#so i'm kinda hesitant to actually finish it? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blueberrybeomgyu · 1 month ago

Text

୨⎯ "attention" ⎯୧ (kdh)

+*:🌟:*﹤descrip. : leehan just wants ur eyes on him!! :(

+*:🩷:*﹤content : sub!leehan, dom!reader, edging, riding (who's surprised), surely this is exhibitionism and voyeurism???

+*:🧃:*﹤warnings : 18+ mdni! :T (i'm watching you 🫵), female anat 4 reader, piv sex, both characters are quite flawed imo but everything is consensual 🫶, leehan confesses to reader like ten times but it's mostly in his head, leehan’s kinda weird in the mall sorry idk how men flirt idk how anyone flirts, leehan has a scent kink in my book idk how that happened but it did

+*:❤️:*﹤word count : 4.7k phew it's a long one buckle up

+*:🍏:*﹤a/n : i tried my best to write the first paragraph as plot but it was so hard so I wrote it in drabble format but the rest is in story format!! sawry bout that </3 selfedging!leehan anon if you read this i hope u like it <33

+*:🌟:*﹤masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

BF!Leehan who wants your eyes on him, but you've been so focused on work, leaving early and coming home late. He knows it's important, that you have to finish your project by the deadline, but he can't help but feel a little selfish about your time when you've rarely spoken to him in the past two weeks. He's barely even seen you, always falling asleep despite trying to stay up when you come home, and he's getting antsy missing your company.

You're sliding out of bed after only being home for five hours. He’d startled awake when you came in, but you were too tired to talk, too tired to change before collapsing on the bed.

He’d changed you himself, gently wiping your makeup off and massaging lotion into your skin, then held you close to him as you caught up on much-needed rest. He wakes up when he feels your body heat leave his side, and groans as he watches with foggy eyes as you disappear into the bathroom.

“Don’t go to work. Stay here with me,” he begs sweetly when you come back out. You consider it, he can see it on your face, but you ultimately shake your head.

“I can’t, baby. Gotta get this project done, then I’ll be all yours, m’kay?” He pouts, but it doesn’t last long because you kiss it away and ruffle his already messed up hair. Within minutes, you’re out the door.

Leehan sulks in bed for a little longer, wishing he could make you pay attention to him. It feels like the only time you’re actually looking at him, thinking about him, is when the two of you are intimate with each other. It’s hard to find time in two busy schedules, but during those rare moments, it’s just you and him; the world around the two of you doesn’t exist anymore.

He’s so warm and safe in bed and the only thing that would make it better is if you were here with him, tangled up in the sheets and wasting the day away. He thinks about your soft skin and how sweet it smells, how warm your touch is when he’s lucky enough to be blessed with it, blessed by your gentle eyes and kind words when they’re focused only on him and spoken just for him to hear.

His hand is traveling under his waistband without hesitation, and thoughts of you clutter his mind as he wraps his palm around his length. He tries to mimic the way you squeeze his base and flick your thumb over his slit, tries to imagine it’s your pretty hands touching him this way. It's not long before stars are dancing behind his eyelids and he’s grunting out into the silent room.

You never want him to cum the first time around, and almost always pull away when he’s on the edge. He’s so used to the denial, to the feeling of his orgasm slipping out of his grasp that it just feels natural when he pulls his hand away from his cock. He sucks in a breath at the way it twitches and sees you, hears you in his imagination, saying, “Good boy, aren’t you so well-trained?”

He chews on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot need coursing through his veins, and an idea forms in his head. He knows he shouldn’t, but it should be fine, right? Just a voice message showing you how much he misses you. You wouldn’t get upset with him for that, surely.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens you guys’ text messages. He spends another four seconds convincing himself this is a good idea. Then he’s grabbing his cock again, pulling all the tricks to put him on the verge of tipping over. When he feels close, he presses the “Record a Message” button beside the text bar.

At first, it’s just shy little moans as he complains about how much he misses you, how much better it would feel if you were here. Then, they turn into desperate, raspy gasps as he pushes himself over the edge. The audio recording sends the second he releases the button, and he can’t unsend it, so he accepts his choices and waits to hear what you have to say.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The answer is absolutely nothing. You don’t respond to or address the audio recording at all, aside from a smirk and a “Did you have fun today?” that you throw his way when you walk through the front door.

He continues doing it, messages ranging from more audio recordings to photos of his stomach painted white, and usually you’ll kiss him, ruffle up his hand, call his “little treats” cute, make more promises to help him out when you’ve met your deadline.

He knows your work is important, but although guilt claws at him for it, Leehan still feels a bit hurt that you didn’t take his complaints to heart, just assumed it was another one of his trivial games.

Leehan can play games, and when you hole yourself up in the bedroom to type away at your laptop, he realizes that he will. He’ll do whatever it takes to get your attention.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You finally have a day off, and have decided you’d like to spend part of it at the mall looking through new arrivals. Leehan’s not big on shopping, so he just follows you around and occasionally gets distracted by fish merch.

You’ve stepped away at least four times to take phone calls from your coworkers, and you guys have only been at the mall for an hour and a half. When lunchtime rolls around, you excuse yourself again to answer a call from your boss, leaving Leehan alone to pick at his food in disinterest.

“Um, hi. Are you busy?” A feminine voice says. The girl has to stand directly in Leehan’s line of sight for him to realize she’s talking to him. When he looks up at her, she smiles shyly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Can I help you?”

“No! Well, yes. I…was just wondering if I could have your phone number. I saw you standing alone earlier…” The girl’s voice fades out as Leehan peeps your approaching figure in the distance, and the gears in his head turn with another (probably bad) idea.

“...alone again here in the food court, so I thought I should take the chance.”

Leehan didn’t hear most of what she said, but he can tell when someone’s interested in him, and he can play along.

He flashes the girl a charming smile, dimples and all, and nods along to whatever she’s rambling about. She’s cute enough, and seems like a nice girl, but Leehan’s real focus is entirely on you as you watch the scene. He watches you as best as he can from his peripheral, but never takes his eyes off the girl in front of him.

“Is that…alright?” She says, looking at Leehan with wide, hopeful eyes. He pretends to consider whatever she asked, and holds a palm out for her to rest her hand in. Her face gets even redder, and he kind of feels bad that he’s using her to get to you.

He’s about to tell her that he’s sorry to disappoint, and that he appreciates it, he really does, but he has a girlfriend. He doesn’t get a chance to say any of that when you come up behind him seemingly out of nowhere and tap him on the shoulder. The girl pulls her hand away from Leehan’s and stands around awkwardly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You ask. Your arms are crossed and your eyes are locked on his, but not with the love and admiration he’s been longing for. His composure falters when he sees your expression, one that says he’s fucked up more than he knows.

“This girl came up to me and…” He trails off and gestures in the girl’s general direction.

“And?” You ask impatiently, but Leehan doesn’t know how he was going to conclude that sentence. This girl came up to me and I pretended to be interested to get a rise out of you? He has a feeling that’s not going to support his case well. You turn away from him and to the girl behind him, causing him to turn around as well.

“You’ll have to excuse my idiot boyfriend. I’m sorry he wasted your time instead of just telling you he was taken.” The girl nods in understanding and tries to hide her disappointed pout. She accepts your handshake when you offer it and hurries off.

You shoot Leehan another pissed glare, then dump your remaining food in the trash and walk out of the mall. He considers apologizing to the girl as well, but she’s already out of sight, so he trashes his own food and trails after you with a ball of shame sitting in his throat.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

To be honest, you scare Leehan just a little, especially when he knows you’re angry with him but you’re not talking about it. He’d rather you just chew his head off and get it over with, just tell him how much of an inconsiderate dumbass he is. You don’t, so the guilt manifests and manifests until he feels like he might puke it up.

You lock the front door and hang up your coat, and the first thing you say to him in the last twenty minutes is “Sit.”

Leehan parks his ass on the couch immediately, and waits to hear whatever other command you might give him. He expects you to sit next to him, or on the armchair by the couch or even on his lap. He doesn’t expect you to sit right across from him on the coffee table. At least a minute passes full of you just staring at him, and the silence is killing him.

“Baby–”

“Shut up,” you say, and his mouth clamps shut. You stare at him for a few more seconds, poking your inner cheek with your tongue in thought. Then, you shake your head and laugh in disbelief. Leehan watches as you cross your arms over your chest, and tries not to flick his eyes down to the way your boobs are being pushed up. He may be sick with horniness and loneliness, but it’s really not the time.

“Why are you acting like this, Leehan?” It takes Leehan a few seconds and a quirk of your eyebrow to realize you’re actually waiting for an answer, that you want him to speak now.

“What do you mean?” That’s his intelligent response. You scoff and roll your eyes.

“Don’t act dense with me. You were flirting with that girl just so I’d see. I know when you’re acting out for attention, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing this entire week.” Leehan’s embarrassed at being caught so he shakes his head in denial, but it’s nowhere near convincing even to himself.

“No? You didn’t touch yourself and record it for me? Didn’t send me photos of you covered in your own cum? Didn’t flirt with a girl right in my face in a desperate attempt to get my attention?” Leehan’s cheeks burn at the direct confrontation. Hearing his actions out loud brings a fresh wave of shame over him, and he’s so ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

“Show me.”

Leehan’s eyes fly wide open and he lets out a nervous chuckle. “W-what?”

“You wanted my attention so bad. Now you have it,” you say with a bored expression. Your eyes leave a trail of fire wherever they land on his skin. He has your attention, and has to think of a way to keep it.

“Go ahead,” you command with a jerk of your head. Your lips are turned down into a frown, and it’s so condescending, like you don’t even want to be here. Leehan needs you to want to be here, and he’s nothing if not a performer. He lifts his hips and tugs his pants down to his thighs.

You make a noise, something between a hum and a coo, when he pulls his boxers down and his dick springs against his stomach.

“Your little cock is hard, Hannie.” He knows he’s not small, but your words are still humiliating, and still burn the need to impress you across his skin. “Gonna show me how you fucked yourself when you were moaning into your phone?”

Leehan’s hips buck against nothing, causing his member to slap against his stomach again, and his mouth falls open with a groan.

He does as you tell him, wrapping his hand around his cock like he’s been doing every morning for the past week, squeezing his base, flicking his tip, imagining it’s you, wishing it was you, but he doesn’t dare ask. Instead he watches your facial expressions, how your lips curl up into a smirk when he’s close.

“Stop,” you tell him, and he pulls his hand away without question. He would’ve been foolish to not expect the sensation of his orgasm floating farther and farther away from him. He tries to slow his breathing, tries not to lose his mind so early into this session.

“Keep going.”

He continues his previous pace immediately, and his hips tremble when he tries to stop them from bucking up. His tip is a bit more sensitive when he brushes his thumb across it, and it takes less time for him to get close.

He strokes a bit faster, moans a bit louder. He has no idea how long you plan to keep him here, but he still anticipates the relief of falling off the edge.

“Let go.”

Leehan pulls his hand away from his cock and clutches the couch instead while willing his legs to stop shaking. He’s helpless to disobey you, but he groans as his orgasm escapes him a second time.

“Hm…I dunno. Something’s not right.” You tap a manicured nail against your chin in thought. He can never understand how you’re so composed in moments like this, like it’s a normal evening. If you’re turned on, you don’t show it, and it makes Leehan flush with shame. “What do you think, baby boy?”

He huffs out a laugh at the question. How is he supposed to know? But you’re looking at him expectantly, so he scrambles to come up with something. “I mean– Usually I’m, like, in bed, I guess. Thinking about you, imagining you, smelling you…” God, don’t get him started on smelling you.

You hum thoughtfully and lift off of the table. In seconds, you’re hovering over him, flashing him a devious grin. Your hips are so close to straddling his, and you slap his hand away when it reaches up to touch your waist. You hold yourself up by the back cushions with your arms on either side of his head. He’s trapped, and suddenly, everything else in the room is overshadowed by you.

“Is that right? You think about all the dirty things you wanna do to me while getting off to the smell of my perfume?”

Of course you’d know his weak spot. You’re so close to him and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to touch you. Your perfume is invading his senses, and flaming hot desire coils in his abdomen. He squeezes his eyes shut to prevent them from rolling into his skull as his hips twitch into the air.

“Touch yourself, Hannie,” you say sweetly.

He takes a deep breath and grabs his cock again. He’s known to leak like a faucet, especially after meeting you, and his hand is covered in sticky white within the first few seconds of stroking himself.

He knows there’s raspy noises falling from his open mouth, but he can barely hear them over his heart pounding. The way you take over his brain is overwhelming and he can hardly think. Your lips graze his neck, and the skin litters with goosebumps despite the hot air between the two of you.

If he opens his eyes, he’s got a face full of titties, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that despite every cell in his body telling him to look. He wants to be good for you and hold out until you give him permission to stop, but it feels so good that he’s speeding his hand up.

“Ha– Ah, fuck–” Slick, sloppy sounds fill the room as he works himself to the edge for you.

“Let go,” you whisper in his ear. His hand rips away from his cock and grips onto his thigh instead, getting it wet and gross with precum. It takes what feels like an eternity for him to back away from the precipice this time. Fear runs his blood cold when he realizes he almost didn’t last.

He’s always good for you, can edge himself for as long as you'd like. He doesn’t know why he’s sensitive today, especially after spending a week beating it.

You pull your face out of his neck, and he slumps against the couch. You smile at the sight and caress his cheek. He melts into the touch, but you pull away to card through his tangled hair instead. You used the grip on his strands to tilt his head back so that he’s looking up at you.

“I do think you were louder that time. Moaned just like you did in those recordings.” He opens his mouth to say something, but loses his train of thought when you plop down on his lap.

“Fffuck–” he moans, voice all pathetic and high-pitched.

“Stay still,” you warn when his hips buck into yours, and he tries so hard, but even the soft fabric of your skirt is too rough on his sensitive dick. He struggles to keep his eyes open, but he’d rather die than take them off of you, so he blinks through the tears pooling in his waterline. The action causes the tears to trickle down, and the air is cold against his wet cheeks.

You stay like that until his breaths are more even and he’s somewhat calmed down. He lets out a displeased noise when you lift off of him and sit back on the coffee table.

“C’mon, Hannie. I’m not done with you yet. Let me see.” You push his legs apart with your knee. He looks down with you, and the sight makes him burn with embarrassment. He’s leaking so much it’s soaking into the couch, and it’s another sight he has to squeeze his eyes shut to get away from.

“W-what, are you j-just gonna–” he swallows thickly, clears his throat, and tries again. “How long are you gonna make me do this?”

You tilt your head and smile at him like you aren’t melting his brain into goo. “However long it takes for you to learn your lesson.” Leehan whines a little in protest.

“Just wanted you to look at me, missed you so much.”

The look in your eyes softens and you lean forward to place a heartfelt kiss on his lips. “I missed you too, Hannie. So. Much,” you say, cupping his cheeks and pressing more gentle kissing around his face. “It was so hard to focus at work when you kept sending me those treats. But bad boys still have to take their punishments, yeah?” Leehan sighs longingly and nods, resting his head against the back cushions, and reaching for his cock when you instruct him to start over.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

By the fifth denial, he’s a shaking mess, falling apart at the seams and only holding himself together by your command. He’s done for the second you flip your skirt up, slide your panties off, circle your clit right in front of him. You’re so close but so far, and he’s definitely losing his mind.

“Please– N/N, let me…could fuck you so good,” he begs helplessly, deep voice strained and words stringing together. It’s the first time tonight you actually look interested in what’s happening, and he can’t figure out where to look–at your pretty face as you make yourself feel good, at the wetness leaking out of your pulsing heat, at the way your tits shake when you tug at your nipples. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, keeping your pretty noises to yourself. Leehan thinks that’s the cruelest part of this punishment.

His hips are fucking up into his hand in a sloppily, a stark contrast to his usually controlled thrusts. He’s not easy to turn into a mess, but you know him better than he knows himself. You know his limits, know that he won’t cum unless you tell him to, know how badly he needs your forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just fuck me, please?” But you’re not looking at him. Your eyes are focused on his cock drooling all over his legs, at the way it twitches when he’s close. Your hips twitch, and your cunt drools on the table, and his mouth runs dry. He’s too delirious to figure out if your reactions are because of him, if he’s doing good for you.

“Stop, pretty boy.”

His hand trembles as he pulls it away from his dick and flops it against the couch. He gasps harshly, heaves loudly, and more tears stream down his face as his hips chase friction that’s already gone.

His head is leaning against the back cushions and lolled to the side, but he’s still watching you touch yourself. His mouth hangs open from all of his pathetic begging, and there’s a thin trail of saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his t-shirt.

His eyelids are so heavy, but he watches brainlessly as you tease your opening, dip a finger into the heat. It comes back out drenched in creamy white, and he has to dig his nails into the cushion to stop himself from grabbing his dick without permission.

You pull your hands away from your body and straddle him again. He nearly goes cross-eyed when your bare cores touch. It’s so wet, and his entire body shivers with need.

“Aw, Hannie. Look at me. Tell me what you want.”

“Mm, want– wanna taste you, wanna fuck you so bad.” You giggle, and he loses himself somewhere between your sparkly eyes and shiny lips.

“Wanna taste me?” You reaffirm, and he nods dumbly. You straighten his head up and cup his cheeks between your fingers and thumb. You make him watch as you use your free hand to repeat the motions, gathering your wetness on your finger, pushing it through your opening and pulling it out.

You whimper out freely this time, and the sound is so pretty and sinful Leehan wishes he could tattoo it on his brain, wishes he had recorded it so he can hear it again later. Your hand forces his lips to pucker and his mouth to open, and you press your wet fingers onto his tongue.

Leehan’s eyes roll again, and his eyebrows crease as the taste of you, the smell of you invades his senses. You always taste so good, so sweet to him.

His eyes focus on you again, but his vision clouds and his hips buck up against you. You slide against him so deliciously, but it’s over too soon when you slide your fingers out of his mouth and pry your hips away from his.

You wipe your wet fingers on his shirt and remind him to look at you, but he is already looking at you, has barely torn his eyes away from you in the last thirty minutes.

He’s completely awestruck, and maybe a little delirious when he swears he can see the faint halo hovering above your head. He tries to tell you how perfect, how much of an angel you are, but his words come out jumbled and unintelligible.

“Do you have a color for me, baby?”

“Mhm, fuck– green, n-need you so bad. ’m so sorry, p-please, you look so beautiful, t–”

You interrupt him by pressing your lips against his, and Leehan’s convinced he would’ve been talking for the rest of his life if you hadn’t. He’s pretty sure he melts into a puddle of goo when your lips collide, yours so perfect and plush against his. Any function his brain is still performing shuts down immediately, and you have to handle the kiss by yourself, because his lips are slack and useless against yours. There’s a string of saliva connecting the two of you when you pull away from him.

“I think my pretty boy’s at his limit, hm?” You ask, and he doesn’t really know what you’re saying, but anything sounds good coming from you, so he nods and watches with his jaw on the floor as you stand up and pull your skirt off. You pull his shirt off as well, and you’re both bare and vulnerable but safe in your own world, just as Leehan longed for.

You cup his cheeks again and hold his face so he can look up at you as you sink down on his cock, and the noise he makes when you bottom out is broken and pitiful even to his own ears. He knows he must look so fucked out and stupid, but you’re looking at him with so much love in your eyes that he’s sure he looks beautiful anyway.

You wrap around him so well, your cunt is so tight. It feels like he’d forgotten how it feels to be buried inside you, and to be experiencing it for the first time again has to be parallel to some sort of spiritual ascension. Leehan doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, but he does know he’d spend an eternity here if you allowed it.

Your hands move to grip his shoulders, and you make the most heavenly face of ecstasy Leehan has ever seen. You lift your hips to slide him out, and bottom out again. Your cunt’s sucking him in so greedily, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

“I’ll let you cum if you fuck me, pretty boy,” you say like you read his mind. You grab his lifeless hands and place them on your waist, then grip the back of the couch again. He gets the message clearly, holding you in place as he jerks into you. His thrusts aren’t coordinated at all, and it’s out of pure habit when he angles his hips to fuck right into your sweet spot.

“Fuck yeah, Hannie. That’s so good, you’re so good,” you moan out, and he uses strength he barely has to aim for that spot, to hear those words from you again. On a particularly hard thrust, your eyes flutter closed.

“Look at me, N/N. Please– look at me,” he begs, voice cracking, and when you do, your eyes are glossy, tears pulling in your waterline. It’s so hot, and finally, your attention is his, and he’s making you feel good, but he’s not gonna last like this.

“You fill me up so good, Hannie. Make me feel so good,” you say breathlessly, eyes locked on his. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna fill me up nicely?” And he’s nodding, pitiful whimpers falling from his lips, whatever you say.

You trail a hand up his abdomen, to his chest, and tug at his nipple. The rush of pleasure he feels is so intense that the knot in his stomach is fraying and snapping so quickly he can’t even warn you, but he tries through strangled gasps: “Cumming, ‘m, fu–”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It takes Leehan a while to come back to Earth. He’s so tired he can barely move, but you kiss him until his mind returns home. After asking if he’s okay five times and getting five verbal “yes’s,” you clean the two of you up and lead him to bed.

It’s still when he speaks again, eyes searching for yours in the dark room, “I really am sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been more considerate. I respect your work so much, I just got so lonely…” You smile at him softly and reach a hand up to rub circles into his back.

“I’m sorry you were so lonely, Hannie. I should’ve managed my time better, should’ve taken your feelings more seriously. From now on, I’ll keep work at work, and after my project, we can both take time off and go on a vacation. How’s that?”

“That’s perfect,” he says, and means it wholeheartedly, falling asleep with a smile of his own.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : FUCK THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE LOL i reread it three times pls lmk if there r still typos <3

#i played no part in editing that leehan photo props to whoever made it #my warnings are literally never consistent it is not my fault i have adhd #i stayed up until 4 am writing this but it was worth every second #do u guys see the way im cranking out ffs like #i have many ideas and probably an overactive imagination #but hopefully i dont burn out i love writing ff </3 #i poured so many of my leehan hcs into this it was very fun #boynextdoor hard thoughts #boynextdoor hard hours #leehan hard thoughts #leehan hard hours #boynextdoor imagines #leehan imagines #boynextdoor smut #leehan smut #boynextdoor x reader #leehan x reader

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hollowed-theory-hall · 5 months ago

Note

Do you think Harry could be scary at times? Like put actual fear into people? Because I think I remember some moments where Hermione was afraid of him or was a least kinda hesitant with him. Like this quote here from HP and the Deathly Hallows:

“You never really tried!” she said hotly. “I don’t get it, Harry – do you like having this special connection or relationship or what – whatever – “

She faltered under the look he gave her as he stood up.

“Like it?” he said quietly. “Would you like it?”

“I – no – I’m sorry, Harry. I just didn’t mean – “

He literally just looked at her, stood, and she was over there stuttering and backing down.

Yes! OMG, yes! Harry can and is scary when he wants to be and I love him for it!

A few more examples that popped into my head:

“I haven’t finished with you, boy!” “Get out of the way,” said Harry quietly. “You’re going to stay here and explain how my son —” “If you don’t get out of the way I’m going to jinx you,” said Harry, raising the wand. “You can’t pull that one on me!” snarled Uncle Vernon. “I know you’re not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!” “The madhouse has chucked me out,” said Harry. “So I can do whatever I like. You’ve got three seconds. One — two —”

(OotP, 45)

Uncle Vernon reacts to him with anger, which is his fear response. But Harry is talking quietly and deliberately, he isn't shouting and Vernon shuts up and listens, not cutting Harry off with his shouts. Harry actually cuts him off speaking quietly and Vernon lets him. And Vernon lashes out, as he always does when it comes to magic — because it scares him. Harry scares him.

“Well, it’s like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves,” said Hermione impatiently, “and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn’t usually show them to us before N.E.W.T. level, but, well, they are very interesting, aren’t they? The way some people can see them and some can’t! I wish I could.” “Do you?” Harry asked her quietly. She looked horrorstruck. “Oh Harry — I’m sorry — no, of course I don’t — that was a really stupid thing to say —”

(OotP, 450)

Hermione stutters around Harry quite a bit. I think she is, like, concerned about him at all times at the back of her head a bit since it takes very little from him to rattle her. I'm not copying it here but you see it too when Harry shouts at her and Ron at the beginning of OotP, Ron argues back a bit, but Hermione gets incredibly rattled. Hermione doesn't deal with Harry's anger well. There are more scenes like the one you mentioned as well.

I'm re-reading Deathly Hallows right now and came upon this scene:

Somehow her [Hermione's] panic seemed to clear Harry’s head. “Lock the door,” he told her, “and Ron, turn out the lights.” He looked down at the paralyzed Dolohov, thinking fast as the lock clicked and Ron used the Deluminator to plunge the caf into darkness. Harry could hear the men who had jeered at Hermione earlier, yelling at another girl in the distance. “What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered to Harry through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.” Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head. “We just need to wipe their memories,” said Harry. “It’s better like that, it’ll throw them off the scent. If we killed them it’d be obvious we were here.” “You’re the boss,” said Ron, sounding profoundly relieved. “But I’ve never done a Memory Charm.”

(DH, 146)

That needs to be talked about more.

Some people like to point at Remus telling Harry that "the time for Expeliarmos is over" as proof Harry isn't willing to kill, but this isn't true. Harry isn't willing to kill Stan Shunpike, whom he considers innocent, Harry was the calmest of the trio and very much considered killing the Death Eaters and chose not to for completely tactical and cold reasons, not ones of ethics or qualms about murder. And I love the dynamic this short scene portrays with the trio a lot. Like, Harry is calm under pressure and calls the shots, Ron offers a way to deal with things, and then Hermione actually executes the memory charms. And here too, when Hermione stepped back, she was scared of Harry (and Ron a little). She doesn't for a second think he wouldn't kill them if he thought it was the right thing to do. She stepped back because she was scared Harry would kill them.

“...Thank you!” said Mundungus, snatching the goblet out of Ron’s hand and stuffing it back into the case. “Well, I’ll see you all — OUCH!” Harry had pinned Mundungus against the wall of the pub by the throat. Holding him fast with one hand, he pulled out his wand. “Harry!” squealed Hermione. “You took that from Sirius’s house,” said Harry, who was almost nose to nose with Mundungus and was breathing in an unpleasant smell of old tobacco and spirits. “That had the Black family crest on it.” “I — no — what — ?” spluttered Mundungus, who was slowly turning purple. “What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place?” snarled Harry. “I — no —” “Give it to me!”

(HBP, 245-246)

Harry lifts Mundungus and strangles him... and both Mundungus and Hermione are scared of him... because he is scary.

said Voldemort coldly, and though he could not see it, Harry pictured Bellatrix withdrawing a helpful hand. “The boy . . . Is he dead?” There was complete silence in the clearing. Nobody approached Harry, but he felt their concentrated gaze; it seemed to press him harder into the ground, and he was terrified a finger or an eyelid might twitch. “You,” said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. “Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.” Harry did not know who had been sent to verify. He could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined, but at the same time noting, small comfort though it was, that Voldemort was wary of approaching him, that Voldemort suspected that all had not gone to plan. . . .

(DH, 612)

Voldemort is outright scared of Harry and isn't willing to come near him to check if he's dead...

Like, I am not a fan of the weaker, softer fanon version of Harry James Potter that I see on occasion (obviously everyone can do what they want, I just personally don't like it much when he's portrayed as small and submissive as if Harry has ever submitted in his life). He is not as tall as Ron, but he isn't short either (the same height as James, so likely around 6 feet), he is physically capable of lifting Mundungus even without magic with a single hand and he is so magically capable (more than almost every other character, bar exceptions like Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Snape). No wonder he can be scary, both physically and magically. And yes, Hermione is outright scared of Harry at times. So are other characters.

So, yeah, I strongly agree, Harry can definitely scare people if he wants to, and sometimes even when he doesn't. He seems to have an intimidation factor he isn't fully aware of and therefore doesn't notice all that much.

#harry potter #hp #harry james potter #he is my boy #who i love dearly #and who has anger issues that i rejoice whenever i see them #my boy is kind and compassionate #but he can also be terrifying #hp meta #asks #anonymous #anon asks #hollowedtheory #harry potter analysis

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lyneira · 4 months ago

Text

♡ "you're so handsome" ♡

-> how the genshin impact men react when you call them handsome

Knows it

Kaeya, Heizou, Childe, Lyney

This guy has 100% confidence in himself and has likely already heard it from others, so he'd probably give you a smug grin and say, "I know, thanks". Don't be instantly dismayed though, he still appreciates the comment more than you may think.

Having the compliment come from your mouth is worth much more to him than hearing it from anybody else or even himself. He may be confident in himself, but he also cares about you and about what you think of him. Hearing you say that he's handsome out loud eases him and makes him feel content.

He'd still act cheeky though, saying a comment like, "you're not too bad looking yourself, either", winking, then giving you a playful kiss.

Wants you to tell him that everyday

Itto, Venti, Kaveh

You've awakened something in him, and now he needs to hear those words everyday. He'll be just like a puppy. He'll melt if you suddenly hold his face with both hands and ask, "who's the most handsome in all of Teyvat?", and watch as his eyes brim with excitement and love, "ME. IT'S ME!!" And if you forget to tell him, he won't hesitate to remind you

"Y/N, tell me again- Who am I?"

Initially, you'll be like ???, but then realize what he's trying to get at

"You're my handsome guy"

"YESSSS" and he'll get excited all over again, just as the first time, and pull you into the biggest hug.

Gives a simple "thank you"

Cyno, Albedo, Wriothesley, Tighnari

They'll say thank you, seemingly nonchalantly, but he'll hold onto that compliment for the rest of the day...or week...or month...they'll hold on to that compliment forever, really. Your words will replay in their mind, 'they called me handsome', and he'll feel so warm inside.

Returns the compliment

Ayato, Neuvillette, Zhongli, Thoma, Baizhu, Kazuha

It will actually take him by surprise a bit. He wasn't expecting to be complimented, but the gesture warms his heart, especially since it's coming from his beloved. He'll smile at you, bringing up a hand to hold the side of your face, "And you're beautiful, my dear", before giving you a kiss, "a kiss for my beautiful one"

Doesn't really care

Alhaitham, Dainsleif, Diluc

I get a sense that these guys don't care about looks at all, so the compliment wouldn't produce a big reaction from them tbh. Then again, it reassures him of how you adore him and find him attractive, so he'll show his gratitude maybe by patting your head, giving you a quick kiss, and saying a quick "thanks"

Gets flustered

Xiao, Gorou, Scaramouche

A light blush will appear on their cheeks the moment you tell them that. They're not used to being complimented like that after all. but they feel good about it.

"Well, thanks...I guess", is all they can make out in response because he's too busy processing these new, mushy feelings whenever you compliment him.

a/n: some of these felt a bit repetitive and some of them felt like they were miscategorized or mischaracterized tbh 🥲 I'm kinda rusty, but I've had this in my drafts since last year so I thought that I might as well finish it lol

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theglamorousferal · 6 months ago

Text

Persephone's Binding Part 2

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

(Things get a bit angsty here for a bit, but don't worry, it gets back to some of the cracky-goodness!)

After allowing himself to relax for a bit and actually letting his muscles loosen for once, Jason rose from the bath and rinsed himself off under a piping hot and strong shower. He finished the rinse off with a flash of cold water to focus back up and made his way to the vanity where there was basic hotel amenities. He attempted to style his hair and after at least drying it, pulled on the fluffiest robe he has felt since he first moved into the manor all those years ago.

Fuck. The family. The Outlaws...

Jason put his face in both his hands and took a deep breath, then allowed his shoulders to slump as he dragged his hands from his face to his sides. He marched in a lazy manor over to the end of the large bed where he flopped face down. Surprisingly, it wasn't as fluffy as he was expecting and he silently thanked whatever force there was that he wouldn't have to resort to sleeping on the floor or a chair for the familiarity. Though, he turned his head to face the windows, that little reading nook looks like I could easily fall asleep there.

No, stop it. Do I remember the Dimensional Code for home?

Jason contemplated. On one hand, it could be useful, on the other, they could have an entirely different category system here. He spent the next however long trying to remember the dimensional code for his Earth and tracing the swirls of purples and greens out the large windows. A knock startled him.

"Jason? Are you decent?" He stood quickly and pulled the robe tighter together, not quite ready to show his autopsy scars to his soul-owner? A literal goddess? He wasn't quite sure what she was yet.

"Uh, yes, come in, I'm covered." He tried to stand casually next to the bed when he had just been sitting, his hands now in his pockets.

"Hi, so one of my aides figured one thing out about the ritual that is somewhat concerning and also something I probably also should have brought up. Mind if we sit at the window?" She strode in and settled herself with a pillow against the window and waited for him to do the same. Once he was settled, she hesitated for a moment before sighing and looking out the window to the haunting site outside.

"The Infinite Realms has another name, one coined from my Earth." She licked her lips before she spoke again. "It's also known as the Ghost Zone. As the dimension between dimensions, it is also where beings known as ghosts, the Restless Dead, Neverborn, Gods, and all sorts of other beings that thrive off a substance known as ectoplasm reside. As such, I am current Queen Regent of Ghosts." She let him think for a moment before turning to him. "That means I can tell when someone is death-touched." Jason froze. "I didn't mention it before because I know it's super personal, but then my aide figured out that the ritual only worked because of the fact you are and especially since you had spent time here-" She cut herself off as his eyes just bugged out larger with every word that spilled from her lips. "Sorry, I just, I'm death-touched too. I haven't died yet, but I have been around death magic, or radiation, or whatever it is, since before conception. I don't know exactly what you went through, but I know it was deeply traumatic. I can have my healers take a look at your soul and see if it's alright because it kinda radiates a bit how traumatic it was." She bit her lip with one hand raised near her chin.

Jason closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and clenching his jaw tight and blowing the air harshly out his nose. He fell back against the window, allowing his head to knock against the glass. It was warm, as though the sunlight was gently shining upon it. "Yeah." He croaked. "Yeah, I died." He said softer. "I was dead for roughly six months." He dipped his head forward to block his face with his bangs. "Crawled outta my own grave." He laughed bitterly. "Spent a while wandering, a while more in a coma." He swallowed tickly. "Got picked up by my dad's vindictive ex and trained for a while to be an assassin." He looked up at her, making eye contact. "She dunked me in this pit of magic shit, we call it a Lazarus pit in my dimension. It cures those near death and kills the healthy. Fixed me up the rest of the way, or at least the scars and issues I had pre-death. I got to keep these." He allowed the top of the robe to fall away, showing the tops of the large y-shaped scar that ran the length of his torso. She gasped, both hands coming to cover her mouth, tears began to form in her eyes. She reached out as if to touch them and stopped herself, her face turning determined.

"I, Jazmine Nightingale, High Queen Regent of the Infinite Realms, the Mediator, the Caretaker, and all those other titles." She waved her wrist. "Declare that I will help you however you deem necessary. Whether that be helping your soul, returning you to your dimension, breaking this binding, or whatever. You are currently bound to you, and as such that makes you my responsibilities." She paused in her speech for a moment, thinking. "I mean, you're already technically one of my subjects because I think you qualify as one of the Restless Dead, but we'll figure out your classification when we take you to a healer. For now, it has been a long day. I will have one of my aides come to get your measurements for some clothes, I'm sure we have some around here somewhere that should fit you at least for dinner. The aides can get any style you like and it can be made quickly by the seamstresses we have on staff." At his hesitation she added with a smile, "They work in supernatural means, they will not overwork themselves by making an entire wardrobe in a few hours."

She patted the cushion in front of her and stood. "I will meet you at dinner, it's not formal at all, don't worry about dressing fancy, I'm just still in this getup from 'official queen stuff'" she said with air quotes looking tired. "I'll see you in a bit Jason!"

"Yes, um, your majesty." He stood to bow, the robe making it a bit difficult."

"Just Jazz please, for the love of the Ancients." She said with a pained look on her face.

"Right, sorry," he stammered, straightening, "See you later, Jazz." She smiled softly before leaving him to himself. He smacked his hand to his face groaning at himself before flopping face-first into the bed again. "She's the ruler of the dead and she's so determined and nice, what the actual hell? She's so earnest, it's so cute!" he sat up leaning his elbow on his knee. "Okay, operation Romance Plot is go. She isn't put off by the fact you died, this is good, I can work with this. Okay, so castle, let's go with that aesthetic. I'm thinking let's go with a poet shirt and some black slacks for dinner tonight." He claps his hands in front of him, decision made.

As if summoned by his words, there was another knock at the door. A man with bright sky blue skin and a deep plum butler's uniform opened the door, a measuring tape casually thrown over his shoulders.

"Yes, hello good sir. What aesthetic are we thinking for this evening?" he said in a posh accent.

Jason clasped his hands together. "What should I call you? Would you possibly have a poet's shirt and a pair of black formal slacks for this evening?"

"You may call me Jeeves. Yes that Jeeves. I am the personification of the trope of the helpful butler, and as such my power set includes anything and everything that could help me complete the duties of head butler of the High Family's home. We absolutely do have that attire on hand, it would be but a moment for someone to fetch it for us. Now did you have any ideas about future attire?" Jeeves snapped his fingers and a skeleton manifested in a swirl of dust to obey his silent command to gather the requested clothing.

Jason paused for a moment, considering. "How does the Queen usually dress casually around the castle? I know she said she was from an Earth. I don't know where in the timeline her Earth is from and she mentioned that what she was wearing earlier was mostly for special occasions, so I don't want to look like an idiot." He explained.

"Very good sir, she typically dresses in either a less formal toga if she's to be seen anywhere near the public areas of the castle, her armor whilst sparring with her knights, the High Princes and Princess, and if she is only going between her room and study then her far less formal Earth clothing which is a long sleeved blouse and lightwash jeans, typical of the late 1990's and early 2000's."

Jason thought for a moment. He didn't know how long he would be stuck here, but decided that clothes enough to last a fortnight should work. For all he knew, time flowed differently between here and his home dimension. Decision made, he told the butler what he wanted. Measurements were taken, the skeleton arrived with the requested clothes and Jason was left to change into his clothes for the evening. He still is wearing his combat boots because he forgot to ask for a pair of shoes.

Once changed, he realized that he still probably had a bit before dinner and he walked over to one of the bookshelves browsing the titles. There were several classics that he recognized, his favorite, Pride and Prejudice, was there. There were a few as well with Jane Austen's name, but not titles he recognized. He decided to come back to those later and pulled what looked like a collection of fairy tales from the shelf then settled himself lounging in the window nook to read for the next few hours.

#dpxdc #fanfic #dp x dc #dcxdp #dc x dp #anger management ship #hardcover ship #jazz x jason #sacrificial bride au #get it jason #live out your romance novel dreams #I really want to do more #but it's almost midnight here #and I have work in the am

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lxvemaze · 3 months ago

Note

anon who request roommate to fwb ateez here! lol i would love it to be headcanons please. sorry for not being clear on my request.

hope you have a lovely day!

dw about it, i got you!! thank you sm for clarifying! hope this is okay :))) (i'm so sorry that sone of these are WAYYYYY longer than the others, i kinda had no ideas for some of them 😭)

roommates to fwb with ateez

pairing' ot8 x reader

genre' i have no idea??? fluffy and angsty at parts

warnings' obviously very very suggestive. no smut, but pls do not read if under 18, mentions of a bad breakup

a/n' i just wanted to say on this post before anyone requests it, i do not write actual smut, and this is probably the farthest i would go in terms of writing nsfw. not just bc i have a lot of mutuals who are minors, but bc im just not comfortable with doing that ❤️ (also, im so sorry that some of these are much longer than the others)

⚝hongjoong

you and hongjoong hadn't known each other for very long; you were looking for a roommate while in grad school, and one of your friends told you that his friend was also looking for a roommate

you were hesitant about moving in with a stranger- especially a man. but after you met him at a café before deciding to move in together, you decided that he seemed harmless enough.

given that you two had almost opposite schedules, you hardly ever saw each other, but on the occasions you did, it was mostly in the evening, when you both were too tired to really function.

you two mostly stayed out of each other's way, but on one occasion, when you were passing by each other while getting ready in the morning, and he suggested the idea of having dinner together at home since you were both free that night.

it was awkward at first, making dinner with hongjoong. even though you'd been roommates for a few months at that point, you really didn't know much about each other.

as soon as dinner was finished, you suggested that the two of you crack open a bottle of wine, which quickly turned into two, which turned into three.

the next morning, you woke up mortified in hongjoong's bed. you had definitely not intended to sleep with your roommate. with him still sleeping, you hastily grabbed your clothes and tiptoed back to your own room to get ready for your first class.

when you came back home that evening, he was lounging on the couch, scrolling through netflix. with the bottle of aspirin and large glass of water on the table in front of him, you could tell he was still recovering from the previous nights several bottles of wine.

when he saw you awkwardly standing in the doorway, he invited you over to sit down on the couch. you two watched a show you didn't recognize for maybe a half an hour.

you woke up in his bed again the next morning.

there wasn't much discussion about what you two had going on. you two still hardly saw each other, and it was mutually decided that this would be a strictly casual thing. with you going to school and working part time, and him being in the studio almost 24/7, it wasn't like there was much room for it to turn into a serious thing.

⚝seonghwa

you and seonghwa had been friends for years and years when you mentioned to him in passing that you were looking for a new roommate after your previous one had moved out. he immediately offered to move in, and you, slightly desperate and knowing that he would be a respectful roommate, agreed immediately.

it was comfortable living with seonghwa- he often made his own food and cleaned his own dishes, except for on Fridays when you had "roomie night" where you two made dinner and watched a movie together.

you and seonghwa had been friends for so long, and now that you two were roommates, you might have gotten a little bit too comfortable with each other. having only one bathroom, you two quickly had gotten comfortable using the bathroom while the other was in the shower.

at first it was just a joke that you had made in passing- the idea that you and seonghwa could shower together in the mornings to save time. but one morning when you were running late, you pounded on the bathroom door while seonghwa was in the shower. begging him to hurry up so you could take one.

instead, seonghwa told you to just hop in, and you being desperate to get to work on time, closed your eyes and agreed. nothing happened, seonghwa was respectful, keeping his eyes above your shoulders, and he even helped you wash your hair.

every now and again, whenever one of you was running late, you would just hop in the shower with the other, but of course it was just casual. as casual as showering together could be. it had started to become comfortable, even.

one night, while seonghwa was in the shower, and you had just gotten home from a ten hour work day. all your muscles were sore, your hair was greasy, and all you wanted was to take a hot shower. you heard the water running from the bathroom, and without much thought, you knocked on the door and asked seonghwa if you could hop in.

it was casual at first- as everything between you two was. you mentioned your sore muscles, and he offered to wash your back. one thing led to another, and before you knew it, he was in your bed with his arms around you.

the next morning, you two had a long discussion about it, and decided to keep it casual. both of you were focused on your careers, and didn't have much time to put into anything romantic.

⚝yunho

one thing i know for certain is that yunho would not be able to keep up being friends with benefits for long. he's too soft and romantic for that life. you two had been friends for a couple years, and decided to move in together after you graduated college and were looking for a job.

at first, he thought he could do it. you two had slept together the first time the night you had moved in together. you took shots in celebration, and got a little tipsy. you two had always gotten a little handsy with each other when you drank together.

the next morning, you told him that while you enjoyed yourself, you didn't want anything serious, but wouldn't be opposed to doing it again if you were both feeling it. he quietly agreed. although he was maybe a little heartbroken, he understood that you wanted to focus on your career before getting into anything serious.

with every time you two slept together, he fell a little bit more in love. he felt bad for not telling you, but he figured that you were both enjoying yourselves, so why ruin it?

one morning, he woke up before you, and while he gazed at you in your sleep, his arms still wrapped around you, he decided to tell you that he couldn't do it anymore.

he told you that night when you had come home from work, and to his surprise, you told him the same.

yay, you're in love!

⚝yeosang

yeosang had moved into your apartment after you had broken up with your boyfriend. you had been together for four years, and after he moved out, you needed someone else to help split the rent.

you and yeosang hadn't known each other for a very long time, but you were comfortable enough with each other.

you mostly stayed out of each other's way, but still hung out from time to time.

one night, you and yeosang were hanging out in your room while you were lamenting about your breakup and how long it's been since you were intimate with anyone, and before you knew it, you were on top of yeosang with his hands gripping your thighs

it was a mutual decision to keep it a friends with benefits type relationship, neither of you were really emotionally available for a real relationship at the time.

⚝san

the single most respectful man in the world.

when you two first moved in together, bro was so scared that he would accidentally walk in on you nakey or smth. he would knock on literally every door he entered, even if there would be no reason for him to??? like, why are you knocking on the pantry door???

you actually thought he was a little weird for it at first, but after time you started finding it cute

like, really cute.

like, "ooh i want him so bad" type cute

one day you were doing your skincare in your shared bathroom with the door cracked open, and san, as he always did, knocked before entering, startling you and causing you to accidentally rub your face wash in your eye (this actually happened to me istg i can still feel it stinging)

when he came in you were just like, "bro idec if you see me naked atp, just stop knocking on every damn door"

he did relax and stop knocking incessantly after that. which was all well and good until HE DID walk in on you changing

you didn't really care tbh, you took it as an opportunity to be like, "alright, tension's too high. let's smash 🙏"

after that, he was much more comfortable just walking in 🤞

⚝mingi

you and mingi had actually been fwb at one point before you moved in together, but he decided it was too messy and a little weird for the rest of your friend group

but after he moved in with you after your old roommate got married, you two just kinda fell back into it

istg, mingi is a lot more romantic than yall think he is 😞🤞 he acts all freaky, but he's a loverboy at heart

one day about three months into you two living together, you guys got a little drunk and while you were making out on the couch, he was like "i love you :3"

which left you like 🤨⁉️ like, huhhh????

when you brought it up to him the next day, he tried to pretend like he didn't remember saying anything like that, but you can see right through that silly boy ☝️

after a bit of picking at it, he finally told you that the reason he broke off your old situation was bc he was falling in love with you. omg 😞❤️

obviously you love him too, bc who wouldn't?

⚝wooyoung

you and wooyoung didn't know each other at all before he moved in. one day, your old roommate moved out, and he was just kinda there??? apparently, your old roommate had made the arrangement for him to be the replacement without you knowing

you didn't mind, really. wooyoung seemed harmless enough. maybe a little weird?

you didn't see him much at the start, he was pretty much always working. you work from home, so you were always there when he was- but when he was home, he kind of just immediately went to bed.

one morning, you walked into the kitchen while he was making breakfast, and he was just like, "hi :]" and gave you a plate of eggs and toast.

he didn't have work that day, so you two kinda just like, hung out??? you didn't have much work to do, so when you were done, you came back out to the main room and he was just watching tv, so you sat down next to him

the tension was PALPABLE, he was wearing a black tank top and sweatpants and you were STARING

he kinda just turned to you and was like, "i'm hot, you're hot, let's smash."

you were taken aback, but like, he's so right.

yes, he's freaky

⚝jongho

honestly, you and jongho were roommates for a few years before your fwb thing started

you had a boyfriend for a while, and then even after you broke up, it was probably about six months before you and jongho slept together for the first time

your breakup with your boyfriend was messy. your relationship had been deteriorating for a long time, but neither of you wanted to admit it. so one night, he kind of just exploded at you and left and didn't come back. until about half a year later

he showed up to yours and jongho's apartment unannounced and said he wanted his stuff back. once you said that you threw it all out months ago, he started screaming and yelling at you, and jongho had to physically drag him out

when jongho came back in, he was heaving and sweating, and looked reeeeally good. and when you two made eye contact, it was all over. you kinda just like, pounced on each other.

you decided to sleep with jongho mainly bc you knew it would've pissed your ex off so bad if he knew. he always hated the fact that your roommate was a guy. you did like jongho a lot, you'd been friends and roommates for years, you just never realized how attractive he was until he kicked that dickhead to the curb

after that, you two rarely slept together tbh. it only ever really happened when one or both of you had a shitty day and needed to take your frustration out on something.

(this is one of the cases where you two would most definitely end up dating)

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adams-angels · 10 months ago

Note

Adam sfw/nsfw hcs? I love your work! Thanks!!

💖 Please send me requests! Send me your own headcanons! I will draw! I'm obsessed rn!💖

SFW

I'm gonna start off strong by saying socks and sandals. Thinks it's great.

Will stop listening when he's losing an argument. Stutters and minces up his words if he gets flustered or too aggravated.

Lute is his best friend

Says he has tons on friend but in reality lute is his only friend

This man thinks he's higher up in the food chain than he actually is. Which then leads to weak apologies from him

Doesn't go anywhere without his mask. Really big believer in that he doesn't like showing his face because both his wife's left him

Still absolutely bitter about that btw

Has an unhealthy coping mechanism when it comes to jealously.

For example, your an angel and some newbie starts talking with you and there's nothing really in it but he opens a portal to hell when your not looking and literally kicks the guy through it before closing the portal.

Or if your a sinner and you're telling him about someone who helped you the other day he will HUNT THEM DOWN next extermination day... If he can wait that long.

Likes getting you lil gifts, key chains, magnets, pins. He'll see a little thing and think that's perfect and wont hesitate buying it for you.

He won't give it to you though. He'll leave it somewhere obvious in his apartment for you to notice and go "oh, that's cute." For him to shrug and say "it's okay. You want it?" It took a while before you actually started accepting gifts this way

In public he will get you the biggest things. Giant teddy bear. New TV. A unicorn. But that's just to show everyone that he spoils you. That no one can treat you as well as him.

Loves lazy days

Also loves it when you preen his wings

Was the kinda guy that didn't have any kind of skin care until he met you and now you're both chilling with facemasks on.

Has panic attacks when he thinks you're going to leave him

When he's not wearing his mask he will not smile. It's really difficult to get him to smile or laugh when he's not wearing a mask.

But he's got the most beautiful smile

You managed you get him to laugh because you fell. What? He's still an asshole.

You couldn't be mad at him. He sounded so happy.

Has dumb pet names for everyone he's close to. Some are cute. Some are absolutely vulger. "Sweetness." "Babe." "Cutie" "cockwarmer." "Adam's dumpster." "Precious."

He's insecure AF baby

Loves hearing you say you love him

Will only tell you he loves you in private.

Would take a very special case for him to say it in public

If you get in a serious argument with him he'll run away in anger. He'll then come back after an hour or so begging you not to leave.

Sorry I really love pathetic Adam. fight me.

Smut below the cut! Minors dni

NSFW

Ik everyone says it's great at sex but I don't think he would be 🤷🏻‍♀️ not at the beginning anyway

I think he's a selfish lover and it takes someone he really cares about to make any changes

Would absolutely finish inside you then fall asleep soz babes

His cock is good tho. Likes it's a biggen. Length and width.

It was probably made to fit perfectly so

At least that's what he says

He won't believe it if you dont orgasm the first time you have sex with him. Everyone else has! Why wouldn't you?!

Well, Adam, they lied, sweetie.

Loves getting his cock sucked.

Asks for it constantly

If he gets in an argument with you he'll probably say "I'm sorry, it's just been so long since I got head."

He loves eating you out. Watching you squirm while his tongue is inside you really gets him going.

Likes you have you sat on his face so he can hold you down

He cried the first time he had sex with you after realising he loves you

Will beg to be loved when he's close to finishing. "Tell me you love me!"

Will get embarrassed after the fact

He was adamant he didn't like you. That you were just hot. But one day found himself jerking to the thought of you and that post nut clarity hit like a freight train.

Loves being praised ofc

Breeding kink. I mean come on. He was made to populate the earth. It was literally his job.

Loves rough sex, being in charge.

Will get possessive during sex

If he's having a bad day he'll be a lot more desperate and a hell of a lot more possessive

"mine" is his favourite word.

～⁠♡✧⁠｡ I really hope you enjoyed! I'm not a writer by any means but I appreciate any support I receive so thank you for reading! ｡✧⁠♡～⁠

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel smut #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam smut

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moni-logues · 8 months ago

Text

What the cat dragged in

Pairing: Lee Know x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: smut, angst, strangers-to-lovers (kinda); 5+1

Summary: You followed Minho home because you had nowhere else to go. Then you kept following... all the way into his heart, but not his bed.

aka five times you and Minho don't fuck and one time you do.

Content: reader is 16yo in the first section (nothing sexual or romantic happens but there are suggestions of it), couple of references to human/sex trafficking; the gang are useless crime idiots but this is only barely relevant; interrupted foreplay; attempted car sex; unprotected piv sex; fingering; a lot of kissing tbh

Word count: 13.5k

A/N: SO this whole thing actually started HERE in JUNE (jfc, I thought I'd been thinking about this since like, October or something but, no no, a full ten months!!!!). It has drifted from that somewhat but that was its beginning and, honestly, I'm kind of stoked about this fic. I really like how it came out and it's my FIRST MINHO. It's taken me SO long to get around to my bestest evil catdad.

Huge thanks to @violetsiren90 for beta-ing! and also for reading it half-finished when I really needed some encouragment. AND for the title

*~*~*

FIRST

“Why don’t you fuck off?”

The voice came from behind you. It was low and cold and threatening. It was directed at Shindong, the man in front of you, whom you were sure was this close to offering to take you home. You whipped around to see who had uttered it.

Your immediate thought was that he was too short and too slight to be walking up with that level of aggression. Your second thought was interrupted by the spark that shot up your arm when he grabbed your hand. You’d have pulled it back, but his grip was solid and your arm didn’t budge.

“What the fuck do you want, Minho?” your companion replied, all the charm sliding off his face, replaced with a loathing, arrogant sneer.

“I want you to fuck off.”

“She yours? Might want to keep a closer eye on her; she was just about to come home with me.”

The stranger’s hand squeezed yours, so hard it started to hurt. He offered nothing in response.

Both men continued to stare at each other. Shindong had inches on Minho – both height and breadth – and you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw him hesitating. He flicked his eyes between you and Minho.

“What if I want to fight you for her?”

“What if I told you she’s not legal?”

Shindong hesitated, moved just a fraction backwards, no longer leaning in, looming over the two of you. He rolled his eyes and gave a heartless chuckle.

“Not worth the fucking bother,” he muttered as he walked away.

Minho, still a stranger to you, still holding your hand, who hadn’t even looked your way, pulled you sharply by said hand, storming off and taking you with him. You followed him into one of the warehouse’s many dark corners. He kicked out the couple who were two clothing items shy of a citation for public indecency, and only then did he let you go. Only then did he turn his dark, flaming eyes on you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked.

Shindong had been your lifeline. What did this guy think he was playing at?

Your vehemence took him off-guard, surprise flashing across his face, until his scowl returned, worse than before. You understood now why he made Shindong hesitate. His gaze was fierce, penetrating, his jaw set, his mouth a taut, grim line. You would never show your hand to anyone, but a cold droplet of fear slithered down your spine. You straightened it, rolled your shoulders back, lifted your head. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you.

“Do you know him?” he asked, voice still low, still threatening.

Not personally. Not until that evening. But people like him came with a reputation that preceded them. A reputation that you were relying upon being based in fact. A reputation that had spread all around your school and beyond, but that you had heard from a source close to the truth. It was close enough that you were able to find him here, in a part of town you’d never been to. It was close enough that you were able to pick Shindong out from this crowd. Close enough that when you approached him and he laughed at you – young, naïve, foolish, all of those things you were sure he thought – you were able to drop his cousin’s name and he suddenly took you seriously. That was what you had been hoping for. A connection was all you needed to keep you covered for a night, at least. Just one would be something.

And then this guy showed up.

“I was about to.”

Minho’s top lip curled, just a fraction, his nose barely wrinkling with the movement, but you got his meaning. Disgust. He could be as disgusted as he liked; that wasn’t your problem. Your problem was that his disgust had led him to chase away your only lead.

Or was he? Was Shindong your only option?

You changed tack. Realised that maybe you had another now. Minho, whoever the fuck he was, had approached you as if he knew you and scared off the competition. That must have been it. Despite the way he glowered at you, absolutely no interest or desire lurking behind his dark eyes, you figured you had nothing left to lose.

You relaxed a little, pouted your lips, played up to the damsel in distress he might have thought you were.

“But if he’s so awful, I guess I can only thank you,” you said, making your voice soft, your eyes a little wider. You lifted your lips in a tiny, shy smile and then put a hand to them, your thumb and index finger tugging a little on your bottom lip, hoping it made you look small, nervous, sweet.

He gave you no reaction. He continued to glare, his stance unchanged, unmoving. So you moved. You stepped towards him: shy, little bird steps, until you were so close that he moved backwards.

“Thanks for looking out for me. Your name’s Minho, right?”

His eyes tightened minutely. He didn’t reply.

“I’d like to thank you properly,” you said, sliding your body into his, pressing just one finger against his chest. You fluttered your lashes up at him.

His face changed immediately. Eyes wide, mouth dropping, and he was stumbling backwards, pressing himself against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing? What are you, fifteen?”

Embarrassment licked your cheeks like flames and your scowl returned.

“I’m sixteen!”

“Wow, big age. My mistake. By all means, let’s fuck, Sixteen.”

His sarcasm was biting but you hadn’t given yourself up yet.

“Don’t you want to?” you asked, innocently. “You must have sent Shindong away for a reason. If not this, then what?”

He let out a sigh so aggrieved it was almost a shout. He rolled his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, where are your parents?” he asked, but it was muttered, almost under his breath and you didn’t know if you were supposed to answer. You did anyway.

“Dead.”

His lack of reaction grated. He didn’t flinch. There was no surprise, no guilt on his face. He had robbed you of Shindong and now he had robbed you of your fun: getting a reaction out of people as a poor, orphaned, little Annie was as close as you got these days. Then again, he wasn’t a well-meaning aunt or nosy teacher. He knew what this place was; he knew, or at least knew of, Shindong. Maybe your hand-grenade was, here, little more than a snap.

“And this is your great life plan? Offering sexual favours to predators?”

He gestured widely to the room behind you, and you could only assume he did not mean to include himself in that group.

Actually, it was your plan. Kind of… Insofar as you had any sort of plan at all. You would not be telling him that. You kept your mouth shut tight and jaw clenched, refusing to look down, to be the one to break the eye contact.

“You know he’s a fucking bad guy,” he said, more softly than he had said anything so far but the hard edge remained.

“And what are you, my hero?”

“Absolutely fucking not. I do not want to have anything to do with whatever mess you are making of your life, but I’m not about to let that cunt take off with a child.”

“I am not a child!” you shouted, right in his face.

He took it, impassive, unimpressed even.

“That’s exactly what a child would say.”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to smash him in his beautifully sharp jaw, or break that perfect, delicate nose of his. You were just about not stupid enough to try. How did he even know you were young? You knew you didn’t look it; you were always getting told you looked older than you were. How did he know? Why did he care?

“Go on then,” you said, darkly. “Leave. If I’m not your fucking problem, why don’t you fuck off?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move.

“Worried I’ll get murdered?”

You lifted your hands to your open mouth, eyes widened, a mockery of fear.

His face and tone were flat when he responded.

“There are things worse than death.”

Then he pushed past you and out of the door.

You took one shaky breath and walked after him before you could talk yourself out of it. You decided that, one way or another, this guy owed you and it was time to collect.

You followed him, not too closely, but not exactly hiding it, for over a mile. You wondered, at one point, if he was trying to lose you, if he was actually heading to his destination or just trying to outlast you. You’d show him. You were a long-distance runner at school; you were extremely confident you could keep up.

So confident, in fact, so determined were you not to lose him, that you were too slow to notice him slowing, to notice him stopping, to very nearly not stop yourself walking into him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, not turning to look at you.

“I’m walking here.”

“Stop following me.”

“I’m not following you.”

He raised his eyes skyward. He stood for a moment and you stood, too, waiting for him to continue – walking or talking, you didn’t know which. He finally turned around and looked at you, everything about him a little softer than before. Not soft, but softer.

“You can’t follow me,” he told you slowly, emphatically. “I am not looking after you. I am not your fath-“

“I don’t have a fucking father.”

He scoffed.

“Yeah, that much is very clear, Sixteen.”

“I’m not sixteen!”

He frowned.

“That’s what you told me.”

“That’s not my fucking name! Stop saying it like I’m a child. How old are you anyway?”

“Old enough to know better.”

“What does that mean?”

“Go home, Sixteen.”

“I don’t have a home.”

“Well you can’t have mine.”

He turned on his heel and continued walking, a little faster this time, increasing his pace to a jog as he crossed the road. You knew he hoped you wouldn’t be able to follow, that the flashing green man would disappear before you could make it, but you’d been underestimated before.

After another mile or so, you saw him take his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. You couldn’t quite hear what he was saying but you thought it sounded like Japanese. Was he Japanese?

It hadn’t missed you, the knowledge that you had no knowledge of this man. You understood that you were, as far as you knew, in as much danger following him home as you had been going with Shindong. But you literally had no other options. It was follow this guy somewhere or wander around on the street all night; it was too cold to stay out. You hadn’t thought beyond that when you’d left your house earlier that day. Hadn’t thought much at all, except about getting out.

Now you were out. Mission accomplished. And you had no idea what to do next.

You almost missed him ducking into a narrow side street, but you caught the door he rushed through just before it shut. He disappeared from view through another door, off to the left of the dingy, dimly lit corridor you found yourself in. You stalked up to it – it wasn’t even fully closed – but something made you hesitate.

Suddenly the fear that you had been suppressing all night raised its head. Was this a lion’s den? A serpents’ nest? Was Minho playing some kind of long game, saving you from Shindong so you would trust him, so you would follow him here, so he could…?

“Are you going to fucking stand out there all night?” you heard a voice call from inside. It had to be Minho’s but you wouldn’t have bet on it.

You fixed your face, your scowl reappearing, and kicked the door open with excessive force.

It was just a bar. Just him, sitting on a stool with a beer in his hand, and one other guy, standing opposite, looking at you with his eyebrows raised in the way a parent does when they catch their child doing something naughty.

“You break that door, I’m going to make you pay for it,” he said, in an accent that you knew wasn’t local.

And, just like a defiant child, you slammed it shut without breaking eye contact. He turned to Minho.

“Thanks, man. You had to bring home a fucking streetrat.”

“I am not a streetrat,” you spat.

“No?” Minho chimed in. “Then where’s your home?”

“Fuck off.”

“I really wish you would.”

You sat down in a booth just off to your left and stared him down.

“She can’t stay here,” the stranger said to Minho, as if you were no longer there.

“I didn’t bring her; she just came.”

He, the newest stranger, looked between you and Minho for several seconds. He was looking at Minho when he spoke again.

“One night. That’s it. And she’s your responsibility.”

He heaved a box full of empty glass bottles into his arms and wandered away, through a different door, mumbling something about ‘strays’.

“Who was that?” you demanded as Minho continued to sip at his beer.

You realised that you hadn’t actually been introduced to him either. And he hadn’t asked for your name. You wondered if he would now.

“None of your fucking business,” he answered, finally moving from the stool to walk behind the bar.

He opened the cash register and took bags from a cubby just below it. He produced a tiny pencil from his pocket and tore off a strip of the receipt roll. He took out the cash and started to count. You watched his lips move silently as he flicked quickly through the notes, pausing to drop a stack onto the bar and write a number down. He picked up the next stack and repeated.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, not looking up, not even, apparently, pausing in his counting. “Even if you got your urchin mitts on it, you wouldn’t make it to the door.”

You believed him, but you weren’t planning some kind of move. You didn’t need his money. You were just watching.

You watched until all the notes and all the coins were accounted for, until they had been put into bags and those bags into a box and Minho turned to follow his friend. You stood from your seat and went after him.

There were two doors, you realised. Minho took the left. It led to an office. The other guy must’ve taken the right because the room was empty except for furniture and, in the corner, a safe. Minho dumped the box before it and turned to you.

“Turn around.”

“Worried I’ll crack the code?” you asked with your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Just turn around.”

You did as you were told without a fight because, at that point, there was nowhere else to go. You couldn’t admit defeat and walk out of there; you weren’t sure that Minho wouldn’t make you do just that. It was a knife-edge, being the obnoxious, vile brat that you were. You’d stormed past boundaries before but, well, look where it got you. You were tired and worried enough now to decide you would stop pushing your luck. It had been stretched far enough already.

There was a second of silence before you heard the beeping of the buttons pressed and the shuffling of bags, the clink of coins, the thunk of a bigger, metallic something against the walls of the safe. He didn’t tell you when he was finished, didn’t say you could turn back around. He just walked past you, out of the office, turning the light off as he went. As soon as you were out of the door, he shut and locked it.

You followed him back to the bar and he did the same thing: turned off the lights and held a door for you (not politely, not because he was being nice), following you through it and locking this one behind him, too. You walked to the end of the corridor and he gestured you down some wooden stairs that creaked as if they would break under your weight. He turned the corridor light off, too, and locked the door at the top of the steps.

This was it. You were locked in. There were at least two locks between you and escape. When Minho shoved past you to the left and opened yet another door, your stomach sank a little further. Three locked doors. He didn’t hold this one for you but he didn’t slam it in your face either, so you rolled your shoulders back, put on your game face and walked through.

You almost regretted it when you saw where it led. It was possibly the worst place you had ever seen. It wasn’t messy, but there was something dirty about the room anyway. Outdoor furniture inside; everything vaguely brown in a way that you didn’t think it had been fresh out of the box; everything tired and worn and sagging; the naked lightbulb dim and humming as it shone; the fridge, scratched and dented and shoved into a corner, also hummed, managing to sound as well as look tired. It was bleak. It was grey. It made you feel like things were crawling on you and you’d only just stepped foot in it.

You half expected your feet to stick to the floor when you took a few steps forward. They didn’t but the carpet was so old and worn that you had no idea what colour it was originally; in places, you could see the floorboards clearly through the threads.

Minho pointed to the sofa.

“There,” was all he said.

Then he disappeared out of the room. You gingerly sat on the edge, wondering if you should be more concerned about your health or your safety. Maybe you were sheltered here, but you pictured a thousand and one diseases squirming on the cushions. It wasn’t fair to, because you could see that it was cleaned. The room wasn’t filthy; there were no crumbs or water rings on the coffee table; there was no rubbish littering the floor; the sink was empty and a stack of plates and bowls stood beside it, washed if not yet dried. Minho was clearly diligent.

Minho and whoever else lived here. There were too many doors leading off this room for him to be here alone.

Your curiosity was stopped in its tracks when he reappeared with a pillow and a towel. He threw the pillow wordlessly at one end of the sofa and then he raised the towel a little.

“I don’t have any blankets. Don’t get cold.”

You scoffed a laugh and were grateful that he ignored it. You weren’t indignant; you weren’t being a brat this time. You were dismayed. You couldn’t believe it. A house with no spare blankets. You were going to sleep under a towel. You glanced around you for a final time, tears pricking in your eyes, fingers at your lips, picking nervously. You weren’t going to die here, you told yourself. Probably. You were probably not going to die here and that was all you needed.

You stood up, turned off the light, tested the door handle (not sure if you wanted it to be locked or unlocked), then returned to the sofa. You took off your shoes, took your bag from your back and hugged it tightly to your chest. You lay in the dark, in a stranger’s horrible house, alone, tired, more vulnerable than you would ever admit. You cried silently, reluctantly grateful for the towel, until you fell asleep.

SECOND

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to everyone! Happy birthday to you!”

You only got one birthday a year. The whole group of you. There wasn’t enough to stretch to everyone getting an individual birthday, an individual cake, a day off. So the middle day of the year, 2nd July, was chosen and you all had a birthday together.

One cake, one candle each, six people blowing them out. Most unsanitary, but, by now, there wasn’t much you hadn’t shared so a little spit didn’t even register.

You were too drunk by far, which was stupid really. It wasn’t even your first time drinking legally (because your real birthday wasn’t until later in the year), so there was no reason for you to behave as if you had never had a drink before. You should have learnt a little self-control.

But it was your birthdays. So you kept having one more and one more and one more. As did everyone else.

“Nineteen!” Minho called as he fell into the booth next to you.

“I thought I was Sixteen?”

He shrugged.

“You do still act like it.”

You shoved him, almost hard enough to push him off his seat completely. He shoved you back.

“Shut up, Minnie.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, plotting death for using the nickname he loathed above all others, and you sent a simpering smile back at him.

“You’re a little squirt, anyone ever tell you that?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You, literally all the time, because you are for some reason desperate to sound like the oldest grandpa in the room.”

He let out a growling sort of cry, dramatic because he’d also had too much to drink. Then he stood.

“BYE, Sixteen!”

If someone didn’t know the two of you, it would seem as if nothing had changed in the time since you met: both antagonistic, unlikable, as hard as you could make yourselves, forced together and barely tolerating it.

Those who did know you, however, knew that things were very different now. Minho had, reluctantly, taken responsibility for you and, when you had grown up just enough to realise what that had meant, you felt all your hard resolve melt.

They had very little, this ragtag bunch of kids (barely older than you) but they shared everything between them. Never quite enough to go around, money from legitimate enterprises never stretching far enough and having to be supported by money from less than legitimate means. You were a liability. In every sense. The only girl, a stranger, certainly not (at that time) a criminal. But Minho took responsibility and the others let you in.

When you had learnt to see past your own nose, you saw the myriad ways in which they took care of each other. The silent, invisible way Minho cared for his friends. For you. You hadn’t forgotten the sting of electricity you’d felt when he held your hand way back when. Before you’d even seen him, before you knew his name, before any of this. You felt it all the time now. You were a live wire for him.

No one in the group was stupid enough to refer to you as siblings or even joke that you acted like them. Your feelings for Minho were your most closely guarded secret but that didn’t mean everyone didn’t know. You were pretty sure even Minho himself knew. Not that he would ever act on it. He pretended not to notice, you thought. You had pushed close to the edge of being kicked out enough times to know that some things were still precarious. To know that he would never risk his weird family by acknowledging there was anything more than friendship between you. If it even was between you. He had given you very little reason to believe your feelings were reciprocated. So you did your best to ignore them.

They became a fact of life. Like the fact that Minho was the only one Chan trusted to count the cash (not because the others weren’t trustworthy; they just weren’t accurate). Like the fact that Chan had the final say on everything. Like the fact that he would never abuse that authority and act for anything other than the wellbeing of the entire group. It just was.

And it wasn’t like you were stupid enough to pine. You had some pride. Plenty, in fact.

You stood from the booth and sauntered to the bar where your sometime-boyfriend, Johnny, was getting another drink.

“Babe,” you whined, draping yourself over his back, hooking your chin over his shoulder.

“Babe,” he whined back, copying, mocking.

“Entertain me, I’m bored.”

“It’s your party.”

You pouted and forced him to join you on the makeshift dancefloor. You refused to notice that Minho left it as soon as you joined, his face dropping, looking only at Johnny and never once pleased about it.

Chan had cut off the booze supply hours ago and the sun was thinking about raising its head above the horizon, which meant that, far from being wasted and happy and giddy and passing out in your bed, your hangover was already crawling in and you were tired and irritable. Johnny had pissed you off sometime before the booze dried up and then pissed off entirely before you’d begun to sober up, so you’d spent the smallest hours of the morning making your bad mood everyone else’s problem.

Everyone except Minho. Because whilst you were always determined, at these moments, to needle him, to want to get under his skin, to want to scrape it back and spit on it, he was never there. He managed to avoid your venom and, even when he didn’t, seemed immune. He would just slow-blink at you as if he were looking through you and turn away. It boiled your blood and he knew it.

You stomped downstairs to the same shithole basement you’d walked into two years ago. Everyone else had either left or gone to bed already, you thought. You expected it to be empty. It wasn’t.

“Fuck sake, Mouse,” you spat, using your usual nickname, his preferred one (… preferred being too strong a term; it was the one he allowed you to use without retaliation). “Why are you sitting on your own like a fucking loser?”

“You know he treats you like a fucking loser?”

He turned to lean over the back of the sofa, looking tired under his eyes but energetic within them.

“Fuck off,” you returned. “As if you give a shit who I date.”

“Date? That’s what you call it?” He scoffed, deliberately, exaggeratedly, as if you wouldn’t otherwise have recognised his scorn. “He treats you like dirt.”

“You would know.”

He was on his feet and in front of you before you could blink.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You’d had about enough of it, you decided at that moment. Not enough sleep, too much alcohol, and just enough of this bullshit. You grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him with force towards you. You took him by the back of the neck and kissed him, hard and like you meant it. Because you did. It only took him a second to push you back, hands firm on your shoulders, holding you away from him. His face had lost his usual mask – the blank, passive, flat-eyed one that he used to stare people out with unnatural stillness – but he was still keeping you out; it was guarded, flashes in his eyes being stamped out with every blink, his jaw held tight and his mouth shut.

“That’s what I fucking mean, Minho,” you hissed.

“How dare you?” he hissed back, voice so low in his throat you almost couldn’t hear it. “You have no fucking idea.”

His blinks weren’t quick enough this time to hide all the anger burning in his eyes.

“No idea of what? What?!”

His lip curled and he let you go. He let his guard down around you more than he should have: shrugged you off and turned his back on you. You took both palms and pushed him. He tumbled forward, catching his foot on a side table, pulling it down with him as he hit the floor. Cat-like in his reflexes, he was on his feet before the table had stopped rocking. He charged straight at you and continued until you were pressed up against the door, until he was pressed up against you.

“You want a kiss?” he asked and every part of you should have been screaming yes, because you did.

You did want a kiss, but nothing about this was how you wanted it. It was a threat, not an offer. You’d been threatened with worse. You jutted your chin out a little, always standing up, never backing down.

“You going to give me one?”

His eyes flicked towards your lips, hovered there a second, like he was really thinking about it. They stayed there a little longer and doubt was picking up speed on its race to your consciousness. You thought he wouldn’t. You thought he would. You still couldn’t predict his behaviour. You thought you had him pinned and then he flipped you. You always thought you had him on the ropes, but you never really did.

You were impatient, tiring of this, doubt and insecurity and embarrassment swelling up inside you and you opened your mouth to tell him to go away, to fuck off and die, to do something vile to himself. It was at that moment that his eyes met yours again, for a split second that sent a streak of ice through your blood, and then his mouth was on yours.

You had never once looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even if you had wanted to, even if you had decided before he did it that you would push him off, return his rejection, you couldn’t possibly have done it now. His lips were soft, his hands still tight around your arms. He crowded you further against the door, your bodies pressing together as he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entry. You gave it to him. Your hands snaked up his chest and into his hair; it was softer than you’d expected, silky. For a moment, you were disarmed by it. Soft. He never let his softness show if he could help it. Only rarely. Only when he felt safe enough to let his guard down did it ever come creeping out from its hiding place. But here it was, sprouting from the top of his head. Here it was, pressed against your lips, brushing your tongue. You felt weak at the knees.

As far as kisses go, it was the best you’d had. Fire and ice fighting: goosebumps erupting on your skin as it flushed hot, making you shiver. His mouth was warm and wet and sweet and you were desperate for more, knowing that he was kissing you just right and that you weren’t doing the same. You were too eager, too greedy, too needy. This wouldn’t be enough. Couldn’t be enough. Just his lips on yours, his tongue rolling with yours, his hands still pinning your sides. You couldn’t stop here. You had to have him. All.

You whined when he pulled back, when his grip on you loosened, and you opened your eyes expecting his to be soft and liquid, to be those sweet, round boba eyes he didn’t show enough of.

They were hard and flat. He moved away from you in one, long step and back was that impassive blankness he loved so much.

“Happy fucking birthday,” he said.

He stalked off to his bedroom and shut the door.

You stayed, glued to the front door, shaking. With anger, probably. With embarrassment, maybe. With something akin to heartbreak, but you would never admit it. The roaring in your ears, the screaming of invective at both yourself and Minho in your head so loud that you didn’t hear the sound of a key in the lock, weren’t aware that someone was trying to get in until they were shoving at the door, pushing you with it.

“What the fuck?” came a quiet whine from the other side of it as he slowly pushed you away and got the door open. “Why were you trying to keep me out?”

Jisung’s hamster cheeks were full of kimbap, the other half of the roll still in his hand, and his eyes were wide with that cute, pitiful look he carried off so perfectly.

You ignored him. You stomped into your bedroom and slammed the door as hard as you could.

THIRD

Despite having your own bedroom (graciously offered up by Changbin and very ungraciously accepted by you), privacy in the small basement flat was an issue. Which is why you were huddled in the farthest corner of it, fists stuffed in your mouth, crying as quietly as you could in the dead of night.

You lived with five men, but you had not yet found someone to date who would take the threat of them seriously. They did make threats, on occasion, when they had to. Because you had not yet found a man who could treat you as anything more than shit but you had, apparently, found the least bothered and most unfazed men in the city. The one before last had barely flinched when all five of them had battered down his door to come for you, when you had finally managed to get a message out that he was keeping you there.

You never found out what happened to him. You didn’t ask and no one told you.

This one hadn’t been that bad. That was the problem. You had thought he was nice. You had thought (as you had so many times before) that he might actually be the first to treat you right.

You were wrong. So, you were crying in the corner of your room. You didn’t always cry. In fact, you didn’t often cry. Rarely, even. It meant that, when you did, the floodgates opened and you found it hard to stop. You found it almost impossible to breathe, desperately snatching air between sobs. Your head was already pounding, your face aching. It was total and complete the way it overtook you. So much so that you didn’t notice the presence of another person until they sat down beside you.

You gasped, as much as you could amongst your shaking, shallow breaths, and were only slightly comforted that it was him. He said nothing. He pulled you towards him and held you like that until the storm had passed.

You continued to sit in silence as your tears dried on your face, as your heartrate settled and your breathing became even. He didn’t make a move to let you go and you didn’t make one either. You were tired. You were sad. You were, though you wouldn’t admit it, a little bit heartbroken. This bit of comfort was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t want him to say anything. You didn’t want to hear it. That you’d done it again. That you’d never learn. That, somehow, you were gullible and easy to fool despite the fact that you had been hardening yourself against vulnerability of every kind since you were a child. That men just found a way to get beyond your defences—that bad men found a way. The good ones didn’t find you at all.

“His loss,” was what he said.

You lifted your head, tears still clinging to your lashes, drying on your cheeks. He had that look on his face that he saved for you: the soft, sweet one he gave you when you’d earnt it or when you needed it. The one that made your insides curdle, that even now made your heart skip a beat, that you wanted to fall into forever, that had sealed your fate so many years ago now. He blinked slowly at you, cat-like as always, and brushed your hair from your face.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came. Your voice was trapped in your throat because he was still looking at you like that but his eyes kept flicking down, then back up, then down again at longer and longer intervals until he closed them completely and brought his lips to yours.

You didn’t have to think twice. Didn’t have to think at all. Your body did the thinking for you. Your hands pushed into his hair and your legs pushed you up so you could slot them down either side of his hips. His hands found your waist and then the soft skin on the other side of your t-shirt.

This was nothing like the first time. You remembered it all too well: the electricity, the anger, the volcano of feelings you’d tried to suppress rumbling and threatening to erupt, to blow the lid off the equilibrium you’d found. The hunger, the desperation, your own neediness spoiling it all.

You weren’t desperate anymore, for his approval, for his love, for whatever he would give you. You wanted it all, would lay yourself on the floor and kiss his feet if he asked, with no hesitation, but you always knew he wouldn’t ask. You’d got used to that.

Except now he was kissing you – he had kissed you – and his hands were squeezing at your waist and it was slow. Controlled. Deliberate. There was nothing accidental about the way his tongue rolled over yours, the way his teeth bit at your bottom lip, the way his hands pulled you lower on his lap, pulled you closer to him until there wasn’t so much as a breath of air between you.

“Mouse,” you murmured, quietly into his mouth.

He shook his head minutely, a tiny hum swallowed by you when he pressed your lips together again. No talking. Fine. You didn’t need to talk. If he kept kissing you, kept touching you, you wouldn’t need to utter another word again. But you couldn’t stop the little gasp when he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck, the moan rising in your throat when he ran his tongue over the same spot, hurting then soothing. Like always.

It made your brain turn fuzzy, static wavering in your mind, as all your conscious thoughts turned to liquid, melting into Minho’s mouth, swallowed down by him, eaten whole.

Then the front door slammed hard.

“Guys!” Chan shouted, in a way that he never did.

You heard him pounding on doors, opening them, starting with Changbin and Hyunjin’s on the right.

You sprang apart like two north magnets, instinctively repelled by one another, just in time for Chan to burst through the door and scan the room for you, too wired, too stressed to register that it might have been weird for you to be sitting on the floor like you were, certainly not noticing your kiss-bitten lips or heavy breathing or the way Minho’s hair was ruffled like it had just had a fist in it.

“We’ve got to go,” Chan announced. “Like, right fucking now.”

FOURTH

No one wanted to up the ante. No one wanted to start getting involved with the organised crime lot. Your crime was… disorganised. It was local. It was just you doing the things you needed to, skirting around the law to survive. It wasn’t really crime, not if you squinted hard enough. Then the police raided the bar (which was illegal in pretty much every way that mattered) and you had nowhere left to go.

There was just enough of the trust your parents left you (which you got access to at 21) to secure a new apartment (one that was not underground) and a small buy-in with a group of much larger, older, more experienced criminals. There was very little else you could’ve done at that point. Or so you all told yourselves.

The apartment was an upgrade in every way but size. It was newer and above-ground which meant it stayed warm and didn’t get damp. It had windows which let the sun in. It had enough room for two sofas so everyone could sit comfortably. It had a gas hob which really only Chan and Minho cared about, but they cared a lot. It had two bathrooms with reliably hot water and good pressure. It did not get power cuts. It did not always smell musty. It was not brown and beige and grey. But it did have fewer rooms to be parcelled out between you all.

The last one had four rooms that served as bedrooms. This had three. Between six. There had been furious arguments and endless straw-pulling and no one was happy with the results. It took a few weeks but eventually things shook out as they always should have.

You shared with Minho because he was the only one who was willing. You both had reputations for being scary (in totally opposite ways: you the raging bull to his still, fathomless water); you loved to take your bad moods out on one another; he was the only one you ever willingly let see you when you were sad and small and vulnerable. Besides which, no one else would dare try to take the space at your side from him. So you shared a bedroom: two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, because Minho refused to sleep in a bunk bed and you refused to sleep together in a double. There was little room for anything else.

You complained about the sleeping arrangements almost daily. You loved the hot water and the sunlight and the not-mouldiness of the apartment, but some days, you couldn’t bear the way you couldn’t get away from Minho.

You’d thought you had it bad. This was even worse.

Four days. Four days, so far, staying (squatting) in a vile, empty, dilapidated villa apartment, staring out of a window, waiting for something to happen. Just you and Minho and one room. For four days and counting.

It was Minho’s turn to watch and he sat at the monitor, diligent, hard-working, as always, whilst you were supposed to be catching up on sleep. Instead, you were lying on what passed for a bed, tossing an apple into the air and catching it, over and over and-

“You going to stop that?” Minho asked, with his trademark tone: both light and threatening.

“Nope!”

“Want me to make you?”

You flicked your eyes over to him: he was studying the monitor seriously, but you were sure he had been looking at you.

You hadn’t spoken about that night. Partly because you hadn’t had the time. You’d jumped up from the floor of your bedroom, grabbed as much stuff as you could fit in the first bag you could find and the six of you had legged it, making it out just in time to watch the police cars roll up and trash the place.

“There was so much fucking money in that safe,” Chan had said, plaintively, staring at the sky. That was when you’d offered up yours.

You had had to find somewhere to live, and fast. You’d all had to find jobs, something to do, some way to make money that wasn’t connected to the bar. You had been passing like ships in the night, meeting only to argue about shower time and sleeping arrangements. Then Changbin had come home with a suggestion. You’d argued about that, too, but in the end, it was unanimous. Go in with the bigger boys or – well, there was no ‘or’. That was the point.

So you and Minho were working recon. You’d pulled the short straw in more ways than one. It was the longest you had spent together. Ever. Confined for days in this space.

On the first day, he refused to talk to you at all.

On the second, you made everything into an argument because at least you could get a rise out of him.

On the third, he had seemed to thaw. Something had softened and you talked, like friends, like you used to. You laughed and joked and it wasn’t so bad.

Now it was the fourth day and that ice had returned. He had frozen over, doubled-down on silence. No sooner had you had warmed up than he was giving you frostbite, chilblains. Whiplash. Those ten words were the first he’d spoken to you all day.

“No,” you answered. “I don’t want you to make me.”

You paused, wondering if the words you were considering were a sign that you were going mad, that being cooped up in this space had sent you a little doolally. The unbearable nothingness of your days passing like sludge forcing all those hidden thoughts forward, with nothing to distract you from them. The words were certainly risky, but Minho had shown his hand. He had kissed you. Like he meant it. And you knew he would’ve continued to kiss you had Chan not interrupted. He’d have continued to do a whole lot more than just kiss you.

And you were bored.

“I want you to fuck me,” you said plainly, catching the apple in front of your face and turning to look at him.

He was still studying the monitor. Nothing on his face gave anything away: surprise, disgust, lust, laughter. Nothing. You were used to that.

“We’re on a job.”

“Yeah, and it’s boring and nothing is happening and who fucking cares? I would rather have sex.”

He sighed and rolled his head to look at you.

“Really, Sixteen? Now is the time you want to bring this up?”

“Stop calling me Sixteen.”

“I always call you Sixteen.”

“You always call me Sixteen when you want to put me in my place or make me feel like a child. I’m not a fucking child anymore.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“Then why won’t you fuck me?”

He laughed and your blood began to simmer.

“There’s more that I look for than just ‘is not a child’.”

“Don’t try to act like you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

“Well then, shall we?”

He smirked and the glint in his eye was new to you.

“We’re on a job.”

“Stop saying that!” you cried, stalking the three steps from your side of the room to his.

You manoeuvred yourself into his lap, blocking the monitor from his view, and took his face in your hands.

“We’re on a job and nothing is happening and nothing will continue to happen for ages yet, so why don’t we make it a little less fucking boring?”

You knew he wanted to. Could see his pupils dilate. Watched his eyes flick to your lips and your chest and back up. This might have been all he wanted: sex and nothing more. You didn’t know. Weren’t interested in having that conversation. Were convinced that it didn’t matter either way. If he only wanted sex, you would give it. Give it until it was too late and he was in too deep to come back out. Hadn’t worked before but there was a first time for everything.

But even that was beside the point. You were desperately bored and bored of being desperate for him and there was one stone that would kill both those birds.

“Mouse,” you said quietly, keeping your voice low, as you placed a kiss on his jaw, as you spread your knees a little wider, sinking lower into his lap. “Come on.”

His hands were on your thighs, neither encouraging nor discouraging, just holding tight. He didn’t respond as you continued to press kisses to his face, to his neck, grinding your hips over him slowly. You could feel his pulse beat fast, noticed the way his breathing was getting heavier, his fingers dipping deeper into your skin, until it hurt. Until he stopped pretending he was going to continue to work, stopped pretending that he could resist you.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice hoarse.

He gripped the hair at the back of your head and pulled you from his neck, tumbling you both to the floor. You didn’t want it to be fast, but you’d take it any way he’d give it. So when his hands pulled at your t-shirt, you let him take it off as you unclasped your bra. He didn’t give you time to fumble with the hem of his top, to discard it for him; he dipped his head straight down, swirling your nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth; he rested his weight on one elbow and his other hand descended. You were grateful you had no buttons, no zips to contend with, just the loose, elasticated band of a pair of leggings that had seen better days. Minho’s fingers slipped beneath it and he circled his fingers around your clit, the fabric of your underwear dulling the sensation only slightly.

This was moving even faster than you’d expected but you’d been waiting so long already. Blood rushed to the surface of your skin and your breath began to shudder. Underwear now pushed to the side, you gasped when Minho ran a finger through your folds, shivered when he moaned at what he found there. He brought his lips back to yours but you turned away to let his name drop from your open mouth.

“Mouse...”

“Shut up,” he said firmly as he sank two fingers into your slick cunt and stole your breath with another kiss.

You couldn’t talk but you could moan. Could whine. Could whimper as his fingers moved inside you, as he ground his palm against your clit, as he made your thighs twitch and walls spasm. You tried not to lose your mind completely, to stay grounded, to stay present now that this was finally, really, actually happening. You reached your own hands down to Minho’s trousers; he hadn’t got the no-buttons, no-zips memo and your fingers fumbled with both. They shook with adrenalin as you popped the button through the hole and dragged the metal zip down. You pushed them away from you, off his hips, and had one hand in his boxers when the crackle of the walkie-talkie cut through Minho’s moan.

You both froze.

“Minho? What’s happening? Chan said they’re on the move?”

You glanced at each other, for one more frozen second, and then the world lurched into overdrive. Minho clambered to the monitor with his trousers around his ankles and, as soon as he saw the screen, started swearing viciously, tugging at his clothes and throwing your t-shirt back at you.

“What’s happening?” you asked, breathless for all the wrong reasons now.

“They’re clearing out,” Minho reported into the walkie-talkie, ignoring you but answering your question anyway. “Two loads have left, a third on its way.”

“Shit! How did you miss it? What the fuck were you doing?”

“Nothing! We lost the feed for a minute but it came back quickly and then they were already moving.”

He shot you a glance, something between panicked plea and angry admonishment. It wasn’t often he was caught on the hop, wasn’t ever. You, however, were used to being on the wrong side of things, so you re-dressed quickly and had already started packing your shit up. No matter how sideways this went, you could take two positives from it. One, you wouldn’t have to stay locked up here with Minho any longer. Two, he definitely, definitely wanted to fuck you.

FIFTH

You still hadn’t talked about it. You continued to share a bedroom, sleep there every night, wake there every morning but you had not once discussed the twice now that you had almost had sex. You were waiting for him to bring it up, even though you knew he never would. He wasn’t a coward, not ever, but if there was one word to describe him it was loyal and you knew he would protect your group with his life. And that also meant not pursuing whatever it was that was between you. Because it was a risk. It could jeopardise the stability of what you had established—what Chan had established long before you ever came into the picture.

But you were digging your heels in this time. You’d already come on too strong. Your pride was being wounded with each day that passed, with each day that he continued to pass you up. You’d crack first. You knew you would. You always did. Minho was unbreakable. You weren’t. But you wanted to pretend, for at least a little while, that you could be. That you could be impenetrable, too.

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Junho repeated as he slammed into the car, instructing Minho to drive before the door was even shut.

Minho didn’t need telling twice.

“Where to?”

“Safe house,” he gasped, ragged breathing setting your teeth on edge.

You didn’t ask what had happened. What had gone wrong. That didn’t matter as much as getting out. Getting Junho out. You were disposable, still. You knew that. Even Minho. You were runts; you also still had something to make up for given what happened on your last assignment. So you travelled in silence. Junho in the back, breathing heavily; you didn’t turn around to see if he was ok. You didn’t want to know. You assumed he wasn’t but as long as you could hear him breathing, you knew he was alive.

Minho was facing forward, eyes scanning the roads ahead, reflexes allowing him to run red lights without accident – in this part of the city, no one would stop a flashy car like this for speeding, for driving recklessly. That was what they all did. His jaw was tense, eyes tight. He looked calm but you could see his little legs kicking under the water. You knew him well enough by now.

You didn’t keep your eyes on the road. You kept them on him. Felt like someone needed to be watching out for him, too – not that there was anything you could have done to be helpful anyway. There were always two in the getaway car. That was the rule and you didn’t ask why because you didn’t want to know the answer.

As a teen, you had thought you knew everything. You were old enough now to know not only that you knew nothing but also that you preferred it that way. Need to know basis. For everything. All the time.

Minho slowed, driving more carefully as the car left the city, winding across hills, negotiating turns that you’d have driven straight over, plummeting you all to a miserable death. He turned the headlights off at the mile marker he’d been told about, one that you’d already forgotten, and crawled, slower still, up to the house, blanketed in darkness, hidden by an overgrown and untended garden.

Junho grunted.

“Thanks. Wait until I give the signal then get the fuck out of here. Do not go anywhere you’ve ever met with us. Ditch the car when you can; destroy the plates.”

He didn’t wait for a response. You watched him stagger away and then waited until the light in the top right room flicked on and off and on and off again.

Minho put the car in reverse and slowly backed out. At a further mile marker, he turned the lights on. He continued to climb, driving away from the city still, until the car reached the top of the hill. The lights from the city were so bright you almost didn’t need the headlights at all. It didn’t feel a safe place to stop. Too visible.

Then Minho slowly and quietly backed the car into nook on the hillside. No doubt worn away from years of cars trying to pass each other on the narrow road, it barely contained the car, but it put it in some shadow and no one would hit you.

He turned the engine off and let his hands fall to his lap. His head tipped back against the headrest and he sighed.

“You ok?”

You asked him all the time and he never gave a serious answer because he always was. And if he wasn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to talk about it. But you asked all the same.

He nodded then turned to you.

“You?”

You laughed nervously, suddenly feeling the last twenty minutes as the adrenalin began to drain.

“Kind of feel like I could hurl.”

He laughed too and nodded again.

“I feel like I want to sleep for a thousand years but also like I could run a marathon,” you continued.

“I feel half-dead already but also fucking invincible.”

He held his hand out and it trembled. You clasped it between yours and held it tight. He smiled; from where you were sitting, it looked like a smirk, but then he turned more fully towards you and it wasn’t. It was sweet. His eyes were gleaming. Your mouth dried.

“Half-dead, huh?” And you knew you were going to say it. You always knew you would be the one with which it would raise its head. “How about a little dead? A little death, even?”

“Sixteen…”

His voice had that warning tone to it but the gleam in his eyes remained and you’d broken the seal now. Were going to push this as far as he’d let you.

“Mouse…”

You saw him waver. Absolutely, definitely, were certain that he was considering it. Until a car came over the crest of the hill and its headlights flashed in at you; at the same moment, Minho’s phone buzzed from the cup holder it had been thrown in. You jumped. He jumped. Whatever moment there had been was gone now.

Minho took his hand from your grasp and checked his phone. Then he put the car in gear.

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

You expected it to be quick. Expected it to be simple. It turned out to be neither. You had managed to destroy the plates and were very near clear of the car you’d now abandoned when you, once again, found trouble (‘why did it always have to be you?’ you had asked yourself fleetingly as Minho shoved you towards your own piece of shit car that had been waiting for your getaway; he had not waited for you to be fully seated or your door to be closed before he slammed a foot on the accelerator and squealed off). The two of you were screaming around corners, tearing out of the city in whichever direction provided the easiest escape. With the headlights off and the city lights streaming into the distance, you could barely see the road in front of you, had no idea how Minho was still driving straight. You trusted him with your life and it was just as well, because it was in his hands. His, yours, and potentially everyone else’s, too.

The summer sun was minutes away from popping its head above the horizon when you were finally able to return home.

You sat in silence for a few moments. You had moved beyond exhaustion into this kind of frayed, wired alertness. You felt your eyelids dropping even as your heart still hammered. Minho’s hand found yours.

“Mouse,” you said, letting the rest of it fall away unspoken.

“Yeah,” he replied but you didn’t know if that was his answer. “Just give me a minute.”

You were too tired to argue so you let silence fall again. You were almost dropping off, head just beginning to nod, when he tugged on your hand.

“Come here.”

You turned. You leant. His other hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He kissed you. Electricity crackled and a surge of energy rushed through you. It was happening again. He was kissing you. You couldn’t let this time pass by.

You scrambled in your chair, forgetting to undo your seatbelt, being pulled back by it and swearing coarsely when your lips broke from his. You clambered over the gearstick and the handbrake and fell with one foot heavily in the footwell as Minho slid his seat all the way back. You didn’t have time to care about the jarring in your knee or the bump on your head as it hit the roof. Could barely feel it. Didn’t matter.

Well, it didn’t matter until it did. Until there wasn’t really room enough for you to straddle him. Until you were pressing yourself up against the roof so there would be room for him to get his hands to his belt. Until you lost your balance and fell backwards, landing with bump on the steering wheel, which blared out into the dark dawn street.

“Fucking hell,” Minho muttered. “Get in the back.”

More willingly than you ever had, you did as you were told. He moved his seat forward again, all the way, and you watched him climb through to you, hands reaching for him. It was no less awkward. Not enough room to lie down. Still not enough height to sit. Not space enough between the back and front to kneel. It was messy and uncoordinated, grabbing for anything, taking what you could get, knocking into the window and falling off the seat, kicking and elbowing each other in a tangle.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Minho roared, in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “No use. Not happening.”

He sat back and sighed, trousers undone but still around his hips. He pushed his hands through his hair and you tried to settle demurely next to him, smoothing your own hair, zipping up your jeans, swallowing hard as you fought to accept that he was right. It was not happening. Not here. Not now.

You stared through the car window and were sure you could’ve punched straight through it. You wanted to. It was the window, Minho, or yourself. Couldn’t effectively punch yourself. Knew you wouldn’t dare hit your mouse. Your fingernails pressed sharply into your palm as you squeezed your fists tightly.

A hand covered yours. Gentle. You looked at Minho and there he was: your secret, soft guy. You unfurled your fingers and he linked them with his own.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s just go home.”

FIRST

You tramped into the apartment, bringing your bad mood with you. Everyone was sick of it by now – you were sick of it, but you couldn’t shake it.

Minho was avoiding you. That much was clear. He had been avoiding you since you tried and failed to fuck in the car. You didn’t know why because you didn’t care. You had reached the end of your tether with the universe. Three times now. But still no cigar. You wondered – asked yourself a hundred times a day – what it was going to take to make this happen.

Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it. You could go out and hook up with whoever you liked. You could get yourself off just fine. But it ran so much deeper than that. If you pulled at the thread, it tugged on your heartstrings, all tangled up in knots. It hurt. It pulled at something so deeply interwoven with your very being; all anyone had to do was follow it to its source and they could destroy you. All anyone had to do was cut it and they’d cut you, too.

You didn’t like that. Hated it, in fact. Hated that all this tugging and wiggling had opened up a hole and you could feel your vulnerability exposed. You could feel weakness leaking out of you, seeping from your pores, visible to the naked eye, for anyone to see.

It made you bitter. Made you angry. Made you lash out even when you shouldn’t have. Because you were always on the defensive. Even now. Especially now.

You knew the others were talking about you. About Minho. About the two of you. Knew it from the awkward silences when you walked in a room and the furtive glances and the group chat that had grown curiously quiet, leaving you to assume that there was a separate one you weren’t a part of.

You were beginning to lose your patience and you were not starting with a plentiful supply.

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm your rage. You had woken with it, just like every other day this week, and it would not leave you. You breathed slowly and carefully and tried to think of difficult and boring things.

You thought only of Minho.

Then he opened the door. He hesitated – you could feel him standing there, assessing – and then shut it, leaving you alone. As the door clicked, you felt that tug. You felt the knots tighten, so impossibly tight now that the joins weren’t even visible. You jumped up and threw yourself through the door.

“Stop fucking ignoring me!”

You hadn’t meant to shout.

Minho turned and looked at you. His stillness enraged you further. He didn’t say anything.

“Are you going to fucking say anything?!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“ANYTHING! You haven’t spoken to me for weeks! You literally walk out of rooms if I’m in them! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You think this is easy?”

His voice was cold and sharp as steel. His head cocked lightly to the side and his eyes narrowed, peering at you, looking inside you.

“You think I want it to be like this?-”

“I don’t know what you fucking want!”

His nostrils flared. This delighted you. He was annoyed and you loved it.

“Not once,” you continued, still shouting because you couldn’t rein it in, “have you ever fucking told me. Not once have you ever actually said what you want! That you want me. Do you? Fucking do you? Because I don’t fucking know anymore! Every time we get close, you get further away from me! I’m not a fucking yo-yo, Minho. You can’t play with me-”

“Play with you? You think I’m playing? What part of this is a game?”

His voice was rising now, too, his perfectly blank mask slipping.

“It’s never been a game, Sixteen! Not once in the entire time since we met has it been a game! How are you still not getting it? Junho almost fucking died and if he had, it would have been our fault! We all almost ended up in prison because of the fucking bar. The night we met you almost got yourself trafficked! It’s not a game! You act like life is so fucking simple! It’s not!”

“IT IS! It can be that fucking simple! Stop overthinking! Stop taking everything so fucking seriously!-”

“It is serious! That’s what you don’t get!”

He was close now, had been inching closer and closer, and he was looking down at you, his eyes black as pitch, his jaw tight, his breath struggling through clenched teeth.

“You don’t get it and you never have.”

His voice was quiet, back to that steel that sent a chill down your spine.

“Everywhere you go, I look out for you. Everywhere you are, I am responsible for you. It’s been nine fucking years, Sixteen, and you are everywhere I go.”

Your vision tunnelled, stomach fell to your feet. You had to look away and hated yourself for it. You never flinched. You never backed down. You were never the first to retreat. Except for him. You couldn’t bear to look in his eyes, to see what loathing and disdain they held for you. Your embarrassment was on your cheeks already and pricking in your eyes.

Then his nose nudged yours and he took more steps forward. He pushed you slowly against the wall and you cursed yourself for retreating to it.

“You are in my life and in my bedroom and in my fucking head,” he whispered. “All the time. All the fucking time. And I haven’t been able to do shit about it because you are my job. You are mine to protect. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I would burn this place to the ground for you. I would scorch the earth. I would drain the sea. For you. Don’t you get it? When it comes to you, I’m a fucking liability.”

You risked it. A glance. Lifted your eyes for less than a second but you had to do it again. Had to stop there, be sure you were really seeing what you thought you were.

Soft, round, liquid eyes. An openness in his face that he hadn’t let you into before. His mouth was still a grim line, turned down at the corners so slightly, had it been anyone but you, it would have gone unnoticed.

“Mouse...”

You tried to whisper but could barely manage that, his name creeping out on a hoarse gasp.

He moved his face closer to yours, lips almost touching.

“Don’t you get it?” he repeated.

You got it. Because everything he said was true for you, too. You’d started out as a liability, for sure, but you had continued to be one because Minho was your north star. Not Chan. Not the group. Not whatever sense of purpose you might have derived from the life you had cobbled together. If he said jump, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You would jump. You’d been following him since day one and, then, it might have been desperation, a lack of options. Now... well, there was still desperation: a desperate need for him, a desperate desire to be wanted by him, kissed by him, touched by him. You had other options. Options you would never take, not as long as he existed. You would stop existing before you ever thought of leaving him.

You nodded, feeling more like a foolish, vulnerable 16-year-old than you had when you were foolish and vulnerable and 16.

He sighed, breath sweet with the pudding he could never resist, and you were closing your eyes, tilting your chin up, expecting him to give in.

He turned away. You watched him, mouth agape in disbelief, as he pushed his hands through his hair.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” you screamed, bringing your hands down on his back in something that was half-shove, half-slap.

He had whipped around before you could lower your arms and you found your wrists caught in his hands.

“You don’t fucking stop, do you?” he hissed.

“Why would I stop?! I don’t want to stop, Minho! And nor do you! You can’t say you don’t! Because I KNOW. I KNOW you want it. I know you want me. And I’m fucking throwing myself at you. Take me! TAKE ME!”

His eyes were hard and dark. His fingers pushed so tightly into your wrists that you could feel your pulse against them. He was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring but lips shut tight, pressed together in a thin line.

“Take. Me,” you repeated, level and firm, not sure if he would, but sure that, if he didn’t, things would never be the same again.

You couldn’t do this a fourth time. Couldn’t put yourself in his hands, have him take you, and then... Not. And then stop. And then act as if you didn’t exist. That thread between you, tied up in your heartstrings, was taut, stretched, at its limit. And so were you.

The pause was painful. Excruciatingly long. Adrenalin coursed through you, making you hot, making you shake, making your heart beat so hard against your ribs you thought they might break. Thought your heart might break. Hadn’t been willing to admit how fragile it was but it felt like venetian glass now. You could already feel the cracks forming, the web extending, the shards-

He kissed you. Pulled you roughly towards him by your wrists and kissed you. Put his hands on your hips, then slid them under your top, and still kissed you. He was kissing you. It took a few seconds to slip back into your body, to feel it, the soft petal of his lips against yours, the sharp bite of his teeth, the wet warmth of his tongue. You forgot your shattering heart and grabbed his T-shirt, using it to pull him closer, to drag him into your shared bedroom.

Not that he needed dragging. You stumbled over each other’s feet as you tried to kiss and walk and grope all at once. You tumbled backwards onto his bed and took the brief separation as an opportunity to lose your top, to unclasp your bra. Your hands were in the waistband of your joggers when Minho climbed over you, topless now too, breathless as he mirrored your actions, pushing his trousers and his boxers over his hips. He huffed a frustrated sigh as you giggled, as he stood back up to take them all the way off, to kick them off his ankles and take yours away, too.

He didn’t give you time for admiration, for appraisal. He lay his body over you and his lips pressed against yours, quickly, firmly, before trailing them across your jaw and down your neck. He was every bit as vicious as you thought he would be, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, sinking into your soft flesh. You wanted him to mark you, wanted the proof of it to last. You scraped your nails down his back and he hissed when you broke the skin. Hissed but didn’t complain. Hissed and moved his mouth lower, swirling his tongue around your nipple, sinking his teeth into that, too.

When you tugged on his hair, he pulled off, looked at you, his face an open question. You shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you panted. “I like it. I just want to pull your hair.”

He laughed and clamped his teeth over your breast again, harder this time, so you keened and your back arched into him. You twisted his roots in your fist and he moaned, eyes flicking up to yours as he kissed across the valley of your chest.

“Do that again.”

“Fuck,” you gasped, tipping your head back, doing as he had asked and tugging hard.

The ache you felt for him had ballooned inside you, taken up all your hollow spaces. There was your flushed skin and your fluttering heart, your rushing blood and your deep, persistent ache for Minho. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Mouse,” you whispered, voice tight with desire. “Touch me, please.”

You never asked. You didn’t beg. If you liked a guy, you let them do what they wanted with you, and if you didn’t, you took what you wanted. It was always one-sided.

But this wasn’t. It was Minho. It was the fathomless depth in his eyes as he lay his mouth all over you. It was the slip of his fingers through your soaked folds as he sucked sweet bruises against your neck. It was the sound of a moan caught in his throat when you wrapped your fingers around his hard, leaking length. It was mutual. It was reciprocated.

It was burning you up, hotter and sweeter than you’d ever felt before. His fingers sinking into your core made you shudder with delight. The twitch in his cock as you brushed your thumb over his head made your mouth water. The sound of his mumbled sweet nothings pressed against your skin, whispered in your ear, licked straight into your mouth, made you dizzy.

“So soft,” he said. “So wet... Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful... I’ve wanted this for so long... Wanted you...”

He used your name, your real one, the one he didn’t learn (didn’t ask for) for months after you met. You returned the favour, ‘Minho’ tripping from your lips, until he shook his head.

“Mouse,” he murmured, mouth still pressed against yours. “‘Mouse’ is yours.”

“Mouse,” you echoed and he nodded before kissing you so that you could say nothing at all.

You barely spoke, couldn’t catch your breath enough to form the words, couldn’t engage your faculties to find any to say. Minho spoke, though, more than you had ever heard him speak: praise and exclamation and remembrance and, yes, even admonition, but it was all so sweet, syrupy, dripping from his tongue like honey. You’d never heard him speak like this before, never had him melt in your hands or in your mouth, never felt him as easy and pliable as this.

It wasn’t just his body. It wasn’t just the perfect smoothness of his warm, soft skin. It wasn’t just the stretch, the fullness, he made inside you, the insistent rhythm of his hips thrusting his cock tightly into your slick, waiting warmth. It wasn’t just his wet, sugary mouth, at your lips, at your jaw, at your clavicle. It wasn’t just all these things he was doing to you, all the things you were doing to him.

It was his open eyes, round and shining and fluttering closed as your walls clenched around him. It was the tenderness in them, the depth he was letting you see, for more than just seconds at a time. It was the gentle tracing of your face with his fingers, even as he fucked into you, even as his teeth drew blood beneath your skin. It was Minho, the entirety of him. Yours. Finally yours. Finally giving in to you, giving himself to you.

You got it. You had said you did and you had, but now, beneath him in his bed as he loved you, you actually understood the magnitude of it. His feelings for you. Yours for him. Held back behind a dam for so many years and now, the dam had broken. Now came the deluge that would flood the world, could drown everyone in it.

To hell with them, you thought. To hell with anyone else. You found what you needed almost a decade ago. He found you. You found each other, somehow, by some miracle.

When the pleasure swelled up in your core, toes curling, back breaking, you cried out with all the breath you had in your lungs, felt tears sting in your eyes, and the following inhale wobbled and shook. Minho paused, pressed his forehead against yours, kissed you lightly, didn’t have to ask the question out loud.

You nodded and kissed him again, then again, each time hungrier than the last. You didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to feel anything but this, but him. He moved slower now, though, hips rolling smoothly, lips not leaving yours, even when he spoke, even when he murmured how fucking good you felt, how much better than he’d imagined, how hard he was trying not to come, how he didn’t want this to end.

You couldn’t take it. Thought you really would cry, thought you would collapse entirely under his weight, under the weight of everything you’d been carrying around, all these feelings: all this love and fear and frustration. He pushed you to the edge again without even trying, your red thread thoroughly tangled, inseparable now, and pulling a greater ecstasy from you than you had ever known.

He couldn’t hold out either, his final, sharp thrusts filling you with his sticky release. You held him there, as close as he could be. He kissed you, so light it was barely there, his fingers grazing your face as he pushed the hair from your brow.

“Mouse,” you choked, tears threatening your waterline.

He kissed you again, that little butterfly kiss; you’d never seen him be this gentle.

“Sixteen,” he whispered and, for possibly the first time, it didn’t sound like disdain, didn’t come accompanied by a smirk or an eye-roll; it was hushed and secret and just for you.

As it had always been.

You lay on his chest, bodies pressed together in the small, single bed, as they would have been even if the bed were bigger.

“I want some water,” he said, lips against your forehead before he manoeuvred himself out from underneath you. “Want a drink?”

You nodded and he smiled down at you as he fetched clean underwear and pulled a T-shirt over his head.

You watched him go, watched him open the door, and then heard the sound of party poppers, whoops, and applause.

The apartment was empty. Had been empty when you entered your bedroom. In the midst of everything, you had failed to notice the gang return home. They had not failed to notice you and Minho.

“Fucking finally!”

“You mean, they finally fucked?”

Laughter resounded from the living room. Minho turned around, closed the door, and climbed back into bed without a word.

#skz fanfic #skz smut #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee know smut #lino x reader #lino fic #lino smut #minho x reader #lee minho #minho fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #lee minho fanfic

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yasmindifference · 14 days ago

Note

Cheer up prompt #27

An anon and @this-was-a-terrible-idea also requested #27! A popular number apparently lol. I hope you all enjoy! ♡

"--and then Mr. Browsten said that with all the, um, the hullabaloo that it wasn't fair to make us take a test, so he cancelled it."

Tim pauses for breath and Mom hums an encouraging noise. When Dad makes that sound, it means he's not really listening, but he knows Mom's paying attention, even though she hasn't stopped curling her hair. From where he's lying on her bed, he can see her reflection in the vanity mirror, and she's frowning just like he knew she would.

Mom doesn't approve of canceling tests, which means she doesn't approve of Mr. Browsten, because he cancels them all the time.

(Mom says tests are important to know where improvement is necessary. Mr. Browsten doesn't seem to agree.)

"So we watched a documentary instead and it was pretty interesting, it was about puffer fish! Sarah asked what puffer fish have to do with grammar and Mr. Browsten said that learning is its own reward, but I think he just didn't have anything else ready so he took something from Ms. Cappola instead. She's the fifth grade science teacher and I heard her classes watch movies at least twice a week."

Mom tuts, which Tim was expecting, and sets down her curling iron.

"Ridiculous," she mutters. "I don't know why we're paying that school so much in tuition when they can't be bothered to teach you anything. It's a miracle you ever learned to read."

"It's because I'm smart," Tim informs her helpfully, and Mom smiles her special just-for-Tim smile.

"You are," she agrees. "And thank goodness for that. Now, would my smart boy do me a favor?"

Because Tim's smart, he already knows what she's going to ask. He rolls off the bed to his feet. "Curling iron?"

"Yes, please." Mom rolls her chair away from the vanity so he can crawl under it to unplug the curling iron. She plugged it in herself, but that was before she was all dressed up in her expensive dress. "Thank you, Timmy."

"You're welcome," he chirps, crawling back out.

Mom rolls back in front of the vanity, but Tim stays where he is, kneeling next to it so he can watch her put her makeup on. There are a lot of different bottles and brushes and powders involved, but Mom never hesitates. Tim doesn't know how she keeps it all straight.

He likes watching Mom get ready to go out. Sometimes--like tonight--she lets him pick out the jewelry she's gonna wear, and then she chooses her dress and hair and makeup all based on what he picked. Even when the colors don't match, it all fits together like a puzzle...a puzzle she pieces together in seconds after Tim's impulsive choice.

It's really cool.

Tonight, Tim picked pretty, dangly earrings with some kind of red stone (ruby, Mom said when he asked), so Mom picked a black dress. She said it would make the earrings pop, which he didn't get until he saw her wearing it.

Now, he watches her choose lipstick as red as the earrings and asks, "Does the lipstick make the earrings pop, too?"

Mom finishes smoothing it on before she smiles at him. "You tell me."

Tim studies her. The lipstick matches the earrings, but it doesn't draw attention to them the way the plain dress does. He already watched her do her eye stuff, and her eyes look bigger somehow, but they're not colorful like they were when they all went to the opera last week.

"No," he decides. "You went new...neutral?" He waits for her slight nod of confirmation, then continues, encouraged, "You went neutral with your eye stuff and red with your lipstick to make your lips pop."

"Very good," Mom says, smiling. She cups his cheek briefly before turning back to the vanity. "Clever boy."

Tim beams and watches in fascinated silence as she uses some kind of powder. Even though he's staring right at her, he can't tell what the powder actually does. All he knows is that when she's done, her face looks...different. Still pretty, but kinda sharper somehow.

Makeup is like magic, he decides. No matter how many times he watches her get ready, he can never figure it out.

"Can I try?" he asks impulsively.

"Try what?" Mom asks, a little distracted. The cap on one of her bottles is stuck and she's struggling to open it.

"Your makeup!" Tim takes the bottle from her and opens it by using the hem of his shirt to grip it better. Mom can't do that, her dress is all shiny and slippery. "You look pretty, I wanna try."

Mom pauses and then smiles.

"I don't have long before I have to leave," she warns him, "but I don't see why not. Do you want to pick out some lipstick?"

Tim absolutely does. He levers to his feet as, across the room, Dad finally stirs. He's been reading some stuff his assistant from Drake Industries brought by earlier, ignoring them both, but now he says, "Janet" in a weird tone.

"Jack?" Mom asks, even as she directs Tim's attention to the little circles on the bottom of her lipstick tubes that show what color they are. She has a lot of options.

"Janie, really," Dad says. He sounds unhappy, and Tim looks up from comparing two different shades of pink to find him frowning. "You can't mean to let our son--"

He stops mid-sentence and Tim bites back a wince. Dad's in trouble; Tim hasn't seen that look on Mom's face since he told her about his last nanny giving him whiskey to help him sleep when he woke up from bad dreams.

"My son," Mom says very deliberately, "is welcome to express himself however he likes."

Is trying makeup expressing himself? Tim just wants to see if it makes him as pretty as it does Mom.

Either way, that's not a good tone. Tim looks down and concentrates really hard on picking out a lipstick.

"Janet," Dad tries again, weakly. He obviously knows he's in Big Trouble, but for some reason he hasn't apologized yet. Tim tries to psychically tell him to cut his losses and back down, but his telepathy apparently still hasn't kicked in, because Dad says, "It's just that--"

"Do you know what you want to try, sweetheart?" Mom asks, completely ignoring Dad.

Tim looks between his parents, decides to let Dad dig his own grave, and hands Mom the red he settled on.

(If it's the red that most closely resembles the red in Robin's uniform...well, it's not like Mom has any way of knowing that.)

"Excellent choice!" Mom says. She stands up from the vanity and pats her chair. "Take a seat."

Tim does, excited. He's not usually allowed to sit at Mom's vanity.

Lipstick, he learns quickly, feels really weird. He has to sit super still while Mom puts it on him, and it makes his lips feel weirdly heavy, like there's something on them.

Which there is, actually, so...he doesn't know what he was expecting.

Mom hands him a tissue so he can "blot" his lips, just like he's seen her do a million times, and then steps aside so he can see his reflection in the mirror.

"Whoa," Tim says, leaning closer. He makes a few faces, pushing his lips together and out, transfixed by how bright and noticeable they are. It doesn't make him pretty like Mom, but he likes how it looks anyway. "Cool."

Behind him, Dad throws up his hands and leaves the room. He's angry, Tim can tell, but Mom is smiling down at him, so Tim's not worried.

"Do you want to pick eyeshadow next?" she asks.

"Yes, please!"

Prompt #27 was experimentation! Well selected! ♡♡

#yasminfic #tim drake #tim drake fic #janet drake #yevezc #prompt response #when was the last time i wrote something that wasn't even vaguely jaytim lmao #but for some reason this was the first thing to come to mind #edited to add a read more because oops did not realize how long this got lol #sorry for taking up so much of your dash

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dead3ve · 4 months ago

Note

Could you write a Meeks x reader story where they often see each other at the school library but have never actually spoken. And one day the only free table is the one reader is at, so they sit together and kinda bond? ✨ (fem!reader preferably, but if you prefer gender neutral that’s also good)

Steven Meeks x fem!shy!reader

Summary: The request!!! <3

Warnings: no use of y/n, reader referred to as a girl, swearing

For several weeks, Meeks had watched a girl in the Welton library.

He spent his mornings before school in the library watching them from his table. Then, the pair walked silently to breakfast together in the following hour. At breakfast, once they went their separate ways, Meeks would look between heads and shoulders to catch a glimpse of the girl from her table.

What Steven didn't know was that they were also watching.

They were looking at his hands when he turned the pages of his textbooks and when he readjusted his glasses. In Latin, they were fascinated by the way his mouth moved and how the foreign language came so easily to him. They often wondered what his hair would feel like, as it was the back of his head they saw so often in English.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The issue today was that there were no seats available in the library. Groups of students had taken all of the girl's usual spots, leaving a space at a table next to Steven Meeks. This sent their heart into an unsteady beat. Where else could I go? They were thinking quietly to themself, juggling the several books in their arms. The common area would be busier than here. The girl looked back over to Meeks where he was looking straight back at them. Shit. Meeks stood and walked towards the girl at the doors of the library. Double shit. I hope he doesn't want to talk to me.

"Do you want to sit with me? It's busy today, isn't it?" Meeks spoke gently to the girl. Almost as if approaching and coaxing a skittish mouse.

The girl's shoulders relaxed, and a soft breath escaped them. They were relieved he spoke kindly. Nodding their head with a sense of relief, they followed Steven back towards his table.

In silence, Meeks kept on working and the girl set up her schoolwork. They had Latin due in the next period. A task on spelling. Shit again. They had to make a fool out of themself when sat next to the prettiest, smartest boy in the whole school. The girl looked over to see what Steven was doing. Maths. Calculous looking crap. God, I'm such a fool!

They put their head down and tried to actually do the work, rather than copy from the textbook the girl had placed in front of themself. That was when Meeks looked up. He saw their furrowed brow and thumbnail between their teeth. Their pencil was hesitating in their dominant hand. He smiled and looked at what they were working on. It was the Latin homework he'd already finished. He read one of their answers.

"You need an 'i' there." He had his face resting against his hand. Steven had spoken in a daze. He hadn't realised he had stopped writing to watch them.

The girl looked up, sheepish. "I do?" They leant back defeated in their chair. Their gaze had turned into an angry look towards their paper, with a jutted, pouty lip. Meeks tried not to smile at their cute unsureness.

"Yeah," Meeks moved his chair closer to theirs. "You're not far off. Do you mind?" Steven had taken their pencil and gestured towards their work. They wanted to say Yes! Fix all of it! They gave a small nod instead, sliding the paper over to him.

Meeks explained their misspelling. Gave some tips on how to fix it too. They were hanging on to every word. By the end of his explanation, they had their head cupped in their hands so they could comfortably ogle the boy while he talked.

Meeks looked up and blushed in surprise. Steven didn't realise he was being watched. He released a breathy laugh and leant back in his chair now that he had finished. The girl pulled back their paper to read the corrections the boy made. They smiled softly. To think he would have made me feel stupid.

"Thank you, Steven," The girl looked up at him with a smile and a mischievous look in their eye. "You're better than Mr. McAllister."

Meeks laughed at that. He was laughing to hide his blush. Steven like the way his name sounded when toned by their voice. He liked the way they sounded when they laughed too. It was ringing in his ears, making his neck warm. Meeks didn't want the discussion to stop.

"Is there any other Latin you're struggling with? Or Maths? I'm really good at trig," Meeks poured on about what he could help the girl with.

"Latin... More Latin, please." They spoke looking at him. They were basking in the way Meeks mouthed every word, English or not. Their body had leaned onto the table to view the boy better.

Meeks blushed. The prettiest girl he knew wanted him to talk about what he knew. Steven's elbow moved to point against the table as he rested his head in his hand. He wanted to gaze at the girl as he spoke.

"You know, your name wouldn't have half the letters it does in Latin."

#dead poets society x reader #dead poets society #dead poets fanfic #fem!reader #dps #dead poets #steven meeks x reader #steven meeks #shy!reader

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borathae · 5 months ago

Text

Just Relax

↳ Full Art

“Yoongi is very hesitant about bottoming, but something about his best friend Hoseok makes him ease up. One night, he comes to his place with a very important favour to ask. A rimjob, but please be patient with him, he is very shy.”

Pairing: Yoongi x Hoseok

Genre: best friends with benefits!AU, polyamory!AU, Smut

Warnings: implications of accidental listening in on a threesome, shiest sub!Yoongi, he is scared of bottoming and needs someone to be patient with him, listen this is very difficult for him but sometimes a kitty gets horny and can't think straight anymore, patient Dom!Hoseok, praise, encouraging dirty talk, making out against a wall, shy nudity, frotting, oral sex, a rimjob in the shower, accidental face sitting, Hoseok is way too skilled with his mouth, Yoongi tries to stay quiet but fails, handjob, spontaneous anal sex, they're both very horny for each other, multiple intense orgasms (Yoongi receiving), creampie, cockwarming, a little bit of subdrop, reassuring aftercare!!, you guys must know that Yoongi never asks for stuff like this so this is a big deal for him!

Wordcount: 7.3k

a/n: i'm actually fucking obsessed with shy sub Yoongi 😩 just as i'm obsessed with patient Dom Hoseok 😩 fukkc besties i might just be obsessed with this duo 😩 have fun hehe i hope you are enjoying the art to it as well hehe 👀 i might already be working on something else with them 👀💙

Hoseok opens the door to Yoongi in his biker gear.

“Yoongi hey, what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure, always. Come in”, Hoseok says, stepping out of the doorway, “you’re coming at the perfect time. I was planning to pop open a blood bag and watch a show. Want one?”

“Thanks, I’ll pass. Blood bags are rancid.”

“No, hairy animals are rancid. You’re getting fur mixed with your meal.”

“Touché”, Yoongi says, shrugging off his leather jacket to reveal a white t-shirt. Yoongi steps out of his boots. “Still better than refrigerated blood. That’s like cooking your favourite meal and waiting for it to get cold before eating it.”

“Your loss then”, Hoseok says and abandons Yoongi in the hallway.

Not that he is alone in the kitchen for long. Mere seconds later, he can hear the distinct pitter-patter of Yoongi’s waddle walk. He only does this walk in front of people he feels comfortable with. Ever since that one fateful, drunken night, Hoseok definitely is on the list of comfortable people.

The latter takes out a blood bag and pierces it with a metal straw, slurping out of it. He looks at Yoongi, who is sitting by the dining table, gawking at Hoseok.

Hoseok scans his eyes over his torso. The shirt hugs his chest and arms, showcasing how strong Yoongi actually was. He is wearing silver jewellery on his arms and hands. Necklaces and earrings match in colour. As if he dressed up.

“Everything’s good with you?” Hoseok asks.

Yoongi nods his head.

“I’m just asking ‘cause you never visit without an invite.”

“I just.” Yoongi looks away and rubs his neck nervously. “You were on my way, yeah.”

He definitely wasn’t, but Hoseok knows better than to pry.

“Ah nice. Were you somewhere?”

Yoongi nods his head, now playing with his ear piercings.

“I had a few things to do in town. I’m on my way to the estate and thought I’ll check in on you.”

“That’s sweet of you. Thanks man.” Hoseok leans against the kitchen counter nonchalantly. He takes a sip of the blood and licks his lips. “I can’t complain. The house’s been kinda quiet ever since the others moved out, but other than that it’s good.”

Yoongi nods his head in understanding.

“Are you lonely?”

“Lonely?” Hoseok almost chokes on the blood, catching himself at the last moment. “Dude, what?”

“Sorry, I don’t know”, Yoongi looks to the side. His cheeks are slightly flushed.

Hoseok finishes his meal, discarding the empty bag in his trash can. He washes the metal straw and walks to Yoongi afterwards, sitting down on the chair next to him.

“It’s not lonely now, is it?” he says, giving him a playful grin.

Yoongi glances and blushes harder.

“Hm.”

“You look very nice today.”

“Uh…I just put on stuff, yeah.”

“It’s nice. It fits you.”

Yoongi flusters, nodding his head. “Thanks, uhm.” He gestures at Hoseok. “You look nice too.”

“You think? Thanks, it’s just an old sweat suit.”

Yoongi doesn’t look at Hoseok as he speaks, “it looks good on you.”

“Aw, thanks.” Hoseok gives him a smile even if he knows that Yoongi is too shy to look at him. “Why are you really here, hyung?”

Yoongi’s entire face is bright red within a second.

“I told you. You were on my way home”, he whines.

“Is that why you dressed up and why you put on fresh cologne?”

“I didn’t do any of these things.”

“Hyung, are you here for sex?”

Yoongi widens his eyes and looks away instantly.

“N-no, no I, uh, I no I”, he stutters and stutters, “no I, I, I…” He lowers his head. “Maybe”, he whispers almost inaudibly.

Hoseok grins triumphantly.

“See? Once you Doctor Love, you never wanna go back.”

“Fuck, shut up you freak. Forget it, I’m leaving again”, Yoongi groans, scurrying to his feet to flee in embarrassment.

But Hoseok acts quicker, using his powers to catch up with him in the hallway.

“Don’t run. I’ll take it seriously, promise.”

Yoongi gnaws on his own lower lip, glancing at him.

“Promise. I’ll stop the Doctor Love act. You’re gonna get Hoseok. Promise.”

Yoongi inhales and exhales, sagging his shoulders in defeat.

“I wasn’t even in town. The estate is busy. They, uhm, are having a threesome”, he confesses.

“Uuh sexy”, Hoseok coos, wiggling his brows.

“No, noisy as fuck. They keep taking turns on each other and they’re being so loud about it, it’s fucking insane.”

“It’s sounding better and better.”

“Hoba.”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself. When you tell me that ___, Tae and Kook are fucking, I can’t help being a perv.”

“You are, yeah.”

“But what’s that got to do with you?”

“I listened in.”

“Hah! I knew it! You do that too!”

“Not willingly, it happened”, Yoongi hisses.

“Sure hyung”, Hoseok grins, earning himself a soft nudge.

“Whatever asshole, I just overheard them and they were uhm, eating each other’s, like uhm, asses?”

“Hot, very hot. So you came to me ‘cause you wanna get your ass ate too.”

Yoongi looks to the side.

“Fuck, yes basically”, he babbles and turns his back to Hoseok slightly. “Whatever, it’s stupid. Just forget it.”

Hoseok stops him from leaving, holding his hand. Yoongi squeezes his hand instinctively.

“It’s not stupid. I can eat your ass.”

Yoongi glances, blushes and looks away. “Fucking hell, what are we doing here?”

“I don’t know. Flirting?”

Yoongi laughs slightly. Hoseok smiles and nudges him closer and closer to a wall.

“Wanna do it now?”

“I guess we could.” Yoongi, who finally notices that Hoseok is nudging him to a wall, but can’t do anything against being cornered, panics a little. “It’s not funny. This is weird”, Yoongi hisses.

“You’re thinking too much”, Hoseok says.

“Stop being cocky, I-”, his words get knocked out of him, back hitting the wall. He gasps and gasps again when Hoseok cages him in with his hands on the wall on each side of his head.

“You’re thinking too much”, Hoseok whispers, “you want this, don’t you?”

Yoongi nods his head, switching between looking into his eyes nervously and gazing at his lips longingly.

“Then stop thinking. I don’t judge, you know that I’m not.”

“I-I’ve never done this before.”

“What? Gotten a rimjob?”

Yoongi shakes his head, “no went to, to someone for sex. E-especially not a, a man.”

“And you’re nervous about it?”

Yoongi nods his head.

“Don’t be nervous, hyung. It’s just me.”

“You have to keep it a secret.”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one telling ___ all the details the last time, not me.”

Yoongi lowers his head in embarrassment, getting it tilted up again by two of Hoseok’s fingers under his chin. Hoseok laughs softly.

“I’ll keep it a secret. Promise”, he is teasing Yoongi, who flutters his lashes vigorously. “Try to relax, okay?”

“I’m trying”, Yoongi gets out, gulping heavily. His entire body is tense, his breaths leave him in short, ragged huffs.

“No, you’re not. You’re tense.”

“I’m trying, I mean it”, Yoongi says, huffing out air in defeat.

“Close your eyes”, Hoseok orders him in a soft spoken rasp.

Yoongi flutters his eyes closed, parting his lips slightly. He parts them even more when Hoseok brushes his thumb over the shape of them.

“You’ve got such pretty lips, hyung”, Hoseok whispers and leans down to kiss his upper lip. Just his upper lip, gently to get Yoongi wanting more.

Yoongi tilts his head closer excitedly, sighing against his will. Hoseok tastes sweet like the blood he drank, his lips are very soft. He keeps licking his upper lip. His tongue is so soft and wet and slightly cold. It makes Yoongi really needy because it feels like he is teasing him.

The kiss breaks, Hoseok puts enough distance so he can look at Yoongi’s flushed face. Yoongi keeps his eyes closed, breathing heavily and pressing himself against the wall. Like a nervous little kitten being cornered into a situation it has no clue whether to like or not. Hoseok wants to coo at him. His hyung can be so cute without even trying.

“Open your eyes.”

Yoongi’s eyes open instantly, making contact at first before flitting to the side instinctively.

“Eyes on me.”

Yoongi obeys even if the eye contact makes him really, really scared. He is scared that Hoseok can see how nervous he is, how fucking inexperienced he is in stuff like this and how, despite his inexperience and fear, he is this close to submission.

Hoseok brushes his thumbs under Yoongi’s eyes, cradling his face this way. Yoongi holds his breath. His thoughts are racing. What am I doing here? I should flee. What are the best escape routes? This is too revealing. I’m showing myself too vulnerable. Stupid cunt, he is younger than me, I have to be a strong role model. I’m the strongest, I’m a Creator, I have to keep my head up. I’ll be ridiculed if I’m vulnerable. I don’t wanna be strong right now. I wanna be small. It’s too dangerous, don’t show yourself this way. Oh god why is he looking into my eyes? I want to be kissed again. No, don’t think about this. Stay strong. I want to relax and kiss. Stop thinking that!

“Relax, hyung. You’re thinking too much”

Yoongi freezes up. Can Hoseok read his mind? Hoseok, however, can’t read his mind, he can read expressions and right now Yoongi looks at him like a frightened deer in headlights. He doesn’t need to hear his thoughts to know that they are racing.

“Relax, okay?” he tells him.

“I’m trying.”

“I know you are, just try harder.”

Yoongi tenses up more, “I am.”

Hoseok laughs breathily, sliding his hands to the nape of Yoongi’s neck to rub it. Yoongi tilts his head back, leaning into the touch this way. A hint of relaxation washes over his features.

“I think I’m doing more harm than good with this”, Hoseok says.

“No, I-I’m trying.”

“Good job, I’m proud of you.”

Yoongi’s knees buckle, his eyes cloud over. This seems to work.

“Close your eyes again.”

Yoongi obeys, holding his breath. Hoseok’s touch is so gentle that his head feels droopy and he wants to relax his muscles.

“Good job, you’re doing good”, Hoseok praises, watching in delight how Yoongi’s tight body softens even more. Praise is the magic spell. Hoseok bites down on his tongue. Fuck, he wants to ruin him, but knows not to act too quickly.

He slides his hand to the back of Yoongi’s head, tangling his fingers in his hair. His nails scratch his scalp gently. Yoongi tingles all the way down to his toes, fighting the urge to open his eyes. It is very difficult for him to trust Hoseok to the point of blindness. Not because Hoseok is an untrustworthy person, but because Yoongi has issues with touch and trust and love. They are scary things to him. So this is difficult, but also really nice. Hoseok’s fingers are so gentle in their touch. It’s so, so nice.

Hoseok closes the distance and kisses him again. Yoongi is more active this time around, tilting his head and claiming his lips wholly. Hoseok smiles, pulling back slightly so needy Yoongi wouldn’t already spoil the surprise. But needy Yoongi is so needy and when he is needy he needs a proper kiss. He needs and needs and needs. He tries to chase Hoseok to which he always pulls back. He tries to tongue kiss him to which he always pulls back. He tries to peck his lips and even then he pulls back.

Yoongi huffs out air in frustration, opening his eyes. Hoseok, who was looking at Yoongi with half-lidded eyes, gives him a playful smirk. One which flusters him again, but which also makes him want to kiss him even harder.

“Good job, hyung. Keep doing so well”, Hoseok praises, weakening his mind with it.

Droopy, so droopy. Yoongi can barely form coherent thoughts by now.

Hoseok moves in to kiss him. Yoongi moans against his will, squeezing his eyes shut so he could enjoy the kiss fully. He kisses him back needily and quickly, taking off his hands from the wall to instead grab his waist. Hoseok’s waist is small in Yoongi’s big hands. It feels firm and sculpted like the waist of a dancer who has used it for decades. Right now, it is the only thing keeping Yoongi from running away. The kiss turns his brain into mush. The last sane part of it screams at him to flee because right now he is sober and doesn’t have the excuse of intoxication to fall back on. Hoseok’s waist is the one thing which keeps Yoongi from listening to the voice. This and maybe his sweet kiss and his good touch and his scent and the way his left hand grabs his hip. Yoongi gasps, breaking the kiss with it. He can count all five fingers dimpling his hips. The grip is possessive. Yoongi dares to look up at Hoseok through his lashes. His eyes mirror the possessiveness. The rest of his face carries a mask of patience. Yoongi gulps. He is suddenly hyper aware of the throbbing of his well-kissed lips and the ache between his legs which seems to grow more and more.

“Turn around for me”, Hoseok orders in a lowered, desire-soaked voice.

Yoongi obeys, squishing himself against the wall with squeezed shut eyes. Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck. This is too vulnerable.

Hoseok purrs and steps closer, pressing his body against Yoongi’s while his eager hands rub his waist back and forth. They touch his tummy, his lower back and his sides over and over again. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, feeling dizzy.

“Relax, kitten. You’re tensing up again.”

“Ahm”, Yoongi lets out, trying to stop his stomach from tensing. He exhales deeply. Hoseok takes it as his cue to move to the next step. He opens Yoongi’s belt from behind, then the button of his leather pants.

Yoongi balls his hands to fist on the wall, suddenly feeling his eyes burn in nervous tears.

The zipper next.

Yoongi is going to pass out.

A hand slips inside and grabs the hem of his shirt to pull it out of the pants. First in the front, then in the back. Hoseok has to put a little distance between him and Yoongi for the back, using the new position to check on him. His cheeks are deep red, his nose scrunched and his eyes squeezed shut. He is also barely breathing and breathing way too much at the same time. Hoseok slows down, keeping his eyes focused on Yoongi’s face as his hands work his tight pants down his hips. His breathing quickens more and more, but he stays in the position. Hoseok reaches the first hurdle, Yoongi’s big bubble butt. He works slowly, tugging the pants down inch by inch. No retaliation from Yoongi and so Hoseok manages to expose his entire ass to his eyes. Down and down and down, he tugs his pants.

Yoongi currently feels as if he was in the most dangerous situation he ever found himself in. He fought feral werewolves, evil witches, bloodthirsty vampires, angry humans and old demons. Nothing, truly nothing, came close to the danger than this right now. Being pressed against a wall and getting undressed so Hoseok can stick his tongue in his hole. Every single instinct and supposed rational thought tells him to run away.

Hoseok kneels down and tugs the pants down the last few inches. It pools by Yoongi’s ankles.

“Look at you, your legs. Damn”, he speaks softly, running his palms up the outside of them.

Kill him! Yoongi’s brain is going haywire. Kill him! Kill him! Run away! Run!

“So smooth and silky. Your skin is like porcelain, hyung.”

Hoseok slides his hands under the swell of Yoongi’s buttocks and runs them down the inside of his legs.

“Wait”, Yoongi calls out and steps to the side. He turns around, staring down at Hoseok with widened eyes. Hoseok gazes up at him patiently, keeping his hands to himself.

“Changed your mind?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“That’s okay. Wanna borrow some of my sweats and then just watch a show?”

“No, I mean, I-I didn’t change my mind I just, I just need to shower first.”

Hoseok smiles. He is so smitten for Yoongi and how shy he is. His cock is so hard in his tight briefs and his body is flushed all over and here he is, thinking about showers. He is so silly sometimes.

“Sure, but you don’t need it you know? You smell really good.”

“No, I stink. I’m sorry I need to shower please.”

“Okay.” Hoseok stands up, fixing his sweats because they are pinching his boner. “You know where the bathroom is.”

Yoongi nods his head and leaves as quickly as his weakened legs allow him to. He runs up the stairs and moments later, slams the door closed.

“Sorry!” he calls out in apology then seconds of silence follow until the sound of running water ends the entire moment.

Hoseok takes a deep breath of defeat, bending down to pick up Yoongi’s leather pants. He shakes them out and folds them neatly, placing them on the dresser by the coat rack. He fixes Yoongi’s boots and his helmet then looks up the stairs.

Some time has passed between Yoongi fleeing and now. The water is still running and something tells Hoseok that he should go up there and check on Yoongi. Something that keeps telling him that Yoongi is currently going down a spiral of complete self despair.

Yoongi tries very hard not to cry in the shower. That’s what he gets for doing things out of his comfort zone. He gets an achy stomach and racing thoughts. He can’t be a bottom. He can’t do it. He wants to do it, but he can’t. He needs to accept that he is supposed to be the strongest and that the strongest doesn’t act like this. Yoongi doesn’t know how to end this shower or how to go outside again and tell Hoseok that he wants to leave, because he doesn’t actually want to leave. He wants to be pressed against a wall and have Hoseok claim his little hole. But how does he go about all of this when he has never done it before? He thought that doing it scared was already enough, but is it really? When is he enough? What does he need to do to be enough?

“Don’t think so much.”

Yoongi whips around with a yelp and tries to push the intruder away. But Hoseok acts faster, catching his hands to pin them against the glass shower wall. The impact makes a shrill sound like knuckles hitting sturdy glass.

“You, you, you”, Yoongi stutters, staring at him in shock. He didn’t hear him come in, neither did he sense him or smell him. He should have been able to, but didn’t. What is wrong with him? Did Hoseok really mess with his clarity to such extend?

“Relax, hyung. I told you that you should relax”, Hoseok tells him, caressing his hands softly.

The water runs down both their bodies, soaking their dark hair and wetting their skins. Hoseok matches with Yoongi, wearing nothing more than the nudity he was put on the earth in. This is the first time that he sees Yoongi in such a state and yet, Yoongi feels as if he had done so before, as if it was okay for him to be naked in front of Hoseok.

Their skins are the same colour, the shade of their nipples are the same as well, even their cocks share the same nuances of pretty colours. Yoongi realises in this moment that they are so similar and he finds comfort in it. He isn’t a weird looking alien, he is human.

His once wriggly arms stop, his wrists find comfort in being pinned by Hoseok.

“I’m scared”, he hears himself confess.

“Scared of what?”

“Of this. It’s so new, I’m doing it scared but it’s so hard to do.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to do anything.”

“But I want it. Why is it so hard for me to be normal like other people?”

“I think you’re pretty normal.”

“No, I’m not. I’m the strongest and, and a Creator and I need to-”

Hoseok silences him with a finger against his lips. Yoongi gulps.

“You need to stop thinking right now and let me do my thing.” Hoseok says, stepping closer to Yoongi until their crotches are touching. They are both soft right now, but tingle at the contact between their cocks. “You want this, don’t you?”

Yoongi nods his head.

“See? Then stop worrying about it. Even the strongest needs a break, hyung. And deserves to have his ass ate.”

Yoongi laughs at that. Hoseok laughs with him, grinding his hips into him slowly. Just enough to give Yoongi glimpses of pleasure and to relax him with it.

“Especially when that ass looks like an entire buffet”, Hoseok adds, wiggling his brows.

Yoongi looks away, pushing at Hoseok first before pulling him closer to rest his forehead against his shoulder. He closes his eyes.

“Shut up, you weirdo.”

“Then turn around and give me something to shut up with.”

Yoongi gulps.

Hoseok smiles and rubs Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I know.”

They stay like this for a while. Hoseok has one hand against the glass and the other on Yoongi’s hip. While Yoongi grabs his waist. There is no movement at first, but then his hands get needy. The water warms Hoseok’s body and makes his skin so soft. Yoongi’s hands grow restless, finding relief by feeling up his waist and hips. Hoseok lets him ease into it, resting his forehead against Yoongi’s ear and keeping his eyes closed while the water soaks their hair.

Yoongi smells really good up close. Especially now that the warm water brings out the scent of his shampoo. Hoseok moves his head a little, enough to brush his lips against Yoongi’s ear. Yoongi shivers, cock throbbing against Hoseok’s. It makes Hoseok’s cock throb as well and together, they grow harder again. The small movements Hoseok makes suddenly feel electric. His instincts tell Hoseok to reach down there and jerk off their cocks, but he knows that this would scare Yoongi away again. He needs to be patient with him.

Lost in the slow moment, he begins kissing the parts of Yoongi’s neck which are naturally exposed by the position. Yoongi seems to like it because he moves his head to reveal more of his neck to Hoseok’s lips. The latter claims the new spots instantly, kissing and sucking the tender skin until Yoongi is shivering.

Yoongi wiggles his hips. Hoseok moans softly, forgetting all about the fact that his lips are oh so close to Yoongi’s ear right now until Yoongi tenses up and squeezes his hips.

“Sorry”, Hoseok breathes, “you did something with this.”

“I did?”

“Mhm yeah”, he brushes his parted lips against his ear to which Yoongi rolls his head to the side. This is the time. “Turn for me”, Hoseok orders and Yoongi obeys instantly.

He presses himself against the glass of the shower and arches his back. The water traces his spine, running down his buttocks and legs. His head is staying dry like this, now only dripping water from a past soak.

Hoseok knows not to waste time, falling to his knees to continue where they left off downstairs. He slides his hands to the inside of Yoongi’s legs to feel up his silken skin.

“I meant it when I told you that you had the sexiest legs, you know?” he says and dares to kiss the back of his thigh.

Yoongi tenses up but moves it closer to him. Only a small sigh escapes him.

Hoseok takes the cue and begins placing more kisses on Yoongi’s legs. Just the back of them at first to get him used to the sensation. All while Yoongi keeps letting out small sighs and the occasional gasp.

Hoseok finds himself whispering his name and then his lips are already on his lower back, kissing and exploring the silken skin. He holds his hips for it, purring happily. Yoongi has dimples on his back. Hoseok licks them slowly, soaking in the needy arching Yoongi does in reaction.

He glances up at him. His face is hidden from him, but he radiates a readiness to go further. Hoseok dares to slide his hands to Yoongi’s butt. A gasp, a little tense but nothing more. With his eyes still gazing up, Hoseok lowers his lips to his butt to kiss it.

Yoongi moves his hips from side to side, purring a nervous sound.

“The whole buffet, I’m telling you”, Hoseok says, smiling brightly when it makes Yoongi chuckle.

“Fuck, Hoba”, he lets out breathily, looking over his shoulder. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are a little glassy.

“Still down for it?” Hoseok makes sure.

Yoongi nods his head.

Hoseok rubs Yoongi’s buttocks slowly. They are really soft and squishy under his palms.

“Arch your back a little”, he orders.

Yoongi obeys without hesitation, letting out a little sigh as he does it. He turns his head away again, feeling way too shy for eye contact.

“There we go, good job”, Hoseok praises, using the new position to finally part Yoongi. He flinches at first because the newly exposed state of his hole made the warm water run over it and that felt really hot at first. He relaxes afterwards, breathing heavier than before while Hoseok takes in the view before him.

Yoongi has the pinkest hole Hoseok has ever seen. He is not exaggerating when he says that. He is so pink and so obviously tight. Not many people breach this hole, Hoseok just knows.

“You’re so handsome”, Hoseok whispers, ghosting his thumb over his hole without touching. Yoongi, unaware of the potential touch, arches his back more.

Hoseok gulps hungrily. He is so pink and tight and smooth. Not even one follicle of hair is to see.

“Hyung, did you shave before coming here?”

Yoongi’s hole clenches.

“N-no?” he stutters.

Hoseok smiles. Of course Yoongi would deny it.

“You’re pretty, hyung”, Hoseok says softly and lowers his lips to kiss Yoongi’s hole.

Yoongi’s reaction is expected. He tenses up, wiggles away with a shy noise leaving his constricted throat. Hoseok doesn’t let it discourage him. He buries his face deeper between Yoongi’s buttocks and inhales deeply, taking in every fucking molecule of his intoxicating scent. He growls into him, dimpling his buttocks possessively.

Yoongi swears that he might throw up in embarrassment. Someone is smelling his butt. How fucking humiliating.

“Your scent’s like a drug, hyung”, Hoseok comes up for air, voice sounding distorted in lust, “don’t ever fucking say that you stink again, got it?”

Yoongi’s brain scrambles again, every ounce of embarrassment is gone. He arches his back, presenting more of him to Hoseok.

“Yeah, that’s it. Let me see you. Fuck, you’re so pretty and you so smell good. Can you stop being so perfect, mhm?”

Yoongi drops his head against the shower wall, mewling shyly. His face is wet. He doesn’t quite know if it’s only water. Being praised like this is a lot for him.

“Of course you can’t. Shit, you drive me insane”, Hoseok purrs and buries himself back between Yoongi’s soft buttocks. He growls as he does it, wiggling his head from side to side so his face is grinding into his hole. His nose to be more exact. He is so rough about it that Yoongi gasps and tries to flee by getting on his tiptoes, but Hoseok merely grabs him by his hips and pulls him back down, exchanging his nose with his tongue.

“Ah!” Yoongi’s loud moan bounces off the shower walls, taunting him. He throws his hand over his mouth and squeezes. Don’t be loud, don’t be loud, so embarrassing, don’t be loud. But it’s really difficult. Hoseok’s tongue is a little cold in comparison to the warm water. The contrast between these two sensations is a lot to someone as sensitive as Yoongi.

One must know that Yoongi is very sensitive, perhaps he is even the most sensitive of the bunch. He likes to say that it is Jungkook, but that isn’t the truth. Yoongi with his pretty flushed cock and his pink little hole is the most sensitive.

Especially when it comes to having a mouth (or two) on these spots. And especially when it is something he really, really wanted.

So yes, it is very difficult to stay quiet right now.

Hoseok watches Yoongi’s arm flex as he tries to silence himself, now seeing it as his goal to make him relaxed enough to forget all about it. He purrs and parts Yoongi farther, grinding the flat of his tongue against his hole. He is so soft under him, clenching and throbbing repeatedly because it feels good. Hoseok knows that it feels good. He has confidence in his mouth’s skills.

He breaks away for just a second to spit on Yoongi’s hole aggressively.

“Eeh”, Yoongi squeaks and flinches, having no time to really get embarrassed about it because Hoseok slurs up the mess he made, giving Yoongi the fucking shivers as he does it. The grip around his own mouth lessens, his head feels so heavy even resting against the glass. He won’t be able to tense up for long anymore when Hoseok keeps this up.

“So fucking delicious”, Hoseok lulls, digging in with an ecstatic moan. He stays at Yoongi’s rim for now, flicking his tongue up and down on the tight ring of muscle. He needs to get it relaxed. Yoongi is way too tense right now. So if he keeps flicking his tongue, applying slight pressure each time his middle is against his tongue, he will help him.

Yoongi can’t do it anymore. He can’t keep his muscles from relaxing. He croaks out a weakened noise behind his hand and admits defeat, relaxing his hole.

Hoseok moans deeply, gazing up at Yoongi. He did it. He relaxed. Hoseok opens his mouth hungrily, letting his tongue slip inside his relaxed hole. He furrows his brows, mewling in blissful realisation that there is no resistance. He really thought that Yoongi wouldn’t let him breach him that easily but there was no resilience. There is tightness of course, but no obvious resistance. Hoseok slides his right hand to Yoongi’s lower tummy and applies pressure, resulting in his hole to slip farther onto his tongue.

Yoongi reaches behind himself, grabbing for a bundle of Hoseok’s hair. The twist stings but motivates Hoseok to keep going. He moans deeply, wiggling his tongue as quickly as Yoongi’s tight hole allows him.

“It’s deep, please”, Yoongi whines, convulsing around Hoseok’s tongue.

Hoseok purrs, pushing down on his tummy again. Deeper and deeper his flexed tongue goes, resulting in burning electricity to shoot down Yoongi’s leg. They wobble and lose strength, forcing poor Yoongi to sit down on Hoseok’s face with all his weight.

Hoseok squeaks at first, not having expected it.

“Sorry!” Yoongi yelps, trying to flee instantly, but Hoseok doesn’t let him.

He wraps his arms around his hips and pins him down, craning his neck as he wiggles his tongue deep in Yoongi’s hole.

Yoongi tugs on Hoseok’s hair, throwing his head back. He has to admit defeat again. There is no way in hell that he can keep quiet any longer. The first moan is taunting him, the second already feels a lot better, the third comes easy and then Yoongi stops counting because all he can concentrate on is the sloppy, fast tongue job he is getting. Holy fuck, he won’t be normal after this. Oh god, Yoongi really needs Hoseok to fuck him afterwards. He wanted nothing but a rimjob at first and now all of this just feels like one amazing, long foreplay session. He is so needy and drunk on pleasure and, and wow.

“Oh god, wow, oh god, wow Hoba…”

His legs are shaking so much. Yoongi wobbles and has to admit a third defeat. He has to keep both arms on the glass otherwise he will fall. He drops to the front again, arching his back to keep Hoseok close. He drops his head against the glass, keeping his mouth parted as the noises never want to stop.

“Hoba…aha Hoba…Ho..ba..”

Hoseok swears he might have nutted already. He knew that he could get Yoongi to relax, but he didn’t think that he could get him to this kind of level. The weight of him still lingers on his face like a blissful touch, his taste is coating every inch of his mouth and his hole feels as if it is actively trying to suck his tongue in. Hoseok needs to breathe, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to break away. Not even for air. He needs to give Yoongi what he deserves, perhaps he needs to give even more.

Yes, more sounds good.

Hoseok dances his hand down from Yoongi’s tummy to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it to jerk it off. He doesn’t want to go slow at first, he needs Yoongi to shake instantly.

Yoongi doesn’t disappoint, he shakes instantly, changing pitch as everything just feels way too good. He knew that his cock was sensitive because the water felt blissful on it, but he wasn’t ready for how intense a real touch feels on it. Especially not a touch as Hoseok gives it. Not such an amazing, electric touch. His fingers are so long and so strong, pumping him just right. He won’t last long…actually he won’t last at all.

“You’re making me cum”, Yoongi keens and clenches around Hoseok’s tongue. He doesn’t know where it starts, but he knows that it is way too intense. If Hoseok wasn’t holding him up right now, he would probably collapse. It is so intense in fact that he instinctively gets on his tiptoes to escape it. Of course Hoseok chases him, moaning into him like a feral animal as he milks every last drop and shake out of him. His cum is shooting everywhere. Hoseok’s hand, the shower wall, his own stomach. It just doesn’t stop as Hoseok overstimulates him in the hottest way ever.

Yoongi begins begging. He can’t help it.

“Stop please! Stop! Stop please!” Yoongi is panicking because the pleasure is getting too much. He won’t be able to hold himself anymore.

Hoseok growls, twisting his hand around Yoongi’s weeping cock and sealing Yoongi’s fate with it. His legs give out on him, he falls down, surprising Hoseok who ends up unable to support him any longer. Yoongi grabs the shower handle in his last attempt to catch himself, turning off the water because of it, but neither man cares.

Yoongi falls to the ground, resulting in Hoseok to instantly tower over him. His swollen cock grinds against his ass, his heated breath swirls against his neck. Yoongi shivers, lying under Hoseok on the wet tiles with a dizzy head and way too much pressure in his lower body, twitching like a fish out of water.

“Holy fuck, are you okay?” Hoseok gasps.

“No”, Yoongi croaks.

“I’m sorry, did you hurt yourself?” Hoseok asks, running his hands over Yoongi’s body in search of wounds.

“No”, Yoongi chokes out and whimpers when Hoseok flips him so he could check his front as well.

Yoongi follows each touch with a writhe, looking up at Hoseok with glassy, blurry eyes. He feels so good. He is so happy. He wants Hoseok to make him his’.

“Hyung, your knees are bruised.”

“Hoba.”

Hoseok looks into Yoongi’s eyes, “yes?”

“Please more”, Yoongi chokes out and squeezes out tears.

Hoseok kisses them away instantly, giving Yoongi a warm touch by pressing his chest against his chest, running his fingers through his wet hair. Their swollen nipples are rubbing together. It is so good for either man.

“You did so well. You came like such a good boy”, Hoseok whispers his praises, tensing up for a moment when Yoongi wraps his shaky fingers around his wrist.

“Please more”, he begs quietly.

“Are you sure?”

Yoongi nods his head.

“Holy fuck. Okay, okay stay. I’ll make it more comfortable for you”, Hoseok promises and disappears for a small moment to get lube. He returns so quickly that Yoongi wasn’t even able to recover from his high and then he already feels the familiar hardness of a lube syringe up his ass. He also feels how much Hoseok loaded it with today, whining in complaint.

“Sorry fuck, way too much”, Hoseok is dragging his words, sliding out the messy syringe to use the rest of it on his cock. He lubes it up and drops down on Yoongi again. “Lift-”

He gets interrupted in his orders by Yoongi lifting his legs all on his own. Hoseok meets his eyes. Utter, trusted submission.

“Damn you, wow, you”, Hoseok doesn’t know what to say and so he lets his body do the talking.

He sinks his cock into Yoongi, groaning his name with fluttering lashes. Yoongi is so tight, squeezing his swollen cock.

“Ah”, Yoongi lets out, clearly tensing up in discomfort. He bites down in his lower lip to the point it pales.

“Hurts?” Hoseok asks, stilling his hips.

Yoongi nods his head.

“Want to stop?”

“No”, Yoongi croaks and arches his back with a whimper.

“Are you sure?”

Yoongi nods his head.

“Breathe, hyung, breathe. I know the first moments are tight. I need you to breathe.”

Yoongi obeys, relaxing instantly.

“There we go, holy fuck. Holy fuck, you feel fucking incredible”, Hoseok croaks and wraps his arms around Yoongi tightly. He drops his head in the crook of his neck and moans his name, chasing the warmth of him carefully but deeply.

Yoongi’s eyes roll back and stay like this. He drops his legs around Hoseok’s waist, keeping him hostage this way.

“Hoba….”

“It feels good now, doesn’t it?” Hoseok gets out between heavy breaths.

“Ye…good…”

“Yeah, good. So good. Taking me so well, feeling so good, hyung.”

“Hoba”, Yoongi moans, scratching down Hoseok’s back while his left hand grabs a bundle of his hair.

Hoseok growls, using the slight pain as motivation to go faster. Yoongi’s hole is so easy to shape. He expected more resistance from his body and he was ready to work around it until Yoongi was comfortable, but his hole is so quick to adapt. Oh so naturally tight and small and yet so easy to shape.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect hyung”, Hoseok speaks his thoughts, burning up in ecstasy as he drills his mouldable, wet hole.

“Hoba…aah Hoba…”

Quite frankly, there are no words on this earth to describe how amazing it feels to both men. Truly, ink would run dry before the words could be found. This moment is beyond what either could have ever imagined this evening to become. Yoongi swears that he hasn’t felt as submissive as he does right now in a long time. This is something he never thought to be possible with someone who isn’t his trusted princess and it is definitely something he never thought to feel so good. Hoseok is pinning him down as much as he is cradling him. His weight and strength are making Yoongi feel so small and weak and it brings tears to his eyes. What truly makes those tears fall however is the raw, overwhelming stretch his hole currently finds itself in. He knew that it would be intense to ask for cock so soon after an orgasm and with such little preparation. But he expected pain, not blissful ecstasy. Yoongi cries because he can’t believe how good it feels to let Hoseok fuck him senseless.

Hoseok swears that he has never felt like this during sex before. This is something he never thought Yoongi to be capable of and he never expected it of him. And yet here they are. Hoseok is able to hold his wet, naked body against his own. His taste still lingers on his tongue, his blissed out scent is in his nose and his hole takes him so willingly despite little preparation that Hoseok swears he might need to bite him. He never feels the desire to bite. He has perfect restraint. At least he thought that he had.

“Hoseok, it feels so good”, Yoongi wails, sealing his fate.

“I’m gonna ruin you”, Hoseok growls, punishing Yoongi for something he needs no punishment for. But if he didn’t fuck his hole into ruin, he would actually bite him. He can’t do that, so he ruins the one thing Yoongi willingly presents to him.

“Hoba! Please! Please don’t stop!”

“I won’t, fuck I can’t stop. I, I can’t get my hips to stop.”

“Good”, Yoongi cries, bruising Hoseok’s biceps as he clings to him. His tailbone is getting sore from the movements. The floor is so hard, but the fuck feels so good. He needs to fuck back, meet Hoseok’s movements. The friction against his rim burns, not painfully but in nothing but pleasure. His prostate feels like bursting from how much pleasure it experiences. He swears that he keeps convulsing as if Hoseok was constantly making him climax.

“I can’t stop. It’s like I’m, urgh”, Hoseok drills his cock deeper, biting down on Yoongi’s neck as he feels how much of his warm walls he actually fills out. There is no blood drawn, no skin broken but Yoongi cries all the same, curling up under Hoseok as best as possible.

“Again?”

Yoongi nods his head vigorously and shakes out of control, screaming his little lungs out as his orgasm overwhelms him. It feels so good that he has to reach to the side to hold something, scratching his nails down the shower wall helplessly.

“Yoongi”, Hoseok has to follow him in guttural moans of his name, holding him so tightly that he almost breaks bones. “Holy fuck, you’re such a fucking turn on, urgh cumming so fucking hard…”

He keeps fucking and grinding and pounding until neither of them can go on anymore and their bodies are truly milked dry.

Only then clarity returns and their situation finally sinks into their consciousness. They fucked. This was never supposed to happen and especially not with such intensity.

“I’m sorry”, Hoseok gets out, dropping on Yoongi. “Fuck, what are we doing?”

“Do you hate me now?” Yoongi croaks.

“What?” Hoseok shoots up in shock, gawking at Yoongi. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know”, Yoongi whispers, lower lip trembling.

Hoseok softens his gaze and cups Yoongi’s cheek. Yoongi leans into the touch. His body twitches every now and then as it recovers from its high.

“Of course I don’t hate you, hyung. You did really well, yeah? And I still like you, yeah?”

Yoongi nods his head, letting out a sigh of relief.

“How are you doing?”

“Vulnerable.”

“Mhm, but you’re in a safe space”, Hoseok hugs him, scratching his scalp slowly, “I promise, this will stay between us.”

Yoongi relaxes completely, hugging him back.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“No. Thank you.”

“For what? Eating your ass?”

“Yeah…”

“And then fucking it like we’re stupid animals?”

Yoongi snorts, having to laugh, “fuck, yeah.”

Hoseok chuckles, “that wasn’t part of the plan, right?”

“No, not at all.”

“But I think it was nice. You?”

“Me too, yeah.”

Hoseok snuggles closer, sighing softly with Yoongi when his cock shifts inside him.

“Are you still down to watch a show later?”

“Yeah.”

“Funky. Maybe I’ll eat your ass again on the couch, mhm? Make you lift your legs all on your own, mhm?” Hoseok coos teasingly, following it up with obnoxious kissing noises.

“Fuck, shut up you pervert”, Yoongi whines but laughs, pushing at Hoseok softly.

Hoseok laughs with him. He really likes Yoongi and Yoongi really likes him. It’s as easy as that.

175 notes · View notes

readerthatreadsss · 2 years ago

Note

Requesting more dom!peter 😮‍💨🥵

𝗔/N: Your request is my command! (especially since I've been searching for more dom!Peter fics myself and have been failing so I might as well do it my damn self!) Also, yeah, it's been a damn long time lmao. I planned to finish up and release this like 4 months ago. Then a whole bunch of bad shit happened and I kinda gave up on writing for a little bit (outside of school cause I need that damn Bachelor's degree) BUT I've slowly started reading again and that bled into me opening up my drafts and finding this and spending some time with it. If you couldn't tell I had a shit ton of fun with this one...so feel free to check my newly updated Masterlist and request guidelines and send me more requests! The more I get, the more I'm gonna force myself to actually write them. (If you already sent one just know I’m working on it I promise)

𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 | 𝗧𝗮𝘀𝗺!𝗣𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

(heavily inspired by the song with the same title by Adele.) It came up in my shuffle and when I started listening to the lyrics it was just too perfect.

he's so fucking pretty aghhhh (gif not mine)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Tasm!Peter Parker x Vigilante!Fem reader

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.6k+ (This is my big comeback so I might as well feed yall)

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: You and Peter have been broken up for about 3 years, but when an impromptu visit to your apartment takes a turn...that may no longer be the case...

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 (𝟭𝟴+ 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗗𝗡𝗜): SMUT!, lil bit of angst at the end (ex to lovers so ofc), minimal use of y/n, P*rn-with-plot, Reader and Peter are FERAL for each other because of their powers (enhanced senses and all that), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap your willy before you fuck her silly), a lil possessive Peter, oral (r receiving), fingering, praise kink, Peter using his webs to restrain reader (pre-consented ofc), dom!Peter, sub!Reader (bratty at first tho), pet names (sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, angel), choking, rough sex, brief spanking, other positions, creampie, etc...

The remaining sunlight of the evening bled through your wide studio apartment windows as you finished folding what was left of your newly washed laundry. The plan for the rest of the evening was simple;

Drink two bottles of wine (knowing that your enhanced metabolism would sober the effects), catch up on a few missing assignments to keep your NYU professors off your ass, then jump into your suit and go patrolling.

It was a familiar routine.

Or at least, it had been...since he left.

Your relationship with him ended during your first year of college. To say it hurt like hell would be an immense understatement.

What hurt the most was the fact that you both gave everything you had to make it work...but long distance can be a bitch.

On that warm Saturday night in May, your ex-boyfriend received a call informing him that he had been accepted into a very prestigious engineering program (with a full-ride scholarship attached) all the way in California.

You applied for the very same program, so you knew just how big of an opportunity it would be. And, in good faith, you pushed him to take the offer.

You both insisted, "we'll make it work," and "we'll video chat and text every day. It'll be fine!"

What a load of horseshit.

It took 6 months for you to both arrive at the conclusion that you couldn't juggle your individual academic loads, your nighttime hero personas, AND a long-distance relationship all at the same time. A three-hour time difference didn't help matters either.

It took a while, but you eventually moved on. You kept your grades up, went on a few dates here and there, and even managed to convince yourself that you were doing fine without him.

Until...

*knock knock knock*

Your head peeked out from the fridge to look where you heard the strong yet hesitant knocks on your front door.

Only a handful of people knew where you lived and you weren't expecting to see any of them today.

Assuming it would be a postal worker or someone along those lines, you swung open the door with a polite smile.

"Hi-"

You felt your voice die in your throat as you locked eyes with the deep brown ones you hadn't seen in three years.

"Peter," his name fell from your lips, barely audible.

"Hi, Y/N," he replied with that awkward grin you knew all too well.

His hair was shorter than the last time you saw him, but from the tight fit of his jacket, you could see that was about the only thing about him that shrunk.

You wanted to actually hit yourself in the head for actually imagining yourself doing many things to his large...meaty...biceps- NO, no, no, no get a grip! a voice of logic sounded in your mind.

You hadn't realized how long you stood there silently sizing him up until he spoke again. "Can I...uh...come in, maybe?"

"Umm...sure," you nervously answered, finally taking note of the small cardboard box he was holding.

As you stepped aside to allow him entrance into your apartment, his familiar scent invaded your sensitive senses.

"Oh God," you muttered under your breath, knowing that he heard you, yet unaware that your scent had basically the same effect on him as well.

"You alright?" he turned and asked you in concern trying to hide the tightening of his jeans with the box he brought.

You nodded way too fast, promptly putting some distance between yourself and him. He hadn't been there for longer than 5 seconds and he was already having an effect on you.

"How've you been?" he questioned you, scratching his neck and actively avoiding eye contact. Unbeknownst to you, he was currently repeating every physics law he could remember in his mind to try to quell his growing erection.

It wasn't working very well.

"I've been fine. You?" you quickly spoke, slightly out of breath.

"I-uh-I'm alright," he shook his head with a tight-lipped smile.

He soon found himself just looking at you. It wasn't a blank stare, no, it was the sort of intense look you unintentionally gave someone when trying to commit every single feature to memory as if you weren't certain when you'd get another chance to.

It was a habit of his you noticed a lot when you were dating. And just as it did back then, it sent chills running rampant down your spine. Not to mention your nipples growing obviously hard behind your large shirt with no bra to hide it.

Peter noticed it immediately and fought back a smile, which you glimpsed.

"Why are you here, Peter?" you decided to get down to business before your body betrays you any further.

The brunette let the question hang in the air for a few seconds before actually coming up with an answer. "I wanted to drop these off," he placed the small box on your kitchen counter.

Your eyes immediately narrowed. "You could have mailed it. Or you could've just dropped it at the door and then left. So why are you really here Peter?" you would have felt worse about your tone if you weren't so bothered.

Why the hell did he feel the need to suddenly show up and make you start feeling things you swore you wouldn't feel for him again?

Peter took a deep breath. "Aunt May called me last week. She's not doing too good. So, I came back to help take care of her."

You felt your stomach sink at his words. While you both dated, May grew to be like a second mother to you. You had no idea she was sick.

"Oh shit Peter-I'm so sorry," you crossed the room to engulf him in a hug, despite your initial reaction to his visit.

Peter immediately accepted your hug and found the anxiety in his body dissipating soon after. Your hugs tended to have that effect on him.

He couldn't stop himself from deeply inhaling and drawing in your hair's familiar scent when he wrapped his hands around your clothed waist.

A few seconds passed before you released each other, with you also savoring the feel of his body against you and the way how your skin lit up with goosebumps though there was a thin layer of clothing separating his hands from you.

"I was just cleaning up my old room at May's and I found some of your stuff so I figured I'd drop by and..."

You nodded in understanding and walked over to where he placed the box.

It was mostly filled with old t-shirts, tools, and gadgets from days when you would sleep over at Peter's or stop by to help each other with school projects.

"Thanks," you sent him a smile as you closed the box.

Your smile warmed Peter's heart. It was actually his second favorite thing about you, after your hugs of course. "Yeah, you're welcome," he smiled back, running his hand through his hair. It was a mess by now, but you still wanted to run your hands through it…or maybe even pull on it-

"Sorting through some of this stuff made me realize how much I...missed you," he said, his tone growing more assured.

Thankfully, you were still facing away from him, not giving him the chance to catch the pained expression that briefly crossed your face.

But you could feel him slowly approaching your frozen figure and found your body silently reacting in ways it shouldn't be, yet again. "Do you miss me?" he asked, his voice heavy.

You held back the urge to scream "Yes!" because admitting that out loud would be taking 3 steps backward.

Admitting that you missed him would be undoing all the work and tears you put into moving on from him and the hopes and dreams you had for a life with him.

Admitting that you missed him would mean giving in to the part of you that thought back to your most intimate moments with him when you touched yourself.

And admitting that you missed him would mean letting him back into the four-cornered box you had locked yourself in for the past 3 years.

But, with every step closer that he took, your resolve disappeared that much faster.

"You okay?" he called for your attention.

Your sharp intake of oxygen brought a tense silence over the room when you turned to face him and realized that he stood close enough for your lips to nearly brush his.

"Peter, I-" you tried to form words, but then you saw his lust-filled brown eyes lower to your lips.

And that was all it took for the last of your self-control to disappear.

"Damn it," you mumbled once you realized what was about to happen.

Before Peter could question your outburst, you found yourself latching onto his jacket lapels and pulling him down to meet your lips.

It took mere milliseconds for Peter to react. After all, he had been thinking about doing this since you swung open the door and looked up at him with those eyes of yours.

His large calloused hands took hold of the sides of your face as you clashed in a heap of teeth and tongue. It was desperate and feverish but it was perfect.

It was a language only you and Peter seemed to master, even now after three years apart.

Your lips moved swiftly against his, eager to taste more and more of him with each passing second. You felt him press his growing bulge flush against you, causing a pathetic whine to involuntarily tumble from your lips and a smirk to find its way onto his.

"I did miss you," you softly spoke, "but we can't do this Peter," the logical part of your brain made an appearance, though you kept peppering his lips with kisses.

As his lips moved to your neck, Peter's hands slid down to your ass where he effortlessly lifted your legs off the ground and up around his waist. The feeling of his hands against the bare skin of your thighs garnered yet another moan from you.

"You don't sound so sure angel," you felt him smirk against your heated skin.

You hadn’t heard that nickname in years yet it sent small chills down your spine for the second time that night.

A mumbled curse slipped your lips when he nipped a particular spot below your ear. That was definitely gonna leave a mark.

You soon gathered the strength to pull Peter's hungry lips away from your body, swinging your arms around his neck to hold yourself up.

"We can’t go back from this, you know that right?" you spoke, the both of you panting from the effects of the last minute.

"I don't wanna go back," Peter shook his head, "I wanna fuck you, right here, right now," his lips immediately found yours before his words could fully resonate.

This caught you by surprise which allowed Peter to slip his tongue between your lips.

As his taste continued to flood your senses, you felt yourself grow alarmingly wet.

Peter knew it too because he slowly pulled back and smirked down at you. "I could smell you from the moment I walked in here. Glad to see three years hasn't changed the way your body reacts to me, angel," he accompanied his words with a quick slap to your ass.

His slap and the familiar pet name left you a moaning mess. Just like he knew it would.

A lovely laugh left Peter's mouth before his lips met yours again.

He walked your entangled bodies over to the kitchen counter without breaking the sloppy kiss.

Peter used one hand to blindly clear the counter and place you on it, which sent your box of things flying toward the floor.

Not that either of you cared.

"Too much clothes," you were barely able to say in between kisses.

You followed up by shoving Peter's jacket off his shoulders which fell to your hardwood floors with a thud. He immediately got the message and got rid of his t-shirt as well.

A shameless whimper left your lips at the sight of his very toned muscles. You easily maneuvered Peter's body closer to you and began kissing and sucking his neck and every other available inch of skin just as you had pictured earlier, making sure to leave a few purple bruises in your wake.

“You’re killing me here baby,” Peter harshly swallowed, his eyes sliding closed as you continued to have your way with his chest.

"Wouldn't be a terrible way to die though, right?" you mumbled between lovebites and licks. You felt like an animal in heat but you just couldn't get enough of him, the occasional flex of his muscles with each slither of your tongue and his deep groans only egging you on more.

The taste of his skin alone could've made you cum easily.

But the same could be said for Peter as the feel of your tongue slithering all along his chest had him practically creaming his pants then and there.

Fucking enhanced senses, he cursed inwardly.

“Alright, ease up pretty girl,” he reluctantly grabbed your head, detaching your swollen lips from his body.

“Your turn,” he tugged at the hem of your top.

You quickly pulled off the oversized t-shirt you were wearing to reveal your bare top half to him.

He spared no time in cupping your breasts with his eager hands. "Fuck, I missed you so much," he mumbled.

"Me, or my boobs?" you jokingly raised a brow at him.

"Definitely both," he grinned, bringing his mouth down to your tits.

As his tongue made contact with the soft mounds, you loudly moaned and wrapped your fingers in his unruly tangle of hair.

He switched between nipping and sucking on your nipples, in the way he knew you liked, while his free hand pinched and squeezed the other.

"Just like that Peter fuck-" hearing his name fall from your lips drove Peter insane.

His tongue flicked your sensitive nipples harder, and his eager sucking pleased you to no end.

Peter eventually pried himself away from your supple breasts, remembering the other parts of you he wanted to worship, and brought his hands to rest on the sides of your head. Your lips connected once more in a delicate kiss.

Though you knew what lay ahead for the evening, you were both perfectly content with each other's lips at the moment, just enjoying the constant waves of pleasure from the intimate contact.

But it wasn't long before the kiss grew heated and you tried to take control. Peter, however, wasn't giving you a chance.

"I leave for three years and you think you're hot shit, huh," he smirked.

"Why don't you ask the guy I fucked on this counter last week," you retorted, knowingly riling him up.

"Don't say shit like that, it's not funny," he nearly growled as his grip on your ass grew more forceful.

You secured your grip on his hair before pressing a small kiss on the side of his lips. "Gimme a reason to shut up then," you challenged him.

“Trust me, I will,” Peter grabbed your hands from his hair and forced them to your sides. His movements were swift as he laid you flat on your counter and ripped your thong off your body.

There he is, you smiled to yourself. This is the Peter you wanted to fucking ruin you.

You felt his face ghost your drenched opening as he deeply inhaled your scent. "You smell fucking delicious baby," he praised you, his mouth actually watering at the thought of tasting you.

A genuine smile found its way onto your face but morphed into a gasp when Peter teasingly ran his tongue up your sensitive slit.

"You taste even better," he added, using his strong arms to bring your thighs closer to his head. He wanted to tease you but it was getting harder to resist the urge to dive right into your heat like a man starved.

"Holy shit," you all but screamed as he briefly nipped at your swollen clit before sucking on it to soothe the sting.

His grip on your thighs combined with the ministrations of his tongue was pure bliss.

You attempted to slip your hands in his hair once more, but found that they were suddenly held in place against your counter by two of his webs.

Your eyes briefly widened at the feel of the rough, sticky material against your wrists, not having felt it in a few years. Back then, you expressed to Peter your desire to engage in some bondage, but being the daughter of a super soldier, it was clear that no rope or wire would be able to hold you. Peter's webs became the next best choice.

"That's not fair," you pouted, though it melded into a moan as Peter continued to suck and lick between your glistening folds.

The sounds of Peter devouring you resounded through the small apartment.

"I'm close Pete," you whined, your chest heaving in arousal.

Peter decided to focus his tongue on your eager bundle of nerves while he slowly inserted two fingers into your pussy. He instantly curled the digits causing you to briefly squirm at the sudden pressure against your G-spot.

"More," you begged, and Peter delivered, adding another finger inside of you. He immediately sped up his motion inside of you, making sure his fingers gauged that spongy spot to drive you over the edge with each thrust inside of you.

“That feels so fucking good, Peter, oh my God," you loudly moaned at the feeling of his fingers inside of you, calling forth an orgasm with no warning.

You repeatedly bucked against Peter's face as you came, white-hot pleasure filling your veins. Peter locked onto your stare, still skillfully working his fingers in and out of you, loving the way you constantly clenched around his fingers.

"Jesus fucking Christ," your legs jerked when Peter dove in and drank every ounce of slick you had to give while still fucking you with his fingers.

With his face now damp of your juices, Peter looked up to meet your blissed-out eyes. "Gimme one more, angel," he placed a soft kiss on your thighs, "I know you can do it for me."

You would do anything to keep Peter's mouth between your legs.

So, you eagerly nodded in response before taking a deep breath in preparation for another onslaught.

You didn't have to wait long.

Peter’s tongue went to work on your glistening hole while his fingers fiddled with your overstimulated clit. And, within minutes, your thighs were trapping Peter's head as an even bigger orgasm rocked you again, the borderline pornographic sounds leaving your lips shooting straight to his hardened cock.

Peter seemed perfectly fine with staying between your legs all night, but you had other plans.

"Pete, I need you inside me," you begged, tears of pleasure leaking from your eyes.

He rose from beneath you and climbed up to free your hands from his webs. "I know, baby, I know," he softly replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips and using his hands to soothe your reddened wrists. Your own taste on his tongue flooded your senses which made you even more desperate.

Peter obliged, slipping out of his sweatpants and sliding his girth between your folds. He used one hand to hold himself up above you on the counter, and the other to slowly guide his dick into you.

You both shared a long moan as he buried himself to the hilt inside your pussy, your wetness making it way too easy.

He held still for a few seconds, waiting for you to adjust and give the all clear for him to move.

Eagerness guided your words. “Fuck me, please.”

Peter set a brutal pace, knowing you were more than capable of handling it. Satisfied cries left your chest as you dragged your nails along Peter’s back, hard enough to leave trails.

“You can take it, pretty girl, I know you can,” he groaned as he continued to pound into you, trying desperately not to blow his load with the way you were constantly clenching around him and marking his back.

You tried to reply, but all that you could form were sloppy moans and broken syllables.

“Oh look at you, drunk on my cock already?” he teased with a particularly hard slam that prodded your cervix, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Pleasure-filled cries mingled with words continued to fall from your lips as Peter gently moved a few fallen strands of hair behind your ear with a hand. "-feels so fucking perfect," you muttered, your lips curved into a drunken smile.

Peter reached down and pinched one of your nipples, gaining a loud whimper from you. “I love hearing you make those pretty sounds for me baby,” his strokes grew harder and deeper.

“All for you, Pete, all for you,” you panted as he fucked into you, the delicious smell and sound of sex lingering in the air.

Peter used a hand to wrap around your throat before using the other to reach down and fiddle with your aching clit.

The combination of Peter’s dick hitting that perfect spot, his fingers massaging your clit, and the lack of air from his hand around your neck was making you dizzy and overstimulated.

You fucking loved it.

“God, I missed you,” you spoke breathlessly.

He moved closer to kiss you briefly and tenderly. “I missed you too, baby.”

No amount of time could take away his knowledge on how to please you, how to get you like this with ease, not when you were all he thought about for years on end.

Peter pressed a quick kiss to your forehead then continued to fuck you on your kitchen counter.

"I'm gonna cum again baby, right fucking there," you moaned out.

Peter's grip on your neck grew tighter. "Not yet, don't you cum until I tell you to sweetheart," he commanded you, removing his fingers from your clit.

A frustrated groan rumbled in your chest as you forced yourself to sustain your orgasm.

"Don't pout," he smirked.

And before you could realize it, Peter had pulled out of you and effortlessly flipped you onto your stomach.

A hand soon gripped your hair, yanking you up against his chest and eliciting a pitiful whine from you.

"Tell me what you want,” Peter commanded, using his free hand to strike your ass. Hard.

You whimpered again at the sting of his slap. “I need you inside me. Please,” you pleaded.

He seized your hair harsher and leaned forward for his lips to graze against your ears. “Beg.”

A small whine left your lips at his words. You were so desperate you didn’t even care how embarrassing this would be in retrospect. “I need to cum, Peter. Please baby you're the only one who can make me cum.”

Peter pressed a kiss to your neck, nearly causing you to lose your footing. And he soon complied by ramming himself back into you.

“Oh my Fuck-“ you cried before biting your lip, suddenly aware that you had neighbors.

But Peter pulled his cock from your heat, with just the tip remaining, before roughly slamming into you, his hips slamming against your ass with the motion. “Come on, lemme hear you angel.”

He repeated the action, knocking the air out of your chest, “Peter!” your hands gripped the sides of your counter with such force you were sure you felt it crack under your grasp.

Peter caught wind of this and freed your hair before using his hands to pull your hands behind your back. "You're so perfect baby," he mumbled in your ear, continuing to brutally fuck you from behind, "So fucking beautiful with my cock inside you."

"I can't hold it anymore," you cried, "I need to cum, Peter, please."

With that whiny tone and those overstimulated tears to top it off, Peter couldn't deny you any longer. "Let it all out for me sweetheart. Cum for me," he littered your shoulders with kisses.

Your eyes slammed shut as your walls contracted around his cock, pleasure shooting through you and rocking you on a seemingly cellular level. Your mouth opened in a silent moan, unable to form a sound from the satisfied tremors attacking your nerves. The intensity of your finish is one only brought on when Peter fucked you and it was damn near cosmic.

"Shit," you groaned in relief, your long-awaited climax passing.

Peter slowed his movements inside of you and released your hands. "You did so good for me angel," he pushed your hair aside and kissed your neck, trying to stave off his own orgasm for a little while longer.

Aftershocks rocked your body while Peter continued sporadically moving inside of you, yet you couldn't get enough. Your body was more than ready to keep taking whatever he dished out.

Peter didn't need to read your mind to see that, but he needed to make sure. His lips kept up their onslaught on your neck as he softly spoke, "You wanna keep going?"

"Hell yes," you panted with a grin that he couldn't fully see, "You still haven't cum yet, and my bed is still fully made."

Happy with your response, Peter gave your ass a sharp smack. "That's my girl."

He pulled out of you and turned your body to face him, smiling at the sight of your fucked out face. "Three orgasms and a handful of tears later and you're still the most beautiful girl in the world," he held you by the sides of your face.

His words left you reeling, causing a slight blush to dust your cheeks and butterflies to swirl within your stomach.

Before you could form a response, Peter leaned down to kiss you. He soon hoisted up your legs around his waist, preparing to escort you to your bed as per your own demands.

As he looked around for the bed's location, you took advantage of his momentary distraction and latched your lips onto his neck, reapplying the bruises you left there that were slowly fading already.

Peter was the happiest man on earth as he walked over to your bed, his cock prodding your soaked entrance, and your lips ravaging his neck.

He carefully sat on the edge of your bed, with you now on his lap and your legs still around him. You expected him to ease his length back into you but he slowly brought your head down to meet his intense stare.

You carefully wrapped your hands around his shoulders to keep yourself up, the silence in the room growing deafening.

You could tell from his eyes that he desperately wanted to say something, and you wondered if it was the same thing you had been considering as well.

But you were both aware of what saying those words would mean for your broken relationship and simply settled for smiles instead.

Peter brought a hand up to lay your forehead against his, allowing your breathing to momentarily sync.

"You ready for me?" he questioned you with a hand at the nape of your neck to hold your head against his.

You immediately nodded in response causing his own head to shake in time with yours. A small laugh was shared between you both as your nose continued to brush his own.

"You're adorable," you said before you could stop yourself.

That stupid full-toothed grin that you hadn't seen in a while soon spread across his beautiful face at your words, gaining another laugh from you.

"Last round?” you eventually pleaded with a smile.

"Anything for you," Peter replied, meaning it in every way. Adoration littered his stare as he slowly lowered you onto his length.

A satisfied mewl slipped your lips at the familiar feel of him.

The slow drag of his cock in and out of you, while he rocked your hips back and forth to grind on him, had your bottom lip sucked between your teeth with eyes closed and head thrown back in pleasure.

But Peter wanted to see it all. He wrapped a hand around your neck and forced you to meet his dilated eyes. “Keep your eyes on me, baby.”

His soft yet stern tone caused you to swallow back a moan as you continued to move on his girth.

He then slapped your ass with his free hand, silently urging you to move faster.

You leaned down and quickly kissed his lips before happily obliging, now beginning to bounce in his lap, chasing your next climax.

“There you go angel, just like that,” Peter’s stare never wavered.

Peter furiously fucked up into you, your moans and the constant smack of skin on skin filling the apartment.

His other hand which never left your throat now squeezed it harder. “Fuck!” You were barely able to moan out as your breasts bounced with your every move.

“Shit, you’re gripping me like a vice,” Peter groaned, his crude pace never faltering though his orgasm was closer than ever.

Your bed creaked under the onslaught of your bodies, but neither of you payed it any attention only having one goal in mind.

“One more time,” Peter planted his feet on the ground to get a better angle, "Need you to cum on my cock one more time."

But from the broken pacing of his hips to the strong furrow of his brow, you could tell he was close too. “Together?” You breathlessly suggested, grasping the nape of his neck with your hands.

Peter nodded in agreement before engulfing your chest and back with his arms, pulling you closer to his body.

Your breaths mingled, eyes focused on nothing except each other as his grip on your upper body allowed him to help you ride him even faster.

"Yes, Pete, oh my God-" pleas, curses, and moans tumbled from your lips as your skin buzzed at your incoming release.

"There you go, cum for me," Peter's voice grew strangled as his hips stuttered below you.

"Fuck," you wailed, your finish hitting you like a freight train and your pussy leaking into Peter's length.

The intense clench of your walls around him was all it took for Peter to explode with a groan, his pace faltering with that final pump.

"Holy shit baby," he panted, his cum painting your walls in spurts.

His firm hold on your body brought you collapsing on your bed together, satisfied and smiling.

And, for what felt like hours, you lay there in his arms. But of course, your thoughts began to run rampant.

Peter could damn near hear your thoughts spiraling.

"I don't regret this," he suddenly broke the silence you had elapsed into, "Do you?"

"Peter I-...I don't know," you freed yourself from his hold and sat up to look at him.

His brows furrowed at your response, hurt briefly flashing across his features.

"I loved you," you spoke, "I loved you more than anything."

"I know. I loved you too," Peter nodded with a small smile.

"And I will never blame you for leaving. Ever," you slipped a hand in his own and squeezed briefly.

"But?"

Your eyes stung with tears threatening to fall. "What happened to us, it damn near destroyed me, Peter. And it took so so long to put myself back together."

Peter swallowed harshly at your words.

"And then here you come, waltzing in here, fucking my brains out and making me feel things," you lowered your head, looking away from him.

You heard Peter move closer to you before feeling him lift your chin to face him again. His expression wasn't as disappointed as you'd expected, just confused. "Spit it out. I know you're holding something back."

"Why'd you come back here and-and do all this? Reminding me of what we had when you know you're gonna be gone again in the next few weeks?" you felt your voice shrink to a broken whisper.

Peter used his thumb to wipe away a lone tear that fell from your eye, his previously puzzled look now morphing into a smirk. There was obviously something he wasn't telling you.

You sniffled and lightly hit Peter's shoulder. "Well, now it's your turn bug face, spit out whatever you're hiding!"

You received no answer other than Peter leaning forward and pressing a deep kiss against your lips. You eagerly accepted and returned the spontaneous action but were left even more confused when he pulled away.

"That wasn't an answer," you arched a brow at Peter.

"I'm not going anywhere," he smiled.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm moving back to New York, or already moved, technically," he began to explain.

Your mouth opened and closed in shock as your brain fumbled for a response and came up inconclusive.

"I'm gonna finish out the school year online and stay here to take care of Aunt May. I mean it, baby, I'm not going anywhere," he grinned, watching tears of joy fall from your eyes.

"This better not be some sick fucking joke Peter, I swear to God," you pointed a finger at him accusingly.

"Can you shut up and just come here?"

You couldn't help but laugh as you obliged and grabbed Peter's neck before pulling him in for another kiss, your face still wet from tears and a smile almost permanently etched onto your face.

You pulled away but sank into his open arms. You relished how securely he held you. "I'm so happy," you said aloud, truly meaning it for the first time in a long time, though it was only meant to be an inner thought.

Peter kissed your forehead and looked down to meet your eyes, "I'll never stop making you happy, Y/N."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

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