#I still don't know how I feel about this chapter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoseoksluna · 2 days

Text

CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi x oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk)

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: you don't know how he does it, but hobi makes you forget about the life you led before him, using his tongue.

playlist: hobi's playlist ; hobi's the weeknd playlist

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

warnings: oh my god—dd/lg but differently, businessman!hobi, dominant and emotional and fucking possessive hobi, oc is horny... a lot, praise kink, breeding kink sdflhldghfdklaxjkfghskfg, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, female and male masturbation, use of a sex toy, cum eating, ass eating, religious personification, mentions of anal sex, thigh and ass slapping fuck

note: my babies, i'm so happy to be posting PART TWO OF BERRIES for you, oh my god. i had the time of my LIFE writing this, had to take breaks every 20 mins, was horny beyond my fucking mind BECAUSE THE SMUT IN THIS? FUCK. THIS IS PURE FILTH. 12K WORDS OF FILTHY HOBI SMUT. IM DEAD. HAVE BEEN DEAD. i missed writing so much that i spewed this out in 3 days... literally how? but i'm so happy to be back. i hope you enjoy this part. make sure to let me know what you think! i'm in a severe (hehe) need of your feedback. I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

side note: this part has the entirety of my being in it. from the first word to the last. it means a lot to me. very special chapter! <3

By the time you come out of the art museum, it’s storming. A sound so cacophonous that it spreads dots of gooseflesh along the perimeter of your skin underneath your silk dress and the layer of your heavy trench coat. Loud and violent like your heart’s deep drum that stills once you see Hoseok leaning against his glossy car. Arms and legs crossed in the same fashion, clothed in the coupled shade of blackness, a mop of tousled hair swept back and rippling in the unforgiving wind that flushes his cheeks with its rosy coldness and then clouds pull in, darkening his stare fixed on you.

A shower of sudden rain finishes its touch on his countenance.

Eye contact broken, Hobi’s shoulders raise as he feels the iciness of the slender raindrops falling upon him, eyes flicked up to the shadowed heavens. A heartstring of yours snaps and you don’t really know who gave the command to your aching legs to run towards him with your coat suspended over your head—whether it was that weakened heart of yours or basic human decency. Emotion versus logic.

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner.

Because when you have to stand on your tippy toes to cover him from the rain, despite the fact you’re wearing your high-heeled boots, and Hobi takes the makeshift shield from your hands and shrouds you both from the wetness, an identical flush crawls from your left cheek, upon the column of your nose right next to your other cheek, warming you up from within.

Emotion. The string that ruptured grows again to its full length during that fleeting moment and you’re aching to take him home.

No rain in sight—just him in this close proximity, in this gray cocoon, smiling down at you lopsidedly, a dimmed light flickering in his inky pools, faintly, barely, only there for you to see. To catch and cling to like his patchouli scent does to you, a whiff of dainty wildflowers leaning in and enclosing around you, forcing away the thoughts that are erect in the corners of your mind, waiting for the adequate moment to strike. Thoughts of how you sense Jungkook’s life entwining around your world again; his companion perfuming the air with petrichor, the inner turmoil she must be facing the very strength that pulled those clouds in, causing a storm to stretch across the skies. You figure each beat of her confused heart must be the grumble of the thunder, but then Hobi’s outer film of softness amidst the darkness is a force way greater, because firmness broods right underneath it, and it is an energy that keeps those thoughts pressed against the walls of your mind.

He did turn you into a locked orchard—and the threat of another declared war isn’t even a wind that brushes past your fruit trees and berry bushes.

In fact, the more you deepen your exchange of gazes and Hobi cages you in between his shirt-clothed elbows, the more you want to show him the stain of your juices upon your panties.

You’re aroused—blooming, in need to be picked. It outweighs the past and you’re glad for it, deem your newly born sexuality more important than the doomed normalcy of your life.

You sink your manicured nails into that newness, adamant on not letting it go, regretting that you agreed to see your ex-boyfriend later tonight, regretting that you grew soft at the hint of his own normalcy, even though you said to yourself that you wouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons why you dig your nails deeper, maximizing your closeness to Hobi—it’s done in an effort to erase your foolish moment of weakness, to better yourself like you encouraged yourself to do earlier when you had perceived that you misinterpreted him. You curl your lips under your teeth to stifle back a sigh, wishing you were as firm as him, as stable in your decisions and your way of living as him. Wishing your weakness wasn’t a putty you play with, leave your fingerprints of your bad decisions on that blemish until you hate yourself, until the paste hardens and there’s nothing left for you to do but to watch it. Watch the evidence of your failure, your brokenness and your imbecility like still life—the curse, the doom of your life, haunting you.

It almost slinks in, threatening yet again to desiccate your orchard, the movement akin to a wave rolling in, but then Hobi speaks. And his voice sears those thoughts to nothing. Not even their shadows are left behind.

“Did you say hi to your friend?” he murmurs, reaching behind him to open the door of the passenger side for you, the coat that’s propped on his forearm lowering until it rests back around your shoulders.

You can merely nod, your empty mind focused on the absence of your selfishness—for once again, you want to be close to him for his sake, even more so when Hobi places his palm on the top edge of his car so you don’t hurt your head.

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman.

You’re feeding him and sucking his dick before he goes to work—you don’t care. Hope to God he fucks your brain out of your head and plants a new one; one that isn’t so stupid.

Seated inside his car, you glimpse profoundly at the way the rain kisses the crown of his head as he rounds his vehicle, sitting right beside you and carrying inside his heavenly skin fragrance, now accentuated by the residue of petrichor that all of a sudden doesn’t have anything to do with what you just bore. No hints, no thoughts, no wars. How he does it is something you’ll never have the capability of understanding—a fracture of attention of the intimate kind and he binds you to him, erasing your still fresh past as if it never happened.

You flex and relax your hand on your lap, a gesture that depicts that you cherish it to the point that you yearn to submit to it and remain submitted. And you will. You’ll figure out a way to stay stable, even if events appear to try and revolutionize you. A way to keep your fist clenched in his presence.

Hobi lets the car warm up a little bit before he turns on the heating, angling his rear view mirror just right, from which two purple, plush dice swing back and forth, colliding once and never meeting again.

How inspiring.

And then you watch his hands. Watch them dominate the car, spur it to life as he drives through the drenched street, parting the rain like a curtain, stepping in, taking you home.

As if he sensed your thoughts, he glances at you. “My place or yours?”

A red light halts his control and Hobi uses it to tap on the screen of his dashboard, dousing the space in a sultry, wet ambiance as slow, calm music breaks the silence. While it was comfortable for you, now you feel even more at ease and you wiggle in your seat, sinking deeper into the leather.

Quite useful material for the lecherous saturation of your mind; for the lustful layer of sweat lining your skin. You feel so hot. Feel the need to be ridded of your clothes right now. Feel a certain kind of vivacity that drives you to do things you wouldn’t normally do.

You take his hand from the shift stick, cradling it with both of your own hands, a finger tracing the veins that paint a slender but a strong temple—a temple for his beauty and character, you suspect.

“My place,” you say, yearning to make him feel at home in your space; cook for him, make him come, stuff like that.

Green light blinks and Hobi doesn’t withdraw from your hold. No, he tells you what to do, quickly.

“Keep your hand on mine,” he instructs and you listen, sinking your fingers between his and gripping him like in an effort to grip onto stable submission. “Just like that.”

Your stomach flips at his choice of praise and you lick your lips, tightening your hold hard enough that he peeks at you with a smirk while he shifts the gear stick with you and speeds down the road. The heat worsens and you don’t think you can take it anymore.

That alone is the most attractive thing you ever experienced with a man.

And when he plays with your thumb, you can’t help but to squeeze your thighs together. Watch him intently sneak a glance as you do so, knowing your dress has ridden up a little, exposing your tanned thighs, swathed with the brown leather of your boots. Your position also provides him the intriguing reveal of a secret—you’re wearing knee socks underneath. They were invisible to his sight this whole time and now that he sees them, his eyes linger there for a few seconds longer before he drags his teeth along his bottom lip, flicking his gaze back to the road.

“You’re wearing knee socks under those?” he asks, his voice low and tortured. Doesn’t look at you as he does. Only shifts the gear stick again, stiffly. You imagine something else is stiff, too, and you smile, a tendril of confidence clothing you in allure and sinful, dark joy. It beckons your vivacity to drive forward.

You move his hand to let the pads of his fingers feel the smooth fabric. His body twitches, his lungs inhaling a short, soft air, mouth parted, eyes unblinking, gloomy just like the heavens above. A thunder sounds and you feel like roaring just the same.

“It matches my underwear,” you murmur and the thunder prolongs, echoing feebly. You drag his hand down your thigh with the intention to also make him feel the nylon material of your panties, but he halts your movement halfway, hand gripping your flesh, trembling ever so slightly, stirring your confidence. You almost moan at his brusqueness.

“Don’t,” he scolds, brows furrowing, chest heaving in that slow manner. His lips dry and he wets them. Doesn’t spare you a glance. Turns the wheel with that one hand as he takes a left turn, his posture slouched, thighs spread, a small tent evident in between. His arousal for you grows and it only propels you to finish the job, knowing his scolding was merely a warning, not a portrayal of his discomfort. And he proves you right with his next words. “If you do that, I’ll crash this fucking car.”

You laugh through your nose, your confidence and your own arousal fluttering in you, begging to be let out. Your favorite artist starts playing and you’re not surprised by the way your body reacts. Your thighs naturally spread and you move your pelvis forward. Feel your slick dampening your panties even more, trickling down your needy seashell just as The Weeknd begins to sing about your desire.

“I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on…”

You lick your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a soft moan. Hobi digs his fingernails into your skin, coaxing another one out of you and he calls you by your name in a sterner warning. You caress the edge of his hand with the thought in mind that you’ve always loved the crescent moon, so it would only be illogical for you to not want more of it imprinted on your skin.

“You shouldn’t praise me then,” you croak out, doused in adrenaline-tinged lust, your sweat heavy upon you. You clutch your cherub necklace, needing to be touched, a habit of yours that you’ve had ever since you were a teenage girl. Your fingers graze your collarbones, lingering in the dip between them. “Besides, you’re such a good driver that I think you can handle it.”

Hobi hums out an endearing laugh, that smirk of his reappearing on his mouth. He rubs the moons he impressed into your thigh from side to side and your hips buck, asking for that movement down low where you need him the most.

“You have a praise kink?” he questions and you catch him bite his lip, catch him enjoying that information, sinking it into his flesh. You want to kiss it, bruise it, make it permanent for a little while. You revel in such a dirty, yet gentle conversation and you stop yourself from bucking your hips again.

“A severe praise kink,” you correct him, emphasizing the adjective with a bit of a bratty tone to divulge to him what he does to you and how much he needs to pay for it. And before you can go on, he catches you off guard.

“If you want me to keep praising you then rub your clit,” he negotiates with you, taking your hand and moving the gear stick, leaving it there. “And you’re wrong. I can’t handle you like this. I can’t touch you when I’m responsible for your life.”

Daddy. The title would’ve slipped out of the tip of your tongue had a moan not been first, coating the ambience with a sultriness that makes you tug at his hand in order to do as he says, in order to be praised, to be gratified. But Hobi doesn’t budge. He tightens his grip around the shift stick, clicking his tongue.

“No, baby. With your other hand,” he orders, his breath shaking and amidst the enveloping of his fatherliness around you, strengthening you and binding you with ropes of safety, girlishness and seductiveness, you scrunch up your brows, wanting his hand to be there when you make yourself feel good.

And you tell him.

“I want you to help me.”

The rain thickens, creating a sensual background noise to the next slow song playing and Hobi sighs, disliking your attitude. Your arousal grows to highs you’ve never seen before, a sweet, pleasing darkness consuming you, sprinkling you with glitters of appetite and craze.

All because your sexual chemistry is so good, so strong—so natural, despite the fact you just met and don’t know each other enough for it to be possible. It exceeds the laws of human connection and the feeling of it is heady, intoxicating you with wine of the ripest cherries. You even feel as though this is your first alcoholic drink. Feel as though you’re an unspoiled virgin on the cusp of her very first sin—the Virgin Mary with long hair, cherub necklace, tanned skin, knee socks and high-heeled boots.

Hobi erases your past life. Paints a new one with watercolors; paints you anew. You know the dulcet taste of fatherliness and manliness from Jungkook and while it was what you needed at the time, sexually that is—as it wasn’t often that he used this kind of energy day-to-day, and if he did, it was to tease you—what Hobi does runs deeper. It surpasses your need; it’s not a filling that will decompose soon enough and ask for it again. It’s something else entirely.

It’s something that falls upon you and stays. Clicks and connects with no way out. It’s another layer of skin, strands of hair growing out of your scalp, the drum of the vein upon your neck.

It began in the museum and uncoils here. It’s not worth it to juxtapose it with what you had before—it’s laughable to do so. Hobi has established his fatherliness the moment he held your coat as a heathen in a church, not taking his gaze off of your intimate prayers for even a split second. Unkinked it with his honesty and by expressing his responsibility over you, listening to the murmur of the sea of your sexual need but not diving head-first into it, knowing better. And now it is ready to bloom with flowerets, with fruits, with leaves to accompany you.

“It’s this or nothing,” Hobi decides, squeezing his fingers against yours to also emphasize the gravity of his words and you purse your lips in response, finding the ultimatum so attractive. “You live thirty minutes away, so you either rub your clit on your own or you wait. It’s up to you.”

It’s mind blowing to you how he went from being timid to now ordering you to pleasure yourself. You’re sweltering beneath your clothes and Hobi notices, looking at your body through his rear view mirror. He turns the heating up and you laugh, blush deepening, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest.

“Why didn’t you put your seatbelt on?” he mutters, letting go of your hand and giving you a mean look that makes your walls clench and your throat let out a low, almost soundless moan.

You never put a seatbelt on. As dangerous as it, you hate the way it chokes you due to your small stature and you tell him. “It chokes me, Hobi, I don’t really like it.”

Hobi doesn’t respond. He reaches over and drags down the seatbelt adjuster without taking his eyes off of the road, driving steadily. His patchouli scent hits your nostrils and you nuzzle your nose into his bicep, fingers curling around his arm, smelling him in a simple, comfortable manner. Hobi gives you a quick smile and you hear the sound of him pulling on the seatbelt, but then a pedestrian runs across the previously empty crosswalk, forcing him to stomp on the brake abruptly and your heart nearly skips out of your chest. Almost flying forward, Hobi holds you in place with his strong arm, which you cradle against your quickening chest.

Exchanging a look, you both pant in tandem and Hobi shakes his head at you. Panic lines his dark eyelashes and he immediately grabs the seatbelt and, tugging harshly, he sinks it into the buckle, placing the belt behind your back. He doesn’t acknowledge the pedestrian lifting his palm in apology and neither do you, too preoccupied with the fact he just saved your life.

“You wear a seatbelt in my car. No buts. Understand?”

Too shocked by the twist of events and too touched by the gesture and the sternness of his words, you nod. He pats your thigh, the one he marked, fondling the skin with his thumb, and it drives you to say something. “I’m sorry, Hobi. I’ll wear the seatbelt from now on.”

You mean it. This has never happened to you before as you usually take the public transport, but you do understand now how dangerous it is to not wear one. Your heartbeat calms and the aftershocks of the adrenaline come to the surface, scattering along your figure. Numbness melts and your arousal returns at full speed.

Hobi nods, smiling gently, pleased with your apology, and you feel so peculiarly gratified that you managed to do something like that to him. He sinks his fingers under your thigh and you marvel at the size of his hand because his thumb still remains there on the top of the flesh, even as he wraps his digits around you like that. Kneading just once before he lifts them and begins to tap on his screen again, shifting the energy with the voice of your favorite artist. He moves the gear, accelerating.

“Why you rushing me, baby? It’s only us, alone,” The Weeknd sings and you sigh, your body loosening up. You hike the seatbelt around your hips higher, curling lower on the leather, thighs parting until your knee taps his hand. You miss his touch and you long for it again, finding its warm ghost on your skin not enough.

“You like The Weeknd, don’t you?” Hobi says, his pinky finger brushing along your sock-clad knee, causing you to almost twitch.

You smile, relishing in the love you have for the singer. “I’ve spent ten years of my life loving him.”

Liking your answer, Hobi skims his fingers along the side of your inner thigh until he finds yours, intertwining them—this time his palm closed over the back of your hand, placing it to its former position on the stick. It’s warmed by him and you love it so much that you search for his thumb, playing with it.

“I could tell,” he breathes, his tone deepened by a heartfelt emotion that moves through you. You raise your brows in curiosity and question, wondering how that has come to be. Glancing at you to see your reaction, Hobi laughs softly, his heart evident in the sound, coated with it entirely, and you catch his thumb, holding it, on the verge of bursting. “I saw what you did when I put him on.”

You round the tip of your tongue along your top lip, recollecting well what you did when you heard him. “What did I do?”

A beat of silence between you and him, he lets the singer sing his elegy. Then, his index finger traces your manicured nail on the same digit. “You spread your legs. Made such a pretty sound that I almost stopped this fucking car and fucked you until the whole city could heard it.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you’re too late to halt the moan from slipping out, a fire coursing down from the top of your head to your toes. You want a taste of his desire so bad that you’ll do anything for it. Even let the seatbelt choke you to death.

Hobi gives you a look, one that chills your blood this time. But it feels absolutely exhilarating.

He calls your name. “Don’t do that to me. Not here.”

Your breath trembles as you scurry to regain your composure, sliding up in your seat. Hobi, too, stops that movement by cradling your thigh, putting it back to the stick once you get the message.

Why does this feel better than if he gave in?

“What if I want to?” you challenge and Hobi rubs his eyes, slapping his hand back onto the steering wheel. Frustration, it looks so good on him. “What if I want you to fuck me here?”

He shakes his head, just once, biting his lip, reddening the pillow. “No, I don’t share.”

Fuck.

This is a point of no return. You will never be the same after what he said and you feel your attachment melting into his chest, dissolving there into leaves from your fruit trees. Your imaginary wings flit, aroused from his possessiveness.

“You know what to do,” he adds without looking at you, turning up the volume as if to subdue your incoming moans.

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake.

You don’t waste a precious second. Lifting the hem of your dress, you expose your drenched panties, a large wet spot in the center darkening the black fabric. Hobi doesn’t spare you a glance. No, he takes your intertwined hands and fixes his rear view mirror, tipping it down. Dangerous, but smart. Responsible.

It’s those glimmering flecks of his character that drive your fingers to pull your panties to the side, but Hobi, once again, stops you.

With words, this time.

“Do you want me to die?” he rasps, tortured—horribly tortured and you cup your femininity, coaxing a groan out of him. “Do it over your panties, baby. Please.”

He begged. You don’t think you ever heard that word come out of a man’s mouth in your life and you break, whimpering, pulling your panties back in their place over your pussy, dragging the tip of your middle finger up and down your dripping slit, sighing. Adding your index, you put pressure to the sides of your clit as you slide your digits in the same direction, over and over, teasing yourself, breathing out little moans that make him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

Hobi glances once at what you’re doing and swears. “Fuck, rub your clit. Don’t tease yourself, baby. Make yourself feel good.”

With a mewl, you stick your fingers together and begin a series of circles, doing as he says. Your eyes roll back, head knocking back into the leather, satisfaction seizing your body and sweetening it. The material of your panties is so flimsy that it feels as though your fingers are stroking your bare flesh and when you tug the fabric to your hole to wet it and rub your clit harder, your moans gain volume, mingling with The Weeknd’s poetry seamlessly and magnificently, dethroning the rain.

And then Hobi shifts the gear stick with your hand and drives so fast that your pleasure deepens, thrill rushing in your veins. You match your circles to that speed, your sounds becoming obnoxious, whiny squeaks when you look at him to see his jaw clenched, chest heaving and the tent in his pants larger than you last checked it.

Hobi skims his fingers along your forearm, back and forth, cradling it. Senses your stare and reciprocates it, catching you at your best when you find your spot and buck your hips, furrowing your brows. He moans, clutching your thigh.

“So good. Such a good girl, rubbing her clit for me to get praised. Fuck, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You lift your fingers in order not to come, the aftershocks of your ripped away orgasm quivering throughout your whole body and you squeeze his hand, letting go—wrapping it around his tent, instead. You figure he deserves it for praising you like that.

He finds your lidded, mischievous eyes in the rear view mirror and he flattens his lips, a brutal expression on his face that should make you scared, but it doesn’t. It only spurs you on. You graze your palm on him, causing his breath to quicken, and you whimper when you search and search for the tip of his cock. He’s slender, but big and your mouth dries.

“You almost made me come with what you said,” you say, truthfully, retracing your path down his length, his breath, now hardened, wafting over you. You love the way he focuses on the road with every fiber of his being as you’re toying with him. Love watching him grit his teeth, narrow his eyes; love watching sweat adorn his flushed chest and neck. You ache to bite him there.

And you would—had he not buckled you in place.

You don’t notice you’ve arrived at your apartment until he stops the car and turns to face you, leaning his elbow on the center console. Nobody could gaslight you into believing that ride took thirty minutes. Nobody.

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you.

You can see it in his shining face—his need for you, his desire, the fact he sped down the road because you’re so horny. And you ache to kiss him.

“You really do have a praise kink,” he says, mutedly. Must be thinking the same because his gaze flicks to your lips. You lick them for him, encouraging him to do it. “Almost coming from me praising you. Such a good girl.”

You hiss, the drum in your clit returning, stealing your attention. Hoseok grins, pleased to be proven right, pleased that you make it so easy for him. You squeeze his length and he makes the same sound, gritting his teeth briefly before he pouts.

“What’s this?” he asks, speaking of your hand placement. “When did I allow you to do this?”

You breathe heavily, descending your fingers to his full balls, feeling them perfectly due to the silky fabric of his dress pants. You knead them and he moans, the sound traveling right to your yet again needy bundle of nerves. Your hand automatically flies to it, rubbing it, and Hobi curses, eyes narrowing, fixed on the movement of your fingers.

“It’s asking for me, isn’t it?” you murmur, sliding your hand back to his manhood and his pools almost go cross, head tilting back. Your pleasure from your motions expands, your nerve endings burning.

“I’m so hard for you,” he agrees, his hand clasping over yours, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows with great difficulty, the column of his throat such a thing of beauty for you that it forces you to unclip your seatbelt. You’re about to crawl onto his lap, but one darkened look from him makes you decide against it. “Show me that pussy, baby.”

Your moan has a certain elation to it, giddy at the fact you get to expose such an intimate part of you to him, giddy that he’s taking this to another level.

You slide your drenched panties to the side and at the sight of your glistening pussy Hobi groans deeply.

“Lean against the door,” he commands, wiping at his mouth and you tremble all over, more than delighted that he’s reacting to you this way.

You swivel, propping your back against the leather of his door and Hobi lifts your legs, spreading them. You hook one of them around the back of his headrest while the other dangles in his hold. His gaze zeroes in on your pussy and as he bites his lip, he acknowledges himself with her by tracing the flesh with his thumb. Your clit, your lips before he circles your gushing hole, groaning, bettering the song you barely can hear. Your confidence and your allure skyrockets and you follow his digit, riding it, begging for more of his touch. He plays chase with you until both of you and him can’t take it anymore and when his thumb is completely soaked, he lifts it to your mouth—only to fuck with you, though, because he plunges it inside his, leaving your own parted for nothing.

You’re embarrassed, but he likes it. Whimpers around his finger. Pushes your knee to your shoulders and dives right in.

You yelp, grabbing a hold of his hair as he licks over your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking until your eyes roll back, until all your still parted mouth knows is his name and your thick heel digs into his shoulder.

But you moan the wrong variation and he’s quick to correct you with a dripping chin, his hands on either side of you, face merely inches away from yours. “That’s Hoseok for you, not Hobi.”

Red all over, you can only moan in response, gripping his hair until he hisses in pain. He strums your clit without breaking eye contact, so slippery and swollen from his attack. The orchard in you grows, brims with fruit that is on the cusp of bursting, the berries in you big and full. His eyes narrow furthermore, pupils dilated, causing his gaze to darken in ways you’ve never thought could be possible.

“Moan my name, baby. Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

The wrong variation slips again, all due to the mind numbing pleasure he’s giving you. He adds more pressure to his fingers for a second before he withdraws and slaps your thigh. And slaps it again.

“I can’t praise you if you don’t learn well, can I?” he mutters and you whine so loudly that his eyes round, body growing boneless. “Fuck, baby, if you keep making sounds like that I’m gonna come in my pants.”

You scramble your words, find it the most difficult thing in the world. And he doesn’t help you. Not when he sinks a long finger inside your heat, fucking you slowly until you can take him. You lose your mind altogether.

“You’re making me feel too-too good,” you breathe out, hiccuping as he adds a second finger in, silencing you when he gives you long strokes. You follow his gaze down and perceive that he’s watching you soak his digits. He twists them, moaning, a litany of mad, mad curses falling out of his mouth in a hushed tone.

“So wet just from me praising you, oh my God,” Hobi comments and you squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he begins to pound you to the hilt, his arm bulging, his whole body moving. “Eyes on me. What do you call me when I make you feel this good, hm? I already told you. Just remember.”

You know which variation he means and wants to hear, but your tongue curls, aching to utter a different name that he deserves to be called by.

And you say it, opening your eyes and boring them into his. “Daddy.”

And you don’t stop saying it. Not when he closes his eyes for a split second, agonized by such saccharinity. Not when he undoes the button of his pants and pulls himself out while thumbing your clit. You gasp, legs quivering, what you touched brought to reality and your orgasm nears, especially when he fist-fucks his length.

Hoseok draws back down to your clit, licking it over, nuzzling his face in it as he drinks your nectar right from the source, his wet fingers from you making squeaky sounds around his girth, causing you to scream, the intensity of the moment running so deep and you’re too weak to take it, overwhelmed by his arousal.

He lifts his head for a moment. “I want you to call me Daddy when you come on my tongue,” he rasps amidst his growls, never stopping the movement around his cock, and you nod your head, vehemently, willing to do anything for him.

“I’m so close.”

Hoseok pouts. “That’s so good, baby. You know what to do?”

You swallow. “I’m gonna call you Daddy when I come.”

He grins at you and the expression breaks when he fucks his tip, his brows casting a shadow on his face. You break along with it, shuddering—pleasured from watching him pleasure himself. And you break again when he praises you for your good answer. “Such a good girl. You’re gonna come hard for me?”

You don’t get to say your yes because when he sucks your clit into his mouth and groans against it as he flicks it with his tongue, he’s a witness to it himself. The fruits in your orchard explode and he drinks their juices, running the muscle all over your pussy, his mouth smacking, enjoying every drop. You squeal the title, forcing pleased growls out of him that deepen when you swear, repeating the name over and over again until your orgasm smooths down the perimeters of your body, slowly dwindling away.

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t see. White dots flood your vision and the only thing that grounds you is Hobi taking your hand in his. The dots swim away, revealing him on the verge of his own orgasm as he tugs on his length, rapidly now.

“That was so good, baby. You came so well for me. Called me Daddy like I wanted. Good girl,” he praises and your moans are an endless stream, enveloping around his cock, which he guides your hand towards. The weight of it, his warmth, the protruding veins, you could come again just from the feel of him. “Jerk off your Daddy. He’s close, too, from the way you came for him.”

The third person, fuck. You bite your lip, focusing on his tip as you grip him, twisting your wrist. His skin is sticky from your nectar and you spit onto your hand, earning a praise from him that makes your mind spin, even though you heard those two words plenty of times throughout your sinful date.

It will never get old—it will only make your femininity wetter for him.

And his growls, the same could be applied to them. They propel you to fuck him faster while your fingers sneak over to your sensitive clit that he provokes, rubbing circles that cloud your vision with a mist, painting him to be an angel—like the one you saw in the museum.

And when he comes, he grows a pair of glorious wings. Black, with hints of rose gold and pinks. His body doubles over, hands propped on the dashboard and the passenger seat as he spills for you, ropes of cum painting your stomach in that eternal ivory color that serves as skin for those sculptures. In a way you become them once he praises you for making him come, his breaths a legato rivulet that gives you life, his hips snapping, fucking your hand.

He smears his cum on your tanned stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties to discover a lighter shade of skin, marveling at the difference. Light passes through his eyes before he covers your pussy with the fabric, opening the glove department to fetch some tissues, cleaning you up, dragging down your dress and helping you sit up.

It’s at this moment, as he’s kneeling—towering over you and you’re sitting on your bum with your hands folded on your lap like the good girl he made you into, that he clutches the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours, moving it against you with such strength and vigor that you struggle to devour him in the same manner. It causes you to claw at his sides, to long to see his body in its full, bare beauty. His imaginary wings wrap around you, sealing the resplendence of your orgasm profoundly inside your skin and when he tastes you, his growls traveling down your throat are the raindrops that the orchard inside you needs in order to grow. You help him by moaning back, the aftertaste of you the sunlight.

Piercing his gaze into yours, he caresses your hair, messes up your diligently fixed updo. Catches your ribbon as it falls, wrapping it around his hand, the wisps dangling from his fingers like your leg was just a few moments ago.

You’re so satisfied that you could cry.

You don’t even understand what just happened and how it came to be. Don’t remember what occurred before you sat down in his car—Hobi has completely and wholly erased it.

And it’s him who notices that your hand still carries the remnants of him. You don’t care to look—you can’t rip your gaze away from the shine on his face, from the gratification smoothing out his features, from the pink flush decorating the perfect redness of his swollen lips. But Hobi forces you to, in the tenderest of ways. Looks lovingly at your palm, cooing, shooting that look into your eyes, where it unfolds, creates something new that you never experienced before. And when he grins, your stomach flips, winged creatures intoxicated with madness inside.

“You see what you did?” he whispers, the love in his eyes expanding, growing warmer, burning you faintly. “I want you to lick it up. You deserve every drop.” The breath you let out causes him to tremble and you cradle the fabric of his shirt in your fist. Hobi kisses your fingers, looking at you through them, his smile quivering. “Stick out your tongue for me, baby.”

You do and he slides your palm over it, his salty nectar the sea that swam against your body a week ago in your healing time and you moan, devouring his taste like he devoured your mouth, licking it up, collecting it until there’s nothing left. You show him your tongue, then, and Hobi plays with it, using his thumb, your ribbon wrapped around his hand tickling your chin. He rubs it on the muscle, playing chase with you again until he tells you to suck it. And the sound that descends from his lips once you do makes you squeeze your thighs together, your own wetness dripping out of you.

To end it, Hobi kisses your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds longer. Caresses your mouth, tracing each line, tracing your cupid’s bow, making you glisten with your own saliva. A shining, lively angel—just like him. You whimper.

“Swallow it, baby.”

You do, showing him the evidence that you obeyed after.

“Good girl.”

You take the underside of him, semi hard, into your hand, giggling, heart thumping. “You just made me horny all over again.”

Hobi hums, brushing his ribbon-clad fingers through your hair from the crown of your head. You want him to do that once you suck him off. “And you’re gonna make me hard all over again if you touch me like that.”

You mimic the noise he made, squeezing him. Hobi curses, delighting you. “Let’s go inside. I owe you that breakfast, don’t I?”

He kisses you, softly, with a hint of harshness that causes your nipples to harden painfully against your bra. You almost rub your clit again, so fucking out of it, crazed.

“You do, baby.”

You got everything you wanted in such a small amount of time that your vision twirls. Hobi is holding your hand as you’re leading him to your apartment, your ribbon still hanging from yours and his intertwinement, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating feverishly in your chest. Not even once.

You’re facing the inevitable as you watch Hobi unlace his dress shoes on his knee, his cock stiff and uncomfortable in his pants. You’re brazenly falling for him. You know your hormones swirling your system from the lustfulness you indulged in aren’t to blame—if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s Hobi himself. You consider him to be such a beautiful person that you would be absolutely stupid, blind and deaf not to fall for him. And what’s more, you sense your decline to be safe. Stable. A leverage that won’t ever break. A ribbon that won’t fray.

It’s as strange as it is inviting and your submission comes naturally to you. And this time, you don’t fear it won’t last. Don’t fear you’ll let up. There’s a sense vibrating in you that assures you that Hobi will take care of it. Put it back where it belongs if it ever strays. You don’t have to monitor it. You don’t have to do shit.

You were wrong about one more thing. Hobi isn’t Daddy.

He’s Father.

It’s this thought that drives you to take off your dress and leave it in the middle of the floor that leads to your kitchen. You’re barren down to your soaked underwear, bra and knee socks, your feet basking in the way they don’t have to ache in your boots anymore. Pulling a plate of eggs out of the refrigerator, you set it on the counter, preparing a pan by oiling it on the stove. You hear Hobi’s feet pad on the floor as you pop some bread in the toaster and you turn your head, seeing only his dark silhouette standing behind you, your dress and your ribbon in his hands.

Your heart quickens, abnormally.

“How do you like your eggs?” you ask, resuming your cooking as you break the shell of an egg on the lip of the pan, spilling the delight into the bubbling oil.

Hobi crosses the distance and you can only feel the softness of your ribbon when he places his hands on your hips, letting them travel until they stumble across the pooch of your lower belly. He groans, holding you there, pressing his hard, silk-clad cock against your nearly bare bum.

Self-consciousness creeps in as he kneads one of your insecurities and you quiver, clasping your hand over his, your confidence wavering.

“However you like them is how I like them,” Hobi flirts and you laugh through your nose, shaking your head, waiting for the egg white to fade into that milky color he painted your stomach with.

Sunny side up it is.

“Hobi, your game is out of this world,” you flirt back, sliding your spatula under the egg to check if it’s done before you can flip it.

Hobi lowers himself onto his knees and you gasp, soundlessly. He begins to scatter violent kisses along the dots upon the flesh of your bum, sucking it into his mouth as if it were an orange he was sinking his teeth into. You have to grip the counter in order not to fall over, willing strength into your weakened legs.

He bites the supple roundness of your ass cheek, smoothing out the pain with a flick of his tongue and kisses, gentle ones this time around. Hums. “Is it?”

He glides his nose along the inner of your thigh, rooting right in the center of your pussy, burying his face there. You turn around halfway, arching your back, latching onto his hair that you’ve ruined, egg long forgotten.

“Your thighs are wet again, fuck,” he whispers, mouthing your clit before he descends once again to them, licking them over, drinking your nectar that he’s created. Trails his tongue back up and, sliding your panties to the side, he takes you into his mouth, growling as he sucks onto your lips, playing with them using his tongue, hands spreading your ass cheeks, so he can have more space to make you absolutely lose yourself in him.

And it’s working. Even more so when he begins to swirl his tongue around that other, tiny hole, causing your eyes to go cross before they roll back. Your head dips into a dreamy daze, where time doesn’t exist as he switches between flicking your clit and eating your ass and it isn’t until a certain burning smell suffuses your nostrils that you snap out of it.

You’ve burned his egg, its edges black like the feathers of his imaginary wings, and you yelp, turning off the stove, pushing the pan away.

“Hobi, I burned your egg,” you exclaim and he bends you over the counter while still remaining on his knees for you, sucking your clit with all the strength he possesses. Your climax pinches you in warning, lovingly, promising to melt over you like rain soon, so very soon.

Hobi doesn’t give a fuck about his egg, it seems.

“Just a little more, please,” he begs, moving his flat tongue from side to side on your bud, hands descending down your wet thighs until he reaches your knee socks, stopping there. Whimpers.

That would’ve thrown you over the edge had he not pulled away, fingers wrapping around your knees.

You turn around and the sight of him on his knees with his glazed nose, mouth and chin, with his cock pitifully erect in his pants, creating a print that makes you salivate, absolutely and irrevocably breaks you. You can still hear his plea ring in your mind, begging you to give him a few more seconds of your pussy, and your brain malfunctions. Numbness tightens around your fingers when you cradle his face and it feels so real when you do so—the fact that you’re wanted, desired; the fact that Hobi is the one in submission to you, dominant yet attentive to you to the point that he would never want do anything you wouldn’t. He listens to you, carves his life around you… and he hasn’t even known you for a month.

You messed up his hair—and when you run your fingers through his strands, you feel your powerful ruination sifting through them, feel your seduction and your confidence, alive and breathing in that thick, dark brown mop of his. And now you crave to mess up his skin. Bruise it. Stain it with the pinks you can see in his imaginary wings. Watch them turn yellow like the rose gold in their flecks over the following days.

You’re not letting go of him.

Not when he looks at you like you’re Virgin Mary and he’s a sinner.

You pull him up by the collars of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, adding to the ruination, and it’s electrifying. He’s the cleanest sinner you’ve ever had the grace to see and you want to stain him. Beyond the stickiness of your juices. And when he towers over you and cages you in between his buff body and the counter, hands on either side of you upon the marble, his patchouli scent making you bloodthirsty, you don’t kiss him. No, you go straight for his neck.

He didn’t expect it, groaning when you lick a stripe over his vein, sucking the skin inside your mouth. Over and over again until the sucking noises make him twitch and fist the ends of your hair, pressing his cock against your stomach. You’re feral, you’re inhuman, scattering kisses along that column like you’ve never had a man in your hands before. And it’s true. You never have. It was always you who had been in men’s hands. Never the other way around.

Your fingers gain feeling when you undo the buttons of his shirt, ripping some of them, secretly preventing him from going to work after you’re finished with him. Unless you plaster your correcting concealers on him, he really can’t step a foot outside. The bruise you left on his column is huge, purply red, and the only thing it’s missing is bite marks. A joy rotates in you, rooting from the fact that you’re changing his plans, that you have an effect on him, and you unfold that emotion when you tug that shirt down his broad shoulders and press a kiss in the middle of his chest.

But then Hobi grips your hair on the crown on your head, making you look at him.

And you can’t explain it to yourself, why you like being manhandled like that, despite the freedom you just experienced. Like a child, whose father let her run free before he scolded her and told her to stop, for she ran for too long and it’s getting cold.

“What are you doing?” he asks, lowly, and the tone etches itself onto your own throat because your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue, unabashed, dirty, throbbing.

“I need you to fuck me.”

Hobi blinks, his brows rising, a light like a comet shooting past his irises before an unbounded, starless night shrouds them.

You’ve done it. You’ve stained him. Now he needs to come all over you. Make a mess. Paint you again.

He slackens his hold on your hair. Runs his hand down the length. “If I fuck you, I’ll breed you.” Curls his hand around your throat, where those words form a new necklace, plated with that rose gold. Your mouth parts, a moan falling past, your nectar in tandem, mind dizzy from the idea of being stuffed full of his cum. He flattens his palm over your sternum, hooks his fingers over the band of your bra in the middle of your breasts. You hope he chisels the lines of his hand into your skin. You want to wear him. “Are you on birth control?”

You stopped taking it the moment you were broken up with. Didn’t think you’d need it so soon. Didn’t think you’d have a man in your life again, let alone sleep with him.

Your body desires to please Hoseok so resolutely that a wisp of your regret swathes around his wrist—regret that you threw away those pills that are the driving force in his sexuality. He might have been okay with not taking this any further, but you’re not. You’re far, far from okay.

You want to be bred. You want to be bred so much that you could cry.

Your mouth pouts, but your sadness doesn’t touch your seduction. It merely heightens it.

“You have a breeding kink?” you ask, mimicking his former words, causing him to drag his tongue over his lips slowly, divulging his arousal. It’s another tree that begins to grow in your orchard, planted by your bare hands. A cherry tree, its pink flowerets the flush that spreads across his prominent pecs. You want to make them shiny with your tongue.

And you do.

You place wet kisses over the underside of his left pec, nibbling on the skin, your small stature making it easy for you. Hobi inhales a sharp breath, sneaking his fingers under the cup of your bra, grasping your breast, squeezing until you whimper.

“A severe breeding kink,” Hoseok corrects you, just like you did in his car. He pulls down your bra straps, his hand quick to undo the clasp on your back, disposing you of the undergarment, dropping it onto the ground. Gooseflesh spreads across your skin and you let him feel it, let him feel the effect he has on you by pressing yourself against him, twisting your arms around his torso.

A tender hug, in the middle of a bonding moment. You’d be so happy, you’d laugh, you’d skip, if you had never thrown away those pills.

You wonder if he feels the drum of your heart, if he feels how it’s creating a brand new music that no human, no celestial being has ever heard before.

“I stopped taking birth control several weeks ago, Hobi,” you say, your regret and your sadness lowering your tone. Hobi coos and it makes you want to sob. “Did you bring a condom?”

He caresses your bare back, your hair a stream of a waterfall that he parts with his hand. “No, I didn’t expect this to happen.”

You do the same for him, burying your face deeper into his chest, perceiving that you’re embracing a pure angel. You engrave patterns into his skin, feathers of wings that are dripping with the fire of stars. Even though you’re dying to get fucked, this tenderness is, little by little, appeasing your darkness in a way you don’t really understand.

“We don’t have to do anything. I can make you come with my mouth again,” Hobi says, drifting his nails along the perimeter of your shoulder blade while his other hand grips your waist. The memory of the moons to the sky you paint on his back.

You lift your head. Meet the gray clouds in his eyes. “You want to breed me that bad?”

A smile curls one end of his mouth. “It’s what you deserve.”

The same smile finds a way to your mouth, then blossoms into a grin, your heart a heavy music, and you press it into the middle of his chest. Bite him there, his growls another instrument in the song. He clutches the hair at the nape of your neck, coaxing out a similar sound, your darkness a wave that ebbs to and fro.

“Put it in my ass, then.”

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly.

“What?”

He sighs. “You want to get fucked in your ass on the first date?”

You don’t know what part of his sentence makes you hiccup. Whether it’s his purity, the fact that such an angel voiced out that lewd desire of yours and didn’t jump head-first into its sea—or whether he acknowledged, once again, that this is a date. Hobi laughs, endearingly, and you blush. He kisses your cheek, lifting your chin, placing a chaste kiss onto your lips and you could die right now and know you’ll be entering the pearly gates. He’s saved a spot for you there, negotiated with God that you’ll spend your eternity there like the businessman he is.

It’s what propels you to get on your knees.

“Baby.”

And it’s him stopping you each time you want more that makes you fall for him harder.

“You’re so good to me, Hoseok, I can’t help it. I want to give back to you as much as I can.”

He utters a low, deep curse, tipping up his chin as he cradles your face in both hands. Helps you stand to your feet, kisses you with something that doesn’t resemble the chastity of before and you moan into his mouth, digging moons into his back. You press your pelvis against his thighs, frustrated that you can’t reach his manhood and Hobi hears you, lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him, grinding your femininity against his manliness, squeaking the same curses down his throat.

“Fuck, baby, grind that pussy on me like that. Just like that, yes. You learn well, don’t you? You’re such a good girl, you just need to get fucked, don’t you, baby?”

You agree with every word, your expression of pleasure saying the words for you, and Hobi moans, pushing your hips down on him while he meets you each time.

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?”

“Down the hall. First door to the right.”

You suck on his neck as he takes you there, plopping you down onto the edge of your bed. You watch your hands undo the button of his pants, but then he accidentally kicks into something and you know exactly what it is.

An orange Nike box filled with the two toys you own.

And Hobi wouldn’t have crouched to get it had you not started giggling.

How thrilling it is—to see him holding something so private, something no one has ever seen before.

He palms his cock once he discovers what’s inside, rolling his eyes back. He throws the box next to you on the mattress, pushing you back and ripping your panties out of your body in a split second. Your giggles die, replaced by whimpers, replaced by the beat of your clit and his vulgarities as he pins your knees down, gazing, lovingly, at the way your nectar trickles down to your other hole. He bends to lick it up and you die, too.

“Naughty fucking girl. How can you be so naughty and so good at the same time? You’re making me lose my mind,” Hobi snarls, putting his entire weight into the back of your knees and you gush for him, gasping, not able to take his praise, your hips instinctually raising for more of his tongue, which he slaps your thigh for. Once, twice, three times, four times until you whimper so loudly that there’s nothing else left for him to do but let up, grab your pink hitachi and lay down on his back, guide you to sit on his face.

It’s now that he takes the time to ogle your body. His night-tinged eyes glide along your tan lines, his fingers tracing them, making you shudder and rotate your hips above his mouth that he wets and keeps wetting as if it’s not enough to quench his thirst.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he chokes out, brushing the pads of his fingers along your stiffened nipples. Fireworks shoot out above your orchard, casting a rainbow of colors upon the trees and bushes. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you to have you like this. You belong to that museum, baby, but I’d die if someone were to look at you in my place.”

His possessiveness coated with so much affection and admiration for you elongate your imaginary wings. And you can’t halt the rounding of your mouth, the pool of tears that line your eyes, the cracking of your heart as you take in his precious words. You feel like flying; you feel like soaring free with the knowledge that with the two beats of his own wings he’ll catch up to you, fly with you like two doves.

You want to kiss him. Pay your gratitude that way and when you begin to crawl down his body, he stops you by grabbing your waist, immobilizing you above his face.

“Stay where you are. You’re not sitting on my cock until you come on my tongue. Is that what you want? Ride Daddy’s cock until he covers you with his cum?”

You can’t take it anymore. You simply can’t.

Hobi turns the vibrator to life and its buzzing sound makes you quiver. You lower yourself onto his mouth that he quickly opens for you, darting out his tongue. He lets you ride the muscle, guiding your hips to twirl in circles, and you hold onto your breasts for emotional support as you sense yourself slowly disappearing in him, in the pleasure he gives you, in his warm, dark aura.

Your mouth has no lock, no force to stop it from speaking.

“I was wrong, Hoseok,” you start, changing the direction—swinging your hips back and forth as you grab onto his hair with one hand while the other stimulates your nipple, making you pant, whine and so terribly out of it. “It’s not your game that’s out of this world. It’s your fucking dirty talk.”

Hobi hums, flicking your hand away and pinching your nipple, causing you to tip your head back and pour more vigor into your movement, his mouth too busy to respond.

“If you ever talk to anyone like this that’s not me, I’ll kill her, you hear me? She won’t live to see the next day.”

It’s Hobi now that can’t seem to take it anymore.

Holding you steady by the waist, he sits up, sucking on your clit with so much strength that you scream, your body shuttering so violently that you completely lose yourself. He throws you onto your pillows, raises your hips until they’re at level with his mouth and finishes his fucking job. Alternates between sucking and licking, stars flooding your vision, the ones you traced on his beautiful, broad back.

You come and you don’t stop.

Hobi spits on your clit and presses down the hitachi on it, moving it from side to side, your orgasm prolonging, reaching highs beyond the heavenly kind and all you can see is him, doused in colors that glimmer and his name, the right variation of it this time, falls from your lips like a prayer. Right variation, right prayer.

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God.

Setting the toy and your bum on the bed, he takes both of your hands into his fist as you’re still convulsing, in the middle of your undying orgasm. He lines his cock at your entrance, changes his mind last minute, and glides it along your sensitive pussy, holding himself at the base. Back and forth, the ebb and the flow of the sea. The sight does anything but calm you down. It supports the continuation of your orgasm.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers, lowering your hands to his manhood until they wrap around him. “This cock has been yours the moment you came out of this fucking building to meet me outside. Every ridge, every fucking vein is yours.” He squeezes your hold against him, moving it up and down in an agonizing way that makes him shudder just the same. God at a very breaking point. “And these—” He groans as he uses your hands to cup his balls. “These fucking kids are all yours. Yours to swallow. Yours to decorate this beautiful body with. Yours to stuff your little hole with.” Your chest doesn’t rise with any inhalation of breath. You’re motionless, bloodless, paralyzed through and through. Scorching to the touch. Horny beyond your senses. Hobi pins your hands above your head, lining himself up, at last, at your entrance. Sinks inside you in one swift, but vigorous motion until he’s buried in deep to the hilt and he consumes your scream, kissing you so hard that he sucks every last drop of life you had in you. Then, he nudges his nose against yours, kissing its tip as well. “So don’t think for a second that these eyes are for anyone else but you.” A brutal thrust. A yelp. A loss of time and surroundings. “I’m yours, pup. I’m fucking yours.” A mad, mad laughter. “I’ve known you for a week. Ate your pussy first before I kissed you. And you touched yourself in my fucking car because you got horny from the way I praised you in that museum. How could I not be yours?”

The pet name, the magnificence of his sonnet, the stillness of his cock as you clench around him—the very cozy feeling of him being at home, being at the mountain of Athos that you blessed. You feel so small beneath him, so taken care of—and you’re at loss for words, though only one remains in your otherwise erased vocabulary, and from the top of your lungs, you utter it.

“Daddy.”

His imaginary wings flutter, the pink swelling over the black, and he growls, letting go of your hands and folding you in half, leaning his weight on the back of your thighs. Props an overlapped pillow beneath your bum, so you’re at the perfect level for him to start fucking you properly.

And he does, coaxing out your screams, causing your legs to shake on either side of his shoulders.

“That’s right, pup. I’m your Daddy. You’re doing so good, screaming for me the way I like it.”

Hobi pounds into you, giving you a half of his length that’s more than enough. Bends at the waist to scatter wet kisses along the back of your thigh, filling you to the hilt as he does so, your juices squelching around him, making such a serene, glorious sound that forces him to bite down hard onto your flesh. No alleviation after, just long and ruthless strokes while he stares down at you, eating you with his eyes. The ghost of the pain lingers, adding to the experience, adding volume to your whiny noises.

“You’re taking it so well. You’re a good pup, aren’t you?”

You sob, the pressure gyrating deep in your lower tummy, the pet name the thing that will throw you over the edge if he calls you by it again. “Yes, Daddy. I love it when you call me that.”

A hum. “Oh, yeah?”

There he fucking goes again.

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

“Yeah, I love it so much that it’s gonna make me come.”

Hobi sucks in a breath. “Tell me you’re my good little pup and I’ll let you come.” The same breath he inhaled lodges in your throat and you watch him with a blurry vision reach over for your hitachi and turn up the intensity until the vibrations are so loud that you hear them echoing within your headspace.

He fucks you faster, ridding you of any chance to speak. Teases you with the toy by placing it, barely, on your stiffened nipple, leaning over to moisten it with his tongue before doing it again. And you can’t stop it and neither can he, the way your orgasm overtakes your whole being. It’s at this moment, when he thrusts become sloppy, that you manage to croak out the words he wanted you to say.

“I’m your good little pup, Hoseok, oh fuck, yes, yes,” you whisper, your sentence blending into an efflux of legato moans—and this, this is his very undoing.

And Hobi does something you didn’t expect him to do.

As colors burst in your perspective and your orgasm drags you under, he stimulates your clit with the toy, pulling out of you and pressing his tip against its vibrating side, growling so deeply that it forces your juices out of you, sprinkling him with its iridescent drops as he tugs at his length. He paints your stomach, paints the hitachi, his nectar so enormous that it lands upon your breasts, even as far as on your neck. His body glistens in sweat and now your essence—and looking at him with your hazy vision, another orgasm rolls in.

You thrash your body so hard he has to pin you down, ripping the pillow out from behind you, laying down his weight on you. He kisses you and the lip lock lasts, seemingly, for a century. He moves his mouth against yours, basking in the feel of your puffy mouth as he alters between kissing you harshly and kissing you gently, getting to know you this way.

And when he lets up to breathe, he brushes your hair away, flings the vibrator out until it falls off the bed.

“Say it again,” Hobi says, affection flashing in his now rounded eyes, its warmth thumping. “Louder, for me.”

Your throat is dry, but you manage to do it with a sleepy smile. Think you would do anything to please him. “I’m your good little pup.”

Cupping your face, he kisses you with such tenderness that you begin to cry. Your tears soak his cheeks and he whimpers into your mouth, moved just the same by the depth, the vibrancy of the energy thickening between you.

And when he looks at you, his own tears rush in his waterline.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, pausing for a second. “What have you done to me?”

When afternoon rolls in, Hobi is still tangled up in your sheets. You brought him breakfast to bed, one you didn’t burn this time, while he rested, naked and gratified, still flushed in pink, but clean from your shower. His patchouli scent intermingled with your body wash, cinnamon and lemon, concocting something intoxicating in you that made you see him with a halo above his head. He became a saint by giving in to his desires, by coming so hard that you still feel his hot ropes of cum singeing all those sensitive, intimate parts of your body. Hobi took his time tracing and smearing each and every drop, rubbing it deep in you as if he was digging a grave for your past. And you watched him do it, with tear-stained cheeks, acknowledging yourself, just as intimately, with the information that this is something Hobi likes to do.

You plan to put that into practice the next time you get to touch him.

He’s grazing his fingers along your arm as you’re laying halfway on your side, halfway on him, your leg in between his. Seems to be lost in thought, seems to be searching for his words when he widens his travel across your body, going as far as to the peaks of your shoulder blades before returning back. You feel an inkling to help him, feel like it’s the least you can do.

“What are you thinking about?” you try, dragging a finger across his collarbone. Hobi sighs, so terribly reactive to your touch, your head lifting in such a calming manner as he breathes in and out.

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

His heart under your ear begins to hammer and right away you understand the gravity of his question. He’s lost himself in a flashback of today’s sinful events, but stumbled across a high, overpowering mountain of his bared emotions—the blessed mountain of Athos. And it seems as though he’s forgotten the way back, the trees around him growing dense, the trees of panic that whisper to him that, maybe, he made a mistake.

You hope, with every fiber of your being, that he doesn’t regret those words of beauty that have come to live under your skin like planets in the universe that you and he have created.

That would ruin you. That would break you—and not in the pleasant kind that you like. That universe would drop upon you and you don’t think you’re strong enough to pick up your own half of your creation, shake it off and learn to live again.

You straddle him and he covers you with your duvet. Not your naked breasts, but your torso, inviting you into that island. You thought he did to prevent distraction from weakening his focus, but he doesn’t regard your body like that—doesn’t regard it as an instrument of lust. Something about that moves you, enough for you to take his hands, your thumbs in the middle of his palms, and spatter your soft kisses on them. On his fingers, his knuckles. And when you reach the back of his hand, you halt, boring your gaze into his, catching that comet flying past his eyes again and staying this time, staying in the glint that appears as his brown pools wet.

“Your words mean a lot to me. I carry them in my heart. You know that poem?”

Hobi shakes his head, flattening his lips, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

You don’t mind. You’re delighted to enlighten him.

“I carry your heart with me,” you recite, keeping the heel of his palm against your lips. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling,” you finish the first stanza of the poem that has not left your bloodstream ever since you were a teenage girl. Sharing that with him brings out a sea of feelings you remember your past self invariably longed to swim in. Tenderness, closeness, passion. Having it now feels as though you’ve passed a milestone. Hobi’s halo flashes with a rosy pink hue and your softened heart constricts. “The things you said were my doing, Hobi.”

He caresses your side, starting from your armpit, going down the side of your breast, your waist until he arrives at the fleshy part of your hip, which he grasps. His chin quivers as he opens his mouth to speak and a lump forms in your throat.

“You’re a poem, pup,” he whispers, circling his thumb over your tummy. “You don’t mind that I said those things?”

You kiss his hands again, upon the same places to make your affection last longer on his skin. Your clit awakens at the pet name and naturally, you scooch over until you’re sat on his soft manhood over the duvet and you begin to move your hips back and forth. Hobi hisses, but doesn’t stop you this time. Lets you do what you want in the safety you conjured around him.

“Say them again.”

You speed up your movement.

Hobi moans. Pauses. Swallows. Thinks. “I’m yours.”

You grind harder in reward, moaning with him, feeling him stiffen under your clit, feeling him comprehend that you love those declarations.

“My cock is yours,” he breathes out, his other hand joining the other and gripping your hip, digging in his nails. Another half moons, another beauty, intensifying the pleasure. You lick your fingertips and pinch your nipples. Hobi shudders, visibly, underneath you. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to cancel my work meeting.”

You laugh, meekly but seductively, prolonging your thrusts, slowing them down, coaxing pained groans out of him. A delight. “Who said I wanted you to go?”

Hobi curses, switching places with you on a whim that surprises you, bends you over, arches your back by lifting your bum in the air. The duvet falls, sadly, off of the mattress—and your soul, for him, falls equivalently.

He slaps the side of your thigh. One, twice, thrice. “Who’s pussy is this?”

You long to see him, your soul begs for it. Whispers to you to grab your phone and you do, swiping your finger on the screen and angling it so your camera has a blissful view of him. Of him fixed, darkly, on your ass and your femininity in the middle.

Curious to know what’s taking you so long to answer, his brows rise as he discovers what you’re doing and he bites his lip, pulls on your legs to straighten them and you plop down on the mattress with a loosened breath. He gets in the same position. Licks over the swell of your ass cheek.

“Film it. Film yourself telling me who’s pussy this is,” Hoseok commands and in a millisecond, without a thought spared, you click on the red button, excitement tingling your nerves.

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.”

His eyes flick to the camera, meeting your stare, and your breath hitches, the view so attractive as he mouths that skin, marking it. He sneaks a hand to your clit, lifting his body a little, and spanks the spot he bruised. You gasp, elated, humming in a high-pitched tone, causing him to smirk.

“Ride my hand. Whose pussy is this, baby, hm?”

You snap your hips, furrowing your brows at the faint pleasure, at the desperation that courses through your veins.

“Yours, Hoseok, ah, fuck. I want you inside me, please.”

And he takes you, right there on camera, from behind—immortalizing your inside joke as you and him mention it and laugh about it together, immortalizing the way he paints your wings that ivory color and the way he rubs it in, sinking it deep within its membrane.

And when you’re so spent that you can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi is drifting his mouth over your breasts, he tells you to send it to him. And with one cracked open, you do.

It’s later in the evening that you find out that it wasn’t Hobi you sent that video to and your blood freezes.

Your phone rings and Jungkook’s picture fills the screen.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah, @fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

#hobi smut #jhope smut #jhope x reader #jung hoseok #hoseok x oc #hoseok x yn #hoseok x y/n #hoseok smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x yn #jungkook smut #hoseok fanfic #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub #btswriterscollective

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lovelytsunoda · 3 days

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purple haze // charles leclerc

summary: writing a novel is a long an arduous process. luckily for y/n, she has a very supportive partner in crime, and when it all works out, he's the only person she would want by her side.

pairing: charles leclerc x author reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, talk of deadlines, book referenced is a good girls guide to murder by holly jackson. gets a lil steamy towards the middle but nothing comes of it. still not sure how i feel about this one, but i havent written for charles in forever and i got an idea i really liked but i don't know if it worked out when i put it on paper.

by the time y/n closed her laptop, she felt like her fingers were going to fall off. she leaned back in her desk chair, gutted to find that the monaco cityscape outside her living room window was now pitch black, as might had fallen on the city.

her first book had been a red-wine and oasis fuelled fever dream, the last three chapters being written to ‘don’t look back in anger’. and now, the final edits were done.

“I’m so proud of you, mon tresor.” charles gushed, bringing her another glass of wine.

“the last three years are finally paying off. a good girls guide to murder is done, and the world is ready to meet pippa and ravi.” she grinned, clinking her glass against her boyfriends.

she had poured three years of her life into that book, and Charles had been by her side for all of it. through numerous rejections, edits and late night idea-vomit, nobody was prouder than charles was so see it work out for her.

and now he knew she needed a break.

taking her hand in his, he gently dragged her out of the desk chair and towards the couch, placing their wineglasses on the coffee table as he urged y/n to sit on the ground between his legs.

his hands were warm as he began to massage her shoulders, attempting to release the tension caused by the last round of edits, which she had worked on almost from sunup to sundown.

“there’s still so much to do.” she whined, tilting her head back to look up at her lover. “now there’s arcs and extra promotions and finding advance reviewers and-“

charles cut her off with a kiss. “none of that right now. right now, you and me are going to finish this bottle of wine and watch something pointless on tv.”

smiling to herself, y/n got up from the floor and moved to the leather couch, slipping seamlessly into charles' lap and nestling against his chest. his body was warm, and his sweater soft. even if his cologne was a little bit too strong, he made her feel safe. treasured.

"that sounds perfect." she hummed, gently turning his face so she could kiss him. "thank you for supporting me."

"always, my love." charles smiled before kissing her again.

SIX MONTHS LATER

it was half past five in the morning when the phone rang. charles could sleep through just about anything, but it was the vibrations of the phone against her side table that woke y/n.

she looked over at her sleeping lover, pressing a gentle kiss to the smooth skin on his shoulder blades before slipping out of bed and creeping into the hallway to answer a call from her agent, cecelia.

"cece, its five in the morning. couldn't this have waited?"

ceclia cleared her throat. "i've just heard from the american office. the preliminary numbers for the new york times list are in."

"fuck. how did we do?" she closed her eyes, holding up her crossed fingers and praying to every god she wasn't sure she believed in.

and when cecelia spoke again, she almost dropped her phone.

"okay. thank you for letting me know, cece."

she slipped back into the bedroom, bare, dry feet sinking into the plush carpet at the end of the bed before she sat down at the end of the bed, gripping the phone so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

"mon amour." charles rasped, exhaustion in his voice as he rolled over onto his back. "what's wrong?"

"i just got a call from cecelia." she started, trying not to let her emotions show through. "she's just been on the phone with our american agent with the new york times numbers."

charles sat up, one of his warm hands going to rest on her thigh. "and?' he asked hesitantly, his piercing eyes meeting her uncertain ones in the dark.

"i made the top ten." she shouted, grin spreading all across her features.

making the new york times list had made everything worth it. all the sleepless nights when she had woken up with an idea she was scared to lose, all the rewrites, the weeks of writers block. the rejections, the aggravation, the insecurity.

this was it.

she had done it.

"i'm so proud of you." charles beamed, folding her into a hug. "i knew you could do it, my brilliant girl."

she dropped her phone on the bed, red-faced and giggly as she kissed him, allowing her hands to wander across his toned chest. "wanna show me just how much?"

THREE YEARS LATER

the theater was almost silent when the lights came up, the end credits of the final episode fading out on the screen. she held her breath, fingers gripping charles' hand so tightly that she thought she might break the fragile bones in her husband's fingers.

oh, yeah. they had gotten married about a year after her book had come out, while she was in the middle of writing as good as dead, the conclusion to the series.

since a good girls guide to murder had come out, her life had changed for the better. she felt more secure in herself and her talent, and the words had never come easier when she started writing the sequel, eager ton continue the story. she had since written two more books to complete the trilogy, as well as two standalone novels: five survive and the reappearance of rachel price. around the time that rachel price was announced, she had gotten another call from cecelia, asking if she and charles could come to london and meet with representatives from the bbc.

they wanted to turn her first book into a tv series.

she had been hands on from the beginning, throwing herself into her work and doing her best to make sure that the version of the story the readers saw on screen was the version that she had visualized when she'd first explained the storyboard to charles, the driver helping her connect everything on their living room wall with red yarn.

and now was the time. the time to see if it had all paid off. the theater was filled with minor celebrities, influencers, and the tiktokers who had made her book blow up in popularity.

it all came down this night.

"it's okay. whatever happens, you know you did your best." charles whispered in her ear, running one hand up and down her bare back. underneath the flimsy straps of her red dress.

she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath when the roar off applause began to drown her.

she rode the rush of emotions, allowing the tears of gratification and relief to ruin her mascara as she let her body go slack, resting against charles as she watched the room rise in a standing ovation for pippa and ravi.

"we did it. we made it, charles." she laughed, tilting her head up to kiss him.

"no, cherie. you did this. they're all here for you."

she watched as the event's host, a former spice girl that charles knew through his paddock connections, stepped out into the middle of the small stage set up at the front of the theater.

"and now, the moment i'm sure you've all been waiting for, a few words from y/n /y/l/n-leclerc!"

she wiped her eyes and fixed her hair, taking a deep breath before she walked across the stage, taking the microphone from geri halliwell, and turning to face the crowd.

in the front row, there was charles. her one true love. her biggest supporter.

and in that moment, she truly allowed herself to believe that she had made it.

#charles leclerc x reader #formula one x reader #f1 iagine #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #Spotify

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evertidings · 7 hours

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— MAY 2024.

accomplishments.

hi everyone!! i hope you're all doing well hehe. i recently came back from a mini-grad trip (oh yeah, i graduated? like, i finished university? woah. weird) in europe and it was so so wonderful. i can only imagine living in places like that.

in terms of chapter eleven, rest assured that it is still being worked on! i didn't bring my laptop on my trip so i couldn't write for the past two weeks, but since i've been back, i've slowly gotten back on the grind. i'm still trying to adjust from the trip and just, well, overall living in general, but we're making progress! i don't want to give any set dates for when the chapter will be released yet in case i let anyone down if it doesn't come true, but i feel really good about the content so far.

all five ros will appear in this chapter in individual or shared branches. one of the combos is expected (they're kinda stuck together like glue) and the other, well, i'm really excited to have them interact more. it sets up a base for the friendship they're going to work towards in the later books, which is very exciting. can you guess who the two characters are?

on a similar note, flirting has reached an all-time high recently and it's, like... gahhh. so much fun. i think i mentioned last month that the romance lock is coming up (should be within the next two chapters ish) so i'm really ramping up the options here. one, it gives you a better idea of who you might choose and two, well, it's just fun isn't it? it makes the progression of your relationship with the chosen ro, whoever it may be, much more natural as well. (and also i just like writing about stoic characters like Blane and K, or flirty characters like Rylan, blush).

i hope you all know this, but i adore this story and i have no plans to abandon it. no matter how long ago the last update, i am still very much working on the next one. that said, i really appreciate everyone's patience. knowing that there are still so many people sticking by me despite the radio silence on my end is more than i deserve, really. so thank you. i really hope i can continue to live up to your expectations <3

#update #when twilight strikes #the midnight hours #interactive fiction

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vivwritesfics · 8 hours

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Jester Stole His Thorny Crown

Chapter Twelve

He never had a choice in his life. His dreams were nothing more that that. Dreams. But then he met a lounge singer at his brother club and everything changed.

Mafia!Au

1.4K

warnings: guns, violence, talks of killing

Series Masterlist

"She's just my pianist!" Charles insisted again as Jos Verstappen walked around her, observing her. He must have said it at least thirteen times already.

She stood tall, face forward. Strong. Charles was incredibly proud of her, but his worry outweighed the pride.

The way Jos was looking at her, the grin he wore as he let his eyes travel up and down her body, it had him feeling sick. If he wasn't being restrained, on his knees, with a gun pointed at his head, he would have been over there, knocking Jos out and carrying her away from all of this.

"Why have you brought your pianist to Italy, Leclerc?" Jos asked as he grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. His thumb touched her lip as she pulled her face away, not saying anything. As much as she wanted to punch him, zip ties held her hands behind her back.

Charles's chest was heaving as he watched. "She's got nothing to do with this!" He shouted, voice full of desperation. "Just let her go!"

Jos nodded to his son. "I want to see her perform later," he said as he walked away from her, leaving Max to take his place. "But, for now, Charles and I need to have a chat."

Now, Max wasn't a bad guy. He hated this, felt physically sick whenever he had to pull out his gun. But it was what his father wanted, and Max didn't dare challenge him.

He looked at Charles as he walked over to her. The desperation in Charles's eyes, it had him gently laying his hand on her shoulder and pulling her away.

But still, she struggled against him. "Get off of me!" She screamed as she struggled against his hold, throwing her shoulders about and trying to kick him. "Get the fuck away from me!"

"Chérie, stop!" Charles shouted. He met Max's eye just briefly and looked back at her. "Just go with him, please." he said it so quietly that it had her stopping, listening to him. She sucked in a shaking breath, staring at him. And, when she went to take a step forward, Max grabbed her.

Max released a breath of her own as he pulled her away. "I'm sorry," he whispered, pulling her into the hall.

But she didn't respond.

Jos walked towards Charles. "A pretty little thing," he said as the gun was pulled away from his head and he was forced to his feet. "I can see why you drag her around."

Charles bit back his response. The gun was against the back of his head, forcing him to walk forward. Charles obeyed. With his hands still stuck behind his back, he followed Jos through the house, towards his office.

He didn't even know the Verstappen's had a house in Italy.

Someone grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to sit in front of the desk. The gun was back at his head as he sat and stared at Jos.

"You know what I want, Leclerc," said Jos as he sat back in his seat. He pulled a revolver from his desk draw and laid it down onto the table. "Monaco."

Charles's jaw was set. "I don't have control of Monaco," he answered as Max walked into the room. He couldn't stop himself from looking over at him, but she wasn't there. Panic started rising up within him. Fuck, where was she?

"No, but you will."

Jos pulled a box of cartridges from the drawer and began loading them into the revolver. "I'm seeing to it that you have control of Monaco, Charles. You really should be thanking me for that."

Even as he spoke, Charles could hardly hear anything over his erratic heartbeat. "Lorenzo," he gasped, panicked eyes moving towards Max. "You can't hurt him! He doesn't even want this life! Don't fucking touch him!"

The gun behind his head was cocked.

"How do you think your pianist would look with her lips wrapped around the barrel of my gun?"

Charles fell quiet at that. He stared at the revolver in Jos's hands. She should never have to see it, especially not have to see it threatening her. She was too good for that, for any of this. But he'd dragged her into it, like the cunt he was.

"No matter," Jos said and put the revolver back in his desk drawer. "We can discuss it over dinner."

With that, Charles was hauled to his feet. He was dragged out of the room and shoved into another that was nothing more than a closet. the door was immediately locked and Charles was left in darkness.

He didn't know how long he was in that closet. Nothing could be heard as he tried to feel his way around the dark room, trying to find any way out. But, with his hands stuck behind his back, it was impossible.

His shoulders ached as he pulled on his bindings. But they wouldn't give, keeping him trapped. His head hit the door as he gave up. Why had he brought her to Italy? If he'd just left her home, left her alone, she never would have been in this mess.

It must have been hours later, hours of him with with his head against the door, it was opened and he was pulled out. The piano was playing as he was marched through the halls.

Fuck, he felt physically sick.

She was there as he was marched into the dining room, playing a piano that had been pushed into the room for the occasion. She wasn't wearing the clothes she was in when they'd arrived in Italy, not wearing that skirt she'd been in on the plane.

The red dress was designed to piss him off. It was so damn short, revealing her entire thigh when she was sat down. The straps were pushed off her shoulders, and she was too afraid to push them back up.

Charles couldn't look away from her as tears rolled down her cheeks. But she made no noise as her fingers hit the keys, playing a tune he recognised to be classical.

"Sit," said Jos as he pulled out a chair. Charles was forced into the seat and his hands were freed, but the gun was back against his head.

Jos patted Charles's shoulders. He grabbed the revolver from the table and walked over to the piano. "She looks beautiful, doesn't she?" He asked as he rubbed her shoulders, revolver pressed against her temple.

Her fingers hit the wrong keys and she released a fearful whimper. But Jos let go of her, instead turning his attention to Charles. "Do you want to see her with the barrel of my gun in her mouth, Charles?"

In seconds, Charles was on his feet, desperately trying to get to her.

And then, Jos pulled the trigger.

He tutted as he looked down at her. "Lucky girl," he said as he grabbed her chin and forced her to turn her head, forcing her to look at Charles.

The fear in his eyes, it was something she'd never forget. "Seems like he cares about you, pretty thing," he said and squeezed her cheeks. But then he let go of her and stepped back. "Go on, go to him."

She stood from the piano bench and ran towards Charles. He stepped towards her and pulled her into his arms. "I've got you," he said, wrapped his arms around her, pulling her head against his chest. She shook against him and Charles had no idea how he was so still.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm gonna get you out of this," he whispered, never taking his eyes off of Jos.

When one of the piano keys was hit, she jumped and Charles just squeezed him tighter. "Come on, pretty thing," Jos called. "Back to your piano."

But still, she couldn't let Charles go. "Hey," he whispered, hand under her chin to tip her face towards him. "It's gonna be okay. Just do what he says." And I'll get you out of this. But that bit went unsaid.

She nodded, and Charles fixed the straps of her dress. As she sat back at the piano and began playing, Charles sat down, and Jos sat opposite him. "So," he said, placing the revolver down. "Shall we begin?"

If you enjoyed this, please feel free to buy me a coffee

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daydreams-after-dark · 3 days

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What's your fanfic fantasy? part 9

Chapter Contents.

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

Premise: fem reader + Chan + Jisung 18+ fanfic. This is an AU story about Chan bringing your fantasies to life... but what happens when boyfriends Chan and Han fall in love with you?

Chapter Summary: you have your gym session with binnie.

Warnings: rough p in v sex unprotected, sex toys, spanking, exhibitionism, roleplay, degradation, name calling, masturbation.

~ Chan ~

It's all ready to go. Chan settles himself at the desk. On the table sits a laptop showing a view of the gym room floor. Next to the laptop is a bottle of lube and wet wipes.

He knows that even in his screwed up, conflicted state he will still get hard and want to masturbate. Does that make him sick? He allows himself to take comfort in knowing Jisung can step in at any moment, and that you're a willing participant who can change your mind at any time. He knows Binnie will honor your safeword.

But still, there are two things standing in the way of Chan being completely at ease with this. The first, is the chance that despite the safeguards, you could still get hurt? How will Chan ever live with himself? The second is his jealousy. Chan has had a word with himself already, that he needs to put aside his feelings, just for a couple of hours. Then he’ll tell you how he feels.

Movement on the laptop screen brings Chan back to reality. Binnie and Jisung have entered the room. Bin puts the black gym bag he's carrying down beside the bench that is used for the seated bench press, and plops himself down straddling it. He's wearing what he always wears to the gym, black sweatpants, tight black t-shirt and black cap. His muscles bulge out from his tight sleeves. He's a strong man. He can throw you around any which way he likes. Chan gulps at the thought, but his cock twitches.

What the fuck?

Jisung positions himself to the right side of the gym on a wooden bench. The gym bench that Binnie sits on is situated in the middle of the room, and there is a chin up bar nearby. There are various other pieces of equipment and weights around the room too. It's a full gym set up.

Jisung looks nervous, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and bouncing his legs up and down.

“You alright, Jisung?” Binnie asks. The cameras have sound, which means that Chan will be able to hear every cry from you, whether it be in pleasure or pain.

“Huh?” Jisung’s head jerks up towards Bin. “Yeah, man. I- I’m good.”

Bin walks over to Jisung and places a hand on his shoulder and says something that Chan can't quite catch. Maybe Chan won't be able to hear everything after all? That bothers him somewhat, and he presses his lips together in a thin line.

Jisung nods something in response and Bin resumes his seat.

Then you walk in.

Chan’s breath catches in his throat. He bites his lip, not from arousal, but from nervousness as you proceed to the middle of the room and stand in front of Binnie. You are standing side on to the camera and Chan has a full, although side on, view of Bin, you and Jisung. You're wearing short denim shorts that are frayed at the edges and a cropped t-shirt, and the fucking tallest black heels he’s ever seen.

Chan's jealous of Jisung who is getting a behind view of you, who’s mouth drops open as he looks you up and down and then up to the camera to mouth a “Wow” at him.

Binnie leans forward as he takes you in. Silence fills the room. “Strip.” He demands. He doesn't say it loud, but he says it with authority.

Chan holds his breath. Waiting.

You don't make a move to take anything off.

Chan gulps. Do as he says, he thinks to himself.

“Ah.. So you’re an insolent little bitch are you?” Binnie snickers. “I. Said. Strip. That’s an order.” He repeats.

Do as he says or use your safe word, Chan mutters to himself.

“Make. Me.” you say defiantly.

OH fuck! Chan’s stomach drops.

Jisung looks like he's about to get up, but Binnie raises a hand to stop him.

Binnie slowly stands, walking over to you and circling you. He looks you up and down, studying you like he's weighing up what to do to you. How to punish you.

He pauses behind you, pushing himself against your back, his cock presses against your ass. Chan’s lip twitches. Binnie grabs you by the hair and jerks your head back onto his shoulder as he whispers something in your ear. Then he lets go of you, pushing you off of him, nearly making you fall to the ground. He goes back to the bench where he props the backrest up to a 45 degree position and repositions the bench slightly so that Jisung can get a better view of what is about to happen. Binnie sits back down and you slowly walk towards him stopping when you're standing right in front of him. This new angle gives Chan a better view of your face.

“Why aren’t you naked already?” Bin hisses.

Chan swears he sees a smirk cross your face. Are you enjoying taunting him?

Chan feels his dick hardening as you slide your top off to reveal no bra and hard nipples. Yep, even through the screen he can see the hard little pebbles on your breasts.

Binnie grunts in approval. “The shorts too.” He snorts and leans back.

You slide your hands to your waistband and slowly undo the button. You take another step closer to Binnie. “Make. Me.” You say again and lean in, looking Bin straight in the eye, daring him to hurt you.

With that Binnie jumps up and comes around the back of you. In one swift, move he roughly pushes you onto the bench so you are kneeling with one leg resting on it, the other foot supporting yourself on the floor, and pulls your shorts down to reveal your bare ass.

You squeal when he rubs his calloused fingers through your lips.

“You’re such a defiant little whore aren’t you? But you’re so fucking wet.” he says gruffly, slipping a finger inside you.

You arch your back to shove your ass up in the air, trying to provoke him.

“Who are you wet for?” He demands.

“Ahh… ahh… you! I’m wet for you.” You stammer.

“And what’s my name?” He growls, plunging a second finger into you.

“Ummmm… Fuckwit? Is your name Fuckwit?” You laugh, looking back at Binnie.

A sick feeling surges Chan's body. He looks to Jisung even though he knows he can't communicate anything through the camera.

Binnie laughs. “Ya! You think you’re funny don’t you, you filthy little bitch? Well I think you need putting in your place.”

He brings his hand down in a hard slap on your ass, while his fingers remain inside of you. You flinch, but your taunting laugh that follows shows you can take more. And Binnie gives you more. Slapping you until you finally whimper the words he was looking for.

“Sir… Daddy…Please…”

Binnie stops his punishment immediately.

“See that wasn’t so hard to say was it?”

“Sir,” you repeat. “Torture me some more. Show me what you can do.”

Binnie licks his lips and looked at your ass as he soothes your bright red skin with his hand.

You're enjoying yourself, thinks Chan. He begins to feel the sick feeling ease a little. The jealousy is definitely glaringly there, but that sick feeling? Well at least it has lessened.

Jisung has an obvious erection, just like Chan does, and Chan wonders if Jisung is holding back touching himself because he is confused too? Torn between being wildly turned on but also protective.

Binnie looks absolutely furious that you aren't playing along, and it only seems to make you enjoy it more.

He pulls his fingers abruptly out of your cunt. “Clean yourself off me.” He demands forcing his wet fingers into your mouth. You suck his fingers clean. Then he crouches down beside the bench, unzipping the gym bag to brandish a … dildo? He reachs in again and this time pulls out a… a butt plug?

Chan’s heart stops. Jisung’s head flings up to the camera. “What the fuck” he mouths.

Those aren't Binnie’s toys. They are yours. He knows because he’d accidentally seen the packaging at your house one time and he’d fucking teased you about it.

Why the fuck does Binnie have those?

“Here, bitch. Wet this for me.” He shoves the butt plug into your mouth where you suck and swirl your tongue around it.

Chan’s erection is painfully swollen, and Jisung’s cock has somehow made its way out of his sweatpants. But he still isn't touching himself. His eyes are fixated on what is happening before him, eyes wide.

Binnie takes the plug back and moves around behind you, and without warning he pushes it into your ass. You gasp at the sudden stretch and then your eyes roll back in your head. Binnie drops to his knees and devours your pussy with his soft lips. Aggressively nipping at you and plunging his tongue inside of you.

“Sir! Yes!!! Ahh that feels so good." You hum. “I don’t think you know what it means to punish someone. This just feels… too… nice.”

Binnie growls and becomes rougher. His hand comes up and pulls at the plug and then rams it back in.

“Ahhh…” you pant. “I think you’re all talk… you’re just a pussy.”

Binnie pulls off of you and pushes the dildo into your vagina as far as it will go. You moan as your cunt sucks it up.

Then, you look straight up and into the camera, straight at Chan. He feels like you're staring right into his soul. With the most pornographic face Chan has ever seen, you open your mouth, poke your tongue out and give him the biggest wink, before rolling your eyes back in your head and bucking your hips back onto the dildo.

Chan’s heart skips a beat and then feels like it gives out entirely.

Realisation washes over him. The high heels, the toys, the defiance, the wink… it's like it's all a show. An act.

Jisung’s words ring in his ears “you know 90 percent of what turns her on is you watching her?”

Is this a show for him?

Chan can't ignore his erection any longer and he drops his sweatpants and kicks them off the side. If this is a show then it would be rude of him not to enjoy it, right?

He squirts a generous amount or lube into his hand and coats his neglected cock then holds it at the base and begins to firmly stroke upwards and run his thumb over the tip. He lets out a shaky sigh as relief spreads over him, he's hornier that he thought.

Binnie continues to fuck you with your dildo, harder and harder with each thrust. Your whimpers becoming louder and filling the room. Chan imagines that each of your cries out of “Sir” or “Daddy” are directed at him.

Jisung’s dick is now in his hand and he's jerking off somewhat violently. Has he caught on too?

“Fuck you’re a slut for anything to fill your needy little holes.” Binnie says and abruptly slides the dildo out and throws it to Jisung.

“Here. Lick your slut’s juices off that.” He growls.

Jisung obeys, licking the dildo like a god-damned icy pole, and then deep throating it, all while still stroking his cock. Jisung is skilled at sucking things while masturbating. Chan knows that for sure.

Chan remembers the taste of you from when he sucked Jisung’s fingers that first night. He licks his lips and imagines he's tasting what Jisung is tasting right now. God, he wants to bury his face in your pussy and taste you for real.

It seems that Binnie has had enough of this position, and forces you up by your hair and dragging you to your feet. If Chan watches closely though, he can see that he isn't actually being as rough as he appears. It's as if you know what to expect.

The thought of this whole thing being planned out sits well with Chan. It means he can give himself permission to just let go and enjoy the role play, knowing that it won't go too far and you won't really be hurt. He feels a pang of admiration for Binnie too. This is definitely not his style. He likes it rough. For real.

Binnie drags your shorts off entirely but makes you leave your heels on. Then directs you to straddle the bench. While you're still standing Binnie scoots behind you and sits down. He pushes your stomach into the backrest with one hand, and releases his erect cock from his sweatpants with his other hand.

He's going to fuck you now.

——————————————————

~ EARLIER THAT DAY: y/n pov~

The recording studio.

“What did you need to talk to me about? Are you canceling on me?” you ask Binnie, feeling furious still.

He is sitting in the swivel chair by the mixing equipment while you stand in the middle of the room feeling offended that you are about to be rejected.

“Why do you want me to fuck you tonight?” he asks directly. What? Didn’t Chan tell him that you merely want to fulfill a fantasy? That it’s no big deal? Just for fun? Nothing more?

“Y/n,” his voice is soft. “Did Chan tell you how I like to fuck?”

You inhale deeply as anger rises in you. Of course you know. “What? You don’t think I can handle you?” you jeer, tilting your chin up and and crossing your arms.

Binnie scoffs and stands up and takes a step towards you. “Oh no, I actually do think you could handle everything I can do to you.” He nods then smirks as he looks you up and down then returns to his seat. “I just don’t think Chan and Jisung could handle watching me do those things to you.” His voice is sincere. He’s genuinely concerned.

“Oh.” You feel like you've been kicked in the gut. Binnie is a good friend looking out for them like this. You feel like a selfish bitch. You move to a chair and sit yourself down.

“So, that’s why I am asking you why you want me to fuck you? If the fantasy is rough and wild sex in a gym, well, do they need to watch?” He pauses for a moment. “Or, is it that the fantasy is Chan watching you? You want to make him jealous that everyone else gets to be inside your pussy except him?” He taunts you.

“No! I love Chan. He said it was all okay. I don’t want to hurt him…” tears begin to well up in your eyes as you defend yourself and your feelings.

Binnie stands up again and takes your hands in his and crouches down in front of you. His hands are much bigger than yours, and rough. But they make you feel safe. “Look,” he says. “When Chan asked me to do this favor, I asked him why the fuck is he going to watch you when he clearly has a thing for you.”

Your heart stops and your eyes widen. “What did he say?” You whisper. You need to know.

“That he’ll settle for watching you, since he can’t have you.”

“But he CAN have me!” You cry. “I want him! He just won’t do anything about it.”

“Ha! What’s stopping you from doing something about it? Can’t you tell him? Why is it up to Chan?” Binnie raises his voice sternly.

Fuck he’s right. Why are you leaving it up to Chan? What’s your problem? Why can’t you just communicate like a normal adult?

“Look,” Binnie interrupts your distressed thoughts. “Maybe we can fulfill your fantasy and do something about your feelings for Chan?… I have an idea.” He smirks and his eyes grow dark.

——————————————————

~ y/n pov ~

You are putting on a good show, Binnie and you. But now he is about to fuck you. With his cock. And you're so ready for it. You glance over at Jisung. He’s got his dick in his hand and your dildo in his mouth. It’s like he’s watching a movie. Wide eyed and absorbed. He seems fine with this. You smirk.

You wonder what Chan is thinking? Is he turned on? Is he dealing with an erection? Or is he dealing with jealousy and anger?

You wonder if he noticed your obvious hint that you're not actually being submissive at all? That right now Binnie and you are a team. And your goal is to get Chan so fucking riled up that he has to do something about it. Plus, there will be a surprise at the end. Plus… you want Chan to punish you. Just like Jisung said in the pool. You'd be punished if you come on another man’s cock. Minho is excluded from this rule you decide. No one knows about that. That, doesn’t count.

You intend to have the loudest, most intense orgasm you can muster tonight.

You hold onto the backrest of the bench for dear life as you feel the head of Binnie’s cock at your entrance. He wraps a hand in your hair for leverage, the other pushes your ass cheek aside. Then he pulls you down hard onto his cock.

“Ahhh..” You let of a cry as you take in his entire length. You feel so full with the plug in your ass and Binnie in your cunt.

He lifts your hips up with one hand, the other still tangled in your hair, and drags you back down over his length.

“Your pussy fucking loves my cock doesn’t it?” he growls. He leans in closer “Are you doing okay?” he whispers as he pretends to bite down on your ear.

“Yes… yes. Sir… I love your cock.. Fuck me… Ahh” You yell, letting him know 'yes you're good'.

When he gets sick of that position Binnie pushes you up off his penis.

“Turn around.” He instructs, gruffly. “You need you to see who’s tearing up your pussy.” God his dirty talk is something.

As you stand up, Binnie pulls the plug out and throws at Jisung, who looks at it longingly, but his hands are full and so it just falls to the floor. You climb off Binnie only to turn and around and straddle him again. Now your back is against the back rest, and you're looking straight at him. He hooks his bulging arms underneath your thighs, easily picking you up. You think he’s going to ram you down on his cock full force, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he lowers you ever so slowly onto his length, eyes fixed on yours as bit by bit his cock stretches you open again. He doesn’t look away. Not for a second. You swallow a gulp of air and a small whimper escapes your lips.

“That’s right, slut, feel how good my dick fills you up.” His words are dirty but his eyes don’t match them at all. They’re soft and kind, and hooded the way eyes go when they are flooded with desire.

Slowly, slowly he lowers you down further over his shaft. He finally has you completely impaled on his cock and yet he doesn’t move. He doesn’t bounce you up and down. He doesn’t roll his hips. He just stares at you.

It feels like an eternity has passed when he finally does do something. He brings his left hand to your neck feigning pressure. It’s not tight at all. Then his eyes slowly drop to your breasts. His soft lips part ever so slightly and you see the hint of his tongue, poking the tiniest bit out of the corner of his mouth. He gasps almost silently and his right hand reaches to cup your breast. His skin is rough but he is being so soft. Unconsciously, he licks his lips and then bites into his lower lip. Not hard, just softly. Tenderly.

You're melting under his gaze and quivering under his touch. You're trying to hide it. His right hand slowly moves down your body, exploring your soft curves to reach around and rest on your ass. Your skin is burning. His eyes follow his hand as it moves from your neck down to your center where you're connected, and he watches his thumb as it slides through your lips and over your clit. Just once.

And then it happens. It isn’t supposed to. Not yet. You can’t stop it. Binnie feels it too. His eyes dart up to yours. You try to suppress it, but your legs begin to shake and your inner walls pulse around his cock. Your orgasm overwhelms you but you try to stay silent and not show Chan and Jisung that this is happening. You bite down hard on your lip. Binnie gently massages your ass - where the others can’t see, and his eyes silently tell you “he’s got you, it’s okay”.

He waits until you've come back down to earth before taking the lead. You need to finish this off properly.

“Change of plans.” He pulls you up by my hair, but at the same time lifting you with the hand he still has on your ass so he doesn’t actually rip your hair out. You squeal in pretend pain.

“I think you need tying up now.” He laughs sinisterly.

He pushes you towards the chin up bar. You sneak a glance at Jisung who is eyeing you off suspiciously, but is highly aroused. His cheeks are flushed and there is a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

You stand over near the chin up bar and you can feel your wetness leaking out of you and coating your inner thighs. Your legs are shaky. How are you going to continue?

Binnie grabs his boxing wraps and ties your hands up to the chin up bar’s frame. He kicks your legs apart, ready to fuck you again. The ties around your hands aren’t actually very tight and you can easily slide your hands down the frame that holds up the bar so I can steady yourself. Binnie grabs onto your breasts and whispers in your ear “I’m going to fuck you hard now, okay?” he warns you and he squeezes himself back inside you from behind. You're so tight and so wet from your orgasm that he can’t help but let out a shaky moan as you grasp his cock like a vice.

“Sir… please…” You cry out.

Binnie really fucks into you mercilessly. Pounding you so hard that the tell-tale sounds of rough sex - skin slapping skin, the wet noises of bodily fluids, the moaning and panting of pleasure - fills the room. It sounds so filthy you feel like you're an actual porn star right now.

Binnie fucks you like this for a few solid minutes while growling dirty words and derogatory names, and you cry out over and over in response. In your mind you're picturing that Chan is the one behind you and inside you. You remember the way he fucked your face, and imagined he was fucking your pussy like that. You imagine being filled up by Chan and Jisung at the same time, stretching you and filling you up more than you ever have been before. You imagine Chan’s tongue sliding in and out of your mouth while he holds you gently. You imagine sucking Jisung’s cock and hearing him come undone the way he does.

Your eyes feel prickly and your heart feels heavy. You love them. You really fucking love them.

Binnie can feel you're close again and that you're starting to fall apart.

“Are you going to come for me? All over my cock?” he snarls. All you can manage is a loud cry. Binnie is really railing into you and you're losing your footing. You slide your hands a little more down the pole and lean forward for extra support. You're almost there.

“Whose cock are you going to come on, huh?” Binnie growls thrusting into you so hard you feel like you're going to choke.

“D-daddy’s�� Daddy’s cock…” You yell loudly so everyone can hear.

“Ahhh… that’s right. And who’s your Daddy?” He slams into you hard. Once. Twice. Three… You're coming.

“Who does your pussy belong to?” Binnie roars not stopping for a second.

“Chan!” You cry as you clench and pulse around Binnie. “I belong to Chan… Chan and Jisung.” You stammer.

You feel like you're going to crumble, but Binnie supports you by slipping his arm around your waist and holding you close. He slides himself out of you and jerks himself off until he ejaculates in his hand.

You hear a stifled whimper to your left. You turn your head to Jisung sitting frozen, wide eyed and with cum all over himself.

You kick your heels off, finally, and Binnie ensures you're standing steady before he walks over to his gym bag. He takes out two towels and your robe, tossing it and one of the towels to Jisung.

Jisung is at your side in a heartbeat, untying your hands, whispering praise, and helping to put on your robe.

“You are the most perfect woman in the world. You did so good.” He showers you with kisses and you want to sink into his body and be held by him forever. He pulls back and whispers “You came before… didn’t you? On the bench?” Your eyes widen. He saw it. You nod.

“I knew it! I know your cum face.” He teases.

“So does that mean I will have to be punished twice then.. You know for coming on someone else’s cock two times?” You joke.

“Na-uh.” Jisung shakes his head. “Three times… Hyunjin.” He winks at you.

You turn bright red. How does Jisung know fucking everything?

“So…” Binnie coughs and clears his throat. You and Jisung turn around. “Well, my job is done. I’m going to bed. You know… you guys must be pretty fucked up if this is how you declare your love for each other.” He says to you shaking his head as though you are well and truly mad.

“Hey Binnie,” You call out and he stops to turn back to you. “Thanks.” You smile. You hold each other’s gaze for a moment, his eyes soft like when he drank in your naked body earlier. You think about the orgasm he drew from you and you bite your lip. He nods ever so slightly as though acknowledging your thoughts, then turns and leaves, carrying his now empty gym bag over his shoulder.

~ Chan pov ~

Chan sits there dumbfounded, unable to move. Cum plastered all over him, like it has exploded out of nowhere.

You belong to him? You'd said it. He’d heard the words. You belong to him and Jisung.

You wants to be with them.

Chan lets out a shaky exhale as he processes what he’d just witnessed, and then he grabs some wet wipes in attempt to clean himself up.

You and Jisung are now making out on the side bench. You're straddling him and he has his arms around you- inside the the robe - just kissing. Sweetly.

Chan closes the laptop. He doesn't need to keep watching. He's too busy dealing with his cum explosion and a surge of emotion that he can't seem to control. Tears begin to well up in his eyes and spill out down his face. You're his. The thought keeps repeating itself in his mind.

He imagines all the things he wants to do to you, with you, with you and Jisung, that he couldn’t let himself imagine before. He doesn't know what he wants to do to you first.

Part of him wants to go slow and tenderly, dragging out every moment, penetrating you painfully slowly and then taking his time to fuck you properly until you're a whimpering mess.

Part of him wants to absolutely ravish you, tear your clothes off, dig his fingers into your hips and fuck you hard and fast until you scream your lungs out.

He wants to be buried inside your ass at the same time Jisung fills your pussy, moving in unison and bringing each other to orgasm.

But Chan is going to get the chance to do all of it. Over and over. More than once.

You are theirs.

You and Jisung were his.

~ y/n pov~

Binnie leaves the gym and Jisung picks you up, wrapping your legs around his slim waist and carries your back to the wooden bench he was sitting on.

Your mouths don’t want to break contact. He feels like home. Your hands cup his face and you stroke his hair. His hands find their way inside your robe and roam your bare skin.

“I’ve missed you baby.” Jisung says between kisses.

“It’s only been since this morning.” you chuckle softly. You pull away and lean back to study his face, still cupping his adorable cheeks. You bring your thumb to his eyebrow, tracing it delicately. All he can do is stare back at you. He looks smitten and your heart swells.

How can you be in love with a man you couldn’t even imagine sleeping with merely days ago? And yet here you are. In fucking love. Hard. You've fallen hard. For him and Chan.

“Even and hour is too long.” Jisung beams at you. “y/n?” he asks. “Are you really gonna be with us? Is it really true? You’re not lying?” He looks at you with desperate hope.

You lean your forehead against his and your hands rest around his neck. Jisung’s hands settle on your hips. It’s not a sexual moment. No one is grinding or trying to slip a dick in. It feels like much much more than that. This is special.

“Yes, baby. It’s true. I love you.” You whisper and fall onto his mouth again for the most emotionally charged kiss you've had so far. Your tongue’s softly touching, your lips gently nipping. Your hearts singing. Your whole body tingling.

After what feels like forever but not nearly long enough, Jisung breaks the kiss.

“Let’s go find Chan, shall we?” he says, and picks you up and carries you out of the gym room, leaving behind your clothes, heels and sex toys.

Jisung carries you all the way to your room. “Let’s get you showered and fresh first.” He says.

You lean against the sink as Jisung turns on the shower taps and adjusts the temperature. Then he takes off his clothes and steps inside.

“Come on baby.” He holds out his hand and helps you step into the shower. Then he washes your body gently, soaping you up and rinsing you off. He is so careful and attentive that you're half ready to jump him. You could just wrap your legs around his waist and have him push you up against the shower wall. Or, you could kneel down and give him his first blow job from you. Or, you could ask him to eat you out.

Instead, you just watch him as he washes you, a silly grin plastered all over your face.

Jisung wraps his arms around you waist and kisses you. “I can’t wait to make love to you.” He says. You feel your whole body swoon. Jisung knows how to make you forget the rest of the world exists.

“I can’t wait either, Jisung.” You really can’t wait to have slow, sensual sex with him.

You finish up in the shower and you put on a long t-shirt and a pair of lacy panties. A thought of Chan ripping them off you crosses your mind and your breath hitches for a moment.

You turn around to find Jisung standing in the middle of the room naked. “I didn’t bring a spare set of clothes to your room.” He shrugs.

“So you’re just going to walk up the hall naked?” you ask lightly.

“I’m staying here.” He says as he runs towards the bed and jumps face first on the mattress. Then he proceeds to wriggle his arms and legs like a bug.

“Eww Jisung, stop rubbing penis germs all over my bed.” You screw your face up. “Anyway, aren’t you coming with me?” Aren’t you supposed to find Chan together.

Jisung rolls onto his back, finds the edge of the quilt and starts rolling himself up in it like a sausage. “I think Chan will want to be alone with you… for this first time. He’s wanted you for so long. Far longer than this retreat.” His words are heartfelt but he looks so childish right now wrapped up like that.

You suddenly feel butterflies in your stomach at the realization that you're going to be with Chan tonight. Finally. It’s going to happen.

@rylea08 @channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @rixenluv @piscesrising01 @lunearta @shltsnglggles @lilbabiebunni @jiminssluttyminx @armystay89 @krayzieestay @stellasays45 @hxnnielk @yaorzu-blog @anjian03 @tsunderelino @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @privhace @kyunchoni @writhingwrecked @kisses-too-the-moon @justforreaders @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @meilix @ismokeeweed @leftovercigarettes

#skz smut #chan smut #chan x reader #changbin x reader #han jisung reader #sorshas fic

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class1akids · 2 days

Text

BNHA Chapter 425 - Thoughts

So I guess Hori did decide to just skip the end of the battle, my hospital academia and go straight to UA graduation?

It was teased back in Ch 360, so yeah it needed to happen and it seems like drawing Neijire is a special happy place for Hori (also the sketch he couldn't even wait until Sunday to drop, lol)

Mic DJ-ing right after ShiraGiri's death is sort of odd, but on top of the gags, there are some more serious moments.

What stood out to me was Mirio's comment about how the heroes' fight "is always for the sake of returning the negatives to zero on the whole." It reminded me of Ch 341 - The Story of how We All Became Heroes Minus ① which featured Touya, Toga, Spinner and of course Tomura suffering the transformation. So I can't help but feel it's related to the LoV's fate.

The class is together 😭 crying like a proud parent (whose tumblr handle just became obsolete).... and Aizawa is staying. Yay. After 400+ chapters they made it to second year!!!

Bakugou omg, out of the hospital in a tie which he somehow tied with one hand, being calm... (it's still odd to the others? - but I guess his apology happened like 3 weeks ago in-verse). It seems like he might end up with a scar, just like Izuku (and it's a bit like Kudou's, of course).

Aoyama leaving - I talked about this in one of the asks, but for me it's ok that it's his choice being respected and that the class clearly would be happy to have him stay. Though I wonder if his parents are just suddenly given amnesty for being "AFO's victims" and what that may mean for other villains.

Shinsou joins Class A long at last. Yay! Is he going to get Aoyama's room or join the 5th floor boys? I do wonder if the kids are still in the dorms even.

The Fuwa-stans are getting fed. But Class 2-A (can't get used to this...) will take a year long field trip around Japan. Reminds me of the 100 million tour newpaper sketches.

I liked Shoto mentioning AFO - how he was born in an era of turmoil (which I read as him saying that preventing the rise of such villains is now). It also seems to contradict what All Might said last chapter about Deku already being the greatest hero to everyone.

But also Shouto speaks. Normal speech bubbles. Has a normal voice! Yay! (still don't get it why he didn't speak in Ch 422 though)

Izuku looks troubled. Either because of what Shouto said or because of Fuwa senpai's comments about needing to experience a sudden death to understand why you'd want to be a hero. He certainly is not ready to run celebratory circles.

Watch them all walk together (TDBK covered by Iida's speech bubble, but I recognize them from Shouto's messenger bag and Katsuki's loose pants)

OMG, these guys are a total disaster. I don't know what Deku wanted to say, but Ochako obviously shut him down (and thought it was about her "let him rest" speech which apparently the class keeps teasing her for). Also Hori is using her to explain Deku's haircut.

And here, she looks weirdly happy compared to last time, but it could be just a front...

poor Deku though... he thinks she hates his haircut

No idea who the new guy is, but looks like someone escaped / let loose from a medical facility. Could be regenerated Tenko I guess or someone similar to him who can be saved by Deku this time. I prefer it to be the real Tenko because I want to see Tenko Rising. I think he looks too young to be Deku's dad tbh.

TDDK scene !!! Yay!!! (I wonder if Deku tries to talk both to Ochako and Shouto because of his feelings about Tenko... I really badly want a saviour squad scene)

Todoroki looks hopeful but not sure if it's genuine (it could be putting on a front to stop Izuku from worrying). But his foot is like when he went to see his mom the first time, so I tend to read that right now as a good sign.

"っし" (?????) - there is definitely a shift of emotion.

Endeavor is sitting in front of a giant tank / or secure room window. (?) (Probably the same window Shouto was looking in last chapter.

From the context and framing it's clear that it's Touya. For now alive. Endeavor is finally keeping his promise and is watching.

And the editorial blurb also suggests we may get Hellish Todoroki Family 3 after the two weeks break. I'm very worried, but also since we are strapping in for a longer epilogue it seems, I don't expect things to go smoothly for them just yet.

#bnha manga spoilers #bnha manga leaks #bnha 425 #c1a reads bnha #todoroki shouto #endeavor #dabi #todoroki touya #mirio togata #bnha meta #uraraka ochako #class 2 a #that's a thing now #bakugou katsuki #mystery man

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smallmightsupremacy · 13 hours

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Why we are getting a dvk3

So. The war is over now, and everything is supposed to go back to normal, right?

Wrong. I don't know about you, but this recent chapter was... a roller coaster of emotions, to say the least. We went from the highs of graduation to a mysterious new character all the way to some panels showing how Izuku isn't doing well mentally. And I have a lot of thoughts about that last point in particular. Especially for what this means for Izuku and Katsuki's relationship going forward. So, well before reading this chapter, I was a firm believer that we were going to get a dvk3. It just makes sense, right? Every pivotal moment of their relationship has been a dvk moment, so it wouldn't be a stretch to assume that the third pivotal moment of them becoming true equals would be a dvk too. Not convinced? Well, I'm going to breakdown one specific moment in this chapter and explain why this makes me even more sure that we're getting a dvk3 The moment I'm referring too is Izuku's interaction with Ochako:

We start off with Izuku looking off into the distance after hearing the words "why I wanted to become a hero" from Mawata. It wouldn't be a stretch to assume that those words were enough to make him reflect on himself and beliefs; to reflect on his own why. Why exactly did he become a hero?

Well, we already know the answer to that: to save people with a smile.

But in the final war, did Izuku actually achieve that? He doesn't seem fully convinced about that idea:

He believes that he didn't fully save Tenko, and those feelings of self-hatred, of not being good enough rose to the surface when the why of becoming a hero was brought up. Hence, his pensive expression in that first frame. Clearly Izuku's going through some turmoil right now. Self-hatred, emptiness, probably no sense of direction about where he wants to go in his life now that he's quirkless... the list goes on. So what does he decide to do about it? He approaches Ochako:

Maybe it's to talk about her moment on the UA rooftop which was referenced just before, but it doesn't seem that way. They've already talked about that moment already, why bring it up again? I mean, you could argue that it's Izuku telling her not to be so humble or embarrassed over that moment, but his reaction when she changes the direction of the conversation says otherwise:

He looks so upset, like he wanted to truly talk about his feelings with a trusted friend. The war is over. There's no need for him to control his heart again. He can finally talk about his feelings... yet he gets brushed off.

The fact that this panel of him frowning is right next to one of Ochako laughing says A LOT too It wasn't an accident that this panel of Izuku was put next to one of Ochako smiling. This was done for a reason. I think that reason is to showcase Izuku reaching a realization-- the realization that everyone is starting to move on from the war and smile again while he's stuck in a slump. I think it's in that panel, where he decides that he won't try to talk about his feelings again. If he does, then he'll bring down the mood and no one will be smiling anyone. Remember, Izuku still blames himself for the reason why his class got targeted, so he probably blames himself for them getting injured and upset from the war too. In his mind, the least he can do is keep quiet about his feelings and suffer in silence at the gain of everyone else's happiness. That being said, this is by no means an attack on Ochako's character at all. She's a great friend to Izuku- hell, that's probably the reason why he decided to go to her specifically to talk about his feelings -but I think there's a part of her that doesn't want to talk about what happened in the war either.

Even if there was, she still would've said something or shown concern if she could truly see how much the war was impacting Izuku. Instead, she misses it. She misses it because, as close as they are, she's the person from class 1A that knows Izuku second best. So that leaves only one person who can help Izuku process his feelings: the one person that knows Izuku best; the one person that will be able to see through his guise of pretending to be alright and save him before he reaches the point of self-destruction; the same person that has proven that they can and will do something like that time and time again. Sound familiar? Yeah. Katsuki is the only one that can help Izuku right now.

But it's not going to pretty. I'm not necessarily saying that dvk3 will involve a fight. On the contrary, I think that's the last thing that should happen for a multitude of reasons: Katsuki is still recovering, their relationship is at the point where they can have vulnerable conversations without throwing punches (read: the hospital scene), and it wouldn't make sense at all to have them throwing punches. Izuku hasn't got a quirk anymore; against Katsuki, he doesn't stand a chance of winning the fight. And that just negates all their growth of becoming equals. So perhaps we shouldn't call it Deku vs Kacchan 3, but rather Deku AND Kacchan 3 It's going to be a fight of them accepting feelings; both each other's and their own. There's going to be crying and tears and so much pain, but it's going to end up with Katsuki reaching out to Izuku so we can get that long awaited and incredibly foreshadowed handhold. So we can see that Katsuki still sees Izuku as an equal, quirk or no quirk.

At least, that's what I hope. I'd love to hear your thoughts about this too!!

#bnha #mha #mha manga spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #mha 425 #bnha 425 #bkdk #bakudeku #katsuki bakugou #bakugo katuski #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha meta #bnha meta

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padfootagain · 2 days

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Only an Almost (XVII)

Chapter 17: Looking for Help

Hi! Here comes a new chapter!

Chapter 18 will be the beginning of things really getting better!

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

*************************************

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 1855

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

“Well…. That… is a lot.”

“You can phrase it like that, yeah…”

“So… you’ve finally told her you loved her. At least you don’t have that to weight on your chest anymore.”

“The fact that I was still rejected after that confession kind of balances out the relief, though.”

“Yeah… you’ve got a point…”

Andrew heaved a sigh, closed his eyes as he let himself fall back fully in his chair. He hadn’t slept after that conversation with you. Or well, ‘conversation’ didn’t quite fit what had happened; it was rather a fight.

He had waited for an early but somewhat decent hour in the morning to call Sam, and ask if he could come buy. It was 8:13, and he was sipping on a black coffee, sitting at the table with him now. Daphne was taking a shower. Andrew had dropped by a bakery to get some pastries for breakfast, knowing he was depriving his friends from some well-deserved rest, but if Sam had already eaten, Andrew had not taken a single bite.

He nervously rubbed his palms, until the skin was painful and red, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“What are you going to do now?” Sam asked after a rather long silence.

But Andrew merely shrugged.

“What could I do? She doesn’t want me… All I can do is try to find a way to move on. Christ… how do you move on from that?”

“Getting awfully drunk sounds like a reasonable beginning,” Sam smiled.

“Well, perhaps, but not at 8 am,” Daphne chuckled, finally walking into the kitchen, her hair still wet from her shower.

She hugged Andrew tight.

“I’m sorry, Andy.”

“It’s alright.”

“I don’t have a clue what’s going on in her head…”

“Daphne… don’t. Please, don’t…”

She pulled away, got herself some coffee as well, before joining the two men around the wooden table.

“The way I see things… she’s freaking out. She’s freaking out and rejecting her feelings.”

“Daphne…”

“It makes no fucking sense!”

“It makes perfect sense. She doesn’t see me like that. It was just sex for her, and it wasn’t for me, and I was a damn fool. There’s nothing more to say about that.”

“There’s a lot more to say about that. The way she talked about it… she was just afraid…”

“Please…”

Andrew buried his face in his hands. He heard Sam gently shushing Daphne when she started speaking again.

“Come on, now! Tonight, we’re getting brilliantly drunk you and I!” Sam promised his friend.

“Good idea,” Andrew nodded.

A heavy silence followed.

“Andy… I know that this is not the time but… about the wedding…”

“Hmm?” Andrew finally looked up at his friends again.

“You… you’re still going to come, right?”

Andrew frowned hard.

“Of course, I’m coming. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because Y/N is my maid of honour,” Daphne let out in a breath.

“Oh… I hadn’t thought about that,” Andrew admitted.

But he quickly shook himself.

“Of course, I’ll come. I’m the best man! Don’t worry about that.”

“I… I understand that you won’t want to see her, and we can totally avoid the two of you being in the same room while we’re planning the wedding, but during the ceremony and everything…”

“Guys, don’t worry. I’m an adult, I can handle seeing my ex for a day.”

Andrew blinked and frowned.

“Technically, she’s not even my ex, we weren’t together, as she enjoyed reminding me last night…”

“You promise you’ll come, right?”

“Sam, of course, I’ll come. Don’t worry. It’s your wedding, you don’t have to worry about me and my stupid broken heart. I’ll be there, and I’ll just… behave politely towards Y/N. Nothing more, nothing less. Anyway, the wedding is in seven weeks, she’ll probably bring someone…”

The doorbell rang, and Daphne got up to answer the door, while Sam was patting Andrew’s shoulder.

He was attempting to guide the conversation back to something a little more joyful when the sound of someone crying reached the kitchen. The two men looked at each other with a frown.

“Daphne? You’re alright?” Sam called, standing in a hurry, Andrew following suit.

But it wasn’t Daphne who was crying. Sobbing, actually.

She was holding you in her arms. You were shaking with sobs, you seemed about to fall, and crumble to the ground…

Andrew felt tears rising to his eyes at the sight, but he quickly blinked them away. It was about the only movement he could summon though. He was too stunned to move another muscle, remaining frozen in his friends’ hallway.

His first reaction was to want to run to you, hold you in his arms until you would stop crying. Were you hurt? Why…? What was going on?

But then he heard your whisper…

“I’ve fucked up… Daphne, I’ve fucked up so bad… I’ve fucked up everything with Andy…”

To hear his name acted like a punch in the guts, knocking all the air out of his lungs. His brain started to properly function again, and puzzlement slowly replaced worry.

You were crying about last night?

“Andy…” Sam called as Andrew stormed through the hall to grab his coat and shoes.

You finally noticed that he was there, and remained frozen, staring at him with your puffy red eyes and cheeks stained with tears. He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t.

“Andy… Wait!”

But despite Sam’s protest, Andrew was out in the blink of an eye, hurrying out of the house and out of your life…

He didn’t stop before he had reached his car, hearing Sam run after him.

“Wait, Andy… I didn’t know she was going to drop by.”

��I know… I know… It’s alright.”

“Andrew…”

“I just… I can’t see her right now.”

“I understand. I just…”

“It’s alright, Sam. We’ll see each other tonight at the pub, okay?”

Sam reluctantly nodded, and Andrew hurried inside his car.

All he could do for now was trying to move on, move forward, always forward. He drove aimlessly around the countryside for a while, before finally going home.

Was he moving forward, or just running away?

On a scale from one to drunk, Andrew was hammered.

He reckoned that he hadn’t drunk that much since College… or no, scratch that. Since his first record. Yeah, he had had some nice party time during that period, a mix of testing his limits on the road and the buzzing excitement of a long list of first times.

Only, a few years had passed, and after that last whiskey, he wasn’t too sure if he could handle alcohol as well as he did back in the days…

Sam was laughing his arse off over something stupid, that Andrew had forgotten already, but he was giggling along anyway. The buzz of the liquor was making him dizzy, light-headed, with his cheeks on fire and his thoughts a mess.

God… it felt good to forget you for a moment.

The pub was full of life and laughter. A group had started drunkenly slurring through a few songs, but Andrew was hoping not to be recognized and asked to sing, he wasn’t in the mood. You were the only thing he could write about these days, singing reminded him of you…

It was fun, it was an easy and temporary fix to his heartbreak, but Andrew welcomed the momentary reprieve all the same.

That was until Sam became suddenly much paler than before, and pressed a hand over his mouth, choking on his laughter.

Andrew blinked, grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him as quickly as his wobbly legs could carry him to the bathroom.

Sam had barely knelt down in an empty stall that he was throwing up.

Andrew patted his back a couple of times, waited for his friend to calm down. He sat behind him, against the wall of the tiny bathroom. He didn’t care that the ground was dirty and highly unhygienic… for now he was pressing his temple against the cool tiling on the wall to counter the spinning of his head and the growing pain in his skull.

“You’re alright in there?” he called for Sam, looking at his friend still bent over the toilet.

Sam didn’t answer, merely threw up again.

“I’ll take that as a ‘not dead yet’,” Andrew answered in a fit of stupid giggles, and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, he heard Sam shifting near him, and he forced his eyes open again, despite his exhaustion and the pain piercing his head.

“You’re okay?”

Sam finally crawled on all fours to join Andrew next to the row of sinks.

“Yeah, better,” he nodded, stumbling to his feet to wash his mouth. “Thanks, mate.”

Andrew merely gave him a thumbs up, before closing his eyes again.

Sam sat down next to his friend then, ignoring a newcomer who had just come in.

“Damn… I don’t think I’ve been this hammered since College,” Sam mumbled, while Andrew merely hummed in agreement. “Do you remember that party by the beach? Alex was fucking out of it, and then the cops arrived! We ran so fucking fast! I thought Alex was going to piss his pants, he was in pure panic!”

Andrew laughed at the memory.

“You tripped on a root and fell like a fucking child. Hands and knees all scrapped,” Andrew added, making Sam double-over with laughter.

“And you banged your head in at least five branches! I thought you’d get a concussion!”

“The red marks on my forehead the next day!”

The two men were laughing hysterically, sitting there on the ground, ignoring anyone else who would come in and throw them amused looks.

They remained there two more minutes without being disturbed. No one was coming in anymore. It seemed as though even the sound of conversations and music from the main room of the pub had quietened.

And there you were again, your picture against his closed eyelids. First the sight of you waking up by his side in the morning. Then the memory of your skin against his. Your voice. Your smile. You turning to look at him, and beaming with this grin of yours that was brighter than any star…

A tear rolled down his cheek and into his beard before he could notice.

“Christ… Sam… I love her so fucking much…”

He vaguely heard Sam shifting next to him, and he finally opened his eyes. A row of brown doors, on the opposite wall some sinks and some mirrors, and white cold tiling all over the walls. Urinals on the other side of the room.

Instead, he could see you lying in his bedsheets, your head thrown back against his pillow…

“I love her…”

That look of mischief in your eyes as you stole some fries from his plate…

“I’ve never loved anyone else the way I love her… so fucking much…”

Sam wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug while Andrew’s silent tears were turning into proper cries.

“It’s going to be okay, Andy… It’s gonna be alright.”

And Andrew knew it was just some stupid fucking lie…

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier series #hozier imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #series

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epickiya722 · 2 days

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You know what, from Izuku's behavior this chapter I really do feel like he's still reeling in everything that has happened. And of course, he is not going to be exactly happy about it.

Izuku is the type that something will bother him for a long time. Even if others around him are celebrating, he's not going to be okay.

Of course, some of the fandom for a while seemed to act like Izuku was going to be so happy Tomura ended right in front of his face!

Uh, no. He wouldn't be. When it comes to failure and lost, Izuku feels that.

"Izuku is so heartless!"

Then if he is, why for the last two chapters he's been feeling upset? If he was a "heartless" person he would be cheering on like nothing happen.

But no. He doesn't do that.

Just because he's not bawling his eyes out don't mean he's not feeling that failure.

It's just something to me that this fandom...

Hates when Izuku shows emotions

Cheered on during his Dark Era when clearly he was at his worst, I guess mental health isn't important

And then hates when Izuku apparently "isn't showing emotions"

Like??? If y'all act this way with a fictional character, I hate to know how you treat a real emotional person.

#as someone who's emotional #i find it hard to be around people who hate on emotional people #yes we can get a handle on our emotions such as Izuku has in some moments #but damn #emotional people haters will be like 'stop being a crybaby' but then turn around and be like 'uh why aren't you showing your emotions'm #?#bitch why do you think?!#just kiya's thoughts #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha manga spoilers #bnha spoilers #bnha leaks #bnha 425 #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #deku

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hollyhomburg · 2 days

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Before I Leave You (Pt.71)

(Sneak Peek)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Freedom isn't always a good thing... sometimes stupid pups get in trouble.

Tags: slight angst, lying, implied psychopath Jin, Confirmed autistic Jimin, discussion of murder and killing others, Jimin and Jin both have dubious morality, needy m/c, Frottage, Teasing, Knotting, knot-fucking, desperate sex, messiness kink, (slight) pleasure dom hobi 👀, public sex, riding, squirting, car sex

W/c: 9.0k

A/n: it's kinda crazy that this chapter, last chapter, and next chapter was supposed to be a single chapter (it would have been over 30k), this one is my least favorite out of the bunch! please give it a bunch of love when it comes out though 🥺 if you don't love it i'll be sad!

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

You drive, and instead of returning your hands to the center console Hobi’s hand creeps, settling on your knee. Your jeans have rips in them, a courting gift from tae who claimed they were cute (the pockets on the back are heart shaped). Hobi hooks his finger into the biggest one on your upper thigh, stroking the skin higher and higher. You go still, look down, and watch his hands rub smooth circles on your inner thigh. They go no higher.

Hoseok has very pretty hands.

A heat creeps up the back of your neck as Hobi keeps his eyes on the road and not on you. You try not to squirm, not to close your legs either. Although you know he'll be able to smell and feel your slick if he keeps it up for too long. You know your scent is swelling treacherously sweet, but you hope he won't comment- won't notice.

But when he pulls into the parking lot and the ocean is right there, turning dark green and a little violent at high tide. The air is stormy but sweet through the cracked windows. He turns to you, already smirking. The quirk of his lips teases and you realize he knows exactly what he's been doing to you this whole time.

You're already shoving his hand off of you, and he laughs at your flaming cheeks. "Oh my god shut up-"

"I didn't say anything."

"Oh, you little shit-" Hoseok grins.

"You're cute when you're flustered from being teased."

"Call me cute one more fucking-"

"Cute."

You put your head between your knees and actually scream. It's soft, not all that loud. Hoseok's laugh is louder as he throws his head back. and you regret ever making the mistake of falling in love with your best friend.

"Oh my god you are totally getting horny because of a car-"

"It's not the fucking car-" you whine, almost petulant.

"Oh, so it's me then?" The way Hoseok raises his eyebrow at you makes you want to scream. The smirk that has your omegan instincts rankled back on his stupidly pretty face.

"And if it is?"

Hoseok grins, reaching over to cup your cheek in his hand. Pinching the sides so that your lips push out. holding you hard so that you can't squirm away.

"Then c'm here."

There are other things that you both crave beyond sugar and sweets. kisses that turn into giggles. Hoseok's lips move, good and gentle for a second. Exactly what you need, what you've been craving.

And then he bites your lower lip.

It smells like gasoline and sea salt and blood when you pull apart. rubbing at your stinging lip, a little angry. You're not bleeding, but it feels like you could be. A Hoseok shaped space over your heart, wrenched clean, bleeding because where he sits is so far. If the distance and wanting could make you bleed- you would be.

(Hoseok bit you to keep you close, because for a second, it felt like you were about to pull back. His alpha didn't like that.)

You bristle, an omega that needs settling. Hoseok almost wants to bare his teeth at how on edge it makes him. You smell so needy. sticky sweet the way that Jungkook does sometimes. Hoseok's half surprised that the other omega didn't get to you before he did.

You flush hot. Half anger, half wanting. "Bitch-"

Hoseok reaches down between his legs for the lever under the seat to push it back. He pushes his seat away from the steering wheel and makes room for you. He parts his legs wide and gestures to his lap.

"I said come here."

Coming Saturday, June 8th at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

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atlasmoonglade · 1 day

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Joost Klein x OC!single mom

Chapter 1

Warnings: divorce mentioned, smut in later chapters.

This is just for fun, don't take too seriously.

Chapter 2

I scroll through Joost's Instagram realising I don't actually know anything about him.

A DM from the man I am currently stalking pops up at the top of my screen.

So, a singer, huh?

Surprised?

Honestly yes. Thought you would be a builder with such a strong back.

Still can't believe I almost knocked someone out just by standing.

Well, I did most of the work.

Joost Klein sent a post by ria3.jpg

ria3.jpg endless walks

Where was this taken? he asks.

I was visiting a friend and we would go on these long walks to catch up on everything.

He types, but then stops. Types and stops again.

Come for a run with me tomorrow morning?

Oh.

Define morning..

Like 8am? It will be more of a light jog, just something to start a day with a clear head.

I have to be back by noon.

Deal. Meet me next to the same coffee shop tomorrow 8am.

I put on my comfortable sneakers preparing for "a run" and head out. I am excited to see Joost again. Yesterday we spent a few hours sending each other's posts asking questions, sharing stories. I was complimenting his every outfit. It's been a while since I met a new friend, I don't usually have a lot of free time to maintain a new relationship.

Elliot is coming back today from staying at Nicholas' place. I thought I would have a relaxing time, which turned out to be a complete opposite. I miss Elliot too much and can't think of what to do with myself without him. Can't wait to hear about all the fun things he was up to, for his young age he is an incredible storyteller.

"There you are." a voice which already became familiar calls out. Joost is wearing a hat, black red hot chili peppers t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I can't fail to notice how much I like the shirt clinging to his body.

"Nice to see you early bird. So, where are we heading?" I block the sun shining in my eyes with my hand.

"I've been running every day since I arrived here, I already know a few good routes. Let's go." He waves a hand motioning for me to follow.

He leads, I follow.

"What thoughts are we running from?" I ask keeping up with him.

The corners of his mouth turn up into a slight smile. "It changes from day to day, just general anxiety I guess." He turns to look at me. "Do you not feel that way?"

"I do." I confess. "My way of coping is less active though - I journal." It is so easy to share things with him. It feels like he truly cares.

We continue running talking about what we did last week, he shares that he is here to write a song. We talk about music and his career, while pointing out various beautiful views. He stops a few times to snap photos.

"Stay like this. Looks really good." he points his phone at me. "You can capture this one endless runs." I laugh and he takes a photo. He puts his phone back in the pocket.

"Did it turn out good?" I ask.

"There is no way it didn't." He looks at me squinting from the bright sun.

"Because you are such a talented photographer?"

"Sure. Because of that." he smirks and continues walking.

"What are your plans for today? You said you have to be back by noon." he asks as I catch up to walk by his side, our arms slightly touching. I pull back.

"I have to get back home, my son is coming back from staying with his dad for the weekend." I say.

"How old is he? Your son."

"Recently turned 6."

He turns to look at me and smiles, continues walking forward.

"What?" I ask.

"Still can't believe you are someone's mom."

"Why? How do you imagine a mom?"

"I don't know." he looks forward. Silent for a moment. "Are you one of those milfs everyone keeps talking about?"

I push at his arm immediately getting an ick at what he said. "What the fuck dude" He bursts out laughing. I laugh too.

"Can't believe you just said that. What is wrong with you." I push him again, his arm feels tense under my touch.

He fixes his hat, turning to look straight ahead. "Sorry, it just slipped out." He smirks. I shake my head and laugh.

We continue our run.

"Thank you for agreeing to join me." Joost says as we come back to where we started.

"You are welcome. I had more fun than I expected." I say taking out a bottle of water.

"It was actually the first time I invited someone. I usually prefer to spend the morning alone." he says smoothing out the hem of his t-shirt.

"Oh." I look up at him. "An honor to be your first companion." I smile at him.

"Yeah so, head is cleared. I need to take a shower and head back to the studio." He takes off his hat to run a hand through his hair. It looks incredibly soft. I catch myself imagining how it would feel to touch.

I shake my head. The run did the opposite of clearing my head.

"When can I see you next?" he asks.

"I am not sure yet. I'm gonna be spending some time with Elliot."

"Sure." he smiles and pauses. "I have a concert coming up later this week. I can get you tickets, if you will find time for it."

"I will let you know." I return his smile.

"Hope you do." he stretches out his hand for me to shake like last time. I take it. His hand is firm to the touch and so pleasingly warm. After a moment we pull apart and go our separate ways.

I spent the last couple of days with Elliot. We played video games, went to the park for a picnic eating ice cream and laughing at each other's remarks about the movie we watched earlier. He truly is my best friend. I am so happy he turned out the way he did. I was worried me and Nicholas separating would affect him negatively, which I do notice some signs of, but me and Nicholas keep it friendly and keep him out of our differences.

As I get into my bed, I realise it has been radio silent between me and Joost after our run. To be honest he has been the first one to start the conversation the last time, I need to put in the effort too.

How have you been? I type.

No...too formal. I delete it.

Hi.

No, that's boring.

Any progress in the studio?

I hit send. No need to overthink it.

As I wait for the reply, I decide to check out his music. I put on my earphones and turn on the first song on Spotify.

My phone chimes as I listen to the songs and read the lyrics.

Joost Klein

Actually yes. We finally recorded the chorus.

Joost Klein

What is new with you?

I open the DMs.

Glad to hear that!! ❤️

Just living my milf life, you know how it is.

LMAO

I'm actually pleasantly surprised to hear from you. Started to think I scared you away last time.

You would have to do a lot more to scare me.

Oh yeah?

I was just listening to your songs. I have to say I really like them. I was bopping my head along.

Some really serious topics hidden behind fun melodies. Feels strange to say I am getting to know you through your songs.

You could hear them live, you know? My offer still stands. It's on Friday.

I pause to think about it. Elliot will be with his dad again, I could go technically. Do I go alone?

Ok. One ticket please. How much do I owe you?

He read the message, but is taking his time to reply. I look at the typing bubbles appear and disappear.

Don't be silly, I already said I will get it for you. Tickets are now secured.

Good Night, Ria. Talk to you tomorrow.

Good night, Joost.

Chapter 3

#joost klein #my writing

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formulauno98 · 1 day

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Waking Up In Vegas | Chapter Three

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction, no-one is taken in this alt-universe.

As you finished breakfast with Fernando, you were relieved to find that the atmosphere had shifted from tense to somewhat cooperative. You had a plan in place, you would meet him in the team hospitality area in the paddock in an hour to discuss the situation with his agent and publicist and potentially release a statement before the race. Then after the race, you would head back to the chapel together and sign the papers to get your marriage formerly annulled.

Having bid farewell to Fernando, who insisted on booking you a taxi to go the one block across the strip back to your hotel, you couldn't shake the surreal feeling of the morning. Marrying a stranger in Vegas was one thing, but marrying a famous Formula One driver? That was on another level. You had never been a big drinker nor a party girl and even going out in Vegas felt out of character.

Hastily exiting the cab, you made quick work crossing the gaudy lobby of The Venetian Hotel, weaving through the slot machines of the casino towards the elevators back to your suite. The casino was surprisingly busy for a Sunday morning and your head continued to pound as you were bombarded by the jangling noises of people winning and losing. Breakfast had helped alleviate your hangover somewhat but you were dreading the noise that you knew would accompany the race later that day.

You also couldn’t help but feel paranoid that eyes were on you, despite the fact that you came across several other patrons who looked bleary-eyed and worse for wear, still wearing last night’s party looks. Shaking the thought, you were relieved to reach the elevators, flashing your room key to the security guard who promptly let you through.

—

Finally, back in your suite and reunited with your friends, you quickly freshened up and changed into something more appropriate for the paddock. You had originally planned for a fancy outfit but given the circumstances you opted for something more lowkey, finding a plain tee and jeans, hoping to blend in as much as possible. The last thing you wanted was to attract more attention.

Fernando had been kind enough to organise paddock passes for you and your three friends, knowing that you would not want to face this situation alone and feeling guilty that your race weekend experience was somewhat ruined. Luckily your friends were eager to join you, if not sceptical about Fernando’s intentions.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked your friend Jess as you all walked towards the paddock entrance.

"Yeah, we don't even know this guy," added Lisa, glancing around warily.

"I know," you said, taking a deep breath. "But we need to handle this carefully. Fernando's publicist thinks the best way is to control the narrative. If you’d rather go to the grandstand I fully understand.”

"No, don’t be silly, we're here for you," said Megan, giving you a reassuring squeeze on the arm. "Just be careful, okay?"

As the four of you arrived at the busy paddock entrance, the hustle and bustle of the pre-race activities were in full swing. Crew members in team uniforms zipped past, carrying equipment and chatting into headsets, already in work mode.

Reaching the gates, you flashed your pass on the electric reader and were granted access into a world you never thought you’d get a glimpse of. If only it had been in different circumstances. Walking down the paddock, you looked around for the familiar Aston Martin green. Fernando had given you strict instructions on how to find the Aston Martin team hospitality area and you quickly spotted it, halfway down the strip. In a twist of cruel irony, it was next door to the paddock wedding chapel, seemingly a Vegas special that only served to remind you of last night’s poor decisions.

Approaching the small veranda, you spotted an older woman standing there with her arms folded. Fernando had told you that his publicist would be there waiting so you hoped that it was her.

“Hi,” you said, “I’m here for Fernando. Are you Elena by any chance?” you asked, a little intimidated by her.

“Yes,” she said, looking you up and down as you made your introductions, “Please, follow me,” she said, gesturing inside the metal doors beside her. Turning to your friends, she gestured at a table in the team hospitality area, “If you’d like you are welcome to wait here, and please help yourself to some breakfast or coffee. Make yourself at home.”

Your friends looked a little apprehensive but seemed happy enough with the arrangement, “If you need anything you know where we are,” said Megan, looking at Elena with a certain degree of suspicion.

“Thanks, I’ll see you soon,” you said, grateful that they were close by if needed as you continued to follow Elena as she led you through another set of doors to a private area where Fernando was waiting, already in his racing suit.

“Hey,” you said, somewhat awkwardly, barely able to meet Fernando’s eye.

“Hi.” he said kindly, “How are you?”

“Good.” was all you managed, suddenly feeling very out of your comfort zone, “How are you? I’m so sorry to bother you on race day.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s not a bother.” said Fernando, his grin starting to unnerve you, “Elena is going to help us.”

"Yes, alright here's the plan," Elena began, her tone efficient. "We'll release a statement saying you two are deeply in love, and that last night was an impulsive but heartfelt decision. Emphasise that it came from love. Keep it vague but positive."

You nodded, feeling the weight of the situation settle on your shoulders. Fernando gave you a reassuring smile, but you could see the tension in his eyes. This was as much a gamble for him as it was for you. He interjected, "What happens if this all blows up? What’s the plan B?"

Elena met Fernando's gaze with a calm response, "We handle it as it comes. Right now, the best course of action is to present a united front and take control of the story."

“Great, thank you,” Fernando replied, a steely look still present in his eyes. “What do you think?” he asked, taking you by surprise as he turned for your opinion.

“You’re the experts. Like I said, I’ll do whatever you need,” you said meekly.

“Thank you,” said Fernando and Elena in unison, their relief palpable.

“Here is the official statement, have a read and tell me that you are agreeable,” said Elena, handing you an official-looking letterhead.

For Immediate Release - Fernando Alonso

I am delighted to share some exciting personal news with you. Last night, Y/N and I celebrated our love with an impulsive but heartfelt wedding ceremony. It was a spontaneous decision that felt right in the moment and we are both incredibly happy.

We have discovered a deep connection and are committed to taking things one step at a time, cherishing each moment together. Our love for each other is strong and we are looking forward to seeing where this journey takes us.

We appreciate your understanding and support as we embark on this new chapter in our lives. Thank you for respecting our privacy and for sharing in our happiness.

With love,

Fernando and Y/N

You gulped as you read it over. It was saccharine and over the top, but you trusted Elena to have kept the tone authentic to the press’ expectations. “That’s fine by me,” you said bluntly, feeling out of your depth.

“Great.” said Elena, clapping her hands together, “Now, can we take a photo of you together to accompany the memo? We have your wedding photo too.”

Glancing at Fernando, who now appeared to share your awkward demeanour, he replied somewhat uncomfortably, “Sure, if you feel it is necessary.”

“Yes, I think it is. The press will be curious and if you don’t release a photo, they will hound every woman within a fifty-mile radius.” Elena said bluntly.

A man you hadn’t noticed appeared with a camera and a small light pack, eager to capture the moment.

“Okay, is it okay if I put your arm around you?” asked Fernando sweetly.

“Sure,” you said, nervous about being in such close proximity to him as he reached his arm around your shoulders.

“Smile guys! You’re newlyweds.” said the photographer with a wink, using his free hand to push you closer together.

Sidling up to Fernando you smiled as widely as you could and hoped that you were selling the love story.

“Beautiful.” said Elena, once again clapping her hands together before producing another piece of paper, “Now. None of this goes further than here. Ok? I have an NDA for you to sign.”

“No problem,” you said, knowing that hopefully, this wouldn’t be the first form you’d be filling in today.

As you quickly signed and handed the paper back to Elena, she was already typing furiously on her phone. "Thank you, this will be out in a few minutes. Now, Fernando, focus on the race. Y/N, I will show you to the corporate hospitality suite above the garage. I'll make sure you and your friends are comfortable."

With that, Fernando was whisked away without another word to you, leaving you alone with your thoughts as you made your way back to your friends who were sitting patiently waiting and sipping their coffees.

“If you’d all like to follow me, I will show you to where you can watch the race,” said Elena kindly, “There will be more drinks there but feel free to bring those along.”

———

Elena having shown you across the paddock to the corporate hospitality suite, you were now installed in a plush group of chairs, the buzz of the race preparations from the garage below a constant background noise. Surrounded by your friends, you finally felt a little calmer, even when they were voicing their concerns about what had just happened.

"I don't like this," Lisa said in a low voice, her arms crossed. "What if they try to pin everything on you if the press find out it was just a drunken mistake?"

"She's right," Jess agreed. "We need to make sure you’re protected too."

"I know," you said, feeling a lump in your throat. "But Fernando seems sincere. He’s just as caught off guard as we are. Let's see how this plays out."

Fortunately, as the Grand Prix was getting underway shortly, the press had not yet reacted to the statement and you had some time to process, however as the race began, you felt a knot of anxiety in your stomach.

You were starting to understand just how high the stakes were for Fernando. This wasn't just a sport, it was his life, his career, his passion and public interest in his personal life was the downside to travelling the world and driving fast cars. Anyone else could laugh off a drunk Vegas wedding but he had to protect his public image, his brand. Sponsorship deals were tied to his public persona and one slip-up could cost serious money.

Making your way out to the balcony to watch the race start, you hung over the railing to see how Fernando would fare. The sound of engines roaring and tyres screeching filled the air as the lights went out and the grid came alive.

To your dismay, Fernando didn't have a great start. His reaction was far slower than the cars around him and he dropped four positions before the first corner. You felt a pang of guilt, wondering if the morning's drama had affected his performance.

To make matters worse, as Fernando roared around the track below you, the press started to run his statement. Elena had come by to warn you and sure enough, as those nearby were alerted of the news of Fernando Alonso's surprise Vegas wedding, you could feel more and more pairs of curious eyes on you, recognising you from the two photos that had been shared.

As the race settled down, your phone started to buzz with notifications as journalists quickly updated their headlines to "Fernando Alonso Marries in Impulsive Las Vegas Ceremony" and "Alonso's Surprise Wedding: A New Chapter for the F1 Star." You cringed as one particular commentator tweeted speculating about how this personal development might be affecting Fernando’s performance, debating the timing of a raucous wedding the night before a critical race.

Elena came by once more as reporters were contacting her, seeking interviews to learn more about you. “For real?” you asked, “I’m a nobody, why would they want to interview me?”

“You’re not a nobody, you’re Mrs Alonso,” mused Elena, “And don’t worry, I will turn them down on your behalf.”

“Thank you, Elena,” you said, looking at your friends exasperatedly. The situation was pure chaos, and the race was going on all the while, Fernando oblivious to the situation.

It wasn’t just the mainstream press, the news had hit social media and hashtags like #AlonsoWedding and #MrandMrsAlonso were starting to trend as fans expressed their excitement. Fans' curiosity about the timeline of your “relationship” led to a flurry of speculation, with the photo from the wedding and that morning being dissected for clues.

Tearing your eyes away from your phone, you turned your attention back to the track. Unfortunately, Fernando was struggling to make up the lost ground and had you sat on the edge of your seat, chewing your nails and hoping for a miracle.

"He's not doing well," Megan observed quietly, "Do you think this morning freaked him out?"

"Maybe," you admitted, feeling your anxiety spike. "I just hope he can pull through, it’s not like he can see the headlines yet."

“True,” said Jess, “Although what weird timing to release a statement.”

Your friends nodding in agreement, you repeated what Elena had told you earlier, “Apparently the idea is that the story will get buried in race news, get minimal attention but still serve the purpose of not making Fernando look like a drunk idiot.”

Looking unconvinced, Jess replied, “I’m not sure about that.”

Hoping your friend was wrong, you silently willed Fernando to overtake his opponents, but unfortunately, today was just not his day. When the race ended, Fernando had only managed to secure a measly P9. It was far from his usual performance and you knew he would be furious.

As you watched Fernando exit his car, his frustration evident, you felt concerned. The morning’s events had ultimately affected his performance. He looked livid and you were not looking forward to meeting him back in the team hospitality area and going to the chapel together to sign the annulment.

———

Gathering your friends, you made your way back down the stairs and across the paddock to where you’d met Fernando and Elena this morning, feeling somewhat jittery knowing that you would have to face the angry racing driver once he’d completed his media commitments.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he breezed in, barely acknowledging anyone. When he finally spotted you, his eyes were blazing. He stalked over, his anger palpable.

"Follow me," he hissed, keeping his voice low but his tone sharp, gesturing for you to follow him once more through the double doors.

Getting up, you shot your friends a look, their eyes filled with concern, “I’ll be back ASAP.” and bid them goodbye as you made your way behind Fernando.

Once through the double doors, the fiery Spaniard let rip. "This is your fault. I couldn't focus all race because of this mess." His eyes were wild and his usual charm was gone.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You felt a rush of emotions—anger, guilt, defensiveness—all at once. But before you could gather your thoughts, Fernando took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said, running a hand through his wavy brown hair. "I shouldn't blame you. It's just... a lot. Elena showed me the headlines after the race. Some people think I’m a drunk idiot, some are calling me a legend. It’s not the best. I work so hard to maintain a positive image and this kind of story can be career-altering. My boss wants to meet with me later to discuss it."

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat. "I understand. It's been a crazy day. But we're in this together, remember? I’ve read stories calling me a gold-digger, an escort and a nobody. It’s not been the best."

He gave a small, rueful smile. "I am sorry. It is my fault.”

“No it’s not,” you said, awkwardly patting him on the shoulder, “We both got ourselves into this mess, we need to both get out of it.”

“Agreed.” said Fernando, “Do you want to have some coffee before we go to the chapel? My room is just through here.”

A little surprised at his offer, you decided it would be wise to talk some more. You hardly knew this man but if the world thought you two were deeply in love, in love enough to elope in Vegas, you figured it might be time to get to know him.

“Sure,” you replied, following him through another smaller door, not sure what to expect.

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#f1 x reader #fernando alonso fic #fernando alonso #f1 fanfic #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x female reader

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