#it fucking slapped btw. who knew canned food actually didn’t suck

[milf-louis]

.

[kutemouse]

He calls you clingy with hoseok? I'm love him🌻🌻, angst with fluff please :))

Alright, kutie anon, you asked for it. Please don’t hate me, it’s a lot of heated angst 💜 Btw, I love Hoseok too! He so kute 💜

Age Recommendation: 18+

Warnings: Sweeeeaaaaars (like ALWAYS come on now, y’all know the drill), mentions of alcohol consumption, Jin being an ass, Hoseok being an ABSOLUTE BUTT HOLE. I love him no matter what, but PLEASE don’t project and create toxic situations the way he is doing, ‘kay? Yelling, screaming, and crying 😭 When you ask for angst, I give you ANGST. You’re welcome 😈

Word Count: 2,663

Summary: You feel like you haven’t seen your boyfriend for a while, so you decide to go over to his place and surprise him despite him insisting on a guys’ night. Thanks to Jin mixed with alcohol, things do NOT work out well.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Tears and Tulips (Hoseok One-Shot, Angst, Fluff)

You hesitate before knocking on the door. There’s music coming from inside, along with several muffled explosions and male voices yelling. He��ll appreciate you coming over, right? After all, you did bring food.

With that thought giving you courage, you rap your knuckles on the door. It takes a couple minutes before it opens to Jimin. His eyes go wide with surprise. “Y/n h-hi,” he stutters. “I didn’t realize you were invited over.”

You give him a weak smile. “Technically, I’m not, but… I brought food?”

You held up the bag full of take-out containers, but Jimin still hesitated before stepping aside. “I’ll let Hobi hyung know you’re here,” he muttered.

Nodding, you walked inside the apartment, inhaling the distinct scent of pizza and sweaty boys. “You cheated!” Jungkook shouted, reaching over and playfully punching Taehyung.

“You’re just mad ‘cause you suck,” the elder teased. His eyes flickered over to you. “Oh. Hey Y/n.”

“Hey.”

“Didn’t know you were coming over.”

“So I’ve been told,” you said under your breath, turning to head inside the kitchen.

Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi were all in there, talking loudly with slurred words. Each one held a cup in their hand filled with liquid you were sure wasn’t juice. Jin’s windshield-wiper laugh rang out. “And then…” he gasped, slapping Namjoon on the chest. “And then she fucking went, ‘Oh, okay, didn’t realize you had such a huge-’”

Joon nudged Jin, cutting him off, the second he caught sight of you. “Y/n!” Namjoon said, his voice too loud, his smile too wide. “What a surprise!”

Your pathetically fake smile came back. “Hey, guys. Sorry to drop by unannounced… But I brought food.”

“Wow!” Jin exclaimed as you dropped the bag on the table. “Damn, Y/n, you’re such a good girlfriend. No girl I know would bring me a meal, let alone one for my roommates too.”

He threw you a cheeky wink. “If you and Hobi don’t work out, you should go out with me, ‘kay?”

You bit your lip and shoved your hands in your hoodie pocket, looking down at the ground as you felt heat rise to your cheeks. You hated when he did this, but you didn’t want to start drama with your boyfriend’s friends. You looked up as Jin stepped close, stumbling as he did so, and pressed his hands into your shoulders. “Seriously, I could kiss you for bringing us food,” he mumbled, his words still heavy and slurred. Your mouth fell open as he actually puckered his lips and leaned in towards you.

“The FUCK!” a voice cried out as a pair of hands reached out and roughly shoved Jin backwards. Hoseok grabbed the front of Jin’s jacket and pressed him against the wall, teeth bared, anger blasting from his dark eyes.

Namjoon and Yoongi, drunk as they were, had a hell of a time wrestling them apart until the younger three came in and helped. Taehyung tugged Jin to the front room and Jungkook held a struggling Hoseok back, pinning his arms behind him. “LET ME GO!” your boyfriend roared.

“ENOUGH!” Joon bellowed.

A beat of silence followed his thundering voice, in which all the boys froze and looked at you. You didn’t realize you were holding your hands to your mouth until that moment. Slowly, you dropped them to your sides. “I’m… I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Fuck off!” Hoseok growled, shoving Jungkook away.

He grabbed your hand and led you wordlessly to his bedroom, fury rolling off him in waves. You jumped as he slammed the door shut. “What. The. Fuck,” he hissed, turning towards you.

You backed away, suddenly feeling a bit frightened. “Hobi, I’m sorry-”

“No! No more ‘sorries!’ No more making excuses!” he shouted, pointing towards the door. “I’m sick of you all defending him! He’s been drunk-flirting with you for weeks now, and I am two seconds away from kicking that pretty boy’s ass!”

You held your hands up. “I get it. I do, Hobi, I really do-”

“No, I don’t think you do!” Hoseok ran a hand frustratedly through his dark locks. “Watching him think he can just… just have you, like he does every other girl who comes his way is… Well, it makes me sick!”

“It makes me uncomfortable, too, I’ll be honest-”

“Then WHY?!” he roared. “WHY DO YOU PUT UP WITH IT?!”

Your mouth parted open at his words. “What am I supposed to do?” you scoffed. “He’s one of your best friends, and you know I’m not the type to start shit-”

“Well you certainly let it end in shit, don’t you?!” Hoseok spat. His chest heaved as he spoke.

“I don’t let anything happen,” you said through clenched teeth. You felt your defensive walls rising and wrapped your fingers into fists, prepping for the inevitable fight. You knew Hoseok wasn’t really mad at you, he was just projecting, but you had a terrible day and were completely fed up with his shit.

“Yes, you do,” Hoseok growled, stepping towards you. Despite you wanting to stand your ground, you wavered and backed away from him until your back hit the wall. Hoseok pressed his palms into the wall on either side of you, trapping you.

“You know exactly what you do,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Always wearing those skimpy little outfits, showing as much skin as possible…”

“Those are for YOU!” you yelled, shoving him away. “And wearing shorts and the occasional tank top does not make my outfits SKIMPY!”

You stomped to the other side of the room, still shouting as you went. “And how do my clothing choices warrant Jin flirting with me?! What, don’t have an answer?!”

You whirled around, looking your boyfriend full in the face. “Well, here it is: THEY DON’T!”

Hoseok rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets, tightening his mouth into a pout. He already knew he was in the wrong for saying that. He was just angry and wanting to blame someone for how hurt he was feeling. You didn’t begrudge him that. You did, however, resent the fact that his ‘someone’ was nearly always you. Your boyfriend could really be a child sometimes when it came to taking responsibility.

After a beat of tense silence, Hoseok snorted. “Why did you come over tonight, anyway? I told you tonight was guys’ night, Y/n.”

“Yeah, I know you did,” you replied impatiently. “But I hardly ever see you, Hobi. You’re always at work or dance practice, and I thought since you were home tonight, maybe we could spend at least a little time together.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” he snapped.

Your mouth parted open once more, taken aback. “Seriously? I even brought food for you and the guys! I just wanted to see you!”

Hoseok grabbed his hair with both of his hands, the look in his eyes unhinged. “Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to see you?!” he shouted. “I mean, god Y/n, you can be so… so…”

Your entire body tensed up as you waited for that next word to drop, your eyes widening as tears pricked at them.

“Clingy.”

And there it was. The verdict you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for. The one word that caused your muscles to unclench and the tears to finally spill over. You angrily swiped at them.

“Y-You think I’m clingy?” you stuttered, taking deep breaths to try and calm yourself. “F-Fine. Then I’ll give you space.”

“Y/n…” Hoseok said weakly, his eyes already filling with regret.

“No!” you said, your voice suddenly strong again. You gulped. “I’ll give you as much goddamn space as you want.”

And with that, you whirled and wrenched open the door, running down the hall, through the kitchen, and into the living room. “Y/n, please!” Hoseok called after you.

Your breath came out in gasping sobs as you struggled to unlock the door. Someone lay a hand on your shoulder, and you jumped, turning to see Namjoon looking at you. Concern filled his eyes. “Y/n, are you okay? I don’t think you should-”

You didn’t bother letting him finish. You ripped the door open and bolted down the hall, sobbing loudly as you sprinted away from all of the hurt, all of the humiliation, and most importantly, all of him.

The next few days passed in a daze. You barely spoke at your job, causing your coworkers to repeatedly ask you if something was wrong. You shut your phone off, sick of getting texts and phone calls from everyone but him. You spent most of the day sleeping, but at night, you lay awake, tears streaming from your eyes. Nothing could make you feel better, not even your favorite tv shows or movies.

Finally, the weekend came. You were wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, gorging on a gallon-size bucket of ice-cream as you watched your favorite romantic comedy for the umpteenth time. You reached over and chucked a pillow at the screen the two main characters kissed and the credits rolled. “That’s not how it ends!” you shouted.

You got up and put the ice-cream back in the freezer, dumping the spoon unceremoniously in the sink. Meandering into the bathroom, you splashed some water on your face and stared at your reflection for a moment. Dark circles covered the skin below your eyes, and your hair was a rats’ nest. You sighed and ran a brush through it, nodding in contentment as it lay at least a little more flat on your head.

You jumped as someone knocked on your door. Who could that be? You shuffled over to the door and pulled it open, eyes widening when you saw who it was. “Hey,” his voice said, cracking on the single syllable. Wow, he must be nervous.

“Hobi,” you said before shaking your head. “I mean, Hoseok. What’re you doing here?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, giving you a half-hearted smile. “Whaddya mean? I came to see you, of course.”

You looked down at yourself in horror, realizing you were wearing an over-sized t-shirt with several stains on it, leggings covered in cat hair, and… had you even showered today? Not to mention the state of your apartment.

Then again, Hoseok looked nearly as bad as you did. He had on a bucket hat over his hair, which meant it was likely unwashed, and you noticed he didn’t have a speck of color anywhere in his outfit. He must be really depressed. He also had dark circles under his eyes, and his mouth was turned down in that famous shiot frown.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, sure.” Fuck it. Let him think your place was messy. You had nothing to hide.

He stepped inside and sat on the couch you were just burrito’d on. He motioned for you to sit, and you did so, pulling your blanket over your legs and facing him. “What’s up?” you asked, suddenly nervous.

“I just wanted to say…” he said, and you braced yourself. He wanted to break up. You just knew it.

“...That I was wrong.” You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. His dark eyes roamed over you, filled with guilty remorse, one corner of his mouth turning up in a hopeful smile.

“I was so wrong, baby girl,” he murmured. Tingles shot down your spine.

Hobi earnestly grabbed my hands with his. “You weren’t to blame for any of it.”

You gently took your hands back, not ready to let him off the hook just yet. “You sure made it out like it was,” you muttered.

Hobi furiously shook his head. “You weren’t. At all. You can wear whatever you want, and it doesn’t give anyone, not even me, the right to make a move on you.”

He scooted close, his hands frantically reaching up and stroking my face. “And please, baby girl, please believe me when I say this,” he begged. “You aren’t clingy. You can come over whenever you want. I never, ever want you to feel like I don’t want you… like I don’t love you… again.”

You bit your lip before turning your face and kissing his palm, tears pricking at your eyes. “I love you too.”

Hoseok let out a sigh, a wide smile forming over his face before he leaned over and pecked you on the lips. “I’m so sorry, baby. Please forgive me?”

“I already have,” you choked out before throwing yourself in his arms.

He peppered your forehead with kisses, letting you sob into his chest. “I know baby, I know,” he murmured, rocking you back and forth. “These last few days have been hell for me too.”

Once you cried it out, Hobi stood up, got a box of tissues and began wiping and kissing your tears away, the way he’d always done and would always do. “I’ll never make you feel like that again,” he promised, his voice determined. “I promise.”

“And I promise to put Jin in his place if he ever tries that again,” you replied, tossing him a watery smile.

Hoseok grinned. “Yeah, about that. The rest of the guys agreed… If he hits on you again, they’re gonna kick his ass out.”

“No shit,” you said, slightly taken aback. You weren’t too surprised, though. The guys were probably pretty sick of all this drama.

“Speaking of them,” Hobi said, standing up and holding out a hand to you. “I have a surprise for you.”

You let him pull you upright, dropping the blanket as you stood, and lead you out into the hall. You gasped as you saw all of the guys standing there, each holding a bouquet of different-colored tulips and grinning. “We’re sorry things got so crazy,” Joon said sincerely. “We promise it won’t happen again. Right, Jin?”

He playfully wacked Jin right in the stomach, causing him to grunt. “Right,” he wheezed, holding his stomach. “I’m sorry Y/n. I promise I’ll never flirt with you again, no matter how drunk I am.”

“You’d better not,” you warned, feeling your heart swell.

Each of the guys traipsed into your apartment, setting down the tulips on the kitchen table until it was full of the beautiful flowers. Namjoon dropped off violet ones, Jungkook had purple ones, Taehyung had green ones, Jimin had yellow ones, Jin had pink ones, and Yoongi had maroon ones. Finally, you turned to see Hobi smiling and offering a single, red rose to you. “My beautiful girl deserves beautiful flowers,” he said. You took the rose and deeply inhaled its scent.

“Awwww,” Taehyung teased. You all laughed and the guys circled around you, wrapping you in the sweetest group hug you’d ever had.

“I love you guys,” you sniffled. “Thank you.”

“We love you. We don’t ever want you and Hobi hyung to break up,” Jungkook said, and the others murmured their agreement.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Hobi said, waving his roommates off. “You guys gotta get out, she’s gotta get ready.”

“For what?” you asked, blinking in surprise.

He waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “For the best date ever.”

You laughed, then pressed your hands to your mouth, feeling happy tears well up once again as the guys left and shut the door behind them. Hobi clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Uh-uh, none of that,” he murmured, drawing your chin up and brushing your lips with his. “You’ve shed enough tears.”

He hugged you tight, and you let him hold you, pressing your face into his chest as you inhaled his familiar, sunshine scent. Even though things had looked completely shitty before, you knew that this was a huge stepping stone in your relationship to bigger and better things. You knew this fight would lead to nothing but happiness, and that in a few weeks, you probably wouldn’t even remember what you fought over. You loved Hoseok, and he loved you, and there was nothing else in the world that mattered.

[izzy-b-hands]

Prompt: “I only want what I can’t touch”

Prompt is actually a lyric taken from “Dark Rooms” by Annie Eve, which I was listening to while writing the fic I wrote just prior to this one!

This is heavy Charles/Pickles here. Wasn’t gonna go full smut with it, then it just kinda happened, so this is NSFW. I headcanon trans-Pickles/genderfluid Pickles, btw (I think that’s probably already known by most of y’all who follow me for Dethklok related stuff, but in case ya didn’t know--now ya do!) 

The last smutty thing went okay, so hopefully this one did too, lol. 

You aren’t supposed to fuck your manager. Or anyone along that chain of command, really. 

Not that people listened to that, of course. They were rock stars, who said rules were for them (unless they were specifically there to be broken?) 

Still, Pickles was a little bit older, a little more learned than the other guys, other than Magnus. He knew better than to look twice at this Charles. 

Yet here he was, post-contract signing, staring at him, trying to pretend he wasn’t thinking about what his manager looked like sans suit. They were sat in their shit-hole apartment, basking in the glory that things were finally going their way. 

Well, sort of. Actually, Murderface was passed out in the one bedroom, Nathan had left to go find booze, Skwisgaar had somehow convinced the record-label’s receptionist to take him home with only a look, and Magnus--he didn’t actually see where Magnus had gone, but he wasn’t there for sure. Probably out scoring drugs for later, which was just fine with Pickles as long as it wasn’t heroin. 

And Charles was sat beside him on the couch. Pickles had expected him to be a bit reluctant to do so, as filthy as the couch was, but he didn’t appear to be. He was still stiff (he was a suit, after all) but his legs rested fully against the stained flowered pattern, and a hand even traced some of the flowers. 

“So...this was a good day,” Pickles said. “I mean, for you for sure. So long as we sell good.” 

Charles only shrugged. “You boys have been good to work with--aside from the occasional punching of record executive-related people. The money will be nice, but I’ll just be happy to see you all do well.” 

Pickles smiled, feeling a little awkward. It would be a great moment for Nathan to walk in the room with booze, or Murderface to wake up, so he could distract himself from looking at his manager’s thighs and feeling heat pool between his own.

“You’re used to all this though, right?” Charles chuckled. “Snakes N’ Barrels did pretty well for themselves.” 

“Oh gahd,” Pickles muttered, and ran a hand through his dreads. “Did you--you liked that stuff?” 

Charles shrugged. “I’ve listened to a lot of stuff. I won’t say your old band was anything like what you have now--” 

Pickles shook his head violently. 

“But those songs stuck in my head. And you did too, I suppose,” Charles continued, then blushed, his eyes a bit wide. 

Pickles smirked. So someone else wanted what they weren’t supposed to have. He could work with that. “Yeah, they had me wearing all kinds a’ shit. The ass-less chaps weren’t even that bad, ya know.” 

He grinned as Charles blushed just a little bit pinker. 

“Still, glad I can wear what I want now. Probably not half as good-looking, right? You’d know, you gotta have your finger on the pulse of all that shit, so you can sell us and our stuff,” Pickles added. 

Charles took a quick breath. “That’s true. I do need to know that. And, uh, I think you’re plenty attractive as you are now. There are plenty of audience members who will enjoy your ‘look’.” 

“Oh yeah? You includin’ yourself in that number?” Pickles said, at the same time wanting to slap himself. This might be going a bit too bold, not just looking for trouble, but calling for it by name with food in hand. 

Charles looked shocked for a moment, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to Pickles’. 

It was quick, and warm, and Pickles wanted more. Screw the things you wanted but couldn’t touch--literally, in this case, if he had his way. 

He pushed Charles back onto the couch, half-expecting a rebuttal, but apparently Charles had thrown the rulebook out the window too. Perfect.

He met his lips again, and relished the general niceness of the whole situation. A new contract signed for his kick-ass band, a handsome man under him who moaned into his mouth like he’d forgotten all other words--couldn’t get much better, in the moment. 

There was a particular joy in messing up all of Charles’ perfect hair, watching his lips and cheeks redden as they kissed and ground against each other like horny teenagers. And Charles seemed to have a thing for tugging on his dreads, which was the best pain, quick and sharp that made him groan, which in turn made Charles smile in between kisses. And that was the fucking best. 

“There’s only one bedroom,” Pickles murmured after a bit. He didn’t want to kill the party, but he also wasn’t going to fuck in the same room Murderface was in. He had some goddamn standards left. 

Charles surfaced for a moment, his happy and slightly dazed looking eyes sharpening back up. “Oh. My car is outside.” 

Pickles was delighted. Who on earth was this man? “Really? I didn’t peg you as the type--”

“You also didn’t think I’d like Snakes N’ Barrels, or Dethklok. Yet here I am,” Charles replied with a grin, his hands sitting on Pickles’ hips just the way he wanted.

He sat up and ground his hips against Charles, elated at how it made Charles close his eyes and moan. “Fair enough. What say we try for your hotel room though? We’ll have more room there. And I can show you everything else I can do while you drive us there.” 

Charles blushed again. “You’re going to think I’m crazy. Or make fun of me.” 

“I’m very ready to suck your dick, honestly, so I don’t really give a fuck about doing either of those things,” Pickles said matter-of-factly. It was the truth. He really, really, wanted to suck Charles’ dick right now. 

“I moved out here. Since the contract negotiations were going on so long. I’m about three blocks away, but I didn’t plan it that way, I swear,” Charles said. “That just happened to be the cheapest house and--” 

“So you’re saying we could’ve been doing this for weeks by now?” Pickles asked. 

Charles nodded. 

“Let’s head to your place then,” Pickles grinned. “We have lost time to make up for. Don’t wanna start out this whole journey towards fame being behind on anything, do we?” 

Normally, Pickles would have thrown a fit at being carried like some damsel in distress. But this was okay--and it was intriguing to feel just how much muscle Charles had hidden under that suit. 

Three blocks took a surprisingly long time, if only because Charles kept pulling over--Pickles didn’t think his ability to give road-head was that good, but Charles certainly did. 

They slowly made their way through Charles’ sparsely decorated living room, losing clothing the whole way (and he’d been assuming correctly--there was a fantastic body under that suit.) 

He worried for a half-moment as they fell into his bed and their underwear came off. But Charles either didn’t care, or somehow hadn’t had any expectations as to what Pickles would have in his pants. He said nothing about Pickles’ pussy, just gently slipped his fingers inside the wetness, then lay down on his stomach and gave head like his life depended on it (well, in other words.) It was gloriously worry-free, and Pickles hoped that this wouldn’t be a one-time thing. Maybe that would be dangerous for the business relationship, but he didn’t give a shit. This was fantastic, and if it could happen again, then that was all the better. 

When Charles finally slid inside (a condom put on quickly and somehow professionally--Pickles didn’t have any other word to describe it) it was even better. The guy locked on to him, making just the right amount of eye contact (not weirdly intense, but heavy enough it made sparks fly in Pickles’ chest) in between leaving hickeys on Pickles’ collarbone. 

That his dick was somehow the perfect size and shape for Pickles was just icing on the cake, really. 

And Charles seemed to be in his own heaven, moaning and kissing like he was starved for this kind of touch--then again, maybe he was. 

Pickles had never been one to count orgasms. To some degree, it seemed petty. The orgasm was nice, but the experience as a whole was what he usually liked to grade. And this was already an A, but he was counting orgasms now--if only because he wasn’t used to them at this intensity. He couldn’t pinpoint one exact thing Charles was doing just right--it was everything altogether that worked for him. 

He didn’t keep time either, just enjoyed the haze after Charles came (with the softest bit of begging ‘please, please, god yes,’) and lay there in bliss. 

He slipped in and out of sleep as Charles got up and cleaned them up. He wouldn’t normally have let someone do that for him, but he figured he’d gotten a good enough snapshot of Charles to know he wasn’t going to be untoward about it. He meant well, and his hands were gentle. No sense in complaining about that. 

And when he finally came back to bed, settled in against Pickles’ chest and sighed happily, it all felt good and right. 

“We might not want to let the other ones know, right away,” he mumbled. “Unless you want me to tell them, then we can. Otherwise, you can just keep coming over here, unless you’d rather--” 

Pickles moved Charles’ face from against his chest and kissed him. “We should probably wait to tell them. And I’m happy coming over here, if you’ll have me.” 

“God yes,” Charles said, a blush returning to his cheeks as he pressed himself against Pickles again. 

Pickles grinned and snuggled back. He’d broken a great deal of rules in his life, but this had to be one of the most rewarding experiences he’d had as a result of them. And it was going to keep right on going. 

Perfect.