#marble manicure ideas

[universodonna-official]

CRYSTAL MANICURE: ECCO COME REALIZZARLA!

[glamnails]

Sweet treat nails @presstlondonnails

[unstable-samurai]

Instructions

Irene x Male Reader

word count: 3.2K

—

You drive up to Irene's mansion, where every inch of the lawn looks meticulously manicured, and the fountain at the entrance shoots water in a pattern that can only be described as "obscenely expensive." You still can't believe you were hired to train a woman who doesn't seem to need a single day in the gym, but money is money, right?

You step out of the car and walk to the front door, a massive wooden structure that probably weighs more than your car. Before you have the chance to knock, the door opens as if the house has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Irene appears, and the first thing you think is that the photos simply don't do her justice.

She's like an upgraded version of a classic diva, someone with a beauty that would be admired in any era of humanity, now enhanced by all the improvements time could offer. Black hair cascading in soft waves, feline eyes that devour you in a fraction of a second, and a posture that makes you wonder if you're standing before a queen or a trap disguised as a woman.

"Oh, I was excited to finally meet my personal trainer," she says.

"Ms. Irene," you reply, offering your hand in a gesture that feels outdated in her presence. Her hand is soft and firm, and the grip is just enough to make you feel that you are, without a doubt, in foreign territory.

"Come on, I'll show you the house," she says, turning quickly without waiting for a response. You follow her, walking through a house that is a maze of marble, stainless steel, and glass. Every piece of art on the walls screams in a flamboyant way, "I have more money than you can imagine," and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air, as if even the aroma of the house was custom-made.

"This here is the living room," she says, passing through a room larger than your entire apartment, and you pretend not to be impressed. "And over there is the kitchen. You might need something to drink after the workouts. Or during, if I decide to tire you out too much."

She smiles again, and this time you can’t help but smile back, with that kind of irony that only arises when you know you're in trouble.

"This is the bedroom," she says, stopping in front of a closed door. You feel the tension rise a bit, and she notices it. "Not that you’ll need it, but I thought you'd like to know where it is." She opens the door and reveals a room that looks like it came straight out of a decor magazine: an immense bed, silk sheets, and a view of the garden that seems hand-painted.

"Nice place," you say, more out of politeness than anything else.

"Thank you. Now, the gym," she says, as if this was the true purpose of the entire visit. She leads you to a room where all the exercise machines seem to shine with newness. "I need to stay in shape, after all," she says, leaning casually on a treadmill, her posture suggesting that the idea of sweat is something completely alien.

"Shall we begin, then?" you ask, already pulling out the water bottle from your bag, trying to appear professional.

You decide to start the session with the basics, which seems like the best approach when dealing with someone whose idea of physical effort probably consists of reaching for the remote control.

"So, Irene, have you trained before?" you ask, but in your mind, she doesn’t exactly look like the type who frequents a gym.

She smiles, that smile you're already beginning to associate with trouble. "Only if you count marathon shopping trips and half-hour Pilates sessions with my instructor who told me to breathe deeply and think of happy places. Does that count?"

You smile back. "Well, let's start with something simple. A warm-up. Just to prepare the muscles."

"Oh, I love a good warm-up," she replies.

You guide her through some basic stretches, and of course, she starts asking for help. "Can you show me how to do this one? I've always had trouble with it," she says while trying to touch her toes.

You approach, placing your hands on her waist to guide her, trying to ignore the fact that she’s perfumed for a workout. "Like this, push a little further forward... That’s it."

She lets out a soft sigh, almost inaudible, but you notice. "I don't think I've ever had someone help me like this," she says, making you realize that "help" has multiple connotations for her.

"Practice makes perfect," you respond, trying to stay focused.

After the warm-up, you lead her to the weight machines. "Let's start with something simple, like the leg extension machine. This will work your quadriceps."

She looks at the machine as if it were some kind of medieval torture device. "Quadriceps... Right. And this does what exactly? Makes me gain muscles?"

"Exactly. You sit here, adjust the weight, and lift your legs to extend the knee. It’s great for toning the thighs."

She sits down, but instead of following your instructions, she just pretends to be confused. "I don't think I'm getting it. Can you show me again?"

You lean in to help her adjust the position of her legs, and you feel her gaze fixed on you. "Like this? Is it good now?" she asks, her voice softer than it should be for a simple exercise instruction.

"Yes, it's perfect," you reply.

"So, have you been training for a long time?" she asks as you guide her through the exercise. "It’s noticeable, you know... by your physique, the way you explain…"

"I’ve been training for a few years. It’s a passion of mine."

"Passion? Interesting," she says. "And are you single? Or is there someone waiting for you at home after you spend the day helping women like me stay in shape?"

You hesitate, realizing that the conversation is veering off course.

"I'm single. I guess my work takes up most of my time. What about you? You told me your husband is always traveling, right?"

"He's away most of the time, yes. His work is... demanding. But luckily, I know how to take care of myself," she says, lifting her legs on the machine with a little more enthusiasm. When Irene was done, she paused to drink water, then walked between the machines until she chose the next one. “Hey, help me here. I don't want to mess up the movement, I need your guidance." She says, standing in front of the lat pulldown machine.

"Oh, great. This one’s for your back and shoulders," you explain, adjusting the weight. "You hold here, pull the bar down, and then release slowly, feeling the resistance."

She looks at the machine as if it were an abstract art piece.

"Looks complicated. Show me how it's done?"

You demonstrate the movement, feeling her eyes on every motion of your body. When you finish, she positions herself, but instead of pulling the bar, she holds it for a second, looking at you with a false expression of confusion. "I think I’m not doing it right. Can you guide me?"

You approach again, this time placing your hands on her arms, helping her execute the movement. "Like this," you say, your voice a little lower. "Pull with your back muscles, not just your arms."

"Since you’ve been working out for a long time, you must be very strong," she comments as she pulls the bar, her muscles tensing softly under your hands. "And you must be used to lifting heavy, right?"

"It depends on the workout," you respond, trying to ignore the fact that every word she says seems to have a double meaning. "But it’s always good to vary, to do a bit of everything."

"So, how many of these should I do?" she asks, as if she’s genuinely interested in the answer, but her eyes say something else.

"Let's do three sets of twelve reps," you reply, trying to keep a professional tone. She does the first set with you close by, watching every movement, and then asks for your help with the next machine.

The dynamic continues until, by the end of the workout, she’s sweating, but in a way that looks more like a healthy glow than discomfort. She stretches, her muscles relaxing, and looks at you with that same smile that started everything. "I think you made me work pretty hard today. Maybe I’ll need a massage afterward," she says, her tone provocative.

You smile, unsure whether to take her seriously or laugh. "Massages aren’t part of the package, but we can talk about a relaxation stretch."

"We’ll see," she says, stepping closer with that smile that always precedes trouble, the kind you should have learned to avoid. “It seems like I’m the only one sweating here,” she says, with a sweetness that’s pure venom, before leaning in and, without warning, licking your cheek.

You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. "Ms. Irene, what is this?!"

"I told you, you’re not very sweaty. And I licked you to prove it," she responds with the casualness of someone asking the time.

"But what the hell does that mean? I came here to work—"

"And you’ll get paid at the end, of course!" she interrupts, her smile widening in a way that only makes things worse. “I just want… to have a little fun with you. Include that in the deal. You could earn a bonus for it, if you’d like.”

She takes another step forward.

“Irene, you’re married. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not a good idea.”

“No one needs to know, sweetheart,” she whispers, as if it were a secret you truly wanted to hear. “You’re too young to be so worried about life.”

You try to speak, but the words come out jumbled, as if your mouth forgot how to work.

“I-I… This isn’t right.”

She laughs, a sound that makes you feel like a mischievous boy caught in the act. “I bet I’ll make you change your mind once you see what you’re missing.” With a quick, decisive movement, she removes her top, revealing small, pale, perfect, and provocative breasts. Her smile widens, and you feel your face flush with heat. Worse than that—you feel your cock pulse in your pants.

“What do you think?” she asks, each word dripping with irony and certainty.

“Cover yourself, please!” Your voice comes out louder than you intended, but the plea is almost pathetic.

“Oh, don’t play the saint with me,” she retorts, suddenly stepping closer, grabbing your hand with firm resolve and placing it on her breast. The touch is warm and soft. You swallow hard, but it feels like the lump in your throat is stuck there for good. And the worst part? You can’t pull your hand away.

“What do you think? My boobs are small, but they fit perfectly in your mouth,” she teases, her voice lower, more intense.

“This isn’t right, Ms. Irene…” you try, but your resistance is fragile.

“Shh! Just call me Irene,” she orders, and before you can protest again, she seals any chance of escape with a kiss—warm and commanding, as if she already knew you wouldn’t say no.

Before you could even process what was happening, Irene had already wrapped her hand around your cock. With force. With a desire that you felt reverberate down your spine. “You’re so hard for me,” she whispers, her lips pulling away from yours, but the heat of her proximity still clinging to your skin.

“Irene…” you murmur, the name escaping as a whisper, almost a plea, but for what? For her to stop or to keep going?

“That’s right,” she continues, giving you no room to regain control. “I want to hear you moan my name while you fuck me good.”

Before you could refuse—or worse, agree—she pulls you toward a weight bench like she’s practiced the move a thousand times. It’s astonishing how a woman so small, so delicate, can exert such absolute control over you. You feel like a toy in her hands, powerless to resist.

You take off your shirt while she kneels to untie your shoes, making sure every detail is perfect, that you’re comfortable—but not for you, for her. When she asks you to take off the rest, you comply without question, feeling the cool air caress your exposed skin. She compliments your physique, her words sliding over your skin like hot oil. Her hands roam over your muscles, her fingers tracing the contours of your biceps.

“You’re so hot,” she murmurs, kissing your chest, her lips warm and soft. The excitement builds within you, uncontrollable, wild.

You sit back down on the bench, Irene kneels between your legs, her smile a mix of wickedness and pure desire. She takes your cock with a confidence that makes you hold your breath, her touch firm, almost possessive. “Wow… you’re much bigger and thicker than my husband,” she murmurs, licking the tip, teasing, while her eyes remain fixed on yours. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have something like this… I’m going to love gagging on this cock.”

She slowly opens her mouth, her lips stretching around the head of your cock, and the sensation is mind-blowing. You watch, mesmerized, as she starts to take you in, inch by inch, until her mouth is completely full. “Oh, yes,” she mumbles with difficulty, her words muffled as she struggles to accommodate your size.

She begins to move her head up and down, faster and faster, the wet, warm sound of her mouth creating a steady rhythm. Her small mouth adjusts to your cock, fighting the instinct to pull away, but instead, she pushes forward, making it clear she wants more.

The sight of her, drowning on your cock, is almost unbearably arousing. You can’t resist, your hands go to her hair, pulling to gain more control. With a decisive move, you push deeper into her throat, and the muffled moan she lets out is a mix of pleasure and challenge. “Just like that,” she moans, tears welling in her eyes from pleasure and effort, but with no intention of stopping. She wants this as much as you do.

You feel her throat tightening around your cock, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you as she takes you as deep as she can, not giving up even when her air becomes scarce. The mix of pain and pleasure on her face only fuels your desire further, and you continue, deeper and deeper, until she finally has to stop to breathe, gasping, but with a satisfied, lascivious smile on her face.

Irene stands up, her gaze burning with a desire that mirrors your own. She starts to take off her leggings, revealing she’s not wearing any panties. The sight of her like this, naked and ready, is enough to take your breath away.

Without a second thought, you grab her firmly, your hands holding her slim waist as you lift her off the ground with an ease you didn’t even know you had. Irene lets out a low, sensual moan as she wraps her legs around you, locking her ankles behind your back, pulling the two of you even closer. With a decisive movement, you press her against the nearest wall, the cold concrete contrasting with the growing heat between you.

“Ohhh, yes,” she moans as you penetrate her for the first time, her head falling back, hitting the wall, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You’re so thick!”

With each thrust, Irene responds with louder, more desperate moans. “Just like that, baby… more, please, more!” Her voice is a mix of command and plea, her nails digging into your shoulders, pulling you closer, as if she wants to merge with you.

“That’s it! Oh, God! You fuck me better than my husband!”

That somehow spurs you on, every movement becoming deeper, stronger, as if you’re trying to shove every inch of yourself into her. Irene bites her lip, her face in pure pleasure, and then she starts babbling, as if facial expressions weren’t enough to describe what she’s feeling. “Yes… fuck me… fuck me hard… do what my husband never could…”

But she’s not the only one on the edge. The heat of her body, the almost painful tightness around your cock, every moan and sigh, it all makes you want more, makes you lose control.

After what feels like both an eternity and an instant, you feel like you need more. With a quick move, you pull away from the wall and carry her to the bench. Irene drops to the floor, turns around, positioning herself on all fours while you sit down. She positions herself, slowly lowering onto your cock, moaning as she feels you stretch inside her, filling every inch.

She leans back against you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body sinking even further into your lap. Your hands immediately move to her small breasts, squeezing them, while your lips find her delicate neck, biting and sucking the soft skin. Irene lets out a loud moan, the sound of pure satisfaction, and arches her body, pushing herself even deeper.

“Yes… leave a mark… mark that you were here… that you fucked me like no one ever has,” she pleads, her words breathless, interrupted by moans that only grow louder as you squeeze and thrust into her.

You don’t hesitate, biting harder, leaving a visible mark on her neck, a testament to what’s happening. Irene shudders in response, her pussy tightening even more around you, each of her movements sending waves of pleasure through you, making you forget any shred of morality. She moves against you, her rhythm frantic, the need for more, always more, evident in every gesture.

“Yes… yes, baby… fuck me until I can’t take it anymore,” she moans, her hands reaching back, grabbing your neck, pulling you closer as she continues to move, to lose herself in the sensation.

Irene, breathless, leans in closer, and with a soft voice, almost a whisper, says in your ear, “I want you to fuck my tight ass.”

Her words are like a match striking the box, igniting something fierce within you. Irene rises off your lap and walks to a corner of the gym, where she grabs a bottle of lube. She returns with a mischievous smile, shaking the bottle in the air. “I brought this just for this moment,” she says.

“You had this in mind from the start, didn’t you?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Irene doesn’t bother replying. Instead, she kisses you before lying down on the padded floor, her pale skin contrasting with the dark material, her body exposed in a posture of pure submission, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Come here, you naughty boy,” she calls, her voice like poisoned honey.

You kneel beside her, your hands trembling with desire as you reach for the lube. Irene smiles at you, then gets on all fours and arches her back. With steady movements, you pour the gel into your palm and begin applying it to her ass, feeling the warm, soft skin under your fingers. Irene lets out a low sigh, closing her eyes, savoring the sensation. "That's it... get me ready, I want to feel every inch of your thick cock inside me."

You don’t waste any time. With one hand, you spread the lube around and inside her ass, your fingers gently penetrating to prepare her. Irene bites her lip, her body slightly writhing, a mix of pleasure and anticipation. "Feels good, keep going... make me ready for you."

When you feel she’s sufficiently lubed, you apply the rest to your cock, rubbing it until it’s fully coated, hard and throbbing.

Irene changes position, lying on her back on the floor. You position yourself between her raised legs, and she looks at you with eyes full of desire. "Come on, don't wait any longer," she begs, her voice low and sweet. You press the tip of your cock against her tight entrance, pushing slowly, feeling the initial resistance. Irene lets out a moan of pain mixed with pleasure, and you keep going, advancing inch by inch, feeling the heat and pressure around you.

"Ahhh… yes," Irene moans, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the padding beneath her as you penetrate her slowly. "It's so big… so tight…"

You keep pushing, feeling her ass open up, millimeter by millimeter, her body adjusting to your size. The heat, the pressure, the sensation of filling her completely is indescribable, and the low moan she lets out only fuels your desire. "Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me deeper," she pleads.

You obey, pushing deeper until you're finally all the way inside her. Irene lets out a muffled moan, a sound of pure satisfaction, her body arching with pleasure. "Yes… like that… don’t stop," she begs, her eyes shining with wild desire. You start to move, slowly at first, savoring every second, every contortion of her body, every moan that escapes her lips.

As you gain rhythm, Irene’s moans grow louder, more desperate. "Yes… fuck my ass… do what I never let my husband do… ahhh… harder… please," she moans, every word an encouragement for you to go deeper, to push both of you to the limit.

And you do, increasing your speed and force, your hands gripping her thighs firmly, guiding each thrust with precision, feeling her body tremble with pleasure until it all comes down to heat, sweat, the pure desire consuming you both.

Irene then begins to tremble, her body stiff with imminent pleasure. She looks at you, her eyes burning with lust and urgency. "Mmm, I’m about to cum, babe… Let’s cum together?" she asks, her voice broken by moans.

You feel her body pulsing around you, each contraction almost pushing you over the edge.

"Do you want to come inside my pussy? Fill it with your cum?"

The desire and madness of the moment take over you. “Can I?” you ask, your voice tense, almost disbelieving.

“Of course you can,” she replies with a wicked smile, "I'm on the pill, darling. I want to feel you unload everything inside me."

With that, you both move into the classic missionary position. Irene spreads her legs and bends them, her feet planted on the floor, while you kneel between her thighs, your cock positioned exactly where she wants it. Irene wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth and tightness of her pussy confirm your decision: you need to cum inside her.

You start thrusting into her, each stroke deeper and faster than the last. Irene moans loudly, the sound of her moans echoing through the gym. “Ahhh, yes… more… harder…” she screams, her eyes closed in pure ecstasy. “Fuck my pussy… Make me your cum dump.”

You’re on the verge of exploding, your entire body tense with the anticipation of climax. Irene feels it and, between moans, murmurs, “I’m almost there… I’m going to cum…”

“Me too… I’m almost there…” you reply, your breathing fast.

She opens her eyes, her gaze burning with intensity. “Have you ever cum inside a stranger before, huh? Ever filled a married woman with cum, you pervert?” She asks, her words hitting you like a wave of heat.

Those words make you lose control. With one last, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, feeling your cum release into the depths of Irene’s pussy. She screams as she cums at the same time, her body writhing beneath you, her legs tightening around your waist.

“Ahhh… I can feel it all… it’s so warm… so good…” Irene moans, her words loaded with pure pleasure, her breathing ragged as she feels every hot stream filling her. You keep moving, even as the orgasm leaves you breathless, prolonging the pleasure for both of you.

When you finally pull away, your cock slipping out, cum begins to slowly drip from her pussy.

Irene smiles, a satisfied and wicked smile, as she looks at you, her breathing still uneven. "That was… exactly what I wanted," she says, her eyes gleaming with contentment, as the cum drips between her thighs, and you watch, fascinated, as she uses her fingers to spread her lips, letting the cum flow freely. She collects some of the semen with a finger and brings it to her mouth, tasting the result of your mix.

Irene kneels beside you and leans in for a deep kiss, her lips warm and moist against yours, while her hands glide over your body, caressing you with a certain tenderness.

“So, handsome, what did you think of the workout?” she asks.

You, still with your body pulsing with residual pleasure, respond with a smile, “I loved it. It was… incredible.”

Irene smiles back. “Good to hear that,” she says, with a note of amusement, “you can consider yourself my official personal trainer now. And the best part, you’re still getting paid for it. Isn’t it the best job in the world?”

You laugh, a mix of incredulity and amusement, realizing that your concept of ‘job’ will never be the same. “So that’s it? Daily sex with a gorgeous woman and I’m going to get paid for it? What are the downsides?”

“There aren’t any. As long as my husband never finds out, of course. But that’s my problem. Your only requirement and concern is to keep me satisfied.”

With that, she gets up nonchalantly, and starts gathering the clothes scattered on the floor.

You also get up, and as you’re dressing, you can’t help but think about the absurdity of the job you’re accepting.

When you’re almost ready to leave, Irene approaches, casually adjusting her hair.

“Don’t forget, tomorrow is training day again,” she says, her voice full of light arrogance. “Same time. Don’t be late. I want more of that… energy,” she adds with a smile.

You nod, laughing to yourself as you try to regain some of your composure.

“Sure, I’ll mark it on the calendar.”

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.63)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: you never thought that just cuddling with Hobi on a cold day could lead to this; his pants off and you begging "Daisy please-"

Tags: fluff, a little hurt but mostly just comfort, first times, soft cuddle sex, unintentional mutual somnophilia, knotting, scenting, under clarified limits, a touch of slick kink, breeding kink, a touch of size kink (you know the good stuff), unrealistic amounts of cum, implied belly bulge, implied feral sex, small triggers after sex, small references to past abusive relationships, hole check's, knot checks, dom/sub undertones to later scenes but not in the main smut,

W/c: 14.2k

A/n: thank you guys for being patient for this next chapter :) it's one of my favorites so please give it lots of love! i know we've all been waiting for hobi's confession and the completion of their arc, did i do it justice? Also i'm sorry that i have a pathological need to end every single chapter with a cliffhanger lol, this one is no different!

Previous part ~ Masterlist

(5 years ago. Before Yoongi. Before everyone.)

Jung Hoseok cleans his arms in a bathroom. He is 21 years old, there is lipstick on his fingers, and nothing bad has happened to him yet.

Bad is all relative of course. Some would call growing up in a rich area while living in a one-bedroom apartment bad. Some people would call not really knowing your parents because they work late nights bad. Some would even say that the fact that they won’t pay for Hoseok’s college education a fucking tragedy.

But between you and me and Hoseok; other people wouldn't know a fucking tragedy if it hit them in the fucking face. Talking to some people about your suffering is like trying to make a toddler shoot the broad side of a god damn barn with a double barrel shotgun. Or like those little lemon slices they put in the water at olive garden-

It's fucking useless. And you're more likely to be sent to the hospital than get some actual fucking results. Weather it's because of food poisoning, a bullet wound, or because some idiot you trusted thinks you're a god damn suicide risk.

See right? Talking about your problems is fucking useless.

But he’s always been able to focus on the brighter side of things. It's a blessing and a curse because optimism always lies to you. It's easier to be happy than it is to be upset, at least for Hoseok at this moment.

At least he was an optimist until they ruined him a little. After this year, finding the silver will take effort.

The tiles beneath his feet are cold to the touch. He knows that there’s a button somewhere to turn on the heated flooring but he just can’t find it. Hidden and unfamiliar as he is with this den. So different from his own little dormitory halfway across the city.

This fancy three-bedroom apartment is one that he will move into in precisely 4 months once they make it official, he’ll live here for exactly 2 years 3 months, and 8 days before being kicked out and moving into the pack's den. It’s exactly 2 years to the date that he meets Min Yoongi in the record store.

But nothing bad has happened to him yet. Today he is just himself, No idea of what's about to befall him and that It won't just be bad.

This apartment is upscale, with its wainscotting and long gauzy curtains that barely keep out the sound of the city streets 5 stories below and the lightly warm June morning. He’s not quite sure who pays for this one yet. Hasn’t had the chance to ask, he's only been seeing this pack for 2 months. This Hoseok is shyer than the one you know. Timid and unsure of where he should place his dulled claws.

It's all awfully mysterious. The question of "What do your parents do?" and the answer pressed to a raised finger. The truth lingering between lipstick and manicure on a single giggled breath.

"That's a secret"

He casts a glance around the bathroom, the marble counters, the plush hand towels, and even the designer soap is forghein to him.

Rich people.

It's one part tired jealousy and one part true distaste. Even if Hoseok had all the money in the world he wouldn't waste it on painting a bathroom white or powdery Dior soap. Why not blue or orange or green or pink?

(Oh Hobi. The pack’s bathroom will be green one day, with delicate tiles in the shade of the lightest moss. Not yellow-toned and not blue. he's going to help yoongi pick it out, He just doesn’t know it yet).

Their apartment is just a few blocks from the college that he attends, a freshman but not for much longer. A freshman, along with the pack's youngest. Her on the business track and him in a weed-out art department. The prerequisite humanities course is their shared battleground.

Out of everything in this story, this is the only true coincidence.

This version of Hoseok likes omegas with a bit of a dark side. The ones that are a bit bitchy, a bit entitled and alot pretty. The ones that hone their eyeliner to a vicious edge, or the male ones that act a little bit more like alphas and disobey gender norms. That’s what drew his eye to this pack's youngest in their hum 1 class.

He got a little melty when her eyes turned less “I’ll kill you if you even sniff in my direction” and more “A pretty alpha like you has to have a pack right?”

Hoseok had stuttered when he’d said that No- he didn’t.

Before long he’ll drop out because he just can’t cut it at art school. Just can’t spend nights with fingers black from charcoal, working on things that will one day be thrown in the garbage because he’ll have a pack to attend to. Good alpha that he is.

(It will be years before he realizes that it wasn't art school just mediums. He’s meant to use flowers to make things instead.)

They’re not his pack yet, not yet. not yet. Not Yet- But there is a gift waiting for him downstairs. A fancy set of pastels and paints. It’s the start of courting even though he’s supposed to be the one buying them gifts. He’s the penniless college student they’re the ones with the nice apartment. He’s the one with the knot, and they’re all omegas. It’s a give-and-take.

Yet somehow even though he’ll be the only alpha he knows he won’t be the pack alpha.

He cleans the lipstick from his fingers. Bright red. He knows he has it in other places too, down below the tugged low hemline of his pants pulled on after they were done fucking.

The last thing he wants to be is like the other alphas in the fraternities on campus, the ones that holler at all the omegas shit like “I can taste your slick from here baby,” and “want to study anatomy together? I’m a hands-on learner” Hobi dreads the idea that he might be like that. Even a little bit. Even unintentionally.

But still, their words from earlier ring in his ears.

“They haven’t been dating for that long, you can’t expect us to be comfortable all the time with you in our nest, it's a really intimate thing for us."

Hobi feels like one of those phraternity alphas when it makes him uncomfortable.

It’s reasonable that they wanted to give his knot a ride and try him out before they make it official. One alpha and four omegas, these odds are every alpha’s wet dream. He knows his performance was Oscar-worthy.

It had been nice to be in a nest for just a little bit, Hoseok’s biology wants it, the tense knot between his shoulders all loose.

Hoseok has never been loved by someone who wanted to talk to him every day, it will be easy for them to reduce his focus to their beck and call.

There's 4 different colors of lipstick on his cock. Four different shades from four different women. His new packmates get to the carrot part of the carrot and stick arrangement.

In the future, he’ll deny that he ever thought of any of these women as that- as packmates. He'll say it was only ever Namjoon’s pack that he wanted in this way. He’ll say it never compared and it didn’t. Except for these first few months. These first few days.

Memories lie to us all the time; memory is the best secret keeper.

He watches one of his packmates sit on the edge of the nest, she wears the lipstick prints better than he does. Lining the inside of her thighs, her own lips smudged.

Hoseok doesn’t let the smile fall from his lips and she smiles back. She tugs her long hair free of a bun that she’d put it up in so that she didn’t get slick in it. It will be a few more months until she cuts it above her collarbones. Blunt to a brutal edge.

Hoseok’s sweatshirt is on the edge of the nest, and Hoseok watches as she brings it to her nose, breathing in deep. Hoseok is just about to say that she can wear it when she throws it onto a nearby ottoman. Not onto the floor thankfully. No omega has ever worn his sweatshirt before. Hoseok tries not to let the rejection of his scent sting.

She looks at the lipstick on Hoseok, there’s a bit on his lip. “Come here.” She asks, parting her legs.

Hoseok is a good alpha and goes.

~-~

(Now, You and Hobi)

When Hobi wakes it's because the pack is moving around the room, bickering, and struggling to be quiet, bickering a little.

Their low hum drum voices as they talk about “Jungkookie? where did you put my mittens?” and ”I sort of love that you still wear mittens, babe.” Yoongi’s deep rumble, “Did Jimin buy those for you too?” All teasing and understanding. Because if anyone knows how Tae likes to be teased, Yoongi does.

Tae’s fond little croon is so melodic it makes Hobi sigh, ears straining to hear more of it. “Yes, he did. Got pup matching ones too.”

Pup. that’s you. Curled in the center of the nest under Hobi's elbows. dozing but unable to lift your head from where it's pillowed. You’re sure that Yoongi knows you’re kind of awake or at least listening in because Yoongi knows everything.

You’re sure that as he looks down at you and Hobi tangled together, he’s doing it with a smirk. You don’t need to open your eyes and double-check.

The temperature of the nest is balmy, overly warm in the way that it gets when it’s cold outside and the nesting is hitting so particularly good that Hobi won’t even think of moving. (The way it feels when you come out of the cold and into the waiting arms of someone you love) Hobi nuzzles into the warmth in front of him.

A small storm brews outside. The snow has been falling since midday. Just a little here and there. But Tae loves how it looks with all the Christmas lights. There aren’t quite enough up yet but the holiday season is close.

But the snow won't last, soon it won’t be falling at all. It will all melt off by tonight, the afternoon is supposed to be sunny. Can sun showers happen with snow?

"Do you think we could walk all the way to the gym, it's not all that far! only like 10 miles. We could run it in like an hour!"

He listens to the others talk. The sound of Yoongi’s voice, gravely and vaguely upset. “Jungkook, you’re not really thinking about going to work out right now- You’ve barely been home for like 5 hours. I just said we could go do something not run 10 fucking miles.”

Jungkook always gets this way; when the dizziness of the seizures turns to restlessness and he's honestly fine but the others can't resist trying to baby him. Too awake to sleep anymore. He sounds grumpy, whiney, and pouty even though Hobi's eyes aren't open to see him turn his puppy eyes on Yoongi. “I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight if I don’t hyung- I’m gonna go crazy.”

There’s the faint sound of lips meeting and smacking. Kisses that are probably meant to soothe Jungkook. “How about we compromise pup.”

“A walk?” Tae offers, sounding hopeful.

“A long walk.”

You shift a little and Hoseok opens his eyes. You're mostly still asleep just settling, making yourself more comfortable with the new space no longer corralled by arms and bodies.

Hobi’s mouth is dry when he watches you shift onto your stomach your face half-smushed into the cushions, scenting them a little in your sleep. The homey scent fizzle in Hoseok’s bones tells him that you've scented him too. Being surrounded by the pack's scent like this makes Hobi’s skin feel like pop rocks. Like his bones are mentos and coca cola. All sensitive and tingly.

He’s cuddled with you before- through your nightmares and last night at the hospital of course- but it’s never been just the two of you in a nest. He’s never been the only alpha here, charged with guarding the pillows and blankets and you curled soft in the center.

Hobi tentatively puts an arm around your waist, tugging you a little closer. The house still hasn't totally warmed up yet and you'd be cold without some body heat. He does it slowly, seeing if you’ll wake.

There is a hand in his hair, petting softly, and he snatches his arm from around your waist the second Hoseok realizes he's being watched. Yoongi leans over the edge of the couch-turned-nest, smirking a little. The door shuts behind Tae and Jungkook with a puff of cold air, and he raises his eyebrows expectantly.

He would look intimidating if his beanie didn't have cat ears. 

The pads of Yoongi's fingers rub soothing circles under Hobi's jaw and his lips part unintentionally. “Be good yeah?” he says, whisper soft. Hoseok just nods, too sleepy to verbally respond.

They haven’t talked much about Hobi’s confession; that night on the beach what feels like ages ago. But everytime he thinks of it Hobi still tastes salt on his tongue and your name on his lips. 

Yoongi’s wearing the same look now that he did then; half hopeful and half worried. But if there was anyone that would object on your behalf, if Hobi wasn't allowed this closeness with you, Yoongi would tell him.

Yoongi doesn't say that you and him aren't ready for cuddling like this. Yoongi doesn't say that Hoseok should give you space or not cradle you to his chest like you are something as fragile and necessary and as doomed as his beating heart. Trembling and stuttering with the force of sweet expectations and hopes made hollow with satisfaction.

Yoongi does not realize that Hoseok's heart has not had a steady beat since he woke up holding you.

Yoongi doesn't say anything. Yoongi just drags a single knuckle down his cheek and leaves. Heading out after Tae and Jungkook who are, judging from the hallow sound of snow hitting the windows- are having a snowball fight.

“If one of those hits me I’m not holding anyone’s hand for the whole walk-“

The door keeps out the sound of Tae's sweet giggles and Jungkook’s pouted, "just one hyung- I won't hit your face-" 

And the two of you are alone. Wrapped up warm, quiet and hushed, just the two of you.

Well, except for Noodle.

The meticulously kept edge of the nest is all fluffed, Noodle makes sure of it. Small paws depressing the blanket as he kneads it and then settles on the edge. His purr is audible from here as he blinks slowly from the bottom of the couch turned nest. Jin wrangled him for a brushing yesterday morning and his coat still looks extra fluffy and kempt. 

Unwatched and unjudged, Hobi tentatively reaches to cradle your ribs again. Thumb smoothing down the center of your stomach, a little close to your belly button. You’ve got a little hair there. Hobi’s fingers like the feel of it. Not rough but not silky.

Your skin feels like champagne bubbles and sparklers, everywhere he touches your skin goes fizzy. Hobi looks down at you, breath hitching, and thinks Is it really so horrible to want this? Why am I so afraid of this? 

You wiggle a little closer in your sleep and Hobi’s arm goes vicelike.

Noodle's purr goes a little louder. 

Hobi doesn’t like to think about his last pack ever, but he recognizes that hollow ache and tug that says memories aren’t too far behind. And it threatens to swallow him until he looks down at you. The house is quiet but your eyebrows are puffed up like something very shocking is happening in your dreams. He doesn't want to think about them right now. 

He drags his nose across your hairline; scenting you. Tasting your emotions on his tongue. Comfort. Ease. Arousal-sweet. Not all that abnormal. Not nightmares then. He is always on the lookout for them. After Jungkook and the hospital, he sort of thought they might come back. 

Hoseok counts his stars and snowflakes, and rests his forehead against the nape of your neck.

Over the next hour, you’re restless. Moving, worming your way closer to him as he goes in and out of sleep. You make a soft noise and he shushes you. a growl that says to stay put and alpha's here.

You blink slowly up at him. Hobi pulls back, taking his arm from around your waist, feeling like he’s just stolen candy from a jar on the counter that’s for him anyway. You stretch and don't comment on it, yawning. 

Noodle hops closer, squirming between the two of you and stepping over your shoulders. Meowing right in Hoseok’s face. “Alright alright, I’ll feed you again.”

You snuggle into the warm hallow he left on the couch when he detangles himself, hand under your cheek watching him as he stumbles out of the nest. Noodle follows tail held high. It's truly horrible. Leaving the nest when every bit of Hobi's body wants him to stay in the warmth. The house is always so slow to warm up. 

“Fuck the floors are cold.”

“Quick,” you say, face above the edge of the cover. Hoseok rushes, doling out a single scoop of dry food and then running back to you. Hobi wastes precious seconds to grab his headphones from the kitchen table before collapsing onto the couch where you hold the blanket up, sealing the warmth and him back inside. The headphones tangle between the two of you and he falls with a giggle. Disappearing among the white blanket. He sinks thankfully into the warmth, into the safety that the nest offers. Into you.

Your warm arms wrap around his shoulders and his body shivers delightfully in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. Your jaw pops when you yawn and then he yawns too, a breath later. You laugh too and tuck your face into his shoulder.

“Fuck- it’s so cozy.”

It really is, the kind of cozy that only comes along a few times a year. A quiet to your bones that says there is nothing to do now but rest. The coldness that turns your bodies into these molten-loving things. Your warmth and Hoseok’s warmth. One warmth.

He breathes, deep and heavy.

“I don’t know if I want to get up yet.” The house is still quiet. Nothing but Noodles happy munching sounds and the faint scratch of big snowflakes hitting the windows.

Hobi’s heart beats frantic against yours and you sigh. “Wanna listen to some music?” He offers. Hobi always loves a backtrack, a little compliment for the exposition.

You nod, a little sleepy, but Hobi has a playlist for that. He’s got a playlist for everything including ’sleepy cozy pup time’. The headphones take a second to locate, lost in the nest. But when he does you share them. One earphone a piece, the sound turned low so you can still talk.

Hobi puts on a love song, and it makes you smell all sweet. Stretched out with your hair tangling because you’ve left it unbound, the split ends prodding at Hobi’s cheeks. He doesn’t really listen to the song, just watches you. Eyes closed humming softly.

Your scent sours and Hoseok's hand goes tight on your wrist. You tell him what's bothering you without him even having to ask.

“I saw this line the other day that didn't like." You look at the ceiling, not at him. "it said a love song is really good if you can’t tell whether they’re talking about another person or if they’re talking about god.”

You think about Jimin and Tae. You've been thinking about it since Tae talked about their childhood earlier and the bloody cross between the two of them. If holiness does exist, it’s in Tae. If there is anything like religion for you or Jimin, it's love. God has nothing to do with it. God's not the person who makes love songs sound good.

Hobi turns on his side, leaning on his elbow. “I’m not sure Jimin would agree with that either.”

You turn in time to see Hobi’s smile. It catches the sunlight, lingering right on his cheek. An octagonal shaft of sunlight that has traveled millions of miles to get there could not have found a more beautiful place to fall. He huffs a quiet laugh again, and you swear you might hear the highest note of a piano somewhere.

You wonder when he became so musical to you, maybe it’s just because he’s the person who made you love music so much.

(You can tell a love song is good, when it makes you think of Hobi).

“You’re still worried about him, aren’t you?” You rest your lips against his shoulder and Hobi’s body doesn’t move an inch. They’re soft where they lie not a kiss but not not a kiss either. You can rest your lips against his skin, you can rest your whole body and Hoseok wouldn't move an inch.

“Always worried, got to worry about Minnie. Always worried about everyone.” You mumble. Eyes closing.

The light comes through the windows all honey yellow, turning the bookshelves that Yoongi made gold instead of white. Turns the tops of Hobi’s hair a little red too, the brown has endless depths in the sunlight all burnt umber and Sienna where the sun hits, yellow ocher at the tips. The sunlight savors falling on Hobi, down to the last inch.

You try to keep your eyes open, struggling, and Hobi sets a hand on the top of your head, ruffling your hair lightly.

"Go back to sleep pup."

You hum, already half there. He pulls you a little on top of him, holding you with a firmness usually reserved for too-large packages and the tenderness reserved for very fragile very precious things. It makes your whole body feel tingly at the edges.

“Thanks for not leaving the nest when everyone else did,” you think he might be asleep for how long it takes him to answer. But everything in the last 24 hours has left you feeling like you don’t want to be alone, that you can’t be left by yourself. He breathes up and it presses against your stomach.

“Didn’t want to go with the others- just wanted to stay here in the nest with you.” nesting is a biological need for alphas as much as it is for omegas, Hobi hasn't felt so relaxed in ages.

He murmurs, hand still skimming through your hair. His thumb rolling against the nape of your neck and you shiver hard into the touch, sinking further into him. “Is that okay?”

Your hand finds a spot under his arm and you use it to tug yourself closer, getting your forehead against his shoulder, the headphones slipping from your ear.

“Yeah. It’s always okay.”

Hobi tucks your hair behind your ear and puts the headphones back in.

The next time you wake it’s because Noodle is licking at your forehead, grooming you, and you hear the shutter sound of Hobi’s camera, his small giggle. You swat at noodles face and he bats at you a little before settling on the small of your back, fighting Hobi for necessary real-estate and howling when he gets pushed off.

“Nu, be quiet,” Hobi’s hushed words are answered with an equally quiet meow that sends you straight off to dreamland again.

You don't know how long it's been, it could have been hours or minutes the next time you wake. You just know that Hobi smells good, smells musky sweet caramel all drippy and heady, that you've got your nose pressed up against his scent gland. All surrounded by it. Surrounded by him.

The next time you wake is not so innocent.

You’re a little too close. Cuddling with Hobi in a way that you might with Yoongi- with Namjoon or Jungkook. All warm snug hot. Bodies and dreams tangled so thoroughly that it's hard to tell where dreamy wants begin and fragile delights end.

You’re warm at your front from Hobi and warm on your back from the sunshine streaming through the window. Warm all the way through. Until he moves his hand and you realize that’s from him too. His fingers splayed over your spine.

You think you can be forgiven for confusing them. Hoseok and sunlight are one and the same.

The apex of your thigh is pressed tight to his hip just where his thigh starts. Your leg hitched over his hip and tight to it. The fabric of his sweatpants and the fabric of your pajama shorts are all bunched up from your movements. Your knee bent at a comfortable angle. His scent is heady in your nose, pressed to the low tugged collar of his shirt just over his heart.

As close as you can be but still not enough.

You don't even realize your hips are moving, sleepily grinding against his thigh until it's too late.

Hobi grabs your hips and groans.

You stop mid-movement, thoughts sloshing sleepy. And oh, you were moving, weren’t you? There is a dampness between your thighs and the scent of slick and arousal sharp in the air. That comfortable pleasure hiccup in your throat that says you want to cum and can. could like this.

You jerk back from the warmth in front of you, startled into wakefulness as you realize exactly you were just doing.

Oh no- you didn’t mean- Hobi. Alpha, warm and comfortable at your front.

You start to back up, still half asleep, but terror and embarrassment flood you like the ocean floods the sea rocks at high tide.

Hobi groans, a deep near growl sound, and moves before you can back up even an inch. he was just as asleep as you just were until you pulled away. His sleepy brain still clings to you.

His hands slip lower, holding you tight against his front. His sleepy alpha brain is malfunctioning. Sweet omega needs to stay close. The source of his warmth and the friction against his front cannot slip away.

His hands are on your ass and your pussy is pressed flushed to his hip, and Hobi-

Hobi is your best friend, Hobi is your packmate and Hobi has to be unaware of what he’s doing. You’re sure of it. You try to pull away again from him fighting back more embarrassment than you've ever felt in your entire life, hands pressed to his chest.

But He pulls you right back to him.

Right into a unmistakable hardness poking at your stomach. Hard and warm. Right where you were grinding in your sleep.

Hoseok’s heavy breath brushes your ear.

Instincts are incredibly hard to describe. The way they hook into your consciousness and separate reason from action and want from logic. The part of you that’s in control, that recognizes that you and Hobi shouldn’t be this close like this if it’s not talked about, is so distant.

A needy sound echoes that might be from you, that is from you, as Hobi’s hands slide up your hips and under his sweatshirt. Cold hands on your warm hips and oh-

Hobi’s eyes are cracked open, looking down at you, watching you with pink cheeks. Tongue darting out to lick at his lip. “S’okey you just-" his eyes flutter closed again; breath warm against your face. "You take what you need.”

It’s only a testament to the pack's care that you associate these things with each other. Safety and coziness are just so close to pleasure and comfort. Your sleepy body associates this kind of nesting with sex. it's only natural that you'd get a little needy while inside of it.

You can get needy, Hobi doesn't mind.

Before either of you can say if you really should, if this is really a good thing to do without talking about it first. Hobi’s hands are on your waist, pulling you back snug, his hard thigh between your legs.

If you were more awake, you’d think better of it, you’d think so much but there is only that sweet pressure. The drag, the wetness, the soft little huffs of breath that he shushes when he lets you take what you need. Helps you with his hands on your hips and guides you back into rocking against his thigh.

You feel it all the way down to your toes when his hands slide down to the curve of your ass then back up again, underneath the hem of your shorts and then your sweatshirt- his too (all of you his). Rucked up to your ribs.

“Soft.” Hobi groans.

This must not be real. This has to be a dream. Because Hobi doesn't want to touch you like this, Hobi doesn't groan and twitch against your stomach or guide the movement of your hips with his hands into a slow grind that has you gasping against his jaw. Hobi doesn’t leave the seat of your pajama bottoms soaked with slick. Hole clenching around nothing already. Utterly boneless where you lie against his front.

There is one single moment where you look at each other, one single moment where you try to keep from going any farther. Even though you want it, even though he wants it too. If Namjoon and Jin have taught you anything they've taught you caution.

Hoseok can smell the others lingering on your skin, the spot on the top of your head where Yoongi rested his cheek. He leans down, brushing his lips over it. It’s such a tender gesture and it breaks the flood and he's tugging you up, tugging you even closer, desperation coloring his voice all sweet.

“Fuck- please.” His forehead rests against yours, “fuck I just need-“

You're not sure who moves first, who starts the kiss only that once you’re kissing him it’s hard to stop. One second you're holding back and the next you're kissing him like he's Yoongi and he's kissing you like he's starving.

Teeth clanging against each other, harsh as they nip. Kissing so good that when you pull apart for breath you're both gasping and it has nothing to do with needing air.

Hobi has such nice lips it’s no wonder that they’re heart-shaped. Made for kissing, made for the needy needy licking against the seam of his lips. He shifts turning you on your side, surging up to kiss you properly and put his weight behind it. cradling your head with one hand and your side with the other. You’re so pliant, so willing to let him kiss and take. You want him to take everything. arms around his neck.

He breaks apart, forehead resting against yours, heart beating so quick that he can feel it in his palms. Pupiles blown when he blinks. “If you take what you need, and I take what I need- Can we-“

Your hands thread hard in his hair. Tugging him back to your lips. Closer and closer. “Fuck Yes- please-“

You don’t know where the wanting comes from, why it’s raging through you like a fire. His lips move against yours frantic, you bite his lip and he jerks. Hovering over you with your back against the nest, all tingly and fizzy. Your bones feel like champagne popping, like shooting stars burning out.

Hobi’s hands shake when they touch your hips, just like yours do when you mirror him, your touches shy but just as hungry, tugging up his shirt, fingertips and nails pressing bluntly to his happy trail of fine dark hair. You can feel the way his cock jumps against your stomach and thigh when you scratch gently.

You pull back a little and sit up and it’s sacred; the way that he panics, scrambling to hold onto you. You're A little bit shy when you take off his sweatshirt, nothing underneath. hair fluffing when you get it free from the cotton.

Your bare skin and the cold room. You get goosebumps on your arms almost instantly when they cross over your bare chest. Hobi’s breath stutters in his chest, like roman candles flare and settle. Hobi takes his sweatshirt from you and sets it aside in his haste to hold you again.

He starts to tugs his pants down, getting tangled because he won't even pull back an inch from you. You kiss his throat, again and again making up for lost time. Sucking a mark there. His hands fumble with the waistband of his tied tight grey sweatpants. finding the loops and then freeze when he feels wetness. Pulling back and looking down just to make sure that that is what he thinks it is. you stop your kissing and look too.

There is a wet spot, darkening the grey material. Your slick from your grinding, the spot where you got so worked up and felt so good that you couldn't even help it. He pulls back so that the light can kiss it but yeah that's definitely from you. Evidence of how much you want this. Evidence of how much you want him.

Hoseok thinks you might have actually set his body on fire. Is about ready to start checking your fingers for matches.

You blush so hot that you think you might be burning in embarrassment. Hands between your legs, clutching at the material of the nest, so embarrassed you can't watch as Hoseok looks down at it and then up at you.

“I’m sorry I- I can’t help it- I'm always-“

Hobi’s hands smooth over the wet patch, splaying up to cradle his cock where you’ve left your mark. And he looks at you, jaw rolling and eyes dark. He doesn’t say anything. Can’t.

It’s hasty how you both move to take his pants off, and he kicks them to some forgotten corner of the nest, his boxers pulled off too, and then clings to you. You cling to each other. Kissing again. Hands knotting through his hair and tugging.

You glance down and oh- Hobi has such a pretty cock. the prettiest in the pack maybe (don't tell Tae), Flushed at the tip, hair neatly trimmed and curving up.

Your bare thighs press to his adds a whole new level to this, the skin there is sensitive and unknown. Lying thigh to thigh somehow feels more intimate than chest to chest as you lie the way lovers do, your leg, his, then yours again.

You’re damp between your legs when he touches, hands shaking. He doesn't bother to take off your shorts just tugs the soaked bit of fabric to the side. It’s been a long time since he’s touched a pussy but he knows enough to do it gently. Petting over your folds like he’s teasing a flower to bloom and opening a rose for a bouquet.

“Please��� you gasp, hand vicelike around his wrist. Kissing his frantic pulse again. Hot lips and a cold nose drag down his throat. You hiccup as the pads of his fingers find your clit, shaking against him. "Please-"

But you don’t need to ask, you don’t need to beg. Whatever you need Hobi will give it to you. Your hands scratch as his back when he presses close, snaking underneath his sweatshirt. Breath heavy.

He kisses your neck and bites it when his length brushes the wetness between your thighs. Hot and honey slick. his hips press to your hips, harsh lines of his thighs pointing low that you like. There is so much about Hobi that you like; the way that he kisses, the way that he touches. oh- it’s better than you imagined.

His knuckles are glossy with your slick when he curls them against the nest, holding himself up.

Hobi bends down to skim a kiss across your neck, your collarbones, your sternum.

You laugh, your giggle high and bright. He has to pull back, not upset at all but wanting to laugh too, giggling too. “Why are you?”

Your smile means everything to him. “Your hair tickles.” It is kind of fluffy, kind of pulled everywhere from your kissing and you run your fingers through it, scratching a little around the nape of his neck, and Hobi is done playing.

He pulls back, already dripping a bit of precum, silvery and pearl like at the head of his cock, standing against his stomach. a little hidden because he's still wearing his sweatshirt. Checking because he can’t not check.

“Is this- can I- fuck are you-“

“Daisy, please-“ Oh, how that pet name unhinges him.

He won't make you wait another second for it, hands shaking as he holds your hip. Shushing your needy whimpers with a soothing alpha rumble as he guides his cock close. Giving you what you both need.

Hoseok is not as big as Namjoon or Tae or Jimin, but he’s properly thick. Not the kind of thickness that knocks the breath out of you but the kind that fits just right. Not enough to make you ache or hurt even a little. It doesn’t hurt at all when he eases in slowly.

It doesn’t hurt at all.

That might be because of how soaked you are; dripping messy underneath the warm humidity of the blanket. The visual of your glossy pussy robbed from him but unimportant as Hobi stares at your face, resting his head against your forehead. Watching your eyes dilate and eyelashes flutter. “There we go- fuck-”

It’s not worth pulling back to separate how close you are. How good it feels to press his chest to your chest, not even a single inch separating you. His kisses go gentle and messy, moving against yours in a gentle rhythm just like his hips after he gives you a second to grow used to it. Rocking just a little.

Hoseok has heard the others talk about your pussy, those moments that he tried to block out at the beginning and then started to file away once loving you got more real. But for everything he's heard from his packmates, nothing compares to the reality.

The closeness. The way your hips fit. The hot- too much- clench around him.

He understands a little maybe, fully buried in you for the first time, why they talk about it so much. Why Jungkook had slipped it into dirty talk a few times with Namjoon and why it had made him growl and cum so quick. Why Tae had teased Yoongi for hogging you.

Your pussy feels like an inside joke in all the best ways, the kind of inside jokes that always have you feeling both known and loved. You can’t remember what you used to laugh about when you were a teenager and if asked Hoseok would fail to describe why sex with you feels so full. Why it feels like highlights and golden ages, the golden hour drenching you. It’s not sex for pleasure’s sake and it's not sex for closeness's sake either- although that’s part of it.

It’s not sex at all, it's making love. With Hobi, it’s making love from the beginning.

It's not instincts and mating bond urges. It’s not one submissive giving to a dominant. It’s not about protection and safety even though that's there or because you're an omega and he's an alpha. Because he's a man and you're a woman.

It's just love, that's it.

And it doesn’t hurt at all. For either of you.

The eye contact is never ending, his warm and fucked out the more he rocks. Gentle at first and building up frantic. Hobi doesn’t fuck like the rest of the pack does either; he doesn’t speak, letting out these quiet heavy breaths and shushing your squeaks with soothing alpha grumbles. His thumb wiping away the few overwhelmed tears that slip out and a smile swallowing your hiccuping breaths.

"Fuck” he breathes, moving his hips a little faster. His stomach presses to yours damp and tacky with sweat. Hoseok’s doesn't fuck in and out all the way, hardly moving away from you at all. Just rocking in deep.

Hobi doesn’t stop hitting every spot, comfortable with these unending rocks of his hips, maddening in the way that he never stops filling you. Never pulls out even half way.

Your hands weakly clench in the blankets of the nest as he twitches right there. That sensitive spot inside of you that feels like courting ecstasy when he nudges it. It’s the same spot that Yoongi likes to tease at, the spot that only his long fingers can reach properly and Tae’s too when she’s really trying. Ghosting over it and petting at it until you’re mad with pleasure.

But Hobi doesn’t tease, Hobi just gives. rubbing against it again and again with every gentle roll of his hips.

you put your hand over your mouth to quiet your whimpers when he pulls back, sitting up just a little. Holding your waist and forcing your body further down on his cock, nudging it as deep as it can go and you sob.

Hobi grins, a little cocky, a little pleased that despite his size compared to the others you're still equally as wrecked.

“Right there yeah?” he teases, and then rocks against it again. thumbs pressing against your stomach where he cradles you. waist so tiny that they almost meet when he holds you.

Your cheeks are hot, and you have to turn and whimper into the pillow. he lets you shift so that you're belly down in the nest and he's behind you glued to your backside. lying his weight down behind you like a blanket. pressing you into the nest where you'll stay like a good pup.

Hoseok instincts are absolutely purring. omega, getting bred in such a pretty nest. Good warm soft omega.

Your hand laces with the blanket, needing something to hold onto and he kisses the back of your neck, treading your hands together as he keeps going. This new position lets him rock in even deeper, putting his weight behind it.

“If you keep going, I’m not gonna be able to-”

His breath ghosts your ear, lips dragging down the column of your throat to nip and suck gently at your scent gland, marking you there. his hand presses, holding you to the bed as he rocks harder. His barely formed knot already inside and growing, getting you closer and closer as it thickens. Keeping him right there at the spot and you on the edge. You're so wet it's making noises, soaking and dripping down his cock.

He kisses your mating mark, nipping at it, and you’re gone.

You cum, a wet gush around his knot and a broken whimper. a growl in his throat sounds loud in the empty house. It sounds like made mate happy, made omega cum for me. Hoseok's Alpha is absolutely preening watching your Legs shake, the nape of your neck sweaty, body slack and head tilting to bear your neck. both of your bodies messy from it, filthy and blushing with love.

Hobi’s not far behind, rocking another time, a third, a quiet satisfied breath into the back of your neck before his knot pops locking you together as he cums so gently. No growls or gasps, just hot spurts that fill and satisfy you. Knot popping and Locking you so close you can feel his cock pulse. So close you can feel the same heartbeat on his lips when kisses you, hurried kisses pressed to the nape of your neck that quickly go slack with sleep.

Your hand settles across your stomach, and oh- you realize why hobi wasn't bothered by how wet he got you earlier. He just keeps cuming, so much that it's leaking a little around his knot. You're not sure that Jimin or Tae or Yoongi cum this much, Namjoon definitely does- but thats kinda proportional.

he just keeps going, heat flooding you. Maybe he's only cumming so much because it's the first time, and he needs to claim you from the inside out. you're a little too dizzy to figure it out.

You feel like you might pass out. You don't know if it's squirt or cum or just sweat when he lies himself over you. cuddling closer despite the mess. Teeth at your bared throat, Sucking softly, Soothing.

instincts are kind of embarrassing at best, irrationally hot at worse. you squirm a little closer so that his knot goes deeper.

The sunlight spills across your cuddled forms, still underneath the big thick blanket. He doesn’t pull out, the knot keeping him snug tight. His hand is on your cheek, rubbing up and down your jaw. He pulls the blanket up around you. And neither of you says a word as your rapid breathing calms.

You’re not sure who falls back asleep first. Only that he wraps his arm around you and pulls you back on top of his chest, cuddled there. Knot warm and safe inside of you.

knotted together like this, you're finally finally close enough.

~-~

When Hobi wakes you’re watching him and his dick is out. Wet and slick and cold.

That would certainly cause him to be alarmed if it wasn’t for your expression; a little pale. Hands between your legs and looking at the doorway.

You just really don't want to drip cum onto the couch, like- obviously. Hobi didn't hurt you. But the brief terror at waking up uncuddled and so suddenly douses Hobi like a bucket of cold water.

The cold might be the actual reason for his sudden wakefulness. The wintry air in the room is jarring because the house is finally heating up. (as much to do with the heating system doing its job as it is with your activities earlier that turned the windows all hazy with condensation).

It's like someone had just come in and then abruptly left again. Your cheeks are pink, and there is a cloth on the side of the couch, folded and warm. You didn't get it for yourself.

“Don’t freak out, but Yoongi and the others walked in while you were asleep.”

You’re kind of glad that he wasn’t awake to see your mate barely contain his screech, jumping up and down with Jungkook in the entryway. Namjoon’s subtly grinning expression when he took in your appearance and paused in the cold doorway breathing in deeply. Tae wrapped around one arm; their walk interrupted by his return from surgery.

He groans, barely awake enough to think about the visual that Yoongi and the others were treated to. The consequences are better than a shot of expresso at wakeing him up.

But really, was there ever a possibility that the others wouldn’t find out about this? Does Hoseok even want them not to know?

He's too tired, too think about this logically.

Hoseok wonders why he didn’t wake to you holding him. He’s seen you hold the others, hold Namjoon in the morning when you smell like him. The way you wake slowly and run your fingers through their hair. The other alphas have a habit of cuddling up to rest their head against your chest. Hobi remembers that day by the beach when you pet his hair, he wants you to do that now.

But he can't fucking ask. Asking you to cuddle him would be fucking embarrassing.

“Shit." He shakes off his neediness and easily locates his boxers in the mess of the nest because they're bright red. Surreptitiously tucking his now soft and deflated knot back inside. You look away, letting him have that moment of privacy without comment. Your arms curl around your chest, you’re still nude from the waist up. thighs clenched togeather.

“Yeah uhm, they went back out to like- give us some space.”

"Did they say anything?"

You look away, wiggling over to the edge of the nest. "No. But they looked like they wanted to say a whole lot.”

You definitely don’t say that you heard their scuffle, Namjoon and Tae using their alpha privileges to wrangle an overly excited Yoongi and Jungkook. or that both of them had come back inside, both with pink cheeks smelling sweet at the sight of Hobi’s face pressed to your neck and the fresh hickeys at your throat.

(Hobi’s hickeys are always so small and cute. Tae can’t wait to take a picture and save it, for memory's sake. She’s half tempted to take out her phone and snap a picture of the two of you now.)

Your hiss of “Don’t say anything, I swear to fucking god if you wake him-" cured her of any bad ideas and had Namjoon grinning, his dimples showing.

Yoongi’s finger pressed to his lips in the doorway. Smiling wide and showing his gums. Omegas do get awfully protective over alphas in their nests. Especially post-knotting.

You’re honestly a little surprised that their muted shouting hadn’t woken Hobi. The closed door had kept out the cold but not the sound of them discussing on the porch; mostly Tae's insistence that they needed to get out of the house for lunch instead of heading back inside.

“But what if they need aftercare?”

"We shouldn’t leave them alone and unprotected.” (Classic Joonie).

“Yeah! What if they need cleaning!”

Yoongi snorts, “Gross Jk- I’m pretty sure the last thing they want is you licking up Hobi’s cum.”

“But he always likes it when it’s Jinnie-" that had your face and body heating (although that could just be Hobi- a literal furnace that he is wrapped around you).

Now his warmth is on the other side of the nest yet it feels impossibly farther away. As you both stew in silence under the weight of what you’ve done, what you just did.

Everything feels quiet and scary as you put yourselves back together in silence. You use the wet washcloth to keep yourself from dripping all over the couch while he looks for his pants in the mess of blanekts that smell like sex.

Thoughts like shit shit shit and what have you done ping-ponging back and forth across his brain. Mind bouncing between unlikely personal regrets and likely female rejection (of which he is only too familiar with).

Hobi doesn't like feeling rejected, it always brings up bad memories. He didn't wake up to you holding him. Is that a rejection or is his brain just making it up? People always hold each other after sex. Don't they?

You reach for his sweatshirt but before you can touch it a growl bursts forth from his throat and you freeze.

Hoseok scrubs a hand across his eyes, trying to wipe away the memories fitfully. Maybe it’s just because of the fact that he woke up and you weren’t wrapped around him. He's going to have to cuddle you himself if he wants it right now.

This first time with you reminds him of other first time's that didn’t end well. He's sorry for it the second it slips past his lips.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I just- my fucking instincts feel like they're on fire."

“So can I…?” you trail off. Your skin has goosebumps again. And Hoseok doesn’t know if it’s the casual nakedness that has him feeling so unmoored. A blush trailing its way up the back of his neck even though it shouldn’t be weird. He saw you shirtless every other hour during Namjoon’s rut for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah, just wear it- please wear it.” He can’t take back his growl, but he can meditate by watching you pick it up and hug it to your chest. Looking at him for a second as if to check that it’s still alright and he’s not going to snap at you again.

There is a hickey on your shoulder, the spot where it meets your arm. Hobi doesn’t know if it’s from him or someone else. It's a little too red to not be new. You don’t look uncomfortable being nude in front of him.

If anything, you look a little bit glowy.

You look at him and then pull it over your head. His cheeks still heating stubbornly as your chest moves a little, jiggling.

Why do girls have to just- girl all the time- it's honestly a little unfair how much hobi blushed.

He watches you, sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but his boxers as you stand up pulling the sweatshirt down your hips. He stares at you until you ask a little flustered by hiding it, “What?”

He tugs on the hem of his sweatshirt, slowly, carefully, leaning forward as he tugs on one of the strings with his teeth. His hands go to your waist pulling you close gently, half sure of himself and half afraid. Hoseok is always somehow half afraid. Is this allowed? Is this wanted?

He rests his head against your stomach, loosely twining his arms around your waist to pull you closer, still loose enough that you can step away if you want. All of this can stop if you don’t want it. He hopes you know that.

Hoseok looks down at your feet, not at your face. “I love it when you wear my clothes. I really don't know where that came from.”

“Careful,” you say, a grin in your voice. Your tone light because you don't want him to smell so sour again. “I’m gonna go for your pants next.”

You snatch his from the floor and dart away. Nothing excites an alpha’s instincts like a chase, and Hobi feels the fire light down his spine. His movements are a hunt-heavy blur. Brain honed in on you.

He catches you by the counter, your giggle echoing off the high ceilings. His blood heating again as he drags you by your hips and flops down into one of the bar stools, sitting you on top of him with a growl.

His hands grip hard around your waist, determined until he’s shy. Letting you go softly, “Sorry I just-”

“Instincts still? Don't worry I get it.” You give him his pants and sit up off his lap so that he can put them on. And now is not the time to get another boner Hobi- but it’s kind of hard not to when you smell so bred, so wholly satisfied.

Hobi did that. Hobi's the one who made you look like this drowning in the afterglow.

Your own instincts are telling you that you want to take the blankets from the couch and drag them upstairs, and tuck them in around the scents of the others. So that they can all see and smell how good you made your alpha feel.

Hoseok’s pleasure leaves an undercurrent to the air that’s intoxicating. Half sugar-sweet and musky alpha. Your body hums with it as he steps up close behind you, close enough you can feel his warmth and not his body, nose skimming the bruise he left close to your mating mark. Letting out a tired sigh.

You did just work off a lot of energy, regardless of the half-nappy half-cuddle fucking that just was; It's also left you fucking hungry.

As much as the kitchen has been a place of anxiety for you it really isn’t with Hobi there. There is still that tape line on the floor that guards you off from the stove, sink, and the fridge. Hobi steps out from behind you and goes to the fridge, getting out some of the prepped fruit that Yoongi almost always keeps on hand.

But you keep looking at the kitchen, the pans hanging above the sink, your mixer sitting dusty in the corner. The hanging mugs. Everything.

He brings it to you, setting it down in front of where you sit. instincts making his eyes fever bright. He watches a little too intently as you lift a raspberry to your mouth. Something about watching you eat cools his instincts, making him release a taught breath.

He watches as you lift another piece, a blackberry to your lips and bite down. Almost purring, too afraid of what might slip out if he speaks. He half wants to do it himself and feed you from his fingertips. But that’s a little too embarrassing to consider.

A minute later, after you’ve eaten half a dozen more pieces, he reaches past you, about to get a piece of peach. He doesn't think anything of it, but when he reaches past your face- you flinch.

It happens so quick that he almost doesn’t even catch it. One second your cheek is turned straight and the next your eyes are darting from him to the bowl. Scent souring with fear and memories from Geumjae.

Fuck. (No cuz actually- fuck Geumjae.)

You don’t look at him with fear, you just look at him with a strange sort of sadness in your eyes. Sorry. Like you’re sorry for being scared. hoseok's hand goes tight on the counter.

"I'm sorry."

Hobi sits down. Holds your hands in his, and waits for a second before he speaks. makes his words quiet and gentle because anger at someone dead and gone has no place here.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” You have nice hands, warm where they press into his. And he cradles them, your knuckles flexing vaguely in his grasp, gentle but commanding.

“You’ll try not to, you mean."

You smile at him sadly. Hobi’s chest is tight with it. He needs you to know how much he means those words. How much he needs to mean them. But you both know how hard it is to promise that.

"No. I mean I’m not going to hurt you. Ever.” He repeats. You smile at him sadly again. And he knows his brief anger earlier when you touched his sweatshirt- usually such a normal thing for you- didn't escape you at all. But grief and mourning and memory always finds you at the worst times; after first times and on sunny winter afternoons.

The two of you are a mess, bodies teeming with the memories of failed loves, lost and broken. But you can ignore your triggers; such innocuous things as you wearing his sweatshirt and him reaching past your face. You can ignore your memories; the wretched and rotten ones, just for today.

You let the heavy moment pass and look at the other side of the kitchen. Hobi’s chest feels tight with something. Something that he needs to say but can’t just yet. You can only tell someone you love them for the first time once. You don’t get a second chance.

Hobi just wants to get it right.

You’re looking at the kitchen that Yoongi made for you, holding his hand still. using the other to feed yourself more fruit.

(Is there anything more intimate than holding hands with someone? It feels like more than the pads and lines of his fingers are pressed to yours. soul to soul and palm to palm. The future is written out right there but you ignore it. Love line, health line, fate. But the two of you are dedicated to writing your own end. Your love line is exactly the same length as his, not a millimeter longer).

Hoseok’s chest is still all tight. “What are you thinking about?”

“I haven’t made anything in months.” You sigh, sad. “I want to. I used to love baking, I used to-” you break off, sorrow making you quiet.

Hobi’s eyes are fixed on your shoulder. There are freckles there. He’s not sure why he’s never noticed them before or that you’ve got them dotting your back.

Hobi swallows past something in his throat. Pushing you gently from your chair until you're standing next to him. Cupping your waist because now that he's started touching you it's hard to stop. Now that he knows he’s allowed to touch you so casually, so affectionately, he going to keep doing it.

“Go. I’ll watch you, make sure you stay safe.” Because that’s the rule, isn’t it? Not that you can’t be in the kitchen at all, just that you need someone there to keep you safe.

The words feel tight in his throat, not easily said. I love you. He thinks as he watches you move to the mixer with a small but pretty smile that looks like daisies have taken root on your skin, everything sweet and flowering.

I love you. He thinks as he watches you get your cookbook from behind the mixer. I love you he thinks when he watches you place a mug from that morning in the sink. I love you he thinks as you get the sugar, the vanilla, the salt. He has to get up and get the flour for you, unwilling to have your arms strain underneath the heavy container, doting on you just because he can.

Just because he wants to, just because he loves you.

The shadow of what’s left on the bag hits his dark clothes like a ghostly outline when he holds it. The flour is a bit like you; everywhere he touches it leaves an impression. The rainbows from his suncatcher you put in the kitchen shift with the angle of the sunlight, winking out one by one as dusk falls.

He sits at the kitchen island and watches as you hum and flick through your recipe book. Golden hour fades to orange and pink the same way that roses fade.

He’s not sure why he blurts it out, why he asks, “What’s your favorite?”

You look up from your cookbook, everything is set out but still, the recipe is undecided. “What?”

Hobi can not look at you for this, instead looks at the kitchen island and the old butcher block countertop. Fingers toying along the edge where a knife left a gash.

“You always make everyone else’s favorites; Namjoon’s honey cakes, coffee-flavored things for Jin, the vegan stuff for Jungkook you know- but-” his eyes flick up to you in a moment of bravery. “What’s yours? What's your favorite?”

You think for a moment, a kitchen apart, fingers tapping on the countertop and Hobi can’t take his eyes off of you. His body feels a little achy but in that ‘was just fucked good’ sort of way that makes his breath deeper. Quieting some alpha part of him that always wants a little more. A little more scenting, a little more validation, a little more attention.

But everything can wait.

“My favorite thing to eat or my favorite thing to make?”

“Both. Either.” You glance at the clock. Going to the pantry for a second to double-check that you have everything you'll need. “I’ll have to make some of it from scratch but-" you look at him. “Do you have time?”

Hobi nods. “As long as you need.”

Hobi watches as you measure out the flour and sift it. Hobi watches as you wait for the eggs to get to room temperature and fucks with the playlist. His phone will eventually get splashed with coco but- it’s okay.

All of this is okay, all of this is I love you I love you I love you and I don’t know what to do with all of it, can you take someone it, please. I don’t have enough space in my body to hold all of it. Hoseok doesn’t speak for how sheer the impulse is just to blurt it out.

The yellow plastic mixing bowl keeps clattering against the counter as you stir the egg yolks until they froth up and fizz. Pouting you turn your eyes to him. “Can you help?”

Hoseok has to swallow back the words before they slip past. Hopping up a little too quickly. “Yeah of course.”

You don’t tell him what you’re making, let him guess. So many of your recipes need egg whites and vanilla. You let him put it together on his own. Hobi doesn’t peek at your recipe book and spoil the surprise.

Every action, every spoonful of sugar is I love you too, just say it. You don’t talk about the sex you just had and you don’t say I love you to him. You wait for him to say it first. You don’t say a thing besides; “Just a half teaspoon of that; drizzle it a little at a time, or else it clumps together. Good.” Hobi’s cheeks heat with every bit of praise and you have a lot of it for him.

Hobi looks away when you look up from the bowl, oh so carefully folding the batter and egg whites together. So gently that the hiss and bubble of whipped egg yolks disintegrating is hardly audible.

Hobi hasn’t baked since he was a kid; since he got into his head that chocolate chip cookies were totally something that an eight-year-old should be able to make on their own without adult supervision and almost burned his parents’ apartment to the ground. He tells you the story and you laugh.

He can tell that you’re making adjustments as you go. Adding in a bit of cinnamon, piping off the cookies in neat little lines, and then tapping them oh so carefully to get rid of the bubbles.

The stove preheats and then the tray goes in, filling the room with your scent. That cakey baking aroma that has him resting his head back against the cabinets when you sit on the floor and greedily breathing in.

You wait the 30 minutes like that, sitting on the floor between the cabinets and stove. Your feet pressed to his knees and a glass of lemonade between the two of you.

“You really like baking,” he says, and your eyelashes flutter, you must be getting tired. He takes your feet into his lap, using his hand to massage up your calf. Smiling when you sigh.

“Yeah, it makes me feel- I don’t know. I like making the world sweeter, just a little. Even if it’s just my little corner of it. Making things you guys like makes me happy too.”

“You know, you could go to culinary school if you wanted.” Hobi gets a little shy because you hadn’t explicitly told Jin and Namjoon not to tell anyone about your plans or your application (still pending). It will be a few more weeks until you find out, but that change is just on the horizon.

He's already seen Jimin perusing expensive leather bookbags and has overseen a recommendation letter coming from Namjoon’s email. Hobi might have read it for him to double-check because Hobi always notices things the others might gloss over. Jin and Tae had given it proof read too.

You make a noise in your throat, halfway between a hum in approval and a hum in distaste. “I don’t know, it seems like- a lot to do for a hobby.”

Hobi and you are the only two in the pack who wanted to go to college but didn’t. Couldn’t in your case because Geumjae wouldn’t let you and flunked out in his. He gets the lack of clarity in your voice; to go back or not go back. To try again or not try at all and not worry about whether or not you’re enough.

“I already started applying anyway. Namjoon and Jin and Tae put a lot of effort into helping me apply and-” You let out a frustrated sigh.

Hobi shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. You can change your mind.” There is always time. You tap your toes against his shins and he grabs your feet and you jerk, ticklish. And he almost almost gives in to the urge to tell you he loves you right then and there.

“But could you be happy? Doing this all the time?” You turn, putting your hand over your eyes to peer into the oven and make sure that the ladyfingers are rising properly. “Doing it every day? Would it make you happy?”

You pause, hand on the door before replying in a small voice. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe I could be happy.”

You stand with a crack of your knees, sticking out your hand for Hobi and almost falling into him when he truly uses your hand to help himself up.

“Come on, we’ve got to make the whipped cream next-”

It goes like that, you both talking, and Hobi fucking with the playlist. Thinking three little words and not saying them.

You let the ladyfingers cool for a few minutes while you make the expresso. Dunking them in quickly. Piping out the honey-flavored whipped cream in sticky little dollops. Shaking out the cocoa with a practiced hand.

You make the caramel for the top last. Sugar-burning, glass-like little strands on top for a bit of crunch.

The tiramisu is a delicate creation, the layers perfectly spaced out in just the right ratio of cream to chocolate. You let it sit for a second in the fridge and when you take it out, you cut it into a single perfect little square and put it on a plate for him. Treading over the blue painter’s tape line and lingering by him where he sits.

“Try it.” You ask and he does obediently.

Hobi takes a bite of it, rolling the flavors around his tongue while you watch. You haven’t cut a piece for yourself just yet, but you have a fork. You stand on the other side of the kitchen island and take a bite from the other corner of the pan, humming happily when the taste hits your tongue.

It really is your favorite. You grin at the plate, “I could finish this whole thing in one sitting.”

Hobi takes another bite. It’s really good, the flavors are simple but delicate, each of them identifiable but yet cohesive. He could eat all of it too.

Hoseok swallows and realizes why it's your favorite; It tastes like all of you- like the pack.

The honey whipped cream is Jin and Jungkook, and the chocolate cocoa on top is your mate; dark chocolate like an Oreo cookie. Hobi thinks it might not be normal cocoa. The homemade ladyfingers are soaked through with Namjoon's coffee and the cake itself is a delicate dance of Tae’s cinnamon, Jimin’s vanilla, and your scent too. Buttery and yummy.

He's finished half of what's on his plate before he realizes that you added the crunchy layer on top, the caramel too.

That’s Hobi isn’t it? The Burnt sugar sweetness. He knows that’s not typical but still, you added in anyway. The smell of caramel is thick in the air. Sweet sweet sweet. Hobi always smells the sweetest when he’s falling in love.

The tiramisu tastes like the whole pack. Like love soaked threw. Hobi’s heart and body is full of it.

He thinks this might be his favorite too.

Hobi tries to blink back the wetness, really tries not to cry as he takes another big bite. He gets a little bit of whipped cream on his lip, licking it and sniffling. You pause, a bite hovering between the plate and your mouth before you set down your fork with a clink.

“Oh Hobi”

The space between you is nothing more than air as you quickly head around the kitchen island. You cup both of his cheeks and he sags into the touch, hands instantly going over yours to keep them there. Tears spilling warm and unabated down his cheeks.

Hobi decides right then he is beyond pretending that he doesn’t want it, that he doesn’t want you. Wet cheeks and imploring eyes.

“Oh Hoseok, what’s wrong?”

You’re standing between his legs and your collarbone rests against his cheek. Your hand runs through his hair and his heart pulses hard.

"I didn’t mean to make you cry. If this is because-” you trail off. You don’t say that you shouldn’t have had sex earlier because you can’t find it in yourself to regret this even a little bit. But you are sorry for not doing it in a way that didn't make him cry. If that's why he's crying.

“No it’s not that. I just-" Hoseok can hardly speak his mouth is so full of love that it bursts from him before he has a chance to think it through. Sobbing a little as he says it;

"I'm crying because I love you and I don’t know how to tell you.”

Hobi stutters and your hands on his cheeks go firm for a second before they relax. “I love you; I love being around you, I love that you're my best friend and that i get to love you too. I love living in this house with you. I’m crying because for the first time I get it-”

He can’t stop the confession now that it's started, and if he'd just open his eyes he'd get to see your smile but they're screwed shut tight.

“I get it, I get why once Yoongi met you, he couldn’t leave. I understand why he brought you back to us. But-” he hiccups and you giggle a little at the sound. His eyes shoot open and he realizes that you're crying too- that you haven't stepped away. You wipe away his tears with your thumbs and grin down at him.

“I'm so fucking afraid too- I can’t help but feel like the way we started just- fucked everything up. I fucked everything up back then by being jealous. I look at you and I’m scared I’ll fuck this up.”

You hold his face in your hands and think; I will be gentle with you, I will be gentle with you even if it kills me. You have never loved someone broken like you, and you know how easy it is to make a wrong step. But you’re sure when you say the words anyway.

“You won’t.”

“But-” you kiss his hands, knuckles, fingertips. His forehead, his lips Everything. Your eyes are focused and Hobi can’t look away.

“You won’t, you promised not to hurt me and you won’t.”

He falls silent, and you pull him in close. His lips still tingle from your kiss and you kiss him again, long and lingering, hard with the force of your conviction. It tastes like tiramisu.

When you break apart, Hoseok rests his ear on your heart and listens.

You should say I love you back, you really should return the words. But you think there will be other moments to say them. You'll say it when you wake up with him tomorrow morning, you'll say it when you fall asleep tonight curled close to him. There will be more time to say them- during a late-night drives when you look over at him in the dark. There are always going to be more times to say it and you’ll say it and mean it every time.

Unfortunately, life isn't so neat and tidy.

You wipe his cheeks and he wipes yours and you both giggle, leaning into each other. You get him a tissue for his nose and start laughing all over again. Being with Hobi will always be like this, half your lover and half your best friend.

“Do you want to go on a drive later, only,” you wipe tears from your own eyes, “want to take the others this time?”

He smiles, “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

He tries to pull you in for another kiss but you feed him a bite of tiramisu instead and it gets half on his cheek, “finish your cake alpha,” you command, and Hobi is perilous to disobey. the next bite you take ends up on your cheek too because he tickles you, and you blush when he leans forward to lick it off your cheek. All giggly and happy and close. You sat practically on the edge of the counter. Noodle meows and laps up some of it from the floor.

You don’t need to say I love you back, you already have. Hobi can taste it on the edge of every bite.

You cut him another piece and share it this time, and he can't stop looking at you, can't stop smiling.

You smile around a mouthful, "i'm gonna tear up that train ticket."

"Don't you fucking dare. We've gotta like- put it in a scrap book or something."

You clean up the tiramisu, thinking of what might happen when the pack gets back, thinking of how things will go now that you’ve settled this. They’ll be happy; all of you all together finally. This last piece of your little family finally falling into place.

Maybe it will go like this:

Maybe when the pack gets home, there will not just be tiramisu on the counter. Maybe there will be gluten-free lemon bars and honey cakes. Chocolate ginger cookies dusted with powdered sugar and freshly baked bread with cheese and garlic. Little personal cheesecakes that you made in a muffin tin dotted with jam preserve because now that you’ve started to bake again there might not be anything to stop you.

You already feel the urge in your hands, the urge to make things. You think it might have been learned from Yoongi.

Maybe they’ll come home with pizza, unsure if a party and alcohol is really the proper way to go about celebrating, but the cake from the bakery that Tae will buy as a joke, will have flowery lettering and “congrats for losing your Hobi-ginity"

It will make you laugh until your lungs ache like the fireworks have gone off. Will make him blush and rub the back of his neck in shyness.

When they come home there might be a few sly comments but the pack knows when to tease and when not to. Maybe Namjoon will take a hearty sniff at Hoseok’s throat, dragging it up and down the nape of his neck, huffing happily. (Namjoon has always been a little bit possessive of Hoseok the same way Jin has always been possessive of you, but that's pack alpha's for you).

Tae will tuck your hair behind your ears to get a better look at the mark he left on your throat, manicured fingers gently stroking over it. and Yoongi will shoot him a challenging look and drawl, "really daisy? is this really something you wanna start?" all playful. the way yoongi only gets when he's really really happy.

And when Jin gets home, Maybe he’ll drag you over his lap with some squirming because there is no avoiding this hole check. Not when Jin and the others have been waiting.

Under the hungry eyes of the rest of the pack, you would still squirm. Your mate watching and grinning as he nibbles a piece of pizza and just watches as Jin pulls your sleep shorts down to your knees. Leaving them there to pin your thighs together. Hand against the small of your back to keep you still.

Of course, the pack omega has to look after the two of you and make sure the lowest on the hierarchy is being safe without a stronger presence nearby. But your entrance is pink fucked warm, not red and inflamed. Hoseok’s knot is the perfect thing to warm you up, and Jin tugs his sweatshirt over your hips to keep you warm as he examines you.

Fingers drag your entrance apart to show the others how good hobi did. Prompting them to touch and feel for themselves, all of their fingers teasing at your entrance and all of them touching you. Tae and Jungkook holding your thighs, Jimin and Namjoon resting their hands on your ass to help jin hold you open better and yoongi prodding to feel-

They'd want to see his cum slip out, forced from your hole by your needy clench. Of course, they'd just fuck it back inside because not a drop can go to waste. one set of fingers and then another, jungkook leaning down to taste.

Jin’s eyes would be all dark eyes and honey tones, looking hoseok up and down, cheeks as red as the sweatshirt you wear. His praise makes Hobi feel just a little bit too proud for his own good.

Hobi would probably get a knot-check for that, because if the alpha has something to be proud of then surely the others need to check his ego (and only in the way that hobi likes).

The alphas would scuffle with him a little, wrestling to settle him. Hobi's instincts are still fever bright and he needs to be put in his place. To feel the pack for what they are; very necessary safety bumpers.

He'd go so easily after a few nips- Jimin would help pull his pants down so Namjoon could get his big hands around him, fingers teasing at the red skin around his base and making Hobi growl and gasp. Pausing to cup lower and make sure Hoseok's empty, that he didn't hold back breeding you. Tae would tutt and make him open his mouth, her finger teasing along his teeth just for shits and giggles. Just to make him groan.

Nothing makes an alpha more proud than getting to show off his teeth.

Jin would smile at the display, and croon. “Good alpha.”

Maybe Jin will pat your pussy lips softly before pulling your pants up, making you flinch and then relax and jungkook would bend down to give Hoseok's knot a little kiss before standing.

The whole thing would take maybe 5 minutes but it would leave the whole pack ravenous for more. The final evidence of this finally happening; all of you together and not fragmented.

As you should be, together.

Maybe later, after treats and pizza, you'll all get to go to the beach like Hobi promised. Two separate cars. And Namjoon might let Hoseok and Jimin do donuts in the empty parking lot without too much fuss. The smell of tires and gasoline ripping.

Jungkook whooping and Yoongi watching on with his grin, Jin in the back seat with you going “Oh- oh hope- slow down” looking a little green. But terrorizing the pack omega is kind of your job.

It’s cold and late at night but you’ll tear out across the sand. Running to the shore. Tossing your shoes into the dark and toeing into the waves. Yelling happy.

You and Hobi will try and throw Yoongi into the water and then the other alphas will actually succeed in throwing Namjoon, pushing him until he inevitably tumbles into the seafoam. All 7 of you will try and wrangle Jungkook into the same wet fate and fail.

Jin will tuck Namjoon’s wet hair back behind his ear and grin at him, his grin saying the words they don’t need to. Kisses tases like secrets and salt but that much has not changed. Might never change when it comes to the eight of you. All the secrets in the world couldn’t keep you apart.

You’ll get zoomy in the way that dogs get in wide-open spaces. You’ll run. Your feet slapping against the sand, tossing spray into the air as high as your laughter, chasing after each other. A bunch of barefoot kids in too-big bodies and sand between your toes. Hands clasped tight in each other’s so that you won’t let go. You won’t ever let go now that you've found them.

For once you'll be absent of all the things that drag you down. Lighter than the warm air that billows over the sea. Mouths that store special secret salty smiles for the better. Damp fingers that curl against warm wrists. holding onto each other tight even though you’re running and running-

Running.

Maybe.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, what happens is this;

You are sitting at the kitchen counter when Hobi gets a text. It’s from Jungkook asking about the pizza types that you’d want and

Yoongi’s left his phone, he says with a little 👀 emoji. But he won’t truly tease the both of you until he gets home. Of course Yoongi was too distracted by you and Hobi post coitous to grab it from the other room.

you to to the pantry to put away the flour and this close- you can hear another phone ring from the bathroom. It's it yours? Only No, it's not your phone sitting on the counter, but Yoongi’s. Lighting up with Jin’s contact information.

JinJinJin: 5 missed calls.

It's so like your mate to leave his phone in such a random place. You smile as you pick up.

Jin is already talking a mile a minute. Fear and panic make his words come quick and desperate.

“Yoongi- why the fuck didn't you pick up" You don't have time to respond. Don't have time to let him know it's not your mate but you that picked up the phone.

"I don’t know how the fuck it happened, I don’t know- but-“ he’s almost shouting over the phone, such raw panic in his voice that it has your body going frozen.

Jin lets out a broken sobbing breath.

"I shot Minnie.”

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 Every little bit of encouragement helps <3

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

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~-~

Notes:

I ended up editing out a good portion of Hoseok ’s inner monologue at the begining, because I realized that at that point in time with the other pack he wouldn’t have been thinking stuff about how terrible it was because it wasn’t terrible yet. i probably should have even edited it fluffier if we're being honest. i think that would have been more unsettling.

The line where she says “One second you're holding back and the next you're kissing him like he's Yoongi and he's kissing you like he's starving.” Is a little hard to explain, she’s not thinking about Yoongi in that moment but the person she associates the most with love is Yoongi so- yeah it made sense. I feel like this line might make people go a little like “what??”

I swear if you guys didn’t cry a little at the ‘It doesn’t hurt at all.’ Parts I’m not doing this right because I was SOBBING.

Listen, I almost edited out the line where he calls her pussy an inside joke so many times- but for me- when I was younger I always wanted to be a part of inside jokes because like- if you are that means you’ve got history with someone- Hoseok is thinking this because until this moment- he hasn’t been able to be apart of something that the rest of the pack had understood.

When Hoseok was leaving a hickey over her mating mark it’s his way of saying “this is mine too 😠” to Yoongi,

Honestly??? Why is Hobi so feral in this like- he’s a /little/ unhinged from how much he wants her and tbh it’s fair. Look away if you don’t wanna read him going APESHIT for her.

ALSO- I’m just imagining him on the walk with jungkook and Tae, cheeks slowly pinking up because he can feel that they’re having sex down the mating bond, maybe getting hard and the others noticing, both of them plastering themselves along his side and teasing him with words like “do you think he’s making her all wet and messy hyung? Do you think she’s gonna cream around his cock like she creams around yours?” and Yoongi just- endlessly suffering around the two horndogs that are Tae on estrogen and jungkook on a regular day.

The moment where they’re holding hands and it’s talking about palmistry is a refrence to noah kahan’s song everywhere everything and the line “it’s been a long year, in all of our books pages dog eared, we write out the ends on our palms dear, and forget to read.”

The worst worst worst part about this chapter is that I don’t??? have a fucking recipe for the tiramisu?? Like I’ve made it before but I’ve never made honey flavored whipped cream or put caramel on top 🥺 maybe I’ll test it out one dayand update this chapter

Okay so the ‘flash into the improbable future at the end is a little too horny for the end of smutt but I couldn’t just /not/ put it in there because you know how I love a good hole check scene.

do you hate me because of this cliffhanger? even i have to say its a little unforgivable.

please be patient for next chapter because i do not have A SINGLE fucking word written for it. like nada, we're starting from scratch come monday.

~-~

Hobi's sex Playlist (jk isn't not a sex playlist)

Dominic fike- Mama's boy (hobis' flashback)

Mitski – my love mine all mine. (yoongi telling him to be good)

Lana del ray – chemtrails over the country club. (the sex)

Olivia Rodrigo – can’t catch me now (when they're both triggered from the respective abusive relationships)

Tom o’dell – black Friday. (Juz cuz)

[drghostwrite]

Your work is amazing!! My obsession with Regina mills is so bad and I need your help because I swear I see her as a power bottom 😫😫 AND NO ONE ELSE DOESSS. If it’s okay please could you write a Regina and reader fic where the reader is a service top? LOVE YOUUUU

Omg hehe YES!! I can so see her being a power bottom, mmm yes okay so here we go. I’ve never intentionally written this dynamic so here goes nothing, let me know whatcha think. Also thanks for the suggestion love. 😙

Pairing: Regina Mills x wife!reader

Summary: Regina’s lover brings her breakfast, a visit that turns… steamy.

******************************************************** Your heels clicked on the hard marble floors as you made you way to your wife’s office. When you got up this morning she wasn’t in bed and her car was long gone so you assumed she had gone into the office, on your way to the station your assumption had been right. So being the amazing wife you were you stopped by Granny’s picking up some pancakes and coffee and made your way to her office.

You stopped outside the door and read the bold letters, Mayor, you knocked softly hearing a very annoyed ‘come in’ from the other side. You could almost feel the eye roll from the woman behind the desk.

You slowly opened the door to see her reading over some paperwork, her elbow on the desk holding fingers pressed against her temple as her other hand held a paper and pen. She didn’t even bother to look up as she heard you enter.

“This better be important or so help me…” she started, looking as annoyed as ever.

“Well that’s no way to greet your lover, is it?” You teased as you walked towards her desk. She looked up at you surprised, her eyes raking over your body as you walked in. You were wearing all black, her favorite, a vest and pant combo, the black shirt underneath to match, your holster and badge displayed on your hip.

“Hello darling.” A smile playing at her plush red lips.

“My love.” You nodded and came around to her, bending down to kiss her soft lips, your hand softly ghosting her cheek. “I missed you this morning.”

“Well duty calls, especially when you work with idiots.”

“Hmm…” you chuckled leaning down to kiss her more passionately.

“So tell me detective, to what do I owe the visit?” She teased, grinning against your lips.

“Can’t I just bring my wife some breakfast?” You poked, kissing her again. Setting the bag and cups on the desk, taking your badge and gun off laying it to the side.

“Mm, depends on what else comes with the breakfast.” She pulled you closer by your belt loops, finally standing to meet you.

“Well whatever her majesty wants she gets…” you trailed, as she pushed her tongue into your mouth, you fought for dominance before just letting her take over.

“Rough morning?” You asked kissing her neck, her perfect red lipstick now smudged.

“Darling you have no idea…” her breath warm against your lips, as you picked her up setting her on her desk

“What can I do to help?” You said pulling back and looking into the mischievous brown orbs as she grinned back at you. She wrapped her toned legs around your waist as her well manicured fingers played with the buttons of your vest.

“I think you know…” she trailed with a smirk, running her tongue seductively along her perfectly white teeth with a smirk.

“Mm… maybe you should lock the door first, wouldn’t want anyone to catch the mayor with her thighs wrapped around my head.” Your low sultry tone gracing her ears.

“Mm…” she chuckled, “why not let everyone know who you belong to, show everyone that you’re the only person that makes me feel this good.” She raised her hand with a little purple wisp and you heard the door lock.

You chuckled, “doesn’t mean they won’t hear you…” you trailed bites and kisses down her neck as her hand tangled in your hair. She pushed your vest off, you leaned back helping her as she ripped your shirt open, buttons hitting the floor and rolling under exquisite furniture, exposing the black lace bra underneath. Black was her color but God did she love seeing it on you.

“I liked that shirt…” you whined while leaning to kiss her. Soft hands were running up your exposed sides, pulling you closer.

“I’ll buy you another one…” she smirked. In between heated kisses you reached back undoing the zipper of her top and pulling it down. Her perky breasts spilling over the exposing black lace lingerie that she wore underneath, you could see her nipples perfectly through the lace.

“Damn you’re gorgeous…” taking in her beautiful body, undoing her bra and tossing it to the side, placing open mouthed kisses down her collar bones and over her luscious breasts. You used your tongue to lightly ghost over a hardened nipple, before pulling it into your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you before moving to the other pulling the soft flesh into your mouth, your fingers moving to the other to tease. Pinching and twisting her nipple between your fingers at first softly but then harsher the pain turning to pleasure for her. The first of many erotic moans falling from her lips. You started leaving little nips, forming little red marks that would be purple by morning. Something that Regina typically didn’t mind, unless she had no way to cover them up and hide them from the office for the rest of the day.

“Y/N, dear…”

“Yes my love?”

“Behave…”

“Or what?”

“I’ll make you…” she groaned out. And you chuckled leaving another mark along her chest, she cocked an eyebrow at you seeing the defiant smirk you had on your face.

“hmm…” you chuckled against her chest and placed small kisses over the now reddened marks. You felt her hand that had been tangled in your hair reach around and grab your neck, slightly squeezing as she lifted you to meet her eyes, her bottom lip trapped under her glossy pearly white teeth, she loved when you mouthed off cause it meant she could put you in your place. One of her legs moved up and settled on the chair behind you, her red bottom stiletto clicking against the handle, you ran a hand up the smooth olive skin slowly pushing up the fabric of her lifted skirt.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and show your queen what that tongue can really do?” She whispered out in a low growl, spreading her legs even wider in front of you as she perched on her desk.

You met her hooded brown eyes and slowly bent down, pulling the chair closer, weaving your arm under her leg that was up on the chair arm, letting it rest over your shoulder while your skilled fingers lifted her skirt. You slowly ghosted your fingers over her clothed core, feeling the small spot of wetness, “so wet for me…” you said breath hot on her thighs as you nipped at her, snapping the waist band of her black lace panties against her hip before slowly sliding them off. She let out an approving moan as she watched you place open mouthed kisses up her thigh, she let her head fall back her mouth open as she chuckled to herself.

You worked your way up her inner thighs, drawing it out the best you could before you felt her hand weave through your hair, forcing your head down closer to her dripping core. You ran your tongue flat against her tasting her. Pulling your fingers through her folds and collecting her slick, looking at it glisten on your fingertips, setting up and watching her through your eyelashes you sucked on your fingers and released them with a pop. “You taste amazing…” you said as she looked into your devious eyes, biting her lip once again. The hand currently in your hair tightened demandingly as you bent down and pulled your tongue over her again, this time coming dangerously close to where she needed you most, watching her as she bit her bottom lip and then pulling her clit into your mouth. Her head fell back in pleasure with a small whine of relief that turned into a groan of pleasure as you used skilled licks and sucks to bring her closer and closer to the edge.

“You look so perfect down there between my legs, eating me out like a good girl.” lewd moans filling the room as you moaned into her sending vibrations through her core.

Thankfully no one was actually around to see how perfect you looked between her legs. Regina was sitting legs spread on her desk, upper torso exposed to the world decorated in an array of reddish purple marks as you were in front of her, her perfectly manicured hand gripped your shoulder as the other tangled in your hair, your hand held her hip steadying her. Her toned leg in her perfect designer heels over your shoulder.

You reached down using two fingers and curling them into the spongy spot that made her go wild, pumping in and out slowly adding a third. You could feel as her thighs clenched around you, her hand forcing you closer and closer, you started to feel lightheaded but you were determined to please your wife.

You felt her thighs begin to shake and her moans become more breathy and frequent as she got closer, chasing her high. You snaked a free hand up and pinched a nipple between your fingers before grabbing her entire boob in your hand. Letting one last low vibration come from your throat as you worked on her clit, you heard her let out one last soft moan working her through her orgasm. Coaxing her until she was lifting her hips away from you, overstimulated by your tongue on her clit.

You sat up and pulled her down into a kiss, feeling her soft plump lips on yours, she could taste herself still on your tongue. Thinking about the fact that she could taste herself when kissing you drove you both wild, a sign that you belonged to her and her only.

“Next time you bring me breakfast I prefer it be in bed, instead of my office…” she chuckled, finally breaking the heated silence and chuckling against your lips.

“Well maybe next time I can fuck you senseless over your desk and I won’t have to worry about going back to work.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged… you are married to the mayor after all.” She smirked, pulling at you ripped shirt, still partial tucked into your pants, pulling you closer and sliding her hands over your smooth skin exposed to her.

Before she could do anything else her desk phone rang and she picked up, “Hello?” She eyed you cautiously.

“Yes, if you don’t mind sending it over…” you eyed her mischievously and bent down to place soft kisses on her thigh before placing one bite drawing a gasp from her lips, risking her wrath for later that night. She hung up the phone and glared at you playfully.

“if I didn’t have to get back to work I would punish you right now…”

“Saved by the mayor then?” You poked sarcastically knowing what would be waiting for you later. With a wave of her hand your outfit was put back together and she was smoothing out her clothes.

“I will see you later tonight my love.” You said kissing her before making your way out.

“Y/N dear?”

“yes?” You turned.

“I seem to be missing…”

“these?” You asked holding up a black lace pair of panties as your trophy, “you’ll get them back later.” You said folding them in your pocket with a smirk.

A stern but excited look crossed over her face knowing you were being a brat on purpose, “you’ll get your punishment tonight.”

“On that note…I love you.” You said with a wink and sly smirk, sliding out of her office as she called a stubborn, I love you, after you.

******************************************************** @poisonappleeater @gayestswiftie @thesamesweetie

[buckets-and-trees]

Chosen, Part 1: Arrival

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Word Count: 3.4k Summary: After surviving three rounds of interviews, you have been invited for a full-day to tour and interview at the estate and headquarters that belong to the Winged Heritage Foundation.

SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting

CHAPTER Content Warnings: none

Notes: I started writing this story with the intention for it to be a long one-shot, but after it shot past 18k, I realized I would need to break it up into installments, so ... expect sort of a slow burn for the plot? Installments will be posted on Mondays and Thursdays.

Shout outs to @stargazingfangirl18, @witchywithwhiskey, @biteofcherry, and @vonalyn for helping me get my ideas sorted out for this trip!

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You scroll through the note in your phone with questions to ask during a final interview as the car pulls off the interstate and starts down a country highway lined with trees.

At least you hope this is the final interview.

You had applied for a basic administrative assistant position with the Winged Heritage Foundation, but after your first interview you had been called by a recruitment officer and asked if you would consider a different position with the organization, one that hadn’t been posted publicly.

You still don’t know what the position is you’re being considered for, but after two more interviews, you had been notified that you were a finalist and invited to a full-day interview and tour of the Foundation’s headquarters – an estate outside of the city. They had even arranged for a professional car service to pick you up and take you there. The offices in the city, where your previous three interviews had taken place, evidently handles most of the business operations for the Foundation, and the estate is where the more focused work takes place.

You are naturally a bit nervous for a fourth - and full day - interview, but you feel you like your nerves are at a healthy level - present but not paralyzing, a small buzz that will keep you focused.

The car slows as it approaches a break in the trees, and your driver signals to turn. As you round the corner, your breath catches in your throat. A wrought-iron gate stretches across a wide driveway, its intricate scrollwork spelling out "Winged Heritage" in elegant script. The gate swings open silently as your car approaches, as if by magic.

The driveway stretches before you, a winding ribbon of pale gravel cutting through a verdant landscape that takes your breath away. Ancient oaks and maples line the drive, their branches reaching across to form a dappled canopy overhead. Bright morning sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground.

As you travel deeper into the estate, meticulously manicured gardens unfold on either side. Vibrant flower beds burst with color - deep purple irises, sunny yellow daffodils, and blood-red roses. The gardens give way to rolling lawns of emerald green, dotted with sculpted topiaries in fantastical shapes.

As the car rounds another bend, a shimmering pond comes into view. Its surface is like polished glass, reflecting the azure sky and fluffy white clouds above. A family of swans glide gracefully across the water, their long necks arched in elegant curves. At the far end of the pond, a delicate bridge of white marble spans the narrowest point, its railings gilded with gold.

The driveway begins to climb a gentle slope, and as you crest the hill, your jaw drops at the sight before you. A magnificent mansion rises from the landscape, its pale stone walls glowing warmly in the morning sunlight. The architecture is a stunning blend of classical elegance, with graceful arches and intricate stonework that seems to ripple and dance as you approach.

The central facade is a masterpiece of symmetry, with wide steps leading up to a grand entrance flanked by towering columns. Ivy climbs the walls in artful patterns, as if guided by an invisible hand to accentuate the building's most beautiful features.

The car follows the curve of the driveway as it sweeps up to the grand entrance before coming to a stop. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what lies ahead. The driver opens your door, and you step out onto the gravel, the crunch beneath your feet grounding you in the moment.

A figure emerges from the ornate double doors at the top of the steps, and your heart skips a beat as you recognize her instantly. Natasha Romanoff, the Chief Recruitment Officer, descends the stairs with astonishing grace. Her vibrant red hair catches the sunlight, creating a halo effect that seems almost otherworldly. She's dressed in a sleek black pantsuit that exudes both professionalism and an air of mystery. As your eyes meet hers, you're struck by the intensity of her gaze - piercing green eyes that seem to look right through you.

As she draws closer, you notice a subtle smile playing at the corners of her mouth, a mix of confidence and what you suspect to be mischief. Over the course of your brief interactions up to this point, she had been nothing but professional, but you could feel some alluring pull or energy that seemed to run deep beneath the surface of her controlled demeanor. She had been present in your second interview, conducted the third with one of her associates, and had been the one to schedule you for this.

"Welcome," Natasha says, her voice smooth as silk. "We're so pleased you could join us today." She extends her hand, and you shake it, noting the firmness of her grip.

"Thank you for having me," you reply, proud that your voice doesn't betray your nerves. "The estate is absolutely breathtaking."

Natasha's smile widens slightly. "It is, isn't it? We find that beauty inspires greatness. But come, let's not linger in the driveway. We have a full day and much to show you."

She gestures towards the entrance, and you fall into step beside her as you ascend the stone steps. The massive doors swing open silently, revealing a grand foyer that takes your breath away. The ceiling soars overhead, at least three stories, adorned with an intricate fresco depicting a beautiful sky, birds in flight, and towering trees, bringing the beauty of the grounds into this entry.

Natasha guides you through a doorway off to the side of the foyer, leading you into a small sitting room. The space is elegantly decorated with plush couches, rich mahogany furniture, and intricate paintings on the walls.

"Please, have a seat," Natasha gestures towards one of the couches as she takes a seat in an armchair across from you. You sink into the soft cushions, trying to take in everything at once - the opulence of the room, Natasha's presence, and her piercing gaze.

"First things first,” Natasha says, a professional smile on her face, “the nature of what goes on here is very sensitive and so I'll need you to sign this NDA before we continue." She hands you a stack of paperwork and a pen.

You quickly skim through the document before signing it, feeling slightly uneasy about signing something so quickly without fully understanding what the day ahead of you will entail. But your curiosity outweighs your hesitation and when Natasha takes back the signed document, she slides it into a briefcase by her side.

"Now that's out of the way," she says smoothly, "let me tell you more about our foundation."

She proceeds to give you an overview of the Winged Heritage Foundation – an overview of its history, mission, and values. It's all very intriguing and impressive - but although what she shares is engaging, outside of supporting initiatives identified as important to its founder and possibly something to do preservation of history or historical places and artifacts, you still feel you don’t have any clearer of an idea of what the Foundation’s actual purpose is. But since you have an entire day here, you don’t press the point now, assuming some part of the day will be dedicated to diving deeper into the work they do.

"But enough about us," Natasha says with another enigmatic smile. "Let's talk about what brought you here today."

She pulls out your resume from her briefcase and goes over your experience and qualifications with sharp attention to detail. She asks probing questions that make you feel like she's reading between the lines of your professional achievements.

"Impressive," she comments once she's finished going over your resume. "Your professional and personal character references also speak very highly of you."

Your brow furrows slightly. “Sorry,” you interject, “I don’t remember giving personal references?”

“No, you did not. But we do a lot of work on our end to vet candidates at this point for positions like this. Surely you understand.”

You nod slowly and train your face back into a smile. At least whatever homework they seem to have done on you came back with a positive result.

She leans forward slightly, and you can feel the intensity of her gaze. "We need someone who's truly suited for the responsibilities, but personnel fit is also incredibly important to us.”

“Of course,” you respond. “And what responsibilities exactly would you be looking for me to fulfill?”

Natasha presses her lips together and seems to scrutinize your face more closely. “You’re being considered for two opportunities. Until later in the day when I’ve made a determination on which I’ll recommend you for, I won’t be disclosing that information to you.”

“Oh,” you’re a little surprised at her directness, but you suppose her reason for withholding the information is logical.

“As the Chief Recruitment Officer, I’m very good at what I do, so I’ll know your future with us by the end of the day.”

Natasha rises from her chair with fluid grace. "Shall we begin the tour?" she asks, extending her hand to help you up. You take it, noting the surprising strength in her grip. “I'm eager to show you the wonders of our estate."

She seems to hold your hand longer than necessary, or maybe it’s just your nerves, maybe you looked unsteady standing up and she was only ensuring you were okay.

As you follow her out of the sitting room, you're once again struck by the grandeur of the foyer. Natasha notices your gaze lingering on the fresco above. "That was commissioned by our founder," she explains. "It's said to depict the view from the highest peak of a mountain range that no longer exists."

She leads you down a long corridor, its walls lined with portraits of distinguished-looking individuals. "Our benefactors and notable members throughout the years," Natasha explains. "Each one has contributed significantly to our mission."

The corridor opens into a vast library that takes your breath away. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stretch as far as the eye can see, filled with leather-bound tomes. The air is heavy with the scent of old books and polished wood. Sunlight streams through tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The library is a bibliophile's dream, with rolling ladders affixed to the shelves, gorgeous wooden tables for spreading out books for research, and cozy reading nooks tucked into alcoves.

As you walk between the towering shelves, you notice that some of the books look ancient, their spines cracked and faded with age, some even appear to be bound in unfamiliar materials. Others appear to be in pristine condition, despite clearly being very old.

"Our collection is quite extensive," Natasha says, running her fingers along the spines of nearby books. "We have texts dating back centuries, some of which are the only surviving copies in the world."

"How do you preserve them so well?" you ask, unable to hide your fascination.

Natasha's lips curl into a mysterious smile. "We have our ways. Mostly it’s all down to our librarian Jarvis.”

She leads you through a set of double wooden doors at the other side of the library. Once you exit, Natasha leads you through a series of grand hallways, each more breathtaking than the last. The walls are adorned with tapestries and paintings that seem to come alive as you pass, their subjects' eyes following your movement. You could swear you see a figure in one portrait shift slightly, but when you look back, it's perfectly still.

"This wing houses our main offices and research facilities," Natasha explains as you walk. "We have state-of-the-art equipment for analyzing artifacts and documents, as well as a world-class conservation lab."

You pass by rooms filled with people working diligently at computers, their screens displaying what look like ancient texts and complex diagrams. In one room, you glimpse a team carefully examining what appears to be an old manuscript under specialized lighting.

As you continue down the hallway, you notice a door that seems different from the others. It's made of dark, heavy wood and adorned with intricate carvings. Unlike the other doors which are open or have glass panels, this one is firmly shut.

Natasha catches you looking at it. "That area is off-limits, I'm afraid. Some of our more... sensitive projects require absolute secrecy."

You nod but can't help feeling a prickle of curiosity. What could be behind that door that requires such concealment?

Natasha guides you to an elevator at the end of the hall. As you step inside, you notice there are more floors than you would have expected from the outside view of the mansion.

"We have quite extensive facilities underground," Natasha explains as she presses a button for one of the lower levels. "It allows us to maintain the historical integrity of the mansion's exterior while having all the modern amenities we need for our work."

The elevator descends smoothly, and when the doors open, you find yourself in a sleek, modern space that contrasts sharply with the ornate decor above. The walls are a pristine white, and the floors are polished concrete. The lighting is bright but not harsh, giving the space a clean, almost clinical feel.

Natasha leads you down a corridor lined with glass-walled rooms. In one, you see people in lab coats hunched over microscopes. In another, a group is gathered around a large touch screen, manipulating 3D models of what look like ancient artifacts.

"This is our primary research facility," Natasha says, leading you down a wide corridor. "We have some of the most advanced technology in the world at our disposal here."

As you walk, you pass by rooms with glass walls, allowing you to see inside. In one, you spot what looks like a holographic projection of a complex molecule rotating in mid-air. In another, a team of scientists in white lab coats huddle around a table, examining something you can't quite make out.

You pause for a moment, trying to take it all in. The contrast between the classical architecture upstairs and this futuristic facility is striking. "This is incredible," you say, unable to keep the awe from your voice. "I had no idea the Foundation had such advanced capabilities."

Natasha's lips curl into a satisfied smile. "We pride ourselves on being at the cutting edge of research and technology. It's essential for some of our work. We’re also one of the few science labs in the world that still is granted an affiliation with the nation of Wakanda."

As you continue down the corridor, you notice a few doors that aren't made of glass like the others. These are solid metal, with keycard readers and what look like biometric scanners next to them.

"What's behind those doors?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

Natasha's expression doesn't change, but you sense a slight shift in her demeanor. "Those are our most sensitive research areas. Access is strictly limited to senior researchers and leadership."

As if orchestrated for this precise moment, the doors slide open, and two men emerge, engaged in a heated discussion. Or, rather, one of them is heated, and the other is shooting back casual, sarcastic comments.

Natasha clears her throat, “Gentlemen.”

They both stop.

“We have company,” she says, gesturing to you.

The two men turn to face you, and your jaw nearly drops as you instantly recognize them. Standing before you are none other than Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, two of the most famous figures in the world and certainly at the Foundation.

Tony Stark, looking every bit the billionaire genius he's known to be, is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that probably costs more than your current yearly salary. His goatee is perfectly trimmed, and his hair is styled with just the right amount of casual messiness. There's a faint blue glow visible beneath his shirt - the arc reactor that's become his trademark.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Tony says, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief. He steps forward, extending his hand. "Tony Stark. But you probably knew that already."

As you shake his hand, you can't help but feel a bit starstruck. Tony Stark's grip is brief but firm and confident, his smile charming yet slightly calculating as he sizes you up.

"And this strapping specimen of American values is Steve Rogers," Tony adds, gesturing to the man beside him.

Steve, standing tall and broad-shouldered, offers you a warm smile that seems to light up the room. He's dressed more casually than Tony in khakis and a fitted blue shirt that barely contains his muscular frame. His handshake is strong but gentle, and his blue eyes radiate sincerity.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Steve says, his voice deep and reassuring. "I hope you're enjoying your tour of our facilities."

You manage to find your voice, introducing yourself. “The tour has been nothing but fascinating and impressive so far,” you affirm.

Tony's eyes gleam with interest. "Oh, you’re the one they’ve been wooing, eh? I was sent no less than five reminders this morning that I was to be on my best behavior,” he discloses with a wink.

Natasha rolls her eyes, and you have the suspicion Steve only barely restrains himself from doing so.

"Anyway, welcome to the Foundation," Tony says.

"Stark is supposed to be one of our most valuable researchers," Natasha explains.

"Eh, that’s why you send Steve down to get me back in line when I’m pursuing tangential projects."

This time Steve does roll his eyes.

You can't help but chuckle at the banter between Tony and Steve. Their dynamic is exactly as you'd imagined from what you've seen in the media - Tony's quick wit and sarcasm playing off Steve's more serious demeanor.

"So, what do you think of our little operation so far?" Tony asks, gesturing broadly at the surrounding facility. "Pretty impressive, right?"

Before you can answer, Natasha interjects smoothly. "I'm sure our guest is finding everything quite fascinating, but we should continue the tour. I'm sure you both have important work to get back to."

Tony raises an eyebrow at Natasha, a silent exchange seeming to pass between them. "Right, right. Important work. Can't keep the world waiting, can we?" He turns back to you with a grin. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around."

“You’ll at the very least be seeing me,” Steve says. “I believe I’m scheduled to join you for lunch.”

“And I’m not invited?” Tony protests, but he sports an unrepentant grin rather than any genuine offense.

Steve puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder to steer him away, “You’re not the Executive Director of the Foundation, so, no.”

Tony shrugs out of his grip, “And remind me why that is?”

“‘All administrative, no science,’ as you aptly put it so many times when you remind me why you don’t want to listen to what I say.”

“Right,” Tony replies, but does fall into step with Steve heading down the corridor.

As they leave, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and bewilderment. Meeting two such prominent figures so casually during your interview process only adds to the surreal nature of this experience.

Natasha gently touches your elbow and guides you away from the metal doors and continues down the corridor. "My apologies for that interruption," she says, though her tone suggests she's not entirely displeased. "Mr. Stark has a tendency to... make an impression."

You nod, still processing the encounter. "It's no problem at all. I'm just surprised to see them here. I knew they were involved with the Foundation, but I didn't realize they were so hands-on."

Natasha's lips curl into a knowing smile. "The Winged Heritage Foundation values the direct involvement of all its key members. You'll find that everyone here, regardless of their public status or their position in our organization, contributes actively to our mission.”

She leads you through more state-of-the-art laboratories and research facilities, each more impressive than the last, before returning to the elevator to bring you surface-level again.

As the elevator ascends, you find your mind racing with questions. The encounter with Stark and Rogers, the glimpses of cutting-edge technology, and the air of mystery surrounding certain areas of the facility have only heightened your curiosity about the true nature of the Winged Heritage Foundation is, showing you so much, but not truly illuminating any answers.  

NEXT PART: LUNCH

Welcome to the Winged Heritage Foundation, lovelies. This is only the beginning... Where will this day take you? And what is going on here?

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[chocolilies]

okay i caved here's an extract of my toji x babysitter!reader fic I started but never finished... i'm still not sure about continuing it or not so lmk if I should! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

the jarring sound of the doorbell cut through the strangely calm atmosphere, forcing toji to get up and face the dreaded “interview” shiu had put in place for him. behind him, megumi pulled himself up to a seating position, chubby hands wrapping around the plastic bars of his confine, lower lip trembling from the combination of the loud sound and his father walking towards the door, thinking it was time to be once-again left with toji’s tobacco-stinking friend. 

“don't be too mean,” toji remembered shiu’s words as the handler forwarded your contact to him. “she’s a sweet girl. not the smartest tool but definitely one of the kindest.”

his stupid analogy didn't even make sense. 

before he even started to open the door, toji angled his head to peer through the peephole, being greeted with a skittish expression pulling at a pretty face. 

he felt his mouth go dry the moment he laid eyes upon you, the tiny, blurry picture he’d seen on shiu’s phone doing you no justice whatsoever. despite the fisheye lens he was staring through, he could still tell you were absolutely gorgeous. 

too gorgeous to be working for him.  

he hoped you’d come to the same realisation once you saw him, the bratty infant or the neglected flat, that you’d take one look at them and turn right back around, as toji didn't know how the hell he’d be expected to behave with someone as tempting as you around. 

maybe it was the loneliness speaking, or maybe you were just that attractive that you were causing toji’s brain to short-circuit with a single, not-even-proper glance at you, but toji didn't care to elaborate, not when you were waiting so patiently for him to greet you. 

you were taking deep breaths, clearly trying to shake away the nerves written on your face, bringing up your manicured hands (had you really gotten a manicure for this?) to your artificially blushed cheeks, makeup shining beneath the fluorescent lights of the corridor.  

unbeknownst to him, you were actually silently debating whether to stay or turn on your heel and run right back down the funky-smelling corridor you'd initially hesitated to walk through, especially in the new heels you'd impulsively bought the moment shiu had told you of his friend's offer. 

now, you were truly thankful for this opportunity, excited at the prospect of finally getting to do something with your life except mope around shiu’s apartment thinking about your stupid ex-boyfriend, but that feeling of hope didn't cancel out the borderline fright that filled you at the idea. 

despite this not being an official job interview, you had spent the last few days straight up stressed at the notion of meeting toji. 

you didn’t know him. yes, you’d heard his name mentioned by shiu, but you'd never formally met him. 

which, of course, only added to your already frazzled nerves. 

you didn't know what to expect when you rang the doorbell, giving your cheeks a few slaps as a way to get yourself focused, blush and highlighter sticking to your palm due to the sweat your body was creating in response to your anxiety. 

you cursed out loud, attempting to wipe your hands down on your skirt, but were interrupted as the sound of the door unlocking reverberated around the hallway. when nothing happened after the few clicks, you subconsciously leaned into the wooden door to get a better hearing of whatever might be going on inside, wondering whether you'd imagined the sound or it was actually someone locking the door, and you'd gotten the wrong apartment. 

you straightened up with a jump as the door pulled back open into the flat, an action that sent you reeling backwards, heels clacking against the faux-marble floor as you skittered back into a wall, lifting your embarrassed gaze towards the man who'd pulled it open. 

what you certainly hadn't expected, was for toji to be absolutely stunning. 

you noted the shaggy bangs messily cut above his crinkling green eyes, the sharp jaw that framed the lips that were twitching up into an amused smile, a tiny scar at the corner of his mouth that only added to the raw attractiveness he radiated.  

although… as you looked him up and down, taking in the outfit he was sporting, you noticed he clearly hadn't put in as much effort as you had in dressing up nice for this “interview”. you felt your palms grow sweaty in embarrassment, looking down at your own clothes in comparison, mortified that you’d dressed up this cute and presentable only for your possible employer to show up to the door… like this. 

you let the slippers, the joggers, the eyebag that framed his eyes, the dishevelled state his hair was in soak in before fully committing to an idea of him in your head… 

normally, a man wearing such an outfit would make your face scrunch up in disgust, but toji… somehow made it work. 

he said your name, clicking his fingers a few times and forcing you to stop gawking, staring down at you with an unreadable expression on his worn-down face.

[ohtobeleah]

GQ, Man of the Year // Jake Seresin

Summary: After the events of TopGun, Jake Hangman Seresin finds himself being awarded the prestigious GQ, Man of the Year award. With his best friend in toe—Jake finds himself in a whirlwind of confessing his undying love for his best friend.

Warnings: Smut. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Unprotected Sex. Make receiving oral. Best friends to lovers trope. Callsign Jinx.

Word Count: 7.1k

Author Note: Happy Saturday! I know I’ve been pretty quiet as of late but I’m still here. Here’s a one shot for your Saturday morning. Love you, bye. xxx

Anxiety. It was the only thing you could put it down to. The way your hands shook, the way your heart raced a little faster than you would have liked it to have been beating. Thumping in your chest and ears. The way you felt the heat in your cheeks rising with sweaty palms to match. Leaning against the bar as you cleared your throat behind your fisted hand, the bartender raised his eyebrow as if he were already waiting for you to order your drink of choice while he poured the last bit of Whiskey Sour into the chilled glass before him. 

“Can I get a Vodka Redbull please?” You kindly asked the bartender with a shy smile as if he’d say no, or that your request was putting him out of his way. “But uh, can you put in a champagne glass?” The bartender laughed softly, he shook his head as he gave you a weird look. However, he complied with your strange request, after all it was his job and moments later? He was bringing you a champagne glass full of the golden bubbly liquid.  

“Thanks.” You gestured with yet again with the same shy smile that you had greeted him with a few minutes prior. As you sipped the alcoholic beverage you looked around the ballroom for your date, panic began to set in real quick when your wide eyes never met his. Jake Seresin was never late, and the idea he’d been late to such a prestigious event made your stomach churn with anticipation and uncertainty. 

Jake had told you he’d be right behind you when he sent you on your way, but now you weren’t too sure how far right behind you was.

It was safe to say you were extremely out of your comfort zone, your surroundings were elegant and oh so intimidating. The sound of violins in the background coming from the string quartet made you want to straighten your posture as if you were carrying a stack of books on your head. Never had you ever seen a marble staircase in person with what seemed to be gold detailing. You’d lived in New York for the better part of your entire life. You parents were both born and bred in Brooklyn and you’d grown up in what seemed to be the world’s smallest apartment. You knew of The Beekman, however, you never thought, even with your job taking you all over the world, you’d ever step inside the Manhattan building. 

“Shit, where are you?” You mumbled under your breath while your eyes frantically scanned the bustling ballroom for your best friend. Before you reached full panic mode, your core temperature surely rose as your anxiety threatened to overcome you—an all too familiar hand placed itself delicately against the small of your back, just above your ass, dangerously close to something more than just a friendly hand, a gentle chuckle in your left ear made you instantly relax. It was him, no other than your best friend, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin. 

“Real classy Jinx.” Jake whispered in your ear— not before he slowly took the glass from your hand, taking a small sip of the Vodka Redbull which filled your glass. “Jesus, wasn’t expecting that, though it was Champagne.” Jake frowned softly as he placed the cool glass back in your manicured hand before he shook his head, walking you to your assigned table, hand still glued to the small of your back, walking close by your side. 

“You should’ve known better than to bring me out in public, especially to something this fancy.” You sassed as you walked with Jake back to your seats, the entire ballroom was settling as other guests did the same. So many people all here for the same thing, their guests, families and friends all here to hopefully see them thrive and be recognised for their fine work. 

“Had to settle.” Jack smirked as he leaned down slightly, kissing your cheek softly to stop you from turning to hit his chest playfully, a reaction he was quick to respond to after knowing you for almost six years.

You’d first met Jake when the two of you first ended up at TopGun. At first the cocky aviator from Houston Texas didn’t at all seem like the type of guy who you’d easily get along with. But that first impression was quickly obliterated when the two of you had been paired up together for a Hop. The rest was sort of as they say, history.

You and Jake couldn’t have been more different if you tried. He was outgoing, boisterous and sure of himself in every aspect. You were quiet, reserved and self doubt was surely something that resided deep inside your bones. You brought Jake Seresin down to earth and he brought out the best in you. It was Ying and Yang.

The two of you formed a strong bond that could be felt in the sky, on land and beyond any measurement of distance. Over the course of your friendship the pair of you had become inseparable. Two peas in a pod. A dynamic duo. Each other's wingman. 

“Didn’t have anyone else to bring, besides, I can’t wait to see you cry when I become Man of The Year.” Pulling your chair out for you, Jake's smug attitude made you giggle, his face instantly lit up at the sound of your beautiful laugh– a sound he cherished just as much as the girl it came from. The love of his life.

Jake had been nominated for a Man of The Year award after a mission that saw him on your doorstep with his duffel slung over his shoulder the second he was told he was dismissed. Not all the details had been released, but from what Jake had told you in the middle of a full blown panic attack and from files you pulled at work, it was safe to say the award was well deserved. He deserved to be nominated.

Jake Seresin had gone against his own orders to stand down to save Captain Pete Maverick Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradley Rooster Bradshaw. Without Jakes life saving decision, those two men wouldn’t be alive.

Although he wasn’t in it for the praise, it was nice to see Jake recognised for his efforts. Sure, he was always sure of himself. The best of the best he’d say. But you knew deep down, there was something of doubt in his mind that he’d never be enough. 

You thought it was his fathers tough love that drove Jake to want to be the best. You didn’t need him to tell you that you were right about that either, because you knew you were. You’d seen the way Jake acted around his dad. It didn’t take you longer to figure out why he was the way he is in most aspects of his career.

Not wanting to show up to such an important and publicised event alone, and with Rooster, one of Hangman's closest and dearest friends being unavailable due to his own deployment, it was a no-brainer that Jake would ask you to accompany him to the Prestigious event. You were his best friend and wingwoman after all and just so happened to be stateside. 

“You do realise all these men are nominated? You might not even receive an award, don’t be so sure of yourself Seresin.” You teased menacingly as Jake continued to be the gentleman he was, pushing you into the table as you sat softly on your chair, a little too fast for your liking, just to be a child— a gentle squeal left your mouth as you collided with the perfectly decorated table. The aesthetically pleasing ornaments and beautifully smelling candles shook momentarily as you gripped the edge. “Jake!” You hissed. Other occupants at the table weren’t shying away as they stared at the two of you, most likely thinking— ‘Such childish behaviour.’ 

“Don’t Jinx me Darlin’, I’ve got this in the bag and you know it.” There it was, the nickname that nearly sent you into cardiac arrest every damn time it left his perfect lips. You watched as Jake took his seat next to you—noticing for the first time that night just how grown out yet tamed his facial hair had become. It was almost a full beard at this point, and it looked right at home on his perfectly handsome face. His voice brought you back down to earth before you could float too far away, thinking of Jake. The love of your life, your best friend. 

“Huh?” You asked, completely dazed for a moment as you shook your head slightly. Jake threw his head back in a soft chuckle at the sight of you being so frazzled.

“I said, you look good? The wigs a nice touch, never thought you’d rock platinum blonde.” Through near panic and Jake distracting you– you had almost forgotten the entire theme of the night, 1920’s glam. 

“Oh? You think?” You questioned, touching at the curly shoulder length wig that you thought suited your outfit, a floor length, white, semi-corset style dress that hugged you just right. It accentuated your curves and plunged just a bit below your comfort zone in the chest area just right. Silver jewels dangling all over – it was a beautiful dress, to say the least, very fitting for the theme.

“Yeah, I mean it – just don’t kiss me when I win? That red lipstick is dangerously bright.” Jake joked as he smiled childishly as you smiled back. His hand reached for yours on the table, squeezing tightly as you felt his leg shaking against you under the table. “I’m honestly terrified– despite my cool calm and collected mannerisms.” You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes. “I’m just glad you agreed to come with me.” His lips turned upwards into a soft smirk, just admiring the girl who sat beside him. The love of his life, his best friend. “I’d most likely never would’ve accepted the invitation if you said no.”

You leaned your head on Jake's shoulder, careful not to smear your makeup against the fabric of his ostentatious blue and white pinstripe blazer, the suit couldn’t have been tighter against his muscular body but much like your own attire – accentuated him in all the right ways. Both dresses to the nines. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Seresin.” Teasing, you lifted your head as the lights dimmed, clapping ensuing as the presenter of the night sauntered across the stage. Waiters alternated meals on the table in front of you – Jake tried to hide his disappointment as he got steak while you got salmon. Looking at each other with an almost telepathic ‘switch?’  Discreetly swapping your meals to better suit your personal preferences.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Half a meal and two Vodka Redbulls down, the list of recipients grew as the awards left to give dwindled. You could sense that Jake was beginning to doubt if he would actually receive the highly accredited award. He didn’t do what he did out of curiosity for praise and validation. He did what he did to save two people who’d taught him a lot about himself. He couldn’t just sit back and do nothing when he could have done something. 

The nights he slept alone were already plagued enough with nightmares of what could have been if he didn’t go after Rooster and Mav. He didn’t allow himself to think of what those nightmares might have entailed if he listened to direct orders and stayed on the carrier. 

“Jake? stop shaking your leg, It will happen if it happens yeah?” Your hand was resting below the table on his bouncing knee, instantly calming him as you rubbed softly against his suit pants. “You did a good thing, award or not.” 

“Just wanna make everyone proud ya’know?” Jake confessed, his face almost saddened with the idea he might walk out empty-handed. His eyes glassed over as he looked at you, so anxious that he had a light layer of sweat covering his forehead. The light from the candles situated on the table made him glisten. Cupping his cheek, Jake slightly moved his head into your touch, leaning into your comfort, the feeling instantly slowing his heart rate—you always had such a calming effect on him as your thumb rubbed softly against his scruff. 

“You already did, the moment you decided you wanted to help, no award could ever truly measure everything you’ve done—Darlin.’” You couldn’t help but to smile, tossing the pet name Jake often called you in his face—causing Jake to scoff softly as you continued to softly rub the pad of your thumb against his scruff covered cheek. Leaning in closer as Jake closed his eyes, eyelids fluttering. You were absentmindedly doing the same, the slow lean in as eyelids fluttered. Lips ghosting, dangerously close. Jake's hand coming to cup your cheek as you did his. But it was to no avail. Both you and Jake pulled back from one another immediately as loud clapping filled the banquet hall, ten recipients were standing on the stage holding their ‘Men of The Year award’ proudly in their hands. 

“That was the last recipient anyway” Jake sighed, you’d never heard him sound so defeated before as he fixed himself up and cleared his throat, slightly disappointed that he didn’t make the cut. “But, regardless—“ Jake's voice was nothing but soft as he looked at you. Heart eyes took over his entire face. “You look stunning and the fact I got to see you so dressed up instead of you in your flight suit for once was worth every moment.” 

“Oh rack off will ya.” You sassed as you turned in your chair to take another mouthful of steak in your mouth, being ever so careful not to rub your lipstick off in the process. Jake did the same, but his eyes never left your profile. He was captivated by your beauty. An unspoken love was clear as day between the two of you, both recognising each other’s feelings but never acting on them, never admitting them—both too scared to ruin a lifelong friendship. 

“And for our final award of the night. The prestigious 11th Men of The Year award that is specifically awarded to individuals who go above and beyond what is required of them.” The room was silent as the presenter spoke, you could hear a feather drop it was so quiet. “This individual has proven that always following what you’re told to do, isn't always the right thing to do.”

You knew it was coming before Jake did, you could tell exactly where this was going—it was Jake. Your Hangman. It was Jake Hangman Seresin who was taking home the 11th Man award. As you placed your hand excitedly on his shoulder you noticed how ridged he’d become– most likely scared he was getting his hopes up too quickly, scared to be disappointed. Scared he thought he had a chance only to be snubbed at the last second. 

“This individual risked his own life to save others without hesitation or fear of consequence and with only seconds to spare, saved two actively serving naval aviators who would have otherwise met an untimely demise and there is no doubt in our minds we have made the right decision in recognising his marvellous effects. This year’s honorary 11th Man of The Year award goes to……” As the presenter spoke, nearing the end of his speech, the sound of ‘Norman Greenbaurns - ‘Spirit in the Sky’’ began playing over the speaker just as a slideshow of video footage of Jake and Bradley aboard the Carrier moments after the events of their herring experiences played on the two large screens left and right of the stage. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes with a giddy smile thinking– ‘this is going to shoot his ego through the roof.’

“Lieutenant Jacob Hangman Seresin!”

At the sound of his name being called, you both shot up onto your feet and embraced each other in a tight, celebratory hug. Jake was quick to pull away and shake you slightly by your shoulders—an excited and overwhelmed Hangman laughed as tears welled in his over joyous eyes.

“What the fuck is happening Jinx!? w-what I, what do I do?” He asked nervously, so much adrenaline was pumping through his system he couldn't think straight. This wasn’t anything like flying a multimillion dollar fight jet adrenaline. No—this was something more personal. 

“Go! go up to the stage Jake, holy shit!” Nudging him, Jake fumbled with his blazer button—nervously approaching the stage as people clapped and cheered around him, including yourself. You couldn’t breathe, watching as he shook the presenter's hand and accepted the award he deserved more than anyone.

Jake had risked his life to save others, and you knew better than anyone that even thought some would say he wasn’t all that of a team player, that he’d do it over and over again if need be. Because underneath all the male bravado and the cocky attitude, it was just Jake. Your Jake. Your best friend. The love of your life. 

You only sat when the clapping stopped, wiping away tears of joy as you watched on with pure admiration for your best friend. Holding your hands up to your face, counting your lucky stars you got to experience such a moment. Your best friend being recognized as the selfless man he was. Patrons sitting at the same table were unable to take their eyes off the love you were radiating for your best friend.

“Oh woah.” Jake exclaimed with a soft laugh into the microphone. You couldn’t help but bite your bottom lip, trying to hide the enormous grin plastered permanently on your face as Jake's eyes scanned the room for you– to calm his nerves.

For a Naval Aviator who was so accustomed to keeping his composure under immense amounts of pressure, keeping a level head in pressing situations and making sure every action he took was executed correctly and without flaw, public speaking had never been his forte. So Jake did the only thing he knew how to— he looked for his girl and pretended the entire room was empty. All but you. He focused on the only person he wanted to see. His entire soul was focused on you and you alone, lightning up the entire room like a beacon of hope and gratitude. 

“To be receiving such an award is truly a blessing and I can’t begin to express how thankful I am to be this year’s recipient.” You looked at Jack as he looked at you and felt your heart flutter. He looked so handsome, devilishly handsome in that blue and white pinstriped suit. The way his facial hair was perfectly groomed and the hair atop his head carefully slicked back. He looked nothing short of perfection. 

Raised by women for women. 

“I never thought my actions would lead to this, being recognised for insubordination.” The crowd chuckled as Jake gave them that perfect Hollywood grin he was so utterly gifted with. “But i'm beyond thankful that i'm standing here right now.”

“I want to give a special mention to my family– thank you for loving me unconditionally, to my squad back in North Island who do the absolute most in keeping me humble and my ego in check.” The entire room laughed with Jake as he spoke. “To Bradley and Mav for teaching me things about myself I never even knew until I was taking off from that carrier after them.” Then, Jake stilled for a moment as he took a deep breath in. And finally to my girl.” Your breath hitched in your throat at the sound of Jake calling you his girl. “Although she prefers to stay in whenever she can, she reluctantly agreed to attend tonight’s banquet with me and I’m glad she did otherwise she’d never be able to hear me say just how thankful I am for her and her undeniable loyalty to a guy who isn’t worth a second of her time. I hope I made you proud Darlin’.” Holding the award above his head, the room erupted into cheerful whistles and thunderous claps of congratulations. “I'm a part of the team once and for all.” The guests only quieted once Jake had exited the stage to have his photo professionally taken and most likely be interviewed.

Your heart was so full, so proud of the man Jake had become, the passionate aviator that was just adored by the entire world. 

You loved him, you truly did adore everything about him. the way he’d hold your waist to the way he’d kiss your cheek. You loved the way he’d always let you sleep in his bed whenever you stayed the night– never wanting you to take the lounge that nearly broke his back every time he crashed on it. 

You adored the way he always let you borrow his hoodies – anyone your heart desired. If he had planned on wearing it, he’d change his entire outfit just so you could remain in it. The way he always left the last slice of pizza for you, regardless if he was starving – it was always yours. You loved the way Jake would let you nap on his chest, even if he had important plans or places to be, he’d stay still for as long as you were asleep for. 

Every moment spent with you was worth savouring because the both of you knew that those moments were fleeting with deployments forever looming above your heads.

All the little things he did throughout the years had finally taken its final toll on your heart – you were undeniably in love with Jake Seresin, your best friend – your goofy other half, your partner in crime. The only thing that scared you more than anything else in the world was finally admitting it. But the thing you didn’t know—was that Jake felt the exact same way, he wanted you to be his girl officially, wanted to be yours, but he was terrified you’d reject his love – in his mind? You were out of his league, way out of his league.

You were the only woman Jake had never tried to play, the only woman Jake never used cheap pickup lines on or thought about having a one night stand with. You were Jake's end game, simple. But he was scared you wouldn’t feel the same. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“You know you ugly cry right? Jake's voice startled you as you waited at the table for him to return, many of the others who sat at the same table were now vanished— either on the dance floor, at the bar or returning to their respective hotel rooms.

“Your ego really didn’t need that, at all— you’re already so big headed enough as it is.” You joked, standing to embrace him once again. “I’m so proud of you Jake, but that speech? Cheesy– at best like a four outta ten.” You sassed, kissing his cheek. 

“Come dance with me?” Jake whispered just enough for you to hear, his voice was soft and full of happiness. He took your hand in his as he made his way to the dance floor– littered with couples slow dancing. Spinning you into his chest, Jake placed his hand on the small of your back– bringing you as close to him as he possibly could, his other hand in yours.

It was a comfortable silence as you swayed to the music– Shawn Mendes’s ‘Never be alone'. Your head rested against Jake's chest, gently grasping his shoulder. 

“Jinx?” Jake cooed as you looked up at him, his eyes trained heavily on yours– only ever breaking eye contact for a second as his eyes dipped to look at your lips. “What are we?” You felt your heart skip a beat at the sudden question. Your eyes followed Jake's as you noticed how his lips looked slightly chapped but oh so kissable. 

You’d always wanted to feel his lips against yours. Too many times they’d kissed your cheek or forehead, leaving you longing for more. 

“I uh, we’re best friends I guess?” You stuttered, unsure of what to say in the moment, so desperately trying to read Jake's perfect face as you continued to sway around the dancefloor together– pressed up against one another, Jake's grip only tightened, he never wanted to let you go.

“Would it freak you out if I said I wanted to be more?” Jake’s voice was low as he continued to guide you across the floor, his fingers fiddled with the zipper that sat just above your tailbone – causing Goosebumps to rise over your exposed back. “I know it’s not usually what I’m after, but with you? I’d give anything.” 

Your heart felt like it was racing a million miles an hour at the confession leaving your best friend's lips as he twirled you around and took you back into his arms. 

“No. it wouldn’t, but how much more?” Jake dipped his head just a bit— leaning into you, he closed the gap between your lips and his, ghosting over your lips as you bit your bottom lip, trying to stop your lips from turning upright into a cheesy grin.

“All of you Jinx, let's just cut the shit we do? I just can't help but want to kiss you right now—so please stop me if you don’t want me to?” Jake’s hot breath fanning over you, the hint of the sweet alcoholic mixture of your Vodka Redbulls and whiskey sours lingered as he spoke. The both of you having  had more than you’d cared to admit– but you didn’t mind. As Jake’s lips just barely grazed against yours you giggled, moving both your arms to wrap around the back of his neck. Jake smiled as the angelic sound left your mouth.

“Kiss me.” Was all you said before Jake dipped you down and attached his lips to yours—your wig fell to the ground, exposing your natural hair as he brought you back up.

“There she is.” Jake jokingly teased as he rested his forehead against yours, smiling as you looked up at him. “My wingwoman.” Completely smitten for the man who held you in his arms as you danced. 

“Jake? you have somethin’ on your lip?” You told him through a witty smile “here, let me.” You reached up and connected your lips once again, only this time you asked for permission into his mouth by running your tongue along his bottom lip slowly– sensually. Granted access, your tongue danced gracefully with Jakes, fighting for dominance—you couldn't help but let him take over.

Jake couldn’t contain himself, moaning softly into your mouth, your reaction was to pull away– panting slightly as you tried to catch your breath. You knew people were staring at the two of you— but you didn’t care, all you wanted was Jake and you couldn’t contain your excitement. Knowing the consequences of your actions would be something the two of you would have to talk about once the alcohol left your system. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“So how long?” You asked softly, a little afraid of what the answer may be. How long had you and Jake waisted tiptoeing around each other's feelings? At the same time through your timidness, there was a hint of cockiness in your tone of voice.

“How long what?” Jake questioned as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders—walking you both off the dancefloor through the ballroom as you made your way back to the hotel room GQ had been kind enough to put you both up in for the weekend.

“How long have you had a crush on me?” You mimicked Jake's actions and wrapped your arm gently behind the small of his back.

“Oh, okay let's not get into all the specifics Jinx.”

“What if I want specifics? Like what if I want to know just how much you really like me?” You were just nitpicking at this point, so overjoyed with the event of this evening – you were on cloud nine. “It’s not every day that you get to say, Jake Seresin, Casinova extraordinaire is utterly infatuated with you.” 

“I don’t remember saying that—“ Jake chuckled, but you were right. Oh so right in every way. He was obsessed with you. He was infatuated with you. 

“What if instead of telling you how much I really love you, Why don’t I just show you—I mean— there’s only one bed in the hotel room and that lounge looks just as uncomfortable as the one back home.” Jake was rambling as he opened the taxi door for you, the yellow cab was waiting to take you both back to the hotel a few blocks away. Before stepping in you turned to Jake– pulling him down to your lips by his tie. A sudden surge of confidence radiated through your entire body.

“Are you trying to get in my pants, Seresin?” You questioned with a raised eyebrow. 

“More than ever before Y/l/n.” Jake mumbled, his husky voice made the heat rise in between your legs. Jake had never been this flirtatious with you.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not wearing any then huh?” You smirked hungrily before falling back into the back of the cab with grace— pulling Jake down on top of you by his tie. Your lips collided as he crawled over the top of you, his hands gripped at your hips as he sucked your bottom lip– letting it smack back against you before the taxi driver piped up, clearing his throat.

“Where to Lieutenant?” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

From the second you entered the ostentatious luxury suit Jake’s hands were all over you, as were yours on his. Jake couldn’t help himself. He slammed you against the wall in the entryway, your hands worked fast to remove his blazer, next– his tie. It was all a daze. So much adrenaline pumped through your veins at Jake’s sensual and needy touch. 

“Are we really doing this?” Jake pulled away to pause, to rest his forehead on yours as you worked to unbutton his white dress shirt. Breathing heavily you nodded eagerly in response. 

“Less talking Jake, you’re overthinking, that’s not like you at all.” You breath fanned over his parted mouth before Jake attached his lips to yours– his now fully exposed torso was pressing against you. Chiselled like a Greek god. An adonis. 

“C'mere Darlin—'' Jake huffed as he spun you around, your face pressed against the wall as he unzipped your dress and began trailing harsh, hungry kisses up and down your neck. His hands trailed up your arms to where your sleeves rested on your shoulders. Pulling them down slowly– revealing your body to him in all its semi-naked beauty. The only thing left on your curvy body as you stepped out of the dress, a mess on the floor, was the white lacy panties you had specifically brought to be hidden under the near sheer dress. You wanted to feel sexy for yourself. 

“You’re beautiful.” Jake mumbled. “So beautiful Jinx.” If it had been anyone else Jake wouldn’t have mentioned it. But you were you and you deserved to know just how beautiful he thought you really were. “My god are you perfect.” His hands gripped your hips, spinning you around to face him yet again. 

“Trying to sweet talk me?” You questioned as you worked fast to unbuckle the leather belt that held his suit pants tight on Jake’s waist. You unbuckled the belt before pulling it through the belt loops in one perfect motion slipping it right off. Your manicured hands unzipped Jakes fly as you watched with a smirk as he shimmied out almost desperately.

The both of you were now only in your underwear. Standing before each other, exposed so intimately for the first time. Together. 

“Is it working?” Jake teased before he squeezed your hips, causing a giggle to escape your swollen lips. “Jump.” Jake ordered and you complied. Jumping up, you wrapped your legs around his waist before you let his hands hold you tightly against your ass as he walked you to the ‘uncomfortable lounge’.

Falling back onto the lounge, Jake watched as you crawled between his legs in front of him on the floor, your fingers dipping into the waistband of his boxer briefs as he lifted his hips to accommodate your next move– removing his briefs completely. 

As you slowly removed the unwanted fabric from Jake's body, his cock sprung free from its previous confines– resting heavily against his lower abdomen as he slouched back against the back of the lounge. His tip was pretty pink, almost the exact colour of his perfectly swollen lips. His shaft smooth apart from the vein that ran up his entire length from the base to his tip. God he looked throbbing.

There he was. Jake Seresin. Completely exposed before you with flushed cheeks that told you he thought he was dreaming. 

Without a word you gripped his length in your hand, pumping him slowly— some pre-cum already oozed from his tip at your touch. You leaned on your knees between his legs, spreading them as far as Jake could get them so you could take more of his length down your warm, fuckable throat.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to suck you off.” You admitted as you pumped his shaft softly in your hand, watching as Jake's mouth turned into a smile and he chuckled from the pleasure. “I’ve thought about it a time or two while I was touching myself.” 

“I’m dreaming.” Is all Jake said before you took his tip inside your mouth – tasting the slightly salty pre-cum as you swirled your tongue gently around his sensitive tip. “Oh fuck--!” Jake moaned as you worked your way down his shaft inch by inch, training your throat to take him in his entirety. Grinning up at him like the devil would. 

Hollowing your cheeks as you looked up, sucking hard as you watched Jake exclaimed a guttural groan as he ran his hand through his hair. “Oh fuck, feels so good, holy hell!”

Your nose was tickled by the manscaped pubic hair that Jake had let grow a bit, his tip leaking more pre-cum down the back of your throat as you swallowed around his tip. Working him expertly. 

“S-shit! Come here, now I-I need to feel you before I fucking cum down your throat.” Jake pulled you up by your hair– watching as you gasped from the sudden pain that flooded your head, only for it to turn to pleasure seconds after. He made a mental note that you liked your hair pulled, something he would have to do another time– but for now all he wanted more than anything was to fuck your tight little pussy. As you crawled back up to straddle Jake’s lap, he was quick to rip the almost brand-new panties off your body.

“Jake—” His lips pressing against yours cut you off before you could complain.

“S’okay Darlin’, ill by you new ones.” His hand rested gently against your throat as he maneuvered his cock to your dripping entrance. This was the moment you had both dreamed would happen. Jake’s thick throbbing cock pressed slowly into your tight dripping pussy, stretching you out more than you had ever been stretched before as you sunk lower and lower– inch by inch. It was otherworldly. 

Jake’s cock grew thicker in the middle, a slight curve to the left, having to stop to moan at the pleasure you were already receiving half way down his thick shaft. At that moment your mind wondered— god help all the women who came before you. There were surely many. 

Because Jake's best friend meant you were around alot, you stayed the night more often than not and sometimes– on the rare occasion Jake let one of his conquests stay the night, you aided him by taking out the trash. 

“Oh fuck Jinx, please, j-just sink lower, b-begging you.” Jake whimpered as his hands gripped your hips tight, his head ducking slightly to take your right nipple into his mouth. As you sunk lower, finally taking Jake in his entirety in your tight pussy– his teeth sunk softly into the sensitive erect bud.

“UH—fuck! Jake, please move.” You whimpered, wanting Jake to buck his hips up into you, and so he did. He removed his lips from your nipple as he guided you up his cock a bit, arousal dripped down his shaft as he fucked up slowly into you. “Ahh- yes! Jake k-keep going!” You cried out into the hotel room, your mouth fell unapologetically open into an O shape as pleasure captivated your entire body. “Oh my god you feel so fucking good.” 

“So fucking right for me, so fucking tight for me huh? Ride me.” Jake ordered, his hand wrapped around your throat just the slightest bit more. You sunk down again, then back up almost instantly, quickly finding a comfortable rhythm as the sting from being so incredibly stretched out subsided into nothing but pure pleasure. “Never thought i'd get to see you like this, i'm the luckiest man alive.” 

“Ahh- fuck!” You both moaned in sync as you rode Jake’s cock, your hips rolled as your hands gripped the back of his hair, pulling tighter every time your pussy fluttered around him. “Yes, yes yes!” 

“Jake, I love you” you cried out, riding his cock the best you could as the coil inside your core tightened. Almost letting the tip fall out as you fucked down hard on the entirety of his length. Jake's eyes went wide as he watched your lips say the three words he’d been dying to hear you say for years. That he never thought he’d hear. 

When Jake went after Rooster and Mav there was one person he was thinking about the entire time. You. Simply you. His best friend. There wasn't a single thing Jake wouldn't do for you. You were the only person who ever saw the good in him amongst all the male bravado. You were the only person who knew why he was the way he was. You were the only person who ever gave him the benefit of the doubt and knew when the time came–Jake would do whatever it took to keep the people around him safe. 

Jake Seresin had been in love with you ever since that very first day he sat next to you in TopGun. He counted his lucky stars every night on every deployment he went on since as he stared absentmindedly at the photo he took with him everywhere of the two of you after graduating top of the class. His wingwoman, his best friend, the love of his life. 

Your callsign was blatantly wrong. The reason you were giving your callsign in the first place was because you’d been paired with Jake. it was a Jinx, a bad pairing that everyone, including none other than Natasha Trance thought would end in a tragedy. Jake would leave you hanging like he did with everyone else. 

But here you were. 

“I, oh fuck Jinx I love you too.” Jake moaned near pornographically as you tightened around him once again. Every time you sat down on his cock his tip pressed against your cervix, filling you so good you were sure you’d cum within seconds if he kept hitting all the right places. You were getting closer and closer with every thrust. 

“Cum around my cock Darlin’ – I wanna see your pretty eyes roll in the back of your head when you cum on my dick.” Jake's voice was heavy, he spoke through heavy breaths as he worked his hand between the two of you– his thumb rubbed figure eights over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Trust Jake Seresin to know exactly how to please a woman. 

“Ah! Fuck m’wanna cum so bad, keep going, please!” You whimpered, falling into Jake’s chest, his head fell into the crook of your neck. He could see your ass bouncing so perfectly up and down as you flicked your hips– his eyes widening at the sight. So perfect. So sexy and oh so hot. 

“Look at you, riding my cock effortlessly, you like my cock inside you huh Darlin’? Show me how much you love my dick inside you.” Jake moaning dirty nothings in your ear was only working in his favour as he pushed you further and further towards your orgasm. The hands that wrapped softly around your throat released to fondle your ass, helping you keep your fast-paced rhythm. Aiding you in your efforts to get off on Jake's cock. 

“Oh yes! m’cumming don’t fucking s-sto.. ah fuck!” You cried into Jake’s shoulder, the hand that rests on your ass came to pull your hair back into a makeshift pony, forcing you to look at Jake as you came.

“Look at me Darlin’, wanna see how pretty you look.” You gasped as you pulsed and throbbed around Jake’s shaft, wrapping so tightly around him as he watched you tremble above him, fucking you softly through your high. Jake watched your eyes roll, watched your mouth gasp for air as you held your breath- he watched the sweat that dripped down your forehead as you came hard for him. Fluttering rapidly and without rhythm around him as your velvet walls constricted his shaft and took him hostage. Leaving him at the mercy of your orgasm. 

“Fuck, hop off, oh my god—I’m about to fucking—oh god.” Jake groaned, his own orgasm was so close. He could feel the pool at the base of his shift filling rapidly. Your slick folds worked to slick his cock to the point of no return. Helping your still trembling body off him and down to your knees Jake held your hair as you opened your mouth, tongue waiting and welcoming the warm spurts of cum that shot from Jake’s tip as he stroked his length to his high. Watching his cum cover your beautiful face. 

Jake watched as you licked as much as you could from around your mouth, watched with wide eyes as you swallowed his seed before he leaned back again– lazily stroking his semi-erect cock. A giggle left your mouth as you looked up at Jake, his cum dripping down from your face onto your bare chest.

“What’s so funny?” Jake asked as he came down from his high— still trying to catch his breath. Still trying to wrap his head around the fact you’d both just done what you did. You could only look up at him innocently as you bit your bottom lip. So completely mesmerised by the man who’d just become so much more to you than you ever thought he would be. 

“You forgot your award…” You’d only just realised  had left his Man of the Year award behind.

Jake looked at you softly before he took your lips hostage once again. Tasting his own cum on your lips, a taste he didn't mind sharing so long as it was on your beautiful lips. Kissing you tentatively and slowly before he pulled away. You were all he ever needed. 

“I went home with someone much more valuable."

***~***~***~***~****~****~***~***~***~****~****~

[ateez-himari]

[240927] LOVE & LUST

...

Oh please stop looking at me like that You put me on the spot, wait, wait

CW: Very suggestive contents ahead so MDNI!

The sound of running water crashing against marble tiles echoing across the dimly lit bathroom made the rhythmic scrubbing of the young woman's toothbrush fade into nothing more than background noise, the two lovers simply basking in one another's close proximity. Sleep hazed eyes absent mindedly drifted towards her boyfriend's toned form reflected in the mirror, though the shower's fogged glass allowed nothing more than his blurred figure washing soap off of soft skin to be admired.

"I can feel you staring, angel." Mingi chuckled, knowing her much too well. "It's nothing you haven't seen before...you can take your eyes off me for a second, no ?"

The bold teasing remark sent a burning blush to her cheeks, gaze rapidly flickering down onto the white sink below as she spat out the mint flavored substance, the lack of a hearing aid making the sliding door's opening go by unnoticed. Without much auditory warning wet hands slowly slid around her waist and soon enough one of them strayed from the set path in order to grasp her chin, tilting it up towards the mirror so that their eyes could meet while his thumb wiped away leftover toothpaste.

"Now you can look at me..." He rasped in her ear. "Enjoying the view ?"

Water beads rolled down their matching silver chain adorning the rapper's neck, damp black hair framing an almost starved gaze as his glistening bare chest pressed against the startled vocalist's back, the airbnb provided towel hanging low on his pelvis not leaving much to her imagination. Warmth spread throughout his girlfriend's scantily clad body as thin manicured fingers made their way onto muscular forearms, and within moments soft lips brushed against his neck to trail lustful kisses.

"I'm enjoying much more than the view." She whispered, leaning back against him to sink into their embrace. "It's a good thing it's just us in this house..."

Those words served as enough consent and in one fluid motion his palm wrapped around the young woman's neck, the careful yet firm grasp letting him turn her body around before setting her on the wooden countertop in one fluid motion. The much too wide distance between their bodies was closed by the man's mouth finding her own with an almost feverish sense of desire, their lips moving against one another desperately as she found support against his strong chest.

"How can an innocent thing like you drive me so crazy." He mumbled when they parted briefly. "You're deadly, angel."

His large hand slowly slid the borrowed shirt along the vocalist's body as she giggled only to stop abruptly when catching sight of the undergarments that had been chosen for the night, his rapper tag carefully drawn across the lacey material bringing a smirk to his lips. Having the slightest idea regarding the lingerie covering her upper body, the rapper carefully wedged the white fabric between his girlfriend's lips and let out an involuntary groan while taking in what was separating hungry touches from her skin - his own handprints marking black material right over her chest.

"What can I say, being yours looks good on me~" She teased.

The maknae's dangerously sweet doe eyes flickered up to the man already struggling to keep this sensually slow pace, and the gentle tug at his chain seemed to finally make whatever restraint was there snap for good. Large hands wrapped her soft legs around his barely covered hips without daring to part from their heated kiss for a moment, neither of their lust clouded minds registering the soft mattress now pressing against Himari's back.

"Mingi-" She needily whimpered, fingers trailing down to discard his towel only to be stopped by his own.

"I know angel, but I want to take my time with you tonight...need to feel every inch of you. Be patient for me, okay~"

...............

Streaks of silver moonlight filtered through partially opened blinds, illuminating the couple wrapped in one another's embrace as the vocalist traced the outline of her boyfriend's nose before moving down to his full lips. The man mesmerized by these sweet ministrations absentmindedly ran the hand not serving as a makeshift pillow across her naked waist, the warmth between their bodies only adding to the moment's silent yet loving intimacy.

"Will you marry me one day, my angel ?" Mingi finally asked, loud enough to catch her clearly divided attention.

"I'd be willing to marry you right now in this bed." She hummed in response, dropping her arm down to his chest. "My answer will always be yes to an eternity with you."

The tears brimming the rapper's eyes nearly fell when seeing the cute feline smile adorning her lips, his mouth immediately latching on to her shoulder to pepper tender kisses onto her body, filling the room with soft giggles and squeals. The love between the two artists took many forms, lust, melodies, lingering gazes, but it always held the same meaning; destiny.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I hear you want to write but are having a hard time answering prompts. Don't feel obligated to answer this one either, this is free labor, you never have too!!!! But maybe it would help by giving you a free space. What's eating at you [pun intended hehe]?

Me and this anon be like:

You are so thoughtful, thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

And you know what has been eating at me 😂 for whatever reason, I have no idea what turned me onto this idea, or why I can't stop thinking about it but there is something about the idea of completely, entirely spoiled Bucky that's been heavy on my mind.

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the read more, complete with lots and lots of stuffing, weight gain, and teasing/fat-shaming, too.

I'm talking about silver-spoon, generationally wealthy Bucky. He never has known what it is to want, yanno? Everything he could ever dream of, he gets immediately. He's never had a job other than learning what fork to use during meal times and which to use during dessert.

He looks like Wakanda, Jesus Bucky in spirit.

His hair is lush and shiny but his is proper, high-society style. So, it's cropped short at the sides and marginally longer at the top, coiffed back into stylish, fluffy waves. His face is clean-shaven, not beared, but his skin still glows and his marble-carved bone structure has been filled out by good food and constant pampering. He's always in the latest fashion, too. He looks the part of his high-maintenance, rich lifestyle.

When he was a kid and then a teenager it was totally fine that he fit so, so well into his lavish upbringing - including his taste for excessively sweet food and excessive amounts of food - because he had a speedy metabolism and the whimsy of a child, always running through his parent's expansive mansion or spending hours in the endless, deep green lawns playing by himself or roping one of the servents or his tutor into his games. His parents always were too busy with their socializing to raise their own messy child, instead passing responsibility off to someone, anyone else.

For a while, Bucky also took an interest in polocrosse, so he stayed slim for his elegant, equestrian sport. Loping through open, well-manicured fields on horseback, going after the ball with his racquet. But, as he grows and matures into a snooty young adult, with his twenties comes a slowing of his hummingbird metabolism and a boredom of sport. He has more important, more luxurious, relaxing activities to attend to than riding some beast that he doesn't even pick up after or care for - that's what the help is for. Besides, the medals mean nothing to him. He knows he's deserving and is a blue-ribbon winner without the physical reminders. Naturally, it's in his genes, he may as well be a hot-blooded, thoroughbred himself.

Bucky's metabolism slows and his activity level wanes but neither can be said about his appetite - not slowing, nor waning.

His hunger was one of those wants he's always, always had met through his generational wealth. His dire want for sweets. When he was younger, he always got a slap on the wrist for gorging himself on sugary sweets - pastries, candy, and the like - but never truly punished. His love affair wasn't tamed no matter how often he "spoiled" his own dinner, charming the cooks to feed him more than he needed, secretly getting their driver to go and retrieve him something from the city's candy shop, or even simply tiptoeing into the well-stocked pantry at night to give himself a tummy ache.

Now, his appetite is insatiable and he is growing more and more unfit seemingly like the hour. All because his days aren't spent working - he's never had to lift a finger for anything - but, instead, his hours are filled to the brim (and then some) with wine tastings, occasional tours of the winery grounds, cheese samplings, fine dining reservations or world-class chefs inhabiting his home for a few nights, and more. As soon as he's allowed by Mommy and Daddy, he moves off the sprawling family property to buy his own. He comes in and sweeps up a swath of land, putting a huge, pretty house on it and filling the rooms with staff. Most of the time, he doesn't leave his home. His driver's chauffeur experts in drink and food back and forth, bringing waves of delicious, expensive delicacies straight to Bucky's beautiful abode from the private airport nearby.

He. is. spoiled.

As he grows, he becomes rich fat, not poor fat - which becomes an important, prideful distinction in Bucky's spoiled, snobby mind. He is high society. He is well taken care of. So, of course, he's large.

Rich fat is fat that's undeniably plump and round with perfect curves. Rolls. Pale and smooth. No cellulite. No stretch marks. No blemishes. Just milky, pale swells of flesh that are soft but still firm and high. Something of a cherub straight from a masterful Renaissance painting.

His body tells the truth of his life - he doesn't lift a finger. He's practically a Roman Emperor, lounging on his side, draped in a sheet that barely fits over his bulging, excessive curves, fed the finest wine and offered peeled grapes that he lazily consumes until he's so full and drunk that he has to stop his servants by lifting a dainty hand, breathily moaning. No more. He can't take anymore now, he's so full that his fat, normally plush, soft belly has swelled to be as firm as a drum. But... give it an hour and he'll be snapping his fingers, rolled onto his back, under the weight of his belly, needing more. He won't even bother to get back up unless his servants help him, at that point, all he wants is more.

Always more.

Bucky becomes so insatiable with his life of luxury orbiting his round belly (rapidly transforming to be so large and spherical that it might be its own planet with a gravitational pull, keeping his hands to it at all times, unable to stop rubbing and touching his big body), that he hires someone new to live on his estate with him.

A masseuse.

Bucky becomes accustomed to eating until he feels fit to pop, stuffing down delicacies as if they're commonplace. Then, when he's so achingly tight, it's only natural to crave hands on his belly. He needs all the help digesting that he can get on a steady diet of peeled grapes, chocolate-coated strawberries, and other delicate fruits alongside the finest cheeses in paper-thin slices (but so many of those slices that he may as well have eaten the entire wheel by biting hunks off rudely) paired with jam and honey and bread and meats cured and prepared just so, plus bubbly champagne to wash it all down. That excessive diet leaves his tummy churning, groaning, and gassy. He has to stifle his burps behind one hand while the other works to soothe himself - it's instinctive, those rubbing motions.

Working? Aching? That just won't do. Bucky isn't dumb enough to expend energy when he doesn't have to. His private education afforded him better common sense. And he often goes to the spa, so he's familiar with massages. One plus one is two. Bucky needs a masseuse to rub his belly.

His masseuse is a tall, broad man - muscular and handsome with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. He has a pleasantly pale complexion with freckles but his nose that like it's been broken once or twice, bumped in the middle, and his hands are certainly the hands of a working man. He has obviously worked hard to get where he is with veins obvious in his arms and the backs of his hands and callouses on his palms. Even with all the lotion and oils, his hands are just the slightest bit rough thanks to those callouses.

If he weren't so handsome and hadn't proved himself to be so good at his job, Bucky might not keep him around. Thoughtlessly he could fire him, or any of his staff, and hire someone else.

Bucky doesn't like anything rough. He likes simple, easy, and luxurious. He likes softness. He reclines in overstuffed chairs and couches, expensive and sink-into-the-softness, and sleeps (and eats) on a perfectly swallowing-up bed. His body is currently being transformed into the same type of sensation - plush, soft, overstuffed. He likes that. He's becoming as excessive as his lifestyle - shaped perfectly for it.

He doesn't enjoy roughness.

He doesn't enjoy the bit of resentment on his masseuse's face and weaved secretly into his voice when they first meet.

Steve is a good worker, though, and Bucky appreciates that. He's accustomed to throwing money around, but he only throws it when it's what he wants or something he needs that he's having done his way. If a gardener, cook, or tailor doesn't work as fast or as hard as Bucky thinks they ought to - they're gone. Simple as that.

Steve works hard, Steve works fast, Steve is... interesting. He doesn't approve of Bucky's lifestyle, that much is clear, so he must need the money. But also, he doesn't complain. Not really. He does tease Bucky, though. It seems they both know their differences and there's something there. Something exciting. They both have their tastes and the clash of their differing tastes becomes electric.

Bucky learns to enjoy a little bit of roughness because of Steve.

Steve is called in to support Bucky either nearing the end of a massive meal or after his meal has been finished. His job title is "masseuse" and he does massage Bucky but, just, one part of him -

His belly.

His job is to aid Bucky's body in digesting after a splurge... if you can call his gorging meals and oversized snacks that happen every day, multiple times a day like clockwork "splurges." Splurging implies you don't do it all the time. Bucky is consistently stuffed to the gills. The only time he's not full is when he wakes up, first thing in the morning, and that's not always a guarantee - Bucky has gotten especially fat recently, it's why he needs Steve, and now, he can't always make it through the night without a snack. If he needs one, he snaps his fingers or rings the little bell he keeps by his bedside, rousing his live-in servants and making them retrieve a "light" snack for him from the kitchen. If he's had a midnight snack, his belly might still be firm and bloated when he wakes up. Regardless, Steve helps settle his belly.

At first, when Steve was hired, he did his job without comment. Now that they know each other a little better and each of them is rubbing off on the other with Bucky enjoying a little bit of roughness and Steve learning to embrace comfort and a taste of luxury - now, Steve prods and pushes verbally while he does the same physically. He rubs big circles on his big tummy, presses into the parts where he's the tightest to release pockets of gas and make him more comfortable, giving him more room (that he often immediately fills with more food), and kneads his soft flesh, using lotion and oil to keep his flesh supple and stretch-mark free. He lets his mouth run, too.

In low tones, just for the two of them to hear, he murmurs roughly about how he's never had so much to work with. Bucky knows under those sugar-coated words, he's calling him fat. Then, he goes on to say that Bucky feels especially tense today, is there anything particular on his mind? That's Steve telling him he's bloated as fuck, just a bit of sting behind his "polite" tone to communicate, oh my fucking god, you're a blimp. Or, he asks how his tailor is doing, the vague way to ask how he fits into any clothes at all. It's a damn mystery to Steve, after all, he only ever sees Bucky when he's naked with all of his soft, pale, thick fat on display. Round. Firm. Ready to be massaged until he's not so tight he could burst which, to Bucky, means he's ravenous. Bucky has no understanding of hunger. He doesn't remember what it's like to be empty, so when he isn't gasping in pleasure and pain, so full that his stomach is strained and there's food packed into him all the way up his esophagus to the back of his throat, he thinks he's starving.

Bucky savors those comments in a way he doesn't savor food - he just shoves it down. More.

More.

Bucky starts eating even more, pushing himself further, to make sure he can see Steve regularly. Weirdly, for someone who's never needed a damn thing from anyone else, he aches to impress this guy. It's strange, how much he wants to preen and parade around. He makes even more of a gluttonous mess of himself just so Steve can come in and berate him underneath his professional, light tone. It's embarrassing. Bucky has never been able to deal with humiliation or shame or anything other than resounding acceptance because of his high status, so it's strange for him to go after it now but...

God, is it good.

Steve commenting on needing another set of hands to reach and work on all of Bucky's glutted tummy sends a shiver down his pinned spine in spirit, in reality, he can't fucking move. He's so fat. Bucky almost moans at the thought of more hands groping and kneading his fat, working his cramps and burps out of him, easing the way for those calories to smoothly transform into more fat but, strangely, he only wants Steve to do this. He's used to hiring more help, having so many people around him, watching and aiding him in even the most intimate, private moments. This feels too intimate to share, though. He just wants Steve's big, strong, rough hands on his fat. He wants it bad. So, of course, he gets it.

He feasts on multiple rich, large courses. Steve massages him. He snacks on foods that would be enough for a meal if he were anyone else. Steve massages him. He gorges until he's hiccuping, whining, and curled around his fat belly like he can hold himself together, preventing himself from bursting at the seams with too much, too good of food. Steve massages him. He wakes up, belly gurgling with digestion that he can delude into being hunger, so he stuffs himself late at night into early morning. Steve massages him. Steve massages him through it all, witnessing him at his fullest and watching, judging, as he packs on more and more weight.

Bucky has been drilled to follow etiquette and be polite, but with Steve, he slips. He's just so full. And Steve's so good at his job. He can't deny himself the pleasure of moaning and burping loudly as Steve works.

"Buuuurpp-"

"Hic! Ah! Oh! Hic! Ouch! Hic! Hup! Oww!"

"Ooooohhh, yess. That's good."

"Uuuuuuurp!"

"Yes! Right there, press there, it's so tight, oh, oww-"

"Hnnnn-"

"M-mmmph- more. More pressure. Yes! Like that! Oh-uuurp!"

"C-cahhh, careful, I'm, oof, I'm soo full. Mmngh, I might - hic! - pop!"

Steve might disguise his interest well under a judgy, almost resentful exterior - which is truthfully how he felt when he got here, like, look at this fat asshole, Steve grew up struggling with a single mother making tough decisions between feeding her child, buying the medicine her child needed badly, or keeping the heating on to keep her child from getting sicker, no good options and no compromises - but he is interested. Bucky is miles and miles of plush flesh that jiggles and ripples. So much for Steve to sink his hands into. He's just fat. That's all he is. Greedy and oversized. He deserves a little shit for it. It's fine. He can squeeze a little harder than necessary, he can relentlessly push down on the part of his tummy that hurts the most just to hear him groan through a painful yet releasing burp, he can see his face pinch in pain when Steve goads him into finishing the last scraps on his plate despite having called Steve in expressed because he's too full for more, he can make comments about how he's getting fatter, bigger, and more spoiled. He can snidely inquire if Bucky has gotten his bed reinforced yet or wonder out loud how his personal tailor keeps up with his expanding waistline, actually, how does his tailor measure his waistline these days? Does he have to make a custom tailors tape or have they given up on numbers by now? He can pretend to be a little weaker than he is, just for an excuse to call the other staff into Bucky's master bedroom, "needing" help with rolling his big, voluptuous body or sitting him up as much as possible under that heavy, fat belly that overflows his lap.

It's fine for Steve to look over his shoulder as he leaves, his job well done, to smirk like a shark at one food-drunk Bucky moaning through a bite of buttery, flaky pastry, telling him off, "haven't you had enough, Mr. Barnes?"

He's the only one willing to challenge Bucky. The other staffers suck in shocked breaths and duck their heads, embarrassed and trying to stay out of the way, assuming Steve's about to be fired. It's going to get ugly. Right?

But it doesn't.

Bucky likes it. His stomach is groaning - only barely soothed thanks to Steve, complaining with heavy sloshes, deep gurgles, and loud glorps - but Bucky doesn't care. All he cares about is more. More food, stuffing his gob. More of Steve's merciless touch, his mean words, and his judgemental eyebrows. More.

"Nu-uh," Bucky moans petulantly.

"Only you would think that," Steve's eyes flick down to his gut like the big, round thing is offensive, "isn't enough."

Bucky crams the rest of his pastry into his mouth, puffing out his cheeks and dusting crumbs down his double (closer to triple) chins and heaving moobs, it's a challenge.

Steve rises to it, stepping back into his bedroom to slap his blubbery belly hard.

Even though all the others have scuffled away, leaving the two of them alone, they must be able to hear the clap of his hand against his fat. That, or, they hear the guttural way Bucky moans. His white, pale flesh is stamped red with Steve's handprint.

"You just have to ruin my work, don't you?" Steve sneers, sitting on the side of the bed next to Bucky's immobilized form of rolls and curves, pinned in place by too much fattening, sugary food. "Nothing is ever good enough for you, so you just keep going, don't you? You're gonna pop, you know that, you fat, spoiled brat? You need to learn you have limits. You need to learn restraint. If you don't learn your lesson by yourself, you'll force my hand to teach it." Steve threatens, his hand raised again, on the cusp of slapping his tender, overstuffed tummy again.

Bucky whimpers, pouting at him, his bottom lip crumby and stuck far out, "don't need your help," he argues, mumbling, just to be contrary. He really does need him. He wants him too. So badly.

"You do, princess. You need me whether you like it or not," Steve teases. "You can't do anything by yourself, not with this-" Steve rears back to slap his belly hard a handful of times until Bucky's whimpering and squirming around like a turtle flipped onto its shell, inelegant and stuck "-in the way."

Bucky moans loudly. It hurts! But it hurts like it does when he pushes himself over his limits, his gut too full.

"I'm gonna put you on a diet," Steve threatens, "teach your spoiled, fat ass what restraint and hard work is the way Daddy and Mommy didn't, they just shoved a silver spoon in your mouth and called it a day 'cause you shut up."

It's terrible. It's awful. Bucky likes it.

"Please-!" The word falls out of Bucky's mouth for maybe the first time. He's Bucky Barnes. He doesn't beg. He has everything he wants and more! He's never had anything he had to plead for, he always just demands.

With one last hit right to the top of his belly, where the bulging is the worst, where he gets the tightest, Steve knows all too well, Steve leans in. His smile is all teeth. "Good boy," he rumbles, "that's a start. I might be able to whip you into shape after all, God knows you need some shape, too," he unkindly grabs a handful of fat, shaking it and thus sends jiggling ripples throughout Bucky's entire, fat body. He's all lard. "'Cause right now you're just a blob."

Bucky says it again, as it turns out, it feels good to say, "pleeease."

Steve gives him a dark look and despite what he was saying about shaping up and slimming down with a diet, he wastes no time reaching over to the tray of fine French pastries perched on Bucky's elegant nightstand, selecting one at random and shoving it into his face.

Bucky moans his way through every chew and swallow. With Steve's relentless force, massaging and now feeding, too, he's due for a growth spurt like he's never seen on his own. He's gonna outgrow his king-size bed in no time 🥵🥵

[universodonna-official]

CRYSTAL STONE NAILS

[separatist-apologist]

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

Elain waited until she and Arina were alone to turn to her friend. Arina was one step ahead of her. “We’re fucked,” she said in English, face devoid of any true color. “He’s basically got us under house arrest.” 

“They don’t trust us,” Elain said, taking an anxious breath of air. The last three days had been something out of a nightmare. They’d been arrested, put in chains, and then transported from the country estate to Rome, during which they’d been groped and threatened with assault more times than she could count. Elain had never known true fear until that first night outdoors, camping with a group of leering, bored soldiers. 

She couldn’t enjoy seeing Rome, well aware of where they were being taken. Mamertine Prison was a church in the present day, built over the bones of prisoners sent to languish while they waited out their sentences. Elain had expected some low level judiciary to come and decide their fate. Not the newly crowned Emperor himself, accompanied by his older brother. Nor had she expected Arina to react so viciously once they were so close to freedom.

“We simply have to convince them they can trust us.”

“And how do you intend to go about that?” Arina demanded, picking through the clothes set out for the two of them. They knew enough combined history to get through this, she decided. If they could convince the Emperor they were no threat, Elain believed they could make their way back where they’d started and get back to their own home before they changed history. 

“Well, for starters maybe we should stop biting patricians?” Elain said, rounding on her friend sharply. 

“He’s no better than the soldiers who dragged us up here,” she snarled furiously. “He saw two unprotected women and decided we must exist for his pleasure.”

“Of course he did!” Elain hissed softly. “They’ve never even heard the word feminism. You know women are not on equal standing with men. Stop biting them.”

“If he puts his finger in my face again—”

“No biting.”

Elain turned, looking at the spacious room that belonged to her and her alone. Arina had been given a suite just down the marbled hall but had immediately followed after Elain, prompting two servants to lay clothes out for the both of them nervously. Elain knew what was waiting and was desperate to put her hands on true, Roman garments.

“Why aren’t you panicking?” Arina demanded.

“What good would it do to panic?” Elain asked, tennis shoes squeaking against the marble. The heat coming from the nearby hanging lamps made the room feel warmer than was comfortable, and Elain was quick to fling open the shutters of her window so cool air could push in. “Besides…haven’t you always wanted to see Rome as it actually was?”

“Not really,” Arina said, trailing after Elain apprehensively. “Not like this. What if we can’t get back, Elain? Or worse, what if the Emperor decides to make us some other man's problem?”

“This is Rome. We’ll simply kill him if he tries,” Elain said with far more bravado than she felt. Her room overlooked the garden, replete with beautifully manicured hedges, rows of olive trees, and flowers so vibrant she almost didn’t believe they were real. 

“Elain, I’m serious. Aren’t you afraid?”

“Yes,” she admitted, turning back to the room made of marble and gold. Elain knew if Arina wasn’t so scared, she’d be examining the pillars and telling Elain all about the brush strokes and how the tiles beneath them had been cut. Elain, too, wanted to examine the palace piece by piece, committing it all to memory. Her phone was still in her pocket, the battery at seventy two percent. She could take pictures if she was careful…and then, what? No one would ever believe her.

Maybe just to have once she got home. 

“We need to leave,” Arina hissed, her urgency echoing through Elain’s skull. 

“What we need is to be careful. We were spared once, but I don’t think they’ll be so forgiving the second time. Better to play pretend and wait for our moment than to rush out and get thrown back into prison. Or worse.

Citizens were made slaves all the time, after all. Lucien could make them prostitutes in the eye of the law if he wanted and no one would be able to stop him. Here, at least, they had access to means and the privilege that came from being a patrician woman. 

“He could do horrible things to us,” Arina reminded Elain, standing in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around her chest. “Things he might think are kind.”

“Then we simply have to convince him not to,” Elain replied, thinking it was easier said than done. “Women might not be allowed a true voice, but there are plenty of Roman women who ruled behind the throne. If we can make him care about us, we can thwart the worst of his machinations. He’s a new Emperor, he’s about to meet his wife…he won’t have a lot of time to spend worrying about us.”

“You’re right,” Arina breathed, closing her eyes before exhaling slowly. “If we blend in and give them no reason to think about us, we can slip out in the night.”

“Or better, he’ll put us on a horse with gold in our pocket.”

“So what now? We just…play dress up?” Arina questioned, finally turning toward the stola. “Drink wine and lounge in the sun?”

“We could explore the city?” Elain suggested, reaching for the red dyed garment. “Tell me, doctor. Where do you think the fabric of this dress comes from?” 

“Egypt,” Arina said, rubbing her fingers against the lenin. “It’s not silk.”

“If we could bring this back—intact—think of—”

“Are you crazy?” Arina hissed, cutting Elain off before she could finish her sentence. “We can do nothing. Make no suggestions, inform them of nothing, do not rip any wings off a butterfly. We aren’t supposed to be here, Elain, and we can’t go around meddling.”

“It’s not meddling. It’s history,” she protested. “And if we’re not supposed to be here, why are we here?”

“Maybe we’re not. Maybe we just ingested something toxic, breathed in too much lead. We’re probably in the hospital having a really vivid hallucination.”

Elain sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into the feathers and straw with delight. Covered in blankets, the mattress was softer than she might have imagined. “This isn’t a hallucination. It’s real.”

She’d thought the same thing when they’d first come through. Elain didn’t believe it anymore, though. They’d been gone for three days and some of her panic was beginning to subside into excitement. They were in Rome at the height of its power and living with the current emperor. Elain knew, from having memorized Lucien’s journals, that he would be meeting Helena soon if he hadn’t met her already.

She didn’t need to meddle—she could merely watch, go home, and reconstruct what she knew. If she could just find out what family Helena belonged to, Elain was certain she’d could piece together whatever tragic fate the empress met. 

Like he so often did, Graysen’s face wormed its way into her memories, flooding her with guilt. She needed to get back—where was her urgency? Arina certainly had it, pacing the room like a caged animal. She’d become wilder by the day, viciously spitting curses at the Roman soldiers who’d dragged them to the prison cell, and again when Eris had tried to touch her.

She was afraid in a way Elain simply wasn’t. She ought to be—oh, how Elain knew she should be scared. They were at the mercy of a time period that valued women even less than the one she’d just left, under the care of a man who didn’t know them at all. They had no one to vouch for them, no refuge in which they could seek shelter in. No one to advocate on their behalf. If they angered the Emperor, he could have them exiled or worse.

And yet…Elain simply wasn’t worried about any of it. She believed they’d be fine, that Lucien would continue to be hospitable, and they’d make their way back no worse than they’d come through. If she was honest with herself, Elain felt a small measure of relief. She didn’t have to make a decision about her own life so long as she was here.

Sure, Graysen would move on eventually, but Elain didn’t intend to be gone for years. Maybe just a month—long enough to have one last, grand adventure. Maybe living in Rome would put some things into perspective for her, besides. Help her make a decision on her own life and relationship.

What did it say about her that she didn’t miss him?

Nothing good.

“Bath?”

Arina threw her hands up in the air with exasperation. “You’re not taking our situation seriously.”

“I am. I’m just realistic. We can’t go anywhere and I don’t want to sit in a bedroom all day. Don’t you want to see how they lived?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“The pipes here are made of lead, Elain. Lead. You’ll be drinking lead tainted water—”

“We’ve been drinking it for the last three days and I feel fine,” she replied, though it did worry her a little. “And we can drink more wine than water, if you’re really that concerned.”

“You want to bathe in lead tainted water?” Arina demanded.

Elain whirled on her friend, her frustration mounting. “There is no deodorant here and I smell like shit from two days of traveling and a night spent in an ancient prison. The water could have sharks in it and I’d still risk it.”

“You’re gonna dress up like a proper Roman lady?”

“Yes, because the alternative is letting them think we don’t belong, grow suspicious of us, and do something horrible. We need to play along, Arina…and we need to stop biting Consuls.”

“I hate him,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Elain only shrugged, beckoning for her friend to follow her out of the bedchamber. The hall was brightly lit from both hanging lamps and nearby arched windows that allowed light and air to pour inside in equal measure. It was here that Arina seemed to relax a little, running her finger tips over the gold encrusted walls with awe. 

“Look at this,” Arina breathed, pausing beside a Corinthian style column. “To see it…just…wow.”

The pair touched the marble on the column, craning their necks to look up at the ornate estatis just at the top. The whole thing was pure decoration and though Elain knew it had been built a good several decades earlier, the marble was pristine and vibrant. 

“This is real,” Arina breathed.

Elain couldn’t help her smile.

This was real. 

LUCIEN: 

Lucien was having a difficult time focusing. He ought to be listening to important business of the empire…and yet his eyes kept sliding to the open window where Elena was, walking through his garden in a vibrant red stola. No one had done her hair and so she’d left it wild like a child, half hidden beneath a palla pinned into her dark curls. Lucien was so curious about why she wore it—he had it on good authority she wasn’t married. Was she widowed? 

Did she not know the custom? He was woefully uneducated about life in Brittana, perhaps all women wore the palla. Maybe she was worried about her modesty like a good Roman woman ought to be? The only way to know was to ask and Lucien couldn’t ask without revealing to the men around him that he’d rather spend his time talking to a woman rather than dealing with important matters.

But he did want that. He wanted to try and piece together her rather charming accent…and if Lucien was honest, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to touch the coils of curls blowing in the breeze, wanted to run a knuckle over her unblemished cheek just to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.

He wanted to do other things, too—things that were wholly inappropriate if he was to find a suitable husband for her and get her out of his home. And then he’d spend the rest of his life wondering what it was like to have a woman like that in his bed, until he inevitably took her as his mistress, pissing off whatever man he’d arranged for her in the first place.

Problems for future Lucien, certainly.

Turning his attention back to the room, Lucien’s eyes slid to the map laid out before him. He wanted to invade Germania and succeed where so many before him had failed. Taking that northern territory would allow him to hunt down the saxon’s that plagued his coastlines, too, and take back the treasure they’d been plundering. 

There were a few routes they could take in, but crossing the Rhine was Lucien’s preference. He’d been there during the first campaign and had assisted in building the bridge they’d used to cross—it had terrified the Germanic barbarians to see the might of Rome, sending them scattering further into the interior.

Lucien could build roads and bridges all he liked—getting through the forests was what plagued them. They didn’t have the tactical advantage and Lucien refused to go if defeat was the only path forward. If he was going to lose men, it was going to be in service of victory.

Agreeing to reconvene over wine that night, Lucien sent his advisors away for the time being, intending to meet with a few generals—and Jurian, who would lead his campaign—later that week. Just in time for the games to begin and spread the right amount of propagare that would convince the people of his authority.

Above all else, Lucien needed the backing of the people of Rome just as much as he needed the army. He was drowning in tasks, which didn’t explain why Lucien began his descent into the gardens the mere second he was alone. It was shameful to be so curious about a woman, especially one his brother had accused of being a whore and yet…Lucien’s father had always been especially taken with his mother. There had been no infidelity on his fathers end unless you counted the time he’d been sleeping with Amera while she’d been married to Beron.

Beron had divorced his wife for political reasons and Helion had merely swooped in and married her quickly and quietly before anyone could truly object. And then, when Beron was made Emperor, Helion took off for the outer provinces…just to be safe. It hadn’t been until Lucien had been a man and called back to the city that Helion dared to return, too.

Lucien just needed to know if another man had a claim to her. That was all—it was practical, he swore, adjusting his toga so the purple was especially vibrant in the afternoon sun. He knew he ought to cut his long, auburn hair to conform with the more fashionable short styles and yet…Lucien had left it long because he liked it. It had started on the battlefield, curling around his neck before the length straightened it all out. It had been a joke among the legion he was in—they always knew where Lucien was because of his lovely, effeminate hair. 

What had begun as a joke had somehow transcended Roman norms and though some of the older patrician’s threw him a dirty look now and again, the rest of them didn’t seem terribly bothered so long as Lucien kept it neat and pulled out of his face. No braids or beads like the barbarian’s wore, no adornments of any kind. When he worked, he often tied it off his neck in a bun to give the illusion of short hair.

At least it wasn’t a beard, he reasoned. 

He found Elain among the olive trees, one hand outstretched to touch one of the leaves. Lucien cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back.

“Where is your friend?”

She turned abruptly, eyes wide. “She ah…” Elain bit her bottom lip. “She found the library.”

Lucien nodded. “Do you like to read?”

She shrugged. “I prefer being outdoors.”

“Do you spend much time outdoors?” he asked, noting the freckles dotting her nose. She must and yet her skin didn’t betray any of it. Most women preferred to stay indoors, far from the sun's vicious kiss that too often left their skin lined and leather-worn. 

“Do you?” she replied, looking up at him through thick, dark lashes.

Lucien offered her a lopsided grin. “Of course. Especially when I have diverting company. Walk with me?”

“Only if you agree to answer all my questions.”

Something warm spread through Lucien. As he’d risen through the ranks, women had begun treating him differently—respectfully. In his mind, he was always thinking of Jesminda and how he’d been just another nobleman’s son and no one special at all. She’d teased him, taunted him—had wanted him without any of the fake modesty he loathed. Lucien had been fortunate to marry for love, once, and having had a taste of true marital bliss, he didn’t want the Roman arrangement his peers often found themselves embroiled in. Jurian was all but married to a woman he barely knew. It was a good prospect for him, if for no other reason than it increased his social standing and available wealth. Lucien didn’t need to worry about any of that anymore, though he would be a fool if he thought he could snub the fellow patrician families and choose just anyone.

Including the beautiful woman standing beside him. She was Roman and yet he knew she had no connection to anyone of importance in the city. He might as well declare himself in love with a barbarian princess and be done with it.

And he wasn’t. In love with her, that is. He was merely fascinated by her mouth and the way her curls caught the sun, making them seem almost golden in the right light. And Lucien had to admit he liked the sound of her voice and the rolling way she spoke.

“I’ll answer anything you ask of me,” Lucien agreed, offering her his bare arm rather selfishly. He just needed to know if her skin was as soft as it looked. She beamed up at him, the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in his entire life, and accepted. Her fingers were warm, gliding over his bare bicep without a care in the world. What would she look like adorned in gold, he wondered?

“How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked before she could get one of her own questions out. He didn’t need to answer anything if he did all the talking. 

She considered his question and only after her silence stretched did Lucien consider that she did not speak Latin as well as he thought. He gave her space, walking her over a careful, stone laid path around the olive grove.

“Your hospitality has been generous,” she began carefully, fingers fidgeting in the pleats of her dress. “I’m sure Arina and I would be fine living somewhere on our own—”

“Who will protect you?” Lucien demanded, getting close to the question he was most interested in. “Two unmarried women shouldn’t be alone in the city.”

She nodded, not disputing his words.

Lucien pounced. “You’re not married?”

She glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. “No, I’m not married.”

“Why?”

She took a breath. “I have a fiance—”

“A what?”

She murmured something under breath in a language he didn’t understand. I forgot french hasn’t been invented yet. He didn’t like that Britanic language—it was too harsh, too angry to be coming out of such lovely lips.

“I am…sponsalia?” 

Lucien blanched. “To who?”

“He lives far from here.”

“And he let you leave unaccompanied?” Lucien demanded, thinking if he met this man, he’d kill him for his cowardice. What kind of man sent his future wife on the road alone where any number of horrible things could happen to her? No, that man was no man at all. Elain had been overtaken on the road and had she not found his home, who knew what might have happened to her?

Lucien didn’t want to think about it. 

“He trusts me,” she said foolishly. What did trust have to do with reality, he wondered?

“And look at how well that worked for you both,” Lucien replied, unable to keep the bite from his words. “You were set upon by bandits and then imprisoned for being a spy. If my brother had his way, you’d be working with the local prostitutes and your fiance would be disgraced to have ever been attached to you.”

Her cheeks reddened, not with shame like he expected, but anger. “Don’t do me any favors, Caesar.”

Why did he like it, he wondered? And yet… “Do you consider this a favor, Elena?”

“I did.”

“And now?”

She kicked a clod of dirt with her foot. “I feel like an imposition.”

“Disavow him,” Lucien commanded, halting in his tracks to look at her. “Say he means nothing to you.”

“I…”

“Disavow him and I will put the backing of Rome behind you,” he swore, wishing he had his sword to swear upon. 

“I can’t—”

“You will.”

It was wrong, perhaps, to force her into ending whatever marriage she’d been entered into. The bond clearly wasn’t strong if he was willing to risk his future wife. Perhaps he hoped something would happen to her. The thought angered Lucien.

“Please don’t,” she whispered, but Lucien’s mind was made up and he would not be denied. 

“Then call him to Rome to answer for his treatment,” Lucien ordered, certain she would not do that. Elain rounded on him, hands on her hips and he wondered with delight if she would deny him.

“So you can slaughter him?”

“You wound me. I believe in the rule of law—”

“What law did he break?” she demanded and oh. She had him there. Technically the man had done nothing other than offend Lucien. Wasn’t that enough? He was Emperor, why should he be offended by some man from Britannia that didn’t value his soon-to-be wife? 

“You broke laws,” Lucien reminded her, scrambling for anything that would give him validity. “Your father is responsible—”

“My father is dead,” she said, some of the fire in her eyes extinguished.

“Then your brother or uncle—”

“I have none.”

Lucien offered her a smile so saccharine it tasted sweet on his tongue. “Which leaves your soon-to-be husband to answer for your crimes. Call him or disavow him.”

Elain looked up at him, arms crossed over her chest. “And if I disavow him, what then?”

Lucien’s grin widened. “I would be delighted to accept responsibility for you and find a suitable husband.”

“A terrifying prospect,” she grumbled. Lucien was half decided on who he’d marry her to—no one he knew was good enough for her. Was he? He wanted to find out. The more she spoke, the longer he breathed the same air, only made him want her more. “Fine. I disavow him. He means nothing to me, I owe him nothing.”

“Would he mourn your death?” Lucien asked curiously, tilting his head to the side. She blinked, eyes strangely glassy.

“I don’t know,” she finally said as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Lucien’s body went taut for a moment, eyes tracking the way she moved. He felt like a predator back on the killing fields, sword in hand even as he prepared to have his life ended. She could end him, too—not with a weapon but her words, a look, a touch. If she would not marry him, Lucien would take her in any way he could get her. He would deny he’d touched her if that's what she asked, would keep her as an ornament in his home and raise their illegitimate children. She had no father, no brother, no husband. No man who could deny him, though Lucien could not have been denied even if she did. 

Reaching for her chin, Lucien forced Elain to look at him. Elena, he thought with pleasure. She’d need a more Romanized name to be accepted by the people. Would she like Helena, he wondered? He was getting ahead of himself and yet Lucien felt settled.

Pleased, too.

Holding her gaze, he said, “I would mourn you.”

“You don’t even know me,” she replied, drawing a soft, shaking breath.

Lucien shook his head. “I feel the opposite. I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life.” Like he’d been waiting for her. Guilt slithered through him, hot and oily as he remembered Jesminda. He’d once said the same thing about her. Was he the kind of man who could forget love so quickly? Lucien couldn’t help his foolish heart. Looking at the woman beside him, far paler than she’d been when they’d first begun talking, he knew he had his work cut out for him.

He could demand her hand—could assert himself as the sole authority over her and then demand she wed him. And Lucien could imagine just how well that would go. He’d have her in his bed, but she wouldn’t be willing, wouldn’t want him. He knew plenty of men with disinterested wives, who submitted out of duty but not desire. Having tasted love with Jesminda, Lucien wanted it again. Wanted it so badly he was willing to toss out tradition, at least until she got to know him better. 

“Come,” he said with an easy smile, “let me show you the fountain. It’s my favorite.”

—

Arina didn’t care what Elain said—they needed to leave. Elain was too struck by the history of it all that she’d forgotten they were living in an ancient human civilization that was so far removed from their own that any number of horrible tragedies might befall them. Elain had, if nothing else, seen the toilet situation.

Holed up in the Emperor’s library, Arina forced herself to sit in a chair that was deeply uncomfortable, a book laid across her lap. On any other day, finding a first edition transcription of Aristotle’s teachings would have been a dream—she could touch it. Now, though, Arina couldn’t even enjoy herself. 

In truth, she was terrified. Obvious problems aside, they had no way to get back, no way to escape. There were far worse things between Rome and the estate they’d broken into beside just Lucien and his army. But if they could steal a horse, could get some coins…well. Arina figured they could be long gone before anyone in the capital even realized they were missing.

And with some knives—ideally with poisoned blades—they’d be in decent shape. They couldn’t take on a good swordsman, but how many highway robbers were any better than them?

Arina heard the sound of leather on marble, heard the high, bronze doors open and without seeing who came in, she just knew. Eris. He was the blueprint for all modern Italian men—arrogant, certain of his own greatness, and desperate for a woman to subjugate. Just like her father, she thought darkly. He strolled in, dressed like the immaculate senator he was. Did he know that Arina knew everything about him? The would-be Emperor, ousted by his own father who knew ahead of time, had planned to kill his son. He hadn’t suspected Eris had conspirators, but he had destroyed every soldier who might have taken the city for Rome and alerted Helion who then moved quickly to ensure his own son took the city before it could fall into the hands of some hated rival. 

Eris survived—thrived, even. He lived just as long as his brother, had a whole host of children with a foreign born woman known only to history as Agripina, and seemed generally happy in his later writings. Arina had never cared much for this period of time outside of the art, the sculptures, the architecture. Now, though?

Well, Arina would be an expert at this rate. 

Eris made his way into the large atrium, amber eyes finding hers. His impassive expression shifted into a frown, his disdain plain. 

“Who taught you how to read?”

Arina cocked her head and smoothed her blue stola beneath her hands. “Are you looking for lessons?”

She really shouldn’t test him—knew that he could make her life exceptionally difficult. And yet it was fun to see his gaze sharpen and his spine straighten as he recognized the challenge. 

Striding toward her, Eris plucked the book from her fingers to examine the writings. “What do you know of Aristotle?” Arina wanted to laugh in his face. More than he did, she’d wager. “Enough.”

He handed the book back, closing the leather bound cover carefully before doing so. It was tempting to tell him that his own wife would be so literate that in his final years, she was the one who wrote down his every thought. 

“You’re excused,” Eris informed her dismissively, turning toward the arching windows overlooking the garden. He made his way toward them, hands folded behind his back, to do the same thing Arina had been doing—spying on Elain and the Emperor. 

Elain was so beautiful that every man who saw her fell a little in love with her. It wasn’t unusual for men to stop Elain on the street spouting sonnets about her beauty or begging for just ten minutes of her time. If Elain wasn’t careful, he’d be demanding she marry him before the week was out and they’d be in real trouble. 

Arina rose to her feet, unwilling to argue with Eris. She couldn’t argue with him as far as she remembered. His word was law even in this place, and even over her. 

“Che cazzo,” she hissed under her breath, well aware Eris had no hope of deciphering the actual meaning of her words. Italian wasn’t a language anyone spoke yet. Eris’s head whipped around all the same, eyes narrowed to slits.

“What barbarian tribe are you actually from?” he asked, crossing his arms over a broad chest.

Adopting her most brain dead smile, Arina said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“That language…” he wrinkled his nose with disdain. “Is lingua latina not spoken even as far North as Britannia?”

Arina couldn’t help her laugh. If only he knew. “But of course.”

“Tell me.”

“Why? So you can accuse me of any number of untrue things?”

Eris took a soft breath, nostrils flaring. “If I swear not to accuse you?”

“I would still lie,” Arina replied with that same saccharine smile. “Surely you understand the importance of speaking multiple languages? Or can you not speak Greek?”

“I don’t speak any of the barbarian languages—”

“Yet,” she interrupted, holding his gaze. “But who knows? Maybe in five years you’ll need someone who can.”

“What were you really doing in my brother's home?”

Arina’s eyes slid over his shoulders, toward the dots that were Elain and Lucien standing before a marble carved fountain. Studying it. She so badly wanted to tell him the truth—to tell someone all of her fears, of the nightmare she currently found herself in. She couldn’t. Arina pressed her lips shut, eyes returning to the man standing before her.

“I’m going to find out,” he warned her softly. “I’m a terrible enemy to have.”

She only shrugged, heart thudding roughly in her chest. “I’ve already told you everything. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

She was nearly at the door when he called out, “‘Che cazzo.’ What does it mean?”

His Italian wasn’t awful—certainly less offensive than when Graysen had bid her a good day in the choppiest drawl she’d ever heard in her life. Arina knew better than to tell him the truth, and yet…

“Capitium,” she said, using the Latin for little head as Eris’s expression darkened. Dick. She could call a man a dick in every language. 

Pleased with herself, Arina attempted to flounce from the room, satisfied she’d at least cut Eris down to size. It didn’t solve any of her problems but it did make her feel better.

She was nearly to the hall when strong fingers wrapped around her bare arm, pulling her back flush against his chest.

Lowering his mouth to her ear, Eris murmured, “The next time you reference my cock, I’ll assume you’re asking to see it.”

“You disgust me,” she whispered without thinking.

He only chuckled, low and soft. He smelled nice, a mix of spices she didn’t immediately recognize. Shouldn’t all men reek of body odor? This one, especially, ought to smell like sewage given how handsome his face was. 

“I’ll bet you’d say that on your knees.”

Arina elbowed him roughly in the ribs, certain he would do nothing but let her go. There was the faintest echo of outrage etched on his features, but more horrifyingly, she found something that read like a challenge gazing back at her. That was dangerous, especially in a place where men could do whatever they liked to women under their protection. 

Forcing herself to smile, Arina wrenched from his grasp to look up at the tall warrior gazing back at her. “If you put your cock in my face, you’ll regret it.”

“Such a filthy mouth,” Eris all but crooned, undeterred by the threat. “I look forward to using—”

She knew better. Oh, Arina knew better even back home, than to slap a man. It was dangerous back home where men were prone to violence when provoked—and literally anything might provoke them.

It was worse, here. He already thought her a barbarian, knew she had no male relative to watch over her, and just barely tolerated her. The two of them stood there, chests heaving as a patch of red bloomed across his cheek. Arina’s palm stung from the force of the blow, hidden behind her back as if she could take it all back.

Bracing herself for his fury, Arina steeled her spine even as she flinched back. Eris watched, head slightly cocked, his own hand rising not to strike her back, but to touch his face. Arina wasn’t going to apologize—he had no right to speak to her that way.

And still, she was scared. 

Eris exhaled through his nostrils. “Watch yourself,” he warned her, lifting his chin as though that might salve his wounded pride, “or I’ll put you in the military since you want to fight.”

Arina exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “I—” I’m sorry. “Of course.”

Eris gestured for her to leave, turning his head and Arina, not willing to stick around and test his good will, tripped over the skirt of her dress in her haste. At the end of the hall, she turned to look over her shoulder, surprised to find him still standing in the archway.

Watching.

[thollandneedy]

Ghost face mask- Tom Holland

A/N: My friend came up with the idea and i love it. Honestly, i don't have this mask kink, but i think i turned out good. Btw, more halloween themed oneshots to come this week

Summary: Tom catches you seeing a specific tiktok video, and decides to try do the same, but on you

Warnings: Sexual activity (Fingering), and descreption

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

His slender fingers with freshly manicured black nails slid across the shiny screen of his cell phone, which was already completely addicted to TikTok. If I were to see how much time he spent on that app, it would be worrying. Y/n spent most of her time on her cell phone because of her work, but like any other drug, her cell phone also got her hooked on short videos. The days were numbered for Halloween, and most of the suggested content was on the same theme. The idea of shirtless men masquerading as Ghostface had been circulating on the app for a long time, but this was the first time she felt something different at the thought of trying something like this with her boyfriend. Even though they had been together for a long time, her shame seemed to be greater.

The girl shook her head, trying to rid herself of the idea, but every time she thought about it, she became more alive. To think that she wouldn't be able to read his expression, let alone understand his intentions with his striking brown eyes. At an unexpected ring of the doorbell, the woman left her cell phone open on the sofa in the living room and quickly got up to answer the door. Holland, at the same time as his girlfriend, went downstairs to answer the doorbell, but realized that she had already answered it. The loud ringing of his cell phone drew his attention to the device on the sofa and he was confronted with the image of a muscular man wearing the mask of the villainous assassin.

The brunette tilted his head to one side, coming closer to make sure he knew what he was looking at. Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe she was drawing his attention to something she wanted?

“ Honey! Your package has arrived.” The girl in the white sweater caught his eye, causing him to turn away from his cell phone, straightening his posture as he followed her sweet voice. “Why did you order a skeleton in a Captain America costume?” The girl laughs

“To decorate the house” The dark-haired man in the olive green shirt replied, taking the package from her hands.

“I thought we'd finished decorating here at home.” The girl looks around.

Holland had been a great Halloween enthusiast since he was a child because of his parents' tradition of always decorating the house with the theme, and when he grew up, that didn't change. The bedrooms were decorated with pumpkin latte scented candles, the bathrooms with mirrors decorated with spider webs, the living room with decorative cushions, and especially the entrance to the house with various images of the dead post-endgame Avengers. Although it wasn't the best idea in the world to put superheroes in pieces in the garden of his the idea was already in the actor's hands.

“Is your battlefield complete now?” Y/n asked, picking up the unprotected cell phone and stowing it in his pocket without expressing any reaction. “Almost. We just need to turn on the lights at night to see if it turns out the way I imagined.” The man crossed his arms, trying to decipher whether his girlfriend was going to say anything about the video, and he was wrong.

“Of course! We need to go to the costume store to buy my apron for my Love Quinn costume for tonight's party,” Y/n mentions, passing by her boyfriend and heading for the kitchen.

Shit

“We have several aprons in the kitchen.” The man mentions, following his girlfriend who sits on the worktop, leaning her weight on the marble of the table, following with her eyes her boyfriend who sits in front of her.

“We have three.” The girl replies. “And I'm not going to get fake blood on a good apron”

Holland kept staring at her, as if he was trying to draw something out of her that was hidden in his sweet eyes. The girl frowns, squinting in an attempt to read her boyfriend's mind, who repeats the action without breaking eye contact. Maybe she hadn't really meant it, and he was crazy, but if she wanted to, it would be hard to get the idea out of her, unless she was drinking wine or was quite comfortable sharing the idea without even thinking about the Brit's reaction.

“What are you staring at?” Y/n confronted him.

“Nothing.” He replies quickly. “Let's go and buy your apron”

(...)

The sound of keys opening at two in the morning was almost violent, given the silence of the entrance to the house. The floor of the room was cold, but the couple's bodies were warmed by the coats worn over their last-minute costumes inspired by the series they were watching together. The man opened the door for his girlfriend, who was still on edge from the party, while the actor had only had non-alcoholic drinks because he was going to drive. Y/n took off her shoes, held them with her hand and headed for the beginning of the staircase with its light wooden handrail.

“Come on, love.” The girl caught the eye of the brunette, who was wearing a dark cap and a white shirt with fake blood on it.

“I'm coming.” He says, locking the door behind him. “I'm just going to get something from the kitchen. Wait for me in the bedroom.” The Brit says.

“Take this roll to the kitchen for me and wash it. It's got red dye on it, but I think if I leave it to soak it'll come off tomorrow morning.” Y/n holds out a wooden spool that she used to make up her costume, hands it to her boyfriend who nods in agreement, then goes into the kitchen.

The lights are turned on by Alexa, and then the man prepares a mixture of soap and warm water to leave the roll resting. Scrubbing his hands in the running water in the kitchen, he wipes them against his dark-wash jeans, walking to the opposite side of the sink and fixing the worktop overlooking his backyard swimming pool, also decorated with ghost-shaped lights and a few buoys floating in his pool. Reaching out to open a drawer, he pulls out a white bag from the same costume shop he had gone to with his girlfriend. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the mask he had seen on his girlfriend's cell phone, wondering again if it was a good idea.

The brunette tried to think of possible ideas as to why she was so attracted to the idea of not seeing his face. He didn't understand what her intention was, or even why she had never mentioned anything so different from her sexual routine.

Y/n was in the bathroom washing her face after removing her make-up with make-up remover. The girl was looking at herself in the mirror, observing her body and having a brief idealization of her boyfriend behind her, holding her waist tightly, making her feel his hardness against her perky ass. Her eyes closed briefly, allowing that fantasy to develop, and once again that mask was there.

“Fuck, Y/n. What the fuck?” The girl scolds herself, nodding and adjusting the strap of her black bra.

The girl loosens her hair into a ponytail, running her hand through the strands to get rid of the elastic mark. Taking a deep breath to herself, she made her way to the bathroom door, feeling the cold golden knob between her palms, opening it slowly and turning her back to the bed, trying not to make a sound, as she didn't know if her boyfriend would go straight to sleep due to his apparent desperation to get home soon.

Her eyes widen, allowing her lungs to lose air in a startled cry as she sees the image of the actor lying on the bed, his forearm resting against the bedspread and his muscular abdomen exposed while his waist is hugged by black sweatpants and the black and white mask of the killer character, Ghost face. The girl didn't say a word, still processing whether she was imagining too much or whether her boyfriend really was psychic. The room was dimly lit, with only a few candles to complement the mysterious, warm air.

A smile broke out on the younger woman's pink lips, still enraptured by the image of her boyfriend in bed. It was a mischievous smile, but at the same time he seemed surprised. The image of the Brit gets up from the bed, without saying a word, projecting his body forward and tapping the bed three times, like a silent request for her to obey him. The girl nodded in agreement, moving towards the masked man and sitting down in front of him, with her eyes fixed on his image. Holland wasn't quite sure what to do, or even what to say, but the one thing he did know was how to turn his girlfriend on.

In a gentle movement, one of his hands finds the cheek of the girl, who is still watching him curiously and submissive to his actions, allowing his thumb to caress it. Y/n tilts her head to the side, allowing herself to be touched gently. In a slight movement, the same hand that had been caressing her was now lightly squeezing her neck with force at the ends so that her breathing could be controlled. With the weight of the actor's body closer to his girlfriend, the girl stretched out on the bed and lay down. Thomas placed himself on top of her, on top of her legs so that she couldn't escape his movements. There was absolutely no noise, and perhaps that's what made the room warmer than usual, because it wasn't known whether he was enjoying or disapproving of her actions, and not even if she was allowed to speak.

“Spying on other people's cell phones is ugly, masked man.” Y/n says, having her covered breasts groped as a gentle caress against the bulge factory.

“And so is talking without permission.” Holland says.

Y/n smiles to herself, nodding and closing her eyes as soon as she feels the strap of her bra slide down her shoulder.

“Open your eyes.” The man orders."I know you can't see me, but I want your eyes open.” His voice sounded thicker than usual, but his accent was still strong.

The brunette pulls her up by placing one of his hands on her back, holding the weight of her exposed body and reaching into the back of her bra, removing it with a single “click”. Her breasts were exposed like a work of art, and her clitoris seemed to be swollen more than usual from the excitement that was coursing through her body like lightning. Unable to respond, the black bra is thrown across the room. Holland feels the factory of his sweatshirt getting tighter and tighter because his cock is already begging to be put inside his girlfriend.

“What were you thinking when you watched the videos, Y/n?” The voice caught her attention. “When you thought about the idea of not being able to see me?”

Y/n opened her mouth, wondering if the words she was about to say were really hers.

“I don't really know.” The girl admits, watching the older man's fingers trace a line down to the edge of her panties. The way it was touched was so careful that it even felt like a feather landing on her belly. Her hips rose, as if asking to be touched. “I couldn't see your face. Your hungry eyes when I use something you like, and especially your expression when you come. It's like you're selfish enough to let me taste it, but not see it all.”

Holland's fingers come into contact with her sensitive, throbbing spot. He didn't need to dip his fingers into his mouth to lubricate her, as her body was already doing that for itself. Her clitoris is stimulated by the actor's middle finger, which is then joined by his ring finger so that it can take up more of her hard-on. Holland had one of his hands resting on the side of the girl's head, who tilted her head to the side, getting a 4k view of his veiny arm. Her chest rose rapidly each time his movements seemed to connect with the speed of her heart, as they became strong and hurried.

“Why are you moaning quietly, hm?” The brunette asked, biting his lip behind his mask, trying to put all his sexual desire into satisfying his partner.

“Because you haven't given me a reason to moan loudly.” Y/n challenges him, receiving the same two fingers in her wet pussy.

His fingers curved in a movement as if he were calling for an orgasm to hit his girlfriend. The girl held on tightly to his wrist, letting out the pornographic sounds she had been holding in for ages, and the neighbors couldn't complain. The actor moaned quietly as he listened to his girlfriend, still wanting to get out of those clothes and put her on her back, so that he could feel her getting tighter and tighter around him. Y/n tried to move one of her arms so that it could find her breast in order to be stimulated, but a strong hand held her down, preventing her from pleasuring it.

She grunts in frustration, attracting the attention of the masked man, who immediately increases his movements, making her squeeze the pillows.

“Yes, my love. Come for me,” he ordered, and she complied.

He was majestic, brutal and thirsty.

Her fingers were squeezed by the force of her wet walls, while the man moaned to himself in approval of her attitude.

“Fuck, Y/n. You're so good at what you do, aren't you?”

Y/n agrees in a sly moan, catching her breath. The girl lifted her posture towards her boyfriend, who was now wearing only a pair of boxer shorts to show how long and thick he was. Y/n frowned, holding back her desire to attack him right there without permission. The brunette brought his cum-soaked hand up to his girlfriend's lips, which opened, sucking in the warm, sweet liquid.

“Good girl. Now get down on your knees. I want you to take care of me, darling.”

[lowkeyremi]

RIGHT THERE gojo x fem!reader

In which you switch over to a new spa and gojo is your masseur

content: gojo is flirty (duh), slightly suggestive, reader gets pampered, pet names like darling and doll, lmk if i missed any! (tbh all of them have skilled looking hands but I specifically chose gojo because of all those hand motions he makes)

Nervousness has overcome your body, which is ironic because you're sitting in this lobby with hopes of relaxing your muscles and nerves for the next hour and a half.

The ceilings are high and a perfect shade of white, while the rest of the interior walls are a baby blue color. The floors are made up of speckled marble that pairs right with the coziness of this little place.

It was time to say goodbye to your old massage therapist because she was raising her prices, which you didn't mind much, it was the fact that she was becoming more lazy with your massages that made your money not worth it.

You'd done your research looking at about twenty different places, and the one that had stuck out to you was this tiny little place. Over the phone you'd spoken with a woman named Shoko who handled all the front desk things and booked the appointments.

She booked your first appointment with Gojo Satoru. 'I recommend him for most first timers. He just has a way with relaxing people and getting them to open up.'

If someone can get to know people that easily it must mean they have some ulterior motives right? When your muscles are being loosened your brain starts to numb and it causes you to just spill your thoughts to your masseuse- or in this case masseur. Those words that leave your lips never leave the room though, which brought comfort in the past, but you have no idea how this man works.

As you're sitting there you mentally list everything that needed to be done coming here. You bathed, obviously, shaved, usually you were comfortable enough to strip down to your underwear, you've hydrated yourself, and ate something light to prevent throwing up or an upset stomach.

You're here for a deep-tissue massage. You work from home, but most of the time you're sitting at your desk all day which isn't good for your back. Working out seemed to help most of the time, but still, workouts couldn't fix all the soreness in your body.

At this point you haven't been in for a massage in two months when you decided to stop being a regular at your past favorite place and your muscles were screaming for some much needed attention.

Your breath hitches when you hear the heels of shoes clicking from behind the door that leads back to the rooms where massages are held. The door swings open and you just about stop breathing when you see him. Those pictures on his profile do him no justice to his natural beauty.

White strands of hair frame his face, pretty white lashes blink a few times, and big curious blue eyes look around until they meet yours.

Immediately a smile quirks up on his face, and it has to be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You watch in silence as he walks up to you holding out a hand. His fingers are super long and slender, beautifully manicured, each nail was equally filed and healthy.

"You must be our newbie I was hearin' a lot about. Welcome to Jujutsu Spa and Body Retreat! As you probably know, I'm Satoru Gojo 'n I'll be working your body today." That sounded so wrong in so many ways but hey, he's hot as fuck and you aren't going to arugue.

"God, Gojo can you please come up with a less sensual way to say you'll be massaging our customers? That's so inappropriate." Shoko mumbles from the front desk like this isn't the first time she's had to tell him this.

"Well, Ms. [name] seems to like it by the way she's smiling." You hadn't even noticed you were smiling so when he mentions it you hide your pretty smile away and replace it with a monotone look. He's still holding his hand out for you and you take it. With no effort at all he pulls you up from your seat and lets your arm go so he can lead you to the room you'll be in.

"Um. So I hear you're pretty outgoing." He giggles at your attempt to make small talk but responds anyway, "You heard right, darling! If Shoko booked you with Suguru he might'a scared you away and Nanami doesn't like to talk much so you probably would have been pretty tense the whole time which isn't our goal." The nickname shouldn't affect you as much as it does but the way he says it just produces butterflies in your tummy.

"What if I like silence?" Silence is nice at times and you know that, but the urge to gain a reaction from him was too tempting. Would he be upset that you were implying you wanted someone else, even if only pretend?

"Well, you definitely do not have the right guy then!" He's immune to getting his feelings hurt it seems. As your mind is wondering off he's telling you important information that you should be listening to, so this process is as smooth as possible.

"-got it?" He asks with a big bright smile. You sure as hell do not "got it" and as embarrassing as it is, you bat your lashes, "one more time please? I was a little distracted."

The metal doorknob is in his hand and he pushes the smooth wooden door open. He shakes his head, "Oh darling, how will we get anything done if you can't pay attention? I know I'm cute but you gotta stay focused Doll."

This time as he gives his whole introduction and instructions you listen well, he allows you to sit on the massage table and ask questions before he gets started.

The nervousness that left for a partial amount of time was finally catching up to you. Thinking about it hard enough you realized you'd basically be naked, in front of a really hot guy, who was going to give you a massage.

You try to stare off in the distance and pretend you don't notice the way blue eyes stare you down like a predator staring down its prey. Slowly but surely you peel off your shirt and Gojo seems to notice your sudden shyness.

"Only strip to your level of comfort, Doll." Not trusting your words to be anything good you just nod to let him know that you've heard him. With haste he turns around to prepare everything for your session.

He prepares steamed towels, dry towels, melted coconut oil, essential oils and more. Taking his advice you strip down to your underwear and lay face down on the table.

"Starting with your backside? Good choice!" You mutter an "mhm." Anticipation is making you nervous because you aren't sure how you'll react to those big hands roaming your body.

"Alright, I'm going to begin, tell me if anything hurts, if it's too much, or too little, alright?" His voice is sultry and smooth, coaxing you out of your shell of nervousness.

"Okay." You barely whisper. The sound of knuckles cracking scrambles your brain. Oh shit, he's actually about to put those big pretty hands on you. Hopefully you don't make any embarrassing noises that he'll tease you about later.

"Okay, I'm going to narrate when necessary so there's no surprises." You give him another curt nod.

His voice is so dreamy that it instantly has you relaxing which pleases him. Gojo is very, very good at what he does.

"I'm going to start by applying a little bit of oil to your back so I can warm up the muscles and prep them for the deep tissue massage." He says slowly as he pours a little bit of coconut oil on your back. He makes sure to apply light pressure while kneading the muscles in your lower back. Goosebumps form with how close he is to your butt, but it's covered by a steamed towel.

You can really feel the way his fingers dig in to release some of the tension in your back muscles. Honestly, you feel a little bit tender but it's nothing you can't handle.

Gojo eyes your side boob, licking his lips unintentionally. Which he knows is highly unprofessional but your eyes are closed so you can't even see what he's doing anyway.

The masseur isn't really sure what he's feeling deep in his chest but out of all the people he's massaged none have made him feel whatever you're making him feel.

Once he's finished warming your lower back muscles, he starts to process over on your neck and shoulders, making sure apply the same amount of light pressure.

"What do you do to make your muscles all tight like this?" His voice is quiet as to not disturb the mind-space you might be experiencing from the pleasure.

"I um- I.." Your brain is already going dumb and you feel a little sleepy but you pull yourself together long enough to respond, "I work from home, in my office. So, I'm sitting down a lot."

"Ah, that makes a lot of sense. We tend to get a lot of customers who sit a lot in their work." He reaches a particularly sore spot in your neck which causes a whimper to form in your throat.

Gojo shamelessly feels himself hardening slightly in his pants. What are you doing to him?

"Okay, Doll. I'm going to start really working those muscles. I'm sure you'll feel some discomfort but it's all going to be worth it when we break down that tension, 'kay?" He can tell that you're starting to become nervous again so he encourages you to take a few deep breaths. He does them too, he can't be caught with a slight boner, 100% unprofessional.

"I'm ready." You squeak out with zero confidence in your voice. The rational part of your brain tells you that you should have just nodded instead of trying to speak and embarrass yourself. It seems Gojo doesn't mind though.

He goes in kneading deeply into the small of your back. His own brain starts to malfunction when you moan out at how well he was breaking the tension.

Anyone on the opposite side of the door would think you two were doing something inappropriate. "Feel good?" He asks, and you take note of how his voice sounds slightly broken like you'd done something to make him that way. Which technically you did, but you didn't know that.

"Mhm, sooooo gooddddd." Gojo has to bite his lip to keep from moaning out loud. You're so pretty and he would give anything to have you right on this table. He has enough sense to understand that for once in his life he probably won't get what he wants.

As you're on your way out Gojo hands you a little paper and a pen. "This is just the form asking for a review on my service. It'll help Shoko know if you'll be with me again or someone else." You nod. Your body is much more relaxed than it was when you arrived.

"Oh- and here's my number too." Why is he giving you his number? Instead of asking him aloud you take the little card he hands you and shove it in your pocket.

He guides you back to the waiting area where you fill out the form...

A few minutes later you're handing the paper to Shoko and she gives you a polite smile.

"Will we be seeing you again?"

"Yes, I think I'll be back in a few weeks." You adjust your purse. A small giggle leaves her lips along with a shake of her head.

"I'll let Gojo know.. that is if you enjoyed his service." The brunette holds the piece of paper up to her face so she can read it.

"Alrighty! We look forward to having you again." She waves you goodbye and you do the same.

"Hey, stupid." Shoko greets Gojo waving the paper you had in your hand a few hours ago. Both were on lunch break. Gojo looks up from his phone to see what Shoko could possibly want.

"Yeah?"

"[name] will be seeing you again sometime in a few weeks." She says handing him the paper so he could see the little message you left on the paper.

'You made me feel so at ease. See you soon Gojo :)'

The little note read. His lips curl up into a satisfied smirk, "Heh. What can I say? I'm good at what I do."

note: this took way too long lololol. I wanted to hurry up and finish bc I might start a series (and finish it unlike the little aizawa series I started lmao...) so yeah! hope you guys like it :)

[the-kr8tor]

(Un)Lucky

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Blackcat! GN Reader / Spider-Punk x Blackcat! GN Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Tags: FBW, smut Implied, TW blood, TW violence, TW death, cursing, hurt/comfort. No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader. Idiots in love.

Synopsis: Unlucky in life, unlucky in love. You question your situationship with Spider-Punk.

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

Black silhouetted shadows dance around the moon lit mansion, your feet expertly landing on the marbled floors without a sound. Slinking around the fancy beige colored furniture, your focus is on one thing – The safe hidden behind a large modern painting, how very cliché you thought. Swiftly dodging security cameras by climbing up the ceiling using your manicured claws, you finally drop down next to a large pair of concrete doors. You raise your brow at how atrocious it looks compared to the colorful modern paintings you've seen around the mansion.

"God, I hate brutalist architecture" you whispered to no one. 

Bringing out your index finger, you admire your sharp claws for a second before bending down to pick the door's lock. You feel the soft leather of your suit expand at your movement. But before you could pick the lock, you felt a presence behind you. Stopping for a brief moment to slowly grab one of your throwing knives, unclipping it from its holster - you fling it at the presence behind you.

The figure hanging upside down from the ceiling catches the knife's handle gracefully before it could stab him in the face. He lets it fall to the ground, impaling the oak table below.

"Woah, Don't mind me just enjoying the view" the spikes on top of his mask shine in the moonlight, bathing his suit in a soft blue light. 

"Of course it's you, hello to you too, beanpole" You scoff at his appearance, Pretending to be annoyed. 

Spider-punk drops from his web, softly landing on his feet. "I'm offended, after our last encounter I thought we're past the mean nicknames" He detaches the knife embedded into the table and plays with it.

"Oh so that's why you're here, you missed me, web-slinger" your voice saccharin smooth as you confidently stride towards him, your hand reaching out to him, non-verbally asking for your knife back.

"In your dreams, love. The owner hired me to watch over his place, you've been hitting a lot of his friends' places, he figured he's next" he says with a scoff.

Instead of the knife, Hobie puts his hand on your waiting one, You stare at your joined hands, and raise your eyebrows questioningly. Your eyes soften as the whites of his mask widen at his realization. 

"I beg to differ, you dork" you smirk at him. 

He lets go of your hand, and puts the knife on your palm. Hobie's thankful you can't see his face, albeit he still stares at you directly, challenging you to have a go at him like you usually do, you can definitely do better than call him a dork. But you don't for some odd reason.

Putting the knife back in its place you turn your back at him, you continue working at the lock. You bend down again.

"Fuck'n hell, love" he unashamedly groans at the sight of you.

Fully aware of his eyes on your ass. It doesn't bother you, quite the opposite actually, you liked the attention he's giving you, and dare you even say you like the guy. But the words 'I don't like labels' echoes in your mind. You don't like it either, you liked just having fun with him, but the memories of your last encounter with the man behind you keeps playing in your mind. 

The way he kissed and touched you that night, it felt different, a good difference, you think. The entire time It felt like there was an underlying emotion other than lust prevailing that fateful night. You have no idea how to make sense of your situation, or how to feel about him. So you do what you always do, shelf it in the back of your mind, keep piling similar memories on top of it, until one day it bursts out of you like Vesuvius. Hopefully no one's there with you to witness it when it finally happens.

"Oi, cat got your tongue?" His voice snaps you back to reality. You can't see his face with your back turned but you imagined him with a smirk under his mask, the same way you imagined what he would look like. You've only seen the bottom half of his face, the same way he's only seen your face clad in your domino mask. 

"I'm busy" you bite back as you feel for the mechanism to finally unlock with a click. 

"Right, no cat puns when working" he says.

You push the heavy doors, satisfaction on your face. You look over your shoulder to look at him. 

"If you're gonna web me and sell me out to your boss just do it already" you pointedly tell him.

"As much as I'm into the first part, it's a no to the last bit" His comment gets ignored. 

You head inside the office, with Hobie not far behind. You glare at the expansive yet unnecessary room. 

The room's marble flooring is covered in various animal furs, the walls lined with tacky paintings of the owner. A few of the paintings show the greedy man hunting wild animals, you glare at the painting as if your eyes would suddenly cause it to combust into flames. 

"With all the money in the world, he couldn't hire an interior designer?" Hobie grimaces at the various décor around the room. "No cameras" he pointed out.

"Probably to cover his shady dealings with Roxxon" you tell him.

"Tsk, nasty, nasty old man." Hobie finally looks at you taking down the huge painting to reveal the large metal safe. 

He sighs annoyed at your attitude. "Y'know me, cat, I would never actually help people this rich, hell I'd even help you if you asked" 

"Why'd you take the job then?" You ask as you try to crack the safe's code.

Hobie leans against the doorway watching you. "Unfortunately we live in a capitalist society, and I need money to eat. He didn't ask me to catch you anyway, just watch the place. No matter how much I want to burn down this bloody eyesore" And I was hoping to see you again. He also wanted to add.

You didn't bother to reply, you hum at his explanation. You hear the satisfying click of the safe's lock finally unlocking. Why was it so easy?

"What's up with the stick up y –" He cuts himself off.

His spidey-sense kicks in. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion for Hobie, a wave of red hot fear floods his entire body as he sees you slowly open the safe. His mind seems to be stuck in the moment, thankfully his body moves with muscle memory, he swiftly moves away from the doorway, one hand reaches out to web you towards him, his other hand reaches behind him, he webs the wall to pull you both out the room. 

The subsequent explosion can be heard, smoke and ashes fill his vision. The once heavily decorated room now looks like ground zero. 

Hobie's ears are ringing, but he doesn't care, he needs to find you. His eyes pull towards the room where they were both in. The large concrete doors closed, their edges burned from the explosion. The force from the explosion must've closed it.

The heavy doors accidentally saved them, he didn't have time to think how it happened, he just needed to find you, he needed to know that you were okay.

He screams your alias with a gutteral screech. Hobie stands up, his stance wavers but he continues on. He winces when some of his blood gets into his eye, realizing his mask now torned up from the side, only hiding half of his face. His eyes roam around the damaged mansion looking for your figure, his eyes stop once again to the concrete doors. 

His heart sinks at his realization.

"No, no, no!" He limps towards the large doors.

He didn't notice if his web actually reached you in time to pull you both out. 

He pulled and pushed at the comically large doors. It doesn't move.

Hobie's mind plays tricks on him, he keeps seeing in his mind's eye - your charred body, skin turned to ash, eyes burned into your sockets, your jaws permanently set in a scream. His own mind mocks him. Hobie ignores the vision. He kicks and screams for the doors to magically open.

He has no idea how long it has been since the explosion, with his ears still ringing, smoke and dust clinging around the room. His hope dwindles. 

Hobie falls to his knees, eyes unblinking and wide, crimson seeps from the cut on his head. He ignores it and just stares blankly at the gray doors.

It was his fault.

He can't believe he left you, he was too slow. Of all the people in the world why you. Memories of you keep playing in his mind, trying to push away the image of your death.

In his stupor he doesn't notice a shadow enveloping him, arms finding its way to his shoulder hugging his twitching form. For a second he thought you were haunting him.

He finally gets a grip on reality and looks behind his shoulder.

Your domino mask now clinging to one side, mirroring his own damaged mask. Blood seeps from the side of your cheek. Your eyes are dull but open. 

Your eyes are open.

He turns around lightning fast, Hobie clings to you like velcro. His shoulders sag from the relief, as if he can finally breathe again. You sigh at the contact, and let out a small laugh. 

"Oi, what's so funny" he pulls away from you slightly, he looks at your head to assess the damage. 

"I'm not brain damaged," you smile at his concern, you grab his face, cradling it. "I'm fine, we're both fine, you saved me" you look at each other, affection prominent in every crevice of your bodies.

You both now have a clear view of each other's faces. 

"You look better than I imagined," he softly says. 

You giggle at his comment "And you look so much cooler than I thought, it's unfair, I thought I was the cool one" 

"I was this cool the whole time" he teases. 

You grab his neck to carefully put your foreheads together. To calm the lingering tension from it, you rub circles on his skin, In turn Hobie cranes his neck to look at your lips asking for permission. You nod and let him ground you both back to reality with his kiss. 

Hobie reluctantly pulls away "Let's go before they find us, yeah?" He helps you stand up. "You up for a swing 'round the city?"

You give him your signature smirks "your place or mine?" 

"Yours" he grabs your waist. "There's a first time for everything right?"

"Oh you're gonna love my cats" You smile wildly, you don't know if your face hurts from the cut on your cheek or from smiling too much. 

He memorizes the look on your face as if, all of this was just a dream, and he'll forget what you looked like once he wakes up. He grabs you by the waist, and swings out of the wreckage. Just in time before sirens could get closer to the mansion.

As you swing away towards your home, you think about where your relationship currently lies. There might not be a label for your relationship yet, or what this all means in the future. But at least now you know how he truly feels, how you feel.

As for the bastard who tried to blow you both up, revenge can wait, for she is patient.

You'll think about everything later, but right now you enjoy the moment as you cling to him.

A/n: Hope you enjoyed reading it! Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♥️

[inknopewetrust]

𝐔𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐝 [𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮]

summary: grief puts those in its grasp in precarious positions: those of loyalty, and those of spite and those with love, well, they flounder amongst the hurt. [WC: 1.8k]

pairing: stewy hosseini x fem!roy!reader

warnings: angst, exes to lovers (potentially!), language, vignette on grief and love lost.

quick links: masterlist [a/n: possibly part I of a small vignette series of stewy and fem!roy reader. thoughts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!)

Entombed in marble, the note reverberated throughout the church in poetry. 

The scaffolding of grief had been built. Sitting in rows for as far as the eye could see, a family rested scorched amidst the sorrow. 

You felt like a stranger in the room. 

The suddenness of pain revels in the commonality it inflicts. A sweeping, precipitous moment of immense breadth swallowing the weak for what they are: people. 

And the people inside that room—ornately defined by cultures and individuals who gave so much to a city where one human can overtake and limit their worth— were flooded by an insurmountable loss that could only be explained by the static of a draining phone and the choppy voice of your sister’s estranged husband. 

Those two words, simple, rolling off his tongue with difficulty and a wish that the call would drop and everything would go back to the way it was before he walked away. 

“He’s gone.” 

The tone in his voice had remained buried in the darkest parts of your mind. You felt as though you could hear it clearly as the small conversations of visitation began to settle and you couldn’t bear to look at the center of the alter. 

The sudden ringing in your ears suffused every sense you were able to muster in that moment. 

But your ears rung. Manicured hands began to shake and tempted you to stand and run away because grief worked in silly circles. The disbelief that something could occur so quickly, the naivety of realizing that the world was suddenly different than the one that existed before, and the pain of faltering to the idea that even if he was Satan, he was still your father and grief felt indebted to it. 

It was lonely, grief. 

Even while hundreds of people spoke of their condolences, loneliness of death weaved itself into your bones and pulled you underneath the surface where bubbles of hope had long ceased. Everyone from Gerri to Colin to Frank to Karl, each face with the same look staring into your eyes with a pity you asked not for but knew belonged in your heart all the same meant little when the world felt tipped on its axis. 

And for the cruelty of the man, it was difficult to understand.

Kendall was holding his life together by a thin and shallow thread and remained so as the priest wallowed on about the supposed amazing man Logan Roy was. 

But even with an estranged family, Kendall was never as lonely as he appeared to be. He wasn’t like you. You, left alone to fiddle with your hands as Shiv sat without Tom and Roman sat beside Conner and Willa. The paper between your fingers became crinkled—the only partner you had in a moment like this. 

And how you wished it wasn’t the case. You wished you weren’t some lonely pretender who sat sorrowful at a wretched man’s funeral but there you were... strangely obliterated by the idea that life can turn in an instant and the Aeneas of an institution can vanish without so much as a goodbye.

It felt comical and tragic at the same time—the poets of civilizations past would be aching to tell a story such as that. 

And Kendall had reiterated such on that fateful day on the yacht because those who would write biographies were watching. Those who would ultimately shake their heads and scoff at the compounding confusion of losing a belligerent soul and making it appear as though a Saint had passed. 

Whatever was to be done in the moments following the death of the patriarch, history would be watching. As much as you hated the idea of history looming over the raincloud high above you, he was right. The institution built by Logan Roy did not need to be littered with the historical fact of the middle, forgotten child losing their sanity at his funeral due to loneliness that had, in truth, nothing to do with Logan dying but the unity death brought with it. 

However, you could argue, Logan was the crux of that loneliness. He had fostered it, just as well as your mother had when she left the four of you to fend for yourself against the vultures. Now Conner, Kendall, Roman, and Shiv all bask in that same attitude as if was normal to be a carbon copy of the most antithetical person to ever exist. 

You hated that being in the room; sharing the same last name, and sitting beside them meant you were likely no different. 

And that is why you could never have what the world granted everyone else: happiness. 

Loneliness was the path of salvation for those with the last name of Roy. Happiness, or love, whichever one truly came from the actions that preceded it had become foreign for decades of the power hungry struggle of men and women before you. 

It radiated throughout the room like Godzilla’s goddamn rays when the priest had ushered his final prayers and you couldn’t even put your hands together and bow. Beside Kendall, Shiv had extended her palm to rest on top of his as they prayed like the good servants of God they were, and you wished someone had sat beside you and done the same even for split second. Conner had Willa, Shiv still had Tom in the small capacity that she did, and Roman was so beside himself with romance that even he couldn’t admit that he needed someone too. 

How you ached for a hand to grace yours; how you yearned for someone to place an enduring kiss on your temple and say that they loved you even if you couldn’t believe the truth behind it. 

So the loneliness of that vacancy simmers. 

The cynical heart hears the organs begin to play and your siblings rose from their seats as it was time to pretend that you enjoyed the service and you wanted the sympathy of others as they shook your hand and gave you hugs outside of the church. But you didn’t want those hugs. You didn’t want those hands. 

You wanted one hug. You wanted one pair of hands. You wanted one sympathetic moment and one sympathetic kiss and pretend, for one simple moment, that nothing had changed. 

Dad wasn’t dead. Waystar wasn’t floundering in a shallow grave and the maggots of sheep herding to its demise wasn’t going to come next. Sorrow didn’t exist. You weren’t alone—hadn’t been alone. 

Across the aisle, donning a black overcoat and three-piece-suit, the simple moment waited. There was little that could have been done feeling maimed by actions unseen but it had been five months of radio silence between you both. One car ride home and the whole thing imploded like a fucking rocket ship.  

The congregation stood in solemn stature as the row of family filed out first. Kendall, followed by his small brood, then you. 

You took one last look at the coffin that held the once formidable Logan Roy. 

Flowers resting on the top, the flag of Scotland draped over it. 

For a man so powerful, the weakness of death was hard to ignore. Wilting away in a box for the rest of eternity while the world continued to spin without him. And yet, there in that room and within your own heart and mind, Logan Roy was twisting a footprint of pain deeper than it had before. 

Dad died without anyone truly loving him.

You did not want to die like your dad. 

Stewy Hosseini was a lifeline. He was a chameleon of couture culture and finessed fashion but within the idealized image of an investor, there was a man who cared for the people who couldn’t say the word ‘love’ or ask for help when they needed it. 

Stewy Hosseini was a good man wrapped up in a world that had people one step from going over the ledge but always looked for a solution to solve it. He was a good friend of Kendall even if the stubborn prick never noticed it when it mattered. He was a charming bastard who did lines in public restrooms and put his feet on conference tables during important meetings. 

He was the only one to say what he meant without ever getting burned by it but left you shriveling to ash in the corner. 

Stewy Hosseini was that solitary hope. 

As you looked away from your father's casket, you were frightened by the realization that what was once an outlet for relief had become something to depend on. That five months of absent feelings created a void of indescribable pain that found an outlet in your father’s demise. 

You weren’t lonely, no. You were filled with a love that shouldn’t exist with someone who shouldn’t have looked at you the way he did and the yearning for comfort only exacerbated the want. 

Maybe he should have taken the deal on Paxos. Maybe he should have said yes, that the package that was tied with a perfect little string matched the black little box that sat in the drawer beside the bed but he didn't.

As you turned toward the aisle to follow the precession, you couldn’t even get your eyes to cast forward because he was right there. Across the way and a row down beside Sandy in his wheelchair and Sandi in her Hillary Clinton pantsuit. 

You clutched the program tightly in your hand. Lip trembling, you watched your feet take you away and there was a second in time where you were alone before another hand inched its way into your palm and around your hand. 

Some people would never know the absence of love. 

They would be grown into it with a kind mother and good family that loved her because they were an innocent child who was not afraid of being the hand that met a lonesome one in the middle of a grand church.

Shiv’s hand crept into yours as the memories of Ewan’s harshness, Kendall’s stoniness, and her fierceness waddled to the background.

Her eyes met yours and for a minute of the day, you felt seen. 

And down the aisle, Stewy wished it was his hand comforting your own. 

One where he could trace a finger over yours and feel the ring that was supposed to sit there. He could hear the Phantom in that cathedral now:

'You've been asking me for three fuckin' years son so yeah, I'll even throw in my goddamn blessing if that makes you so fucking happy.'

Maybe he should have said yes and everything would be different.

But a Roy would always swallow their pride in moments of need and Stewy Hosseini would always chase the money. There were moments before: a bliss, a fight, a phone call. And then there were moments after: a funeral, a short escape, and a board meeting. But the seconds that lingered in between those events were always shroud in the belief in the former:

A Roy was a Roy, and a Roy never floundered until it was too late.

comments, thoughts, and reblogs are always appreciated. thank you for taking the time to read my lil 'ol fic.

Tagged: @mini-ranger @prettybirdi