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mariinaworld · 4 days

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PORNSTAR PART.2

Pornstar! Natasha Romanoff x F! Reader

Summary: After your movie with Natasha, the redhead can't stop thinking about you without knowing that you're thinking about her too.

PART.1

WC: 7,7k (sorry again)

Warnings: SMUT, Dom!Natasha/Sub!Reader, masturbation, blowjob, squirt, beating(a little bit), curse words, unprotected sex, Nat has a penis.

MINORS DNI MASTERLIST N.R

A/n: Thinking about writing a part 3, but I don't want it to become a series

English is not my first language, so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

You only had time to blink and look around the room to realize that Natasha was gone.

But also, what were you waiting for?

Kisses ? Smiles? Cuddles?

By God, she was a porn star, she had done her job and, well... You had done yours. There was nothing else to do there.

“Y/n, my dear. You exceeded all my expectations!” Carol said, coming closer to you and holding out a white robe to you.

Only at that moment do you realize that you were naked in front of several men. You feel absurdly embarrassed and your face heats up so quickly that you think you're going to explode.

“Don’t be like that…” Carol’s smile grew wider when she saw you quickly tie your robe. “They are more than used to seeing beautiful naked women. And they are professional enough

“How should I feel? I have fulfilled your ridiculous contract, and now I will return to my home. Our ties end here.” you say, getting up and disguising your wobbly legs.

All those orgasms had consequences.

“Don’t talk like it was a great torment for you, Y/n. We both know you enjoyed the moment... I would love to close more contracts with you.”

“That’s not going to happen, Carol.” you say giving her a wry smile. “If that was all you had to tell me…”

You try to take a step, but she holds your arm. Her eyes penetrated yours and a naughty smile appeared on her lips.

“Y/n... That rebellious way of yours makes me so horny.”

You're sure your expression reflected all your indignation, because she pulled away and laughed at you.

“Okay, I understand that your thing is someone like Natasha, but if by any chance you change your mind or want to try something new... You know my number, just call me, baby…” she approached to kiss your cheek and walked away again. “I confess that I will wait for this call with anxiety, even without knowing if, one day, you will accept my proposal.”

Winking at you, she threw her blonde hair back and walked off the set swaying, leaving you completely stunned. She had just flirted with you without any shame.

This pornographic, naughty and obscene world…

A week later...

"Natasha, please, please!"

Your moans echoed through the office, while Carol had a satisfied smile on her face. Natasha wanted to have that same smile, but she just couldn't. Something very, very strange was happening to her.

A week had passed since the recording. A week in which Natasha's dick never got up.

Her dick would only rise if she thought about you.

Natasha had already refused three scenes claiming she was feeling ill, and Carol had ignored it because she knew the redhead had a sensitive stomach, but she knew it was a lie. Natasha thought about you and her dick went up, she thought about someone else, it went down with the same ease. What the hell is that? She also wanted to know, but had no answer.

Like now. You were moaning while being fucked by Natasha on Carol's computer screen, and the redhead's cock was so hard that it hurt in her underwear. But if she were to have sex with any other woman, she knew she wouldn't be able to do it.

“Natasha, Natasha, wake up!” Carol knocked on the table, making the redhead look at her. “Where were you thinking?”

“What?"

“I've been calling you for an hour and you're there, with this stupid look on your face, looking at the computer screen…” Natasha rolled her eyes. “I know Y/n is beautiful and everything, but it seems like you’re under a spell. In fact, we have to talk.”

Calor smiled humorlessly and Natasha swallowed, knowing exactly what it was about.

“Why did you cum inside Y/n?”

Natasha looks at Carol and takes a deep breath, knowing that she could say anything to her, even if she didn't want to, like at that moment, admitting certain things is not always easy.

“I lost control…” Natasha murmurs.

“You never lose control.”

“I know, Carol, I know! But... I kept looking at her, you know? I looked straight into her eyes, while my mind just told me to keep looking at her until I came, look at her until I came, look at her…”

“I understand, Natasha, I understand.” Carol interrupted Natasha, leaning against her chair, analyzing the redhead. “You know what... I know very well what you need.”

“And what do I need?”

“You’re going to get this here.” Carol took the DVD with the edited scenes from Natasha's film with you and placed it in front of her. “You going to Y/n’s house with the excuse that he went there just to show the edited film, you going to seduce her and have sex with her. I was clear? She's hot as hell, Romanoff, and I think it's been a long time since you've starred with a woman so… Normal. You just need one more fuck to forget her for good.”

One more fuck... To forget you? Natasha doesn't think that's likely, a woman who is a real woman doesn't forget a woman like you. But if this was an excuse to have you in her bed, or in your bed, not that she really cared what surface she could have you on again... She should accept it, shouldn't she?

“You're right…” Natasha says, taking the DVD and standing up. “I'm going to do this for both of us, because I know that if she gave you even a little chance, you would have taken her to bed by now.”

Carol looked at the redhead and laughed, twisting her hair into a bun on top of her head.

“True, baby. But I still hope she actually calls me.”

“If it’s up to me, you’ll wait forever” Natasha says laughing towards the door. "Wish me luck.”

“Ah as if you needed it” Carol rolled her eyes as Natasha walked out of the office laughing.

Your apartment was in a middle-class building, on the outskirts of downtown New York. Natasha getting there was easy and quick, as the late afternoon was calm and rush hour was already over. The doorman, a man in his early fifties, called you over the intercom and Natasha thought the first thing she would hear was no. But the doorman smiled and said you were waiting for her at your apartment. Natasha was starting to perk up.

Natasha calls the elevator and after a few minutes the metal door opens. A woman came out and then a redhead, who she identified automatically.

“Wanda...Good to see you.” Natasha smiles, lightly squeezing her hand.

“Good to see you too, Natasha. Y/n is waiting for you upstairs.” Wanda laughed and walked away.

There wasn't time for Natasha to say anything. Before she could even open her mouth, Wanda turned and walked away, leaving the redhead alone again.

Natasha's cock pulsed again, remembering the mission Natasha had ahead of her. The redhead called the elevator again and went to the tenth floor. She presses the doorbell of apartment 1005 and I immediately hear her voice, asking for a moment. Natasha footsteps, a piece of furniture being dragged, followed by a "fuck" loud enough to be heard down the entire hallway and soon after, the door opened, revealing you dressed in a gray blouse and black panties, making Natasha's dick twitch for the thousandth time that morning.

Ah... Damn, and hot Y/n. Natasha thinks.

For a moment, you think your brain was tricking you. I mean, when you heard the doorbell ring through your apartment, the first thing that came to your mind was that Wanda had forgotten something and came back to get it. But of course that wouldn't be it.

Damn destiny always has to conspire against people. Natasha was standing at your door, with a slutty smile on her lips, dressed entirely in black. Aviator-style sunglasses covered her green eyes, but it didn't take much to know that they were at that point of wetting the panties of the coldest woman on the face of the earth. It also didn't take long for you to notice that you were practically half-naked with a horny woman at your door.

“Natasha! Yeah, um... I need to get dressed, Wanda... she... I'm..." shit! Where are the fucking words when you need them?

“Calm down, Y/n.” The redhead said in a solemn tone and walked past you.

She entered as if she was already a resident of the house and walked through the small hall to your living room, where she sat with her legs open and took off her glasses.

I must mention that she made a point of looking you up and down, making you feel even more... Undressed.

“You don’t have to be like this, Y/n. It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before, right?”

At his lack of response, Natasha continued. “I'm going to put on a movie for us to watch if you don't mind…” says Natasha looking for her DVD player

“I do care, you arrive here unannounced, enter my house and want to go through my things as if we had known each other for decades” you say, practically huffing with anger.

Natasha tilted her head to the side and slowly analyzed you from top to bottom, with a smile on the corner of her lips.

That expression of "I don't give a fuck about what you just said" was making you even more angry.

“Firstly, yes, I was announced. And your doorman told me you were waiting for me up here. Second… It's just a TV and a DVD player, it's not like I'm going to rob you when you turn your back, because if you turn your back, I'd be busy looking at your beautiful, big ass and I may not have known you for decades, but I think we're already close enough, so... Why so much formality?

“This... This casual way of yours irritates me!” You mutter under your breath, looking at her and seeing her laugh.

“Ah, Y/n, you wouldn't be the first to be irritated by my way of being. But I already showed you once, that I can transform your irritation into multiple orgasms… I can show you again if you want.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, looking at you defiantly.

Sir… you have to send her away as soon as possible!

“Natasha... I know you're the type of woman who only knows how to talk about sex, orgasms and cumming wildly, and you know, as much as this type of subject doesn't please me, I would stay here and listen to everything you have to say, but... I'm leaving. Seriously, I have to leave soon, so... Can we talk later? I swear I'll listen to you for a whole day, but now I really can't.”

It was obvious that she wasn't going out, but you were going to receive visitors and the last thing you wanted was for William, yes, your ex, to see Natasha with you. Not that I cared about the son of a bitch's opinion.

Romanoff's laugh echoed throughout your apartment, breaking you out of the trance you were in. She looked at you with an amused expression, her eyes full of good humor.

“I'd love to talk to you about sex, orgasms and cumming wildly, Y/n, but that's not why I came here. Sit here, I want to show you something... I promise I'll be quick.”

She raised her eyebrow once again and you gave up, going over to her and sitting next to her. With my remote control in hand, she pressed a button and the television turned on, revealing images... Images of the two of you in bed.

"But this is…"

"Yes my dear. It's the two of us in action. You’ll see how good we are together, Y/n!” Natasha says with a proud smile on her face.

She pressed play and soon the movie started. You were lying down and your belly felt cold when she woke up and started kissing you. You get goosebumps, as if you could feel her skin with every touch she was giving you, on the TV screen. You could see that the film was well edited, because not even five minutes had passed and Natasha was already kissing your breasts. Holy God, your face was on fire and you were squirming unintentionally on the couch, feeling a strange excitement explode in your belly.

“Hot, isn’t it?” Natasha asked, looking directly at you.

You swallow hard, looking down the redhead's body and seeing the gigantic volume that her erection was making.

How did she do it so quickly?

But who did you want to fool?

You were also just as turned on as she was, in less than five minutes.

“Ah, Y/n... “ she murmured, placing two fingers on your chin and lifting it, so that your gaze focused on hers. “If I said that I didn't come here with the intention of fucking you, I would be lying through my teeth. I came here with this intention pounding in my head and I need to know if you want it too. Do you want to fuck me, Y/n?”

For what words, when a simple nod was enough? You nodded and before you could even blink, Natasha had already taken your mouth in hers in a kiss of possession, making you Her tongue dueled with yours, while you felt her erection massaging your womb, her scent intoxicating every corner of your being. You hadn't realized how much you were missing her until that moment, where she slowly felt every corner of your body, applying pressure to the areas where he knew you would shudder and moan into her lips. In a hurry, you put your hands on her blouse, pulling it up until she was left with just a black bra.

Flustered, as you were, you rip off that piece that opened at the front and throw it on the floor, leaving her breasts completely exposed. Natasha laughs at your haste and you even think she would say one of her infamous sentences, but she just threw herself on top of you again, right after ripping off your shirt with the same haste you took off hers. You hear a hoarse moan come out of her throat as she gazes at your bare breasts, with your nipples hard from the excitement she had just given you.

“You know, Y/n... I have to confess something to you.” Natasha looks at you, slowly running her fingers over your stiff nipples. “I haven't had sex since the day we recorded. Because that hot pussy of yours made my dick addicted. I'm fucking addicted to you, my dick only rises when my mind remembers your taste, your body, even when I remember the color of your eyes. So, Detka... When I start, don't you dare stop me.”

"I will not stop." You murmur, kneeling on the couch, almost at her height.

You take your hands to her pants and unbutton the first button, then the second and lower yourself down with her underwear, making her member jump out, thick and pink.

“I will never stop, Natasha, because... I'm addicted to you too.”

It was your only option: either you revealed it, or you said no. And saying the word "no" didn't even become an issue for you. Natasha laughed and sat up, looked towards her own dick and raised an eyebrow. “Touch me, Y/n.”

You bring your hand to her member and take it, moving it down and up slowly. Her dick was hot and touching her like that, you could tell how thick she was. How had she fit inside you?

It wasn't a question you had an answer to, but you think your anatomy had to expand a lot to contain it.

Natasha moaned softly and looked at the movements in her penis, as if she was hypnotized. You increase the speed, feeling your mouth water. “Um… Suck it.”

It wasn't a simple request. It was like an order and you never thought you would feel your panties get wet listening to a woman order you to suck her. You get off the sofa and Natasha adjusts herself, sitting with her spine straight and opening her legs so that you can sit between them. When Natasha saw that you were comfortable, the redhead took your hair with her right hand and caressed your face with her left, before slowly pushing you towards her cock.

You would never be able to fit it all in your mouth, that was a fact. So, you start licking it from bottom to top, and when you reach the glans, you collect the pre-ejaculatory liquid with your tongue. Natasha was delicious and you never thought otherwise. The bittersweet taste sharpened your senses even more and with your excitement raised to its maximum level, you lean over and suck the glans with affection and force, making Natasha move her hips violently, putting her dick in your mouth.

“Fuck...Y/n...I always lose my fucking control with you! Fuck me babe let’s go!” Natasha screamed, tying your hair in a ponytail, and starting to move her hips with impressive agility.

You just open your mouth and let her in for a few seconds, before taking control of the entire situation. You take her penis down your throat, but half of it was still out of your mouth, so you start sucking half of it and masturbating the other half. Natasha looked at you madly, her mouth open, sweat breaking out on her forehead, her light green eyes were now dark, while your cheeks became concave from sucking so much.

But you didn't want to stop. That woman had given you, in a single sex, more orgasms than you had ever achieved with your ex-boyfriend during your entire relationship.

Why would you deny her a quick cum in your mouth? Not to mention it was very exciting to see her so dependent on you like that.

Looking into her eyes, you run your tongue along the opening of her penis, while massaging her testicles with gentleness and precision. She moaned loudly and threw her head back as you went back to sucking her. You feel her dick grow in your mouth, really pulsing. It was wonderful. “Y/n... If you don’t stop now, I’m going to cum.” Natasha roared, looking back at you.

You look at her and take her penis to the opening of your throat, making the glans go deeper and deeper. You feel your eyes widen from making her go so deep and she moans, pressing your head down. Her member pulsed quickly in your mouth and she lifted your head only to make her glans come out of your throat, before spurting her hot cum onto your tongue.

"I'm going to cum! Y/n, fuck, my god, fuck…” Damn! Natasha screamed wildly, while you swallowed and sucked her, without success, as she didn't stop cumming.

After a few minutes, Natasha threw herself on the couch with her eyes still on you, while you cleaned her member with your tongue. The redhead's cum had run down your mouth and neck, but you didn't care. You had just seen that woman moan like never before and come too, apparently.

Maybe it's because of the time she told you that she hadn't had sex, but you decide not to focus too much on that. You let her clean member fall onto her belly, seeing that she was still semi-erect.

You move away a little and take a deep breath, letting the air enter your lungs again. The redhead smiled and approached, taking your chin in her hands. Slowly, she ran her tongue down your neck, collecting all her own semen along the way, until she reached your mouth and kissed you with precision, spreading her own cum across your tongue, surprising you that she didn't feel any disgust or anything like that, like William felt... William... SHIT

You had totally forgotten he was on his way.

Natasha looked indignant when you pushed her and got up, picking up your blouse from the floor and putting it on quickly, before throwing Natasha's blouse in her face, along with the bra. “Quickly, Natasha! Get dressed! Damn, shit, I can’t believe this…”

You mumbled and mumbled and walked back and forth, until you stopped in front of the mirror in the room and fixed your disheveled hair, the hair that Natasha had disheveled, while you deliciously sucked her cock. Had you not yet realized that the redhead was indignant? She was very indignant and there is still some idiot ringing the doorbell non-stop.

“Y/n! Oh, don't say you're going to back out now. Please, you said you would welcome me.”

And yes. An idiot man! “I’m coming, William!” You screamed. “Natasha! For God's sake, haven't you even gotten dressed yet? Wake up, dammit!”

After Natasha finishes getting dressed and once again refuses to hide for her date to happen, you look at the redhead from top to bottom and the doorbell rang once again. William was impatient. If you had any objections to make, they were dismissed completely, as you turned and with hesitant steps made your way to the door. Natasha follows you and as soon as she stopped behind you, you opened the door, revealing William for Natasha to evaluate. First impression of the redhead: tall, brown eyes and a virgin face!

This guy certainly didn't know how to fuck a blow-up doll. “Hi, William,” you murmur, making room for him to pass.

He looked at you and then at Natasha and walked in facing the redhead, analyzing her from top to bottom and the redhead did the same to him. Natasha didn't know who he was or what he meant to you, but with that virgin face, she highly doubted that he would achieve anything with you after meeting her.

Now you knew that having sex with a woman was a thousand times better and the redhead was sure that you would never leave her to be with that idiot.

“Would you let go of her?” Natasha doesn't know, but her subconscious makes her have a total feeling of ownership over you and she doesn't know how to deal with it yet. “Hm... Natasha... this is my ex-boyfriend, William.”

Ah... The ex. Natasha loves meeting them

“Hello, William. I’m her current girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff.” Natasha says, giving him her best smile and extending her hand to him. And of course, completely ignoring the scared look you gave her. “I’m William, the ex-boyfriend and future again.” he said, shaking the redhead's hand.

Audacious. Natasha liked it. However, he didn't know where he was stepping.

"Future? I don’t think Y/n is willing to repeat the menu, if you know what I mean.” Natasha responds by putting her arm around your shoulders and placing a tender kiss on your head. “She’s already with someone better, isn’t that right, Detka?”

The only thing you can do is stutter and mumble nonsense words. "Calm down!" William interrupted the redhead “I know very well who you are!”

"You know ?" Natasha asks, arching an eyebrow..

"Of course I know! Y/n, since when have you been dating porn stars? I know you liked women in college, but damn, are you going crazy?”

“William, calm down, it’s not at all what you’re thinking.” you said, trying to break away from Natasha but she puts her arms around your waist holding you tight against her. “That’s not what you’re thinking at all William, Natasha is just a friend.” You say trying to calm the situation.

“Y/n, you don’t need to be so shy. Detka, after everything we've done, we can't be considered just friends.” Natasha smiles. “William, I am a porn actress and Y/n is in a relationship with me. There’s nothing big about it.” Natasha shrugs, looking at him and waiting for her answer. “Yes, you have a dick!” William spoke in a higher tone of voice, “I don’t even know if it’s right to call you a woman.” Okay, that went too far!

"Oh yes? I don't think this was a problem for Y/n minutes ago, when we were... Natasha puts her index finger on her lips and pretends to think “You know, or rather, I don't know if you know, with that virgin face... But back, when we were fucking like crazy before you pressed that damn bell and interrupted our orgasm.”

There was only an inch left for William's mouth to stop touching the ground. He was perplexed and you were trying really hard not to laugh in his face. The man's gaze alternated between you again, the atmosphere in the entrance hall became too comical for Natasha, while you only knew how to widen your eyes with each passing second.

“Y/n…” William started. “When you said I could come here, I thought we would finally talk and understand each other. But apparently, I was totally wrong. I never imagined you could go so low. A porn film actress? Even more so with…” he analyzed the redhead with a look of disgust “Her! Damn, that’s disgusting, I would never imagine that!”

"You would never imagine that she would find someone a thousand times better than you. Ah yes, the redhead's subconscious decided to join her in this battle, at least once in her life. The man shook his head, looking disappointed and walked past you two, opening the door.

“I hope you are satisfied with this mediocre choice. Just think of everything I could give you, all the stability, comfort and hope of a safe life, which you will never have with a freak, I mean…woman like that.” Looking at you once more, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

“That’s right, idiot ! Get lost, because the girl is already mine!” says Natasha raising her voice a little

Well... At least that was what Natasha was convinced of, until she looked to the side and saw that you were no longer there. You had gone to the living room and were sitting on the sofa, with your face buried in your hands. Natasha didn't know what had happened between you and this William. The redhead doesn't know why you two broke up, or if you still had hopes of being together. The only thing she knew, at that very moment, was that if you still liked him, maybe... Maybe she really fucked up the possibility of you guys getting back together at some point.

“Y/n... Shit! A thousand times shit!” You didn't need to look for you to realize that Natasha had already approached you. You would be very stupid if you thought she would just leave. “Y/n, please... Don’t say I fucked up your almost-future relationship?”

Natasha's tone sounded regretful and you were almost believing that she was truly sorry. “Y/n, fuck, talk to me!”

“What do you want me to say, Natasha?” You ask, lifting your head and looking at the redhead. “I want you to answer me, to curse me... To do something, damn it! I can't read thoughts yet, I need a clue here, to know if I messed up or not… To see if I can fix something, even though I think it would be a waste of time for you to have a relationship with that virgin guy…”

“What face?” You held back a laugh as you looked at her, but it didn't have much effect, because a smile spread across your face. “Virgin face... Y/n, he does have a virgin face! Tell the truth, he fucks in a horrible way, doesn’t he?”

What could you do but laugh and agree? A loud laugh escaped your throat before you could contain it and Natasha followed you, as you nodded, shaking your head. “Really, he fucks horribly! Can you believe I never had an orgasm with him?”

You were indignant as you laughed, but soon Natasha stopped laughing and so did you. And only then do you realize what you had just said. "Are you serious?" she asked, frowning. You remain silent.

“Come on, Y/n, don’t act shy now! I've seen you naked, I've been inside you, inside your mouth... And apparently, I've already given you more orgasms than that virgin ever thought about giving you. There’s no need to hide from me.” Okay, she was right.

“Yes, Nat, I’m serious!” You mumble, laying your head on the back of the couch. “And that’s why you broke up with him?”

“No, he cheated on me with his secretary, a super beautiful and interesting blonde. He is a lawyer and has always known a lot of people, but I never thought he would be so low and betray me like this.”

“Wow, Y/n... I’m so sorry.” The redhead said, sincerity showing in her voice. “But I can tell you one thing: he’s a really stupid guy. How could he cheat on you? Damn, if I had a girlfriend like you... I would never have eyes for anyone else.” You look at her suddenly seeing an incredulous expression. “Stop, Natasha. Don’t start, you’re a porn actress…” you say letting out a weak laugh “So what?”

“So what if you could never have a normal relationship. Unless you found a woman who accepted your profession…

"Would you accept?" Your confused expression gave away what you were probably thinking, because the redhead continued.

“Would you accept having a “normal relationship” with me, Y/n, even though you know I’m a porn star?”

“Do you want to have a normal relationship with me?” Your eyes were so wide that your sockets could pop out at any moment. “This is all hypothetically speaking, Y/n…” Natasha replied, shrugging.

“Ah, well... No, Nat, I don't think I would. Hypothetically speaking, If I accepted, it would mean that I would continue to be “cheated” for the rest of my life, since your profession is to fuck several women every day.”

“It’s a profession like any other, Y/n. Hypothetically speaking, you wouldn’t be betrayed, you would just accept the lifestyle I lead.”

“Hypothetically and truly speaking... The answer would still be no, Nat.” She rolled her eyes and smirked when she looked at you again. “All this nonsense aside, Y/n... We can go back to what we were doing before... What do you think?”

"What do you think?"

Why resist? You are a single woman and you deserve to enjoy.

“I think that was the smartest thing to come out of your mouth since the virgin guy left, Nat.”

Natasha smiled, you too and together, you went towards your room, to finish all the madness that had started on your couch.

You enter your room with Natasha following you and you give her a few minutes to look around. There was nothing special, your room had a classic decor, very feminine… Cream walls, a double bed with a baby pink bedspread, your bedside table with some photos. Your closet wasn't too big, its door was next to the bathroom door. In front of your bed was what you liked most: your bookshelf, which was what Natasha was looking at at that moment.

“Well, well… Y/n!” Natasha looked at you with a naughty smile from ear to ear, making you look down at your copy of "Fifty Shades of Grey", which was in the redhead's hand. “So you also succumbed to that book?”

What was wrong with that? You felt like you were caught in the act while you were doing something very shameful. “You don’t have to be like this, Detka.”

“Detka? Why do you always call me that?” You repeat what had just come out of the redhead's mouth and she smiled beautifully. “Any problems with pet names?” You just shake your head a little blushing.

“This Christian Gray guy must have picked up more women than me, and I've been in this business since I was 18 years old.” Natasha shook her head and laughed. “But I confess that, since the release of this book, I must have done more than 30 BDSM-style scenes.”

"Serious?" You ask. "Yes." she turned the book over, taking a quick look at the synopsis. “And you... Do you like that kind of thing? Domination and submission?” The redhead asks, suddenly interested.

The image of Natasha with a whip in her hands made your panties wet so quickly, you thought she was combusting.

“Although it’s not really my style, I confess that I do like it. And you, Y/n? Have you ever done anything like that?” She asked, looking at you intently. “Never…” you mumble. “And are you curious?”

“Well...After this book, I think any woman will be curious. I mean, it's a very different topic, which has almost never been addressed, especially in such an explicit and…”

“Are you curious or not, Y/n?”

Natasha asks in a more authoritative tone, Or was it just your imagination? Whatever the case, your intimacy pulsed with each passing minute. "I have." you murmur, wanting to look away, but feeling unable.

Natasha had that power to bind you to her, something that no one had been able to exercise over you. She put your book back in its place and took a few steps until she was in front of you. She ran her fingertips across your face, letting her thumb caress your lower lip. You wanted to close your eyes, but you didn't. You wanted to see how far she would go.

“You're so beautiful, Y/n and telling me these things... My dick is already so hard, I would do anything to enter you right now, but I won't. Do you know what I want now, Y/n?” You shake your head, swallowing hard. “I want you to take off all your clothes and stand in front of your bed, with your feet on the floor and your hands resting on the mattress. Right?"

“Yes…” She pointed to the bed behind you with her eyebrow and you turned to go to her, but was stopped with a firm pull on your hair, which didn’t even hurt, but it was strong enough to keep you still, with your head tilted back.

"Yes what?" asked the redhead in my ear, with a stern voice. "Yes ma'am."

"Go."

She released you and took a few seconds to make your feet move towards your bed. Half a minute ago, Natasha was just Natasha, the porn star. Now you have a Dominant Natasha inside your room and the idea of obeying her has never been so exciting.

You take off your clothes quickly and get into the position she asked for. You felt vulnerable and at the same time sexy in that position, with your ass and your intimacy exposed to her.

“Open your legs wider.”

Natasha's voice echoed throughout the room, letting you know that she wasn't that close to you. You open your legs wider for her, feeling every part of my body becoming erect, as curiosity approaches your mind. What would she do to you? Where was she at that moment, what was she doing exactly?”

You wanted those answers so much, but your brain forgot each one of them when you felt Natasha's finger running straight down your spine. You wanted to squirm with that lazy and sensual movement, but the position stopped you and the only thing you did was let out a loud sigh, when Natasha's open hand slowly caressed your ass.

“Do you trust me, Y/n? I would never do anything that would hurt her, right? Remembering that everything I do is much more for your pleasure than mine. It's for our pleasure and I would never do anything other than that. You said you're curious and I'm here to make you taste whatever you want, Anything I do and you don’t like it, just say “stop” ok?”

"Yes…"

A strong slap landed right in the middle of your buttocks, making you let out a tearful moan. You would have fallen face down from the bed, if Natasha hadn't held you by the waist and held you close to her body. "Yes what?"

"Yes ma'am!" You respond in a louder tone than you intended, feeling your flesh burn and your intimacy become even more moist.

"Excellent." The redhead responded in a serious tone, showing that she was the one in charge.

You hear Romanoff's footsteps walking away, the sound of shoes falling to the floor, as well as the sound of a zipper being opened.

She was undressing and your excitement reached an even greater level due to the anticipation. You hear more and more footsteps, you think she was walking around your room until she came back to stand next to you, her erect member touching your ass.

“You know, Y/n... You've been a very bad woman since the day I met you.”

“W-What do you mean?”

Another strong, hot slap hit you, this time on your right buttock, making you let out a loud scream. God, that hurt and at the same time it made your intimacy cry out for orgasm. How was it possible?

“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak, Y/n!” the redhead said, incisively. “I’ll have to teach you some manners, girl.”

You almost open your mouth to say something, but stop immediately. The slaps excited you and that was a fact, but you also really wanted to know what Natasha had in mind and for that, you needed to stay quiet.

“Continuing, the first thing you did wrong was make me lose control. I never cum inside a woman while I'm acting… I came inside you, because you caught me in your gaze. I think you deserve punishment for that, don’t you, Y/n?” If she's talking, you must deserve it... Another slap!

Very hard on your left buttock, and damn, if you received another slap, you would melt along with the waterfall of excitement that your pussy would release. “Answer, Y/n! Every time I ask you a question, you have a duty to answer me.”

“Yes, I deserve punishment for this,ma'am”

“Yes, you deserve it. And I also deserve punishment for having cast a spell so that my dick wouldn't rise for another woman. Because that's what's happening, Y/n. I haven't had an erection for another woman since the day I fucked you. And that’s not right, is it.”

“It is not, ma'am”

“No really…” Natasha remained silent for a few minutes, running her hand over your hot, burning ass. “Ten slaps, Y/n. I will give you ten slaps because of everything you did to me. Agrees?" "Yes ma'am”

"Perfect. Why are we doing this, Y/n? Why are you bowing down and obeying me?”

“Because I wanted to know what it’s like…” first slap. Hard and fast, right in the middle of your ass.

She caresses you and you moan, rearing up for her, your body asking for more and at the same time, begging for an orgasm. “Keep talking, don’t stop!”

Second slap, on the right side, following the sequence she had started when you messed up something.

“Because I wanted to know what it was like, ma'am.” you moan receiving the third and fourth slap.

Your flesh was burning and the walls of your vagina were so tight, that you were sure that with just one touch on your clit, you would cum.

“And why are you being beaten?” Natasha asked, caressing your ass lightly.

“Why don’t you…” Fifth and sixth, the echo of the spankings filling your entire room. "You? Is that right, Y/n?

“No ma'am.” you whimper feeling your legs wobble. Your body was begging for an orgasm, for a rest, but you didn't want to stop. “Start again, why are you catching Y/n?”

“Because you can’t stay hard for any other woman, unless…” seventh and eighth, and more excitement came out of your intimacy.

She slapped you again on the buttocks and paused. You feel two kisses on your burning flesh and then came the coup de grace. The tenth and final slap, which your hot ass was waiting for, was given lower down. It hit your intimacy straight.

Your clitoris vibrated, you felt a sharp scream coming out of your throat, while your legs turned to jelly and your lower belly shook in a powerful orgasm. Jets came out of you, as you had what many called female ejaculation.

It was strong, and it seemed like it would never end. You came and screamed, while your trembling body was welcomed into Natasha's arms. Only then do you realize that you are sitting on the floor, when all the daze was gone, leaving only a tremor in your body with every movement you or Natasha made.

“Nat…” you groan, looking for something to say before you become too embarrassed to even look at her.

“Y/n, that was... Amazing! Have you ever cum like this?” She looked at you, smiling. You shake your head, placing your face on the redhead's bare chest. You hear her laugh of joy, while a smile spreads across your face.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed. As far as it depends on me, I will give you lots and lots of ejaculations.” The redhead's fingers lightly went down your breasts, starting to lightly circle your nipple. “Now I really want to fuck you.”

You feel your intimacy fluctuate, waking up the excitement that fell asleep after that intense orgasm. You bite your lip and get out of Natasha's legs, sitting on her hips and taking her member in your hand. She smiled and leaned back at the foot of your bed, while squeezing your nipple in her fingers.

“Put me inside you, Detka. Slowly, because you are still sensitive.” Natasha murmured, careful, but with eyes full of malice.

You nod and stand up a little, feeling your burning ass protest. You make a face and the older girl laughed, pulling your head to give you a breathtaking kiss. You feel her tongue wander around every corner of your mouth, as you slowly sit on her member, feeling her open space inside you with her wide head.

“Fuck, Y/n... You’re so fucking tight!” she roared against your lips, holding your hips so you sat up slowly. “And you’re fucking big!” you moan, feeling her stretch you inside, touching all your little nerves. “I like that word coming out of your mouth.” She bit your lower lip. “Roll on me, Y/n, come on.”

You obey, rolling your hips slowly, feeling her enter and enter until your pelvises meet. You moan together as you start to move, increasing the rhythm of your hips with the redhead's help. Her dick touched every corner, occupied all the places you didn't even know existed.

When just moving wasn't enough, Natasha began to push your hips up and down, making you straddle her lap. Her dick was going so deep that you could feel your lower abdomen wobble, looking for a new orgasm. “That's right, Y/n... I know that pussy is ready to cum on my dick. Cum for me, Come on.”

The redhead's name escaped your lips and your body, obeying her command once again, trembled, as you came for her. Your intimacy was still pressing her, when she got up with you on her lap and came out of you, placing you on the mattress.

“Kneel down and place your hands on the mattress, Y/n…” she murmured.

You stay in the indicated position. Pulling you by the waist, Natasha placed her penis at your entrance and slowly penetrated you, widening you again, until her pelvis hit your sensitive ass. “If it’s too much for you, let me know and I’ll change positions.”

You nod, feeling her move slowly, pulling your excitement back. You squeeze her lightly inside and you hear a moan of pleasure coming out of her, and one of surprise came from inside you, when I felt her thumb surround your anus.

“Your ass is so beautiful, Y/n. One day, I'll be inside it. I promise to you." Natasha murmured, still moving slowly inside you. “Let me know if this is too much for you too.”

You were about to ask what could be too much for you, when you felt her wet thumb, probably from her saliva, force its way into your anus and lightly penetrate you.

A moan of satisfaction escaped your lips when she synchronized the movement of her finger with the movement of her penis inside you, increasing and increasing more and more.

Her dick hit you full on with force and precision, as did Natasha's finger in your ass and it was all too much for you. You feel your intimacy tighten again and Natasha increased her movements even more, showing that she was also ready to cum. “What a greedy cunt, Y/n! Come on, I’m dying to fill her with my cum”

Hearing all that made your excitement increase to such an alarming level that the last thing you thought about before cumming was whether you would be able to be a normal person after that night.

Romanoff screamed and so did you, as you came together, her cum entering you more and more, while your body suffered from the spasms that the orgasm was causing.

When you both calmed down, Natasha gently pulled out of you and threw herself on the bed next to you, breathing as fast as you.

“Tell me you’re not going back with him” Natasha suddenly looks at you seriously. "What?"

“Tell me you’re not going back with him and I’ll know I have a chance, I can make you happier than him Y/n. I'm completely fascinated by you.” You just smile feeling numb from all this information.

“I’m not going back with him, Nat, because I’m fascinated by you too.”

A bright and satisfied smile spread across her lips, reflecting your expression, before she approached you and sealed all that madness with a sweet kiss, making you think that… Maybe signing that contract wasn't all bad.

#natasha romanoff #marvel cinematic universe #black widow #black widow x reader #natasha marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha x reader #gp natasha romanoff

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elvensorceress · 1 month

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idk I get incredibly angry at homophobes being cast on my gay shows. anybody want the start of my fic where Eddie dumps her bigoted ass and then has a gay ole sexy time with his husband and his husband's new boyfriend? because here. you can have. it's cathartic 💕

test drive - 2K, BuckTommy, BuckEddieTommy, Buddie endgame forever / Explicit

The restaurant is dimly lit in a way that might be classy and romantic, but Tommy’s hand is also on Buck’s thigh. And he’s having a lot of very not-classy, not even very romantic sorts of thoughts. Everything is far more along the lines of, he could put his hand on my dick, and I know what his cock feels like down my throat, and why are we here in a public place when we could be back at my loft taking turns fucking each other until we’re both a mess of cum and lube and sweat and sexy bruises and love bites? Because all of that is way more appealing than what they are sitting here, waiting to do.

If it were just one of their dates, it’d be great. Those are fantastic. Tommy likes to pick him up and take him to nice places and he smiles in a really, really soft cute way that also has an air of, I am going to fuck you until you scream and you will love every second. And holy fucking god, does Buck love every second.

Bisexuality, man. Who knew?

It’s so fantastic. It’s so different? Or maybe it’s just that Tommy is different because he’s ridiculously cool and hot and Buck always really liked when someone knew what they wanted and would take the lead and he could do everything in his power to please them and make them feel good. Confidence is infinitely sexy and competence even more so. And Tommy has all of that in spades.

And Buck loves men. Buck really loves men. It makes so much sense and how had he never even considered? Maybe he considered but he sure as hell never realized wanting a man and being attracted to a man was something that fit so well. Fuck, it fits so well.

Maybe he could even end up with a man someday? Maybe he could marry a man and have a relationship that is like this all the time for the rest of his life? Not that he doesn’t like women still. Women are great. People who don’t identify as either or they identify as both or however they choose— they’re great, too.

Everyone is hot and Evan Buckley is very bisexual, and it just might be one of the greatest revelations he’s ever had.

He’s just really, really enjoying being with a man right now.

He is not, however, enjoying the thought of this dinner. Everything about this dinner makes his stomach a washing machine of anxiety. For no reason. He doesn’t know why. There’s nothing wrong with it.

Why wouldn’t he and his boyfriend go on a double date with his best friend who is their mutual friend, and his best friend’s girlfriend. What is wrong with that? It’s fine. Should be— fun?

Shouldn’t be a bad taste in his mouth that the wine still hasn’t gotten rid of and roiling in his stomach that is really killing his appetite. But it very much is.

Tommy squeezes Buck’s thigh and rubs it in a way that surely is supposed to be comforting. But it makes Buck want to drag him out of this restaurant and back to the loft where he can show Tommy how good he is at fucking him now. Not just because it would be a thousand times better than the prospect of this dinner. The bar is so low on the ground, it’s buried at this point. But also because sex with his new boyfriend is better than— actually, Buck is having a hard time thinking of anything that is better right now.

Very hard time.

They’ve been practicing. Everything. Blowjobs, fucking, fingering, ball massages, prostate milking, rimming— all sorts of really fun things Buck never even imagined could feel so good. Not that he was oblivious to a lot of it. He has toys. His ex was into pegging. Buck might have been unaware of how intense and gay— well, bi. He’s bi now. Buck is bi now. Probably always was but he knows it now. He’s bisexual.— his attraction to men could be. But he was not unaware of sexual acts that feel good to his body.

But it’s totally different with a real man and a real cock and being manhandled by someone who might actually be bigger and stronger than you is really fucking hot.

He checks his watch again and it’s already 7:28. They’re almost half an hour late. Which is so not like Eddie. He’s not sure if Marisol is like that but he knows for sure Eddie is either fifteen minutes early for everything or he texts if there is a problem. Even then, he’s only ever a few minutes late. If that. And last Buck checked, there were no new messages on his phone.

He checks again, and still nothing. Not even to Buck’s message of, hey u ok? u on the way? He frowns and sets his phone back on the table and turns to Tommy. “How long before I’m allowed to be really worried?”

Tommy gives him an amused smile. “You can be worried.”

“How long before we need to bother Athena? Ten more minutes? Five? Sh-should I bother Athena now?”

Tommy’s eyebrows scrunch and he looks at Buck like he’s crazy. Okay, it’s probably crazy. Just. He’s worried? That must be the churning in his stomach. “I’m sure Eddie’s fine. It hasn’t been that long. And he’s Eddie.”

Yeah. Yeah, he’s Eddie. But Eddie was also shot downtown in the middle of broad daylight and nearly bled out all over, and there’s not much anyone can do even if they are trained in hand to hand combat and self-defense and those kinds of things. Not many ways to defend against a sniper round that shouldn’t even be a thing.

Not that Buck is thinking about that. Ever.

He’s just turning into a washing machine over this dinner. That’s all.

Five minutes later, some of it finally eases when Eddie finally shows up and sits down across from them. Alone.

Alone?

“Sorry, guys,” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and breathes like he’s run a hundred miles. He’s hardly been looking distressed at all lately. He’s been glowing smiles and pretty laughs. Not pretty. Nice? Good? Good that he’s so much happier and at peace.

But he’s not that now.

“I would’ve—” Eddie checks his own watch, one that was a Christmas present that Buck had engraved with, all the time you need, and must realize how late he actually is. “Fuck. Sorry. Really sorry. I’ll buy? Unless you’ve already eaten and paid and are about to leave.”

Tommy shakes his head and has that nice smile that’s so reassuring. “We haven’t. Don’t worry about it.”

“We were waiting,” Buck adds and itches to ask him what’s wrong, why he’s late, why he looks— like he isn’t okay.

“Great.” Eddie nods tersely and it sounds anything but great. “They got anything stronger than wine and cocktails here? Because—” He doesn’t say. But he does make a face the conveys everything.

“Doubt it,” Tommy says. “But we can get something somewhere else. Is Mar— Mari?”

“Marisol,” Buck supplies. Not that it matters. Not that he cares. Is he supposed to care? There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s fine.

“Right,” Tommy says, which should say everything. Eddie’s been hanging out with Tommy for months, Buck’s been with Tommy for months, and Tommy is pretty damn good at remembering people’s names. “Marisol. Is she still on the way?”

Eddie’s jaw gets very tight. “No. We’re done.”

Tommy looks at Buck and Buck looks at Tommy. They’re done? They broke up? Not that it’s particularly surprising. Part of the curse of dating someone you met on a call. Gotta be. Also the whole thing where Eddie has some kind of commitment issues or something because as soon as he gets a girlfriend, he has to spend all his time doing anything besides being with said girlfriend.

“So, drinking?” Tommy says.

Buck pushes his wine glass across the table. They usually share when they eat together. Drinks, food, anything. And he’s happy to offer it to the cause.

“Yes, drinking.” Eddie takes Buck’s wine and downs all of it.

Eddie’s single again. Marisol isn’t coming to dinner and she’s not part of their lives any longer. Not that Buck has a problem with her. She’s fine. She was nothing really. That wasn’t going to last. Eddie likes the idea of being with someone. So he says. He’s allergic to actually having a relationship for some reason.

The washing machine in Buck’s stomach disappears though. Which is so much better. Now, it’s just Buck hanging out with his best friend and his boyfriend.

Maybe there’s a little washing machine. It’s nothing though.

They order food and drinks, and Eddie only goes through a couple shots and three glasses of wine and one beer. But he eats and also drinks water and doesn’t seem inebriated at all. So, they focus on the meal and Tommy’s latest work stories of helicopter rescues.

It’s not until after Buck discreetly hands their waiter his credit card before they’re actually brought the bill, that Eddie actually starts talking.

“I kind of fucked up. Didn’t mean to. I owe you an apology,” he says and looks at Buck with worlds of regret and sorrow.

Whatever it is, Buck forgives him. He’s sure he’s done far worse than whatever it is. “Why? What, uh, what happened?”

Eddie doesn’t look at him. Or Tommy. He does shake his head but not like he’s saying no. More like he’s disgusted. “I let it slip that you two are— that you’re. Dating. Together. Boyfriends? Do you call each other that? Are you boyf— never mind, I let it slip. I’m sorry. That was my bad. Not my secret to tell.”

Tommy looks scrunched and confused again and Buck— he doesn’t understand what the problem is? No, he hasn’t told many people yet. But it’s not a secret that he and Tommy are together.

“Eds,” Buck says and immediately thinks he probably shouldn’t have called him that. He doesn’t know why. But he shouldn’t. “It’s fine. I’m not— It’s not a secret. I’m not hiding. Or— or in the closet? I’m out. Now. I’m bi and—” And he’s really happy about that. He really loves it. He’s bisexual. He loves women and men and whoever regardless of gender. And holy shit, does he love men right now. He really, really loves being with a man. He looks to his side and grins brightly at Tommy. “And I’m not ashamed or embarrassed that Tommy and I are together.”

There’s a cute half smile that curves the side of Tommy’s mouth and Buck so wants to kiss him. And do all sorts of other things with him.

“Well. Good.” Eddie taps his finger on an empty shot glass like he’s contemplating ordering another. “Still. Didn’t go well. Didn’t mean to out you like that.”

“Didn’t go well?” Tommy asks. “Saying that Evan and I are dating didn’t go well?”

Eddie purses his lips and does a slow, exaggerated shake of his head. “Nope. But at least I learned that now. Has the waiter brought our check yet? Because I’m just going to drink more if I don’t head out soon. Not that I’m sad about her or anything. I’m pissed. You think you know someone, and no. No, she’s a raging homophobe.”

She— oh. Oh, that’s what happened. “She broke up with you because we’re gay? Bi and gay? Or— you know what I mean.” Is Tommy gay? Or bi? Or something else? Buck hasn’t actually asked what label he uses. How he qualifies his sexuality. He felt weird asking. It’s so personal. Is he supposed to ask? All he knows is that Tommy was into him. Tommy kissed him and it was breathtaking, incredible, magnificent and changed Buck’s whole life. He didn’t really think anything beyond that. Couldn’t really think beyond that.

Eddie definitively points at himself and then at phantom nothingness. “I dumped her. Because I said this was a double date with you guys and she said, well not really, and I said, no really. It’s a double date. Her and me and both of you. Double date. Except not her. Ever. Anymore. Because she had to go off about how it was wrong and made her uncomfortable and I ‘let both of you be alone with Christopher?’ And it couldn’t possibly be a date like me and her would go on a date because she’s a woman and I’m a man and that was normal. But you two are both men. Both muscular, powerful, masculine, manly firemen type men— so it could never be the same especially because neither one of you are flamey or girly or whatever, so it could never work, the two of you since neither one of you is ‘The Girl.’ Which is all bullshit. By the way. Obviously. And,” he finally stops and breathes, and there’s a hard swallow in his throat and his eyes are distant and his whole body is strung tight and if he could breathe fire? He probably would. Holy shit, he’s pissed off. Buck isn’t even sure he’s ever seen Eddie this angry at anyone who hasn’t hurt someone he loves.

Although. Technically she did? Not hurt per se, Buck doesn’t give a shit about what she thinks of him. But she was insulting them. So. Yeah, okay, of course fiercely protective Eddie would be angry.

“And anyway,” Eddie says, still never quite looking at Buck or even at Tommy. Never quite focusing on them. “That’s how I’m single and back on the market again.” He smiles a wide, bitter, snarky kind of smile, and steals the half-full beer glass in front of Buck and downs it in one gulp.

(Read on AO3)

#buddie #bucktommy #jenwyn wip #buddie wip #almost done with the whole thing should be up in the next day or so #911 abc #fic: test drive

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justwonder113 · 8 days

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Hi! I came across your blog and I literally had a reading marathon! The way you write is just *chefs kiss*

can I request female reader x han, where you’re in his room doing each others makeup and you end up kissing and teasing each other and making a mess with the makeup, then a member walks in on you straddling his lap but nonethless they’re met with such a cute sight 😌

Aww I can not simply describe how much it means to me that you like my writing. Thank you so much for reading my work and requesting such an adorable fic idea!!!! I loved writing every second of it and I really hope it is what you had in mind and that you will like it.

Warnings: I don't think there's any? Please tell me if I missed anything Reader being whipped and showering Hannie with affection. Not proofread.

Masterlist

Soulmate- a close friend or romantic partner with whom one has a unique deep connection based on mutual understanding and acceptance. Well it is how meeriam webster's dictionary describes it. But it it so much more it can not simply be described by words. The Greek philosopher Plato wrote that humans once had four arms, four legs and two faces. He explained that Zeus split us in half as a punishment for our pride, and we were destined to walk the Earth searching for our other half. Some people spend their entire lives searching for their soulmate. Some people have the pleasure of finding their other half, some don't. Some of them are so skeptical they give up on the whole idea of it.

You were always curios about who would capture your heart and who would be the one who made you feel so complete and full of love that you could call them your soulmate. You have always wondered how you would find out that they, they are the one, that's my soulmate. That's who I want to bond my life if.

Never in your wildest dreams would you imagine that you would realize you've found your soulmate, in the middle of the night, with your room dimly lit and music softly playing in the backround, laid across your bed trying to hold in your giggles as your boyfriend, the chaos incarnate, aka Han Jisung is trying to to put makeup on your face. This whole situation is ridiculous but you've never felt more at peace. You're sure now. This is the one you want to spend your life with. This boy who managed to capture your heart with his boba eyes and gummy smile is your soulmate. To think that you would realize this in such a ridiculous moment like this.

You don't need a mirror to know what you look ridiculous. You knew both of you would end up looking like circus clowns before you even took your makeup brushes out. That's why you went all out on his face and my god did he look ridiculous. But hey, you were also ridiculous, because looking at him, all dishelmed and with caked on makeup, messy hair and mischevious glint in his sparkly eyes, prettiest smile on his face as he proudly gazes at his own art, you have never been more in love.

"We need to even out the lipstick now." He looks away for a second and that's when you seize your chance. With one swift movement you switch your place with him. Han lookes up to you with wide eyes, clearly not expecting you to overpower him. "Wow this was really hot not going to lie!" He breaths out after a second, you can't help but roll your eyes.

"What a dork." You lean in and seal your lips together. You feel like you're overflown with love and all you want is to show him just how much you love him. You place gentle but firm kisses against lips, absolutely loving how he immediately responds to each and every one of them makeup long forgotten. You love how tightly he's holding onto your lips and how he chases after your lips when you lean back to let both of you breathe.

Sometimes you really can't believe that he's actually yours. You always get so owerwhelmed with love all you want to do is to shower him all the affection. And that's what you're set on to do. Feeling satisfied on the amount of kisses you left on his lips you decide to migrate them a little. Softly cradling his chubby cheeks you migrate your lips to his chin, his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, everywhere you can reach. You want him to know just how precious he is to you. God you feel like you're under some type of love spell. You just can't stop kissing him.

And how can you when he looks so delicious? You could eat him up if you could. His hair is even more messy, his whole face is covered in your makeup and you can swear that red has never looked more better on anyone. His breathing is a little bit rugged, his skin is all flushed, which is apparent even under all that makeup, he has this lovesick smile while his eyes look a bit dazed while still shining like the brightest star for you. Does he even realize what he does to you?

"What brought this on?" He asks after he finally catches his breath. He leans up a bit so now you're in his lap, his arms tight around your waist.

A smile creeps up on your face, you gently move the hair out of his forehead and leave a little kiss there, smiling even more at the imprint of your lipstick on the center of his forehead. Just how much lipstick did he actually put on your lips?

"You make me believe in soulmates." Han looks surprised at fist, then unsure how to react before the brightest smile creeps up on his face. Suddenly your positions are switched yet again and you're on the bed while Han is the one covering your face with millions of kisses while muttering between each and every one of them just how much he loves you.

Unbeknownst to you, while you're all lovely dovely Chan had opened the door to Han's bedroom wanting to ask him something, let's just say there's this video going around in your friend group now where you look like two idiots in love. You wanted to die of shame when you saw it the first time, but upon closer inspecting it, the way you two looked at each other... You really found your soulmate.

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

Text

party on you (explicit)

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

pairing: hoseok x reader

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

word count: 9.8k

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

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

read on AO3 !

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“J-Hope is pretty cool, huh?”

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

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

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

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

But then again, so is he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought that was you.”

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

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

“Hi, Jimin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin-ah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you having fun?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you feel about it?”

“The album?” He asks.

You shrug. “Everything.”

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

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

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

“You sound stressed,” you say softly.

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

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

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

“No, no, what is that face?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

“You didn’t even text me back about tonight! I had no idea if you were coming.”

You start to laugh as the realization washes over you: you’d been so busy sighing forlornly and stressing about what to wear, you’d forgotten to actually reply to his messages.

“Okay, this time was actually an accident. But…” You sweep your gaze over his studio, trying to think. “I don’t know, I just always feel like I’m bothering you. Your life is so big and important. Even now: you should be upstairs being the star of your own party. Not down here with me.”

Hoseok shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want to talk to anyone up there the way I want to talk to you. I was such a wreck today when you didn’t answer.”

You can’t believe what he’s saying, even as he takes a step in towards you, his mouth invitingly close to yours again. “Why? I am quite literally the least important person on the guestlist.”

“Because,” Hoseok pauses for a second, then sighs. “I like you, and I was scared that you’d decided not to come, when I…” He’s practically grinning, and the tell of his scrunched up nose makes you realize– he’s embarrassed. “I threw this whole party just to have an excuse to see you.”

Your jaw drops open. “You what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

“Hobi.” You both start to laugh as you stare in disbelief, trying to process the most ridiculous statement you’ve ever heard in your life. “You could have just called me.”

“I tend to overthink these things.”

He’s close enough that you barely have to move to slide your hands up his chest and grip the lapels of his white button-down.

“I think I can help with that,” you murmur, and then you tug him back down into a kiss that makes your head spin.

The sweet nervousness of your first kiss has been replaced with urgency now, Hoseok’s mouth moving over yours like he’s hungry for it. You tug gently on your fistfuls of his shirt to move him towards you, stumbling backwards until you find purchase against the door of the studio.

Hoseok moves skillfully, tongue licking into your mouth while one of his strong thighs shifts to tease your legs apart and press between them. The quick succession of the two is enough to make your breath hitch, and it seems to encourage him more. The rough denim of his jeans grinds into your center, and your already-short dress has ridden up enough that the pressure drags hot sparks right over your core.

Your jaw goes slack as your focus slips, and you tip your head back against the door with a soft whine, circling your hips for more friction. “Fuck, Hoseok.”

His lips drop down to the exposed skin of your neck. The warmth of his mouth has your back arching, your nipples rubbed into stiff peaks under the thin fabric you couldn’t wear a bra with.

“You look so fucking good tonight,” Hoseok groans. “Driving me crazy in this little dress.”

There’s the soft brush of a hand on your thigh, and he teases the hem of your dress up higher and higher as your hips keep moving; his tongue darts out to lick a languid stripe over your collarbone. His other hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast over satin, deftly rolling the bud of your nipple between his long fingers, pinching with just enough pressure to coax a moan out of you.

“I like the sounds you make. Don’t want you to be shy with me.” Hoseok murmurs over your skin before he starts to suck deliberately at your neck, right on your pulse point. You couldn’t stifle the sound his mouth pulls from you even if you wanted to.

With all your attention drawn to grinding your clit against his leg and the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, your grip on the fabric of his shirt has loosened. Moving in a haze of pleasure, your hands fumble at his denim jacket, attempting to push it down his shoulders. Hoseok pulls back slightly when he realizes what you’re doing, though his fingers still lazily squeeze at your nipple.

“Let me just– hang on–” Hoseok untangles himself from you entirely with a sheepish grin, and you take the moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving in shallow breaths. You can feel the way your panties are soaked through as you press your thighs together, desperate for continued friction.

He’s moving quickly as he slips out of his oversized jacket and button down beneath it. You can clearly see the wheels in his head turning as he lays the pieces over the back of his desk chair, then immediately scrunches his face up as if to think better of it.

“Agh, sorry, sorry, one second–” Hoseok shakes out the jacket, then the shirt, folding both in quick yet precise succession before stacking the neat rectangles together and gently setting them on the small couch next to his desk.

Even in the dim studio lighting you can see his face is flushed pink with embarrassment as he returns to press you back against the door.

“I just– I don’t want wrinkles,” he says softly, and you’re very grateful that you no longer have to suppress the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him.

“I like you so much,” you giggle into his mouth, and it’s punctuated with a squeak when his hands slide down to firmly grab your ass. The fabric of your dress is so thin that it hardly feels like it’s there at all.

Hoseok must have the same thought, because he releases his grip only for as long as it takes to push the skirt of your dress up over your ass; now there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin when he squeezes you again.

“Like you,” he agrees, his voice husky. “Want to taste you.” Your core aches for his touch, clenches around nothing when he releases his grip and cracks a hand over the soft flesh of your asscheek.

“Please, Hobi.”

You find his mouth with yours again for a needy taste of a kiss, tongues sliding together. Your arms wrap around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer.

In one swift move he presses you flush against the door, and his hands slip to hitch your legs over his waist before moving back to your ass, hoisting your hips up to properly straddle him. You whimper at the grind of his erection through his jeans, right over your rubbed-sensitive center, and at the thought that he could fuck you just like this, up against this door.

Hoseok’s mouth doesn’t leave yours as he turns and carries you the short distance across the room, hands sliding to your hips so he can set you down on the desk. His lips are full and kiss-bitten red when he pulls back to look at you, pupils blown dark with lust.

“Sure this is okay?”

You meet his gaze, reaching up to dust strands of hair out of his eyes. His mouth chases the heel of your hand so he can press those soft lips into the center of your palm, chaste and sweet.

“It’s so much more than okay,” you murmur.

He’s smiling as he leans forward for another kiss, only pulling back to press his forehead to yours once you’re both breathless. “I have wanted to do this for so fucking long. You have no idea.”

His hands hook under the backs of your thighs to scoot you gently forward until you’re perched at the very edge of his desk, and then he sinks to his knees. Your legs that were slipped around his waist find new purchase thrown over his shoulders and you tense a little when your high heels scrape over his back.

“I can take these off,” you start, but he’s already shaking his head as his palms encourage your thighs apart.

“I like it.”

You’re nearly gasping for breath with anticipation as his long fingers slip under the band of your panties and you lift your hips up so he can pull them down. You manage to extract one leg to drape back over his shoulders, leaving the lacy fabric to dangle off the other as you open up for him.

Hoseok’s thumbs press to either side of your pussy, gently spreading your lips apart to admire how soaked you already are. Anyone else examining you like this would have you squirming away self-consciously, but there’s just something about Hoseok that’s different. You want him to know every part of you fully, intimately.

“God, you are so gorgeous.” His breath is hot over your skin, makes your cunt tighten needily as if to beckon him closer.

You lean back to brace your forearms on the desk behind you and Hoseok’s gaze jumps up to meet yours. He doesn’t drop eye contact as he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to your slit, both of you groaning at the contact.

His mouth moves just as it did against yours, and you let your eyes flutter closed as pleasure sears through you like a hot knife. Hoseok grunts a little, low in his throat when he adds tongue to his kisses, licking softly but deliberately to part your slick folds.

“Hobi,” you whine, rolling your hips up into him as he starts to apply more pressure with his tongue. “Fuck, ah, feels so good.”

Hoseok pulls off of you with a throaty gasp, like maybe he was so focused on eating you out that he didn’t quite remember to keep breathing. When you look down at him, his lips are wet and glossy, spread in a wide smile. “You taste so fucking good.”

You don’t even have time to ask for more before he’s hooking his biceps around your thighs and tugging your hips towards him, pulling you even closer to bury his face between your legs. This time he licks a stripe straight up to your swollen clit, pulling the bud into his mouth to suck on.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, digging your nails into the desk beneath you as sparks shoot through you and your clit twitches in his mouth.

Hoseok hums steadily around you, as if to once again encourage you to be vocal. He starts to nod his head as he sucks, his nose pressed flush against your pubic bone. Your hips fall in time with his rhythm, grinding back down on him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. “Shit, Hobi.” Your voice catches on a dazed, disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”

He doesn’t let up, squeezing his grip on your thighs that much tighter when you start to quiver beneath him. Your arousal coils tight and hot in your core as he works more not-so-shy noises out of you, breathy moans, needy whines.

You cling desperately to the edge of his desk, teetering equally on the edge of your own release. The wet slick wash of his tongue is lush, decadent, lapping at your clit between pulses of suction, and it’s all too fucking much.

“Yes, Hoseok, fuck!”

You cry out, your heels digging into the hard plane of Hoseok’s back as he works an intense, shuddering orgasm out of you. Your cunt throbs over and over as you come, a rush of arousal painting the crux of your thighs.

When you catch your breath it’s in uneven, shaky gasps, and the movement of your hips sharpens into jolts as you become hypersensitive to Hoseok’s mouth. He releases you almost reluctantly, still hovering close, continuing to dart his tongue out to gently lick up your folds.

“I don’t want to stop,” he says with a shy, blossoming laugh, the light catching the shine of his lips and chin when he glances up at you.

You’re dazed, beyond blissed out, unable to believe that any of this is real. You like him so much.

“Can I keep going?”

Just that sentence is enough to make you tighten all over again with anticipation. “I–” you laugh a little too despite yourself. “I want that. But I think my clit needs a second.”

Hoseok’s touch is featherlight as he circles a digit lower, over your entrance, as if to ask permission. “What about here?” Your pussy lips twitch even under so gentle a touch, but you ache for more; you like that it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah, yes. There, please, fuck,” you babble. He’s added a second finger to tease now, and you whimper when they finally press together into your sensitive cunt.

Hoseok is watching his fingers intently, and you can hear the way your pussy squelches as he pumps them slowly, can feel the tremors of your orgasm still shuddering through you, causing slick to drip from your center. You can only imagine what his view must be like, how you must look: dripping, needy, trembling for him, fingers gripping the desk and head lolling back.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, and then he dips his head down to lap below your entrance, tasting the juices that have leaked out of you. He pulls back to smack his other hand over your whole cunt, light enough that you barely feel the tap, but just the visual of it makes you squirm beneath him.

“So cute,” he smiles. His fingers rub circles into your front wall, becoming more insistent, and you breathe in shaky waves as you start to grip tightly around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, letting your eyes drop closed. Arousal blossoms through you like a heavy weight, your second climax already building, when you feel his other hand cup the join of your ass and thigh.

A soft whimper spills out of you as Hoseok starts to massage below your entrance, thumb working at a new bundle of nerves, like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s pleasure that makes you hot all over, makes the muscles in your legs shiver and tense when it’s paired with the crook of his fingers still working your pussy.

“Fuck,” you pant, “Hobi, what are– that feels so–” You’re starting to lose a grip on your words, sentences going incoherent as your head spins. It’s hard to think over all the sensation, the way your body is lit up like a live wire, and the sound of your cunt gushing around him as he fucks into your g-spot.

“Has anyone touched you here before?” He asks softly, thumb tapping at the thin bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. His head dips down for a chaste kiss there, then a second, adding a languid lap of tongue.

“N-no,” you whimper, toes curling in your shoes as he continues to drag his tongue over this delicate, sensitive place. “Keep going.”

Hoseok pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting him to you, and he lets it loose with a swipe of his hand over his mouth. His fingers slip out of you as he pairs a question with a smile. “Turn over for me?”

Your legs would be shaking even if you weren’t in fancy party heels, and you do your best to be graceful as you unsteadily spin, one arm keeping the fabric of your dress hiked up over your hips.

“Brace yourself on the desk,” Hoseok instructs, and you do, leaning forward until your stomach and forearms are flush with the wood, your bare ass hanging off the desk, presented for him. You spread your legs apart again and can feel the way your pussy drools arousal down your thighs. “That’s it,” he coaxes.

His fingers massage firmly into the flesh of your asscheeks, and your back arches up as you groan at the feeling. He spreads you just a little, enough for cool air to tease at your slick center; your hips wiggle towards him on instinct.

“Pretty back here, too,” he murmurs. “Tell me how it feels, okay? Won’t do it if you don’t like it.”

You clench for him in both places, even your fists grip tight in the fabric of your dress. “I’ll like it. Please, baby.”

“Baby,” Hoseok repeats back with a shy exhale. “I like that. I like you.” He leaves a sweet kiss pressed halfway up your thigh.

“Hobi–” you choke out a whine of his name as his breath ghosts over you, hands still firmly keeping you spread. His tongue returns to your perineum again, licking a hot, slow stripe that keeps moving up, up, until you feel the tease of warmth and wetness over your ass. “Oh, fuck.”

You’re so sensitive here, just the lightest drag of his tongue over your rim makes you moan, feet kicking listlessly as pleasure shudders through you.

“It’s good–” you manage to whimper, voice muffled slightly as your forehead drops against the desk, too, your whole body pinned down by his mouth. “–ngh, really good, Hobi.” Your cunt throbs when he does it again, as he falls into a consistent pace of long, steady laps that set off fireworks behind your eyes.

The ache in your core begs for touch, friction, and you oblige needily, tucking a hand under the weight of your hips pressed into the desk, a sweat-slicked palm for your mouth-wet clit.

Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. It’s only for a second that he pulls off of you, but you whine at the loss of his tongue, sated slightly by the gentle brush of his lips over the small of your back. “Gonna get yourself off while I eat you out?”

You grind a circle down with your hips, hissing at the white-hot pulse against your hand. “Yes, baby, please.”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement to dive back in, fingers gripping harder to spread you and tongue licking deliberately, tracing patterns that work more arousal out of your pussy. You’re unraveling fast from humping against your palm, hips jolting forward to make your clit twitch and backwards to press towards Hoseok’s mouth.

You’re already wound so tight that you’re too desperate for words, reduced instead to little breathless gasps– “ah, ahh”– as you speed up the rub of your hand, your hips. Hoseok’s tongue never falters, firm pressure laved over and over your sensitive, flexing ass.

With a soft hum of effort, you feel him press a little harder, tongue barely dipping in past your tight ring of muscle, and the sweet stretch of it is the final push you need.

You roll your clit just right over your palm a final time and then you’re shaking and moaning as everything starts to pulse. The all-over clench pushes a fresh wave of fluid from your cunt, rolling down the backs of your thighs, fat droplets of arousal that Hoseok chases with sloppy kisses as the waves of your orgasm shudder through you.

It takes a moment before you can say anything, do anything, limbs too heavy and brain too fucked-out dumb. You do your best to slide gracefully off the desk, but your legs shake with aftershocks that betray you, and you stumble.

Hoseok is quick to wrap his arms around you and guide your hips down to the floor next to him. You collapse in a heap of giggles, him tangled over your waist, the skirt of your dress still pushed up, your bare ass on his studio carpet.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok laughs, and you bury your face in the fabric of his tank top as an answer, not convinced your coherency has returned to you yet.

“Too good,” you murmur, words slurring. “Fucked me too good.”

“You’re so hot.” You can tell he’s blushing just by the tone of his voice, and you start to come to a little, slow-blinking back to reality and rolling over to look up at him. His dark eyes shine as he smiles. You don’t want to come all the way down from this dazed, happy place yet, you realize, and you curl a finger into the loop of his jeans, tugging him closer.

“My turn.” Your hands start to fumble to undo his belt buckle. His jeans are oversized, but not enough to obscure the print of his hard cock pressed against his thigh.

“Let me take you home,” he says softly, running a fingertip along your jaw. “This should be– I want you to be comfortable. I want it to feel good.”

“It all feels good,” you say earnestly, sitting up to tug at the button of his jeans, undeterred. “And you can take me home. But you’ve been so good to me, Hobi.” You manage to work his fly open, and you lift your gaze to meet him. “Let me be good to you.”

You resume your work, wriggling Hoseok’s jeans down his thighs until his hands cover yours and he takes over, stripping himself of his shoes as well. He reaches back between his shoulder blades to pull his tank top over his head, and your eyes sweep over his body, taking in his lithe figure and smooth, hard muscles. You trail the tips of your fingers down the defined lines of his chest.

“Fuck,” Hoseok starts to smile self-consciously, one hand drifting over his dick straining against tight black briefs with a slightly darker spot in the center where he’s left a kiss of precum on the fabric. “I don’t have any condoms here.”

You sit up on your knees in front of him, considering this. “Use my mouth.” The high of your orgasm has subsided enough now that you’re not quite shameless anymore, and heat blooms in your face as you continue. “Like, fuck my throat.”

He tries and fails to suppress a groan, and his delicate hands reach to cup either side of your face, thumbs rubbing circles into the hinge of your jaw. “You–” he laughs softly. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I mean it,” you say simply.

“But you really want to?”

You nod, half play-acting your shyness now, letting your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. “I’ve done it before. I like it.”

“Fuck,” Hoseok breathes. “I want to do everything you like.”

“Please?” You ask sweetly, and Hoseok is already getting to his feet, one hand still cupping your jaw.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So pretty when you beg to suck my cock.” You’re smiling, your fingers slipping under his waistband to slide his briefs down his legs.

“Take your dress off, baby,” Hoseok instructs as he steps back to finish pulling off his underwear. “Don’t wanna ruin it.”

You do as you’re told, staying on your knees to pull it over your head, your heart squeezing again when he takes it from you and treats it as gently as his own clothes. It’s oddly domestic to watch him fold the smooth fabric with shaking hands, naked except for his jewelry, his hard dick leaking against his stomach.

When he turns back to you, you take the opportunity to properly admire him. His cock is as flushed and gorgeous as the rest of him, thick and dripping wet from his tip. You duck down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under his head, then slide your lips up to gloss over his slit, slicking your mouth with his precum.

You look up at him, hands gripping the backs of his thighs; Hoseok’s eyelids are heavy with lust as he watches you work, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth. He groans a little as you pop just the head into your mouth and swirl your tongue over it, tasting the salt of him.

His hand slides to the back of your head, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows.

“Tap my foot if you need to stop.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet but firm, and his socked toes wiggle, brushing against your knee pressed into the carpet. “Okay?”

You hum your acknowledgement and maintain eye contact as he holds you still and slides his cock into your mouth. He starts off at a gentle pace, and you hollow your cheeks around him, pressing your tongue flat so it drags over his shaft as he starts to pump in and out of you.

As much as you want him in control, there’s a part of you that can’t help yourself– you lean forward, eyes fluttering closed, wanting to prove to him how much you can take. The head of his cock starts to stretch down your throat and you focus on breathing steady through your nose, your muscles jumping around him in a half-swallow.

“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, his voice dark and rough-edged. You can feel drool starting to leak out of your mouth, and the mess just makes it better. “You take it so well.”

His hips keep rolling, withdrawing his cock into the heat of your mouth only to push it back down the tight clutch of your throat. It gets easier as he starts to move faster, the weight of him pressing bright on your gag reflex in shorter and shorter bursts. It’s just enough to make tears well up in your eyes. They eventually spill over, staining your cheeks until your face is slick and wet, like the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat, all of it obscene and hot.

The hand in your hair tightens as he pulls you all the way down on his shaft until your nose is flush with his abdomen and your throat bulges, filled with him. He holds you there, eyes roaming hungrily over your face.

“You look so sweet with my cock down your throat, baby.”

The hum of agreement you try makes you gag a little, and he quickly releases, pulling out to let you gasp for air. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you smile up at him, dazed, and catch your breath.

“Was that too much?” His brows pinch together slightly with concern. You wipe a hand over your nose and shake your head.

“I want more, Hobi,” you purr, moving your face back towards his dick. You lean forward to lazily drag your tongue up his shaft for emphasis. “Want you to come on my face,” you admit as you fix your gaze on him.

You swear you feel his knees almost buckle when you take him in your mouth again.

“You are so fucking sexy,” Hoseok practically growls, hand returning to the nape of your neck. He pushes himself back down your throat and starts to pick up the pace. You want him all and take it easily now, drool slicking your neck and chest when you swallow around his length.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, and you can feel his cock twitch on your tongue as he fucks roughly into your mouth, chasing his orgasm. “Oh my god.”

Hoseok’s grip on your hair goes slack and he pulls out, hand pumping fast over his drool-glossed cock. He tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat with a heady whine when he starts to come. You’re up on your knees and ready for it, nose bumping his fist, face presented for him to paint. Warm spurts of cum hit your cheeks, tongue, lips, and you giggle a little as you try to hold still, as he makes another throaty grunt of effort and release.

“Shit,” he hisses as the movements of his hand slow, as he works out the last of it, stray drips already trailing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts. “Fuuuck.” His breathing is ragged, and you press a wet kiss to the tip of his dick as he recovers.

He’s clearly already focused on the mess he’s made of you, spinning in a dazed semi-circle before reaching to grab a box of tissues off of the desk. His bare knees thud on the carpet as he sinks down next to you.

You’re surprised when he leans in to kiss you, humming softly against your mouth, tongue even darting out to lick at the cum that drips off your lips. You smile into it, teeth gently grazing over his bottom lip.

“Hi,” he huffs a laugh as he leans back. “Was that okay? Not too much?”

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you say again, though your voice comes out a little hoarse. “Wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t. I like you. I–” your breath hitches slightly with nerves, and it’s funny to you, that it’s easy to ask him to fuck your throat, but hard to talk about the bigger feelings underneath. It’s more intimate, somehow, to be earnest. “You always worry so much about everyone else. I just want to take care of you.”

“You can.” Hoseok’s voice is gentle and warm. “We both can.” He pulls a tissue loose from the box, hovering close to you. “Let me clean you up.”

You’re too blissed out to stop yourself from giggling. “You have a whole party to get back to.” You nod dumbly at the verity of your own statement as he uses tissues to wipe cum and drool off your face, tear stains and smudged makeup from your cheeks.

“This,” he swipes a thumb down over your bottom lip, chases it with another quick kiss, “was so much better than a fucking party.” He adds the last of the dampened tissues to the small pile he’s made on the floor, tilting your jaw with his hand to inspect his work, to ensure perfection as he does with everything. “But I probably don’t have much longer before people start looking for me.”

“You should go,” you say quietly, trying to ignore the drop in your stomach.

His hand slips into yours for the second time tonight. “Will you come with me? I know it’s not really your thing.”

You falter momentarily– not because you don’t want to, but you can’t shake your own self-consciousness, this sense that you don’t belong here, rubbing elbows with all these famous people. But it’s hard to feel like any of that matters with the way Hoseok is looking at you, the soft turn of his lips in a barely-there smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” He gives your hand an affirming squeeze. “Do I need to remind you that this entire party is literally for you?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his antics despite the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “I still can’t believe you. What is this, The Great Gatsby?”

His laugh is high and sweet, hand untangling from yours to wrap both arms around your waist, and he pulls you into his chest, bare skin on bare skin, hearts beating together. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Hobi,” you relent. “I’ll go back with you. Besides, Jimin promised to feed me.”

You can feel Hoseok’s smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on, then. I promise it’ll be fun. If we get Jungkook drunk enough he’ll probably start dancing on the stage.”

“Now that I have to see.”

#hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #hoseok x y/n

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korlkorl · 27 days

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things that get azul, ruggie & sebek flustered

fic vomit uwu

azul

nothing. absolutely nothing. don't get him wrong, there are many things that you do to get him all flushed and embarrassed like the sweet cherry tomato you pop in your mouth. it's just that azul has never loved someone so much before, there is no way he can have a favourite, when you as a whole is his favourite thing in the entire world.

the way your eyelashes flutter when you blink; the slow motion of your chest heaving up and down— he finds all of them so loveable. he's on his knees for you, please be merciful, jade and floyd will never let him see the end of it. he already knows how shamefully he acts when he's around you, the inexplainable desire to want to see you gasp in surprise, impressed with whatever new thing azul wanted to show off. give him a kiss after and watch him freeze and heat up.

ruggie

oddly enough, what gets him flustered about you is when he does something. ruggie is someone who values his hard work and sufficiency. because of this, he doesn’t believe people do favors simply because of their nature. like him, he thinks everyone has a motive. somehow, that mindset is slowly starting to alter.

it wasn't much to begin with— he'd sometimes find himself swiping a little extra than usual, risking the possibility of being caught because he stole more than he should. for some reason, that little extra amount wasn't for himself as a cheeky reward, no. it was actually for you.

he'd casually hand some food to you on his way and sometimes, if he doesn't manage to get enough for the both of you, he'd always split it half if possible, much to his classmate's horror. (ruggie bucchi? THE ruggie bucchi?? sharing??? is this heaven????)

at a point, he realized what he was doing. it's completely out of character for him, what in the world was he thinking? but he was too deep now, he couldn't seem to live day by day without giving you a little gift at least once anymore.

eventually, ruggie went from nonchalantly giving you half of his donuts or letting you copy some of his work that you forgot to do to instead turning a deep hue of multiple reds (in the span of 0.2 seconds!) as he sheepishly handed you things. oh well, there's no turning back now.

sebek

he’d always found it off putting on how this magically gifted mother ever found herself in love with his average father, who was much more soft spoken and loving. He couldn’t seem to fully grasp how his mother ever saw any appeal in his father.

it was a ridiculous notion. someone as talented as her stooping for someone as low as him?! that's crazy! don't worry, sebek loves his father very much. but he's also strongly opinionated.

for someone who claims his opinions and ideals hardly change, they seem to sway as easily as they came when you entered his life. you were much sweeter, kinder and caring than sebek could ever be. he was hardly a spec of dust in your presence. maybe that's what tugged at his heart. you were average. there was nothing inherently special about you, just a normal human. to him, you were his god.

sometimes, when you cage his fingers against yours, lean your head against his shoulder and smile, sebek starts to wonder what has ever had happen for this to ever happen.

sebek is a lot of things. he's human, he's fae, he's a wizard and he's yours. he flushes in embarassment when he thinks about this. what did you do to him for him to be so hopeless around you? he turns red when he thinks about how easily you managed to change him.

a.n: hihi hope u enjoy... also dont forget to put some requests in my inbox!! i am running out of ideas... i just started working on a request and i think it's gonna be very long so im gonna let my inbox marinate so i can binge write all of them... i love writing...

#twst #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #azul ashengrotto x reader #ruggie bucchi #twst ruggie #ruggie bucci x reader #twisted wonderland ruggie #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #twisted wonderland sebek #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader

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wandixx · 2 months

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Ghost of fries and Hero of cookies part 2

All work words count: 14 593

Words in this part: 1 794

Summary of whole work: Duke wasn't expecting to wake up from his quick rooftop nap to some meta kid with fries. He also wasn't expecting kid to stay Or Danny asked Dani to stay safe while she was in Gotham. Where would she be safer than under the wing of local hero? And he looked like he needed bad day combo anyway

This part summary: Of new names and teasing

Beta read by @audhumla-sailor though English is second language for both of us, so proceed with this in mind. I also know all of the charaters through fics alone, so probably ooc. Stay catious if it's something you don't like

First part

Duke knew that Dani was in their agreed meeting point, he even vaguely knew where she was floating but not much more. She used her invisibility, which was weird since she knew it didn't work correctly on him. It was fifth time they met, of course they knew.

"Hey Signal, remember how you said that I need a codename if we're going to hang out in future and that all my previous ideas were horrible names?" a disembodied girly voice asked. Duke smiled. Ever since he raised the idea, the girl would come up with ridiculous names to be called, proposing them with absolutely straight face. It was expected from someone who thought Dani Phantom was a good alias. It didn't make her ideas any less amusing.

"Of course I do. Whatcha got for me today?"

"Alright, since you don't let me be a name stealer, I decided to take a sheet from local nightlife's notebook–"

"You mean take a leaf from their book?" He was sure she was rolling her eyes on him, but it didn't stop him. No one could maim English language like that with him around.

"Whatever. I chose to steal their idea and became a bird. It's only fair since I can actually fly!"

"Can't exactly disagree. So, what did you get this time?"

"You'll like that, I promise. But now, I introduce to you…"

Duke got ready to shut down every Robin iteration and all Birdgirls he could think of.

"HOOPOE!" Dani yelled, popping back to the visible spectrum. She was covered in bright orange cape with weirdly shaped hood and flimsy mask "I even did some costume changes to fit the name better–" in all honesty, one, yeah, he wasn't blind he realized, two, he needed a moment to remember how these birds looked (his first thought was 'wait it's a thing?!'). But then he got it and yeah, those were funny little creatures, just like Dani. It fitted her "–so even if you don't like it, it doesn't matter," she added, sticking her tongue out.

Duke patted her on the head. He was there, he knew it mattered.

"It's a great name Hoopoe"

Dani visibly though probably unconsciously, relaxed. Her mouth curved into a proud grin and her aura brightened. Normal auras didn't do that. He got used to Dani surprising him like that sometimes.

"Of course it's great, I made it."

Duke chose to not remind her about almost two dozen times she came up with absolutely not great names or about the fact that technically she didn't quite make this one either. He wasn't in such a petty mood. Maybe in future if he needed blackmail.

Oh, it was such a Bat thing, wasn't it? He needed to spend some more time with his civilian to get it out of himself, he liked his ability to interact with normal people in a healthy way.

"Wait, is your mask a paper?"

"What else could it be, titanium?"

"If you stop three muggings on the next three patrols each I'll get you a better one, okay?"

"Hey, my mask is perfectly fine"

"Yeah, but it can tear too easily. I can get you a mask that is more sturdy."

"Aha."

"It's the same material every Robin and Nightwing wear…"

"Don't care, my mask is flawless"

"..."

"Okay, better mask would be cool"

***

On the third patrol Dani joined, about a week and a half ago, they exchanged numbers. Duke knew how hard it was to come to terms with new powers on one's own and God strike him with a lightning or something if he ever lets anyone go through similar bullshit. Especially since she didn't seem to have anyone taking care of her. Girl her age shouldn't be able to hang out or respond to messages within ten minutes at any given time. Only twice she didn't do that, because she was on a celebrity hunt for autographs as she later explained. He would be teased endlessly if any Wayne or their associate learned about it, but he considered introducing Dani to Bruce. She needed help, okay?! He didn't inherit adoption tendencies.

But he hadn't done that, partially because he didn't want to scare Dani off and partially because of fear of teasing. And bet. Because of course in the meantime somehow there happened a bet.

He smirked at the video Dani sent as a response to the hydration check. She was tossing a coin and playing an elimination game to pick one juice from eight drinks she had. Steph jumped over the back of the couch to join him. At the start she was in front of him so to do that she had to run around the furniture but such minor inconveniences couldn't even wish to stop her dramatics.

"You're smiling at your phone ergo you either text your secret girlfriend/boyfriend/enbyfriend or watch memes. Show me the memes," she demanded, nudging him in the arm. Duke chuckled.

"Wrong guess. I'm texting my sidekick," they agreed it would be a funny way to introduce Dani to people who asked. Duke tried his best at this whole having sidekick thing anyway. As well as he could without help from other Bats because of this damn bet.

Steph froze for a moment.

"Your what–"

"And the lucky winner is… an apple with mint juice! Damn I really hoped it would be lemonade," Dani from the video announced cheerfully before opening the bottle" Shame it didn't make it past semi-finals. Happy hydration break. I'm going on an autograph hunt so I may not respond for the next two hours or so. Wish me luck, bye~"

Duke paused the video before it replayed. He glanced at Steph who finally rebooted.

"How come you got a kid and I learned about it just now?"

“In my defense I'm like 60% sure you're the second person in the family to learn about her. Depends if Tim got his ‘I have to know everything, gotta check body cams’ paranoid spree in the last two weeks or not. There was no teasing from Babs or anyone else if I'm being honest and no lecture from B, so they have no idea.”

“First was Alfred?”

“First was Alfred. I still don't know how.”

“That's our grandtler for you. You are forgiven but you have to tell me everything about her,” Steph demanded excitedly. “And show me the photos''

Duke snorted.

“She goes by Hoopoe and is about Damian's age. She can tell you her real name when B inevitably finds out and tries to interrogate her.”

“What if Spoiler drops by during the day?”

“You can try but give it another week and a day, okay?”

“Why?”

“We have bet that I'll hide her from B for three weeks. Tomorrow is the end of the second week. We both know how he is, he'll have questions if you randomly show up during the day."

"Stakes?"

"Speedster worth of winners favorite Batburger meal, 2 quarts of chosen drink and cookies"

"Valid. I ain't snitch, but I want to know more. Is she a meta?”

"Yeah. Powers I know of are invisibility, intangibility, superspeed, enhanced hearing and flight. Probably more. I think she already had some training with it because she has quite amazing control over this stuff. Like, it comes naturally to her. But her hand to hand is atrocious."

"Are you jealous?"

"No."

"Omg, you totally are! Don't be, she is just a baby with a better idea of what's going on with her powers than you have with yours. There is nothing to be mad about Duke, it's okay Duke–"

"Keep going and I won't tell you anything about her," he dared, trying not to snort.

"Sorry, sorry, you're doing great, please continue," she nudged his arm again "Don't be such softie, dude" He stared at her at the comment, disbelief clear on his face. Steph at least then looked a little ashamed "Okay, sorry. You're honestly doing far better than any of us would. Excluding Cass and Alfred."

"Excluding Cass and Alfred," he agreed easily enough.

"So, you think your kid has some training with her powers," she recalled eagerly.

"Yeah, probably from when she was helping her cousin. He is a hero in Amity Park, Illinois, his name is Phantom. It took very little digging even though Hoopoe does her best to stay mysterious. I swear this kid has no brain-mouth filter. But! I got my second shovel talk from her cousin!”

“The what?”

“After a week of hanging out with her, I got message on Signal’s twitter from Phantom that basically read as ‘I have nothing against you, really dude I’m a fan but here is list of my most powerful enemies, and let me tell you, there were some scarily powerful guys there, I won with all of them, if something bad happens to Hoopoe I can and will destroy you.’ After some research, yes, I think he could try and have considerable chance of success. Even if he didn’t fight would be painful enough to be a lesson. He and Hoopoe have the same powers and she worked with him for some time. She most likely learned then. She was called Dani Phantom, boy went by Danny Phantom then”

“Dear gods, their aliases were so horrible, who even let them go with it?! Are those their first names?!” Steph sounded genuinely offended by it.

“I don’t know,” Yeah, he knew, but he preferred to keep at least this secret to himself ”In boy's defense, because Hoopoe came much later, he was fourteen and Amity went to shit really fast, so alias was probably not his first concern. And it’s much better than Invioso-bill, name he was given by the press. And he uses some intense gaslighting to make people believe it’s just Phantom now. And allegedly they’re both ghosts. Apparently ghosts don’t exactly have secret identity”

“You doubt it”

“You would too. She eats, she breathes and she is tangible by default. From what I know, ghosts don’t do that”

“They don’t, I checked. I went on a research spree when I first learned about Deadman. I just thought it was so cool you know. Ghosts being real and all,” Steph leaned towards him, almost vibrating with anticipation.

“Really?” he asked, knowing what he was getting into.

“Yeah, you see…”

And on she went, releasing expected infodump as if she waited for this opportunity ever since she first read about it.

********

Some additional name getting shenanigans

Signal: I won't call you Dani in the field

Dani: Why?

Signal: Ever heard of secret identity? Name is, like, half of it. Disguise is other half but it can be exchanged with lore. Superman made it work. Just make up enough lore for people to not question it.

Dani: Oh, okay *gremlin^2 mode activated*

Random they just rescued: And who are you little one?

Dani: *looking them dead in the eyes* I am clone of dead child hero, travelling around the world to find identity separated from my template befre mistakes made during my creation make me turn into puddle of primordal liquid and my conciousness fades forever

Random: *petrified* What?

Signal: *internally* I have miscalculated

Dani: Kid Signal

Signal: No.

Dani: It works in Central

Signal: We're not in Central

Dani: Signalgirl

Dani: I mean, Batgirl exists

Signal: No.

Dani: Monochromatic Signal. Y'know, Red Robin route?

Signal: ...

Signal: Just no. Don't make my name part of your name

Next part

Do you want to see some Hoopoe doodles I made? There were redesigns!!!

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc #dani hangs out with duke #signal got new sidekick and he doesn't even know it yet #not fully at least #Dani: *barerly visible over the counter* Where can I find books about orange birds?#Babs: *gives her directions*#Babs: Why do I feel like it was significant encounter?#Dani's cape was in fact a blanket #wandixx writes #ghost of fries and hero of cookies #have a nice day dear stranger who got to this part

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moonstruckme · 7 months

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well deserved 1k!!! i got inspired by the ones you posted yesterday

bodyguard!tasm!peter x reader (can be royal au or not)

i just love the use of spidey senses in fics, especially when being around reader fucks with peter's ability to focus 🥰

Thanks sweetness <3

join the party

bodyguard!(tasm)Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 845 words

Peter doesn’t like to think of himself as being for hire. But, well, he does think of himself as a sort of civic employee. And money is tight. So if the mayor wants to pay Spiderman to keep an eye on his daughter after he’s gotten a few threats, it’s really his civic duty and a good business opportunity.

Still, he’d been expecting some bratty, snot-covered kid, not you, kind and his age and tongue-twistingly beautiful.

“Is this really the safest place for us to be?” you ask nervously.

“I, um, I think so,” Peter stammers, caught off-guard by how cinematic your hair looks blowing around in the wind (like, it’s fucking ridiculous). God, what is he doing? He doesn’t think so, he knows so. He’s supposed to be competent, in-charge, not some moony-eyed dunce. “Not many people can get this high other than me, so I figure if anyone’s trying to get to you, we may as well make it difficult for them.”

You hum your understanding, but you don’t relax. Peter doesn’t blame you; it’s easy for him to forget how scary heights were before he had the security of his web shooters, but he knows this drop must look terrifying. You’re perched at the top of a tower across the street from where your dad is giving a speech. For reasons he hadn’t seen fit to tell Peter (or Spiderman, whatever), the mayor seems to think that this would be a prime time for his political enemies to make a grab for you. Peter hopes it’s not because your dad’s about to say something stupid in front of this giant crowd and on live TV. He’d only mentioned that he’d been getting a few more death threats than usual lately, and wanted to be extra sure you were safe.

Your shoe slips an inch, and you whimper, though you’re still feet away from the edge of the roof.

“You’re okay,” Peter says quickly, moving closer to you. “Listen, the last thing I’m gonna do is let you fall. It’d make me a pretty bad bodyguard, you know?”

“I know,” you say, but you’re nearly panting, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts as you try to keep your panic under control. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s a hard instinct to ignore.”

“I get that,” he says sympathetically. You’re all but sitting down against the sloped roof, fingers pressed to the metal as if you can dig your nails in to save yourself. Fuck, he’s gonna regret this. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I could hold onto you if you want.”

You don’t even hesitate, nodding quickly. “That would make me much more comfortable, actually.”

Peter doesn’t waste any time, breaching the gap between you and wrapping his arm securely around your waist. You’re tense all over, and your nails bite into his shoulder as you grip it like a lifeline. Which, he supposes, you probably think it is. He feels his face grow warm under his mask as you press yourself up against him, but the proximity doesn’t seem to phase you, all your concern still focussed on the hundred foot drop beneath you. You’re shaking a little, and Peter feels guilty for not relieving you sooner, bringing his other arm around you to rub at the goosebumps on your upper arm hesitantly.

“Thanks,” you murmur breathlessly, seeming to relax more now that he’s got both arms around you.

“No problem.” Just doing my job, he thinks sarcastically. Feeling up a pretty girl.

He looks back at the podium across the street to realize the crowd has nearly doubled in size without him noticing. If you were distracting before, he doesn’t even know what to call you now. He can’t tell if his spidey sense is going haywire or if that’s just his nerves, all fired-up from your proximity. How’s he supposed to protect you if he can’t think of anything but how good you smell?

“I really appreciate your help,” you say, voice sweeter now that it’s lost some of its panicked edge, “even if I don’t wholly approve of your methods.” Is that a teasing note he detects? He definitely won’t be able to split his focus if you start flirting with him. “My dad doesn’t let me in the loop on much, do you know if this is just a one-time thing? Or will I be seeing more of you?”

Okay, fuck professionalism. “I’m not really sure,” Peter answers honestly, “but your dad seems like a smart guy, and I’m sure he doesn’t want you to be vulnerable. I mean, you’re already a target because you’re the mayor’s daughter, but a pretty thing like you? You should probably be under full-time protection.”

You really do slip then, gasping as your feet slide out from under you. Peter tugs you close to his side, not letting you move forward more than an inch. “Easy, easy,” he says as you clutch at him, trying to stabilize yourself. Now there’s a little pink coloring your cheeks, too. “I gotcha.”

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my-castles-crumbling · 8 months

Text

Ridiculously specific and not always romantic tropes that make me melt (Have a fic rec? Please send it to me.):

Regulus calling James "Jamie."

Remus calling Sirius "baby."

Trans Reggie being terrified that James will hate him but James then asks all the right questions about how to not make him dysphoric and it fucking kills me in the best way.

Draco and Harry both not being able to sleep from the nightmares and begrudgingly realizing that they sleep better near/with each other.

Sirius calling Remus beautiful when he's upset over his scars.

Evan and Barty being obnoxiously physical with each other but insisting they're just friends until one day, oh my god, they realize they like each other.

Regulus being protective over Dorcas and Pandora but in a friend way.

Dorcas and Marlene playing Quidditch against each other and being distracted.

Sirius and/or Regulus being absolutely shocked when Remus and/or James loves them for who they are.

Marlene and Sirius as best friends.

Regulus and Sirius talking out their shit.

So many more...I'll add as I think of them.

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majestyjun · 1 year

Note

recently in a threesome fic mood! like soobin being your boyfriend's-- beomgyu-- best friend, yet it's clear he has the hugest crush on you. inexperienced, shy soobin who's rooming with beomgyu, having to hear the sex loud through thin walls. who first finds it annoying-- chest brewing with jealousy, and then quickly starts to find it very helpful for his own set of imagination. lol it turns out soobin struck gold with beomgyu having incredible stamina. when soobin's inexperienced, rather conservative sex life is brought up during a friendly game of truth or dare-- beomgyu finds it blasphemous as someone who engages with sex practically every day, so, he offers to introduce him to the world, starting with the help of his girlfriend

ehehe omg shy pervs r my favorite ><

soobin… doesn’t fuck around. he’s not very exploratory, sitting in his room preferring the company of himself, getting himself off without urgency and more of a chore, sighing with relief when he’s finished. he’d never admit that he’s really inexperienced, though. but everything changes when his roommate beomgyu starts bringing you, his girlfriend, over for nights and dates. and soobin doesn��t realize he’s screwed until too late— finding his eyes drawn to your plush, clothed breasts, blushing a little whenever you laugh at his jokes, awkwardly fidgeting with his fingers when gyu’s a bit handsy with you,,, quickly turning around in embarrassment when beomgyu whispers in your ear a bit too seductively, hands on your ass, leaning in for a more than heated kiss.

at first, soobin doesn’t really like it, sitting in his room and hearing loud sounds of sex across the wall, god, does beomgyu really have to be so mean? but he’s not confrontational enough to do something… until the night beomgyu growls a bit too loudly, bet you want soobin’s cock, don’t you, slut? think his cock could ever beat mine? eyes widening, soobin’s ear pressed to the wall… his cock stiffening in his sweats when he hears you moan that soobin can’t beat him…. but just the sound of your pretty voice moaning his name. embarrassed as he tugs down his sweats, big cock stiff and slapping against his abs, blushing red as he grips and strokes himself to the sounds across the hall. hearing pretty cries and loud thrusts, thinking about what beomgyu’s doing… and he can’t help but be jealous. beomgyu pounding your tight pussy, sucking your cute tits, restraining your arms and fucking you like a cute doll. beomgyu’s the one who makes you stumble when you walk in the morning, clad in beomgyu’s shirts. jealousy warming his chest with envy, perverted, shy soobin who fantasizes what he wishes he could do to you as he strokes his cock, hand clamped over his lips to hide his moans, cum spurting over his abs and making such a mess,,, that he wishes he could do to you.

and one day, playing a bit of truth or dare, having roped soobin into it when he walked in on the two of you sitting in the kitchen, beer bottle on the floor as a spinner. truth or dare, soobin? …truth. is it true you haven’t had a single hookup since you moved in? um… yeah. why not? because um (im infatuated with your girlfriend) i was going to wait for a while? god, he’s a bit embarrassed, beomgyu’s growing smirk as he stands up, walking towards soobin, whispering in his ear, you should join us sometime. i– i can’t! that– you–‘re in a relationship! hustling back to his room, blushing red, beomgyu wants to share? he’s so embarrassed that you know he’s inexperienced, now he must look so ridiculous.

and yet… one night, after a beer, soobin finds himself opening beomgyu’s door after hearing some rather salacious sounds. sitting on the edge of his bed, gripping your hair as you suck beomgyu’s cock, beomgyu’s smirk when he laughs, want to join, hyung? soobin’s blushing red when you climb on his lap, giggling when you palm his hard bulge. frozen like a statue, as you take his big hands and place them on your pretty, plush tits, moaning his name softly when he gives a tentative grope, beomgyu smirking on the side, gripping his girthy cock in his hand as he leans back and watches. s-soobin, so big, you whimper, rubbing your bare pussy folds against his clothed erection, feeling his big hands knead your soft tits, lips parted slightly in desire, as you whisper, you can suck, if you want. pushing him down on his back, tits in his face, a devious smile on your lips as you let out a pretty moan as his lips attach to your cute nipple, sucking slowly but growing greedier by the second, kneading your soft breasts as you rub yourself on his clothed cock, whining his name so prettily.

honey, fuck him good, beomgyu orders from the side, listening so well as you tug down soobin’s boxers, rubbing your pussy folds on the tip of his dripping cock, gasping when you sheathe his big dick,,, nngh, so full, you moan, taking his big hand, guiding it to the bulge in your tummy. riding inexperienced soobin as he gasps and grabs at your breasts and tummy, thrusting up impatiently as you whimper, cute tits bouncing, hands smoothing over his abs and pecs, whining his name. and god, he came too quickly, hot cum spurting into your pussy, dripping as you ride yourself through your high, a mess of cum on his crotch <3 my turn, beomgyu whines, his cock painfully stiff against his abs, slapping his thigh as you giggle and crawl over, cute ass in the air as he groans and angles himself against your pussy,,, soobin, fill her pretty mouth. soobin’s such a perverted goner, dick hard as you skip your mouth around the tip, moaning around his cock and gagging as beomgyu thrusts hard from behind, god, he’s so fucked, isn’t he~?

and soobin, who cums too much and too often for the first time in a long time, panting with exhaustion, lying on his stomach on beomgyu’s bed as he watches beomgyu fuck you in mating press, cum pooling on his sheets and still enough stamina to keep fucking his cute darling, all covered in messy marks and pussy swollen with abuse,,, dripping both beomgyu’s and soobin’s seed. falling asleep after a while, only to wake up and find you next to him, cute tits on full display, and beomgyu putting a finger to his lips, hard cock against his abs as he spreads your legs apart while you’re asleep <3

what the fuck did i just write LOL this is LONG

#soobin smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard thoughts #sooby <3 #txt hard hours #txt smut #gyu <3 #mille.inbox

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billlydear · 1 year

Text

BASIC BIOLOGY - BILLY HARGROVE X READER (PART THREE | FINAL PART) | PART ONE | PART TWO

word count: 9492 // masterlist | inbox (please request) | WIP list

Summary: you're paired with billy for a biology project. you only visit his house once, but it's enough for you to understand why he doesn't want you to come over again. when he starts showing up more and more in your life, you realize that it's basic biology: you were made for him, and he was made for you.

Contents: mentions of injuries (healed/healing), trauma, discussions of billy's past, angst with a fluffy ending, cows !

A/N: oh my gosh ! the end ! it feels like i've been working on this forever and thinking about it even longer, and as a new-ish writer on the billy scene, i just want to thank you all for how sweet you've been, in response to this fic and many others. your support is so important to me, and i'm so glad that many of you enjoyed this fic. i hope that you like the ending, too, please tell me what you think!

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

You wake up beside Billy Hargrove differently than you’d fallen asleep beside him. Where his face had been previously tucked snug to your neck, his breath fanning out over your collarbones, his cheek is smushed to your chest now. His arm is slung over your stomach, one of his legs thrown over your own as his torso lays slumped up against yours. His cheek chubs up where it’s resting on your breast, and- god, his eyelashes are beautiful. The eyes behind them are just as gorgeous, but for now you’re glad they’re shut. He looks so relaxed, so peaceful, and you’d stay still for an eternity beneath him if it meant he’d be able to stay in that drowsy state of serenity.

His curls are mussed with sleep, bent out of shape and frizzy where they’d typically be slicked. There’s still bruises littered over his face but they’ve already begun healing, shifting in color to be lighter and less jarring.

Your fingers come up without you noticing to brush over one of his curls. It’s soft to the touch, and you give it an experimental squeeze, watching as it bounces back. You notice that it’s tangled slightly with another strand, and brush your pinky between them to separate the tangle.

It must tug lightly on Billy’s scalp, because he heaves an unconscious sigh. You wait for him to frown, to wake and snap at you for touching his precious hair, but he never does. Instead he settles again, eyes still firmly shut.

You can’t help it; you reach for his scalp. Your nails scrape gently, ever-so-slightly over his skin, brushing over hundreds of individual strands of hair rooted there and curled together.

Your breath catches in your throat as he moves. He hums, deep, soft, and low in his throat, the sound vibrating in his chest that’s pressed to your side. It sends a shiver up your spine, but it’s quickly quelled with the warmth that comes from his face as he presses it even further into your chest. Now his cheek is practically invisible, buried in your breast and angling his nose to one side. He tightens his arm around your waist, hoisting himself up and over you even further than he’d been before. He reminds you of a cat, purring and leaning into soft touches.

He seems to like it, so you don’t stop. You rove your fingers through every inch of his scalp, scratching and stroking and smoothing through his curls until they’re a mass of individual strands instead of grouped twists. It’s ridiculously soft, and you wonder how you’ve been able to refrain from touching his hair before now.

There’s nothing you’d rather do than stay here for eternity. Holding him, brushing through his hair, loving him. But your bladder has other wishes.

Wrestling yourself out from under him is difficult, but he accepts a pillow in exchange for your torso. He burrows his face into it just the same, and you can’t help but brush over his curls one last time as you stand over him, tucking the blankets up and around his shoulders.

When he’s securely tucked into your covers and snoozing away, you pad out of your bedroom, thankful that your parents work early shifts.

You seem to have woken up at a perfect time to make a breakfast larger than you normally do. It takes double the time to prepare a meal for the two of you, and you’re thankful that you think to group the eggs together in a pan to cut that extra time down. You’re setting plates at the table, stuffed with eggs, toast, and fresh fruit when Billy emerges from the hallway, staring cautiously at you where he stands.

His hair is haphazardly smoothed, but there’s no fixing the frizz that your fingers had worked out of it. Your clothes look good on him, even if the sweatpants are stretched over his upper calves instead of at his ankles from how he’d shifted in his sleep. Your shirt is riding up at his stomach and you politely avoid looking at his toned torso, even if you really want to.

“Breakfast,” You hum, pointing your spatula at the table, “Orange juice or milk?”

“Uh-” He flounders, blinking rapidly, “Water, please. Or- I can get it.”

He makes to step towards the kitchen but you whirl your spatula around to face him, intent on pampering the boy, “No, just go sit down. I can do it.”

He looks properly chided, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he ducks to hide it from you.

You set an ice cold glass of water at his place and notice that he’s waited to begin eating until you sat down. You give him the go-ahead, digging into a chunk of egg with your fork.

“Sleep good?” You glance up at him, a questioning glance shot through your lashes. He nods, silent and careful, and you realize that he seems to have closed himself off since last night, and you think that maybe leaving the bed before he woke wasn’t the best idea, even if it was just to make breakfast. You try remedying it by knocking your foot against his under the table, and he nearly chokes on his water. You leave your foot pressed flush to his own, a constant reminder of your touch on his skin.

“Does your stomach still hurt?” You try again, gulping down OJ.

“A bit,” His morning voice is raspy and you know you’re going to fawn over it later, even if you’re trying hard not to take advantage of his vulnerability.

“It’s mostly a cut up here,” He reaches a hand under his (your) shirt, rubbing at a patch below his left pec. You can see his fingers move under the shirt, and you remember the wound that’s there from last night.

“That probably means your ribs aren’t broken,” You conclude, relief washing over you at the fact that his bruises are just that.

“Nah, not broken,” He shakes his head, stuffing fruit into his mouth and ignoring the way juice drips down his chin, “I know what a broken rib feels like.”

You still, looking up suspiciously at him with your head ducked to your plate. His shoulders slump, “Just some kid from school. He had rings on, and he hit hard.”

“Oh,” You supply lamely, “I’m glad they healed.”

You eat in silence for a few bites, but he doesn’t shy away from your touch beneath the table, and you’re thankful for that. He even shifts his foot to press more against yours, his sock slightly itchy against your skin. Right after he leans into your touch, he speaks.

“My dad doesn’t usually… do this. This was bad, he tries not to leave marks. I think-” He hesitates, and you nudge his foot with your own again, encouraging him, “I think he’d be even more angry if I missed school than whatever he was mad about in the first place. So he has to keep things inconspicuous. And if anyone sees anything I just have to make excuses.”

“I’m sorry,” You say, not out of pity, but sympathy, “I… I really don’t know how you do it. You’re strong, Billy, y’know that?”

He scoffs into his honeydew.

“I mean it,” You press on, “You just… take it. You let him do that to you because if you fight back other people might get hurt, and that takes strength. Even if it feels weak to get beat on, just know you’re saving your stepsister and her mom, and… I’m proud of you.”

He stills for a moment, jaw stiffening in the middle of a chewing motion. He swallows dry, but whatever it is goes down fine, and he clears his throat without meeting your eye.

“He used to hit my mom,” Billy admits, voice now hoarse from emotion rather than sleep. He scrunches his eyes shut momentarily, “I.. I couldn’t stop him. I was too young. And she left. So I guess I just… got bigger. Just in case.”

You recall seeing a set of weights in his living room. You had presumed they were his, but hadn’t bothered to ask among discussions of mitosis. Now, though, you realize he’s bulked himself up to combat his dad’s abuse, even if he uses it to protect others rather than himself.

It spreads a thin layer of mist over your eyes, the thought of preteen Billy experimenting with handheld five-pounders in hopes of blocking a punch. What hits you even harder is his current image, a toned teen who still doesn’t have the heart to hit back.

You can’t figure out how to respond. If you say you’re proud of him again, he might shut down. If you sound like you’re pitying him, he’ll be angry. So instead you reach over the table, your fork clattering to the wood as you take his free hand.

He’s startled by the sudden movement paired with the noise, but he makes up for his momentary flinch by ghosting his thumb softly over the back of your hand. His fingers don’t curl against yours, so it’s not a mutual gesture, you’re just holding his hand. Slowly, surely, his fingers move inch by inch, slipping between your own and settling against your skin.

You wonder if it’s the first time anyone’s ever held his hand.

“Thanks,” He breathes, his breath a huff of cantaloupe scent. He sniffles, hard, aggressively, and you know he doesn’t want you to acknowledge the tear that streaks fast down his cheek.

You let him wipe it away without saying anything, even though you want to tell him it’s okay. You hope that the way you squeeze his hand tells him that, though, because it’s true. It’s okay for him to cry, and you’re glad that, even if he tries hiding it around you, he feels safe enough to let the tears fall in the first place.

The rest of your breakfast is filled with mindless chatter, a few gossip strands weaving their way through an otherwise pleasant conversation. He learns that Amanda Weaver has been telling everyone he gave her a promise ring, but you’d seen her fish the plain silver band off of her keychain.

“I don’t even know her,” He snorts, “And promise rings are dumb.”

Your nose wrinkles, “I don’t think so. They’re cute.”

“They’re pointless,” He insists, shoveling egg into his mouth, “Having a ring to chuck in the garbage is gonna hurt a whole lot more when they leave.”

“If.” You murmur.

“Hm?” He glances up at you, mouth full.

“If they leave.” You correct him quietly, “Some people stay.”

He’s frozen. Baby blues unblinking, he stares at you like a deer in headlights. You hold his gaze with your own steady one, waiting until his brain wraps around what you’re really trying to tell him: I’ll stay.

He’s quiet, for a long time. He keeps his eyes on his eggs, roving over every crease and hill in their structure. Then he mumbles so soft you can barely hear it, “Right.”

There’s a thousand things you want to say. A thousand promises you want to make, a thousand reassuring words you want to mumble against his skin so that they’re absorbed. But the not-so-nice blare of your kitchen timer kindly reminds you it’s time to get to school, and you settle for none at all.

“Shit,” You mumble, shoveling your last bite of melon into your mouth and standing, “I’ll get my-!”

You glance back at him when you feel a tug, and he’s sitting in place, hand still entwined with yours. He’s cautious, frozen, and you melt into a smile, squeezing his hand.

“My bag.” You clarify, “Are we taking the bus, or walking to your place?”

“Let’s walk,” He decides, his hand never letting up in its grip on yours. It’s bold, it’s forward, it’s healing.

“Okay,” You grin, keeping your fingers tightly curled around Billy’s and tugging him up through the shared embrace, “Let’s go! I’ve gotta be on time today, we’re taking a quiz in first period.”

“We don’t have to go in, we can just get my car.” He lets you drag him to the living room, “The only thing I keep in my bag are cigarettes, anyways. I can bum a few.”

“Billy,” You scold, “Where do your papers go?”

“In the trash.”

“Nice,” You scoff, wincing as you step outside and the harsh sunlight hits your eyes. You fumble with your house keys, slipping them into the lock to close up the house, “I’m gonna buy you a binder. And you’re gonna put your school stuff in it, nice and neat, and you’re gonna carry a pencil, and you’re gonna bring water, and you’re gonna-”

“And you’re gonna fall,” He yanks on your hand, pulling you tight to his side as he points at a rock you’d been headed for, “Pay attention, clumsy.”

“Oh.” You flounder, his toned arm against your cheek as you struggle to right yourself, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” He flashes you a grin you’ve seen before, primarily aimed at his basketball teammates or a girl he’s chatting up. It’s confident, shit-eating, and it sends a wave of butterflies through your stomach.

The walk to his house isn’t terribly long. It’s a trek, for sure, but you’re there in under a half-hour, laughing all the while. Billy’s hand is still firmly gripping yours, and he’s funny, you remember, when he’s not crying.

“Dad’s not home,” He clocks the car missing from the driveway, “I can get mine and go.”

“Get your bag,” You order, face stern and brows scrunched, “And don’t throw away any of your school papers today!”

“No promises, babe,” He teases, his own key in his pocket as he jams it into the door. You’re thankful that he turns away to step inside so that he doesn’t see your eyes widen at the nickname, but you hope your hand doesn’t begin to sweat, or he’ll notice.

“Maxine?” He calls, shouting through the house. There’s no reply, and her sneakers aren’t by the front door, so you presume she’s not home.

“Probably skated,” Billy shrugs, “My bag’s in my room.”

He doesn’t have to drag you there, you know the way. You send a withering glare towards the room at the end of the hall, where you know Billy’s dad sleeps, as if it’ll cast a curse over the doorway and land him seven years of bad luck. You see the fireplace poker on your way, set neatly back in its place. There’s blood on it.

He changes quick, and you occupy yourself with the collection of tapes by his closet. He’d yanked your shirt right off of his head like you weren’t standing there, but when you’d turned with burning cheeks to give him some privacy, he hadn’t said anything.

Billy’s persistence on holding your hand is sweet, but surprising. The last thing you’d have expected from him was a clingy puppy-boy, but his head turns to track you whenever your hand nearly slips out of his own, and he wrestles with his bag one-handed instead of dropping the embrace. You’re just glad he’s finally holding onto something good in his life instead of pushing it away.

You think it’s a massive inconvenience that he can’t drive while holding your hand. He tries, at first, resting them on the center console, but when he changes lanes and almost overshoots it, you pry your hand out of his own.

“Two hands,” You laugh bashfully, “It’s okay, we- uh, later… later we can…”

“Later,” He turns his head to grin at you, a brilliant display as he slaps his now-free hand onto the wheel, “Later’s good.”

Unfortunately, later gets pushed back a lot. When Billy pulls into the parking lot, the bell rings. He knows you’re going to be late for your quiz, so he doesn’t try to keep you, smiling softly, “Just go. See you in bio.”

Then between classes, you catch a glimpse of him in the hall. Your stomach starts acting up again, butterflies coming in droves, mind reeling with the thought of him grabbing your hand in public. He almost does, eyes widening as he catches sight of you, broad shoulders muscling everyone out of the way. But before he can reach you, a similarly-toned man steps up beside him, a basketball jersey slung over his frame.

He talks, and talks, and talks and talks and talks, all waving arms and loud jeering. Billy tries holding your gaze over his shoulder, nodding mindlessly along to whatever the boy is saying, but the warning bell rings and you send him a soft, defeated smile.

‘Later,’ You mouth, and his eyes dim when he nods.

Your efforts are futile at lunch, too. He has the class period before with a few of his friends, loud and brash, not your style. It means that you occupy your normal seat, a corner of a bench that the group to your left isn’t using, and tug out a book to entertain yourself. You feel his gaze burning against the side of your head, but if you get caught staring at him, his friends will turn it into some wild story about how you’re infatuated with him, and you’re not the type of person that makes that observation a compliment, at least, not to Billy’s friends. You almost hope he stops looking at you, too, because if they catch him staring, you don’t know how they’ll torment you.

It almost kills him to wait until you’re seated together in biology to reach for your hand. You’d never seen him arrive to class earlier than today, he’s even there before you are. He doesn’t bother to hide his staring, icy eyes tracking you from the second you walk through the door to the second you sit beside him.

You’re thankful that you’re officially seated together now, and you’re thinking that maybe you don’t hate group projects as much as you thought you did.

“Hey,” He murmurs, sliding his hand across the back of yours under the desk.

“Hey,” You hum, flipping your hand over to meet his palm-to-palm.

Everything seems right with the world again.

There’s a certain security you get from Billy’s touch, even if he probably gets more from yours. Having someone to hold grounds you, and you hope it does the same for him. It’s strange, feeling such a strong connection to someone you’d only started talking to days before, but you suppose that’s what happens when you remove all of the formalities of friendship. Your first sleepover just happened to be in an effort to keep him alive, not to eat junk food and watch movies.

You try to pay attention to the teacher, you really do. But she’s nowhere near as interesting as the soft scratching of Billy’s pencil on your paper, and you can’t help but watch as he writes.

You need a ride home?

You reach for your own pencil, scrawling your answer and sliding the paper to him in response

I can take the bus. You should take Max, she skated this morning.

He nearly breaks his pencil writing: She’s got tutoring after school today, she skates home anyways.

Okay, You decide, and you see him smile out of the corner of his eye as you write the word, Thanks, Billy.

He squeezes your hand, and he doesn’t need to write ‘You’re welcome’ for you to know it’s what he’s saying.

Biology typically drones on. You try to stay on top of your schoolwork, of course, but that doesn’t mean you enjoy it. The class is suddenly a lot less dreary with Billy beside you, and it becomes a game of stifling giggles. He steps on the toe of your shoe beneath the table, you tug at one of his curls. He crowds your space with his shoulder and nudges you to the edge of your seat, you let go of his hand to pinch at his thigh. He has to stifle a groan at that one, and to do so he thumps his head forwards on his desk, using the cool plastic against his forehead to quell his rugged laughter.

The thunk of his head against the desk alerts your teacher, and you sit up straight, eyes on your paper that’s covered in doodles as you try not to laugh. She scoffs, seeing Billy slumped over the desk, and probably assumes he’s fallen asleep. When she turns away, you elbow him, dipping your head down to where his rests on the desk to whisper in his ear.

“Cut it out,” You hiss, kicking his foot beneath the desk, “She almost saw!”

“Oh no,” He gushes, turning his head so that a sliver of his face shows, glinting with a shit-eating grin, “Do you think we’ll get in trouble?”

“It’s not funny!” You insist, keeping your voice as hushed as possible, “I’ve never been in trouble before, and if I get sent to the principal’s office, I’ll-”

“Y/L/N! Hargrove!” You stiffen at the voice of your teacher, your eyes widening where Billy’s only sparkle with excitement, “You two seem distracted. Anything on your minds?”

“Not mitosis.” Billy quips, straightening up from the desk and leaning back in his chair. He earns a few laughs from his scattered friends, and the teacher’s face hardens. Your stomach drops.

“You think you’re funny? You’re one missed homework assignment from failing this class. And now you’re dragging Y/N into this, too? Both of you, head to the front office. This ends here.”

There are tears burning at your eyes. You’re not the best student in the world. Hell, you’re not even in the top ten. But you’re not a bad one either, at best you slip through the cracks. You’ve never had disciplinary action taken against you, and gathering your things amongst the tense silence of your peers feels like a death sentence.

Billy barely remembers to get his own bag, and he pointedly leaves his papers scattered over his desk. You scoop them up in your own handful, and he waits diligently by your side as you pick up your things. When you’re finally packed up he snatches your hand from where it’s hanging at your side, marching the both of you to the door.

He offers the teacher a very quaint, very polite middle finger as he drags you out of the door, and that’s what does it. The second the door shuts behind you, you burst into tears.

He looks up, alarmed at the sob you let out. The classroom you’d just exited has a row of windows that your back is facing, and he’s worried that if you turn slightly, your classmates will see you cry. As much as you’d told him it was okay to cry this morning, he’s sure you wouldn’t want your peers witnessing the meltdown you’re having. He acts fast, using your intertwined hands and yanking you into the nearest bathroom.

Your sobs echo off of the tile, and he pulls you haphazardly into his chest. Your head rests there pitifully, shoulders slumped as you cry.

“Jesus, okay,” He pants, peering under the few stalls in the back to make sure you’re alone, “What’s wrong?”

“I- I don’t know!” You do know, but it feels embarrassing to say it out loud, “I just- I’ve never been in trouble before, and it’s going on my-” You break to quell another sob, tamping it down in your chest, “Permanent record, and-!”

“Okay, calm down.” Billy scoffs, and you’re surprised to find that it’s not a derogatory one, but a fond one, “It’s fine. All we were doing was talking, it’s not like we were smoking weed in the bathroom.”

Your head shoots up and you recognize your surroundings. You glare at him suspiciously, “You don’t have any weed on you, right?”

“No!” He laughs incredulously, “I do not have any weed on me. Now,” He takes your shoulders in his broad hands, and your fingers go cold now that his aren’t intertwined with them anymore.

“You and I are gonna calm down,” He tells you, voice slow and steady. You’re the only one that needs to calm down, but you appreciate his cooperation.

“Then we’re gonna leave this bathroom, and do you know where we’re gonna go?”

“The front office,” You recite, but he breaks into a grin, shaking his head so that his curls fly.

“But that’s where she told us-”

“She can suck my dick.” Billy scoffs, “She made you cry. Forget her.”

“Billy, I can’t just forget her,” You insist, eyes wide and teary, “She’s our teacher!”

“Today’s Friday,” He reminds you, “She’s not our teacher again until Monday.”

“Fine. Where are we really going?” You look at him skeptically, raising your hand to wipe your nose against its back.

“Okay, first, ew.” Billy wrinkles his nose, yanking your hand away from your face and wiping it with a paper towel that he jerks out of the machine. He wipes your nose next, but he does it aggressively, smearing the paper towel against your face and pushing your head back until you’re laughing, trying to swat him away. The sound makes him smile, and it doesn’t fade as he continues talking.

“We’re gonna go see a movie,” He decides, hiking the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder. Your face darkens slightly, goofy grin dimming.

“We can’t.” You protest softly, “She told us to go to the front office. You said it yourself, Billy, we were just talking. But if we ditch, we’ll be in more trouble, real trouble.”

“I’m always in trouble,” He huffs, “And you’re never in trouble. You really think this’ll be a breaking point for either of us?”

“What’s gonna happen when we don’t show up to the office?”

“They’ll give us detention.”

“We have to go, then!” Your eyes go wide, and you start for the door. He lunges for your hand, grabbing it just before you can push your way out, and this time he doesn’t drop it when he pulls you back inside.

“Detention means we’ll get to sit together for two hours and mess around.”

“No we can’t,” You scoff, “They monitor you. So we can’t just mess around.”

“Hey.” He snaps, begging your attention with those icy blue eyes of his, “Have you ever been in detention before?”

“No.” You admit quietly.

“Right. I have. They don’t care. They don’t want to be there, and they know we don’t either. They’re not gonna punish us any further, ‘cause then they’d just have to sit there with us for longer. Trust me, this will be fun.”

“Fun,” You groan, slumping forwards into his chest rather than covering your face with your hands. It’s a bold move, but a well-received one, and you feel his firm chest shake as he chuckles.

“Yes, fun.” He promises, “But if you really wanna walk up to that office and get lectured…”

“Billy,” You bite the inside of your cheek, lifting your head up so that your chin rests against his chest, “I.. I do. I’m sorry, I know you want to have fun, and- and you can go to the movies if you want! But I don’t want detention on my record. Even if it won’t do anything, I just- it sounds bad.”

“Okay.” He says, after a moment of tense silence. His grin fades, but he doesn’t scoff or push you away. He sighs dramatically, “You’re changing me, y’know. Normally I’d be halfway home by now, but you’ve got me hauling myself in to see the principal, this is bullshit.”

“I told you you could go to the movies!” You gush, laughing weakly at his dramatic display. He brings one of his large hands up to your face, smearing his rough thumb beneath your eyes and wiping away the sticky tear tracks there.

“No,” He sighs again, huffing and puffing, “I’m the one that got you in trouble, I’m not gonna ditch you. We’ll just suffer together.”

His words strike something in you. He’s chosen to change himself, to face consequences for his actions when he’d normally flee. You’re proud of him, so insanely proud that you decide to change yourself as well, and when he leads you towards the office by your intertwined hands, you turn sharply and drag him the other way.

“Wha- Woah.” His eyes widen as you yank him down the hallway, your feet slapping against the shitty linoleum flooring. You beeline for the door, bursting into the daylight with your adrenaline-pumped chest heaving. You come to a stop just outside the building, looking back at him with a thrill glowing in your eyes.

“What movie are we seeing?” You pant, and his grin reappears.

“You’re trouble.” He declares in a laugh, “Let’s go.”

Billy drives fast. This time it doesn’t seem like recklessness, though, but fun. The windows are rolled down, and wind whips through the car and ruffles your hair. His own blonde curls are flying, in his face and over his shoulders against the seat.

“Slow down!” You shriek, laughing through your words, “We’re gonna crash!”

“What are we gonna crash into,” He gestures to the empty road in front of you, all farmland and dust as the same laughter bleeds into his own voice, “A haybale? You want me to slow down so you can admire the scenery?”

There is no scenery. There’s fields, half-dead grass rolling on for miles and miles and passing by so fast that it looks like the sand on a beach. The sky is your ocean, blue and foamy white where clouds streak across it. You pass isolated barns, groves of trees, and-

“Cows!”

“What?”

“Cows! There’s cows up there,” You gush, pointing aggressively at the pasture, “Stop!”

“I can’t-! Uh, okay,” Billy rushes to step on the brakes, wheels screeching against the poorly-paved asphalt as he skids to a stop.

You’re surprised he doesn’t burn through his tires with how fast he stops. You’re out of the car before he can even turn to look at you, seatbelt long unbuckled in favor of dashing for the cows. They’re grazing aimlessly in their pasture, only a weak white fence standing between you and them.

“Hey- Hey!” Billy shouts, rushing to get himself out of the car. He’s panting slightly when he finally stands beside you, regarding you with an indignant look, “What the fuck was that about?”

“Cows,” You croon, sticking your hands over the fence and reaching for the animals, “Come pet the cows with me, Billy!”

One of them seems very interested in any potential snacks your hand might be hiding. Its large, wet nose bumps against your skin and you laugh, long and loud and free, letting the animal explore your scent and petting along its face when it finally realizes you have nothing yummy to offer it.

There’s damp bits of grass stuck to your arm from where its mouth nuzzles against you,, and its tongue is purple when it comes out to swipe along your skin. You shriek, the sound morphing into an elated giggle.

“Oh,” Billy’s nose wrinkles and he takes a step back, “Gross.”

“It’s not gross!” You insist, pulling your arm away to wipe the grass on your jeans, “That’s just what cows do. You’ve never pulled over to pet some?”

“No,” He scoffs, “That’s the most ‘country’ shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah,” You nod gleefully, and he thinks maybe you’ve misinterpreted the scathing tone of his voice, “Come on, Billy, come pet the cows!”

“No thanks,” He shakes his head, “I’m gonna go smoke in the car. Jus’ come back when you’re done.”

You let him head back to the car only for long enough to get a few more scratches in under the chin of a cow to your right. Then you beeline for the passenger’s side, and Billy looks surprised at your arrival.

“Done?”

“No,” You shake your head, reaching for your backpack, “I’m just getting my strawberries.”

“Uh,” Billy watches, apprehensive as you pull a plastic bag of the fruit from your backpack, “You’re not gonna feed those to the cows, are you?”

“Duh,” You nod, pulling the bag open and nearly ripping the seam, “Cows love strawberries, I feed ‘em all the time.”

“You what?” Billy looks at you like you’ve told him you’re made of the red fruit you’re holding, “You’re gonna stick your fingers next to those animal’s faces with food in your hands and you don’t think they’re gonna bite you?”

“No, Billy, cows don’t bite! Not like that,” You insist, hair flying as you shake your head. “I’m not gonna put my fingers in their faces, I’m gonna hold the strawberries on my palm. Then they can’t bite me. Come on, I’ll show you!”

“I’m not feeding cows,” Billy insists, but he moves to get out of the car anyway. When he’s standing at full height he rips the cigarette out from between his lips, blowing smoke into the road, “But I’m not gonna let you run off on your own and get mauled by some hunk of beef.”

“You’re totally gonna feed the cows,” You grin, eyes narrowed at him as you turn on your heel and head back to the fence, “You’ll see!”

You’re already jamming your hand under a cow’s mouth, a strawberry staining your palm red and sticky, when Billy saunters up to the fence. He watches warily as you let the cow nose at your fingers, then it sticks its tongue out to sweep the fruit off of your skin.

You giggle at the ticklish feeling, but Billy’s mouth falls open in horror.

“Oh,” He groans, nose scrunched and grimace strong, “That’s so fucking gross. Its tongue is purple.”

“It’s cool!” You insist, offering the cow a hearty rub between the ears as it munches on your strawberry, hand slimy with spit, “Is there much farmland in California?”

“A bit,” Billy shrugs, blissfully unaware of the curious cow sneaking up behind him as he’s turned towards you, leaning sideways on the fence. “It’s kind of a mix. We didn’t live anywhere near farmland, but sometimes we went to visit Susan’s-!”

Before he can tell you what random relative lived far out in the California farmlands, there’s a cow tongue in his ear.

He jolts away from the fence with a squawk, nearly toppling over as one hand comes up to cover his ear. You’re roaring with laughter even as you help steady him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist while he stumbles to a stop a few feet away from the fence.

“He was looking for strawberries,” You giggle, pulling your sleeve over your hand to wipe cow spit off of his cheek, “I think that was your official welcome to Indiana, Billy.”

“Laugh all you want,” He groans, smearing his own hand over his face to rid his skin of any residual slime you’d missed, “But if we ever make it to an ocean and you wipe out, I’m laughing at you.”

“Deal,” You grin sideways at him, another strawberry in hand.

Of course, Billy does end up feeding the cows. It takes another round of hand-holding, though, where you place the strawberry in his palm and flatten yours beneath it.

“Just be patient,” You murmur, feeling Billy’s hand tense as the cow noses at his fingers, “He just wants to say hi.”

“We’ve been acquainted,” Billy drawls, grimacing once more as the cow licks the strawberry off of his palm, “He tried eating the thoughts out of my head.”

“What thoughts?” You tease, but before you can gauge the situation and figure out whether you need to start running or not, Billy flips his hand over his shoulder to where you’re standing pressed to his back, and smears his sticky palm across your face.

“Oh,” You gasp, eyes squeezed shut and nose scrunched. You stagger backwards, nearly colliding with his car, “Gross!”

“Oh, really?” Billy roars with laughter, grabbing you around the waist and leaning his chin over your shoulder as he presses your back to his chest, “I thought it was an Indiana welcome! I thought it was cool!”

“Not when you do it!” You can’t help but laugh, trying desperately to hold the cracked pieces of your disgusted facade together, “You’re not as cute as a cow!”

You’re lying, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“And to think,” He scoffs, loosening his hold on you but not letting go completely, “I was gonna buy your movie ticket for you.”

You’d almost forgotten your movie adventure. You’d been so wrapped up in having fun with Billy, soaring down the streets with music blaring from the speakers that you’d completely ignored the way he’d driven miles away from any nearby movie theater.

“Hey, yeah,” You stiffen in his grip, turning your head to knock your forehead with his. You try not to pay attention to how close you two are, keeping your focus on his stunning blue eyes, “Why are we out here? The theater’s back that way.” You jerk your thumb behind you in the direction you’d came, and his face settles into a smirk once more.

“We’re not going to that shitty theater,” He boasts, “We’re going to a drive-in. It’s a few miles into the next town over.”

It makes sense, you suppose. He has a cool car, and what better place to show it off?

“I’ve never been to a drive-in,” You gush, excitement brewing in your belly, “What are the showtimes?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, finally letting you go to saunter back to his car and lower himself into the driver’s seat. You follow to the passenger’s side, tucking the empty plastic bag back in your backpack.

“We’ll catch something.” He reasons, hands finally back on the wheel as you shut your door and buckle your seatbelt, “People around here have nothing better to do, I bet there’s movies playing every hour.”

He gets started on the road once more, and you decide to let him drive uninterrupted. Although it hurts you to watch unpet cows whizz by the windows, you know you’ll be back too late if you keep stopping. When his tires crunch against gravel, then smooth over dirt, the unlit neon sign of the drive-in looms overhead. He leans out of the window at the counter, ordering a large popcorn and two sodas along with your tickets in that rough drawl of his.

He’s a bit rough when he stops on the asphalt, but that’s just how he drives. He’s used to driving recklessly, it’s not a habit easily broken. You hope you can help him live better, sending him a soft, sweet smile as he passes you your soda.

“This view good?” He glances over at you, hand already buried in the popcorn.

You nod emphatically, “Mhm! What movie?”

“No clue,” He lets out a huff of a laugh, “Does it really matter?”

“No,” You shrug, “‘Guess not.”

“It’s almost five,” Billy glances at his watch, “Are your parents gonna freak if you’re not home by dark?”

“They’re having dinner with friends tonight,” You recall relievedly, “They’ll probably be out way later than us. And they’ll just leave dinner in the fridge, they won’t know I’m gone.”

“Nice,” Billy nods, absentmindedly gnawing on a solid popcorn kernel, “My dad never goes out with friends. He doesn’t really have any, I don’t think. Susan does, work friends, but she’s probably not eager to show off her husband.”

He speaks about his dad with a bitter tone in his voice, words coming out brittle like they’ll snap if he tries putting any feeling into them. You hum in understanding; if your husband was like Neil Hargrove, you wouldn’t bring him around your friends either.

“You have friends,” You hum, “Don’t you ever eat out with them?”

“Uh,” He turns his head to stare expectantly at you, “Hello? Remember how I drove you a town over to see a movie, and I let you stop us halfway to stage a petting zoo?”

“I don’t mean me,” You gush, “Like, your other friends! The guys on the basketball team, or whoever you usually hang out with. That little crowd. You don’t go out with them?”

“Not really,” Billy shrugs, “They’re not my friends. Not like- um,” He drops his gaze to his lap, picking at the bucket of popcorn, “Not like you are.”

“Oh.” Is all you can manage, then you wet your throat to speak again, “They seem… no offense, shallow. Like- like they only talk about superficial stuff together. I’ve heard some of your conversations, I think.”

“Oh, so you’re updated on the riveting world of Hawkins High’s popularity pageant?” He scoffs, reaching for a cigarette, “Shit’s so stupid.”

“You say that from the top of the food chain,” You point out tentatively, “You don’t like it there?”

“It’s better than nothing.” He slows his attempts to self-medicate, hand frozen where he’s striking his lighter, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I’m not getting pushed into lockers. But, it’s like-” His fingers tighten slightly around the cig, jaw tight, “I got there because of what I have, not who I am. And not even that, I got there because of what it looks like I have. They think I’m some kind of rich kid ‘cause I have a nice car, but we’re lucky we don’t live in the trailer park. They think I’m mowing my way through the cheerleading team because they’ve seen us talking before. Sure, maybe I’ve flirted with a few, but-” His face darkens in frustration, nose scrunching slightly, “On the weekends, my dad makes me do shit around the house. And on the weekdays, I’m looking after my sister.”

You don’t point out his slip-up, how in a fit of passion he’s dropped the ‘step-’. It’s nice to hear.

“I have no time to sleep around,” He chuckles darkly, disdainfully, “Not often. But because people like me, or- or like what they think of me, they just assume I’m selling myself out for it.”

“It’s bullshit,” He concludes, huffily so, “It’s all bullshit. And it’s not gonna last past high school.”

A tense silence falls over the car after he’s finished speaking. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised anymore, not after two days of emotional curveballs from the man, but you think it might be the most you’ve ever heard him speak.

He looks nervous, fiddling with the keys in his ignition. Before he can regret opening up, you reach out to take his hand, pulling it away from the keys and linking yours into it on his thigh.

“I’m glad I’m your friend, Billy.” You confess, equal parts honest and tender. You want the words to soak into his veins, flow through his bloodstream and bloom sweet blossoms inside that light up his dark world.

“Me too,” He breathes, eyes glued to your intertwined hands as he tightens his fingers into the grip. As if on cue, the movie screen lights up, and it’s just barely dark enough outside to see the film.

“Here we go,” You settle in your seat, keeping your hand securely in his own, “Popcorn?”

Billy uses his free hand to pass the bucket over, and you can feel the heat concealed by the thick paper bucket hovering just above your hands. You munch on the buttery snack, a kernel already lodged in your teeth.

To Billy’s slight disinterest, it’s an old romance movie. He should have known, all that ever plays at these movie marathon nights are romances and beach flicks. He has a fleeting thought that he’d rather be watching women in bikinis, but it seems like something he shouldn’t think while holding your hand, so he pushes it away and tries to focus on the grainy, black-and-white footage.

The transatlantic accents and over-dressed main characters only hold his attention for a few minutes. But he’s family to Neil Hargrove, and he knows how to tune out a boring speech. He focuses more on the warmth that your hand pushes against his, sweet and soft and soothing like the blanket he used to get tucked in under at his grandma’s house. His grandma who knitted that blanket herself, just for him, and who slipped him strawberry sweets anytime his dad got too drunk to notice. And the way you hold his hand feels just like his mother used to, with her thumb stacked on his so that she could stroke it like you’re doing now. He’s only held his dad’s hand a few times, and he’s not able to remember much. He just remembers his mom had always dropped Neil’s hand in a big dramatic fashion, claiming that it was like holding a dead fish.

There’s nothing morbid about holding your hand, though. You’re not stiff and cold like his father, your fingers curve around his and mold to his skin. You not only reciprocate, you initiate, squeezing at a funny line or brushing over the back of his hand.

You’re all the best parts of the people he’s loved, and none of the bad parts of the ones he couldn’t. If he was any sleazier, he’d ask if it hurt when you fell from heaven.

You let out a particularly sweet laugh at a scene and the sound takes him back to only a few nights ago, sitting on his bed and feeling safe. He’d actually forgotten about his father until the man had stormed his bedroom, and he marvels at how you’d managed to suck the terrible thoughts from his head.

Your study session puts mitosis in his mind. Then biology, and he wonders if there’s ever been two organisms more compatible with each other. Personally, he thinks your biology is pretty basic: you were made for him, and he was made for you.

He’s broken out of his scientific reverie when your head falls to his shoulder. You throw a quick glance up at him through your lashes, silently begging for permission for something you’ve already done. His heart thuds in his chest as he watches you with curious eyes, and a slow nod of his head is all you need to settle against his side. You’re at an awkward angle, side arched over the center console to get your head to his shoulder. That makes it better, Billy thinks, that you had to work for it. It means you really mean it, that you’re not just doing it because it’s convenient. You’re loving him because you want to.

“Shitty movie,” Billy grumbles, his voice hoarse from its prolonged silence.

“Good popcorn,” You hum, reaching for another piece. Billy leans down to snatch it out of your hand with his teeth, and chews it with a growing grin as you chuckle.

“You’re a monster,” You tease, and a word that his brain usually whispers at him past midnight, loathing in his thoughts and venom in his veins, becomes nothing more than a nickname.

He thinks he wants to be your monster if it makes you laugh like that, all teasing teeth and careful manhandling.

You’re almost afraid you’ve insulted him with the title until he leans his head against yours, neck bent at an angle. His ear is pressed to the crown of your head, and just in case he can hear your thoughts, you think extra hard: I love you.

You last longer than Billy had, but you lose interest in the film, too. It’s not that it’s boring, it’s just not particularly interesting, and your brain is moving too slow for you to concentrate on careful dialogue. Apparently, the excitement of the day has caught up with you. Your eyes are starting to droop, and you think Billy might be able to feel your lashes flutter against his bicep. If he can, he doesn’t say anything, he just stays curled around you in his seat.

Slowly, second by second, minute by minute, you fall asleep. You drift away from the world and all that remains is Billy’s arm against your cheek, his hand holding yours. You don’t know if you’re fully sleeping or not, all you know is that Billy is the one constant between your life and your dreams.

Billy feels your breathing even out, the soft puffs of air that hit his arm soft and consistent. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but he lifts his head to peer at your face, seeing that you are, in fact, asleep.

He has the strongest urge in the world to kiss your forehead. He doesn’t, half because he’s scared you’ll wake up and think he’s a creep, and half because he’s not sure he’s capable of loving back. He’s taking it slow, and he’ll stick with leaning his head on you.

He does that until the movie’s almost over, and the romantic climax is shining on the screen.

The woman has fallen asleep on the man’s shoulder. They’re not in a car, they’re on a park bench, but her nose is nudged up against his bicep, too, and their hands are intertwined.

The man reaches up to her cheek, and so does Billy.

His hand is warm and slightly rough against the soft skin of your cheek, but it’s his warm breath against your face that wakes you. Your lashes flutter open, and the only thing you can see are Billy’s pretty blue eyes. You’re almost startled, almost caught off-guard, and then you notice the dark flecks of insecurity in them, ridged between peaks of blue like ocean waves.

He can’t speak. He’s paralyzed, eyes unblinking against your own, unable to ask, to tell, to beg. All he can do is stare, and hope that his hand isn’t shaking against your cheek.

He licks his lips, and you know what he’s trying to muster up the courage to do.

“Billy,” You breathe, soft and careful, “Are you sure?”

He manages to hum questioningly, but it’s a choked sound from somewhere deep in his throat.

“You’re speeding again,” You let out a breathy chuckle, but you raise your hand to hold his to your face, “Is this because you want me or because you think you’ll never get the chance to have me again?”

“I want you,” Billy murmurs, and the man on screen echoes his sentiments.

The woman on screen leans in, and so do you.

The kiss you share is unlike anything Billy’s ever felt. What he’s used to is prodding tongues, nipping teeth, below-the-belt grabbing, but this is new. This is the soft, dewy sweetness of lips barely touching, and the watermelon balm spread over your mouth. It’s tender in the way that you hold his hand to your cheek, and only made more so by the fact that you’re still holding hands between the seats. It’s less of an active kiss and more of an embrace, lips holding each other in place and noses bumping.

Billy’s never felt safer letting his eyes drift shut. At night there’s always the possibility that his dad will unlock the door in the middle of the night and take out insomnia-fueled rage on him. In his car he’ll get arrested for loitering. Now there’s nothing but you, and that’s all he ever wants there to be.

There’s muted claps from the other cars around you as the movie ends, and you choose to attribute the closing scene of fireworks to your kiss and not the leads’. When you draw away it’s with soft, content sighs, awestruck and breathless.

“I want you too, Billy.” You vow, more than happy to let him know he’s loved, “I’m glad we didn’t go to the front office.”

“Me too,” Billy breathes, leaning in to brush his lips against yours one last time, just holding them there as his fluttering eyes stare into yours.

The sound of revving engines breaks you out of your trance, and Billy pulls away from your face to look over your head. He’s still got his hand on your cheek, and you’re cradled to his chest as he watches everyone around you disperse.

“Let’s head home,” You murmur into his collarbones, kissing the skin there chastely, “You can stay the night at my house again, if you want.”

“I should get home,” He admits reluctantly, “My dad is probably still freaked about last night.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go back,” You hum, tracing the outline of a bandage through his shirt against his stomach.

“Me too,” He sighs, and finally lets your face go when the overhead lights to the lot flick on, “But we’ll get out soon.”

“Oh? Where are we going?” You settle back in your seat, turning to face him with curious eyes.

“California,” He smiles, and his genuine one is a breathtaking sight, “And anywhere you want to stop along the way.”

“That sounds perfect,” You sigh happily, head leaning comfortably back against the headrest. A yawn breaks through your lips and scrunches up your face, and Billy has to fight himself so that he doesn’t pull over and kiss the lines near your mouth.

The silence in his car is peaceful now, serene. There’s nothing left unsaid anymore, nothing hidden in your eyes and nothing withheld in your touches. You drift off to sleep wishing you were still holding Billy’s hand, and when you wake up, you are.

“Hey,” He whispers, squeezing your hand where his is interlocked with it, “Hey, wake up. You’re home now, we’ve gotta get you inside.”

“Hm? Oh,” You hum, bleary eyes taking in the outline of your house against the harsh beams of Billy’s headlights. “Thanks, Billy.”

“Uh-huh,” He nods, offering you a hand after you undo your seatbelt, “C’mon, if you can stand, I’ll carry you up to bed.”

You;re more than happy to let him sweep you off of your feet. He can feel your smile as you bury it in his neck, and he doesn’t even worry about shutting his car off and locking it before he pushes open your front door. Sure enough there’s tinfoil covered dinner on the counter alongside a note from your parents, and Billy marvels at how well they take care of you even when they’re not home.

“To the right,” You instruct him, realizing he’s only ever gotten into your room from the window outside, “And it’s the second door down.”

“Got it,” He murmurs, chin bumping your cheek.

Your bed is still unmade from that morning, and he yearns to slip beneath the covers again. He’s jealous when he tucks you in, and you’re glad you wore comfy clothing to school so that you can burrow under your blankets and not worry about changing.

“Goodnight,” Billy leans down, an inch away from your face, “Can I…?”

You lean up to do it for him, pushing your lips against his once more.

He melts into it, and the way that your nails scratch the hair at the base of his scalp only makes it worse.

“Goodnight,” You mumble, words wonky and misspoken against his lips, “I had fun today, Billy. I’m glad we’re friends, and I’m glad we’re more.”

“Me too,” He agrees, and the sentiments he’s agreeing to feel foreign to him. Five days ago he’d have been the least likely person on earth to have a friend, and now he’s got a partner to boot. In every sense of the word, he loves you, even if he won’t say those three words yet.

“Please be safe,” You cup his cheek, stroking over his slightly bruised cheekbone with tenderness he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to, “And if he hurts you again, stay with me instead.”

“I will,” Billy promises, dotting a dewy kiss to the side of your mouth as you settle into sleep, content with his safety.

He tells himself he’s just puttering around, throwing a stray sock into the laundry hamper and straightening a book he’d nearly knocked off of your nightstand on the way in. But really he’s waiting to make sure you’re really asleep, ring already slipped off of his finger and growing sweaty in his palm.

Once he’s sure you won’t wake, he peels back the covers on your bed, taking your hand in his. It’s got a familiar weight to it, a fact that he mentally celebrates, and his fingers shake as he slides the metal band onto your finger.

Having a ring to chuck in the garbage is gonna hurt a whole lot more when they leave, he reminds himself. Then, ‘If’.

“If they leave.” Your soft voice rings in his ears, and as he treks back to his car, revving the engine in the silvery light of the moon, there’s a feeling he’s never felt before rising in his chest. Hope: “Some people stay.”

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove blurb #billy hargrove drabble #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x reader fanfiction #billy hargrove x fem!reader

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bbyboybucket · 1 year

Text

Beds

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: While sharing a hotel room with Reader, Bucky has a nightmare.

A/N: Surprise. Bet y’all didn’t expect a fic from me. How longs it been? Too long. Anyways, I’m rewriting one of my old fics, or more so taking the same concept but doing it more in character. Also I think this is the first time I’ve written something where we don’t see Bucky’s pov, so I think that’s kinda fun. Btw I’m rusty so don’t judge me if it shows. Also I think this is gender neutral but I’m not sure?

Warnings: language, sexual references, nightmares, ptsd, panic attack (not too intense), allusions to some hydra stuff but nothing graphic, hurt/comfort, frenemies to lovers, Bucky is moody, the one bed trope™️, no use of “y/n”, kinda sappy

—————————

A loud sigh came from the left of you just before the elevator dinged and the metal doors creaked open. You ignored him, you chose not to engage in his passive aggressiveness. You weren’t going to accept the invitation of a petty rant hiding behind that sigh.

You walked down the hallway with Bucky stalking behind you, like an angry pitbull trailing after its owner.

“I don’t even know why we got a fucking hotel in the first place.” Bucky grumbled, and you could practically feel the weight of his eye roll, even though you couldn't see it.

“Here we go.” You muttered under your breath. “What did you want? A safe house? It’s not like we’re on some high stakes, undercover op. Anything more than a hotel would be excessive.”

“Anything more woulda had better sleeping options.” He whined. “Coulda at least got us separate rooms.”

“My god, give it a rest Bucky, you’ve been complaining all day about this.” You we’re exasperated, it was about the third time you’d heard him gripe that day.

“Well, I’m not a fan. Us sharing is the stupidest fucking idea Sam’s ever had.”

“Bitching about it isn’t gonna change anything. And, it’s not like we have to sleep together or anything, I’ll be in a whole different bed.” You said, unlocking the room door. You had been looking forward to chilling out and resting, but as soon as you entered the room, you realized that your night would be anything but restful.

“Fuck.” You laughed, humorlessly, knowing you were about to hear an endless rant. “I take that back, there isn’t different beds.”

Surprisingly that rant didn’t come. Bucky weirdly seemed calmer than he had before and merely shrugged. “‘S fine. I’ll take the floor.”

“Well, one of us can try the couch?”

“That thing could fit a toddler at best.” He gestured towards the small leather love seat as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion he had ever heard, and in all honesty, he had a point.

You pinched the skin between your eyebrows. “Sam said he booked a two person room.”

He shrugged again and then blankly said. “This is why he shoulda booked separate rooms.”

“My god Bucky, I’m not that bad of a roommate. I don’t snore, I don’t sleep walk, and it’s not like I’m gonna kill you in your sleep. It’s one fucking night. Just-“ You took a deep breath and tried to mellow out. “You can have the bed.”

“No, you can have it.”

“You’re obviously more tore up about this than me, so it’s yours. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No.” He refused, his eyes held an odd stubbornness. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“I literally don’t care, I’ve done it a million times. Plus, your grumpy ass probably needs some good sleep.” You half teased, trying to do the nice thing. You unzipped your bag and pulled your belongings out. “I’m gonna go change clothes.”

When you came back from the bathroom, Bucky was already in his boxers and a T-shirt, positioning a pillow and blanket on the floor.

“I told you the bed was yours.”

“Okay, and?”

“Why are you getting down there?“

“Why the fuck are you arguing?”

“Because you’re all pissy about this whole situation, so I’m trying to make your life easier and give you the bed.” You didn’t understand his defiance and odd aversion to the thing he’d been complaining about restlessly: the better sleeping option.

“I don’t want the goddamn bed, just shut the fuck up about it!” Bucky snapped. His outburst caught you off guard, he acted as if you had been purposefully pushing his buttons.

“Damn, fine.” You held your hands up in defeat, almost offended at the way he lashed out. “I get you’re trying to be all gentlemen-like but ya know, the aggressiveness defeats the purpose.”

“It’s not about being a gentlemen. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not being nice, I-“ He grunted. “Never mind I don’t owe you a fuckin’ explanation. Just get in bed.”

“I will, thank you, cause I’m tired. Especially tired of whatever the fuck is up your ass and has you so bitchy.”

You said it with full sincerity, of course you were used to bickering with Bucky but it always was in a playful manner, even when annoyed with each other, it was always friendly fire. There had been no sign of that all afternoon, Bucky was purely hostile and treating you like his greatest burden.

“You running your damn mouth and arguing isn’t helping anything.” He spat as he turned off the lights.

“Wow, sorry. Didn’t know offering you the bed was so fucking rude and offensive.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He groaned.

You muttered “fucking dick” under your breath.

“I heard that.”

As you settled into the bed, you couldn't help but roll your eyes in frustration. You found yourself pondering what you could have possibly done to provoke such a strong reaction from him. You couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't entirely about you. Maybe something else was going on and you were standing in as Bucky’s punching bag, just being the unfortunate catheter for his anger.

It didn’t matter. You had to force all the worry and aggravation out of your head because his attitude wasn’t worth losing sleep over. The last thing you need was to be exhausted on a mission.

—————————

You were jolted awake by a sudden, loud gasp, followed by a soft groan emanating from his direction. Rubbing your eyes, you opened them to find him sitting upright, his knees drawn close to his chest. He looked so small, a stark contrast to the huge stature and borderline intimidating presence you’d become so familiar with. His breathing was audible despite the distance between you, it was quick and shallow.

“Buck?” You concernedly called out to him but he didn’t answer. You then got out of bed, and flicked on the nightstand lamp.

“Bucky?” You tried again when you were closer.

Out of all the time you’d known Bucky, this was the first you’d seen him vulnerable. He was trembling harshly, hyperventilating too. He seemed equally dazed and terrified, but also distant as if he were lost in his head. You always thought Bucky had rather sad eyes but right now, the way they were widened with fear and slightly watering, took it to a whole new level.

You knew what was happening and seeing it felt like a stab to the heart. You slowly sat down in front of him, keeping space between you as to not worsen his panic.

“Buck, it’s okay.” You cooed. “Can you hear me right now?”

His gaze shifted to you, finally making eye contact, which gave you an answer.

“Okay, can you try to breathe with me? Deep breath…in 1…2…3” You exaggeratedly took large, slow inhale to lead him. “Out 1…2…3…”

You repeated the example, guiding until he finally started to follow along with you. “Good, you’re doing good. Do you know where you are?”

“….hotel. We’re on a mission?”

“Good, that’s right, good. It’s okay. You’re safe.” With a gentle and caring tone, you spoke to him, hoping to bring a sense of peace to the turmoil that was raging within him. Your heart felt heavy as you seen the pain that was laced within him, and you wished so badly that you could erase it all. You’d been scared you weren’t doing the right things, but his increasing improvement made you more confident.

“Can I touch you?”

He nodded.

You supportively placed your hand on top of his, stroking your thumb over his skin in a soothing manner. He initially flinched but didn’t pull away. “Starting to calm down now?”

“Yeah.” He released a long heavy breath and wiped the wetness off his eyelids with his free hand.

You sat silently with him, providing that tender, tactile support as he as he worked to regain his composure and steady his breathing. As he gradually calmed down, you noticed the shame creeping over him, causing his cheeks to flush red and his gaze to avert from yours.

“I didn’t want you to see this shit.” He finally said after minutes of silence.

“It’s fine-“

“Fuckin embarrassing is what it is.”

“No, stuff happens. I’m not gonna judge, ya know? I understand. I know what having panic attacks is like.” You revealed in attempt to make him feel more seen.

He slightly shook his head, at himself instead of towards to you, but he stayed silent.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He paused for a moment, he licked his lips and hung his head even lower. “‘M used to it. Get ‘em bout every night.”

“The panic attacks?”

“Nightmares. Those sometimes comes after though.”

“Oh.” You whispered, feeling like something in you had just shattered. “About hydra?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna talk about it?” You offered carefully.

“Nothing you should hear. My head’s a fucked up place.” He laughed humorlessly.

“Try me.”

He hesitated for a moment, you assumed he was debating on wether or not he should trust you with such a heavy part of himself. “Basically all memories. Not so much dreams, more so just stuff that’s already happened. Flashbacks I guess.”

As his mouth parted to speak, only to close again, you knew that he wasn’t finished so you waited patiently, allowing him the time he needed to gather his thoughts.

“Most of the time it’s…you know…what I’ve done. People I’ve killed. It’s….of course it’s horrible. Pretty gruesome but uh….I’ve gotten better at dealing with those, it’s still….I just get em so much that I can calm down faster now. But sometimes…it’s the shit Hydra did to me and it’s just….I’d get punished a lot. Some kinda torture or beatings, I’ll spare you the details.”

You continued to stroke his hand and stayed silent, not wanting to push him.

“But uh…they had this chair. Um, I’d get strapped down and they’d electrocute me. That’s how they’d…ya know. And I’d always end up there for a wipe after I fucked up. Or even if I didn’t. I don’t what’s worse honestly…the sick twisted shit they’d come up with or the wipe but…but reliving all that….”

“That’s fucking terrifying.”

“Yeah. Yeah, terrifying is an understatement. Sometimes…it’s hard to feel safe after that.”

His breathing started to pick up again. The cracks in his voice made it clear he was starting to get overwhelmed.

You then firmly grasped his hand, giving it a supportive squeeze. “It’s okay, you don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t like to think about all that. I try to never actually. It’s like…obviously it’s…I can’t describe how fucking awful. But at the same time, if I do think about it, it’s like I’m ignoring all the evil shit I’ve done. And that’s not fair to everyone I’ve wronged. So then….if I never think about or deal with the torture….when I have to relive it in these goddamn nightmares…it just fucks me up worse. And my fucking luck is one of the few times it happens is when I’m sharing a room with someone.”

Your heart sank to the floor, your own eyes were watering at this point from getting just this small glimpse of his pain. “I’m so sorry, Buck. Hell, I don’t even know what to say right now. I wish I could do more to help.”

“You’re doing enough.“

“You didn’t deserve it, ya know? I don’t know everything that went on but you never deserved to suffer like that.”

“Half-debatable. At certain point it had to become karma for the suffering I was causing myself.” He shrugged solemnly.

“That’s not true. You had no control.”

He sighed exasperatedly, filled with a sad frustration directed at himself. He put his face in his palm. “We’ve had that conversation. You already know I don’t see it that way.”

“Yeah but I hope one day you will. And I’ll die before I stop trying to get it through your head that you’re innocent. You know you’re strong, right? So damn strong to be holding it together right now. After going through all that pain and to still be here and be a good man? To come as far as you have. I’ve never met anyone as strong as you.”

“We can agree to disagree but I appreciate it….and thanks sitting with me and calming me down and all that.”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. This is why…I didn’t wanna share. And this is….one…of the reasons I don’t like sleeping in a bed. Makes the nightmares worse sometimes. That’s not your fault though, so I shouldn’t’ve…I just didn’t want you to know.”

“It’s alright. I get it now.”

“I shouldn’t’ve took it out on you. I really am sorry.”

“Buck, I get why you were upset. Well kinda, I honestly can’t imagine even a fraction of what you go through.”

“Goin a little far with the pity.” He grew a tiny smirk.

“Compassion.” You corrected. “And I can’t help it, I mean…not to get all sappy, but I care about you. A lot.”

His smirk morphed into a smile and you mirrored it. You wrapped your arm around him and laid your head on his shoulder, Bucky then slowly encircled you with his own arms. You knew the hug was Bucky's way of wordlessly affirming that he cared about you too.

“Didn’t know Mr. Grumpy was capable of hugging.”

“Consider it a one time gift.”

You chuckled in response but then an idea entered your mind.

“You think it’d help if I slept with you?” You asked softly.

He gave you a cheeky grin. “Could at least take me out to dinner first.”

“You know what I meant.”

He sighed. “Not to be an ass but I literally just told you I don’t like beds?”

“No dumb ass, I mean down here.”

He tilted his head and gave a tight lipped frown. “You don’t gotta do that.”

“No. But if it’d help you feel more comfortable, then I want to.”

He didn’t answer at first but because his face had always been an open book, revealing every emotion with striking transparency, he wore an expression that was etched with heartbreaking gratitude.

“Yeah…we can try that.” He whispered, as if he was in shock.

With gentle movements, you plucked the blanket and pillow from the bed and nestled yourself beside him. As you lay towards him, your faces drew closer, until they were mere inches apart. You could feel his warm breath caressing your skin. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you both gazed into each other's eyes, it was almost hypnotic. There was no awkwardness when it should have been expected, instead, a comforting feeling washed over you. You were consumed by excitement, tinged with a soothing calmness. Sure, it was paradoxical, but it was consuming and left you lost in the moment.

“Um…” Bucky started hesitantly but then cut himself off, he bit his bottom lip nervously.

Before you had a chance to even consider the words, they spilled from your lips. You were surprised with your own spontaneity, but the question had already slipped. “You wanna cuddle?”

It was as if you read his mind, you could practically see all the anxiety melt off Bucky before he pulled you into his chest. “This okay?” He asked.

“Mhm.” You replied, allowing yourself to sink into the comforting warmth of his body, all while listening to the soft thumps of his heart beating. It was a new intimacy that strangely felt familiar and natural, like everything had suddenly fallen into place.

You heard him yawn and you hummed fondly at how cute it was. “Goodnight, Buck.”

Tenderly, he leaned in and softly placed his lips upon your forehead, holding them there for a fleeting moment before settling his chin atop your head.

—————————

Bucky straddled your lap, his hand cupping your face as he devoured you in a passionate kiss that unraveled you with each flick of his tongue. His other hand roamed to less innocent regions of your body, exploring them with a touch that was both bold and tender.

He repositioned and pressed you down onto the couch, towering over you as his tongue continued to dance in your mouth. You were both breathless, and desiring more. He proceeded to plant kisses on your jawline before moving down to nibble on your neck.

He suddenly stopped, muttering against your skin. “You wanna move to your room? Have a little more space for this?”

“You know what’s funny?”

“Hm?”

“How before we got together, you hated beds, but now you want in my sheets every damn second.” You teased.

“Well…feels a lot more pleasant now.”

“Weird way to say ‘I’m always horny’.”

“I’m making up for 80 some years. And like you aren’t, you’re worse than me half the time.”

“Definitely worked up now, so get me to the bed and we’ll go as many rounds as you want, pervert.”

“Fuck you.” He laughed.

“I’m waiting for it.”

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #bucky Barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter solider fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #winter solider x reader #tfatws #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader

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be-my-sunrise · 6 months

Text

The Masked Man || p.js

pairings: jason role-player!jisung x fem!reader

genre: smut, minor pls dni

wc: 3,551

warnings: phone sex, mutual masturbation, use of sex toy, choking, use of pet names and derogatory terms, reader had a dream about having sex with jisung. let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: this fic is a part of 1-800-SLASHER collab by @jenoslutie !! i apologize for being late, i was supposed to post this on halloween but it took me longer than i thought. also, i really tried writing the "scary" part but turns out i suck at it and i feel like the ending is ASS omg😭 happy late halloween!<3 enjoy~

“Hold up.. Phone sex with who now?”

“With Ghostface! The other day, I got so bored and came across this website called 1-800-SLASHERS. So, these people role-play as slashers, like Michael Myers and Ghostface, and we can have phone sex with them!”

You furrow your brows in confusion upon hearing your best friend, Giselle's, story. Staring at her face in disbelief through the video call on your laptop.

“And you paid them for that?”

“Well, duhh, obviously.” Giselle rolls her eyes at your question. “You should try it, too, you know.”

“No way, it’s so ridiculous! The idea itself is just crazy, like.. why would I want to do that?”

Honestly, you can’t even begin to think why would people want to pay a random person to role-play as a scary character and have phone sex with them. You feel like it’s just a waste of money, and the idea of having phone sex with a complete stranger is just weird to you.

“I’m just saying, don’t judge until you actually try it yourself. Plus, I remember you once said, and I quote, “I would definitely bang Jason Voorhees.”

Giselle grins widely and wiggles her eyebrows teasingly at you. You groaned, face-palming yourself at the memory. “Oh my God, that was the one time we played ‘fuck, marry, kill'! Technically, I have to choose one of them.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Deflect all you want, girl, but the heavy emphasis on ‘definitely’ says a lot.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

“Aww thanks, I try to.”

You glance at the time and realize that it’s getting late, remembering the unfinished assignment that is due tomorrow morning. You quickly bid your goodbyes to Giselle and hang up the call. Thankfully, you were almost done with the assignment when you suddenly received a call from your friend.

The next morning in class, your mind starts to wander from whatever topic the professor is currently talking about, thinking about plans to do during the weekend. It was Friday after all. In fact, it happens to be Friday the 13th, which made you recall the conversation with Giselle last night. You still don't understand the excitement behind it. Not that you're against it though, it's just not exactly a thing that you would do. But, the more you think about it, the more curious you get.

The day goes by like a blur. After dinner, you sit on the couch, switching between TV channels to find anything to watch. You were about to switch to Netflix, but you stopped when your eyes caught the title of the movie. Friday the 13th.

"Of course they have this playing right now," you scoff.

Not knowing what else to watch, you decide to watch the movie anyway. Even though your eyes are glued to the screen, your mind wanders elsewhere. "What was that website again? 1-800-SLASHERS?" You thought to yourself. Despite what you kept saying, you just can't seem to get your mind off of it.

You unlock your phone and open the browser app, quickly typing out the website URL before pressing enter. The first thing you see after the page is loaded is the name 1-800-SLASHERS in big bloody letters.

Just right below the name of the website, you find a list of the character names along with photos of the role-players in their sexy costumes. Well, it's not exactly costumes because all of them are almost naked while also wearing the scary masks. As you scroll through the list, you finally find the one character you're most interested in. You tap the photo to take a good look at the guy wearing a Jason mask, eyebrows raising when you realize that he's shirtless.

He's sitting on a chair in a very laid-back position, knees wide apart, and his head slightly tilted to the side. His hands rested on top of his thighs with one hand holding a sharp knife. The photo was taken in dim lighting, but you can still clearly see his toned figure. You zoomed in on his body, eyes trailing down from his broad shoulders to his abs. His gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, giving you a peek of his v-line. When you look further down, your eyes widened in surprise seeing his cock print, almost choking on your spit. You bite down on your bottom lip at the sight, wishing he pulled it out instead of hiding it under his pants.

You quickly make an account and manage the payment settings. When it's all set up, you go back to the list page. A tab pops up when you tap his profile, showing you a call and video call button. You can't believe that you're actually considering this. But, after seeing a visual of the role-player, you can't stop yourself even if you want to. You hesitated a bit, not wanting to show your face.

"Maybe a call would be better for now."

Suddenly feeling nervous, you stare at the phone screen as you wait for the call to connect. Then the ringing stops and you move the phone closer to your mouth, clearing your throat before talking.

"Hello?"

"Hey there." Your breath hitches in your throat hearing a deep voice through the speaker.

"Hi, uhh.. what's up?"

There was a short silence followed by a low chuckle from the guy at the receiving end of the call.

"Oh, I'm doing good. You?"

"Me too."

You let out a nervous laugh, lowkey cringing at yourself. It's not like you haven't done this before, you've had phone sex with your ex-boyfriend a couple of times in your last relationship. But that was almost two years ago, so you can't help but feel weird and nervous.

"What's your name, doll?"

"You can call me y/n."

"Y/N. Such a pretty name for a beautiful girl like you."

"Oh, umm thank you. So.. should we get started?" You ask him, and he chuckles before answering.

"Yeah, sure. Tell me what you're wearing right now."

"I'm wearing a tank top and shorts."

"Take off your shorts, doll."

You mumbled okay and set your phone down before hooking your thumbs on the waistband, slightly lifting your hips to take off your shorts along with your panties. Even though you're still nervous, you can feel yourself slowly relaxing, thanks to his voice. His deep voice sounds so calming, yet so sexy at the same time. Your mind goes back to the photo you saw before the call, pressing your thighs together at the thought of him. You imagine him sitting on the same chair, one hand around his cock, slowly pumping himself as he talks with you.

"I took off my shorts, and my panties too."

He hums in satisfaction, "Mmm you're such a good girl for me, taking off your panties before I told you to. Now, touch yourself where you want me most."

You move your hand towards your core, collecting the wetness on your fingers before pressing it against your clit. A small moan falls from your lips as you rub circles on the sensitive bud.

"Is my pretty doll touching herself?"

"Yes," you paused. "I wish it was your fingers instead of mine."

"Yeah? Tell me more, doll. What do you want me to do?"

You rub your clit faster, letting out a breathy moan as you put in more pressure. "Wish you were here too, I want to feel your fingers inside me."

He snickers, "Oh, baby, my fingers won't be the only thing you're getting if I'm there with you."

Closing your eyes, you slip two fingers into your core. You moan out loudly from the stretch, imagining it was his cock.

"Bet you look so pretty around my cock. All fucked out, moaning and begging me to fuck you harder."

Suddenly you hear a glass shattering, making your eyes fly open in shock. You look around to find the source of the noise, only to realize that it was coming from the TV. You see Jason punching through a small glass window to choke one of the female characters. You bite your lip and start pumping your fingers faster, making you whimper.

"Fuck, I need you so bad. I want you to choke me while you're fucking me senseless."

He lets out a groan in response, tightening the grip around his cock as he strokes faster. His heavy breaths can be heard through the speaker, making your eyes flutter close at the sound of his noises.

"My pretty doll likes it when I choke her, hm?"

"Fuck, yes. I want you to choke me until I pass out."

"My, my.. what a naughty doll you are," he chuckles.

You feel a familiar knot in your stomach, muscles tense as you're reaching your climax. You put the phone down next to you, using your now free hand to rub circles on your clit, gasping from the added stimulation.

"Shit, I'm so close."

"Me too. Cum for me, doll. I wanna hear your pretty moans."

Your jaw goes slack from the orgasm, moaning loudly as you rock your hips to ride out your high. He mutters profanities under his breath hearing you moan. You can hear him panting, breath hitching in his throat as he also rides out his high.

"Hey, umm thank you for this. I think I'm gonna end the call now." You say, suddenly feeling awkward.

"Yeah, no problem. Hope I can see you next time, doll."

You press the end call button and get up to grab tissues to wipe your hands. After that, you turn off the TV and head to the bathroom to clean yourself.

***

A few days passed after the phone sex and you can't seem to get your mind off him. All you can think about is doing inappropriate things with him. Riding his cock until your legs go numb, leaving claw marks on his chest, and the list goes on. Oh, and his voice. Gosh.. his voice was sexy as fuck. You want him to whisper praises in your ear as he rails you.

You moan into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets. The guy behind you thrusts his hips roughly, burying his cock deep inside you.

"Fuck, feels so good." You say, voice slightly muffled.

"I can't hear you clearly with your face against the pillow, doll."

Your heart beats faster hearing the familiar voice and the pet name he used. He suddenly flips your body so you're lying on your back, throwing both of your legs over his shoulders. Your eyes widened in shock seeing the masked man before you. Even though his face is covered with a Jason mask, you still recognize his deep voice.

He leans his body closer, pressing your thighs and chest together in the process. He rests his hand next to your head and wraps the other one around your neck, blocking your airflow. Your eyes flutter close, moaning loudly as he continues to fuck you.

"Ah, ah, ah. Eyes on me, doll. I wanna see your eyes get glazed over."

He mutters good girl under his breath when you open your eyes. Your mouth hangs open as you feel his grip around your throat get tighter with each thrust. He tilts his head to the side and chuckles.

"What's wrong, doll? You want this, don't you? You begged me to choke you while I fuck you dumb."

Panic starts to fill your chest, but all you can think about is how good his cock is making you feel. You weakly claw at his hand, trying to pry it away and he just laughs at you mockingly. You start to feel dizzy, eyelids getting heavier as your vision darkens from the lack of air.

You suddenly open your eyes and your body jolts up in shock, hand clutching your neck as you gasp for air. You look around frantically only to find yourself in the dark. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you start to calm down realizing that you're inside your bedroom. You had fallen asleep while watching a video on your laptop. It's now dark outside and only the soft glow from the moon is illuminating your room. You get off the bed and carefully walk across the room to turn on the lights, making you squint from the brightness. Then, you go to the bathroom to splash your face with cold water. After you're done, you stare at your reflection in the mirror.

"Wait.. did I just have a wet dream about that Jason role-player?"

The wetness between your legs confirms your thought, making you blush as the realization hits. You touch your neck remembering the way he choked you in your dream and how good he made you feel. The thought of his cock filling you up nicely makes you press your thighs together.

You go back to your room and reach for the laptop in your bed, quickly typing the website name in the search bar. You strip your clothes off, leaving your bra and panties on, which thankfully is a matching set. When the page loads, you scroll down to look for the guy who role-plays as Jason. Once you find his profile, you adjust the pillow and your sitting position so now your back is comfortably resting against the headboard. You open the nightstand drawer next to you and reach for the vibrator and a dildo before setting it aside.

After turning on the webcam and clicking the video call button, you set your laptop down in front of you, making sure your body is seen on the camera. The line suddenly stops ringing and then you see him. He's shirtless, just like in the profile photo, only wearing gray sweatpants with the mask. You didn't even realize that you were staring until he snapped you from your daze.

"Hello? Hey, you okay?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry, I was too busy admiring the view."

He let out a small laugh, "I can say the same to you too."

"I'm not sure if you remember, but I called you here the other day. I'm y/n."

"Ah, yes, my pretty doll. Glad I can finally see you."

"You know, I can't get my mind off of you. I even had a dream about you." You bite your lip, debating whether to tell him about the dream you just had or not, but then you decide to just go for it.

"We were having sex and then you choked me. I couldn't breathe, but all I cared about was how good your cock felt."

"Is that so? Take off your panties, doll. Show me how good I made you feel."

He hums in satisfaction at the sight of your soaked panties, palming himself through the pants while he waits for you to take off your panties. Once you take it off, you spread your legs wide and adjust the webcam so he can get a nice view of your glistening pussy, but can still see your face as well.

"Fuck, baby. Even your pussy looks so pretty."

You start rubbing your clit in small circles, moaning from even the slightest stimulation. You throw your head back as you pick up the pace, the pleasure making you dizzy. His cock twitches in his pants, clearly enjoying the show you're giving him. He pulls out his hardening cock, letting out a breathy moan as he slowly strokes his length. The noises he makes catch your attention. You were so horny you forgot that you're still in a video call. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of his cock. It's even better than you imagined. His cock is long and thick, you can feel your mouth watering.

"I need you so bad," you whimper.

"Yeah? You want me to fill you up nicely with my cock?"

"Fuck, yes please. I want you to stuff me full with your cock."

You grab the vibrator next to you, turning it on before pressing it against your clit. You moan loudly from the sensation, mouth itching to scream out his name. But then you realize you don't know his name.

"Tell me your name, please?"

"Sorry, doll. I can't tell you that."

"Please? I want to scream out your name," you beg.

"I can't–"

"Tell me your name, please! I'll pay you!" You cry out from frustration. You're so close and you have been holding back, wanting to scream his name as you cum. "Please, I'll Venmo you right now, just tell me your username."

He grew silent for a moment, considering your offer. He feels bad about using you, but he knows you're too horny to think twice before paying him just to know his name and the extra money would be nice. It's actually against the policies, but at this point, he's also too turned on to care.

"Jspark."

Once he says his username, you quickly grab your phone and send him the money. He glances at his phone when he gets the notification, smirking as he sees the amount of money he received.

"Oh my pretty doll, I didn't know you're such a pathetic slut. You're so horny you didn't even think before throwing your money at me just to know my name so you can get off." He laughs at you mockingly before telling you his name, "I'm Jisung. Go ahead and scream my name, doll"

"Jisung!"

You scream his name as you finally let go, back arching against the bed from the pleasure. You moan loudly as you ride out your high. He pumps his length faster, chest heaving up and down. You reach for the dildo and rub the tip against your slit.

“I would love to see that in your mouth, doll. Get it all nice and wet for me?”

You close your lips around the tip, grimacing at the taste of your arousal. You lean closer to the camera before pushing the dildo into your mouth. You look straight into the camera as you bob your head up and down, cheeks hollowing as you suck the toy. Jisung can feel his cock throb in need, wishing it was his cock in your mouth. He imagined you kneeling in front of him, wrapping your pretty lips around his cock as you look up at him innocently through your lashes. The idea of you deep-throating his cock pushes him to the edge. Eyes close while his jaw goes slack. His abdomen tensed as he dumps his load on his stomach. Jisung let out a breathy laugh when he realized that you had turned the vibrator on again, pressing it against your clit while you suck the toy.

“Look what you do to me, doll. I came once and I’m still hard as fuck.” He says while pumping his cock. You remove the toy from your mouth and suck in deep breaths. The way you look at him innocently with tears in your eyes and swollen lips, Jisung swears he could cum again right then and there.

“I got this all nice and wet for you, Jisung.”

“Good girl. Now, put that in your pussy and keep the vibrator on your clit.”

Slowly, you push the dildo into your core. A broken moan falls from your lips as the toy stretches you out. The slight discomfort from the stretch feels so delicious that you don't even wait for yourself to adjust.

"Fuck, I wish this was your cock instead." You flick your wrist faster, the angle making you brush against your sweet spot.

"Poor baby, is it not big enough for you? You still need my cock to stretch you out, hm?"

Overwhelmed by the double stimulation, you can only babble nonsense in response. Your thighs tremble from the pleasure as you move your hips to meet the dildo halfway, pushing the toy deeper. You pick up the pace when you feel the familiar knot in your stomach once again.

"I'm so close."

"I don't think you deserve to cum, doll."

"Please, Jisung, I can't hold it anymore!"

Jisung throws his head back as he grips his cock while fondling his balls using the other hand. His cock twitching in his hand, signaling that he is also reaching his climax.

"Beg me."

"Jisungie~ please?"

His head felt like spinning. The noises you make and the way you whine his name drives him crazy.

"Fuck, y/n. I love it when you say my name. Go ahead, baby. Cum for me."

You let out a long moan, legs shaking from the intense climax. Jisung's breath hitches in his throat, panting as he cums as well. For a moment, only heavy breathing and a soft buzzing noise can be heard while both of you catch your breath. You pull out the dildo and turn the vibrator off.

"Thank you, Jisungie. That was great." You give him a weak smile.

"Likewise, doll. I haven't cummed that hard lately," he chuckles.

"Well, I think I'm gonna go now. Maybe I'll see you again next time."

"I'm counting on it."

You end the call and close your laptop. You slip under the comforter and decide to clean up in the morning. You drift off to sleep, hoping that you would dream about Jisung again.

#1-800-SLASHER collab #be-my-sunrise #thea's writings #jisung smut #park jisung smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #jisung x reader #park jisung x reader

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its-time-to-write · 11 months

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kicking myself to keep from crying

Once again, huge shoutout to @whimsical-roasting! This is pt. 2 to your mind is not your friend and although it kind of works as a standalone, maybe read that first. Like before, I def used entire chunks of our conversation😅 so really this is her fic. I just filled in some of the gaps. Love u bae!

kicking myself to keep from crying

You wake up feeling weird. There’s soft light streaming through the windows, and something warm half on top of you. You blink away the sleep from your eyes, and realize it’s Jamie. He’s on his stomach, with one arm thrown around your waist and a leg hooked around you. You don’t want to disturb him but you’re a little uncomfortable, so you carefully roll onto your left side. You now have a clear view of his face, features softened by sleep, and you’ve somehow managed to keep your legs intertwined.

Reaching out with your free hand, you trace a line from his eyebrows down his nose, to his jaw, then his lips. You can’t help yourself, because when will you get the chance to wake up in Jamie Tartt’s bed again? His chest is rising in a steady, comforting beat.

He likes me, you think with a sigh, and the thought is enough to dispel most of the weirdness from the night before.

How did you go from crying over a bad hookup to sleeping in Jamie’s bed? God, you still feel so tired and drained, but not as much as last night. You don’t ever want to get up.

Your hand is resting on Jamie’s neck, and you can feel his heartbeat pulsing; you resist the urge to kiss him but fail, lips on his neck.

Last night was fucking awful, you think. You’re feeling like a car with an empty tank, pushing yourself up the hill to get to Jamie’s house. All you can think about is how physically and emotionally drained you’re still feeling, when you feel Jamie’s breathing change.

He blinks once, twice, then smiles at you.

“Morning, love,” he says, and you feel his rough morning voice doing something to you.

“Afternoon, more like,” you reply in a whisper.

Jamie just smiles, and you return it with a small one. He stretches all his limbs as best he can, unwilling to move his arm from around you. “You sleep ok?” he asks.

You nod.

“You feeling better?

You nod again.

He frowns. “Are you… do you not wanna talk?”

You give a small shrug and sigh. It is not easy to shrug while laying on your side, so you roll onto your back.

“I’m sorry,” you say, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I just… my headspace is going to be kinda fucked for a bit, but I feel better.”

Jamie just nods and pulls you closer (if that’s even possible). He has an unfamiliar ache, one that makes him want to protect you and take away any bad feelings you still have.

You do enjoy the feeling of his body around yours, but of course, it can’t last. You shift out of his grasp and sit up. You notice that you’re still in his hoodie and sweatpants.

For some reason, the realization makes you want to cry.

“Oh, Jamie,” you say, still unable to look at him, “thank you. For, like, everything… especially last night.”

Jamie’s propped up on his elbows now, and looking at you intently.

“Um, I can be out of your hair,” you continue, staring at your hands in your lap. They look like strangers hands. “I bet you had plans for today.”

Jamie’s frowning again now, and you decide you hate yourself for being the cause.

“What d’you mean?” he asks, and you’re unsure what he means.

You laugh nervously. “What?”

“What are you on about, why would you fucking leave?”

He looks so confused and indignant, but you don’t understand why.

You laugh again. Damn your nerves. “What else would I do? Stay?” The thought seems utterly ridiculous, and all too much like heaven

Jamie’s sitting up now, rolling over in a flurry of sheets to imitate your position. Your heart rate climbs at the feel of his arm pressed against yours.

Pull yourself together, you scold. Why is a simple touch scrambling your brain when last night’s literal sex felt like you’d had a bucket of ice water dumped on you?

You suppose it has something to do with the person.

“Love,” he says with the urgency usually reserved for someone telling you the building’s on fire, “what would you like me to do? Just tell me, and I’ll fucking do it.”

His raw emotion is throwing you off. You’re not sure how to respond, but your mouth is opening apart from your free will and saying, “I want to stay,” so you catch yourself and follow it up with a hasty, “but only if you want me to! Not out of pity or anything, because I’m ok, truly.”

You think that if you say it out loud (fine, it was a mumble), it will be true. You’re not ok, still thinking about that goddamn pity fuck, and you’re not a pity fuck, and there’s absolutely no way you’re going through those emotions again. Especially not with Jamie.

Jamie, who is closing his eyes, and letting out a deep, annoyed sigh with his jaw clenched.

A flash of fear jolts through your body, as well as the ever-present, ever-painful déjà vu. Jamie’s mad at you, and you start to get up to go.

You’re stopped by his hand on yours.

You look back to see Jamie rub his free hand over his face and mumble, “Oughta kill that prick,” before fully taking in your expression. His entire face softens, and he squeezes your hand once.

You can still feel anxiety coursing through your veins, which Jamie can see in your face. He changes his grip on your hand, and he lifts it to his lips to press a kiss on your inner wrist.

Your brain short-circuits at the pure intimacy of that gesture, something you have never experience and were pretty sure just existed in books and movies, not reality. Certainly not your reality.

Briefly, you wonder how Jamie got like this.

You remember hearing stories about how he had been a prick himself, and had tried to reconcile that with the person you knew today.

You’d seen a bit of it on the pitch during matches, when his eyes would glint and he’d stick his tongue out, right before doing something completely insane and gravity-defying that would cause the entire stadium to erupt in joy.

You knew Roy Kent called him the “prince prick of all pricks,” and that Jamie had definitely deserved that nickname once upon a time.

Still, it’s difficult to imagine that it’s the same Jamie who is sitting in bed with you, eyes looking at you so softly you think you might cry. Again.

He says, “Love, I meant every word I said last night,” and you can tell he’s trying to make his entire face show how much he means it.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes. “Goddamnit, Jamie,” you whisper, “This is the most I’ve cried in fucking forever. What the fuck?”

Jamie just smiles and wipes away a stray tear with his thumb.

Everything he’s doing is so intentional, with no malice and no ulterior motives. You’ve loved him for ages, so this just feels… it feels like it’s too much. You’re feeling the swirls of good and bad emotions and you don’t know how to sort them, so you just hold his face and fucking breathe because yes you’re crying, but it’s not really out of sadness now, is it?

You say, “About what you said last night…” to which his face drops in anticipation of rejection.

“I really fucking like you too,” you say. “I have for too long and I thought I should’ve gotten over it, hence the shit with that guy, but every time I’d drive home I’d just think about how the way your face lights up when we see each other felt more fucking meaningful than anything that he would do to me. He barely even acknowledged my existence, but you…” you trail off. “You made me feel like the entire sky shone just for me.”

You see Jamie try to school his expression, but he can’t control the wide grin breaking across his face. He puffs out a sigh of relief, or maybe it’s one of the distaste he feels every time you mention that prick. Maybe distaste isn’t the right word. What’s a good word for when you both want to puke and kick the shit out of someone?

Jamie doesn’t dwell on it too long because that shitbag is nowhere near now, you’re right in front of him with those absolutely kissable lips and wearing his clothes with his name on them, and maybe you’d both be alright to stay in bed all day. After all, you still look tired and he thinks maybe you’d sleep better if you were the big spoon this time.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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obsidiancreates · 4 months

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The Smartest Dumb Person She's Ever Met (Shules Shawn Genius Reveal Fic)

“Shawn, this is ridiculous.” Even as she says it, Jules knows her smile completely undercuts her protests as Shawn sets out more and more and more plates of food.

“Babe, I told you, we are finding our new go-to takeout spot tonight,” Shawn insists. “We’ll just dump all the leftovers on Gus! He’ll love it, maybe even more than he loves watching debates about rash cream side-effects.”

“I don’t think he loves watching those, Shawn.”

“Then why does he spend hours on it every few months?”

“Well, maybe, because he has a day job. We’re not all so lucky to be employed by spirits and whims,” Jules teases lightheartedly as Shawn sits down and starts putting together a sampler plate. “Speaking of which, we didn’t talk about what I should expect from living with a psychic.”

“Aside from constant swooning and daily hair updates?”

“Aside from those.”

“Well, Jules, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what to expect, because I don’t know either.” Shawn hands her the plate, and sniffs. “Truth be told, this is uh… this is the first time I’ve moved in with somebody.”

Jules smiles softer. “Mine too. But I just mean… how often do you have visions outside of cases? And what about your dreams, are those affected?”

“No, not as far as I know- but I have been told I talk in my sleep.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Because you know me.” He kisses her before dishing up his own plate. “But uh, yeah, no psychic vision dreams for the most part.. … Well, sometimes, but not usually. And I can control the visions at home, don’t even worry another second about it.”

“Really? Because I thought you were completely beholden to them at all times.”

“Ehhhh… more or less.”

“Shawn.”

“Alright, so maybe a minor one here and there- but I’ll save the big stuff for the cases. No dramatic psych-outs in the living room.”

“Thank you.” Jules takes a bite of one of the various dishes on her plate, and coughs. “Oh my god, they used so much black pepper!”

“Let me try- hck! Oh my- ekch! That is just stupid, how much there is-”

“Get some water-”

“On it, on it, holy-”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn doesn’t have psychic visions or dreams, just like he promised.

But he has something else going on.

Jules starts noticing it after the first few days of lovey-dovey, disgustingly happy mushiness finally starts to settle into domesticity. She sits at the table and Shawn has a big stack of toaster waffles already drenched in syrup ready for both of them, even though he’s not a natural early riser, because it’s a day they both have off and it’s more Brunch than Lunch, and Shawn… isn’t eating.

His head is tilted, his eyes narrowed, and that usually means he’s having a vision. But this morning he’s just barely reading the newspaper- Jules is sure he’s not actually reading it, his eyes aren’t moving right for that, in fact they’re barely moving at all. They’re narrows and still, taking the paper in as one whole picture, probably absorbing nothing.

And she starts to realize he gets that look a lot, with no visions following them. He gets it when the delivery guy drops off their food, he gets it when the news comes on, he gets it when Lassiter comes over to drop off something Jules left in his car during a stakeout, and again and again and again.

And then it just goes away, and he doesn’t say anything. And she assumes, well, it’s a minor vision. He has them a lot more often than she had previously thought, clearly. Small, apparently unimportant visions that he just brushes off.

And then he tells her that they should stop getting takeout from the place two blocks away because the delivery guy is about to quit from being overworked. There’s no fanfare, no hand to his head, no sharp inhale- just an offhand statement that slips out right after he closes the front door.

It’s not the first time she’s heard him make a random prediction, not even close. But something about the understated nature of it makes her pause, and after a second she asks, “What makes you say that?”

“You’ve seen the state of that car they have him driving, it's one rough road away from falling to pieces. Plus his shoes are completely tattered, and his jeans, basically everything that’s not given to him as part of the uniform, but they’re also all stiff still- he just bought them and they’re already wrecked because of how many deliveries he’s making. That’d piss anyone off enough to quit, especially at his age.”

She hadn’t noticed that- at least, not all of it. She knew the car was a piece of junk, and the clothes were tattered, but thinking back she sees what Shawn means by them still looking stiff and out-of-the-box new. And somehow, somehow, she feels like if she points out that she hadn’t caught onto all of that herself, something… big, would just… slip away.

“That’s a shame, I like him,” is all she says instead. “He has a nice smile.”

“He just got his braces off, he’d probably literally skip for joy if he heard you say that,” Shawn says, handing over her food. Again, no fanfare, no theatrics- he just says it, unthinkingly, almost distracted as he digs into his honey cashew shrimp and chicken.

It’s different.

It has to be a vision, but it’s different.

And again, Jules gets a feeling that pointing that out would break… something, about this moment. So she makes a note, and tucks it away in her mind, and hopes she’s able to remember to follow up later.

“Good for him.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn talks in his sleep most nights, as it turns out.

It’s not very comprehensible majority of the time- usually all she can make out, when she’s even awake to hear it, is Shawn mumbling something to or about Gus. At first it’s a little offensive, frankly, that her boyfriend dreams about his best friend constantly and she never hears her own name, but it quickly becomes just… normal. Like most of Shawn and Gus’s codependency. Some days she feels like she’s dating both of them, just a little bit. It bothers her less than it probably should, certainly less than she would expect if she was an outside observer. Gus was Shawn’s original rock, his strongest pillar, his tightest tether, and she knew she’d never truly be able to match that even before she and Shawn got together.

She should probably ask Gus about some of Shawn’s more daily psychic dealings, actually- he’s known Shawn for their whole loves, so he must have lots of advice for her about how to deal with it. And how to deal with the rest of Shawn’s… quirks. Which she loves about him, she truly does, as messy and intrusive as some of those quirks are in their lives. Psychic visions, murder scene dates, fearing that Shawn’s going to get himself killed with his daily recklessness. She had kissed him on that Canadian overlook expecting all of it, thinking she had finally come to learn everything she needed to learn about him.

And then, all those months and years later, she’s laying in bed unable to sleep and reading a book to try and calm down when Shawn mumbles out something shockingly understandable about the case they’re both working.

She freezes, as though her silent eye movements while reading could somehow disturb the moment.

“Doesn’ ma’ s’nse,” Shawn mumbles in his sleep. “Th’ t’re tr’cks…”

Jules slowly lowers her book.

Shawn rolls over, facing her now, still fast asleep, lightly snoring. Jules watches him like a deer caught in headlights.

“T’res don’ ma’ch,” Shawn mumbles out. “Tr’d too w’de…” His brow pinches, his lips pursing a little. There’s a long beat of silence.

Jules holds her breath. Like with the delivery boy, something about this moment just feels… big. Important.

Shawn’s face smooths out. “M’gn’ts.”

Magnets.

Jules thinks about the case that they’ve been working together all week, a hit-and-run. They’ve got one witness who got a whole license plate number, they’ve got the plate number matching a car of that exact description, and the only problem is they’ve also got a suspect who vehemently denies ever driving that route in his entire life. And like always when things seem straightforward, Shawn had declared that he wasn’t convinced they had the right guy.

But that doesn’t help her figure out what magnets have to do with anything. After a moment she doesn’t have to figure it out on her own, because Shawn makes a soft noise of sleep-laden realization.

“Th’ s’x an’ th’ n’ne.” His hand twitches, roughly tracing out the numbers on the sheets. “Fl’p ‘em…”

Magnets.

License plate number magnets. Moveable, alterable plate numbers.

“S’me car m’ke, s’me num’er, diff’ren’ t’re.” There’s a note of satisfaction, even in the sleep-slurred mess that is Shawn’s voice. He smiles a little in his sleep, and moments later… he’s snoring.

Jules sits, book almost falling out of her nonexistent grip, stunned into silence.

Shawn just cracked the case. In his sleep. With logic and authentic detective deduction.

… But that’s not possible.

Shawn doesn’t work like that. He doesn’t pay attention to clues, reason out possibilities, connect dots. He receives visions, he relays them, he makes connections with the help of his abilities. And maybe she’s seen some times that contradict tha belief, but- but it’s just not how he works. She would know.

… Maybe he does get psychic dreams. Maybe he just doesn’t know he gets them? But there was a thought process there, and a natural one for it to come to him so easily in sleep. She’d heard every step of the process, followed him on each conclusion.

… But the tire treads not matching? Jules relaxes, closing her book and turning off the lamp. That had to be psychic. No-one else noticed or said anything about tire treads through the investigation. How would he even pick out and remember that detail, anyway, without spiritual guidance? He’d seen only photos of the crime scene, and not great ones at that- darn trainees.

… Psychic dreams. Has to be.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jules, look at that.” Shawn smiles and points at the ducks in the pond they’re having a picnic by. “There’s a bunch of baby ducks over there.”

Jules gasps and looks over eagerly, but quickly frowns. “Where?”

“Right there, in those tall hot-dog looking things.”

“Um, the reeds?”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

Jules squints, searching for signs of ducklings. “Where are you seeing them?”

“Right there, look.” Shawn leans and points harder , like that will help somehow. “You can totally see the hotdogs moving.”

“I think that’s just the wind.”

“No, look, the moms are circling the hot dogs and luring the feeders over to them.”

“What?” Jules looks at the edges of the pond now, and realizes that, yes, the ducks are luring the people with the food towards the reeds- and finally, the ducklings swim out into view.

“Told ya.” Shawn takes a bite of an eclair.

“How did you even see that movement from here?” Jules looks back at Shawn in awe.

“You kidding? They were totally moving all over.”

“But it looked like the wind.”

“The wind is blowing the total opposite direction. Look, you can see it in the ripples.”

“Huh.” Jules looks back at the pond. “That’s really impressive, Shawn. I had no idea your eyesight was that good.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been asked to be studied by science for my eyesight, but they said it would drain all the color out of them, and then of course I’d have to become a supervillain.”

“Or a mysterious warning corpse in the basement of a haunted mansion.”

“Neither of which I felt up for.”

“Right.” Jules giggles, and looks back at the pond.

She has no idea how he noticed that. Not unless it was psychic, somehow. And further, she has no idea why he’s acting like she should be able to notice it, too. And, like before with the delivery boy, it’s not the first time he’s done this. But it’s the first time it feels…

Like something she needs to pay attention to.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shawn?” Jules sets down the bowl of brownie batter when she realizes he’s stopped licking the spoon and is staring, eyes glazed, at the wall. It’s probably just a vision. She should just consider it a vision. There’s no real reason to think it’s not.

“Shawn,” she tries again, shaking his arm slightly. He startles, just a bit, and then clears his throat and puts the licked-”clean” spoon down on the counter. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” His eyes flick back to the wall. “... Jules, uh, does the wall look…” He pouts a little, shrugging. “Suspicious, to you?”

“Suspicious?” She looks at the same spot. “It’s… a wall.”

“Yeah… but there’s something a little off, isn’t there?” Shawn walks over to it, and taps his knuckles against the plaster. “... Sounds off, actually. Come here, listen.”

She obliges, leaning in close. Shawn taps one spot on the wall, and then the spot he said sounded strange.

“... What am I supposed to be hearing, Shawn?”

“It’s more hollow over here.” Shawn taps the first spot, and then taps the second. “Right here, it sounds more uh… almost like wet cardboard.”

She listens again. “Okay… I think I hear it now. But you didn’t hear the wall from over at the counter, did you? Was it a vision?”

“There’s a ring around this spot,” Shawn mumbles, like he didn’t hear her. He smacks his lips, and then jerks away from the wall as the focus suddenly drops away into his usual energy. “Man, we’ve got a leak in the walls! I knew that landlord was lying when he said it was all up to code.”

“A leak? Shawn, we tapped the wall a little bit, that doesn’t really tell us anything.”

“Yeah, maybe… but I’m calling someone, tomorrow, just- remind me in the morning.” His eyebrows twitch up, his mouth forming an ‘O’ as he realizes something. “If I play this card right I might be able to knock a bit off our rent.”

“Shawn, you are not blackmailing our landlord over a leak that might not even exist.”

“I’m not! Not yet! Just planning to, possibly. So we can have more money for date nights!”

“It’s illegal.”

“Alright, alright. …How illegal, exactly?”

“Shawn.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s trickery. It’s lying. It’s wrong.

But she had been sitting at her desk, reviewing the latest round of new Detective’s Exam scores, when she’d remembered Shawn saying years ago that he had taken the exam when he was 15, and got 100.

A perfect score.

And maybe that meant very little to her once, when Shawn was just the strange somewhat charming guy who came into her life only on occasion to make a case more interesting. But now, dating Shawn and seriously considering spending the rest of her life with him, now as soon as she had recalled that tidbit it began to haunt her. Every time she watched Shawn around the house, and even in the station. It echoed in her head while she watched him look over reports, scan crime scenes, even while he was just watching movies and predicting things about their endings.

I got 100. … Why? What did you guys get?

He hadn’t even been bragging.

So now she sits on the couch, a thick binder in front of her, guilt twisting in her stomach at what she’s about to do.

She’s about to lie to her boyfriend, with the full intent of tricking him into the taking the exam again, just to see.

When he walks into the house, slightly out of breath and carrying something that looks suspiciously like the pineapple statue put into evidence during the last case, he startles upon seeing her and hides the statue behind his back. But his excuse dies in his gaping mouth when he sees how stressed she looks.

“Babe? Everything okay?” He sets the statue- it’s definitely the same one put into evidence- aside as he moves to sit next to her.

“Fine,” she sighs. “Just- Chief Vick asked me to help review the Detective’s Exam after someone complained there were errors in it.”

“Hmm. That person should either pass immediately, or be barred from detective status forever.”

She giggles softly. “That’s a little extreme. It’s just, this is going to take forever, and I was hoping to go out today and finally try that spa that opened up.”

“Well you totally should!” Shawn looks at the binder. “Just, leave it for another time, it can’t be that pressing. After all, Santa Barbara already has it’s best detective.”

She rolls her eyes fondly.

“And, she just so happens to be dating an equally awesome but more brunette psychic detective.” He kisses her on the cheek. “So she should go out and treat herself while her awesome boyfriend tries to divine if there’s actually a mistake.”

“Oh, the spirits know that kind of thing?”

“Some of them, some of them.”

“Well, let them know I’ll still have to check their work, so they better show it.” She gives him a kiss back and stands. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The guilt gnaws at her as she drives to the spa, as she picks her treatment, as she gets her facial and her massage and her body scrub. She knows she had to- she knows Shawn well enough to know he’d never retake the exam if she just asked him outright. He’d be suspicious why she was asking him to, and she’s not sure she can tell him without making him think she’s doubting him.

She’s not. He is psychic.

But he might also be more.

And if he is, he’s hiding it- maybe not as much as he did when she would only see him at the station, or planned dates, but he’s still hiding it. She sees him seeing things, noticing details, making connections, and when he does he never seems to…

She’s not sure. She just knows that he treats these moments like they’re something a normal person can do when they can’t, or like they aren’t happening at all, or even…

Even like they’re psychic.

She takes the long way home, breathing deeply the whole time. Shawn lies to her every day- she’s not blind to that. Usually about a case, usually because he’s more than likely doing something she could get reprimanded for just knowing about. She doesn’t like it, but even though he lies he doesn’t trick her, at least as far as she knows.

When she gets home, Shawn isn’t there. She finds a note on the coffee table, stuck to the binder. Gus called, be back soon, XOXO.

She smiles, takes a deep breath, and opens the binder.

There’s mostly Doodles. His artistic skill on display ranges from shockingly masterful to shockingly kindergarten-like, some doodles belonging in a gallery and some not even qualifying for the fridge under a free pizza place magnet. Aliens, dinosaurs, scenes from movies, random invention ideas…

No answers, at first, which disappoints her. Until she notices that one doodle seems to coordinate to one of the questions, and it’s like a Rosetta Stone.

Not all, but many of the doodles seem to relate to the answer to a question in some way, and where there’s not doodles there’s not-answers that show knowledge of the actual answer. There’s snark and quips and jokes that contain answers, and every once and a while she even finds something straightforward smushed among the almost deflective content of the pages.

Deflective.

He’s deflecting that he knows the answers. The more she flips through, the more she sees it. Shawn went out of his way to answer without answering, to show his knowledge without admitting he has it. He couldn’t just not answer, and he couldn’t just pretend not to know- but he couldn’t outright show it either.

“Oh my god.” Jules closes the binder and puts her face in her hands. “Of course. Henry.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jules finds Henry’s detective’s exam score a week later. It’s high- not perfect, but high. She finds Shawn’s score to compare. Like he’d said. It was perfect.

She goes digging through the file archives on her lunch break, and finds the actual exam itself- someone preserved it, because a fifteen year old got 100.

It’s not like the one Shawn did in their living room.

It’s still got doodles, tangents, signs of distractibility- but the answers are much more plain. Forthright. It reads like an actual potential detective, taking the exam seriously, trying his best.

And she’s pretty sure she knows who gave Shawn that exam.

Of course, of course. His dad was a cop, a revered one, of course Henry taught Shawn some skills- more than some! How did that never occur to her? It feels silly now, to think Shawn wouldn’t have at the very least picked up a few tricks of the trade, even if Henry hadn’t taught Shawn outright.

She puts the file back, smiling and satisfied with knowing she was right and Shawn does have genuine, non-psychic detective skills like she’d suspected.

… The smile fades when she starts to wonder why he pretends he doesn’t.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Carlton, can I ask you about something?”

Lassiter looks up from his paperwork and sets his pen aside. “Anything to save me from the banality of filling another report out.”

“You… met Shawn’s mom, right?”

Lassiter’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes going a little wide. “This isn’t anything about you and Spencer’s… relationship progress, is it?”

“What? … Oh, god, no! No, I’m not looking to propose or anything.”

He sags (well, relatively- Lassiter never truly sags or loosens up) with relief. “In that case, yes, she did my last psych eval.”

“Right. And you-you talked with her a lot?”

“As much as was required by the situation.”

“Was she… like Shawn, at all? It’s just that, well, even though she’s been in town three times now, I’ve never actually talked with her beyond some passing comments.” She’s barely involved with Shawn’s life- if Jules didn’t know how absent Madaline is from her son’s existence prior to dating, she’d have assumed Shawn’s mom hated her by how little they’ve actually interacted.

Lassiter thinks for a moment, looking out into the bullpen, and then looks down and picks his pen back up. “Not really, no. Closest she came was recognizing the Clint Eastwood movies I was telling her stories from. She was generally professional, somewhat soft-spoken, and somehow got me to open up without even half of the pressing nature of her son.”

Jules nods. “Did she… mention Shawn at all?”

“Only at the end, after I shared my innermost thoughts. … You know, I take it back. That was the most Spencer -like thing she did during our sessions.”

“Huh.” Jules looks down at her own paperwork. That answers nothing about why Shawn is pretending he isn’t a good detective. It can’t be his dad, Henry would be much softer and more proud if Shawn showed off that skillset, surely. Madaline seemed like a good lead…

“She was weird, though. Outside of the relation to Spencer. She didn’t even record our sessions, she claimed to have… dammit.” Lassiter frowns as he tries to remember. “Something about being able to remember everything she hears with almost perfect accuracy.”

Jules’s head snaps up. “What?”

“I thought she was bullcrapping, but I got ahold of the file and didn’t actually find any errors in the quotes she included- she must’ve tapped the room or something.”

“Carlton, go back. Perfect memory? Shawn’s mom?”

“See, I believed her about it until I learned that. With Henry’s recall, and a mom with perfect memory for sounds, there’s no way Spencer should be as airheaded as he is. Not unless his brain short-circuited from overwhelming competency it just wasn’t built for.”

“Oh my god.” Jules puts her face in her hands. “Carlton, what if that’s exactly what it is?”

“What? What are you on about?”

“Nothing, just- it’s nothing.” She fixes her ponytail and then stands up. “I’m taking my lunch break, I’ll bring you back a coffee.”

“Uh, and a danish.”

“And a danish.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Henry swings the door open with a readied scowl, but it drops away when he sees it’s Jules standing on his porch. “Oh, Detective O’Hara.”

“I’m here on a personal matter, actually.” Jules smiles a bit. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure, sure, come on in.” Henry steps aside. “I actually just grilled up a catch from this morning, if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you, that sounds great.”

Minutes later they’re both sitting at the table, Jules sees a little carving in the top of the old piece of furniture, a shaky scratching of Shawn and Gus Club right by her elbow. It makes her smile.

“So, ah, what is this about?” Henry gestures at her with his fork. “Shawn’s treating you right, isn’t he?”

“We’re great,” she assures. “I just wanted to ask a few questions about Shawn’s gift.”

Henry leans his head to the side, frowning. “I uh, can’t really help you there, Juliet.”

“Not the psychic one.”

Henry pauses, his frown deepening. He looks up at her with something… unreadable, in his eyes. “How do you mean?”

“I’m not doubting him,” Jules rushes to reassure, and it does seem to loosen something in Henry’s twisted expression, but not by much. “I just… I’ve always known Shawn was a little smarter than he let on, you know? But I’ve had reason to believe, since we moved in together, that it’s much more extreme of a mask than I thought.”

Henry puts his fork down entirely. “What’d he do?”

“Just… little things, that I used to think were maybe minor visions or feelings, but sometimes… sometimes he just says things that blow my mind. He notices way more little details than he used to let on, for example, and then today Carlton mentioned that his mom has an um…” She take sout her phone to look it up again.

“Eidetic tonal memory,” Henry fills in before she can even begin typing. “She does. I have a visual one.”

Jules looks at him, quickly tucking her phone away. “And then Carlton said that maybe Shawn struggled with handling that- well, he didn’t say it in those exact words-”

“Shawn does not struggle with his memory, except for when he wants to.” Henry’s mouth is puckered, like he’s eating a lemon dipped in sour dust. “You’re saying you think he’s faking visions.”

“Not all of them.” That’s just not possible, with everything he figures out. “But some of them, and I just- I just can’t figure out why he would fake them for some of the things he does. I mean, the other night he talked in his sleep and basically walked me through his process step-by step by accident, and then the next day he came into the station and pretended it just came to him when he reexamined the scene photos.”

“Shawn has always had an overenthusiasm for drama,” Henry starts, speaking quickly and with heavy exasperation. “He likes things to be public and dramatic as much as possible, especially when it’s an embarrassment to himself and to me.”

“That’s a little harsh, I think.”

“Trust me, it isn’t. Shawn has never wanted to embrace his full potential, Juliet- yes, he has both a visual and tonal eidetic memory, and on top of that I trained him to be a detective for his entire life. I knew, I knew he had the ability to be the best detective this department has ever seen, if he just-!” Henry stops himself and rubs one hand over his head. “But he likes living in a fantasy more. He likes slacking off, and refusing to apply himself, and avoiding responsibility, so he… indulged his psychicness, over his actual detective skills.”

“... I’m not sure he has,” Jules says carefully, watching for Henry’s reaction with a readiness to run.

Henry laughs a little, bitterly, and looks up. “He’s not a real detective, Juliet. No matter how much I want him to be, or how much he insists he is.”

“Just because he’s not on the force, it doesn’t mean he’s not a detective.”

“It might as well.”

“... You should be proud of your son, Henry. He’s helped solved a lot of cases we’d have had to let go cold without him.”

“I am proud.” He says it quickly, defensively- but not inauthentically. It occurs to Jules that this is the first time she’s heard Henry declade Pride in Shawn, in all seven years she’s known them both. “I am. Just not of his methods.”

“... Well, um, thank you, for the food, and-and the information.” Jules stands up. She’s starting to form a new theory about why Shawn hides his skills. “Do me a favor and, don’t tell Shawn about this? I just don’t want him to feel weird that I’m, well… investigating him.”

Henry shrugs and pretends to zip his mouth and throw away the key.

“Thanks.” She gives him a smile that has to be forced out, and leaves.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well I bet you can’t quote every line from The Breakfast Club without looking it up.” They’re playing a game of low-stakes wagers while they make baked mac ‘n cheese for dinner, and Shawn is losing badly- mostly because he’s only making bets that have Jules showing off her best skills.

Shawn looks at her, genuinely offended, before it smooths out into acceptance. “You’re right, I can’t. Not unless I’m given a big buzzing button, to replace the slurs.”

Jules nods. “Fair. How about you just point to me and I’ll make the noise for you?”

“Now that is a plan.”

She feels bad about tricking him again. She does. But she watches him run through the whole movie script, doing the dances, dramatically flailing around the room- and she sees something she’d been completely overlooking for years.

She laughs as he finishes it off, sweating and panting but grinning at her. “How do you remember all of that but the other day you couldn’t tell me if you’d even locked the front door?”

Well I remember important things, Jules.”

“Home security is important, Shawn.”

“When you’re not a detective dating a psychic, maybe.”

“Ha-ha. I’d still rather not come home from a date to our TV missing.”

“... True. Fair. I’ll work on it.”

“Seriously though, Shawn, sometimes your memory makes no sense to me. Do you think ADHD medication would help with some of the… little details?”

“Uh, no.” Shawn shakes his head. “No can do, tried it once and swore it off forever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it uh… stuff filtered in but didn’t filter out, you know? Like Gus at a buffet.”

“Gross.”

“It was, it was gross. Both the meds and the buffet.”

“I can’t imagine. It would be awful, just… being unable to stop things sticking around in your head.” She watches him from the corner of her eye as she pulls the dish out of the oven.

Shawn’s posture tenses a little. His mouth parts and the tip of his tongue comes to touch the middle of his top lip. He shrugs, and nods. “Yeah. What a-” he interrupts himself with a chuckle that Jules can only tell is bitter and nervous because of how long she’s known him. “What a sucky thing that’d be!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shawn, this is too much,” Jules says as he leads her, his hands covering her eyes, somewhere for a date.

“Are you kidding? You saved my life on this case, again, and you totally prevented a huge disaster with getting the detonator away from that guy.”

“And you are the one who noticed he had a detonator in the first place.”

“The spirits noticed, Jules. But I will take credit for this.” He moves his hands away from her eyes, and she gasps.

They’re in some kind of outdoor dining area, an archway of flowering vines set up above a table covered with a floral cloth and light-blue chinaware. As Shawn comes around to her line of vision she sees he’d hidden a nice suit under his usual jacket when he first told her he had a surprise planned, and his tie…

“Shawn, are you recreating the play?” It had been a particularly great date, for a variety of reasons- but mostly, because Shawn had actually managed to sit down, watch the play, and not turn it into a criminal investigation. He’d still kept up a running commentary and restless fidgeting of course- Jules would have been worried if he hadn’t- but otherwise it had been proof to her that he could take this seriously.

“Maybe.” He offers her his hand and leads her to the table.

“Shawn, these plates are exactly like the ones from the date scene, how did you-”

“I may or may not have, solved a little case for the owner of the theatre and taken payment in the form of old props.”

Jules laughs, picking up the menu on the table. “Is this the actual menus too, then?”

“Unfortunately, no, but I think Gus- I mean, I, recreated them pretty well.”

“Mmm. Let me guess, you ‘managed’ the recreation, and Gus did the work on it?”

“I also turned on the printer.”

“Basically did the whole thing yourself.” She looks over the menu again- it had been held up briefly during the play, a larger version of it shown on a projection screen behind the actors, and she wouldn’t have remembered it if asked before this moment but now, seeing the recreation, she’s almost certain it’s exact.

It had been on stage for maybe one minute, maybe less.

“How did you even remember this?”

“Psychic recreation, Jules. I traveled back to the past in ethereal form. Your future self was there too- clearly, my gifts rub off on you fifty years from now.”

She laughs again, softer. He’s lying of course- he likes to lie for the humor, and the fun, and because no-one can truly call him out on his powers because even he doesn’t understand them as he often admits. But it feels different now.

He’s not lying entirely for fun. Partly for fun, sure- but he remembered the play, he remembered the menu, because he has an eidetic memory and can’t forget things and in the days since she spoke with Henry to confirm it that fact has been haunting her.

She has trouble sleeping some nights- it’s gotten better since Shawn moved in, having someone curled around her making sleep feel safer- because of the things she’s seen, experienced, endured. She still has nightmares about the clocktower, about sitting in a hospital bed waiting to hear if she has Thornburg, about desperately hunting down clues to Shawn’s whereabouts with Gus and having no idea if they’d even find him alive by the end. The images, the emotions, the sounds… they all stick with her, forgotten until the moment they strike.

What is that like for someone with Shawn’s memory? If her memories push in unwanted, what about his? The looks into the distance, the glaze over his eyes right before he reveals something, the visceral reactions when he remembers something he doesn’t like- it breaks her heart now, knowing that at least some of those are because his mind shoves near-perfect flashbacks at him.

And with observation, she’s realized that it’s usually unwanted and not sought out- just like his visions. It’s hard to tell them apart from the outside, which just makes her even more concerned- does he even know the difference most of the time? Does it affect all of his thoughts, his imagination, the way he fills in blanks? Is that why sometimes his “visions” are so wrong, because he’s so used to them working the same way as the rest of his mind that he can’t tell what’s Him and what’s The Spirits?

“Hey.” She’s jolted out of her spiraling thoughts by Shawn reaching across the table and taking her hand. “Are you okay?”

She plasters on a smile. “Fine. Just- thinking about how lucky we are. To be here, after everything we’ve gone through.”

Shawn smiles back and pats her hand once before withdrawing his. “Lucky, or just awesome and unstoppable as a team? You, me, Gus, sometimes Lassie- we’re literally a dream team.”

“We are.” She tries to push her concerns about her boyfriend out of her mind, ordering food from a waiter wearing a costume clearly not sized for him- Shawn is always making seemingly impossible things happen, and Jules has no idea how he roped a real restaurant into this, aside from it being either a favor or a blackmail- but Shawn doesn’t blackmail people as far as she’s ever known, so probably a favor.

Shawn is impossible. More and more so every day. And the most impossible is his contradictions. She watches him fumble with his napkin, and remembers him leveling a gun with a steady confident hand on more than one occasion during a case. She listens to him recount a completely wrong story that she keeps correcting the details of, and looks at the perfect recreation of a scene from a play they saw once, months and months ago. She watches him exclaim in surprise over realizing the plates have a design of playing labradoodles at the edges, and thinks about how he saw the reeds moving in a different direction than the wind was blowing from almost impossibly far away to pick up on such a detail.

“Shawn.” She sets her fork down and interrupts his gushing about how cute the design of one of the puppies on the plate is. “I need to tell you something.”

His smiles drops, his mouth forming a small ‘o’ shape, eyes alight with panic.

“I’m not breaking up with you.” The quick assurance makes Shawn sigh and slump in relief. “And-and I want you to know before I say this that I’m not doubting you either, or your psychic abilities.”

The tension in Shawn returns. “What?”

Jules bites her lower lip. “I just… can’t pretend not to know anymore, Shawn. Because it’s been just… awful watching you do everything you can to pretend you’re not intelligent.”

“... Jules, I-I don’t-”

“I talked to your dad.” She immediately wishes she’d started with anything else, the way Shawn shuts down and clams up. “No, that’s not what I- Shawn, I know you have an eidetic memory, and that you’re probably hyperobservant, on top of being psychic.”

Shawn’s mouth is tightly pursed, eyes searching, body language just withdrawn. Jules plows forwards, swallowing thickly.

“I’ve been seeing it since you moved in. You’re so smart, Shawn, and-and your detective skills are amazing. One night you solved a case in your sleep, and you mumbled the whole thing, and I was just blown away by how you were able to come to those conclusions and connect those dots.”

Shawn looks down, briefly licking his lips. “Chief Vick never asked you to review the detective’s exam, did she?”

“... No. And, you just proved my point. You made that connection so fast, Shawn.”

Shawn shrugs. “What-what is this? Why right now? On our date?”

“Because I love you.” She reaches over, pries his hands away from his sides and holds them. “And I want to understand why. Why do you pretend you’re not one of the best detectives I’ve ever seen? Your psychic visions are one thing, Shawn, but your skills… they’re genuinely incredible.”

Shawn won’t look her in the eye, traveling his sharp gaze around anything else around them. “You know me. I just uh, love putting on a show.”

“That’s what your dad said.” She feels his hands tense in hers. “But I don’t believe either of you. Well, I believe that’s part of it, but not the full thing. … Your dad said you’ve never really embraced it.”

“Of course he did.”

“But you do, embrace it. You do every day. I watch you get completely antsy and out of your mind without a case, and I used to think it was because you were just… chaotic, and-and bored, and maybe some kind of psychic restlessness but it’s not, right? It’s because you need to be able to solve something. Because you like being smart and solving cases, but you don’t like people knowing. Why?”

“Jules…”

“I’m not asking you to bring me in on your process, or to admit to anyone else when you solve instead of divine. I’m just… trying to understand you, Shawn, because I want us to work. And for us, this, to last… we have to know each other, and I feel like I’m just learning about you all over again.”

Shawn is silent for a moment, and then takes a deep breath and meets her eyes, reluctantly. “Gus knows,” he admits. “You probably figured that, but, he does.”

Jules nods.

“Did my dad… talk about uh…”

“... He mentioned he trained you since you were young.”

“... Yeah. … I don’t know how to, uh…”

She waits. He seems… lost.

“... I learned how to properly stalk a perp through a hideout before I learned how people get sick from each other,” he says. Jules blinks in confusion until he continues, “I learned most things about being a cop before I learned everything else. And it wasn’t… he’s not proud of me, you know? When I was a kid I wanted to be just like him, and I couldn’t be, and he was disappointed in me. Eight years old, I could close my eyes and tell you the clothes anyone in the room was wearing, could tell you who was married and who wasn’t, how… how many hats, were in the room, and it didn’t matter. It was…” He scoffs. “Adequate. That’s it.”

Jules rubs her thumb along the back of his hand. “You got bitter about it.”

“Bitter’s a strong word.” It’s not- it’s just right. It’s in his voice, his eyes, his posture. But he doesn’t like these words, she knows that about him. He doesn’t like these words and these feelings, and he likes to pretend they don’t exist, and he doesn’t experience them. And how hadn’t she realized that was a problem before now? How had that just settled in her perception of him without setting off alarms that maybe something wasn’t okay?

“Shawn, you’re more than adequate. Your dad said so himself, he told me he is proud of you.”

“... He-he did?” The genuine surprise, it makes Jules’s heart shatter all over again.

“And more importantly, we’re all proud of you. Me, Gus, Carlton is even if he won’t admit it either- The Chief, she’s so proud of you and the work you do! Even when you mess it up or cause major problems, she still defends you and knows you do good work.”

Shawn’s mouth finally untightens, slightly, one corner twitching up for a brief smile. But it fades all too quick.

“What’s the rest of the reason, Shawn? It can’t just be because your dad didn’t give you the credit you deserved. You’ve been doing this for years.”

“Well, like I said Jules, it’s not as fun. You know? You-you solve something psychically and everyone is in awe! Throw in some jokes, make a scene, plus the bad guys always seem to confess way faster when they think I divined certain things, it’s just better!”

“You could do the same with your deductions! I mean it, Shawn, they’re amazing, the way you solved that case with the hit-and-run was incredible. I don’t even know how you came up with the magnets.”

He puts a finger by his temple and gives her a somewhat prodding, questioning look. She frowns at him and raises an eyebrow, and he puts his hand back down with a defeated nod.

“... I don’t want to be my dad.” Shawn shrugs. “I don’t want to be my dad, and as amazing as he is I don’t want to be Gus, and I don’t want to be Lassie, or even-even some… ideal, me. I want to be… me, Jules.”

“I’m not asking you to not be you.”

“Not on purpose, but- this is me, Jules, this is who I am. I can’t live my life with everyone expecting me to remember everything completely perfectly no matter what, or asking me about every little detail of everything all the time, or saying I should know things or be smarter than what I did or-or have to be better than that-”

It’s like when the last piece of a case finally fits into place.

“Oh.” Jules squeezes his hand, and he cuts himself off to look at her with pinched brows and still parted lips. “Shawn… that kind of pressure is insane to put on a child. I’m so sorry.”

He blinks, frozen, and Jules stands up to come to his side and kiss his forehead. She crouches down by his chair. “You, are more than a detective,” she assures. “You are funny, and fun, and sometimes you’re so stupid and reckless that it literally hurts to watch, but that doesn’t mean that what you do right doesn’t matter. You don’t have to match your stupidity to your intelligence just to balance them out.”

“That’s not what I do.”

“Isn’t it? … Oh, my god, and after-after Yin you started going more overboard-”

“Jules-”

“-because he called you out and you had to hide even more-”

“Jules.” She looks into Shawn’s eyes and they’re… glassy. Red. Watering.

“You, being good at what you do, did not put me in danger,” she says softly, reaching up to brush her thumb over his cheek. “You being intelligent will not push me away, or change what I expect of you, or make you lose anyone you care about. But it might make us lose you, if you keep trying to bury it and compensate for it.”

“... I-I…”

“You know you’ve gone too far the opposite direction a lot these last few years, don’t you?”

He’s silent.

“... I understand these feelings run very deep, and all the back to your childhood. I understand that you probably resent what made your dad tain you just as much as you resent him and his training.”

“I don’t resent-”

“Shawn.”

“... I’m… working on not resenting him. Especially after he got shot.”

“I know. But you’re not working on how you feel about yourself because of him, are you?”

“... This is… very uncomfortable.”

“I know.” She wipes away an escaped tear. “You don’t like people being able to really know you, do you?”

“I like you knowing me. And Gus.”

“Do you? Because I had to figure all of this out on my own. Shawn, are you so used to hiding what you could be to be what you want to that you don’t even know how not to hide anymore?”

He flounders, opening and moving his mouth with no words, looking at the ground to her side. “I-I don’t know,” he finally gets out.

Jules nods. “And that’s okay.” Has he ever heard that before, in response to him not knowing something? Maybe. She won’t know unless they keep talking about this. She hopes they keep talking about this.

“... But you uh…” He presses his wrist, sleeves pulled down and gripped in his palm, to his nose for just a second, and sniffs. “You’re not saying you don’t believe I’m psychic anymore?”

“No, I’m not.”

He nods. “... You know, uh… Lassie is the whole reason I even got started, on the psychic detective thing.”

“Really?”

“Really. We still have this uh, table and everything for a few more hours, if you want to hear the story.”

She recognizes it for what it is. You know now, I’m uncomfortable with it, but I’ll try to not be, for you. So she sits back in her seat and listens to Shawn describe how he figured out a case through watching the news, and when Lassie didn’t believe him about it he claimed it was a psychic vision, and then he realized that works.

It recontextualizes even more things for Jules, even more of what Shawn must feel and think, and she wonders if she’ll ever fully figure him out.

She’ll just have to spend her entire life with him, she supposes.

#I'm not super happy with the ending but I can't make anything else work any better so. Ah well.#psych #psychusa #psych usa #psych 2006 #shules #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic

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