short baby blue pajama shorts, barefoot and on the outskirts of feeling drunk.
Three soft knocks cause Hoseok to stare at the door. His fight-or-flight instincts kick in, and he considers playing dead rather than opening it.
"You gonna let me in?" Yoongi asks, and Hoseok hangs up the call and then twists the front door knob, pulling it open.
Yoongi wears a black bomber jacket over a brown sweater, with blue jeans and black sneakers. He smiles softly while taking in Hoseok's appearance, then cocks his head and asks, "Have you been drinking?"
Hoseok scoffs, mutters, "Nice to see you, too," and turns to get away from the door.
"Don't be like this," Yoongi grumbles as he lets himself inside, closes the door, and toes out of his shoes.
Hoseok attempts to hold his ground, standing with his hands on his hips while glaring at Yoongi. But Yoongi reaches for Hoseok's wrist, giving it a gentle tug, causing Hoseok to completely unravel and stumble forward.
"You're not going to talk me out of quitting," Hoseok mutters playfully.
"I'm not here as your boss," Yoongi says as he gently takes Hoseok by the chin and pulls him close.
"Then what are you doing?" Hoseok asks. "Why are you here?"
Yoongi's other hand wraps around Hoseok's waist, palm splaying warm across his lower back, pulling him even closer. A gasp tumbles from Hoseok's lips, arms hanging frozen to his sides as Yoongi smiles and very slowly slots their lips together.
Hoseok does not move at first, too dumbfounded by the soft, warm press of Yoongi against him. But when he does finally open his mouth, Yoongi darts his tongue inside, making Hoseok whimper.
He has no idea how he ends up with his back against the wall, fingers gripping tightly to the sleeves of Yoongi's jacket, but he sighs as Yoongi presses against him, slotting a leg between his and dancing his fingertips down his neck. Yoongi kisses slow and deep, groaning into Hoseok in low, pretty notes, making his fucking head spin.
Then Yoongi breaks the kiss, takes a step back, and asks, "Soju?"
"Yeah," Hoseok mutters, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth.
"How much have you had to drink," Yoongi asks, delicately lowering Hoseok's hand from his mouth.
He stands close enough that Hoseok feels as if the only oxygen he inhales is what Yoongi gives him from his own lungs.
"Enough to call my boss and tell him that I quit."
"What does that translate to in number of bottles?"
Hoseok feels shy as he says, "Three."
Yoongi hums and nods, then takes a step back. "I apologize. I shouldn't kiss you while you are drunk."
"I'm not drunk," Hoseok mutters, eager to feel Yoongi's warmth against him again.
"Look…to be honest, I guess I did come here as your boss," Yoongi says, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "To ask you not to quit…and to talk you out of it, in case you felt like being stubborn."
"Ah," Hoseok mutters, frustrated. "So you opened with a kiss to soften me up and make me do what you want."
Yoongi's gaze sharpens, and he tips his head to the side. "I opened with a kiss because I wanted to kiss you, Hoseok. It's pretty clear that we've both wanted it."
"What happened to telling me that we can't do this?" Hoseok knows he is pushing Yoongi's buttons, and he does not wait for a response, just nods and shrugs, continuing, "Well you got what you wanted. I won't quit, alright? Now we can pretend this never happened and go back to having a work only relationship."
Yoongi slowly blinks. "You want to pretend this never happened?"
With a sigh, Hoseok kicks from the wall, arms wrapped tight around his middle. He feels cold, and he wants to return to the fuzzy blanket on his couch.
"I'm not going to let you flirt with me just to get what you want," Hoseok says, avoiding eye contact with Yoongi. "You're not going to use me the way you use the others."
"I don't plan to use you," Yoongi responds defensively.
"Good. Whatever." Hoseok grabs the blanket on the couch and wraps it over his shoulders. The tan material is soft and cool, but it quickly warms from his body heat. "Well, you win. I'm not quitting. Is that all?"
Yoongi swallows visibly, watching Hoseok. Then he shrugs and says, "Yeah. That's all."
"Alright, well, good night, Yoongi."
Yoongi sighs. "Good night, Hoseok."
Hoseok watches as Yoongi turns to put his shoes back on. He takes his time untying each one, sliding his foot in, and tying it. Then he stands up straight, reaches for the door, and hesitates.
Part of Hoseok wishes Yoongi would ask for another kiss. Or lunge forward and claim his lips without asking. But he is glad when he does not.
"I think I'm going to take a personal day tomorrow," Yoongi says, "so consider it a day off."
"Alright," Hoseok responds.
"Not a punishment or anything…I just have a lot of work to catch up on with this upcoming issue."
"Okay."
"Plan to come in as usual on Wednesday."
"Sounds good."
"If I call," Yoongi hesitates, eyes falling to the floor, "will you answer?"
"Yeah," Hoseok admits. Of course, he would.
"Alright. Bye, Hoseok."
Yoongi opens the door and steps out, and under his breath, Hoseok mutters, "Bye."
woof okay, i was not planning on making this chapter so fricken long but i had 8k words of utter nonsense before honoring everything in the outline, and then one thing led to another, and here we are. 😅 the length isn't even what slowed this down tho lmao i wrote a little over half of it just yesterday.
more coming soon!!! comments & reblogs will make me want to work on it faster! likes are always so so appreciated!!! thank you so much for reading!!!
tag list: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @fluffybuns69 @giriiboyy @idkjustlovingbts @itsmina29 @mgthecat @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki 📸
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#hoseok x yoongi#yoonseok#sope#yoonseok smut#hoseok smut#bts writers club#yoonseok angst#hoseok angst#yoongi smut#yoongi angst#bts smut#bts angst#fic: showstopper
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Buddy Daddies episode 7 (After Rain Comes Fair Weather) trailer
Episode synopsis:
A day during the rainy season. Rei is engrossed in games as always, and Miri is fawning over him, while Kazuki spends another busy day singlehandedly toiling away at the housework. On this day, Kazuki catches sight of a woman on the street and immediately hides himself. At dinner, Miri and Rei, being picky eaters, both start forcing Kazuki’s cooking onto each other. Finally, when they say they want Kazuki to make French toast, Kazuki snaps and loses his temper at the thoughtlessly wilful duo. He departs home the next day, leaving a letter behind. Rei, who has never seriously shouldered caring for Miri, finds himself struggling and utterly at a loss. Meanwhile, Kazuki recalls certain events from the past.
Trailer dialogue:
Kazuki: Now I totally get how my other mom friends feel...
Kyutaro: ...mom friends?
Kazuki: Yeah! They're always complaining how their husbands never do anything.
Kyutaro: Hmm...
Kazuki: Oh yeah! Can I hold a complaint fest for my mom friends at Mistletoe Cafe?
Kyutaro: Absolutely not. Buddy Daddies episode 7: After Rain Comes Fair Weather. It's nice when people can support each other, isn't it.
Kazuki: Kyu-chan, I bet you'd be a real hit with my mom friends.
Kyutaro: Why?
Kazuki: Because you're a strong and silent hottie, duh.
Kyutaro: Speaking of being silent...
Kazuki: ...sorry. I got carried away...
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I have to ask why is the marauders fandom so obsessed with Sirius and his looks? You guys act like he’s this Casanova but there’s no proof of it. Yes, he’s mentioned to be good looking but I’ve met my fair share of pretty boys who turn me off as soon as they open their mouths. Everything around Sirius is always made so sexual… it’s either Wolfstar or Jilypad. It’s like you guys can’t get over this looks and dig deeper into his personality, family history, and his life story. There’s so much material and stories that could be told but everyone focuses on his looks and it’s so condescending. If you guys do tell his story it’s like 20% his story 80% of everyone trying to shag him. I can’t find one story that actually does a great job of telling the brotherhood between the marauders, without turning it into some story of how everyone is obsessed with Sirius’ looks. James and Sirius were brothers in every way but in blood. We don’t know much about Lily and Sirius but with the letter sent she obviously cared enough to reach out to him because James missed his best friend and was having a hard time at the cottage. Remus and Sirius relationship is tragic and isn’t talked about enough. The guy was willing to become an animagus to help him but didn’t trust him enough to think I he was working against the order? Then there’s Peter who is by far the most underrated marauder and fooled them all, and got Sirius sentenced to Azkaban for 12 years. There’s so much more to Sirius then his looks and making up sexual relationships with the marauders. I used to love marauder fandom but the new writers have ruined everything and turned it into stories of everyone wanting to shag Sirius. There’s no plot, no story line, only the whole wizarding world fawning over how gorgeous Sirius is.
My poor dear anon,
What shallow, misguided corners of the fandom have you found yourself into?
I don't know if you found me through my writing or my latest shitpost. Probably the latter, because if you'd spent any time around here, you'd know that Sirius, for me, is so much more than someone to fawn over and shag - he's one of the most intelligent, most loyal, most characters and I'm fascinated by so many more of his facets than his indubitable handsomeness. (I do love to thirst over good artwork of him, but that's not exclusive to him.) I don't really have much tolerance for people who view Sirius as the person you describe and I don't engage with them.
But let's take a look at some definitions before we proceed.
1. The Marauders fandom. These days this is a term that hardly means anything, as it's been liberally adopted by anyone who focuses on any HP character who was alive sometime before Halloween 1981. Wolfstar shippers and Jilypad shippers, for instance, are two different groups with very little overlap, in my experience.
2. Sexualization. Sexualization means to reduce someone to their physical attractiveness and sexual potential and ignore their other qualities and characteristics. It does not mean being in a romantic relationship and/or having sex.
So, anon, I believe one of two things is what's at play here:
Possibility #1: You found yourself in some corner of the fandom that does sexualize Sirius. I don't know where that might be - I think even Wolfstar doesn't do that (it seems to me that they have the opposite problem these days, sexualizing Remus instead!). My main ship is Jily, though, and I find that overall people here have great appreciation for Sirius.
Come to the dark side. We have cookies biscuits, we appreciate Sirius as a friend to James and Lily (oh look, a whole fic fest dedicated to Sirius's friendship with Lily!), and while himbo Casanova Sirius used to be a popular trope in the mid-00s, I haven't seen it in fic since I got back into fandom two years ago.
(Disclaimer: There are always going to be thirsty fics. Prongsfoot, Lilypad and Jilypad, which I delve into, are not devoid of that either. And sometimes you just acknowledge that Sirius is one of the hottest characters in HP and just want to see him in action. Those fics are E-rated and usually pretty easy to avoid, and do not, in my experience, constitute the norm of how Sirius is treated within these fandoms.)
Possibility #2: You just don't like shippy fic at all; you want to read gen instead. That's completely valid, and I understand that completely non-shippy fic is hard to find. Especially with Jily being canon, so if you have to explore Sirius in a canon context there's probably going to at least be a side of Jily - that people always tag, because ships make or break fics for lots of readers, and it's recommended to tag for even minor presence or mention of a ship.
It does seem to me that the Marauders fandom now is more ship-focused than it used to be, I agree with you. I feel like gen fic back then was easier to find. I'd attribute that to a lot of us being older now and more interested in more "adult" situations, where some sort of romance is usually present, compared to the mostly teenaged fandom of 20 years ago that was more concerned with friendship and teenage shenanigans. But there are still people interested in Sirius and his non-romantic relationships with others - like those of us who wrote for Blackevans BFF fest (linked previously) and the people writing for @goodgodfathersiriusblack.
Bottomline: Do you want good quality Sirius content, or do you want Sirius content exactly how you want it? I can help with the first - stick around for posts, fics and recs. For the second, you'll have to be the change you want to see in the world.
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