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vroomvroomcircuit · 1 month

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You pulling in made me wish your Dad pulled out

(A/N): Thank you to @foreveralbon for workshopping this fic with me with this prompt. I don't know what to do if you weren't my muse.

Summary: Charles pissed off his neighbor with his parking. Her answers are notes taped to his car window. How can evolve more out of that?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female!reader

Wordcount: 1.6k

🏎Masterlist🏎 ________________________

(Y/N) knows that she isn’t the most professional car parker. She should never start a career as a valet for sure. After all, she needed a second attempt on her own practical test to attain her drivers license.

But there is this one neighbor of hers. She doesn’t know what he looks like, what his name is or where he even lives. But (Y/N) knows one thing for sure: He is a shit parker.

Like, he is the worst person at parking that has ever walked the world. If he could, he probably would park his oh so expensive car onto other cars. But she tries to not let that get too close to her. After all, we just talk about parking spaces and it’s not worth getting her blood pressure up over it.

But (Y/N) found her tipping point.

Her whole morning has been a shit show. Her alarm went off, but she accidentally turned it off instead of giving herself another five minutes of sleep. Five minutes turned into 45. That meant the young woman had to rush through her usual morning routine and she is 90 % sure that she put at least one clothing item on the wrong way.

But it’s ok, she is still on time. She just needs to get out of the car par-

This is where (Y/N) last thread of patience with that neighbor snaps in two like a potato chip, crisp and unclean. This person parked the front half of his car in a way that completely blocks (Y/N)’s rear end from exiting the car in a way that does not hinder the sidewalk.

It takes a solid seven minutes to get out of her spot, trying not to scratch hers or another car. Arriving a few minutes late at work because of that and receiving a reprimand from her boss is really the young woman’s last straw. On her lunch break she does some snooping on the internet and comes across a really fine find. It’s worth the price and shipping cost to her.

Actually, she can’t wait for the week it is supposed to take to arrive at her doorstep.

But the time between that particular day and the day of arrival do fly by when you use it getting madder and madder at the dickhead that is unable to park like a normal person.

The next occurrence doesn’t take long after (Y/N)’s package finally arrives. She wanted to park her vehicle in her usual spot when Mr. Ferrari already took his and her own too. How can one person be such an asshole?

(Y/N) takes one of the business card sized cuts out of her glove box and puts it in the slit of the black car’s window. Satisfied with her work she steps back into her vehicle and looks for a different spot, ending up walking several minutes back to her apartment building, having to look somewhere farther away.

Charles can see from a distance that there is a card at his car’s windowshield. Which makes him suspicious. Surely no one thinks that he wants to sell his car for cheap, so it can’t be one of those car handler’s business cards. Maybe it’s a new ruse of thieves, trying to get him to stand long enough at his car to read it and be able to steal his car. Or they are kidnappers. Anyways, he makes quick work of putting the card into his pocket and drives off at a neck breaking speed.

When he arrives at his destination, the Monegasque pulls the piece of paper out and reads it. “The way you pulled in makes me wish your dad pulled out”, he reads aloud, laughing a little to himself.

He has to admit that he might not be the best at parking. Who is he even kidding, he would win the world championship at being the worst car parker possible. But the thought of someone getting that angered over his non-existent skills.

It’s something that makes him happy throughout his entire day. Which is his main reason to try and look how much he can piss that particular neighbor off even more.

So Charles starts parking even worse. If he also starts on the habit of watching out of his window more often now, he would claim it is just a coincidence. But something in him wants to meet that neighbor.

That person that gets more and more creative with their insults. One time they called him an obstacle to evolution. The other day the business card said something along the lines of him belonging to the asshole club now.

Another, a handwritten, note asked him not to reproduce. The neighbor even left a condom for him. This made Charles laugh so loudly, that (Y/N) looked out her opened window.

She just finished one of the worst shifts she ever had since starting that job and all she wants is just a quiet evening to come down from the stress. Just the noise of the laugh is enough to set her off again.

Seeing her handsome neighbor from under her apartment pocketing the note and condom she left just minutes earlier isn’t what she expected. Watching him opening the car, sitting down and driving off is even less on her list.

It kind of destroys her world view, realizing that hot neighbor and asshole parker are the same person. In the last couple of weeks (Y/N) started to get some fun out of the mean comments she left at the black Ferrari’s window. This also could be her chance to finally make a move on him.

The young woman waits for the brunette to return with his car and stays seated on her couch for another couple minutes, for extra measure of course. After that, she leaves the apartment building with her prepared note and tapes it to the car’s rear window.

Charles on the other side stays glued to his window as soon as he enters his apartment. He finally wants to catch the person that gets angrier and angrier each time he parks in an outrageous way in the act.

Seeing the beautiful neighbor, who lives above him, sticking another note to his car makes his heart flutter in an unexpected way. For some time now he wanted to get to know her and if everything went according to his original plan, ask her out on a date. But maybe he can now use this to his advantage.

As soon as the beautiful neighbor is back in the building Charles waits an extra couple minutes before he once again makes his way to his car.

Running over his vehicle with a pep in his step, Charles is kind of excited about what insults or threats await him now. He has to admit, he actually parked pretty decently. Or as decent as he is able to. So the note has to be at least a little bit nicer than the previous ones.

“Hey neighbor. I thought instead of shitting on you and your parking skills even more, I want you to help and get better. I may not be a driving teacher, but helping you wouldn’t make your skills worse. Just text me with the times you are available at ;)” signed with (Y/N)’s name and number.

It’s kind of funny to explain to the press later how Charles met (Y/N) and became her boyfriend.

"Yeah, well I know that my driving has become sort of a, a meme,” he answers when asked a week after his announcement on instagram, “And my neighbor wasn’t too fond of it either. So she started to leave me these really funny, but also really aggressive notes at my car. One said something like I won the inconsiderate Parker Price. Which made me quite proud.” This entices a laugh out of the journalist. “Yeah, (Y/N) has a really good way with words, I fear. But in the end she offered me some parking lessons.” Charles smiles and thinks back to them.

He had texted (Y/N) immediately and they set up a date for the lesson two days away. But they still continued to text non stop and by the time they met up, it felt like they had been friends for years.

Which didn’t stop (Y/N) raging at Charles after his fifth failed attempt of parking his car according to her instructions. “I don’t believe you anymore. With the way you park you are not from Monaco but the deepest and wildest parts of Italy! Your Ferrari seems really fitting now!” This drew a laugh out of him until she graced him with the meanest look he didn’t expect her to be able to muster up.

“How about dinner as a thank you and apology?” He asked sheepishly, trying both to diffuse the situation and make his move. Why not shoot his shot right now?

Luckily the young woman agreed.

“In the end my parking skills weren’t enough to win her over, but my charm was what scored me a second date.”

And a third. A relationship. After some more funny parking jokes and him kneeling down on one knee with a ring and the promise to take lessons to keep their future family safe he even scored himself his unexpected forever.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #x reader #reader insert #charles leclerc x female!reader #x female!reader

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shikai-the-storyteller · 1 year

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A lot of people (including some QSMP members) are theorizing that the Eggs are evil or are being controlled by the Federation, but I disagree. Even if the Eggs are somehow acting as spies or agents of the Federation, I don't think it's willing and I don't think they know it. Why?

Because of Chayanne.

moti_otp on Twitter made a thread that compiled ALL of Chayanne and Richarlyson's signs from their conversation (Phil's May 3 VOD, Timestamp 3h 7m). Here's the transcript:

Richarlyson: How are you Chayanne?

Chayanne: I'M OKAY Richarlyson and you?

Richarlyson: I am great!! Happy to meet you but I am concerned about my dad's plans.

Chayanne: I'll ask you some questions is that ok?

Richarlyson: Sure :D

Chayanne: What are your dad's plans?

Richarlyson: They plan on building the biggest favela in the server :D

Starts innocently enough, right? Chayanne knows Forever is one of Richarlyson's dads, and he knows Forever is interested (a little too interested) in Phil, so it's normal that he wants more information.

But then it takes a turn.

Chayanne: Where do you come from?

[No response is given]

Chayanne: How many people do you know on this island?

Richarlyson: Uncle Fit, Roier, and Foolish Bobby and Leo and now you

Chayanne: Do you want to hurt anyone?

Richarlyson: Just bulls they broke my egg rights

[Context: they lost their first life to a bull]

Chayanne: Why I never saw you before?

Richarlyson: There was not enough Brazilian aura (the ship was late bc don't know how to drive boats)

Chayanne: How long have you been here?

[No response is given]

There are a few things we need to keep in mind here: Richardlyson isn't one of the original eggs. Like Tallulah, he conveniently happened to show up right when a new Egg was needed... but his appearance was a little too convenient.

Chayanne: give me 3 reasons why I should trust you

Richarlyson: I have style :D

Chayanne: Should I keep an eye on your dad? Did someone else arrive with you? Or are you alone?

Richarlyson: I… maybe!! But if he gets mad he would probably try to take down any mountain nearby he is dangerous for the nature

Unlike some of the other Eggs on the server who (canonically) only know a little bit about what's going on (either through osmosis, overhearing things, or getting information directly from their parents), Chayanne knows more about what's going on on the Island than most for one simple reason: Phil trusts him.

Any information Phil learns, he tells Chayanne. At first I was a little worried, but as time goes on, it seems more and more like Phil had the right idea. He wants Chayanne to be careful and be prepared for the worst, especially since Chayanne only has 1 life left ("Living Hardcore mode"), and Chayanne has taken this to heart.

A lot's going on right now and everyone's a little big suspicious, but I think Chayanne has proven where his loyalties lie.

Bonus:

Chayanne: Why does your dad wants to date my dad?

Richarlyson: I think… 2 things 1. He's a bit*h 2. He is crazy

Chayanne: My dad is happy married to my dad Missa thank you

Richarlyson: He is cheating.

#QSMP #Chayanne #Philza #Phil #QSMP Eggs #QSMP Talk #i talk #ANNNND NOW ITS TIME FOR BED #wanted to get this one out though after I saw that thread

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m-ayo-o · 5 months

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18+ Naoya x female reader: sex, aggression, degradation, ownership, choking, tummy bulge (reader's waist described as small), cervix fucking, breeding. idk who cares about Naoya but god damn i needed to write something for this meanie

Naoya Zenin, the self proclaimed righteous heir to the head of history's most dysfunctional clan.

After receiving the news that his place was taken by none other than a certain Fushiguro... you were the first to hear about it.

"Naoya... s-slow down, I'm serious-!"

But not as serious as him, where he's got you gripped and pressed up against the wooden closet in his luxurious room, in his private wing of the estate.

"Shut your damn mouth"

His hands are around the underside of your knees, pushing you against the pliant wood, with his hips doing the rest of the work to keep you suspended.

The way he's drilling into you is borderline psychotic- needless to say you're getting a little scared by the way he's looking at you.

So you try so hard to keep your mouth closed, letting out little whimpers of his name, and when you start crying... oh he gets a look in his narrow eyes that tells you you're in for it.

He drags you to the tatami floor and finally strips off his own attire fully, exposing the vast planes of his muscles to you, and he threads his fingers in your hair.

The movement is surprisingly soft, almost loving, until he arches over you and digs his cock in again, tugging harshly at your pretty strands.

"Just take my cock, ok? That's what you're good for- just lay fucking still and let me have this"

He lets go of your hair and presses a hand to your lower stomach, feeling the bulge of his cock through your itty bitty tummy.

If you know one thing about the Zenins, it's that the men are very... well hung.

And Naoya is dangerously so, pressing so far back he's starting to fuck your cervix.

His every movement is harsh, aggressive, filled with rage from the downright absurd news he heard earlier today.

And you're the one on the receiving end- of his ill temper, of his impatience to become head of his clan, his hatred of his brothers and the Fushiguro 'prodigy'.

His blood is boiling and his mood is whipped up into the most terrible, raging storm.

He all but growls in your ear, forcing you to orgasm with his sheer size. The pleasure is so acute it makes your head crash into the tatami mat and you almost lose your senses.

But he pulls you back in with a ravenous kiss, his teeth tugging your lips open and his tongue diving in immediately.

You get your bearings and bring your hands to his spiky hair, grabbing fistfuls and kissing him with near equal levels of hunger, until you have to pull away for air.

"N-Naoya- I- I think you should be.. head of the clan-"

And he looks directly into your eyes, with that resting, feline glare, and he asks, "And what would you do for me, if I were the head?"

"A-anything-" he has you wrapped around his finger now. If he were the head of this clan he would have you bound to him.

"Y-you would... own me"

That's what he needed to hear.

"Isn't that... romantic?"

He lifts a hand to your throat and orders you to cum on his dick one more time.

The ceaseless grinding of his abdomen over your clit, paired with the deep, penetrating pleasure, gets you there quickly.

Your vision starts to blur with the intensity of your high, your slick walls sucking him in over and over.

And that's when you earn his first relieved sigh of the night- the first murmur of praise.

"Girl, this pussy is so fucking tight, gonna let me cum inside?"

You gulp and swallow, stuttering and blinking with shock. You're not on birth control. And you really do wonder how many other girls Naoya is doing this with.

But your hesitation only riles him up again.

"Can't decide?"

He looks between your wide eyes and the ring of creamy white around his dick.

"Your pussy wants it. Gonna fill your pretty pussy up, you got that?"

You space out for a second, the gravity of what he's saying sinking in.

"Y-yes- Naoya take me- do it- fill me, please-"

He gives you that unfairly handsome, arrogant smirk and dips his head against yours.

"Good girl" he purrs and finally fills you.

idk what happened to me on this second read thru. regular scheduled programming will resume shortly

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #female reader #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in x reader #naoya zenin x reader #18+ content #tw: sex

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moni-logues · 1 year

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Up All Night

Pairing: JK x reader

Genre: smut/pwp, neighbours/enemies-to-well, not really lovers, not even really fuckers lmao

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: You've moved into a nice, new apartment but there's just one problem: your noisy neighbour with the voice of an angel who insists on doing karaoke in the small hours. You decide it's about time to tell him off and get a whole lot more than you bargained for.

Content: oral sex (f. receiving), protected sex (well... sort of... you'll see!), dom!JK, slight bratty reader, bit of spanking, bit of biting, overstimulation, alcohol consumption

A/N: JK said middle of the night karaoke (again!) so here we are (again!) lmao. Originally written for M @here2bbtstrash. Not edited for reposting.

* * *

The previous tenant of your new apartment had assured you that there were no issues with the apartment, the landlord, the building, the management company, or the neighbours. It was peaceful, quiet, they had said. They were clearly lying.

You pull the pillow off your head and huff, frowning into the darkness of your bedroom. You check the clock: 2am. 2am. Who does karaoke at 2am on a Wednesday?! You put the pillow back over your face and scream into it; you can’t hear it yourself over the noise of your next-door neighbour’s wailing and warbling. This has been going on long enough.

He has no set pattern, no set routine, it seems, so it’s not even as if you can plan your life around it. At weekends, you don’t mind; people can do what they like at the weekend; you’re not immune to fun! And, truth be told, he has a nice voice; at least he can actually sing well. But cranking up the karaoke machine at midnight on a weeknight is pushing it. And you’re at your limit. You’re supposed to be sleeping but your heart is hammering as anger floods your system, blood roaring in your ears, your patience so worn, it’s transparent.

It’s almost project deadline time which means a) there is more work to do than there has ever been because, obviously, everyone is running behind and no one is ready and b) very important meetings with the clients to explain why you’re behind and how, actually, it’s fine and ok and you are all good at your jobs even though nothing is ready. It would be stressful and exhausting on 8-hours a night, but you were scraping through with three or four thanks to your pop-star wannabe neighbour.

Silence. Has he stopped? Is it over?

A new song starts. The single thread with which you had been hanging on snaps and you sit bolt upright in bed. Something has to be done.

You run a hand through your hair, put on a top and some trousers, and take a deep breath before stomping out of your apartment to stand at the door of the apartment to the right. You can still hear him out here.

You thump on the door, four heavy-handed, side-fisted thumps. No answer. You try again, harder and more this time. No answer. You consider going back to your apartment for a pair of boots to try to kick the door (or kick the door in, either way) when it finally swings back.

“Oh,” is what comes out. Your brain has fallen out of your ears.

You hadn’t given much thought to what your neighbour might look like; it certainly hadn’t occurred to you that he might look like that: all tall and dark and handsome, with those huge, brown eyes, and... and... see-through pyjamas. You bite your lip as he looks at you, confused but friendly; you still dimly remember why you had been knocking at his door in the middle of the night but, somehow, you can’t get your mouth to move.

“Are you ok?” he asks, brows creasing in concern. His pink tongue pokes briefly out of his lips as he sucks his lip ring into his mouth and you are transfixed. Your poor brain is scrambling to try to get you to say anything when all your body’s attention is somewhere far south of that. You gulp.

“You are loud,” you say and groan internally at yourself. Get a grip!!! He’s just a man! He’s a man who’s keeping you up! He’s a man you came here to tell off!

Yeah, but he’s a man that looks like that.

Your eyes move from his mouth to his hands, still holding his karaoke mic. Little tattoos on his hand, bigger tattoos moving up his arm, his muscled, well-defined arm. Your heart skips a beat when you imagine that hand around your throat and that beat is taken up with a throb in your core.

“Uh, oh, the karaoke? Is it too loud?”

“Yes,” you answer weakly, your voice disappearing as he scrunches up his nose and ruffles the hair at the back of his head, bashful. You wish you had thought to put on underwear beneath your pyjamas; your nipples are hard, all too visible underneath the pale vest and you can feel your arousal between your legs. You cross one foot in front of the other and squeeze your thighs together.

You’re ashamed of yourself, honestly. You came to tell him to knock it off and put a sock in it and shut the fuck up because some people (clearly not him) have real jobs that require them to get up early in the mornings and use their brains which, in turn, require a good night’s sleep and yet, here you are, a mindless, gawping hole with cum for brains and one, singular thought resounding in your head.

“Oh, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know you’d be able to hear it. I guess it is kind of late...”

“Yeah, it’s late,” you say, able only to echo what’s already been said, not daring to say more lest that thought escape out of your mouth while your brain is unavailable.

“I’m sorry, yeah, I’ll turn it down; I’ll try to be quieter next time!” His smile is glorious; he glows and you can only bask in it.

When you don’t leave, he falters.

“Um, do-.. C-… I-… Is there something else?”

Yes, there is, your brain says to you. Yes, I want to put my mouth all over your body. Yes, I want to make you sing my name. Yes, I want to fuck you and make you cum so hard, you actually shut the fuck up. Your eyes rove his body hungrily, unsupervised by your mushy brain, and when you finally meet his gaze, the look on his face is different.

The cute, baby-faced, little cherub is gone and his eyes look darker now. He raises an eyebrow at you and you swallow a whimper.

“Do you want to come in?” he asks.

You don’t respond but he moves backwards and you follow, letting him shut the door behind you. You stand awkwardly as he goes to the kitchen and gets out two shot glasses and a bottle of soju. He opens it, pours the shots and slides one along the counter in your direction.

You’re surprised, a little unsure, but you take it and down it and he refills the glass.

“I’m Jungkook, by the way.” He raises his glass at you and takes another shot.

You tell him your name and drain your glass, moving further into the room. It’s dim, main lights off, a standing lamp in the corner, one on a corner table, and a colourful, swirling lamp casting rainbows across the walls, across Jungkook’s face, across his body... There’s a mattress on the living room floor and it’s incongruent enough that it slightly shakes you from your stupor.

“Does this apartment not have a bedroom?” you ask.

Jungkook giggles, scrunching up his nose again and he sighs.

“It does. I just... also have a mattress in here...”

You don’t ask why. You don’t think you need to.

“It’s not like that,” he says, as if reading your mind. “I just... like to lie down and the sofa isn’t comfortable really, especially if I fall asleep on it. It just- I don’t know, it made sense to me.”

“You’re kind of weird, right?”

He laughs, surprised, and then shrugs.

“I don’t know. I guess. Maybe? Is that bad?”

You shake your head and move closer, putting your empty glass down next to his. He refills them both and this time, you clink them together and he holds your gaze as you sink them.

The soju has rounded your edges and you have completely forgotten your anger, forgotten your anxiety about work, forgotten about everything else outside of these four walls. It’s just you and Jungkook – that guy that you have been ranting and raving about since you moved into this apartment a few weeks ago, that guy you hated, that guy you were going to give what for... that guy with his hand on your arm, that guy moving closer to you, so close you have to tip your head back to see his face.

“Did you really come to complain about the noise?” he asks, his voice quiet and low. His hand moves to your hip, gently fingering the waistband of your trousers.

“Yes,” you whisper back, your mouth dry, adrenaline and alcohol buzzing through your system.

“Is that all?”

His face is so close to yours now; he nudges your nose with his and you can just barely feel his lips hovering over yours. You intend to close your eyes for just a second, just a second to catch your breath, but he whips it from you, closing the minute distance between you, his lips on yours, so soft, so sweet.

Your body responds before your mind has registered what’s happened. One hand rakes through his hair, the other gripping his arm; he pulls your whole body closer, wrapping an arm around you, holding you tight. He has your bottom lip in his teeth, letting go to slip his tongue into your mouth. He moans and you’re suddenly brought to your senses. You jump back and shake your head.

“No, wait, no! I did actually come here to complain about the noise! That is all! That is all! I didn’t even know who you were or what you looked like when I knocked on the door.”

Jungkook chuckles darkly.

“Yeah that much was pretty clear.”

“What does that mean?”

“I saw your face when I opened the door. Not much good at poker, are you?”

He grins and you want to hate him again but he’s so cute even when he’s being smug and condescending.

“Is this how you get away with it?” you ask. “You just look like that and people let you do whatever you want, is that how it works?”

He looks taken aback, almost offended.

“What do you mean? Get away with what?”

“With this!” You fling an arm out towards the karaoke machine and gesture with the other to the microphone sitting on the kitchen counter. “It’s 2am, Jungkook! On a Wednesday! And you’re screaming into a microphone! Who does that?!”

You’re relieved that your anger is back. He is heady and intoxicating and the anger is refreshing – not to mention that getting dicked down by him will do absolutely nothing to solve the actual problem at hand.

“I didn’t know you could hear it!” He’s raising his voice now, too. “No one has ever complained before!”

“Yeah! Because you look like that!”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means my brain dribbled out of my ears the second I saw you and I forgot that I fucking hate you-!”

“You can’t hate me! You don’t know me!”

“I know you enough! I know your favourite songs! And I know that I can’t fucking sleep because of you! So, I got out of bed to come over here and tell you to just fucking shut the fuck up, and then you opened the door and you’re so ridiculously good-looking that I forgot! I fucking forgot that I’m livid with you!”

“Well, I can’t help what I look like. It’s not my fault you’re attracted to me.”

“If you were a normal person who didn’t go karaoke in the middle of the night then I may never have met you, so it might not be your fault that you look like that but it’s definitely your fault that I had to find out about it.”

“So, you’d rather have never met me?” He moves closer to you again, looking down at you, licking his lips, catching the bottom one in his teeth. “Really?”

You can’t say yes. You can’t say no. You want him to just take you, to shatter the tension between you and fuck you into next week. You can’t tell him that... Can you?

“I didn’t say that, exactly,” you respond, your voice thick, your heart trapped in your throat.

“Then what are you saying?” His body is close against yours now, his hands on your skin beneath your top, sending sparks flying, a shiver down your spine as he presses his lips to your jaw.

“For fuck’s sake, Jungkook,” you growl. “You can’t just fuck your way out of this.”

“No? Can I at least try?”

He pushes his hips against you and he’s hard. He kisses your neck, licking and sucking, drawing tiny gasping breaths from your reluctant mouth. As one hand moves around and he gently pinches your nipple, you moan.

“Fine, fine,” you answer. “But this had better be really good.”

He pulls back and grins, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Oh I’m not worried about that.”

He slips his hands down and lifts you suddenly, carrying you with apparent ease to the mattress on the floor. Then they’re immediately at the waistband of your trousers, pulling them down your legs, throwing them across the room.

“You’re going to fuck me on the floor? Don’t I deserve better than that?” you ask, resting on your hands.

He looks up at you, his hands on your ankles. He tugs quickly and you fall back with a light squeal. You raise your head and he’s crawling over you, his eyes black.

“I’ll fuck you on the actual floor if you’re not careful,” he warns, voice low and steady, sending a spark straight to your core.

“Is that right?”

You know that he could rip you in half without breaking a sweat but you don’t want to make it easy for him. He chuckles and rolls his eyes, shaking his head so that his hair falls forward and tickles your face.

“Are you always such a brat?”

He takes your jaw in his hand, resting his full weight on the other, and grips it tightly. He considers you for a moment: your pupils wide, mouth open, breathing heavy. Then he loosens his grips, strokes a thumb over your cheek.

“Why don’t you try being a good girl?”

“Fuck you.”

His hand snakes to your neck, wraps around your throat.

“Is this ok?” he asks quietly and you nod fervently.

“Then why don’t you try saying that again.” The difference in his voice sends more arousal pooling at the crux of your legs. He’s commanding, authoritative, in charge. You’re already aching, desperate for him.

“F-”

As you go to speak, his hand squeezes hard on your throat, cutting you off. His eyes bore into yours and he lets go.

“Sorry, what was that?”

As you open your mouth to reply, he squeezes again. You kick your legs and squirm beneath him even after he lets go. He lowers his face to yours and kisses your cheek, whispering in your ear.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

His hand squeezes once more then lets go your throat and travels down your torso. He kneels back and hooks the hem of your vest under his thumbs.

“If you’re a good girl,” he tells you, lifting your top over your head and discarding it, “Then I’ll be good to you...” He presses kisses against your throat and chest and he sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling it with his tongue and you can’t stop your hips bucking below him. Releasing you with a pop, he continues. “But if you insist on being a brat...” He kneels up and gives a swift, sharp slap to your pussy. You gasp and his face switches back, cute and open and concerned; he mouths the question ‘are you ok? Is this ok?’ and you nod, nod, nod.

“Yes, yes, please.” Like a doll with a ring-pull in her back, it’s all you can say.

“So tell me,” and it’s authoritative Jungkook back again, “Are you going to be good or are you going to be a brat?”

He sits and waits for your answer, slowing unbuttoning his shirt, keeping his eyes on you. You don’t know the answer. You just know you want him, desperately; the need in your centre is so strong, it’s almost painful; your walls are fluttering, clenching around nothing; arousal almost pouring out of you onto this stupid mattress on the floor. You’re shameless with desire. You’ll do anything, anything to have him inside you.

“I asked you a question. Are you going to be a good girl or are you going to be a brat? Don’t make me ask a third time.” His voice is sharp and he stands to take off his trousers and boxers.

“Fuck,” you gasp when he’s finally naked, his prick standing proud before him. Your mouth waters and your pussy floods at the sight. “Good, good, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.” The words tumble from your mouth in a rush and you sit up, about to get to your knees when he pushes you back down. “I’ll be good, I swear,” you whisper. “Just please-”

“Please what, princess?” He’s sweet now, indulgent, his lips back on your neck as his fingers trail down your stomach.

“Please touch me.”

“Touch you? Oh, but I am touching you. Look-” He gestures with his free hand to where his other dances his fingers across your stomach. Kneeling, he pulls your legs apart, settling them over his legs, stroking your thighs.

“No,” you whine, rolling your hips as if there is anything there to roll them against. You can feel a bead of sweat roll down your spine as Jungkook hitches you higher, pulling you closer so that you can feel his cock rest against your clit. You whine again but he’s holding you so tight that you can’t move.

“No? No? So you don’t want this?” He presses his thumb into your swollen, throbbing clit and you keen, grasping the blankets in your fists.

“Please, yes, please, that.”

“You like that?” He moves his thumb in slow circles and you think you might explode with need. You’re so wet and so sensitive and your head is swimming as your body tingles all over, as if the surface of your skin is sparkling water, bubbles rising and popping, goosebumps sprinkled from top to bottom.

“Yes, yes- ahh, yes, fuc- yes.. But-”

“But?”

“More. Need more.”

Jungkook sighed and removed his hand.

“No,” you cried, trembling with desire. “Please.”

“That’s right, princess, you ask nicely now.”

“Please, please touch me,” you beg, unravelling with unmet desire. “Please, Jungkook-, hngh-”

His thumb is back and insistent now and you moan as he finally slips two fingers into your wet, aching cunt.

“Fuck, Jungkook!”

“Mm, yeah, I like it when you say my name like that.”

“Jungkook, mm- fuck... Faster.. Please.”

“As you wish.”

Pleasure coils tight inside you as he hooks his fingers inside you, pressing hard against your front wall. Your walls begin to clench against his fingers and your muscles tighten as he brings you to the edge.

“Please, please, please, please, please, please...” You repeat over and over, your mind barely present, only conscious of your climax, closer and closer, so, so close until Jungkook stops. “What? What?” You look at him, wild-eyed and he grins like snake. “Why?” You sound petulant, you can hear it yourself, but you were so close and you need it so badly.

“You’re just so wet, princess. I don’t think I can go another second without tasting you.”

You expect him to curl forward, shuffle towards the edge of the bed, and bring his mouth to you, but he wraps his arms and around your waist and hoists you upward, bringing your burning core to him. You’re virtually upside-down, his cock pressed against your back. Keeping one arm tight around you, Jungkook slips his other hand under your opposite shoulder making sure you don’t slip, and then he kisses your thighs and your puffy outer lips and he licks the crease of your hip and you’re whining, squirming, his hot breath against you torturous, tantalising.

The blood is rushing to your head and your vision swims as he finally puts his lips where it matters. He licks through your folds and you moan, free and wanton, your breath hitching, voice breaking when he flicks your clit, then seals his lips around it.

“Fuck! Fuck! Ah-.. Jesus- fuck.”

You can barely move as he’s holding you so tightly, so securely as he sucks hard at your tight pearl, as he licks through your folds, as he pushes his tongue inside you, drinking you greedily, hungrily, insatiably. He moans and it sends a shiver down your spine. You’re dizzy but you don’t know if it’s being upside down or if it’s being licked and sucked and slurped at as if Jungkook’s life depends on it.

He doesn’t move his mouth from you, moaning and groaning, sending vibrations through your core until you’re light-headed. You’re back on the edge as he sucks at your clit, the soft pad of his tongue rubbing over you; your walls are clenching, your hands are shaking, your thighs trembling as pressure builds. You glance up at him: eyes closed in concentration, brows together frowning into you, tiny hairs sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“Fuck, Jungk-”

Your orgasm takes the rest of his name from your mouth, replacing it with a long, loud whine. Even he can’t stop you squirming as pleasure pours over you. Colours and patterns dance in front of your eyes as your whole body starts to shake, toes curling, legs squeezing Jungkook’s head. But he doesn’t stop, mouth still moving against you, drinking you in like you’re an oasis and he’s been wandering the desert for forty nights.

“Jungkook!” you gasp, fingernails finding his thigh, grasping, digging. “Jungkook!”

He moans in response but doesn’t detach and you think you might die if he keeps going, don’t know if you can take anymore. You feel floppy; you feel drunk; you feel giddy and hysterical. He releases your clit and you gasp, relieved, but he hasn’t finished. He licks through your folds, wanton and in search of more.

“Jungkook, I can’t,” you whine, your voice almost breaking, tears almost pricking in your eyes.

“Be a good girl.” His voice is deep, dark, liquid as he speaks, his lips still touching your skin. It makes you shiver. It makes your empty pussy throb. “Just be a good girl, ok?”

He hoists you up another inch and your head falls between his legs, fully and completely upside-down now. You arch your back against him and his nose bumps your clit, shooting a jolt right through you. His mouth is moving slower now and you’re grateful for the reprieve but then he’s back on your screaming bundle of nerves and, no, that’s you screaming. You screaming his name, screaming yes and screaming nothing comprehensible. You feel feral, no longer human but animal, no longer aware of anything but his mouth and your cunt. Your nails dig into the flesh of his stomach but he merely growls against you, holding you tighter. You feel like you’re trapped in a riptide, rolling and swirling and tumbling, barely breathing, choking on his name in your mouth.

He pulls another orgasm from you, a shuddering, thunderous climax the likes of which you have never before experienced. Everything pulls tight like an overstretched elastic band and then it’s snapped and you’re free-falling, a wailing cry sounding far off in your ears, as if you’re out of your body. Jungkook gently shuffles backwards, lowering you to the mattress, where you lie, panting, your head spinning, every part of you feeling as if you were on another planet. Your body feels heavy and weightless at the same time, limbs like lead somehow floating above you.

He kisses your feet and your ankles and your calves. He kisses your knees and your thighs and your stomach. He kisses the tips of your fingers and the palms of your hands and the crooks of your elbows. He kisses your shoulder and your neck and your ear and your cheek. He wipes the hair from your brow and gently turns your face towards him. His face is swimming in front of you as the blood still slowly levels out in your body.

“Are you ok?” he whispers, those huge, dark eyes bright and shining. The swirling colours of the kaleidoscopic lamp pass over his face and you think you might just be dreaming. He wipes at his lips and his chin, but he’s still sticky and shiny with your arousal all over him. “You ok?” he repeats.

A sound that isn’t a word leaves your lips and you frown and try again.

“Tem-… bu-… uh... Fu-…"

He giggles and kisses your cheek again, pressing his nose against you.

“You want some water?”

You can only nod as you wait for your body to come back into itself, as you wait for your brain to pick itself back up off the floor. When he brings the glass over to you, he has to help you sit up; you lean heavily against him as you gulp down the full glass in one. You gasp as you finish, water trickling down your chin and onto your chest. You lean your head back on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“I... I...” You start but you don’t know what to say.

“Mm? You what?” Jungkook’s hand starts to stray, gently rubbing your side; his mouth connects to your neck again and your head falls to the side. “You were such a good girl,” he purrs and you are thrilled by the praise.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so, so good for me, princess. Think you’re ready for me now?”

“Oh...”

It’s not that you don’t want it. It’s that you can barely sit upright without leaning against him, your legs all jelly and your spine a column of paper.

“It’s ok, you can say no,” he reminds you, stroking your leg.

“No, no, -”

“That’s ok.”

Jungkook shuffles behind you, laying you against the sofa while your brain strives to catch up.

“No, no, no I mean, no, I don’t mean no I-. No, YES. Yes, I mean yes.” You twist so you’re facing him and press your palms his chest – soft, firm, warm – and push yourself up. “Yes, I mean yes. Please, please fuck me.”

He grins and takes your face in his hands.

“You’re so cute when you beg.”

He kisses you, still so soft, still so sweet. Still so strong: he scoops you up in his arms and lifts you so you’re straddling him, without breaking the kiss. He sucks on your tongue and you moan, your body awakening once more. You slip your hand down and find his cock, hot and hard between your bodies, the tip slick with precum. You twitch at the thought of him inside you as your fingers don’t quite wrap all the way around him. Jungkook moans as you spread the precum around his head, thumb gently bothering the soft underside.

“Fuck, one sec.”

He sets you back down on the mattress and stumbles hastily to another room, returning with a condom in his hand. He rips it open as he kneels back down in front of you and then slips it over his tumescent length.

“You still want this?” he asks, as if the greed and desire weren’t plain in your face.

“God, yes. Please.”

“You’re so needy!” He laughs and presses a firm kiss to your lips. “That’s just how I like you, princess.”

From your kneeling position, he hooks his arms under your thighs, spreading them wide, lifting and pressing you against the edge of the sofa.

“This ok? Comfortable?”

You honestly can’t even tell. All you can feel is the deep, heavy drag of desire in your core, the persistent, empty ache of Jungkook not inside you. You nod, dumbly, and swallow as he runs the head of his cock through your soaked wet folds before pressing into you.

Oh, he’s big. He’s slow and careful as he stretches you out and you whimper, not because it hurts but because it feels so, impossibly good.

“Tell me how it feels,” he commands.

“So big,” you pant. “So good.”

“Tell me if you ne-”

“No, don’t stop.” Your hands grip his shoulders and you look him in the eye. “Do not stop. Please.”

He doesn’t stop until there’s no more left to give and he holds you there, stuffed full. You wait a moment and then another but he doesn’t move. You try to roll your hips against him but you’re held fast between the sofa and Jungkook and he is like a statue, unmoving.

“Jungkook?”

You try to catch his eye but he’s looking down at your body with his lip between his teeth.

“Jungkook.”

“What, princess? What do you need?”

He looks at you with a grin and you realise he’s just teasing you, waiting for you to beg some more. You huff and pout and look away, refusing to meet his eye again. You cross your arms over your chest.

“Uh oh,” he says, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. “Uh oh, is my good girl sulking? Have I spoilt you, princess? Given you too much of what you want already?” He grips your hair tightly and pulls your head back. “Have I created a brat out of you?”

“No,” you reply, still petulant and pouting.

“No? Then where’s my smile? Where’s my ‘please’?”

You look at him, bottom lip still jutting, and he raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, that’s a real shame...” He starts to pull out of you, as slowly as he went in and you bite the inside of your lip to keep quiet. “I was really looking forward to fucking you, but we don’t reward bratty behaviour in this house...” As his tip reached your entrance, you grabbed his arms, no longer pouting, your eyes pleading. “Hm?” he asked. “What’s that?”

You growled and rolled your eyes and dropped your head back, taking a deep breath before snapping it back.

“Please,” you spit but Jungkook shakes his head and falls from you.

“No, no, that’s not how we ask nicely, is it?”

He drops you and you flop onto the mattress but before you can react, he’s lifting you up again, turning you around, bending you over the sofa. He presses himself against you and the two of you moan in unison. Then he smacks you hard on your right glute and you gasp.

“You ok?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s what you get for being a brat.” He smacks you hard again in the same spot and you whimper. He licks over the sting and cracks you on the other side.

“Jesus!” you exclaim.

“Too much?”

“No, no, keep going.”

Another smack.

“Keep going what?”

“Keep going, Jungkook.”

And another.

“Keep going what?”

Seconds pass in tense, exhilarating silence. Your heart skips in your chest at the thrill of it, of denying him what he wants, of what he might do in return. As the seconds tick by, another and another and another, Jungkook’s hand sneaks around in front and he grabs your clit sharply and twists.

“Oh Jesus, fuck!” you cry, your head dropping onto the sofa.

Jungkook’s lips are back at your ear.

“Is it too much?” His voice is so gentle and the contrast makes you laugh.

“No, no, it’s not.”

“Ok, you say when, though ok?”

You nod and he kisses the shell of your ear.

“Please, keep going,” you say and he laughs.

“See? So, you do know how to ask nicely, eh?” He leaves a trail of kisses down your spine and rolls his hips, his dick sliding through your wet folds so that you moan. “Come on, then, princess, enough being bratty. Ask nicely for what you want.”

But you don’t want to ask nicely. Not anymore. You push your hips back against him and his hands come down, squeezing them tightly, fingers pressing hard into the skin, the muscle.

“Just fuck me, Jungkook,” you growl.

“Eh?”

You turn your head to look at him, dark, determined.

“I said, just fuck me.”

He smirked and sucked his teeth with a shake of his head.

“What a rotten princess you are, so spoilt, so quickly.”

He bends down and takes a hard bite of your bum cheek. He doesn’t let go, his teeth sinking deeper into your soft flesh as you whimper. You whimper even as fresh arousal pools inside you and your walls flutter. They flutter around nothing as you try to push back or wiggle your hips or get him to move. You hear him growl, your skin still between his teeth, and then he drops you and licks broadly over the clear, dark indentations.

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

“Yes?”

You don’t want to beg but you are desperate for him back inside you. He can bite you and smack you and god knows what else but you need him to fuck you. You look at him over your shoulder and he smiles sweetly at you, expectantly. He plays with your folds and toys with his dick at your entrance, just waiting. You wish you could hold back the moan in your throat, wish you could stop your core clenching, wish you could just get him to fuck you.

“Come on, princess,” he says, his voice quiet, encouraging, even kind. “You can tell me...”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh, I know that,” he laughs, running a hand up to your hair, tangling it there and then tugging backwards, lifting you off the sofa by it so your head rests against his collarbone. “And I,” he growls, letting your hair go and running a soft hand across your breasts, “just want you to ask nicely,” his voice sweet and soft again. These switches are giving you whiplash and you don’t know which Jungkook you want more. Any will do, you think, but then your cunt throbs at the thought of your flesh in his teeth and your resolve hardens.

“I won’t,” you say through gritted teeth.

“You won’t?” He moves backwards and your bodies are no longer touching. He continues to move and the space between you grows, causing you to shiver without the heat of him there. He sighs dramatically. “This is very disappointing. Turn around.”

You do as you’re told without a second thought and when you’re facing him, he’s kneeling and grinning at you.

“What am I going to do with you?” he muses, an evil twinkle in his eye that you are sure is not just the swirling colours of the lamp. He reaches out towards a side table and your eyes widen when you see what’s in his hand. He turns his back to you briefly, pressing buttons on a small remote. You can’t believe your ears when music fills the room and Jungkook brings the mic to his mouth.

“Any requests, princess?”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fic #bts #mmm repost

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kissingghouls · 4 months

Note

SOFT PROMPTS ok ok...how about "you're shivering. here, take my jacket" with Mary x Reader ORRrrrr Secondo x Reader?? I can't decide

beloved anon. you were so right about this 💖✨

Winter Chill - Mary Goore x Reader

no warnings, relatively fluffy, kinda soft Mary, he/they Mary, first kiss, 2300 words

-x-

“He’s a dick,” a familiar voice states behind you. It’s followed by the tell-tale sound of spit hitting the pavement.

You’re not exactly surprised to find the silhouette of Mary Goore appearing like a ghostly apparition in the dim light of the porch. It was in their nature to just show up like that—especially when there was something to be said about your ex—but you were surprised by the lack of singsong taunting in their tone. Mary didn’t usually hold back when it came to voicing their distaste for him.

It’s obvious from their presence that they’d seen the confrontation inside—a fact that makes you feel slightly embarrassed as he shuffles around in the dark. The rotting wood of the aptly named Chaos House creaks under his boots, the thick soles landing with a thunk! thunk! thunk! as he stomps down a few steps and drops next to you. They shoot you a crooked, toothy smile and gently nudge you with an elbow. “But you knew that already.”

“You’re a little late for an ‘I told you so,’ Goore,” you warn with a sigh. The breakup between you and that asshole was well beyond old news. There was next to no way Mary hadn’t heard and probably celebrated by now. Gossip travels fast in small towns, even faster in small social circles like yours.

“Aw c’mon,” he groans, arching his back to stretch his long legs like a cat. He pats down the pockets of his tight jeans and produces a pack of smokes and an old lighter. With a cigarette tucked between his teeth, he draws his knees back up before turning to you. “I’m not here for that.”

“Why are you here, Mary?” you ask softly.

Inside, the party swells with sound. A cluster of people all shouting to be heard while a metal band starts their set in the basement. It’s a mix of rumbling bass and the crack of drums with the occasional scream. The noise is just as normal as the hint of stale beer and body odor that permeates the old house. It’s as natural as the stains and cigarette burns on the weirdly orange tinted carpet that covers the stairs. Neither of you bat an eye as cymbals crash under your feet.

Mary flicks the lighter over their thigh, sparking it to life and drawing the flame toward their lips. They breathe deep, inhaling the toxic burn before leaning back on their elbows and letting out a puff of smoke. “To offer you a ride home.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you turn to the metalhead sprawled on the porch next to you. Pale, bony knees jut out from the holes in his jeans. The trademark leather jacket covered in bright patches and studs hangs loose around his skinny frame as he reclines against the steps. Underneath their battle jacket the faded, well-loved t-shirt older than either of you is barely held together by more than a few threads. A shock of dark hair styled haphazardly hangs over those pretty green eyes that hadn’t moved from your face since he sat down.

It was a well-known fact that Mary couldn’t be trusted to operate a vehicle. Every time they’d tried had ended in varying degrees of disaster—one of which included a cliff.

“You can’t drive,” you remind him through a laugh.

“No, but I got you to smile.” He sounds triumphant, proud almost. “You got a good one, you know?”

“What?”

“Your smile. It’s…I dunno.” He shrugs and waves his hand through the air. “It’s…nice.”

“Goore,” you level. “Are you drunk?”

They shake their head and take a long drag. The orange glow of the embers hits just right, illuminating the places on his face painted white. The shadows are darker, the blurry edges of makeup smeared into the hollow of his cheeks look more intense in the dark like this. It’s a look you’ve appreciated once or twice before at other house parties or in the dim light of the local dive bar while you pretend not to notice how they only charge you for every other drink they slide your way.

Your heart skips as he grins up at you, dried fake blood cracking on his face.

“I’m sober as a judge, sweetheart,” they tell you as they sit up, a well-practiced smirk playing on their lips.

There’s a tightness in your chest again, a feeling so familiar around Mary. While this thing between you started a long time ago, you never took it too seriously. After all, you couldn’t take Mary seriously half the time. So, the teasing and light flirting never really meant anything and that was how the two of you had operated for as long as you could remember. It never went further than that because neither of you ever seemed to be single at the same time.

But that didn’t mean you hadn’t found yourself a little curious from time to time.

The rumor mill spun both ways when it came to Mary Goore. Some days the story was they were some delinquent hellbent on burning the entire town to the ground. Other days there were tales of kindness that extended as far as feeding the feral street cats that lived in the alley behind their apartment. He was a loyal friend to the point of violence on more than one occasion, but everyone who dated them considered them a caring partner despite their apparent fear of commitment.

In your estimation, Mary was no different than anyone else—not all good or all bad, just another human trying to get by. When it came down to it, you’d rather have Mary in your corner than not. The fact that they were out here with you now, well, that just meant they already were.

“As a judge, huh?” you ask and lean forward to pluck the burning cigarette from his fingers. His eyes follow your movements as you set the filter between your lips and take an easy drag before offering the thing right back to him.

“Careful darlin’,” he warns, fingers brushing yours as he accepts. “These things are worse for you than I am.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

They raise an eyebrow, half-expecting you to follow up with a “just kidding” or a “not like that.” When you don’t their composure slips, and they struggle to hide a look of surprise mixed with a little bit of excitement. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, soft as the stubble poking through his makeup.

Those green eyes sparkle in the moonlight, watching as you stand and stretch your arms over your head. The wind picks up, carrying the undercurrent of much colder weather slowly moving in. It should be snowing by now, but the air is just a mist of wet fog soaking into everything without the beauty or smell of rain. The lawn is soft under your feet, little more than an oversaturated lump of clover and weeds that fails to connect the muddy patches from one end of the yard to the other. It’s all still as green as Mary’s eyes somehow, still thriving and you’re standing outside in a t-shirt next to Mary Goore in December.

The end of the cigarette whips past you and lands in a shower of orange sparks near the driveway. Mary leans up, the last little bit of smoke curling from their lips as the hole in the left knee of their jeans rips loudly.

“Aw, fuck,” Mary whines helplessly, leg now exposed halfway to the calf.

“C’mon,” you offer with a soft smile and hold your hand out to a guy who might or might not be trouble.

“Where are we going?” they ask, wiping their hands on their jeans as they stand.

“No idea,” you admit with a shrug. “Somewhere else.”

“Alright then,” Mary agrees with a grin and takes your hand.

You make it to the end of the block before you realize neither of you have let go. Their hand is warm and much larger than yours, their palm an odd mix of soft in places and calloused in others. For every step he takes, you take two to keep up though there’s no real destination in sight. Maybe you should have thought it through a little better, but being around Mary always made your brain a little fuzzy. And maybe that was why you’d avoided situations like this before—because the fear of something was too great. The risk of Mary was like jumping into a body of water completely blind. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Thrilling. Incredible.

The two of you walk east toward the river, passing patrons on the main drag crawling from one bar to another. A few toss looks your way, judgements whispered under their breath as they hurry by. If Mary notices, they hide it well. Their shoulders never seem to sag with the weight of what everyone else thinks you and him should be.

At the crosswalk you wait to pass and he rather impressively digs out another cigarette, lighting it one-handed. You’re unsure of how many cars pass under the stoplight or how many times the two of you miss your chance to cross, but you’re acutely aware of the way Mary looks wrapped in a haze of smoke and the city lights.

It’s not bad.

“Do I have something on my face?” they ask with an eyebrow raised, using the hand holding yours to pull you closer.

“Yeah, actually,” you respond playfully.

He frowns and pretends to swipe at his face. “Better?”

“Eh, your face is still there,” you tease with a shrug.

He tugs you even closer. “Don’t act like you don’t like my face, sweetheart.”

“It’s ok. I guess.”

“Just ok?”

It’s a question you barely hear. It’s not the rush of traffic or the random people walking past, but your heart hammering away in your ears that nearly deafens you. Warmth radiates off Mary like he’s the fucking sun. You know because he’s so close, close enough that you catch a hint of cologne under the nicotine and leather. And god those eyes, with them fixed on you like this you spot the soft flecks of gold they hide from everyone else.

You nod carefully. “It’s a good face. Ten out of ten. Would look again.”

He breaks first, averting his eyes as he struggles not to laugh. “I guess I better stick around so you can keep looking.”

“I appreciate the effort, Goore.”

“Anything for you, darlin’.”

You shake your head and let the moment fade as you pull them across the street.

Mary leads now, their other hand placed carefully at your hip as they guide you down the wet stairs. It’s dead quiet by the water. There’s never much of a crowd on the riverfront but this time of night it’s completely deserted. Traffic roars across the bridge overhead, a stream of bright red brake lights stretching across the river. You feel like you’re in another world entirely, tucked against Mary Goore of all people. You stand still, watching the gentle current roll over the rocky shore and pretend not to notice the way he moves closer and closer.

Winter arrives and surrounds the two of you within seconds as the wind picks up again. A blast of frigid, arctic air that smells like snow bites at the exposed skin of your arms. It’s cliche but as tears sting your eyes, you can’t help the chill that seeps into your bones.

“Huh. I think it’s gonna snow.”

Mary’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, barely more than a whisper. It’s a sharp contrast to all those times you’d seen them growl their way through songs about blood and corpses, but it makes the butterflies stir in your stomach all the same. Maybe there was something behind all those free drinks and flirty words. Something different.

The thought sends a shock through your body, the electric hum of realization. You like Mary.

He shifts slightly, turning his body toward yours. “Shit, you’re shivering. Here, take my jacket.”

Before you can say anything, they’ve shrugged out of the thing and wrapped you in soft, worn leather. You hide your hands in the sleeves, but they itch to reach out, to pull him in. The lining is still warm and it’s heavier than you expect, but none of it matters as Mary’s gaze falls to your lips.

But they don’t kiss you. At least, not in the way you thought they might.

“Goore?” you ask as they pull away slightly.

“Uh-huh?”

“Did…did you just…kiss my forehead?”

“Yep.”

“Instead of like…actually kissing me. You kissed my forehead?”

“Well, I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, but I’m not just gonna put out for you because you expect me to.”

“Oh my god,” you huff with an annoyed roll of your eyes. “You—hmph!”

Mary cuts off your complaints by grabbing the lapels of the jacket and smashing his lips against yours. Your arms loop around their neck, pulling them as close as you can. There’s a warm hand pressed to the small of your back, under the jacket and under your t-shirt. Mary’s other hand tangles in your hair as they break the kiss to speak.

“Sorry darlin’,” they whisper. “You’re just so fuckin’ cute when you’re annoyed. I can’t help it.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Goore.”

It’s rough and brash when his mouth claims yours, and you think Mary kisses like he plays guitar—aggressive with a practiced ease. He nips at your bottom lip, practically melting against you when you let out a little whine in response. His tongue brushes yours and he tastes of smoke and something sugary you can’t quite place. It doesn’t matter anyway because your senses are filled with all things Mary and you’re content to keep them that way.

“Mm, I always knew you’d be trouble, sweetheart,” they groan as you press your body against theirs.

“Aw Goore, do you have a crush on me?”

“Yeah, actually. For so fucking long,” he admits freely.

You grin and lean up to kiss him again as tiny snowflakes begin to collect in his hair.

#anon prompt #my writing #mary goore x reader #mary goore fanfic #reader insert #x reader #repugnant fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction

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iguessthisisanewobsession · 1 year

Note

This is in response to the "Jason pretending to be/gaslighting himself into actual pregnancy" thread.

What exactly is Alfred’s and Bruce’s reaction to the…news? Like, how did they get told? Did the batkids (-Todd) sit them down, bring the board out, and try to quickly explain the ‘hey your son/grandson may be pregnant, yes it’s possible, halfa biology is a fun thing isn’t it?’ and all that jazz?

Or did Jason announce it randomly in the middle of chaotic family dinner and acted like he didn’t say anything odd, or did he bring it up offhandedly before waking away and ignoring any calls for him to return

Lmao maybe in a different world Jason chooses to announce it during a gala, Peeta ‘if it weren’t for the baby’ Mellark style, and then just let hell ascend.

Or did Danny break it by just simply asking Jason how the baby was

The first time the other boys breakdown.

It’s decided that Jason would tell Alfred at his own time and so they focus on Bruce.

They sit Bruce down in the cave and lay out their evidence the best they can.

And when the others come in later to suit up Bruce tries to bench Jason and that does not go down well.

A full screaming match that hasn’t happen since Jason’s switch, that ends with Bruce just shouting,

“I don’t care what happens out there right now, I can’t allow a pregnant person to put themselves in danger!”

And Jason just freezes in place, the cave is dead silent. Half of the clan is just looking on in confusion. The other boys are refusing to look in their general direction. Stephanie folds herself in half with a laugh and Alfred just raises an eyebrow.

Jason’s has to catch himself on the table to stop himself from falling over from the stitch in his side.

~~~~~~~~~

The second time is after the Desiree incident he goes to talk to with Alfred alone.

The what ifs were keeping him up, he needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge him.

They sat together under the island lights with tea and Alfred gave him a gentle hug .

Jason admitted that he didn’t know why he was crying anyways. It was his choice, he knew it was for the best.

Maybe it was just how bad he’s been feeling for the last week.

Alfred doesn’t judge and reassured Jason that he was allowed to feel such ways.

~~~~~~~

The third time it was real casual, so casual in fact that they others just through he was joking.

When the others realized he had completely kicked the last of his smoking habit and just said “for my baby” they thought he had quit during the prank.

When he declined a drink with Bruce and Dick he just said “baby” and they assumed he didn’t feel like it and was joking.

When Jason said he wasn’t going to patrol for awhile they assumed he was taking a well deserved vacation.

It wasn’t until he was a good four months along did they take a hint.

Dick, poking Jason side jokingly: Man little wing, not so little now. I know you’re on vacation and all that but you’re starting to let yourself go.

Jason not looking up from his writing: Gee Dickhead, thanks. Not like I’ve been growing your first nibling or anything.

Dick:…. What?

Jason: you know? My baby? Little thing making a mess of my guts rn?

*The others tuning in at the breakfast table*

Jason: guys, seriously. Did none of you take me seriously?

Damian: it was hard to after the last time

Jason: why’d you think I’ve sat out all the breakouts the last two months???

Tim: I just thought you were being a dick man.

Jason: Thanks. Old man, you good? You have been staring ahead for quite some time.

Bruce, mildly choked up: hmmm

Jason: ok good anyways what do you think about the name ‘Martha Jane Todd Wayne’ for a girl? I thought Jane Martha first but I think Martha Jane sits better on the tongue.

Bruce with an even more choked up expression: hmmm

#dp x dc #writing prompt #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #dc x dp #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #mother hood au #mpreg

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captain-hawks · 7 months

Text

CRIMSON INCLINATION

♡ — osamu miya x f!reader

It’s a ritual—the way Osamu shows you just how much he missed you after away games and training camps, in a tangle of limbs and lips and rumpled sheets. And despite the unfortunate timing of his latest return, to Osamu, it’s just an opportunity to try something new.

18+ ONLY

wc — 3.8k

prompt — period sex

additional content — established relationship, complete and total filth, sexting, blood, fingering, oral sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, so much cum + INARIZAKI UNIVERSITY!OSAMU

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

Osamu: catching the next train Osamu: be home by 6

After tapping out a response to Osamu, your finger idly swipes through the rest of the recent messages lingering in your text thread, including a gallery of incredibly unflattering pictures of Atsumu sleeping. But once you reach your conversation from several evenings ago, an ember of heat flares to life in your gut.

>>> Are you back at the hotel yet?

Osamu: not yet, out for dinner with the boys Osamu: whats up?

>>> Put your phone under the table ;)

Osamu: ???

>>> [image sent]

Osamu: FUCK Osamu: i miss you so much

>>> [image sent]

Osamu: fuckfuckfuckasdklj Osamu: wait Osamu: ok i’m in the bathroom now Osamu: [image sent]

>>> [video sent]

Osamu: i’m so fuckin hard right now christ Osamu: look what you do to me Osamu: [image sent] >>> The vibrator doesn’t feel as good as you :( >>> [video sent]

Osamu: babyalkdfjadsf Osamu: wanna feel you so fuckin bad Osamu: make a mess for me Osamu: please

>>> [image sent]

Osamu: good girl Osamu: fuck Osamu: oh oops Osamu: got cum all over the mirror and the sink Osamu: now Tsumu’s dumb ass is banging on the door Osamu: [image sent]

Your conversation had been interrupted part way by several text notifications popping up at the top of your screen from the blonder Miya—

Atsumu: Samu’s either fuckin dead in the bathroom right now Atsumu: or he’s jerkin off Atsumu: don’t answer that Atsumu: but either way can u tell him to hurry it up we need to pay the bill

—

Despite Atsumu’s entirely shameless attempts at flirting when you first met the twins during freshman orientation week at Inarizaki University several years ago, the more outspoken Miya never stood a chance. After learning you had only recently arrived in town from Tokyo, both brothers took it upon themselves to help you acclimate and find your way around, and much to the self-proclaimed eldest’s chagrin…you only had eyes for Osamu from the start.

Somewhere in between his softer disposition and wry sense of humor, Osamu had a habit of taking your breath away and filling in all the cracks of perpetual anxiety that you’d begun to splinter with over moving all the way to Hyōgo by yourself.

(“Yer really just gonna look me in the eye and say ya prefer the diet version of me?” Atsumu had balked the first time he caught the two of you fooling around on the couch, clutching his chest in mock-offense right before Osamu nailed him in the face with a throw pillow.)

To most, Osamu may seem like the more mild-mannered, less high-strung of the Miyas—which isn’t untrue, necessarily.

(Until the two of them start arguing, at which point it’s like watching a mirror hurl childish insults at itself for forty-five minutes straight.)

But that same untamed, wild energy that Atsumu radiates in spades isn’t entirely absent from your preferred twin, he just has a particular outlet where he lets that kindling spark and catch.

A far more private one.

Beneath those kind eyes, that gentle smile, and the soothing cadence of his voice, Osamu Miya is fucking filthy. In between the sheets, the wanton curve of his lips and his steely, lust-blown pupils are an omen of sinful intent, his rough, gravelly tone a hot, stroking caress that snags on each and every notch of your spine.

(“Forget what I said about never forgivin’ ya if you move out,” Atsumu had grunted over breakfast one morning in their old shared apartment. “If I have to listen to you two fuckin’ like bunny rabbits for one more night, I’m takin’ a bath with the toaster.”

“How ‘m I gonna make breakfast then?” Osamu lazily drawled around a mouthful of toast.

Atsumu taped a hand-written eviction notice on his bedroom door that afternoon.)

So the sex?

Fan-fucking-tastic.

But Osamu’s university volleyball career often finds him on the road between a constant array of games and training camps, which puts a bit of a damper on the frequency of your extracurricular activities in the bedroom.

(see also: the couch)

(see also, also: the shower)

(see also, also, also: the kitchen counter)

(...and that one time on Atsumu’s bed during a party—a secret you and Osamu will both take to the grave.)

Thus, more often than not, your text threads while he’s on the road shamelessly resemble low-budget erotica.

(Atsumu made the mistake of snatching his brother’s phone from him once at the wrong time on a particularly long bus ride.

He called him Ernest Dickingway for a month straight.)

Unfortunately for both of you, there’s something throwing a significant wrench into Osamu’s current plans to—in his words—fill you so deep when he gets home, it’ll still be leaking out of you tomorrow. Groaning as another sharp cramp in your abdomen overrides any lingering lustful thoughts, you sigh pitifully as you envision your boyfriend’s crestfallen expression at the terrible timing of your period.

—

You’ve only just shut off the scorching hot stream of water and wrapped a towel around your naked body when the bathroom door creaks open, Osamu’s gray head of hair poking through the doorway. A grin that sets your heart fluttering in your chest crosses his face as he catches your gaze, wasting no time in striding forward and cupping your face, kissing you hard.

“Hi,” he says quietly, carrying some of the chill from outside, and you can feel the smile on his face as he says the word against your lips.

“Hi,” you whisper, running your fingers over the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

“Missed you,” he exhales, lips careening off course and trailing along the curve of your jaw, nose nuzzling against the side of your neck.

“I missed you, too, Samu.”

Despite the fact that you’re dripping wet and naked beneath the towel, Osamu takes his time reacquainting himself with your lips first, his hands firmly grasping your hips as he places you up on the counter and loosens the fabric just enough to slot his body between your legs. Your heart burns bright, thrumming insistently in your chest as his tongue skirts along the seam of your lips, imploring them to part. Opening your mouth, he deepens the kiss, fingers dancing along the damp skin of your neck, still warm from the blistering heat of the shower water.

He tenderly kisses his way down to the hollow of your throat, lips skirting off to the side to wetly mouth at your left collarbone, earning him a sharp intake of breath as you react to the sensation. Your legs wrap around his waist as you scoot to the edge of the counter while pulling him flush against you, your towel falling further open. He groans, nipping at your tender skin while his erection strains against the front of his sweatpants and presses insistently at your core.

“I know ya said you wanted to order takeout first when I got home,” he groans, “but I don’t think I can wait.”

You don’t argue, and so with that, he picks you up, nudging the door open wider with his foot as he carries you toward the bedroom. Fingers fumbling with his shirt, you finally wrench it free and send it flying across the room right before both of you go tumbling atop the bed. Your towel falls open, leaving nothing left to the imagination as you lie splayed out naked atop the sheets, Osamu’s graphite eyes drinking you in.

“I’m never leavin’ you for that long again,” he breathes out as your toe catches in the waistband of his sweatpants, one of his hands reaching down to help you shuck them off. His boxers are fighting a losing battle against his throbbing erection, a dark spot of precum already staining the front of the cotton material.

“I don’t think your team would like that very much,” you muse, reaching up to twirl a rogue strand of his hair with your finger.

He takes your hand into his own, kissing the tips of each of your fingers. “I’ll quit ‘n open up an onigiri shop downtown instead. Then I’ll be home every night to see your pretty little face when I do this.”

Right on cue, your mouth falls open with a moan when he drags a hand up your side and palms at one of your tits, teasing your pebbled nipple with his thumb. While you’ve mostly dried off, his fingers slide through the damp area that remains on the underside of your breasts, spreading the thin sheen of water until your skin absorbs what’s left. Any and all remaining thoughts swiftly leave your head when you feel the huff of his hot breath against the swell of your breasts moments before he takes one of your nipples into his mouth and begins to scrape his tongue against it.

Your breasts are so tender and swollen, the aching relief of his attentive touch makes your chest heave. And unfortunately, it’s also the sensation of Osamu suckling at your sore breasts that brings you crashing back down to reality, breaking through the dam of arousal to give way to an unfortunate reminder of why there’s a dull ache in your abdomen.

“Osamu…wait.”

He immediately pauses in his ministrations, fingers gently feathering over your skin as he looks up at you expectantly, spit-soaked lips slightly parted, hair already sticking up in several directions. “Hmm?”

“We might need to take a rain check on the sex,” you sigh, wincing at the feeling of another sharp cramp.

He furrows his brows, sitting up slightly and looking down at you with concern. “You alright?”

You mumble something about having your period under your breath. Not because you’re embarrassed—Osamu’s the poster boyfriend for doing tampon runs without so much as batting an eye—but rather because you feel bad that you completely forgot about it the moment he started kissing you.

Osamu’s quiet for a few moments, mulling over something in his head until he finally responds, “I don’t mind.”

You smirk. “Well yeah, I still have a mouth.”

He tilts his head to the side, an odd expression on his face. “S’not what I meant.”

There’s a butterfly-soft caress of fingertips dancing along the top of your thigh as he speaks, the silence that hangs between you now dripping with the implication of his words, adding an invisible weight to his touch.

With communication as a solid cornerstone of your relationship, neither of you has ever shied away from conversations about exploring different kinks and sexual desires—one of the most recent having found your legs wrapped around Osamu’s waist as he fucked you in the equipment room after practice, a scenario you’d jokingly tossed out across the mattress and into the meager space between your pillows one night.

(“Is it…weird that it turns me on imagining you fucking me in there after practice? Covering my mouth to try and keep me quiet so none of your teammates catch us?”

It’s something that people would expect from Atsumu, without a doubt.

But not from this Miya.

“Better wear that pretty new dress you just bought when ya come watch tomorrow’s practice, then.”)

And that’s what turns you on even more—knowing that you’re the only one that gets to experience that part of Osamu, sweat-slicked hair plastered to his forehead while he hotly mouths at the side of your neck in the dark, the sounds of his lingering teammates just on the other side of the closed door. The press of his hand against your lips, muffling the sounds the repeated thrusts of his cock are pulling out of you no matter how hard you try to stay quiet. His forehead against your own, a boyish grin on his face, shoulders shaking in breathless, silent laughter as the two of you narrowly avoid getting caught.

So standing on the precipice of trying something new with Osamu right now? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

But this.

Does he really mean…?

You’ve never dared entertain the thought, the mere idea of it a step too far to even consider broaching the topic. And yet Osamu seems entirely unruffled by his suggestion, like he hasn’t just thrown you completely off kilter.

“You want to…” you trail off, eyes darting down to your lower half before looking back up to meet his again.

“I bet you’re real sore and haven’t been feelin’ too good all day, huh?” he asks, fingers skimming over your hip bone. You nod in response, and he begins tracing circles up the inside of your thighs as he continues, “Well…how about I make you feel real good now?”

If Osamu wasn’t the one that brought up the idea in the first place, you’d be embarrassed by how turned on you feel at the thought of him delving between your legs at this exact moment.

Glancing at the bed, you thumb the edge of the towel that you’re still lying on top of. “It’ll probably get…messy.”

He leans down, ghosting his lips over yours in a whisper of a kiss. “And if I said I want ya to make a mess for me?”

The sharp feeling in your gut isn’t pain this time, but a searing jolt of desire that makes you restlessly shift beneath him.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m so goddamn hard just thinkin’ about it,” he tells you, voice rough.

Letting your entire body relax, you whisper, “Then touch me, Osamu.”

Osamu’s eyes remain trained on yours as his hand makes its way between your legs, your breath hitching in your throat when he deftly swipes a finger through your drenched folds. Your slit is soaked in arousal, but it’s also dripping with blood. You know just how slick and dirty it feels—you’ve touched yourself like this in the shower before. But to have someone else’s fingers rubbing deliberate circles over your fluttering entrance, smearing your bodily fluids along the inside of your thighs?

It’s absolutely filthy, and you’re not sure if you’ve ever felt so turned on in your entire life.

He watches you with rapt attention, gray eyes darkening like a storm as he drinks the way your body trembles with each stroke. Without warning, Osamu sinks a single finger into your cunt, the simple sensation nearly shoving you over the precipice of an early climax. You keen underneath him, legs spreading wider to bring him deeper inside of you.

“Osamu,” you exhale, biting down hard on your lower lip.

He groans, inadvertently grinding his cock down against your thigh. “Fuck, you’re so wet. Holy shit.”

A second digit joins the first, if only for the novelty of it, because you’re so goddamn soaked there’s no need to actually prepare your cunt for the stretch of his cock. He crooks his fingers, dragging them along your plush inner walls, and you whine, running your hands over your swollen breasts.

“Feels so good, Samu.”

He begins to roughly palm himself through his boxers, the leaking head of his cock poking up through the waistband that’s now shifted low on his hips.

“You have no idea what I wanna to do to you right now, ” he tells you, his own imminent loss of composure evident in his rasping tone.

“Show me,” you plead as you rock your hips.

But for all that Osamu’s made it abundantly clear that he wants to do this, you’re still not expecting what happens next—his head between your thighs, the press of his fingers inside of you replaced by a broad stroke of his tongue up your slit. You cry out, bucking your hips into his touch as he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves before returning his attention to your quivering entrance.

His hands grasp the inside of your thighs, and all you can do is brokenly moan as he slips his tongue into your cunt. The sounds of him eating you out are downright obscene, the wet squelch of his mouth devouring your bloody, soaked pussy leaving you in a dizzy haze of arousal. Osamu, meanwhile, is just as affected as you are, his boxers askew, ass partially hanging out as he ruts against the mattress.

It doesn’t take long for the heat churning in your gut to start to unfurl, your muscles going taut with the rapid approach of your climax. And Osamu, ever the overachiever, is quick to shove two fingers back into your cunt, the pads of the digits curling tight to firmly stroke your spongy inner walls as he sloppily mouths at your clit.

If his intention was to make you squirt, something he’s become mildly obsessed with since the first time it accidentally happened, he passes with flying colors. His name is a choked out sob on your lips as your orgasm rips through you, clear liquid spraying from your cunt as you moan and shudder. Osamu groans loudly against your pussy, and you shudder with oversensitivity as he laps up everything you give him.

“Almost came in my pants,” he breathes out unsteadily as he looks up at you, wiping at the blood that’s smeared all over his lips and cheeks with the back of his hand. It’s a futile effort, and he opts to use the corner of the towel instead, though it still leaves behind a lewd stain on his skin.

“Glad you didn’t,” you reply, running a hand over the outline of his dick.

“Mmm, why’s that?” he asks, shifting his body to finally slip his boxers off.

The idea of him humping the bed so desperately while eating you out that his boxers are sticky and soaked with cum afterward is undeniably hot, yes. But—

An image of Osamu’s cum and your blood dripping out of your cunt and down the inside of your thighs flashes through your head, and it’s all you can do not to impale yourself on the thick shaft that’s bobbing between his legs.

“Want you to fill me up,” you murmur, sliding one of your own fingers through your folds.

There’s an awkward beat where you regret letting those words slip, belatedly uncertain of where Osamu might draw a line between himself and the bloody mess between your legs. You’re not even sure if the two of you have any condoms lying around currently.

But you’re both on the same page, because he lets out a shuddering breath as he notches the head of his flushed cock at your entrance and firmly squeezes the base. “Feel like ’m gonna come as soon as I put it in.”

The mere thought of just how close to the edge Osamu already is sends a bolt of desire surging between your legs. And even if he does blow his load prematurely, you know he’ll be fucking his cum right back into you the moment he coaxes his dick back to life again anyway.

“What're you waiting for?”

Osamu plunges into your cunt, your tight walls so slippery with fluids that he immediately bottoms out, slamming into your cervix. You both moan in unison, the blood, cum, and arousal creating a far more wet and slippery surface than any of the various bottles of lube nestled in the drawer of your nightstand could ever hope to achieve.

“Haaaaaaaaaah—fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, forehead falling against yours as he involuntarily jerks against you.

“Holy shit,” you echo his sentiment, fingernails digging into his back.

Osamu begins to move, though his normally precise, thorough thrusts are far sloppier than usual, thanks to unbelievably slick tunnel your cunt has become, paired with his downright lust-fuelled, pussy drunk state. You’re desperately pliant beneath him, your cunt greedily sucking his cock back in with each wet, heavy stroke.

You can only imagine how his shaft looks right now—painted red with blood, sticky with cum, and glistening with the sheen of your arousal. Each plunge of his shaft into your sodden hole elicits the filthy, lewd sound of excess fluids squirting and dribbling out from between the two of you, dripping onto the towel below. Pleasure builds rapidly in your abdomen as you both fight to keep any semblance of a rhythm, though it’s ultimately a lost cause.

“This is so fuckin’ hot,” Osamu pants, hardly able to get the words out between his groans.

His thumb finds your clit again, and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head when he makes contact with the sensitive cluster of nerves. “Come for me again,” he murmurs.

Osamu Miya never needs to ask you twice.

The ache between your thighs flares white-hot, a scorching wave spreading beneath your skin as you reach the crest of your climax. Osamu fucks you through your trembling bliss as you whimper and moan beneath him, his own composure walking a tightrope as your walls spasm and contract around his thick shaft.

“Come in me,” you whine, the back of your head still pressed firmly into the pillow as your body slowly begins to relax from its tense, arched position.

With no willpower left to stave off his orgasm after resisting the urge to let your slick cunt milk his cock the moment he sunk into the heat between your thighs, Osamu gives you one last sloppy thrust.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he moans, burying his shaft balls deep in your wet cunt.

Your sensitive walls flutter around his cock as he pulses deep inside of you, filling you to the brim with thick, hot cum. And even when he begins to pull his shaft from the warm confines of your pussy moments later, he still can’t stop coming. A broken moan crawls up his throat as he grabs his slick, throbbing cock with one hand, the other fingering your succulent, fucked out hole while a creamy flood of blood and cum drips out of you. He fists his length as he finger fucks you, groaning as more ropes of his sticky cum paint your thighs and your stomach.

“One more,” he chokes out roughly, completely fucking gone on the filthy, depraved mess you’ve both made.

It’s too much.

It's not enough.

Your cunt is so overstimulated, you’re oscillating between pleading moans and desperately gasping for air.

But Osamu knows you, knows how much you love when he pulls every possible orgasm out of you, till you’re a moaning, shuddering, cum-soaked mess for him.

And after the last remaining coil inside of you snaps, leaving you to whine his name as you buck upward into his touch, Osamu’s softening cock nearly jumps back to life, one last spurt of cum dripping out and landing squarely on your clit.

He collapses beside you afterward, arm slung across your chest as he nuzzles against your shoulder, and you can feel the sheepish grin spread across his lips as he mutters against your skin, “Yer tellin’ me I get a whole week of this?”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya smut #miya osamu smut #miya osamu #osamu miya #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu smut #dee writes

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hamsterclaw · 10 months

Text

Foolish

You keep going back to Namjoon, it's what you've always done. Then you meet Hoseok, who draws you away like he's not even trying.

Pairing: Hoseok x F! reader, Namjoon x F! reader

Word count: 7.7k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut, angst

Warnings: Sex, fuckboy Namjoon

Everytime, you tell yourself it’s the last time you’ll come back to Kim Namjoon.

Everytime it’s just one last time.

His hand leaves a print on your hip, his lips leave a trail down your neck, across your breasts. He often comes on your skin, a trail of white. He marks you everywhere he sees fit.

He doesn’t give a shit who sees.

You let him do what he wants.

Rinse, repeat.

Namjoon nudges you. ‘Hey, I have an early class.’

You don’t bother to respond, just get out of his bed, put your clothes back on.

You check you’ve got your phone, your keys, smooth your hair back down as you wait for the cab.

You let yourself out.

***

Your friend Jimin is funniest when he’s annoyed, like now.

You’re both working a shift at the grocery store.

He’s leaning on the stacked crates, supposed to be refilling the produce shelves but really just taking up room.

‘And so then he clicked his fingers and expected me to walk to him, like a dog.’

You have no idea if this is a sex story or a rude customer story.

Knowing Jimin, it could be either.

You start arranging the apples onto the display shelves as you listen to Jimin’s hilariously petty reaction.

It was a sex story.

Jimin stacks packs of cherry tomatoes beside you, chattering away.

You mmm and aaah at the right times, but your mind is elsewhere.

You’re thinking back to how the last few times you’ve met up, Namjoon hasn’t bothered to ask you to text him when you got home after being at his.

He used to.

There’s a thin thread of shame that tugs at you whenever you meet him now, and the pull’s getting stronger.

It wasn’t always like this.

He’d pursued you, coming into the diner where you worked weekend after weekend for months, flirting with you over pancakes until he’d finally asked you out.

You went on a few dates, and a few more and then somehow you’d slipped into what you have now.

He texts you when he’s horny and you come over.

Sometimes you don’t even talk.

You don’t know why you keep coming back, apart from that maybe you haven’t quite moved on from seeing him as the guy who was sweet to you over brunch. The one who dimpled and invited you to come hang at his place and took you to the park and got you ice-cream.

You wonder how he sees you now.

You snap back to attention when Jimin clears his throat pointedly.

‘You don’t have to listen to me, it’s fine,’ he says, bordering on dramatic, pout in his voice.

‘Sorry Jiminie,’ you say apologetically. ‘I was thinking about Namjoon.’

Jimin has no idea about how things are between you and Namjoon. There’s no way you’d ever let anyone really know how low your bar is set.

He finishes stacking the cherry tomatoes, moves on to the heads of broccoli.

You’re still on apples.

You wheel the empty crates back to the stockroom, concentrating so hard on not letting the crates slip that you don’t see the guy by the automatic doors.

‘Whoa!’ he says, stepping out of the way quickly, laughing.

You’re mortified, already apologising as you come to a dead stop. The crates wobble dangerously and you reach out, letting out a little cry as your fingers get clipped in between.

You yank your hand away, and the guy hurries forward. He grabs your hand, a look of concern darkening his face.

‘Are you ok? That must have hurt so much!’

You’re taken aback by how genuinely concerned he seems to be.

‘I’m ok,’ you say, as he rubs your fingers gently.

‘I have some support plasters,’ he offers.

‘I’m ok!’ you insist, waving him away gently.

He takes the trolley from you and stacks the crates in the corner.

‘Sorry to startle you,’ he says warmly. ‘My name is Hoseok, I’m new.’

His smile is infectious. You tell him your name, and he exclaims over how pretty he thinks your name is, even though it’s a fairly common one, as far as names go.

You’re amused by his charmingly over the top reactions.

Hoseok helps you load the greens onto your trolley, insists on pushing it with you to the fresh section of the store.

‘Don’t you have your own work to do?’ you ask.

He grins at you like he’s sharing a secret. ‘The broken oven got fixed so it’s taking me less time to bake the bread rolls,’ he confesses.

He reaches up for the hairnet over his hair, pulls it off and stuffs it into his pocket. ‘Does this make my hair flat?’

You look up at his very soft and fluffy looking dark hair. ‘Your hair looks great,’ you tell him, honestly.

‘Come by later on your break, I’ll save some rolls for you. I made some fillings last night to bring to work.’

His offer is so sincerely and sweetly made that you find yourself responding in kind.

‘Sure, I’d love to,’ you say.

He parks your trolley by the shelves, and gives Jimin a big smile in greeting.

You’ve never met anyone who smiles this much.

Jimin lifts a crate of cabbages and starts arranging.

‘What’s his deal?’ you ask, after Hoseok waves jauntily at you and walks away.

Jimin rolls his eyes. ‘He’s just a nice guy. People can be nice.’

‘No one’s that nice,’ you say, frowning.

‘Hoseok is. I’ve known him since way back.’

‘He must have a dark side,’ you mutter.

‘Yeah. He’s apparently an asshole in bed.’

You choke on air.

Jimin laughs at your reaction. ‘I’ve never slept with him but apparently he’s mean in bed.’

‘Like mean, how?’ you ask, more interested than you’d like to admit to yourself.

‘Why are you so interested?’ Jimin asks, slyly.

‘You brought it up,’ you argue.

Jimin laughs and refuses to say anything else and you pretend you’re not that interested anyway.

***

You’re awakened by your phone vibrating under your pillow.

You fish it out and stare at the number on the screen that’s evaded your caller ID.

Eventually you swipe to answer.

‘Hi,’ you say.

‘Hey,’ says a vaguely familiar voice. ‘It’s Hoseok. Jimin gave me your number.’

Your eyes open all the way, and you sit up so quickly you drop your phone into your duvet.

It takes you a moment to fish it out.

‘Hey, sorry, I dropped my phone,’ you say, when you’ve got it back.

‘I’m sorry, I hope I’m not disturbing you,’ he says.

It’s weird, you barely know him but you can hear the smile in his voice.

‘It’s fine, I should be up anyway,’ you reply.

‘Ah, sorry, I didn’t know you’d still be asleep.’

You check the time. Eeep.

‘What’s up, Hoseok?’ you ask.

‘I was wondering - do you like music? There’s a festival in Olympic Park today and I have a spare ticket and I wondered if you’d like to come with me.’

You blink, surprised.

‘I know it’s short notice,’ he says, when you don’t say anything for a bit.

‘No, I’d like to go. I’m free and easy.’

You slap a hand to your forehead, wondering why you sound like such an idiot.

‘I mean, I don’t have plans today.’

He sounds like he’s smiling again. ‘Ok. Meet you there?’

***

You look around for Hoseok when you get to the park, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He approaches you, smiling and bright in a yellow and black parka, sunglasses shading his eyes.

‘I brought snacks,’ he tells you cheerfully. ‘Thanks for agreeing to come with me.’

His manner is so relaxed and easy that you feel any awkwardness slip away.

The sun’s warm on your bare shoulders, Hoseok’s a nice guy, and he’s got the prettiest smile you’ve seen in a while.

You smile back at him. ‘I’m glad I came,’ you reply.

He holds out his arm, and you link yours with his.

It turns out Hoseok’s just as charming when he’s tipsy.

You’ve been drinking beer with him in the sunshine all day.

He blinks at you sleepily in the late evening sun as the last of the bands plays on the main stage.

He’s stretched out on the grass, face tipped to the sky. His profile is beautiful, all sharp angles accentuated by the height of his cheekbones.

‘You shouldn’t have let me finish off the beer,’ he tells you.

‘Oh no, are you too drunk?’ you ask lazily, laying down next to him, watching the clouds swirl in the late summer sky.

‘I’m sorry,’ he admits finally. ‘I was nervous and I drank too much.’

‘Nervous?’ This is news to you.

‘You’re very pretty,’ he informs you. ‘In case you didn’t know.’

‘You’re pretty too,’ you tell him.

He nods. ‘I know. But you’re prettier.’

This is the most ridiculous conversation you’ve had in a while, but somehow you don’t mind it.

You close your eyes briefly, and turn your head to see Hoseok looking at you intently.

‘Why are you nervous?’ you ask.

‘I want you to like me,’ he says, with an honesty that steals your breath.

‘Because?’

‘Because I think I could like you a lot.’

‘How much?’

You’re leaning over him slightly, too close for your intentions to be anything but clear.

Hoseok’s eyes drop to your lips.

‘A hell of a lot,’ he says.

In the end it’s Hoseok who initiates the kiss, one hand coming up to slip around the back of your neck.

He’s gentle but firm, lips pressing against yours, tilting his head to kiss you deeper.

You put your hand on his chest, and his own comes up to cover it.

When you pull away he lets out a soft sound of protest.

You’re smiling at each other like idiots, his hand still over yours on his chest.

The sun’s dropped low enough to cast shadows over his face.

‘I’ll take you home, ok?’ he says.

He packs up the picnic he made that you’ve been picking at all afternoon, slips his jacket over your shoulders, and walks you out of the park.

Darkness falls as you walk the few blocks home, adding a layer of distance between you, helping with your self-consciousness as, swaddled in his soft jacket, you realise just how attractive you find Hoseok.

You stop at the entrance to your building, and Hoseok looks up.

‘I had a nice time. See you next week?’

You’re slipping off his jacket, pressing it into his arms. ‘Thank you for asking me out,’ you tell him.

There’s a moment because you haven’t fully ended your sentence, and he looks like he’s waiting for the next thing you were about to say.

‘Do you want to come up?’ you ask.

Hoseok’s eyes study your face.

‘Honestly, I’d love to, but I shouldn’t.’

Like your goodbye, it seems open ended, like there’s more he would say if you waited long enough.

Your phone vibrates in the pocket of your dress.

‘I should go,’ you say.

Hoseok nods.

He waits until you’re up the steps, in the door, before he leaves.

***

Namjoon’s got his mouth open, nibbling at your neck. God, he feels good, teeth grazing your skin, tongue licking.

His hands are tucked in his pockets still, he hasn’t touched you even though you’re straddling his lap.

You lean back a little, ask, ‘hey, like my new dress?’

You curse yourself for your moment of weakness but the words are already out.

Namjoon raises a brow. ‘Thought you didn’t care what I thought.’

He’s referring to a fight you once had, when you were dating.

‘Yeah,’ you say, regretting asking.

You look at each other for a moment.

‘I should go.’

‘You just got here,’ Namjoon says, mildly. He doesn’t make any move to stop you as you climb off his lap, hands tucked in his pockets still.

‘I don’t think we should do this anymore,’ you say, forcing yourself to look him in the face.

‘You mean, fuck,’ Namjoon asks. His voice has its usual husky tone, but there’s a coolness to it now.

‘Yeah, fuck,’ you say.

Namjoon shrugs. ‘Sure. If that’s really what you want.’

He stands, and you’ve spent so much time horizontal with him lately you’d forgotten how tall he is.

He reaches down to take your hand.

‘You want me to tell you that you’re pretty?’ he asks.

‘No,’ you answer, but you don’t pull your hand away.

‘Look how hard I am,’ he tells you. He presses your hand over his erection.

‘That’s just biology,’ you say.

Namjoon scoffs. ‘It’s my biological response to having you grinding in my lap.’

He strokes up your arm. ‘Can I convince you to stay?’

‘Why would I stay?’ you ask, but you still haven’t moved.

Namjoon tugs the strap of your bra, leans down to mouth at your collarbones. His big hand curls around your back to steady you as he kisses your neck.

‘I don’t know, baby, do you want the happy ending or do you just want me to make you happy tonight?’

He sucks at your skin, and you get the familiar rush of pleasure pain you get when he marks you.

‘We’re not going out, are we?’

His hand slides down your ass, cupping you, pulling you taut against his groin.

‘I’m not your boyfriend.’

He’s walking you back into his bedroom, onto his bed. He pushes you back against the covers, hand behind your head to cushion you even though it’s soft.

‘We’re not getting married.’

His words are brutal in their honesty, and still you don’t push him away.

He tugs your panties down impatiently, rumbling his approval when he feels how wet you are.

‘But I make you like this,’ he says, fingers slipping inside you, thumb circling your clit.

‘Namjoon,’ you say, a warning.

He gives you a look so heated you lose your train of thought.

He hasn’t, though.

He grabs your thigh, pulls you down to the edge of the bed so he can keep leaning over you.

‘What, am I wrong?’ he taunts.

His fingers are stroking, scissoring inside you. He’s still gripping your thigh with his free hand.

He squeezes your thigh.

‘Am I wrong? Didn’t I get you wet like this?’ he asks. He scoffs. ‘Of course I did. Just like you got me this hard.’

He slides a hand over himself, grinding into his palm.

‘Just fuck me, Namjoon,’ you say. The pleasure’s building, making you tighten around his fingers.

‘I’ll fuck you,’ he promises. ‘Just as long as we’re clear that there’s no feelings involved.’

He stops touching himself, wraps his hand around your neck, tight.

You moan, and he laughs.

‘You’re so easy to please, baby,’ he says, mocking. ‘If I fuck you now you’ll come, won’t you?’

‘I hate you,’ you spit out.

Namjoon cocks an eyebrow. ‘Sweetheart, I don’t even think you’re convincing yourself.’

He yanks his jeans down, and he’s in you in one movement.

He groans as he bottoms out inside you, slams his hand down on the bed beside your head.

‘So fucking tight,’ he utters. ‘Who got you like this?’

He’s not waiting for an answer, rocking into you, balls slapping your ass with every firm thrust.

It’s just as well, you don’t think you could answer him anyway.

Namjoon fucks you good, it’s what he always does.

***

You’re cleaning up a spillage in the detergent aisle when Hoseok walks past.

‘Hey,’ he says, looking pleased to see you. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good,’ you say, returning his smile.

He’s in a standard issue blue polo shirt emblazoned with the store logo today, unlike the baggy fleeces you’re used to seeing him in.

You try not to stare at his exposed arms.

‘What are you doing after work today?’ he asks.

He takes the mop from you and wrings it into the bucket, then picks it up.

‘I’ll take this,’ he says, his tone brooking no argument. ‘It’s heavy.’

‘I don’t have plans,’ you say.

Hoseok beams. ‘I’m going to support my friend at this club night. Want to join me?’

‘What does your friend do?’ you ask, walking with him to the cleaning supplies closet.

‘He raps,’ Hoseok tells you. He grins. ‘I rap sometimes too.’

You see it. He’s got a rasp to his voice sometimes, an easy cadence to his words.

Somehow the idea of him as a rapper makes sense.

‘So, you want to come with?’ he asks.

‘I’d like to,’ you tell him.

He looks so pleased about it that it makes you feel brighter too.

‘Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at 8, ok?’

He saunters off with a cheerful wave.

You realise you’re looking forward to it.

***

There’s not a lot of space between you and Hoseok at this tiny club, he’s been leaning over you for most of the night.

Somehow your arm’s found its way around his waist, and you find you like having him this close.

Hoseok’s lips brush your cheek gently, and your heart pounds. This close, his eyelashes are long, his eyes beautiful, the line of his jaw irresistible. He looks so good.

You turn your head, chase his lips. He gives in with a willingness that makes your confidence soar. Like he’s wanted you this whole night and now he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

His lips are soft, but the way he kisses you is firm, chest towards yours, hand curled around the top of your hip bone. He kisses you like he knows better than you what you’ll like, and he’s got every intention of following through.

You haven’t got any interest in the next act, but as soon as you hear the voice, your eyes open.

Hoseok murmurs a little, pulls you closer into his chest.

You look up at the stage, and there, so close you can see the tic in his jaw as he takes in you and Hoseok, so intimately intertwined, is Namjoon.

***

‘This is my friend Namjoon,’ Hoseok says, after the set’s over.

Namjoon uses the towel around his neck to wipe his face, but he’s still out of breath, slick with sweat.

He tilts his head at you, dimples like it’s the first time you’ve met. Says nothing.

‘We’ve met,’ you say.

You’re a little away from the stage, far enough that you can hear each other over the next act.

‘Yeah, we’ve met,’ Namjoon confirms.

Hoseok regards you both with interest. He’s a nice guy, but he’s no fool.

You say, ‘That was a great set, Namjoon.’

‘Yeah?’ asks Namjoon. He pops the cork on a bottle of Dom, pours it out. Watches as you drink, a smirk on his lips.

You’re watching Hoseok.

‘How do you and Hobi know each other?’ Namjoon asks. He lays back, knees spread, thigh nudging yours.

‘We work together,’ you reply. You turn to Hoseok, but the smile freezes on your lips when you see his expression, the way he’s looking at Namjoon.

You want to touch him but the tense set of his shoulders gives you pause.

Meanwhile, Namjoon looks more relaxed than ever.

‘Hey, it’s getting late, I should probably get going,’ you say.

Hoseok looks at you for a long moment. ‘Yeah, I’ll take you home.’

The car ride’s the quietest Hoseok’s ever been with you.

By the time he pulls up outside your apartment you’re tight with tension despite the champagne.

‘Thanks Hoseok,’ you say, mustering a smile.

He can barely look at you, and for some reason that makes you feel like crying.

You unbuckle your belt, push the door open. You’re almost all the way up the steps when you hear the car door behind you.

You turn to see Hoseok hurrying up the steps.

He steps a couple feet in front of you.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Shit that was weird, wasn’t it?’

He gives you a half-smile, touches your arm.

‘Yeah,’ you agree. You smile back at him uncertainly.

‘I’ll see you at work Monday?’

This time his smile’s more like the cheerful friendly Hoseok you’ve come to know.

He waves at you as he walks back to his car, waits until you’re inside before he drives away.

***

You’re messing around with Jimin by the fresh flowers, emptying out the buckets, when Hoseok walks by.

‘Hey!’ you say cheerfully, waving a hand.

Hoseok smiles but keeps walking, heading round to the back.

You hurry to catch up.

‘Hoseok,’ you say, walking alongside him. ‘Jimin and I and some of the other guys are getting drinks after work, would you like to come?’

Hoseok hangs his jacket on the hook, puts on his apron.

‘I’m busy. Maybe another time, ok?’

He’s walking off without waiting for your answer.

You’re so taken aback by his brusqueness, a sharp contrast to the warm, kind Hoseok you’ve come to know that it takes you a moment to regroup.

When you get back to the flowers, Jimin’s finished filling the buckets.

‘You ok?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ you reply, forcing a smile. ‘I went to ask Hoseok to join us for drinks, but he’s busy.’

Jimin’s studying your expression.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Tell you what, we’ll grab food beforehand, ok? My treat.’

You smile at him, a real smile this time. ‘It’s your turn anyway to get dinner,’ you point out.

Jimin puts an arm around your shoulders, squeezes.

‘I’ll buy you whatever you want,’ he promises.

***

You’re three shots in, merry and listening to Jimin tell you about his weekend when Namjoon and Hoseok walk into the bar.

‘Shit,’ you hiss, slumping down next to Jimin.

Jimin throws you a sympathetic look as one of your colleagues, Dahyun calls Hoseok over.

You look down at your hands as Hoseok greets everyone at the table.

Thankfully you’re tucked in a seat against the wall.

You glance up, see the way both Namjoon and Hoseok are looking at you, and go back to looking at your hands.

As soon as they go to get drinks you tap Jimin on the shoulder.

‘I’m gonna go, ok?’

‘Let me take you home,’ Jimin says.

You wave aside his protests and make your way to the door.

You’re waiting for your taxi, shivering a bit in the cool night air, when you hear a familiar voice.

‘Going so soon?’ asks Hoseok. He’s standing a little away from you, hands tucked in his pockets.

‘Yeah, I’m tired.’ You give him a small smile and turn back to the road, willing your taxi to arrive.

‘I’ll wait with you,’ Hoseok says.

‘I’m fine, it’ll be here any minute,’ you say.

Hoseok steps closer. ‘Can I talk to you?’

You close your eyes. ‘Sure,’ you say. ‘About what?’

There’s a flash of headlamps as your taxi pulls up.

Hoseok opens the door for you, lets you in and gets in after you.

You’re too surprised to say anything.

Hoseok turns to you. ‘I don’t have to go to your place, I can get out as soon as we arrive at yours ok?’

He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I just want to talk to you for a bit.’

‘Sure,’ you say.

There’s a silence.

‘Namjoon’s my friend,’ Hoseok starts.

You’re wondering what he’s leading up to.

‘I needed to talk to him,’ Hoseok says.

You look out the car window, at the buildings flashing by.

‘I —‘

He stops again. ‘I like you,’ he says, simply. ‘But Namjoon’s my friend, and I just needed to know if he’d be ok with us dating.’

You feel hollow. ‘What did Namjoon say about us?’ you ask.

‘He said that you don’t have that kind of relationship,’ Hoseok replies.

You laugh bitterly.

‘If you wanted to know about me and Namjoon, you could have just asked me,’ you say.

He’s quiet.

Finally, he says, ‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’

The taxi pulls up outside your building.

You’re more hurt than you thought you’d be. Hot tears burn the backs of your eyes.

‘It’s fine, Hoseok.’

You can’t look at him.

You get out of the taxi. ‘I’ll see you at work, ok?’

Hoseok says, ‘wait’, but you’re already walking up the steps, letting yourself in.

You make it up to your apartment, and close the door behind you before you let the tears fall.

***

You’re sitting at the back of the room at the team-building day, half-asleep because it took you ages to get here on the train, to the ass end of nowhere.

Jimin’s sleeping quietly beside you, ball cap pulled low over his face. You’ve promised to wake him if he started sleep-talking.

Hoseok’s near the front of the room, not that you’d been looking out for him. You haven’t really spoken since that night at the bar.

Namjoon’s texted you a few times but you haven’t answered.

You can do better than a boy who just wants to fuck and a boy who can’t be bothered to talk to you like a goddamn decent human being.

You nudge Jimin awake when it’s time for the activity - a scavenger hunt in the woods where you’ll be paired off.

To your dismay, you don’t get to pick your teammate.

It’s fine, as long as you don’t get –

You swallow down the swear word that fills your mouth when you realise your teammate is Hoseok.

Of course it is.

Hoseok looks as thrilled about it as you do.

He grabs the sack you’ve been given, and you pick up your clipboard and pen.

‘Shall we head towards the lake?’ you ask, clipped.

‘Sure,’ he says, neutral.

You’re looking down the list. ‘Too bad it doesn’t ask for an asshole,’ you say, looking at him darkly. ‘Because you’re right here.’

Hoseok looks at you, straight faced. ‘Are you gonna be like this the whole time?’

‘Why don’t you call Namjoon and ask him, seeing as he knows so much about me?’

Hoseok tilts his head. ‘I said I was sorry about that,’ he tells you.

You sigh. ‘Forget it. The first item is a black rock.’

‘There’ll be loads by the lake,’ Hoseok says.

He sets off without waiting for you.

You’re loath to follow him but at least if you get this over with as soon as possible you can go back and take the next train out of this place.

Scowling, you follow in his tracks.

***

‘You look hot when you’re angry,’ Hoseok tells you. ‘That little frown line between your brows really suits you.’

You give him a dead-eyed stare. ‘Yeah, and you looked hot before you turned out to be a misogynistic asshole.’

‘Jokes on you,’ Hoseok mutters. ‘I always was one.’

The giggle escapes you before you can hold it back.

‘No wonder you’re friends with Namjoon,’ you scoff, turning away.

‘We have a lot in common,’ Hoseok allows. He side-eyes you. ‘We like the same type of women.’

‘Women that are too hot for you?’ you ask, straightfaced.

‘Yeah.’

You stumble on a rock, and Hoseok curls his hand under your arm to steady you.

‘There you go again, thinking I need you when I don’t,’ you snipe, jerking your arm away.

‘Yeah, next time I’ll just let you fall on your face,’ Hoseok agrees.

He sighs. ‘Honestly? Your bitchiness is giving me a hard-on.’

Your gaze flies to his crotch.

Hoseok lets you look. ‘I’m strapped in, but I’ll let you look at it properly later if you want.’

‘No thanks,’ you snap.

He shrugs. ‘I’m not gonna force myself on you.’

Then, as you’re looking at his face, he smirks, popping a dimple at the corner of his mouth. ‘I won’t fuck you until you’re begging for it.’

You raise a brow, nonchalant. ‘Guess we’re never fucking then.’

‘That’s my loss,’ he says.

He veers off to the right, behind a tree.

‘Got it,’ he says, emerging after a moment, triumphantly holding up an acorn.

You tick it off the list silently.

‘I don’t want to be an asshole misogynist again, but the path’s slippery here, be careful,’ he says, as you approach a steep sloping hill.

‘Thanks,’ you reply.

The path narrows, and he says, ‘Let me go up ahead, ok? Just in case.’

‘I’m fine with you dying first,’ you agree.

He looks back at you, smiles. ‘I would have asked you out sooner if I’d known you were like this.’

‘Intolerant of assholes?’ you suggest.

He laughs. ‘Mean.’

You’re indignant. ‘I’m not mean!’

‘No, I like it,’ he says. ‘Like I said, you’re giving me a boner.’

‘I heard you were mean too,’ you say.

He scoffs. ‘Only in bed.’

He smiles at you. ‘Wanna find out?’

You shove him, and he just laughs. ‘Come on, let me help you up the slope.’

He offers you his hand, and when you reach out for it, he pulls it away.

You look up at him, outraged, and he laughs again.

‘No, really this time,’ he says, putting out his hand again.

You push past him, and your foot slips.

‘Shit!’

Hoseok, quick as a cat, grabs you to steady you.

‘You ok?’ he asks quietly, holding your arm.

‘I’m fine,’ you mutter. ‘We have one item left, then we can head back.’

‘The elderberries?’ Hoseok asks. ‘I found those ages ago.’

You stare up at him. ‘You didn’t —’

‘Yeah, I wanted more time with you. Alone in the woods.’

You’d be more mad if he didn’t look so absurdly hot when he’s grinning at you like he is now.

‘Fuck, Hoseok.’

‘My friends call me Hobi,’ he says.

‘We’re not friends,’ you snap.

He almost looks hurt. ‘Aren’t we? Don’t you like hanging out with me?’

You’re about to say you don’t when you realise it would be a lie.

He holds out his arm. ‘Come on, it’s getting dark. We should head back.’

***

You’re one of the last teams to get back, and as you walk up you realise from Jimin’s reaction that you’re still holding Hoseok’s arm.

‘Can I give you a ride back? I drove,’ Hoseok offers.

‘I came with Jimin on the train,’ you say.

‘You can both fit in my car,’ Hoseok says, easy.

You wake up to Jimin saying goodbye to Hoseok, and sit up guiltily.

Hoseok turns back to you.

‘Are you ok? You looked tired so we didn’t want to wake you.’

‘I’m fine. Let me come round the front.’

You slide into the front passenger seat, and Hoseok pulls away from Jimin’s apartment.

‘You hungry?’ he asks, as he drives.

You sit up and realise that you are, a bit.

‘Depends, are we gonna eat together?’

Hoseok looks over at you, laughs. ‘We can sit separately if you want.’

You end up at some 24 hour noodle bar near where he lives.

Hoseok slurps his noodles, throws glances at you across the tiny table, until you set down your chopsticks.

‘What?’

‘I’m just regretting fucking things up so badly with you,’ he says.

You open your mouth, ready with a reply, and close it again.

‘Namjoon asked me out,’ you tell him. ‘He came round to where I worked, and then one day asked if I wanted to meet him, and I did. We went on dates, and I don’t remember when it all changed but then one day I realised we were just sleeping together.’

You look up at him.

‘He’s never lied or said he wants more,’ you say. ‘You know, there was this one night I was walking back from his place and some dude snatched my phone.’

You look out the front window at the street.

‘I was right outside his building, but it was only after I got home, all shaken up that I realised I hadn’t even thought about ringing his bell, asking to come back up and calm down.’

You laugh, short. ‘I guess I didn’t want to find out how little he really cares about me outside of bed.’

You don’t want to see Hoseok’s face right now.

Is he disgusted at how pathetic you are?

You look at your hands.

‘I should go.’

Hoseok’s standing. He hasn’t said a word since your confession.

He stops with his hand on the passenger door of his car.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

You risk a glance at his face only to find he’s looking at you. There’s an openness to his expression, a mixture of concern and kindness and something else you can’t read.

He opens the door, shuts it after you once you’ve climbed in.

The drive back to yours is short, and you’re grateful that he seems to not want to try to talk.

He pulls up outside your steps, kills the engine.

‘Let me walk you to the door,’ he says.

You’re surprised. ‘It’s literally ten steps.’

He walks up with you, stops at the entrance.

‘Namjoon and I are similar in a lot of ways,’ he tells you, putting a hand on your arm, ‘but not in everything. I wouldn’t want you to think I’d treat you the same as he’s done.’

You look up at him and the memory of him that day at the festival softens your gaze.

‘I know you’re not the same,’ you say.

‘Good,’ Hoseok says. He lets go of your arm.

He waits until you’re inside before he drives away.

***

You and Jimin stare, bemused, at the beautifully stocked display trays of fresh fruit and vegetables.

You haven’t even started your shift, but it looks like all your work’s been done for you.

You turn to Jimin. ‘Did you?’

‘Nope,’ Jimin denies.

‘Then who?’

Hoseok walks by, accompanied by a man you don’t know with a lip piercing and a fluffy looking wolf cut covering his face.

‘Hey, Jungkook and I arranged the fruit this morning. Do you guys want to go round the back? We made rolls and coffee.’

Nonplussed, you and Jimin follow Hoseok and Jungkook to the break room.

Hoseok pours you a mug of coffee, passes you a roll.

‘How are you doing?’ he asks, settling into the seat next to yours, leaning back.

His thigh brushes yours as he stretches out, and he moves it carefully away.

‘I’m good,’ you say. ‘You?’

‘I couldn’t sleep well thinking about what you said,’ Hoseok says.

You’re discomfited. ‘It’s fine, Hoseok, I didn’t tell you for any particular reason.’

‘I know. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry and I can do better.’

You’re quiet. ‘Why do you care?’

‘I like you,’ he says, with an honesty that takes your breath away. ‘Even when you’re mean to me.’

He smiles at your expression. ‘Especially when you’re mean to me,’ he amends.

You can’t help but laugh.

***

Hoseok’s gathering shopping trolleys in the car park when you walk out.

‘Hey,’ he says, pushing a long line of trolleys towards you. ‘Want to go watch a movie?’

You tilt your head, considering, and then decide to make the leap.

‘Hey. My mom dropped off a lot of food at mine yesterday. There’s enough for both of us if you’re interested.’

Hoseok beams at you. ‘Yes!’ he says, with such enthusiasm you’re smiling.

‘I just need to get my jacket,’ he explains. ‘Wait for me here?’

You’re waiting for Hoseok by the trolleys when a familiar voice says your name.

It’s Namjoon.

He’s decked out in blue, and white, tall enough to block out the late afternoon sun, handsome enough to make you stand up straight.

‘Hey,’ he says.

‘Hey.’

‘I haven’t heard from you lately,’ he says. He cocks his head, dimples at you. ‘You good?’

‘Yeah, I’m good.’

‘I’m ready,’ Hoseok says cheerfully, coming out the side of the store.

He stops when he sees you and Namjoon.

There’s an infinitesimal pause before he says, ‘Hey, Namjoon.’

Namjoon says, easy, ‘hey Hobi.’

‘We’re going to have dinner,’ you say.

‘Yeah,’ Hoseok says. ‘See you later, Namjoon.’

Hoseok puts a gentle hand under your arm. ‘Ready?’

You think you are.

***

Hoseok’s eating a cream puff.

There’s a dollop of cream on his top lip, and you put your hand on his arm to keep him still as you lean forward and lick it off.

Hoseok’s reflexes are quick.

He turns his head instantly to kiss you full on the lips.

Oh my. Is this what you’ve been missing?

His lips are sweet, and warm, and he’s responsive, following your lead as you deepen the kiss.

His tongue flicks at your lower lip, and then slides into your mouth.

His warm hand covers yours as you break apart.

‘Let’s go sit,’ you invite, gesturing to your couch.

Hoseok’s laying a trail of kisses along the line of your neck, tongue coming out to flick at your skin. His hand’s gently squeezing your covered thigh.

His chest is pressed against yours, and something about the solid warmth of him is making your head spin.

You’re squirming, impatient already even though he’s made no move to do anything but kiss you.

Hoseok sighs out a breath as he pulls away. He rests the side of his head against the back of your couch, lips curving in a smile.

‘I could do this all night,’ he tells you.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

***

Hoseok’s shirtless, lying on his back on your bedspread. His flat abs twitch as you run your tongue along them.

You reach the button on his jeans, tug at it with your teeth.

Hoseok’s hand comes up to grasp your hair.

‘You really want this?’ he asks.

‘We can just snuggle for a bit if you want,’ he suggests, voice low and warm.

He pulls you up alongside him, curls an arm around you, keeps his face close to yours.

He says, ‘I’ve wanted to be with you like this since that time at the festival.’

He reaches out, traces a finger over the upper curve of your breasts, exposed in your bra.

‘Fuck, you’re a menace,’ Hoseok mutters, but he doesn’t sound mad about it.

He traces circles on your arm lazily, lets you slide your hand over his bare chest. His flat nipples pebble under your touch.

‘You know what I think?’ he says, finally.

You raise your eyes to his.

‘I think you need to be told what to do,’ Hoseok says, thoughtfully. ‘You’re too pretty, I bet that’s what all the boys you’ve slept with tell you.’

Your brow furrows.

Hoseok nudges you down so you’re flat on the bed, hooks a thigh over your legs to slide you fully underneath him.

He braces himself with a forearm beside your head, rolls his hips slowly against yours, makes you tremble with want.

Hoseok says, a challenge in his eyes, ‘Bet you wouldn’t know what to do with my cock if I let you have it.’

You look at him, your irritation clouded by lust, by the way he’s still slowly grinding himself against you.

He laughs at you.

The bastard has the audacity to laugh at you.

‘Look at you, your lips like that, your eyes like that. Bet all you have to do is smile and you have guys creaming their pants.’

He leans closer, presses his lips to your ear, murmurs, ‘huh.’

You’re already so wet and needy you can barely keep up, but you muster up a retort, defiance in your tone.

‘I’m not some sort of pillow princess,’ you tell him, annoyed.

Hoseok laughs, voice so low and raspy now you can barely make out the words.

‘I think you are,’ he replies. He rolls his hips again, and you try to stifle a moan but you can’t.

‘It’s ok,’ he tells you, hand under your ass, pulling your hips up to his. ‘I like it.’

The chain around his neck’s dangling into the dip of his clavicles. You tuck your fingers into it, pull a little as you kiss him again, open mouthed.

Hoseok licks into your mouth like he loves the taste of you, sloppy, wet. As you run your hand down over his bare chest he groans.

He sits forward, tucks his fingers under the strap of your bra. ‘Can I take this off?’ he asks.

When you nod he unhooks your bra, tugs it off you.

He admires your bare breasts for so long your hands are already coming up to cover yourself when he says, stern, ‘Don’t.’

‘Hoseok —-‘

‘I’m staring,’ he explains patiently, ‘because I’ve been thinking about you like this for so long I can’t believe we’re finally here, like this.’

He kisses you off centre, at the corner of your mouth, flicking his tongue at the seam of your lips.

‘I’m staring because you’re such a pretty girl.’

He lowers his head, sticks out his tongue, laves the peak of your breast, pulling a whimper out of you.

‘Go on,’ he says, watching your face, lips against your breast. ‘Let me hear how much you like it.’

His thigh slips between yours, and you roll your hips against it, seeking friction for your aching clit, the emptiness between your legs.

Hoseok’s mouth is warm, and wet, and he grasps your hip, tight, as he suckles at your breasts.

Your first orgasm takes you by surprise, a burst of warm pleasure from your throbbing clit, your cunt pulsing around nothing as you cry out and buck your hips against his.

‘Easy, baby,’ Hoseok says, letting you ride out the waves of your pleasure, hand warm on your skin as he steadies you.

You lift your face to his, and he’s only too happy to give you his mouth. You’re still breathless from your orgasm, and when he slips a firm hand under your panties, you moan so loudly his ears ring.

Hoseok groans at the feel of you, warm and soft and slicking up his fingers.

‘Are you sensitive? Can I?’

You reach down and curl your fingers around him, and Hoseok can’t stop himself from grinding into your hand.

‘One sec,’ he grunts. He tears open a condom, passes it to you.

‘Go on, do some work, princess.’

You’re sitting up on legs that still feel like jelly.

Instead of rolling the condom onto his length, you take him in your mouth, suck at his head, and Hoseok swears and pulls you off him.

‘Damn you need to warn me if you’re gonna do that, I nearly came,’ he pants.

He kisses you again. ‘Behave yourself or you won’t get fucked.’

You pinch the tip, roll the condom onto him, and Hoseok pulls you on top of him.

He pinches the softness of your inner thigh, making you jump.

‘Line me up,’ he says.

You squeeze him as you position yourself, and Hoseok groans. ‘Fuck, you’re such a brat.’

He closes his eyes, huffs out a long breath as you take him in.

He’s deep, like this, snug. He grasps your hips, helps you move on his cock.

His head arches back into the pillow underneath it, neck bared to you as you ride him.

‘Use me, baby,’ he urges, bucking his hips up into you to fuck you a little deeper, grunting when you cry out.

He feels so good your oversensitivity gives way to building need.

‘Come on,’ Hoseok says. He cards his fingers through your hair, tugs you down so he can devour your mouth. He’s vocal in his enjoyment of you, groaning into your mouth, grasping your ass so tight he’s going to leave marks.

‘Look,’ he says, hoarse, helping you lift up off him so you can see your arousal glistening on his skin, on the insides of your thighs.

He swears. ‘Turn over.’

He pulls out, and you turn over, onto all fours. You tremble with want as he slides his cock against your slit, nudging you apart.

He’s back inside you in one smooth movement, curled over your back, hand on your tits, the other hand snaking down the front of your pelvis to rub your clit.

‘I’m gonna come,’ he tells you. His voice is raspy now, taut. ‘And I think I’m going to fucking love coming into this cunt.’

‘I think you’re gonna get so fucking tight I won’t be able to move.’

He strokes his fingers over your clit, and you cry out. He flicks his other thumb over your peaked nipple.

‘Shit, you’re so fucking soft, princess,’ he groans. ‘So fucking soft.’

You moan his name as his words push you over the edge.

‘That’s it, there you go, princess,’ he says. He drives himself into your pulsing cunt, deep, slow, and then he’s holding you tight, pulled up so your back is pressed to his chest. You can feel him twitching as he fills the condom.

Your arms buckle, and you drop onto the bed, taking him with you.

He rolls off. ‘Fuck, are you ok? Did I squash you?’

You’re still breathless but you manage a smile. ‘No, you killed me.’

Hoseok laughs. ‘Knew you were a princess.’

He sits up, staggers a little, and he disappears in the direction of your kitchen, coming back with a glass of water.

‘Drink up.’

As you drink he goes to the bathroom, returning shirtless but with his briefs back on.

‘All yours,’ he says. He passes you his t-shirt and your panties.

By the time you make it back he’s tidied up the clothes you shed, and is perched on the end of your bed.

He looks up at you.

‘I can go,’ he says, tentative.

You come closer, and automatically, he curls an arm around your waist, pressing his face into your front.

‘Why don’t you stay?’

Hoseok’s smile is bright, happy, pleased. ‘I’d like to.’

You hit the lights, and he holds up the covers for you to slide in, wraps his arm around you as soon as you’re in the bed.

Your phone buzzes on your nightstand.

‘Need to get that?’ he asks as you lift it to check.

He watches you swipe away the text from Namjoon, but all he says is, ‘What kind of coffee do you like? I’ll pick us up some in the morning.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ he promises. ‘I’ll get you whatever you want.’

#bts smut #hoseok x reader #hoseok fanfic #hoseok smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic

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lucabyte · 7 days

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obligatory ramble about postcanon loop ask

also your art is amazing

Hiiiiiiiii :D thank you :)!!

and thank you for the excuse to post the. just absolute wall of text that i truncated down to form the tags of that post. (i did,,, hit the tag limit. i forgot tumblr had one of those...) so let me just paste that and tidy it up a bit...

I am putting this under a readmore because it's a bit long. but:

This is like. The General Context for all* of my postcanon doodles? (Except AUs obviously) Like this is the base idea I've been drawing them all in. So, feel free to backread with this in mind. I've basically had this 'postcanon' timeline set in my brain since finishing the game...

My general thoughts are that I like the idea of Loop (even if through dubiously ethical means) being able to slowly reintegrate with the party as a whole new person, because they are, in fact, their own person.

It's a muddle of thematic threads im pulling on and "wouldn't it be fucked up if", but. (at its core, it's powered by the fact that like, while narratively isat's theme of 'the only person who can truly take the first step to help you is yourself'. (wrt: loop helping the party help siffrin in act 5) which i LOVE AND IS GREAT NARRATIVELY…. would be super fucked up irl to learn that your friend 'learned as a lesson' while you stood by kinda uselessly. I know i'd be upset about it. but thats mostly background here. doesn't really come up. at least not until loop has to explain who they are and the party realises they had to fall back on literally themselves again for help, but i digress,)

The real core concept is: Occam's razor. It is like, inherently, a buckwild thing to accuse a person of being somehow a clone or copy of your friend. Even if they start vaguely alluding to a backstory it's far more likely they were some other person before all that. (I still think Odile has that theory in the back pocket but she's rational enough to know it's a really long shot without a solid explanation. and i think Loop deep down knows this, and would, if cornered into confessing, turn the situation around to go J'ACCUSE and make HER explain it instead. Ever longer dodging being direct with their emotions...)

And the party are nice! And if someone has changed and wants to keep stuff secret it's kind of not their business? (Though it's hard not to speculate… see: the main joke of the doodles) And they seem important to Siffrin so they just try to accept them abrasive quirks and all. And eventually the question of their prior identity just fades away since, well, they're Loop. Their friend Loop.

but yeah. personal headcanon is that a few months/weeks after picking up and getting aquainted with Nille** (since that was presumably the IMMEDIATE TASK postgame), Loop reappears (either after a literal period of nonexistance, or just spending a few months wandering the french countryside alone being attacked by wild dogs). Since Siffrin has had a while to be therapised by the party they're doing mostly okay, but Loop showing up and still being agitated/aggressive pulls them both into a bit of a backslide behaviourally and puts the party on the back foot again.

Hooowever, I do think that due to no longer being literally stewing in the worst pressure cooker of all time together, the two do mostly actually sort themselves out with productive conversation. (Via a cycle of: genuinely distressing argument -> weeeird lovebombing -> ok we're good -> repeat, that gets less intense over time)

Thus, allowing the party to just. Integrate loop as a new person. They and Siffrin shuffle into different ecological niches (Loop taking over stuff Siffrin is now too squeamish for, etc (see: hunting, mostly)), and while it's not exactly what Loop wanted they generally get that beggars can't be choosers and it's a pretty good deal. And the rest of the party does straight up just like them as a friend, especially when Loop quits trying to actively antagonise them after a few weeks of being around them, since they just can't keep up being mean to people they like forever.

As for how I think the truth eventually drags itself out. This is where I invoke The Isabeau Torment Nexus™. So its gonna get shippy here for a bit hold on.

Which is, I think giving them time before Loop reappears long enough that Siffrin and Iseabeau actually manage to become established, Isabeau has to be the one to nudge the pair of them and go. "Hey. You know we're in Vaugarde right. I'm okay with polyamory if we all communicate." Before Loop and Siffrin actually even acknowledge that whatever the fuck they have going on kinda looks a lot like a relationship of some kind. (or have already been agonising about that via fighting and arguing, depending) (Obviously this comes after Isa "Emotionally intelligent enough to keep a lid on the jealousy" Beau has managed to use that big brain of his to Not just go Scream somewhere on the daily because oh godddd they keep talking like theyre suicide-baiting each other jesus chriiist. is it overstepping his boundaries to bring that up?? god)

This, taking a bunch of the tension out of Loop and Isabeau's relationship (Since I imagine Loop is a. being weird for the obvious reasons and b. feeling kinda guilty about 'getting in the way of' Siffrin and Iseabeau), allows them to actually get close in a normal friend way. (I think an interesting turning point could be Isabeau actually taking Loop's side in an argument vs Siffrin, which would absolutely break Loop's brain. Especially if it's an argument that matters. Like what do you mean he isn't just going to play favourites. What?)

Then Isabeau, just actually open minded and charmed by Loop (and maybe even somewhat at Siffrin's suggestion?) tries to close the final open side on the polyamory triangle here and that's the final straw for Loop on "This lie by omission is too unethical to keep up, this is just actually sick and wrong. I can't do this while he doesn't know who I am." Though. Obviously it probably goes. Very poorly with emotions high like that. And the added element of several months of deceit. Getting dark here for a second but that dagger is going MISSING and so are THEY for a hot minute.

Then yaaay everything works out in the end 👍 yippieee!! all it took was maybe a lot of harrowed recontextualisation of all the weird shit your new friend said and did when it turns out they're your old friend. It's fine.

But yeah. this is basically the context all of my postcanon doodles have existed within? And those exist to give other people something to chew on. So this does too.

I suppose TL;DR: Imagine if sloopis almost fucking happens before isabeau knows who loop is. can you fucking imagine. can you imagine having to navigate that. nightmare.

*Yes this includes the implied cannibalism comic. Uhh. Comes part and parcel with headcanoning that Loop went way off the deep end similar to A5 Sif But Maybe Worse before giving in. Add weepy half-asleep confessions to murder wherever you see fit in your mind palace. 👍👍👍

**Re: Nille footnote. I don't have anywhere to put this besides here! I have some thoughts on Loop and Nille having an odd dynamic. I don't imagine Nille to be super gung-ho on trusting a bunch of adults (even if they are majority around her age) given their implied backstory. It's probably a big shock to the system, especially since Bambouche is a good couple hundred Kilometers up north from Dormont and these guys don't seem to have trains. She would've been unfrozen and without Bonnie for some time....

Which is to say: I think she's suspicious of them. I think she may be looking for excuses to distance herself, keep Bonnie safe. SO.... A new guy showing up? And antagonising the party? What do they know that I don't...? I should find out.

And since... Loop didn't ever know Nille, they have no ammunition or real reason to be cruel. Plus, if they're trying to stay on Bonnie's good side (SINCE... if Bonnie thought Loop was cringe they may as well kill themselves. In their mind.) they SUPER have no reason to antagonise Nille.

Mostly, they might be able to open up to each other easier than they can the rest of the party?

I feel like this resolves with Loop feeling compelled to apologise for what they and Siffrin let happen to Bonnie, though... Hmm... Depends on how you interpret Nille that they'd be glad nobody else had been told about that yet, or furious it had been secret this long. I lean toward the former.

#PHEW THIS IS LONG. i wrote some extra footnotes and tidied it up a bit. but uh. here you go! my personal headcanon baseline for postcanon.#i could probably elaborate more but that would get unwieldy. like i have opinions on loop's dynamics w each party member but. LONG POST...#lucabytetalks #isat #isat spoilers #in stars and time #isat loop #isiloop #sloopis #WONT be tagging everyone thats absurd. loop centric post though with a chunk about nille at the end #isat act 6 spoilers

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