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peachesofteal · 3 months ago

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Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ daddy kink, corruption kink, size kink, talks you through it, spanking.

The fever broke the next day.

You ran hot and cold all night and into the morning, sweating and shivering until the sun came up, pushed him away when your skin was slick with sweat, pulled him back when your fingers turned to ice.

His poor baby girl. He did everything he could to ease you, settle you, keep you comfortable. You were barely conscious when he gave you water and more meds, hardly aware as he stripped you bare and wrapped you in your duvet, giving up on keeping your shirt dry and clean.

Dawn came, and he called you out of work for the rest of the week, assured Mara you were fine, promised you’d text her when you were feeling up to it. You need a break, he explained, and she agreed, said she’d handle it.

He’d take care of the rest.

Your feet slap against the hard wood floor towards the living room where he’s settled on your couch, laptop open, last email responded to, headache blooming behind his eyes. John mentioned there was a lot of admin work when it came to being a captain, but he undersold it. By a lot.

Doesn’t matter right now, he has more important things to focus on. “Hi sweet girl.”

“I- you’re- did you… did you call me out of work?” Your color is healthy, along with your voice, and overall you look a lot better, back to normal, even with your shoulders high and tight, coiled with anxiety.

“You’re not going back until Monday.” A string is pulled, releasing the tension of your uncertainty, confidence in his decisions, in him, growing a bit more day by day. “Come here baby.” You settle between some cushions and his side, but before you can lay your head on his arm, he shifts to face you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” You’re still only in a shirt and panties, legs exposed from where you slump into the couch. “Thank you,” you whisper, giving him your eyes, a long look, dripping with trust, “for being here… for taking care of me.” He cups your cheek.

“I’m always going to take care of you, sweetheart. I’m always going to be here.” Building the belief you can depend on him or anything, go to him for everything, takes time. Just because he tells you, doesn’t mean it’s automatically instinctive, but the other side of the coin needs to be addressed. “We need to discuss a few things.” You watch him apprehensively.

“Okay.”

“You had multiple opportunities to tell you weren’t feeling well on Tuesday, but chose not to. Do you want to tell me why?” Your breath catches, stutters your diaphragm in quick succession.

“I didn’t want to bother you. I thought… I figured I’d just go home and sleep it off and then I’d feel fine and there’d be no reason to even give it a second thought, I didn't... I wasn't sure if you were busy at work and I didn’t want to be an inconvenience, I-” His hand curves around your skull, fingers at your nape, thumb pressed to your lips, stopping the stream of worry before it builds into a rollercoaster.

“You’re not an inconvenience, you’re mine. You’re mine to take care of, and you don’t make the decisions about what’s bothersome to me. There isn’t a single thing about you that could ever bother me. Do you understand?” You nod, lips warm beneath the pad of his thumb. “Words, baby girl.”

“Yes daddy, I understand.”

“I know this is a big transition and a lot to learn, you’re going to make mistakes, and so will I. I’ve already made one by not introducing your rules sooner, and we’re going to fix that now.” A rod of steel supports his words, and you straighten. His little solider at attention.

“Rules…” you trail off, a little perplexed, a little curious, too fucking cute.

“Rules. You’re my priority, and it’s important you’re safe, happy, and healthy. The rules are easy to follow, but if they’re broken, there will be consequences. Are you ready to hear them?” You nod nervously, and he takes your hand, squeezes it. “You’ll always listen to daddy. You’ll be in bed, at bedtime, unless you’re told otherwise. You’ll eat three meals a day, which includes an actual breakfast and instead of your usual half gallon of coffee, you'll drink water instead.”

“B-but-” He raises an eyebrow, and you press your lips together. “Sorry daddy.”

“That’s okay, but you’re just listening now, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl. You can have two cups, but no more. When you’re at work, you’ll check in after each meal, even if you don’t get a response. I don't always have my phone, but the rules still apply. If I’m away,” it's acid in his throat, squeezing his windpipe, trying to choke him, but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it, “you’ll still send your messages. You will always consider your safety before doing anything, like walking ten blocks home with a fever.” Your face twists up with guilt. “You’ll tell me whenever you're scared, or anxious, or overwhelmed, whether it’s face to face, or through a text or phone call." He gives you a second, waits and watches, analyzes all the flickers and flutters in your expression. The moment it hits, your relief, your realization, a weight lifts from his shoulders. "That’s all we have for now, sweet girl. We're starting pretty basic and will adjust as things change. I’ll write them down so it’s easier to keep track of, but these are your rules, and I’m very serious about them, because I’m very serious about you.” He pulls you into his arms, settles you against his chest and rubs your back. Now for the hard part. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"And if you had known them, would you have walked home on Tuesday?"

"No, I wouldn't have."

“It’s okay baby,” he skims his nose across the top of your head, dots a kiss at your hairline. “You didn’t know, but we’re going to use it as a learning opportunity.”

“We are?” He tightens his hold.

“I’m going to give you a punishment, so you have an idea what to expect for the future. Stand up.” You untangle yourself from his arms, rising in front of him, trembling. You're standing on the edge of a cliff, the roof of a building, and the only thing below is him, waiting to catch you. It's a test of trust, of progress, one he believes you won't fail. “It’s okay to be nervous. New things can be scary and there will a lot of them. D'you trust me to take care of you?”

“Yes daddy.” It eases an ache in his heart, the one that hates seeing you unsettled, and he shifts his legs into a ninety degree angle, patting his thigh. “What… what are we doing?”

“Daddy’s going to spank you.” Your eyes go wider than saucers.

“Y-you’re going to spank me?” You squeak, taking a half step away towards the coffee table as he pulls your wrists together and then holds them with one hand, pushing you down over his knees.

“You’re only getting five spanks, and if you’re very good, you’ll get a reward.”

“I d-don’t know, can’t I um…” Your shirt comes up over your bottom, but he leaves your underwear in place. “I c-can do something else. Maybe… make my bed? Or do the dishes?” He laughs, enjoying the way you shiver as he rubs his palm over your cheeks, warming the flesh.

“You’re getting a spanking, little girl. I want you to count after each one, and when we get to five, we’ll stop. Ready?” Five. It's nothing, but not to you. It's alien, it's scary, it's an unknown world you're brand new to.

This place was made for you, this home he built in his heart, this world he crafted with his bare hands, all of it, is for you. Only for you, forever.

But it's still new.

He gives you some time, your needed space, and when your lungs expand with a deep breath, he draws back-

And swings.

The sound of his palm making contact with your flesh is music, your little shocked howl combined with the ripple of your cheek, all of it coming together in perfect harmony-

but something is missing. "Are you going to count, or do I need to start over?"

"O-one," you warble, sucking in a big breath.

"Good girl." The second is the same and you clench, even though these are the softest slaps he’s ever dealt. “Relax your bottom baby girl, that’s it.” You groan out your third with your feet kicking, pant your fourth, and on the fifth, you shiver and shriek.

But you don’t cry. You don’t break.

He didn’t think you would. You have a soft strength to you, one that comes from navigating a world that doesn't understand you.

He kisses your trembling lower lip as he hauls you up, evaluates your expression, checking for true fear, panic, satisfied when he doesn’t find it.

“My brave girl, I'm so proud of you.” he murmurs, urging you onto your back beside him on the couch, thighs slung over his. You grunt at the contact, raw ass meeting the cushion, but don’t complain. “You took that so well.”

“I d-did?”

“You did.” He’s good at this now, giving enough but not too much, honoring your need for slower steps. They’re the only way the mission will result in success. He rubs your feet, presses his thumbs into an arch as you whimper. You’re still slightly tense so he keeps going until you turn boneless, limp, taking his time, indulging in the quiet passing of time, a long moment spent with you. “Feel good?”

“Mmm, yeah…”

“Do you remember when I said you’d get a reward?” He keeps going, up your calves to your knees, working slow patterns around to the backside of your thighs before revisiting your feet, up and down, again and again until your relaxation starts to become something else, something that has you squirming.

“Y-yeah,” your exhale is shaky. You’re so responsive, already on edge just by some simple pressure, a light massage, and there’s a wet spot darkening your light blue panties.

“Are you a little sensitive?” He skates up toward your hip and across, dragging his fingertips under your shirt across your belly. You giggle. “Ticklish?”

“Um, y-yes.” He keeps going, squeezing, stroking your skin, dipping below the hem of your underwear carefully, testing your resistance. When there’s none, he goes further, and you buck into his touch, inadvertently sliding his fingers down to your pussy. “Oh.” Slick is seeping out between your folds, sticking to your underwear. You’re not just wet, you’re soaked, to the point where if he spanked your little cunt it’d splash.

“Oh baby, you’ve made a mess,” he grazes your seam and you grab his wrist, holding on tight, mouth moving with no sound coming out. He wants to see, wants to inspect, wants to memorize every inch of you, but he’s not sure if you’re ready, and you’ve never said it outright, but he knows you’re self conscious.

Still-

He splays his hand across your stomach. “Daddy wants to see your pussy sweet girl, can I look?” You shift nervously, but stare up into his eyes with so much trust it nearly kills him, finally nodding with your fingers gripping the couch cushions. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes daddy.”

“Such a good girl.” He rolls your underwear down to mid-thigh, mouth watering when dewy drops of slick web from the your lips to the cotton, curly hair soaking wet. Christ. Like this, he can’t spread you open, but just the smell of you alone has him leaking in his pants. “You’re so pretty baby, what a perfect, precious pussy.” He could tell you all the things you have to look forward to right now, break your brain a bit if he wanted. How he’s going to inspect you, train you, shave you, stretch you out, fill you up, plug you up, teach you about toys and edging and forced orgasms. Show you how perfect, how beautiful you are every single day, make sure you know it, all the way to your soul.

He can’t do any of that now, but he needs to go farther, a fiend for a fix. You’re already half laid over his lap, so it’s easy to grab your calves. “I’m going to fold your legs up a bit. Be still for me, there we go,” he bends you at the waist, flexing your knees outward to expose you, your hole, your bottom, cheeks glossy all the way to the couch. “Doin’ so well. Do you touch yourself?”

“Sometimes b-but I can’t always… finish.” Poor baby. He’s sure you get caught up in your head over it, trip yourself into losing the edge.

“That’s okay, daddy’s going to make sure you have plenty of orgasms from now on. Can you clench for me? Show daddy what your little hole looks like when it squeezes?” You choke on a breath but your pussy pulses. You’re tight enough he could hurt you, and even with all the prep, he knows the first time won’t be easy. “Has anyone ever been inside you?”

“Fingers. I’ve h-had two boyfriends, and they’ve… fingered me. And gone down but I didn’t really like it.” You whisper, and the possessive, obsessed monster in his heart comes alive. Fuck. You lock up. “Is that… is that bad?”

“No, baby, no.” He let the silence linger for too long and it ate at you, twisted your thoughts until they turned sour. His mistake. “I’m just thinking about how my cock is going to be the first one you ever take, and that makes daddy really happy.” First… and last. You suck in a sharp breath.

“Oh.” If he doesn’t put a pin in this immediately, he’s going to end up fucking you right here on the couch, far before you’re ready for him.

“You’ve been so good for me, are you ready for your reward?” You nod enthusiastically. So fucking cute. “That sounds good, doesn’t it?” He drags your panties back up to your hips and then sits you up as you blink, confused.

“What-”

“It’s okay, c’mere.” He leads you over his thigh, planting your knees on either side, encouraging you down until you’re sitting directly on his leg, vibrating. His little leaf in the wind.

“I d-don’t know… what to do.” He gently places his hands on your hips.

“I know, but you don’t have to worry, I'm going to teach you. I’m going to take away all that stuff in your head that makes it hard for you to orgasm sometimes.” You jerk, eyes rivaling a full moon, lips parted and panting already. “You’re wet, which means,” he slides you forward and you moan, “your little clit is swollen, your pussy wants to come.” You twitch in his hold, seeking friction. “When you touch yourself at home, do you feel how hard it is?” You nod, sinking down, looking for the relief. “That’s your clit poking its head out from its hood, looking for something to touch it, rub it, but you don’t always have to use your hands.” He leads you into a rhythm, grazing your neck with his teeth at the same time. “All you need to do is ride.” You follow his guidance, gliding against his jeans, wide eyes turning half lidded, picking up speed as sparks fly between your legs. You’re a drug, you’re his drug, a precious, rare, one in a million thing he’d burn the earth for. “Good girl, look at you, rubbing your pussy all over daddy’s thigh. Does it feel good?”

“Yes- ah,” you whimper, and he shakes his head.

“Yes who, baby.”

“Yes d-daddy, it feels so good, fu-” you bump the wide crown of his cock, hard and leaking down his pant leg, and screech to a stop. “I-is that…” He can’t resist taking your hand and spreading your palm over the length, soaking up your shocked expression.

“Yeah sweet girl. That’s daddy’s cock.” You’re still his little fawn, exploring on trembling legs, staring at him with your mouth hanging open, and he chuckles as he sticks his thumb in it. “Don’t worry. We’ll build up to it.” He pulls out of your mouth and slips his hand under your shirt, pinching your nipple. You hiss.

“Ow-” Leaning back with an arm behind his head, leg shoving upward, throwing you off balance just enough you have to hold onto his shoulders.

“Want me to show you what it’ll be like when I bounce you on my cock?”

“Um, uh... I’ll... I'll fall?” your brow furrows as you try to find a rhythm again.

“I’d never let you fall baby, I promise.” It’s a solemn vow. Wouldn’t let you fall here, or anywhere, ever, something you’ll learn in time.

He stabilizes you, hands back on your hips, and then picks up a steady pace, your fingernails digging into his forearms, clinging to him for dear life.

Just the way he likes it.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to glaze over, the effort of frantically trying to keep up with being bounced on his leg slowly turning into clumsy, desperate movements, shoving yourself down against him again and again, trying to find that sweet spot, the release you need.

The only correction you need is when your lashes flutter. “Keep your eyes open when you come for me. Always on me.” You nod, looking up at the last second as you go rigid, thighs trying to snap shut around his, and he keeps you in place as chase your orgasm. “There it is, what a good girl, coming on daddy,” your breath hitches, half moan, half twisted scream and he pets you soothingly, “That's it, ride it baby, ride it out for me.” You do until you’re in tatters, shuddering in his hold, wet cheeks pressed to his neck as he rocks you. “My perfect, sweet girl.” He lays you down, kisses the inside of your wrist when you refuse to let go. Tears are still flowing down your temples and into your hair, but he shoves away the side of him that wants to spread you wide and fuck you until there’s more.

You need something else now. He suspects this is the first time you've experienced something like this, an emotional release after an orgasm, emotions, tension, all of those things in your head, cut free and running rampant, spilling out of you to him, and it's his job to take them, carry them, life them from your shoulders.

He never gave aftercare a second thought when he was younger. Fuck and leave, that’s all it ever was until he realized how fulfilling it was to take something apart and put it back together, to give someone everything they need, control every aspect to ensure they were safe and happy and warm, comfortable all the way to their bones. He’s glad he discovered it before, all the trial and error long over, a methodical approach and understanding left in its place, just so he can give it all to you.

There’s a wet spot on his jeans from where you soaked all the way through, and he grabs a blanket over the back of the couch, tucking it in around your sides. When he tries to stand, you track him without breaking focus, still clinging to his shirt. "Shhh, easy. You're alright." he curls around you, blocks out the light, holds you tight to him and murmurs in your ear gently. "My sweet little berry girl, daddy's got you. I'm here."

You settle after a while, your cheeks drying, muscles relaxing, and he's finally able pull away. "I’m going to get you some water, and then when you’re ready, we’ll go get you in a bath and into some clean clothes.” He kisses your temple, breathing in the sex and sweat, tasting your tears. “Stay still, I'll be right back.” You nod sleepily. He’ll need to feed you too, and get some cream on your ass, but it’s one step at a time right now.

And he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

#peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #raspberry girl fic

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barnacles34 · 4 months ago

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Mutually Assured Destruction

Chaewon x Male Reader

Tags: Angst, Smut

9k words

The world is, simply put, against you.

You love Chaewon.

But you can't tell her. Not yet.

New York. Day twenty-one. The hotel hallway stretches before you, each step toward her room heavier than the last.

Your tie feels too tight, your collar suffocating—the uniform of an executive becoming the noose of a condemned man.

Three weeks of silence. Three weeks of seeing her across rooms, of catching her scent in empty elevators, of watching her perform while pretending she was nothing more than a company asset.

Three weeks of dying slowly.

You knock. The sound echoes in the empty corridor. One heartbeat. Two. The door opens.

Chaewon stands there, barefoot, in simple shorts and an oversized t-shirt. No makeup. No stage presence. Just her.

The most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

��You came,’ she whispers, like she still can't believe it.

You step inside, the door closing behind you with a soft click. The sound of the outside world being shut away.

For a moment, neither of you moves. Three feet of carpet between you might as well be an ocean.

Then she breaks, a dam of tears giving way after holding back too long. She crosses the distance, collides with you, arms wrapping around your waist, face buried in your chest.

‘I haven't seen you for 3 weeks,’ she mumbles against your jacket, her voice cracking, fighting tears that are already falling.

You want to speak, but your throat closes. Her name forms in your mind—a prayer, a plea.

Chaewon.

Her fingers clutch at your jacket, desperate, like you might disappear if she loosens her grip.

‘I am so unhappy,’ she whispers, the words muffled against the fabric.

Your hand moves of its own accord, finding the back of her head, cradling it gently. Her hair is soft between your fingers, just as you'd dreamed during those endless nights alone.

Chaewon!

‘I am so stupid,’ she continues, her whole body trembling. ‘Dear, I cannot live without you. You know this.’

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her face tear-streaked, eyes red-rimmed and vulnerable. She's so close now, her cheek just an inch from yours, her breath warm against your skin.

You dare not look directly at her—afraid that if you do, all your carefully constructed walls will crumble.

Instead, your gaze falls to her shoulder, exposed where the sweater has slipped. Her skin is like milk, almost translucent in the soft hotel light, with that hint of pink beneath that makes her seem both fragile and impossibly alive.

Oh, you want her so badly.

The weight of the past bears down on you. When you were younger, life felt limitless—an odyssey of possibility stretching endlessly before you.

But youth is a loan that must be repaid. Each choice carries consequences. Each victory seemingly increasing the magnitude of future defeat.

How strange to realize you can barely remember the person you were before all this. Before her.

It's as if you've been playing a role for so long—the ambitious executive, the company man—that you've forgotten who you really are.

Her hands move to your face, fingertips gentle against your jaw, tilting your gaze to meet hers.

‘Look at me,’ she whispers. ‘Please.’

You do, and it undoes you. The nakedness of her emotion. The love written so plainly across her features.

‘I love you,’ she says, the words hanging in the air between you. ‘I've always loved you.’

Everything in you wants to say it back. To cross that final line.

To throw away everything—your career, your reputation, your carefully constructed life—just to hold her without fear.

But you can't. Not because you don't love her, but because loving her means protecting her. And right now, loving her means waiting.

‘Not yet,’ you whisper, the words catching in your throat as you brush away a tear from her cheek with your thumb. ‘Not yet.’

The pain in her eyes is unbearable. But there's understanding there too, buried beneath the hurt.

She leans forward, resting her forehead against your chest.

‘How much longer?’ she asks, her voice small.

You have no answer. Only the weight of what stands between you—the company, the threats, the world that has decided your love is forbidden.

Your mouth feels clamped shut, your vocal cords frozen, your eyes burning with tears you refuse to shed.

In the end, you say nothing more.

You hold her for one more moment, committing to memory the weight of her in your arms, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against yours.

Then you let go. Turn away. Walk to the door.

And leave.

—

Chaewon's Diary - May 15, 2025

I cannot remember feeling this way before. The emotions are too new, too raw to categorize.

Rejection should feel bitter. Should taste like failure. Instead, it tasted like promise.

I stood before him, heart exposed, only to hear those two impossible words: ‘Not yet.’

Not never. Not no. Not goodbye.

Not yet.

I should have been humiliated. Should have been angry. Instead, when he brushed the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs, I felt known. Truly seen, perhaps for the first time.

When he uttered

‘Not yet’

I felt warm. Happy.

How am I so happy for rejection?

I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch, memorizing the feeling of his hands on my face, his breath mingling with mine.

Before him, I had never felt the touch of someone who could see past my surface, past the idol, past the carefully crafted image.

I want him.

I know with absolute certainty: No other man will touch my heart for as long as I live.

I will wait, forever and longer.

Not yet.

—

3 Weeks Ago - April 25, 2025

You were staring at a spreadsheet when Chaewon walked in without knocking.

'Hey,' she said.

You kept typing. 'Hey.'

She stood there for a second too long before sitting down across from you. Put her coffee on your desk. The ice shifted.

'So.'

'So,' you echoed, still not looking up.

'You eat yet?'

'What?'

'Food. Have you had any?'

You glanced at your watch. It was almost 8. 'No.'

'Me neither,' she said. 'We should fix that.'

You finally looked at her. She was wearing the same clothes from the morning meeting, but her makeup had that slightly smudged quality of someone who'd been awake too long.

'I've got to finish this,' you said.

'No you don't.'

'I do, actually.'

She sighed. 'Will the company collapse if you don't do it right this second?'

'That's not the point.'

'That's exactly the point.' She tapped your desk with her fingernail. 'Come on. Food. A real restaurant. Thirty minutes.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Liar.'

You almost smiled. 'I have work.'

'Work will still be there.' She didn't blink. 'Food might not.'

'That makes no sense.'

'I know. Just come anyway.'

You looked at your laptop, then back at her. She had that expression, the one that said she wouldn't leave until she got her way.

'Thirty minutes.'

She grinned. 'Look at you, making healthy choices.'

'Don't push it.'

The elevator ride was quiet. Not uncomfortable, just quiet. You both watched the numbers change.

'Where are we going?' you asked.

'Place down the street.'

'What kind of place?'

'The kind with food.' She glanced at you. 'You allergic to anything?'

'No.'

'Good.' She seemed satisfied with that.

Outside, the air felt different. Heavier. Like it might rain again.

'So is this like, a work thing, or...' you trailed off.

'Or what?'

'I don't know. You asked me to dinner.'

'Yeah.'

'So I'm just trying to understand what this is.'

She almost laughed. 'It's food. That's all. Don't overthink it.'

'I'm not overthinking.'

'You overthink everything. It's your whole deal.'

'That's not fair.'

'Probably not—but hey, fair character assessment is a luxury these days.' she giggled.

You huffed under your breath.

You walked together, not quite in step. The city moved around you—people leaving work, heading home, living lives that had nothing to do with quarterly reports or dance practices.

The restaurant was small. Unassuming. No sign outside, just a door between two other businesses.

'Here?' you asked.

'Yeah. Problem?'

'No. Just not what I expected.'

'What did you expect?'

You shrugged. 'Something with a line outside. Trending on Instagram.'

'Wow.' She held the door for you. 'You really don't know me at all.'

Inside was dimly lit. Maybe fifteen tables. Half of them occupied. No one looked up when you entered.

You followed her to a table near the back. Sat down across from her. The menus were just single sheets of paper.

'I come here a lot,' she said. 'After practice sometimes. When I don't want to go back to the dorm.'

'They don't recognize you?'

'They do. They just don't care.' She looked at the menu even though she probably had it memorized. 'That's why I like it.'

The waiter came over. Older guy, maybe fifty. Nodded at Chaewon like he'd seen her yesterday.

'The usual?' he asked her.

'Yeah. Thanks.'

He looked at you.

'Uh,' you fumbled with the menu. 'What's good?'

'Steak,' Chaewon said. 'You like steak, right? You seem like a steak guy.'

'Sure.'

'Medium rare?'

'Medium.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Of course.'

The waiter left. You fidgeted with your napkin.

'You really come here a lot?' you asked.

'Couple times a month.'

'Alone?'

'Usually.'

'Why?'

She looked at you like she was deciding whether to give you a real answer or not. 'Because no one bothers me. Because the food's good. Because sometimes I need to remember I'm still just a person.'

'And your members don't come?'

'They have their own places.' She took a sip of water. 'We don't actually do everything together, you know.'

'Right.'

'You sound surprised.'

'Not surprised. Just...' you couldn't find the right word.

'It's fine. People always think we're this perfect unit. Always together, always in sync.' She traced a pattern on the tablecloth with her finger. 'It's not like that.'

'What's it like?'

'It's like any job. You work with people. You care about them. But you still need your own space sometimes.'

'That makes sense.'

'Does it? You seem like the type who'd live at the office if they'd let you.'

You almost denied it, then didn't. 'Fair point.'

The food came faster than you expected. Her pasta. Your steak. Simple stuff, but it smelled good.

'This isn't exactly what I pictured when you said dinner,' you admitted.

'What did you picture?'

'I don't know. Something more...'

'Fancy?'

'Maybe.'

She shrugged. 'I sit in enough fancy restaurants for work. This is better.'

You took a bite of steak. It was actually good. Really good.

'Not bad,' you said.

'High praise.'

'It is, from me.'

'I know.' She twirled pasta around her fork. 'So, can I ask you something?'

'You just did.'

'Ha ha.' She didn't look amused. 'Seriously though.'

'Go ahead.'

'Do you actually like what you do? Your job?'

You considered bullshitting, then didn't. 'Sometimes.'

'Which parts?'

'The quiet ones. When I'm working on something complicated and it's just me and the problem.' You cut another piece of steak. 'You?'

'Performing. Being on stage. The three minutes where nothing else matters.' She didn't hesitate. 'Everything else is just... stuff I do so I can have those moments.'

'That's a lot of stuff for three minutes.'

'Yeah.' She looked down at her food, prodding with a dash of frustration. 'Yeah, it is.'

You ate in silence for a minute. Not awkward, just... thinking silence.

'Can I ask you something now?' you said.

'Sure.'

'Why'd you ask me to dinner? Really?'

She poked at her pasta. 'I don't know. You looked like you needed it.'

'That's it?'

'Does there have to be more?'

'Usually is.'

She sighed. 'Look, I've sat through enough meetings with you to know you skip lunch most days. And I saw your car in the parking garage at midnight last week when I was leaving the practice room. And then today, you looked...' she gestured vaguely at your face.

'I looked what?'

'Empty-tired, not the usual tiredness you wear on your face. You know?'

You weren't sure what to say to that.

'Anyway,' she continued. 'It's just dinner. It's not that deep.'

'Right.'

'Right,' she echoed.

The silence that followed should have been uncomfortable. But it wasn't, really. Just quiet.

'It's good,' you finally said, gesturing to your plate. 'The food.'

'Told you.'

'You did.'

She smiled, just slightly. 'I'm right about a lot of things.'

'I'll reserve judgment on that.'

'Smart.' She took a sip of water. 'So... was this weird? Me asking you to dinner?'

You thought about it. 'A little.'

'Sorry.'

'Don't be. Weird isn't bad.'

She nodded. 'No, it's not.'

The rest of the meal was easier. You talked about nothing important. Work, a little. Music she was listening to. A book you'd been meaning to read but hadn't found time for. Normal stuff that normal people probably talked about all the time.

When the check came, you reached for it.

'I got it,' she said.

'You invited me.'

'Exactly.'

'That's not how it works.'

'Says who?' She grabbed the check before you could. 'Too slow, Mr. Executive.'

Outside, the air felt damp. Like it had rained while you were eating, or was about to.

'Which way you headed?' she asked.

You pointed vaguely east.

'I'm that way too. For a few blocks, anyway.'

You walked together. Not too close. Just two people who happened to be going the same direction.

'Thanks,' you said after a minute.

'For what?'

'Dinner.'

'Was it terrible?'

'No.'

'High praise,' she said again.

'I mean it. It was... nice.'

'Wow. Nice. I'm flattered.'

'Shut up.'

She laughed. Not her public laugh, the perfect one from interviews. A real one, slightly too loud.

'You know what?' she said.

'What?'

'You're not as scary as they say.'

'Who says I'm scary?'

'Everyone.' She kicked a small stone on the sidewalk. 'The whole office. The interns call you The Terminator.'

'They do not.'

'They absolutely do.' She grinned. 'But I'll keep your secret.'

'What secret?'

'That you're actually just a regular person who works too much.'

'I don't work too much.'

'Sureeee.' She stopped walking. 'This is me.'

You looked up at her building. Nice but not flashy. 'This is you.'

'Yeah.' She rocked back on her heels slightly. 'So.'

'So.'

'Thanks for coming.'

'Thanks for asking.'

She looked like she might say something else, then didn't. Just nodded. 'See you tomorrow.'

'See you tomorrow.'

She turned, walked toward her door. You should have left then. Just turned and walked away.

Instead, you watched her go. Watched as she paused at the entrance, like maybe she was going to look back.

She didn't.

And that was fine. Better, probably.

You turned and walked home, feeling something you couldn't quite name. Not happiness, exactly. But maybe something close to it. Something adjacent.

Like maybe for the first time in a long time, you'd been a person instead of a position. And maybe that was enough.

—

Chaewon's Diary - April 25, 2025

It's stupid to write this down. Dangerous, probably.

I love him.

I tried not to. Made lists of reasons why I shouldn't. His position. My career. The company. The members. The fans.

The lists didn't help.

I tried imagining my life without him in it. Moving companies. Going solo. Leaving the country. None of it worked because he'd still exist somewhere. I'd still know he was out there.

It's not that I need him. I was fine before him. I'll be fine after, I guess.

But I don't want to be.

I love the way he focuses when he reads reports. How he thinks no one notices when he's tired. How he pretends not to care about things but always remembers details about everyone.

I love how he never says more than he needs to. How he leaves room for silence.

I love that he came to dinner with me. That he let himself be normal for one night.

If he doesn't love me back, that's okay.

But I think sometimes… maybe he could.

—

Morning hit you like a truck.

Your phone was buzzing. Had been buzzing. You fumbled for it, eyes still closed.

Missed call. Another. Another. Another.

You squinted at the screen.

9 missed calls from your manager. 4 from some board member. 8 from numbers you didn't recognize.

The time was 7:12 AM.

More buzzing. Texts now. Emails.

You sat up, suddenly very awake.

First text: a link. You clicked it.

"COMPANY CEO AND IDOL MEMBER CAUGHT ON SECRET DATE"

There was a photo. You and Chaewon at the restaurant. Her laughing. You almost smiling. It looked... not innocent.

More links.

"SOURCE CONFIRMS: CEO AND KIM CHAEWON 'MORE THAN PROFESSIONAL'"

"INSIDER: 'THEY'VE BEEN HIDING IT FOR MONTHS'"

You felt sick. Scrolled back through your notifications, mind racing.

Then you saw it. Late-night texts from Chaewon.

1:12 AM

don't freak out when you wake up

someone took pictures at the restaurant

it's already online i'm sorry

1:14 AM

my manager is losing it

company PR called an emergency meeting

they're saying we can't talk to each other

1:27 AM

they want me to say it was just a work dinner

that we barely know each other

is that what you want me to say?

1:41 AM

i can't sleep this is so stupid

we didn't do anything wrong

1:55 AM

maybe we did though

maybe i did

1:56 AM

i've never told you this

never thought i would need to

1:58 AM

i love you

i think i have for a long time

i just never saw the point in saying it

it seemed impossible

2:01 AM

i'm sorry you didn't need this

not now not with everything else

2:03 AM

forget i said anything blame the dinner on me

i'll fix this

Your phone started ringing again. Board chairman.

You let it ring.

Read the texts again. And again.

The world was imploding around you, your career possibly in flames, and all you could think about was that last message.

i love you

Your thumb hovered over the screen. What could you possibly say now? What was left to say when everything had already changed?

The phone kept ringing.

—

The boardroom was too bright. Fluorescent lights reflecting off the polished table where twelve men in identical suits sat judging you.

You'd always seen success as a game with simple rules. Work harder. Think faster. Never look back. That's how you climbed here—by treating everything as disposable.

Turns out you were wrong.

You weren't disposable. Chaewon wasn't disposable. Whatever had grown between you wasn't disposable.

But they were treating it like it was.

‘The optics are unacceptable,’ said the Vice Chairman, his voice clinical. ‘A senior executive and an idol? The media is already spinning narratives.’

You watched his mouth move but barely heard the words. Your phone weighed heavy in your pocket. Her message burned into your mind.

i love you i always have

‘Are you listening?’ Someone was addressing you directly now.

‘Yes,’ you lied.

The Chairman leaned forward. ‘We've spent a decade building this company's reputation. We won't let one indiscretion destroy it.’

Indiscretion. As if dinner between two people was a crime.

‘We've developed a containment strategy,’ said the PR director, sliding folders across the table. You didn't open yours. ‘First, no contact with Kim Chaewon. None. Effective immediately.’

Your jaw tightened.

‘Second, you'll accompany Le Sserafim to America. Three weeks of promotional activities. You'll be positioned as overseeing the company's international expansion. Professional distance will be maintained at all times.’

You looked around the table. Not a single sympathetic face.

‘What happens to Chaewon?’ you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

‘She'll be fine,’ said the Chairman dismissively. ‘As long as this situation is managed correctly.’

‘And if it isn't?’

The question hung in the air. Someone cleared their throat.

‘Then her position in the group becomes untenable,’ said the A&R director finally. ‘The other members shouldn't suffer for her... complications.’

Complications. That's what they called her now. Not their star performer. Not the artist who'd brought in millions. A complication.

‘So that's the deal,’ you said flatly. ‘I go to America. Stay away from her. Keep my job.’

‘Precisely.’

‘And if I refuse?’

The Chairman's smile didn't reach his eyes. ‘Then you both lose everything.’

Simple as that. A business decision.

Your mind flashed to Chaewon. How she looked at dinner. How easily she laughed. The way she really saw you when no one else bothered to look.

For two years, she'd been the one constant. The one person who grew on you.

‘Do we have an understanding?’ the Chairman pressed.

Someone was speaking. You realized it was you.

‘I understand perfectly.’

Everything felt unreal. As if you were a mirage of yourself, observing yourself in the most dire situation.

‘Good. Your flight leaves tomorrow night. The PR team has prepared statements for both of you. Stick to the script.’

They moved on. Budget projections. Q3 forecasts. As if they hadn't just hollowed you out completely.

You sat there, a model of composure. Inside, something was breaking, tearing along a fault line you hadn't known existed until Chaewon walked into your office and asked you to dinner.

The meeting ended. Men in suits filed out, crisis averted.

You remained seated, staring at your reflection in the polished table.

Tomorrow you'd fly to America. You'd watch Chaewon from across rooms, pretend she was nothing to you. You'd do it because the alternative would destroy her.

Your phone buzzed once. A text.

It wasn't from her. It couldn't be. They'd already gotten to her.

You checked anyway.

From your assistant: ‘Car is waiting whenever you're ready, sir.’

You stood up. Straightened your tie. Gathered the folder you never opened.

They thought they'd won. Thought they'd contained the problem.

They didn't understand.

They'd taken everything from you except the one thing that mattered—the knowledge that somewhere in this building was a woman who loved you. Had always loved you.

And for the first time, you were certain you loved her too.

—

You left the boardroom, a hollow shell of yourself.

America. No Chaewon. For three weeks.

They called it mercy. You called it execution.

The flight to Los Angeles stretched endlessly, your thoughts circling like vultures. You didn't sleep. Couldn't. The empty seat beside you an accusation.

Your phone vibrated as the plane touched down.

11:42 PM

landed safe?

Chaewon.

You stared at her message until the screen dimmed, then went black. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

They couldn't monitor texts, could they? Were they watching?

You couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk her.

No response.

The California sun felt wrong on your skin. Too bright, too insistent. Your hotel suite overlooked the Pacific. Endless blue that reminded you of nothing but distance.

Day Three.

8:17 AM

meetings are boring without you to glare at everyone

8:19 AM

the new intern asked where you went

8:22 AM

i told her you were saving the american branch from themselves

You almost smiled. Almost.

No response.

The American executives treated you like royalty. A king in exile. Their offices were too bright, their coffee too bitter, their laughter too loud. You moved through meetings like a ghost, present but never there.

Day Five.

3:04 AM

can't sleep

3:05 AM

is it the time difference or is it just

3:11 AM

never mind

What would you say if you could? That you lay awake too, staring at hotel ceilings, replaying her confession like a film you couldn't pause?

No response.

You worked eighteen-hour days. Not because the work required it, but because your empty room was unbearable. The silence that you once called home—incomplete.

Day Seven.

1:47 PM

there's a rumor you're never coming back

1:48 PM

tell me that's not true

1:52 PM

please

The last word felt like a knife between your ribs. Please. As if you had a choice. As if any of this was within your control.

No response.

The days blurred. You functioned on autopilot, your mind perpetually seventeen hours ahead, in Seoul, where she was.

Day Nine.

5:31 PM

they announced the showcase dates

5:32 PM

we're coming to LA next week

5:33 PM

will you be there?

Le Sserafim. Coming to Los Angeles. Of course. The universe's cruelest joke—to bring her so close, yet keep her untouchable.

No response.

You attended dinners. Networking events. Smiled when appropriate. Spoke when necessary. No one noticed how your eyes constantly swept rooms, searching for threats that weren't there.

Day Twelve.

10:17 AM

we leave tomorrow

10:18 AM

i know you can't answer

10:25 AM

but please, if you can

10:26 AM

be there

They must have warnings in place. Her messages carried the weight of someone being careful—someone who knew the stakes.

No response.

Le Sserafim arrived with the usual fanfare. Cameras flashing. Fans screaming. You watched from the periphery as she emerged from the airport terminal, perfect smile in place, waving to the crowd.

She didn't look for you. Knew better than that.

But you saw the tension in her shoulders. The way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes; not quite the smile she had when she swiped up some of your steak.

Day Fourteen.

No messages.

You checked your phone obsessively. Refreshed the screen until the battery drained to critical. Nothing.

The silence was worse than any words could have been.

The showcase venue was packed—a sea of lightsticks and expectant faces. You stood in the shadows of the VIP section, surrounded by American executives who had no idea you were breaking apart inside.

Le Sserafim performed flawlessly. Of course they did. Chaewon shone like a star brought to earth—her voice clear, her movements precise, her smile blinding.

Not once did her eyes search the crowd. Not once did she falter.

Professional to her core.

You left before the final song. Couldn't bear another moment of proximity without contact.

In your hotel room, you drank two fingers of whiskey and watched the city lights blur through the window.

Your phone remained silent.

Day Sixteen.

You were leaving a restaurant when you saw her.

Across the street, surrounded by managers and security. The group heading into a high-end boutique.

Your driver opened your car door, but you stood frozen, watching as she disappeared inside the shop.

She didn't see you.

When you returned to your hotel, you found a message.

7:03 PM

i saw you today

7:04 PM

you looked tired

You stared at the screen, heart hammering against your ribs.

No response.

Day Nineteen.

The final showcase. The final night in Los Angeles. Tomorrow, Le Sserafim would fly to New York. You would follow a day later.

You sat in the back row, hidden in shadow. Watched her perform for the last time on American soil.

She was transcendent.

Afterward, you slipped backstage under the pretense of congratulating the team. Your company's biggest assets. Your professional obligation.

She stood with the other members, accepting praise from American executives. Smiling. Nodding. Perfect.

Your eyes met across the room.

One second. Two.

Then she looked away, her expression never changing.

But you saw it—the slight tremble of her hand at her side.

Back in your hotel room, your phone lit up.

8:30 PM

i miss you

8:31 PM

i know i shouldn't say that

8:31 PM

i know i shouldn't even text you

8:32 PM

but i can't do this anymore

8:32 PM

please say something

Your chest tightened. Three weeks of silence, and now this—her desperation breaking through, risking everything.

You stared at the screen, knowing what you should do. Delete. Ignore. Follow the rules that kept her safe.

Instead, your fingers moved.

8:35 PM

The coffee in LA is terrible.

A pause. You could almost see her confusion.

8:36 PM

what?

8:37 PM

that's what you have to say?

You smiled faintly. Even the way you message her—capitalized first letters—is unique from hers.

8:38 PM

I hear New York's is better

Might try it when I get there

8:40 PM

when will you be in new york?

8:41 PM

Tomorrow.

8:41 PM

Early flight.

You weren't supposed to be on tomorrow's flight. You were meant to follow a day later. Keep the distance. Maintain the separation they'd enforced.

8:42 PM

you changed your flight?

8:43 PM

Figured I should see the Empire State Building.

8:43 PM

Heard the view is worth the risk.

Your heart pounded. The careful wording. The hidden meaning. Saying everything without saying anything that could truly incriminate either of you.

8:45 PM

there's a small coffee shop

8:45 PM

by the hotel

8:46 PM

i was planning to go there

8:46 PM

after tomorrow's rehearsal

8:47 PM

around 4

A plan. Hidden in casual conversation.

8:48 PM

Sounds like a good place for coffee.

8:49 PM

it is

8:49 PM

they say it's quiet

8:50 PM

not many people know about it

8:51 PM

I like quiet.

The conversation was innocent enough on the surface. Anyone reading would see nothing but meaningless chatter about coffee.

But between the lines: a plan. A meeting. A rebellion.

8:53 PM

i have to go

8:53 PM

sakura is calling

8:54 PM

don't forget to try the coffee

8:54 PM

it's been too long since you had a good cup

You stared at those last words. The double meaning clear.

8:55 PM

I won't forget.

You deleted the conversation. She would do the same.

But the promise remained.

Tomorrow. New York. 4 PM.

Day Twenty-one would break the rules. Day Twenty-one would change everything.

—

You got to the airport before the others. Boarded the flight before the others. Got the first class treatment that the board thinks you like.

The whole seat had a door. You closed it just in case you saw Chaewon. In case you lost it.

Despite it all, you knew she was there, the wisp of her soft perfume serenaded you even through thick mahogany wood panels—through the opulence of first class.

You kept your eyes fixed on your laptop screen. Work emails you couldn't focus on. Words blurring together as your mind fixed on one thought:

Tomorrow. 4 PM. Her hotel.

The ‘coffee shop’ wasn't a coffee shop at all. You both knew that. A code thin enough that anyone monitoring would see through it, yet plausible enough to maintain deniability.

The flight attendant asked if you wanted champagne. You declined. Asked for water instead. Needed a clear head.

Five hours trapped in a metal tube, knowing she was just rows behind you. Five hours of pretending the center of your universe wasn't within reach.

Your phone buzzed. A text from the Chairman.

‘Landing at JFK ahead of Le Sserafim. Good optics. Keep distance in New York. Almost done.’

Almost done. The words echoed.

Twenty days down. One more to go.

Tomorrow, at 4 PM, you would break every rule they had set. You would go to her hotel. You would see her—really see her—for the first time in three weeks.

And then what?

You had no plan beyond that moment. No strategy for what came after. The executive who planned everything had no contingency for this. A hollow cadaver. Waning the flames that could be easily put if you just resisted.

If only.

The plane took off, carrying you toward New York. Toward her. Toward whatever came next.

You closed your eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. All you could think about was her text:

i miss you

Three small words that had unraveled three weeks of carefully maintained distance.

Three small words that weren't the three words you couldn't stop thinking about since that night:

i love you

—

After you left her hotel room, after you hugged her, after you saw her face up close—dangerously close to kissing her—everything collapsed once more. The dregs of your hope were gone once again: You wanted only her. Only her.

You walked past the hallway, trying not to look suspicious under the camera—which, to be frank, was impossible.

And pressed the keycard onto the door, as suspiciously as possible, and entered. With your back to the closed door, you pulled out your phone and messaged her.

4:07 PM

Let’s meet again

4:08 PM

where?

4:08 PM

On the rooftop

4:09 PM

i miss you

4:10 PM

You just saw me.

4:10 PM

i know

4:11 PM

Hang in there.

Chaewon.

4:11 PM

i like it when you say my name.

4:12 PM

Chaewon, this can end your career.

4:12 PM

i dont care.

i want you.

only you.

You slid down the door and sat. With your phone still in hand.

You’re about to risk everything. Was it love that meant protecting her forever? Was it love that meant you couldn’t still yourself for a month or a year, wait, and wait, until she’s finally free?

Damn it all.

—

Chaewon’s Diary—Part 2 of May 15, 2025

He wants to meet me. On the rooftop.

Why?

Is he gonna kiss me? Is he gonna reject me once more?

Was it even a rejection in the first place? He promised. He promised. Oh god, my head hurts, I can’t think of anything.

All I can think of is him. My executive.

—

As the sun turns orange in its preparation for slumber, you make your way to the rooftop of the hotel. The elevator chimes, almost too loud, and you enter with a towel on-hand. There’s moments where the shiver runs through your entire body—not out of being scared, but of the possibility of seeing Chaewon again.

The elevator reaches the top floor. And in your hopes of not seeing anyone there, you were vindicated. No one. Nobody. Just a heated pool with the bougiest accommodations possible.

Thank the heavens, you thought.

Now it’s time to patiently wait, to not gnaw through your teeth like it’s cardboard in anticipation (which is easier said than done).

Regardless, you waited, sitting on one of the chairs, overlooking the sunset. The breeze was chilly, but nothing that you couldn’t endure.

So you waited.

But just for a moment, you closed your eyes.

—

‘Silly.’

Your eyes opened.

There she was. Chaewon. In all her glory

In the 2 hours you haven’t seen her, when the sun gained its slightly orange tint, she’s progressed into something like a goddess. Brown bob-cut, a perfect face…. Perfection incarnate.

‘You fell asleep.’

‘Oh.’ That’s about all you could get out; too busy staring at her.

‘I missed you.’

‘It’s been 2 hours.’

‘I know.’

‘You’re about to risk everything.

‘I know.’

‘Your career. Your… everything.’

‘You are my everything.’ She replies—climbing on top of you. Crystalline tears formed around the rims of her eyes.

‘Chaewon. Please.’

‘There’s nothing quite like this… hm?’ She says, amused at how doomed everything seemed to be.

‘Fighting against inevitability.’ You continue. Pressing your thumbs against her cheekbones once again, where tears flow once again.

‘I’m so selfish.’

‘Don’t say that. Don’t say that… I am too.’

‘I thought if I avoided you. Long enough. Maybe, just maybe, we would’ve had a better chance. Look at me now, on you, risking everything.’

She softly collapsed on your chest, huffing her tears. And you spread your palm along her soft hair, this perfect hair.

‘You are so beautiful. Chaewon.’

‘I love you.’

Perhaps this is where it all topples. The final wall, once a 100-story skyscraper, reduced to mere ruins.

And you kiss her; grab the nape of her neck and press yourself closer to the kiss. Her lips. Her soft moans. Little squeals.

Fuck.

You press yourself against the hotness of her mouth. Her velvety mouth crossed along your own. An apprehensive rush to it—oxymoron be damned—you wanted everything Chaewon—while not crossing any lines.

Despite it all, Chaewon’s soft hands ventured forth to your arms, grasped them tight and placed them right along her thin waist.

She wants it.

She wants you.

And that just about does it.

You release just for a bit. Look at her half-lidded eyes, seemingly, under pure bliss.

‘If we continue…’ You say, each syllable harder than the previous. The fact that you’re here, kissing Chaewon, feeling her body, just as you dreamed, just as you wished for all time—makes it harder to think of all the consequences.

The impending doom—so to speak.

‘You idiot.’ She replies.

‘What?’

‘I’ve risked everything and more to be here with you right now. And you think I’ll flake out now? Of all times—now?’

You laugh, so close to her mouth; you stare at her, and she’s attempting eyebrow-knitted frustration that’s more cute than anything else.

‘You’re so cute.’

‘Oh shut up.’

‘You’re everything to me.’

‘...So are you.’

Her eyes glisten something transcendent and she moves to kiss you again. That velvety soft mouth, of mint, of something fruity.

Pure bliss.

‘I want you.’ She squeaks out, between the kisses.

‘You have me.’ You reply, accidentally bumping teeth. Soft laughter ensues.

She’s so soft against your palms—the small of her back, the tightness of her waist, the bump of her bra-strap. Inbetween it all, moaning something sweet into your mouth. She releases just for a second, catching a glimpse of you; her lips are all kiss-bitten and swollen, soft and supple; ‘We’re two walking cadavers, you know.’

‘Lust and learning Chaewon. That’s all there is to it.’

Instead of a quick and bratty reply—

‘That’s true.’

Her lips land on yours once again. Flight and apprehensive, her thin arms wrap around you like you’re something to lose: tight enough that you know she’s there.

Her meek body is warm against you—just a shroud of clothing between your hand and her milky skin. You needed her. Wanted her more. An indulgence that satiation could barely meet.

So you flip her over; on this thin pool chair, a little bougie, Chaewon was splayed across.

And god.

It was all worth it. Your executive position on standstill—bound for execution. Your impending exile. All of it.

White t-shirt, thin shorts, and just a smidgen of make-up—lip-stick all smudged along her plump lips.

Being away for just a second was tantamount to hell: You dived in. Her body felt so docile and meek under you—squirming along your hot touch. Surround your thick arms around her thin waist, let her back bend in response, feel her stomach press upon you as you kiss her into the pool chair—little soft squeals the guiding light to it all.

Her hands ventured low to bunch up her t-shirt, and you helped her; really, you wanted to press on her soft naked abdomen, venture up to her naked sternum, feeling the soft naked swell of her—

Her t-shirt slipped off quickly, and there laid her gorgeous torso.

You pressed kisses along her collarbone; just enough pressure to leave a mark there for days.

Just in case, you say, don’t forget me, just for a day or two.

You press softer kisses along the softer flesh below her collarbone, feeling her skin, really conceptualizing that she’s there. Really fucking there. And you laugh, under your breath; as if Chaewon knew exactly what you were thinking, her palm lands right on your cheek—softly grazing.

‘I’m here.’

‘Right. Right.’

Gain composure. This goddess awaits you.

So you venture forth. Along her neck muscle, the soft tendon that trembles under your kiss, the loose skin that gets her squirming under you, muscles tensing. Just below her jaw, you suck on her skin, tight, really tight, until you’re sure that there’s a welting hickey right there.

You observe how the red blooms, slowly gaining almost a purple hue. Nothing could cover that.

‘You’re really asking to be caught.’ She says, almost satisfied you left a mark on her.

‘Are you gonna cover it?’

‘Why would I cover what you give me?’ Her expression is pure seduction. Aphrodite incarnate.

Again, your world exploded.

You kiss her rougher this time. Muss up her hair. Venture beneath her waist. Pull at her firm thighs. Hands venture along the sides of her, your cold fingertips get her softly squirming beneath your touch—shimmers of gooseflesh rising along the delicate curves of her side, right under your fingertips.

The bronze sun shimmers off her torso as something like a masterpiece—faint shadows articulated along her perfect body—different orange, yellow hues bouncing off and enhancing the swells and curves and everything she had.

You pull her waist softly to get it bent again, venturing underneath, feeling her spine; venturing along her spine, the soft swell of it all—she’s here, she wants you, all 2 years of it condensed into this moment.

The bra-strap hits you like a reminder that her bosom was hidden beneath, the gentle swells and curves all a devious hint at what lay under.

So you clip it.

She shivers at the realization. The clip was off. And your hands automatically moved to take it off completely.

Her arms softly push together her torso: Displaying the treasure that laid before you.

Beautiful bronze peaks.

God.

God!

‘Ready the funeral wreaths for me. Chaewon.’

She scoffs. Then a soft laugh choked her up.

Your two hands softly teased the sides of her breasts; the way it surrendered to the slightest force; you ventured across her swell, feeling the desperate softness of her naked breasts. All while kissing her desperately. Your hands felt up and down, side-to-side, until she squirmed for relief: That’s when your fingers brushed over her perfect nipples.

And you had to look.

The way she shivered. God. Biting the side of her index finger. Moaning. Soft. Squealing even as you watched her carefully. The way her tongue traced a wet line along her lips—goading you, Aphrodite.

Your kiss ventured down, the soft tendon of her neck, the firm sternum.

Then finally—her breasts.

You kiss the soft skin.

Circling it.

The part that needed relief.

Teasing her. Even if the perpetuity of a multi-billion dollar company finding a way to bury you was crushing, her presence relieved it all.

Latched on.

‘Ahhh~’

‘Music to my ears.’

‘Oh shut up.’

‘Gladly.’

You dug in. Breaths became rigidly quick. Your other hand massaged the other breast. The nipple between your teeth got the most beautiful notes out of her.

By the time you stopped, her entire body shook.

‘Did you just cum?’

Her weak arm fell softly on your chest—apparently—a punch.

‘No.’

A sick grin grew on you, and you wrapped your arms around her; kissing her jawline.

‘You really did cum.’

Before you could do anything, her two hands squished your cheeks together.

‘Take responsibility.’

Trapped between her two small hands, you laugh. ‘I know. I know.’ A soft kiss on her sweat-slick forehead.

Your smirk lingers as you press another kiss against her temple. ‘You’ve got some nerve, you know that?’

Chaewon shifts slightly, resting her chin on your shoulder. ‘Nerve?’ she echoes, voice still breathless.

‘You climbed on top of me, seduced me, came just from me playing with your tits…’ Your hands wander, sliding down the dip of her back, feeling the heat of her skin. ‘And now you’re telling me to take responsibility?’

She hums, fingers tracing light, absentminded shapes on your chest. ‘Mmm. That’s right.’

You chuckle against her perfumed hair—sweet, fruity. ‘And what exactly does ‘taking responsibility’ mean to you?’

Her lips barely brush your ear as she murmurs, ‘It means you don’t stop until I can’t think straight.’

Your breath catches.

And then, you’re moving.

With a swift motion, you flip her onto her back, her body bouncing slightly against the lounge chair. She gasps, eyes wide for only a second before a slow, knowing grin spreads across her lips.

‘Too much?’ you tease, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand.

Chaewon shakes her head, cheeks flushed, wrists tightening. ‘Not even close.’

You take a moment to admire her like this—laid out beneath you, messy hair spread out over the cushion, lips still kiss-bitten and swollen. Her chest rises and falls with anticipation, and her legs shift restlessly against yours, already needing more.

‘I love this look on you,’ you murmur, tracing your free hand down her side. ‘All desperate and needy.’

Feigning offense, ‘I am not needy.’

‘Oh?’ Your fingers dance along the waistband of her shorts, teasing, not quite moving further. ‘Then what do you call this?’

She squirms. Just slightly. Just enough.

‘I call it,’ she whispers, tugging at her trapped wrists, ‘a challenge.’

Oh.

A thrill rushes through you.

Your grip on her wrists tightens slightly, your knee nudging between her legs, pressing against the wet heat of her core. She gasps, back arching, but you don’t move—just let her feel the pressure, let her know exactly what she’s asking for.

‘Careful, baby,’ you murmur, leaning down, lips hovering just above hers. ‘You might not like what happens when I take that challenge.’

Chaewon’s grin is pure defiance, pure want.

‘Try me.’

And so you do.

Your hand finally slips beneath the waistband of her shorts, fingers sliding between her soaked folds, feeling the way she clenches around nothing, already so ready for you.

‘You’re soaked,’ you murmur against her neck, voice full of something dark and satisfied. ‘You’ve been like this since I was playing with your tits, huh?’

She whines, trying to twist her wrists free, but you don’t let her go.

‘You’re not getting out of this,’ you tease, slipping one finger inside her, the velvety pink folds, feeling her tense, then relax, then tighten again as you curl it just right, just fucking right, just until she curls her back to you. ‘You wanted me to take responsibility?’ You slip another finger into her, the tight wetness of her, stretching her slowly. ‘Then take it.’

Her breath stutters. And she moans.

Your thumb circles her clit, slow but firm, coaxing out soft, trembling moans that get swallowed by the night air.

And then, just when she starts getting lost in it—just when her hips start rolling, when she’s clenching desperately around your fingers—you stop.

Your hand is stuck on her wrists, and the other—fucking her senseless.

Her whine is immediate. ‘No, no, don’t—’

You smirk against her throat. ‘Not so fun when I’m the one teasing, huh?’

‘You’re evil.’

‘I’m making sure you really feel it.’ You drag your fingers out completely, holding them up just enough for her to see the way they glisten in the dim light. ‘And you do feel it, don’t you, baby?’

Chaewon glares at you, still breathless, still burning up, but there’s something playful in the way she juts her chin out.

‘Fine,’ she murmurs. ‘If you’re gonna tease…’

Then, before you can react, she hooks her legs around your waist and grinds up against you, rubbing herself against your cock through your pants—needy, desperate, shameless.

Your breath leaves you in a sharp hiss.

‘Shit.’

She grins. ‘What was that?’

You grip her hips, forcing them to still. ‘You really wanna play that game?’

She tilts her head. ‘You gonna stop me?’

No. No, you’re not.

You’re gonna fuck her senseless.

Your grip tightens around her hips, firm enough that she stops moving—but not before you grind back, pressing yourself against the slick heat between her thighs, making her gasp.

‘Chaewon,’ you murmur, voice rough, a warning. ‘You’re playing a dangerous game.’

She exhales shakily, eyes locked onto yours, her body taut beneath you.

‘You sure you’re ready for the consequences?’ You add.

Instead of answering, she licks her lips and tugs at her trapped wrists again. ‘Dear, I forgot about consequences a long time ago.’

You smirk, it’s true. You’re about to fuck her on this pool chair. Open to 360 degrees of vision, just the slightest glimpse and they’d see you fucking Chaewon. The fact that you’d lose your position the moment they saw you within 5 feet of Chaewon, let alone fucking her.

Fight against fate with absurdity.

You shift, focusing on the moment, leaning down so your lips barely ghost over hers. ‘I like you like this,’ you admit, your voice low, teasing. ‘All spread out, squirming, desperate—’

She whimpers when you roll your hips into her again, the friction delicious, just enough to drive her crazy without giving her what she really wants.

‘You’re so mean,’ she breathes, but her body betrays her, arching up, trying to chase more.

You chuckle, finally freeing her wrists—only for her to grab the collar of your shirt and yank you down into a kiss.

It’s messy, all tongue and heat, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer, like she’s trying to mold herself to you completely. You groan into her mouth, one hand gripping her thigh, the other slipping beneath her shorts again, fingers finding their place against her soaked entrance.

She’s so fucking wet.

You tease her with your fingertips, barely dipping inside, a soft squelch, just enough to make her whimper into the kiss.

‘God, you need it, huh?’ you murmur against her lips.

She nods frantically, her hands clawing at your shoulders. ‘Please.’

Your breath catches at how wrecked she already sounds. ‘Please what?’

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t hesitate. ‘Please fuck me.’

You curse under your breath.

Then you sit up, hands moving with quick precision—grabbing the waistband of her shorts and yanking them down her legs, tossing them aside without care.

And finally, she’s bare beneath you.

You take a moment, just looking at her. The way she’s sprawled out, chest rising and falling rapidly, legs slightly parted, glistening with need.

‘You’re perfect.’

Chaewon bites her lip, her gaze flicking down—to where you’re already painfully hard, straining against your pants. She reaches forward, fingers trembling slightly as they brush over you, tracing the outline of your cock.

You let out a sharp breath.

‘You’re still dressed,’ she murmurs. ‘Not fair.’

She’s right.

So you fix it.

You shed your clothes as quickly as possible, the fabric falling to the floor, forgotten. When you look at her again, she’s staring at you—all of you—her lips slightly parted, eyes dark.

Then, slowly, her fingers curl around your cock, stroking once, twice, making your whole body tense.

‘Fuck.’

She grins. ‘That was cute.’

You glare at her, grip tightening on her hips. ‘You wanna see cute? Keep talking.’

She laughs, breathy, and guides you between her legs.

Your tip brushes against her entrance, and her laughter dies into a shaky inhale.

You barely push in, just an inch, feeling how tight, how hot she is, and you both groan at the same time.

Chaewon’s nails dig into your shoulders. ‘More,’ she gasps.

You give her more.

You sink into her inch by inch, stretching her, filling her completely, watching the way her pink lips part as she takes all of you.

She feels unreal.

You curse, head falling to her shoulder, breathing heavily against her skin. ‘You’re so—fuck—you feel so good.’

She’s trembling, her arms wrapping around your back, holding you as close as possible. ‘Move. Please—move.’ she pleads, desperately whispering hot breath into your ear, as you bury yourself into her petite shoulder.

And so you do.

Your hips pull back, then roll forward again, slow, wet, a stretched squelch, setting a slow, deliberate pace—making sure she feels everything. Every inch, every pulse, every deep thrust that has her gasping your name like a prayer.

She’s already falling apart beneath you, legs wrapped around your waist, nails raking down your back.

‘Faster. Oh please, faster.’ she breathes.

You obey.

Your hips snap against hers, faster, deeper, her moans turning into desperate little cries with every thrust.

‘You’re taking me so well,’ you murmur, kissing the shell of her ear, your fingers tangling with hers as you pin her hands above her head again. ‘Like you were made for this.’

She nods frantically, barely able to form words, barely able to do anything but cling to you and feel.

Her lips quiver. ‘I was made for you.’

She finally unravels, clenching around you so tightly, her whole body trembling, a gushing pressure around your cock, her musical chant of bliss filling your ears—you follow right after, burying yourself as deep as possible, spilling into her your entire seed, painting her cervix white, losing yourself completely.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but heavy breathing, tangled limbs, the aftermath of everything you’ve held back for so long.

Then, finally, Chaewon exhales, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw.

‘You’re definitely taking responsibility,’ she whispers.

You chuckle, pressing your forehead against hers.

There’s something nonsensical about it all. You’d rather not think about it. Your lover. The woman of your dreams underneath you, who took your seed, who keeps kissing the shell of your ear like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

But it keeps coming back.

The fact that no one caught you on the rooftop is a miracle.

The fact that maybe tomorrow or the day after is the day you get caught is… reality.

You want to fight everything that distends you from your dream, your everything: Chaewon.

But it’s frail. You can see it in her eyes too. Even as you rest your sweat-slick forehead against hers, blowing soft hairs out of her forehead—you can see tears coast on her red-rimmed eyes.

She loves you.

The near chance that you may be separated tears at you, hacks at your soul.

Your heart has wings for her.

Chaewon.

Your queen.

Aphrodite incarnate.

The only one.

TO BE CONTINUED(?)

#smut #kpop smut #fanfic #male reader #kpop #chaewon smut #le sserafim smut

1K notes · View notes

aceyalonso · 10 months ago

Text

sera's kinktober masterlist 2024

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 : 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝

how? send an ask, pairing a driver with the available day! ↳ example: "hi! can I request [driver] + [day #___]?"

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

✮ the posting schedule will be from october to november. i was unable to write as much as i wanted to for this because of familial matters i can’t discuss, i hope you guys understand! 🥲

✮ AHHH!! my first kinktober ever, so please don't be too harsh :,) ✮ please note that some of these works/chapters contain content and kinks that might not be your cup of tea, please do not click on something that you're not comfortable with ✮ i will only write a maximum of 4 fics for each driver (so that there won't be too many of each driver) ✮ this list will be a mix of full fics and drabbles. ✮ some of the days here already have drivers assigned, but rest assured majority of these are up for grabs!

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭!

what days are available? ↳ i will remove the days that have already been taken. ✮ day 3 - biting (requested by anon) ✮ day 9 - lap dance (requested by anon) ✮ day 11 - temperature play (requested by anon) ✮ day 12 - mutual masturbation (requested by anon) ✮ day 13 - deepthroating (requested by anon) ✮ day 15 - begging (requested by anon) ✮ day 17 - dacryphilia (requested by anon) ✮ day 19 - bondage (requested by anon) ✮ day 20 - ass worship (requested by @cleopatrick-123) ✮ day 21 - breeding (requested by anon) ✮ day 22 - orgasm denial (requested by anon) ✮ day 23 - overstimulation (requested by @nandolonso) ✮ day 24 - voyeurism (requested by anon) ✮ day 25 - nipple play (requested by @bad268) ✮ day 26 - wax play (requested by anon) ✮ day 28 - public sex (requested by @menagerofmischief) ✮ day 29 - hair pulling (requested by @nepobbylver)

day 1 (october 1st) - humiliation kink with sebastian vettel | "don't cover your mouth, let them hear it liebling."

synopsis - sebastian rewarding his ever so hard-working secretary

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 2 (october 3rd) - threesome with lando norris & oscar piastri | "look osc, she's taking it so well"

synopsis - what happens when lando catches y/n and oscar in a rather... compromising position?

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 3 (october 5th) - biting with oscar piastri | “jesus fuck, are you are a vampire or something?”

synopsis - biting has weirdly always been a part of y/n's love language, what happens when she bites oscar where he's a little bit more than just sensitive?

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 4 (october 7th) - overstimulation with lando norris | "be a good girl f'me, i know you can take another round"

synopsis - win celebrations look a little different for lando norris this time around

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 5 (october 9th) - jealous sex with oscar piastri | "i don't have to be inside you to make you feel good."

synopsis - oscar and his jealous tendencies can lead to some... eventful consequences

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 6 (october 11th) - daddy kink with jenson button | "spread your legs for daddy, i wanna see you"

synopsis - art and money have always been the two constants in y/n's life, what happens when those two constants result in a sugar daddy who happens to own an art gallery?

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 7 (october 13th) - hate fucking with lance stroll | "this is what you wanted, isn't it? to prove you're better than me?"

synopsis - the fashion industry has always been a dog-eat-dog world or a rival-fuck-rival world (for lance and y/n, at least)

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 8 (october 15th) - sensory deprivation with fernando alonso | "don’t argue mi princesa, just put the blindfold on.”

synopsis - fernando always loved the way silk looked on y/n he loved how it hugged her figure, he loved how it would make her look like a goddess, whether it was the dress he bought for her or her wearing nothing the silk blindfold

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 9 (october 17th) - lap dance with daniel ricciardo | “fuck, keep moving like that and i’ll bend you over the bar.”

synopsis - what happens when y/n does a simple dance routine that turns into something dirtier?

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 10 (october 19th) - mirror sex with george russell | "look at yourself, so gorgeous."

synopsis - ever since y/n and george started spending some weekends on the boat, she has always wondered why he needed to have a mirror on the wall and on the ceiling of the bedroom

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 11 (october 21st) - temperature play with kimi raikkonen | “didn’t i tell you to stay still?”

synopsis - y/n knew that marrying the so-called "iceman" of formula 1 certainly has its hot and cold times, especially when it's kimi using ice cubes in the bedroom

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 12 (october 23rd) - mutual masturbation with charles leclerc | "show me how you like it, i want to see you squirm."

synopsis - who knew that watching 50 shades of grey with your best friend could end so well?

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 13 (october 25th) - deepthroat with max verstappen | “you look so pathetic like this.”

synopsis - max can't seem to escape the norris' after that terrible race in Austria. The only difference? Y/n was actually worth Max's time (and stamina)

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 14 (october 27th) - tattoos with lewis hamilton | "i didn't know you got a spine tattoo."

synopsis - a little rain never hurt anyone... not until lewis almost breaks y/n's back (in a good way)

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 15 (october 29th) - begging with charles leclerc | "you look so adorable like this, begging for me."

synopsis - a bad day at work and a good fiance would and will always end well

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 16 (october 31st) - lingerie with carlos sainz | "turn around, for me hermosa? i want to see the back again."

synopsis - spending 23 grand on a shopping spree? that's something only y/n can do, but of course the money spent will always be worth it, especially when she gets something that can benefit her and carlos

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 17 (november 2nd) - dacryphilia with ollie bearman | “you’re so pretty with tears in your eyes.”

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 18 (november 4th) - spanking with charles leclerc | "feel that? that's for flirting with fucking team mate."

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 19 (november 6th) - bondage with lewis hamilton | "look at you, all helpless and desperate."

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 20 (november 8th) - ass worship with logan sargeant | “babe, just sit on my face oh my god.”

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 21 (november 10th) - breeding with logan sargeant | "i'm going to fill you up so well baby"

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 22 (november 12th) - orgasm denial with sebastian vettel | “you won’t be cumming, not unless i tell you to.”

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 23 (november 14th) - edging with fernando alonso | "you can't handle this, can you?"

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 24 (november 16th) - voyeurism with oscar piastri | “don’t let my presence stop you, keep going.”

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 25 (november 18th) - nipple play with ollie bearman | “what’s that poking through your shirt?”

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 26 (november 20th) - wax play with charles leclerc | "close your eyes and let me take control, mon cheri. i'll decide where the wax goes."

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 27 (november 22nd) - size difference with ollie bearman | "i want you to feel every vein and every inch of my cock."

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 28 (november 24th) - public sex with oscar piastri | “are you crazy? what if we get caught?”

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 29 (november 26th) - hair pulling with carlos sainz | "you like that don't you?"

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 30 (november 28th) - food play with lewis hamilton | "you taste so fucking sweet baby."

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

day 31 (november 30th) - oral fixation with daniel ricciardo | "suck on it, show me how much you want it."

synopsis

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

2K notes · View notes

avatarchic · 1 year ago

Text

TWENTY-SIX MONTHS

�� starring. baby daddy!todoroki shoto x fem!reader

— tags. miscommunication trope, angst, pregnancy and giving birth, friends with benefits, vague relationships, running away, slight single parent!au

— warnings. ages are unmentioned, but shoto is in his late 20s/early 30s, smut, soft sex, cunnilingus, praise, p in v, use of petnames (baby, pretty girl), reader gets called a good girl once, shoto is highkey a munch

— word count. 8.2k

— requested? no

— notes. this one ruined me tbh LOL i have a nasty habit of slipping btw present and past tense so the tenses in this one might be all over the place :')))

Whatever you and Todoroki Shoto had together, you knew it wasn’t romantic.

You were his outlet. His source of relaxation when being a hero became too much to bear on his shoulders alone. You were fantastical. You were illusionary. With you, he was no longer Pro Hero Shoto, Number Three Hero. With you, he was just Shoto. And for your moments away from the world hidden beneath wrinkled sheets and closed curtains, that was enough for him. When morning came, and those curtains had to be drawn, he would become Pro Hero Shoto again, and you would wake up to an empty bed.

For you, he was everything.

For you, he was your hero before he became a Pro. He saved you from succumbing to the stress of standing out to survive as a support class student. He saved you from your insecurities and false ambitions, and he saved you from living a life you didn’t truly want. Todoroki Shoto was your best friend before he became the man shrouded in shadow — the man you hid away in secrecy to bed whenever he wanted.

He told you he would be gone for a while. A mission in upper Kyoto that took him away from your arms while you stayed safe in Tokyo. He assured you that he would be fine and return to you as soon as possible. If you were a fool, you might’ve taken those to heart and swooned under the pretense of love. But you knew better.

Before Todoroki Shoto came Pro Hero Shoto. You would be a fool to think he would pick the first before the other. You would be a fool to think that you, a citizen with no name, could ever stand by his side. In your eyes, Shoto put his work before himself. Admirable, strong, ever-the-reliable Pro Hero Shoto. The nights he spent with you as just Shoto made you wonder who else got to see his true self.

The second month of his absence came, and you were sick. An illness had overtaken you, leaving you bedridden for days on end. At first, it had just been nausea. You put it off as motion sickness — you often had to take the train to and from anywhere. Perhaps your stomach had simply met its limit and was taking it out on you with lashes of sickness and vomiting.

After a week of being washed away in your bile, you realized that you had yet to bleed that month. Rather, you realized you hadn’t had your monthly bleeding for a while. You weren’t stupid. You knew what it all meant, and you knew the consequences of your actions had finally caught up to you. You hid away from the world, only leaving to purchase tests from the store.

The answers mocked you. PREGNANT. TWO MONTHS+.

You considered getting rid of it. To keep it your dirty little secret. Shoto would never have to know — no one would ever have to know. But as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your hand resting atop your stomach, you felt at peace for once. As if you finally had a reason to keep going.

Five months had passed since he was gone, and you felt it now more than ever. You never explained to any of your friends or neighbours who was responsible for the swelling of your tummy, nor about the packages of furniture fit for a nursery that showed up on your doorstep. They never asked. No one knew your trysts with Shoto, and you planned to keep it that way.

For his sake.

You wished. You desperately wished that he could stay by your side, that he could support you through this time of anxiety and worry. You daydreamed of welcoming him home, your little bundle of joy wrapped in your arms as you kissed Shoto on the cheek — a reward for working hard as he always did. You thought about spending more than just nights of pleasure with the two-toned man, about wearing his ring and raising your beloved child together.

As a family.

Thirteen months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Thirteen long, gruelling, and lonely months were spent mourning his absence, even though he was still alive somewhere. It felt like the clouds that followed you for weeks parted only when your son was born. He looked like you. He had your nose and your eyes. He had the same rounded cheeks you still adorn, even well into adulthood. His voice was like bells on a clear sunny day, and when he lay in your arms, you declared that you would love him for all you were worth.

Even if the tuft of red and white on his head brought you immense heartache.

A selfish part of you wished that nothing of your son, whom you’ve named Yami, would resemble his father. That way, you could truly hide his origins — your past that you refused to uncover. But the bigger part of you was overjoyed. The moment you laid eyes on his hair, matted down with blood and amniotic fluid, you sobbed uncontrollably. The nurses and midwife recognized the two-toned hair immediately and watched you with pitiful eyes as you clutched Yami to your chest.

You moved away the second you were discharged from the hospital, baby carrier in tow. You wished your neighbours well and thanked them for being so kind to you in the years you lived among them. You were gone within that same week.

You lived peacefully in your new home, tucked away in the countryside of southern Japan. You opted to stay away from TVs and the internet, worried that seeing his face might make you regret the rash decision to pick up and leave. Yami was growing quickly, already large for a four-month-old. His hair grew out, more red than white.

You didn’t know if Shoto had made it back from his mission. If he did, you weren’t sure how long he had been back or whether he had sustained any injuries. You didn’t know if he went to your apartment to search for his fantasy. You didn’t know if he thought of you at all.

You didn’t know if he was alive.

The longer you spent away from the man, the more your heart yearned for him. Whenever Yami would quiet down for his nap, you stared out the window at the acres of empty farmland. In the vastness of space, you could only think of him. The man who had taken your heart from the tender age of fifteen. The man who possessed your life in his hands, though your essence seemed invisible to those blue and grey eyes.

The fool in you wondered if he ever had feelings for you — if he ever burned for you the way you did for him.

You felt like a dessert. Scorched inside and empty. Golden sands represented him—burning to the touch and yet all-encompassing. Even without him by your side, he was always there. He surrounded you, dragging you in, and you let him.

Yami’s babbling would always break you out of your reverie, the pangs of guilt and sorrow gnawing away at your still-beating heart. The routine remained the same, day after day. After he woke up from his nap with an incoherent cry for his mother, you would settle him onto your lap and cry. You sobbed into his soft tufts of hair, apologizing for taking him away from his father, for hiding him away from the world just because you were a coward.

Yami was your darkness. He was your uncovered secret.

Two years and two months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Yami was seventeen months old and starting to look more and more like his father. He took his first steps earlier than any parenting book had told you he would, and it wasn’t long after when he said his first word. It seemed the world was against you, and the universe was punishing you for keeping Yami away. You broke down for the first time in a while when that first word hit your ears.

“Da… Dada…”

You weren’t alone in your silent, unspoken wishes to be at Shoto’s side. Poor Yami, who had never met his father, spoke Shoto into existence with that one word.

“My baby,” you sobbed, hugging Yami tightly to you as he babbled, repeating those two syllables over and over. “My poor baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Mommy’s so sorry, my baby…” You rocked back and forth, crying endlessly. Yami’s hands grasped at your clothes, hair, and face. His little round features twisted into a grimacing cry as he watched tears pour from your tired eyes for a reason he didn’t yet understand.

The day he spoke his first word was when you showed him a picture of his father for the first time. Recognition flashed behind rounded eyes, recognition for a man he’d never met.

While you were grocery shopping — Yami balanced on your hip, a paper bag full of produce in the other arm — you heard Shoto’s name.

“Didn’t you hear? Pro Hero Shoto is here! In town!”

“Isn’t that weird? Why would such a hotshot be here, of all places? We aren’t even on most maps…”

“Who cares?! Do ya think I can get an autograph?”

You break out into a run without paying attention to the rest of the conversation. You hold Yami to your chest, supporting his head as you run with all your might. The paper bag of fruit and vegetables lay forgotten behind you, surely to be crushed by any passing vehicles. You run until you can’t run anymore, chest heaving in exhaustion. Using your object manipulation quirk, you open the front door to your house without taking your hands off Yami.

You whisper sweetings into his ear, telling him everything would be okay. Maybe you were telling yourself.

Not long after you returned home, the door rattled with a gentle knock. The very door you locked moments ago. You hold your breath, not wanting to see anyone. You didn’t want to see him.

Your name was spoken in that soft voice you missed so much. Before you could stop him, Yami started sobbing, his high-pitched cries alerting the person outside that you were there. You shush Yami desperately, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to calm him down. You kiss his forehead, silently begging him to stop crying.

Your name was called out again, this time panicked and louder. Yami’s cries increase in volume, and you feel your eyes water all the same.

The door hinges begin to frost over, and it’s knocked down in seconds. The loud noise scares your son, causing him to sob uncontrollably as he grasps painfully at your hair. You hide him behind you as you face the intruder head-on. Without blinking an eye, you use your quirk to lift the door off the ground, pushing it against the intruder, hoping to push him out completely.

The door is pushed away easily. After all, you are no match for Pro Hero Shoto.

He has gotten larger in the twenty-six months since you last saw him. His shoulders grew broader, his hero uniform barely hiding the dense but lean muscle that hid beneath it. His hair was longer, falling into his eyes as if he didn’t have time to take care of it. The man in front of you looks different from the man you knew, but it is undoubtedly him.

He breathes out your name, steam rolling off his left side and icicles glistening atop his skin on his right. He steps over the forgotten door, into your house, and into your safe haven, large and commanding of your attention. You try to make yourself bigger, to hide Yami from his eyes, and perhaps to hide your shame as you stare at the father of your child.

“I looked for you everywhere,” he gravels, his voice deep and crackling with emotion. “I came home, and you were gone. Do you have any idea how fucking scary that was?! No one knew where you were, and your apartment was empty. I didn’t know if you were safe, I didn’t know if you were alone…” Shoto steps closer to you, anger seeping into his expression. “For fuck’s sake, I didn’t know if you were alive!”

Your heart hammers in your chest as he grows closer, his fists clenching angrily by his side. His eyes search you desperately, searching for any sign of injury or abuse. They trace over your wrists and ankles, perhaps looking for signs that you were held here not on your own will, that you didn’t leave him just because you wanted to.

You pick your brain for the right words to say. You have thought about this day for years, and now that he’s in front of you, you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess of shame and joy, your heart struggling in a fight against itself. Analyzing him, your eyes rake over his body. There were a few more scars you don’t remember, some fine lines on his face that weren’t there before, but it was him.

As your brain wraps around the fact that Shoto was really there after over two years, Shoto collapses to his knees in front of you. He all but crawls over to you as he shoves his face into your thighs. Hot, stinging tears hit your skin as he cries into your lap, his hands reaching to hold you. Large, calloused fingers grasped at your thighs, pulling you closer to him.

“I was so scared,” he admits, his body shaking as he cries silently. “I thought… I thought a villain had taken you.”

Your hands hover behind you, keeping Yami hidden. His cries have thankfully subsided the second Shoto entered the room, but you weren’t sure for how long that would last. You can feel him grabbing at your shirt, trying to peek around you. Resisting the urge to wipe away Shoto’s tears, you grip onto your son tightly.

“How did you know I was here?” You lick your dry lips, wincing at how raspy your voice is. The first words spoken to this man in over two years are painted over with wariness and caution, very unlike the words of encouragement and longing you had given him your last night together. “No one knew I was here. Not even my family, so how did you…” You trail off, unsure if you want to know the answer to this question.

Shoto pulls away from your lap, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “I searched for you every day. I never stopped once I realized you were gone. I was in communication with every hero in this fucking country, hoping that one day one of them would spot you.” He hastily wipes his cheeks, his trembling hands remaining at your side.

“Why did you go?” he asks in a whisper. His voice, low and cracking, is broken as he speaks. “Why did you leave me? Did I do something? Was I…” Shoto swallows thickly as his insecurities taint his mind. “Was I not good to you? Did I make you leave?”

His endless questions send you for a loop. In front of you was not Pro Hero Shoto, but just Shoto. Your Shoto, the one you long for in your dreams. The one who paints your every happy memory and the one whose name you whisper into the dead of night.

And yet, as you feel Yami’s tiny hands grab your arm, you can’t answer any of his questions.

“Dada…!”

The both of you freeze, and the world stands still for a moment. Shoto’s trembling gaze slowly left yours, meeting the eyes of the toddler behind you. The first thing Shoto notices is his hair — bright red with streaks of white bleeding through. He feels his heart stop and start again, his hold on you finally slipping as his body goes somewhat limp. He falls back onto his heels, fully kneeling before you now.

Snapping out of it, you turn around and take Yami into your arms, facing away from Shoto as you shush the poor baby, calming him down quietly. Shoto can only watch as you handle him with a gentle care he isn’t privy to.

Without sparing another glance at Shoto, you start to walk away. He calls out your name hastily, and you can hear him clamber to his feet. Swallowing harshly, you look at him over your shoulder. Shoto looks out of place in your cozy living room, too large for the space. And yet, he appears small. His shoulders are hunched in as he reaches out to you with a face that begs you not to leave.

“He… needs to be put down for his nap,” you whisper, kissing Yami’s temple. “We… can talk after.”

Before you can regret your words, you head into his nursery, painted a soft yellow. You coo at your son, gently resting him in the large crib that took up most of the room’s space. You hum a lullaby to him as you stroke his hair, looking down at him with nothing but love.

Even long after he fell asleep, you don’t move. You stay there for a while, watching Yami so closely you don’t notice the presence at the door.

Shoto’s voice comes in a whisper. “He… He is mine, isn’t he?”

You can only nod, shame filling your soul as tears slip from your watery eyes. “His name is Yami,” you speak, your voice cracking.

Shoto flinches but waits patiently as he watches you come to a stand. He doesn’t rush you as you place Yami’s favourite stuffed animals by his side, leaning down and kissing his forehead before approaching Shoto.

“Let’s talk in my room,” you whisper, glancing at Yami before shutting the door behind you.

The two of you enter your room, the stifling air suffocating you as you shuffle over to your bed. Shaky hands reach for your pillows as you keep your back to the Todoroki, fluffing them to keep yourself busy. Your throat feels grating as you swallow down harshly. The room feels both hot and freezing, which you assume is his doing.

He doesn’t say anything either as he stares at the back of your head. Your hair looks different from the last time he saw you, and the clothes over your body aren’t articles he can remember you own. He thinks back to that night when quiet goodbyes were whispered between sweaty sheets. He wonders what went wrong.

His eyes wander, his frightful gaze tearing away from you only to look around your room. There are remnants of you everywhere. Family pictures hang from the walls, and old posters he vaguely remembers from your apartment are pasted against grey paint. It was you, but different. It wasn’t as colourful as your old room, and your trinkets are either out of sight or gone altogether.

When his eyes rest on you once more, a million questions run through his mind. Why did you leave him without a word? Images of your child, the very one who bore a striking resemblance to himself, flash in the forefront of his mind.

“How have you been?” you croak out after too many beats of silence. Hugging a pillow to your chest, you turn ever so slightly, only glancing at him from the corner of your eye as if it were painful to even look at him. Perhaps it is.

Shoto can only stare at you in disbelief, his brows curling upward as his heartache shines through. “How have I been?” he repeats breathily, his low voice raising half an octave. His mouth opens, but the words die on his tongue. Only after an excruciatingly long moment does he find the words again. “I’ve been miserable. You were gone.”

You wince at the strain in his voice, gripping the pillow even tighter. Your knuckles whiten under your tight hold. “I’m sorry,” you whisper pathetically, swallowing the lump in your throat painfully.

“Why?” he asks again, his voice cracking as he takes a tentative step toward you. “Why did you disappear?” Shoto reaches for you, stopping just short of grabbing you by the shoulders. He can’t tell if he wants to shake you until you see sense or hug you and never let go.

“I had to,” you urge, finally meeting his eyes. Your breath hitches, and you regret turning to him, but now you can’t look away. Those mismatched eyes that used to bore into yours with unreadable emotion as he draped his body over yours were tired, dull, and pained.

Shoto is the first to break eye contact, staring at your floorboards as he attempts to string together his thoughts. “Was it me?”

With furrowed brows, you shake your head no. “Shoto—”

“If I knew,” he rushes out, interrupting you. His gaze drops to your stomach, and he imagines what you might’ve looked like, swollen with his child. “If I knew, I would’ve come back sooner. Fuck the mission, you needed me and I…” He cuts himself off, bringing his hands up to your shoulders. His grip is tight enough to force you to look at him straight on, yet gentle. You think you can feel them trembling over your clothes, but you aren’t sure if you’re imagining it or not. “I’m so sorry,” he almost cries. The pillow in your hands falls to the carpeted floor, but neither of you cares to pay attention to it.

“Shoto, no,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks as you press your lips together. You thumb away his unshed tears. “That’s not why I left.”

“Then why?” he breathes.

You purse your lips, biting at the inside of your cheek as you reflect on those lonely nights spent under cold blankets. “You’re a hero,” you speak slowly. “I never had a place in your life, Shoto, not really. I’m a nobody. If… If I stayed, I would have been holding you back. You deserved more than that.”

Shoto narrows his eyes at you. “I deserve you,” he blurts, his tongue stained with vexation at the mere implication of your words. You watch as his lower lip wobbles momentarily before he steels his expression. “It isn’t your place to decide whether or not you should be in my life. That’s something for me to decide, but you took that away from me.”

“Took what away, Shoto?” you exclaim, raising your voice for the first time that day. “The sex? The comradery? You could have easily found that in someone else.” It hurts to admit, but you know it’s true. During those days together, you were a mere placeholder for someone better than you. Someone who could relate to him more than a nobody civilian could ever hope to.

After all, Pro Hero Shoto could have anyone he wanted.

Any anger left in his body dissipates as his body tenses. His face scrunches into something painful, mouth ajar and eyes wide as his grip on your shoulders tightens slightly. “What?” he whispers, the word dripping from his tongue like ice water. “What are you talking about?” The room feels like it’s dropped a few degrees, and if the frost that clings to his skin is any indication, it might have.

Averting your gaze, you try to wedge yourself out of his tight hold, but he doesn’t let you, taking another step forward. You’re practically chest-to-chest as he shakes your shoulders gently. “What are you talking about?” he repeats with an urgent tongue. “Someone else? What are you talking about?”

You heave a sigh. “Don’t play dumb, Shoto. You’re… you. You could easily find someone to replace me.”

“Is that what you think?” he breathes harshly, steam rolling off his skin, melting the frost. “That you’re just some replaceable body in my bed? Do you really think that lowly of me?” His expression twists as he reaches up to cup your jaw. His touch is burning, and yet you find yourself leaning into his palm.

“Isn’t it the truth?” you murmur, your voice catching. “I’m not anyone special, Shoto.”

��You’re my girlfriend,” he spits out, angry at the notion that you were a nobody. “You’re special to me. Isn’t that all that matters? I couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re not a hero. That never mattered to me, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

Your eyes snap open as you stare at Shoto in shock. You feel your body freeze over, and suddenly, your lungs are empty. “... What did you call me?” you croak.

Shoto stares deeply into your eyes, his own darting back and forth as he tries to read you. “My girlfriend.” His voice wavers as he tries to understand why you look so confused.

“We weren’t dating,” you cry incredulously. “What are you talking about?” You watch Shoto as realization washes over his distraught expression and something within you cracks. “Shoto, what are you talking about?” you ask again with a frantic pull to your voice. Shoto’s hands slip from your shoulders.

“Weren’t we?” he whispers quietly, any strength sapping from his body as he limply stands before you.

With your heart beating faster than ever, your breath leaves chapped lips in uneven puffs of strangled air. “We never talked about being anything more than just…” You trail off, the past couple of years draping over your shoulders, weighing you down heavily.

“You thought I was with you for the sex?” Shoto doesn’t know how to feel or how to act. His face twists as several emotions run through him before his mind settles on heartache. His multicoloured eyes try to meet yours, but you’ve already looked away. He moves his body, craning his neck to take a good look at you. He wants to see you. He wants you to see him. He utters your name in a broken whisper. “It was never just sex for me, baby,” he declares, his voice cracking in sorrow. “You had to have known that.”

He moves closer, cradling your face as he gently forces you to look at him. When he sees the indecisive glaze that’s taken over your eyes, he feels his heart break just a little more. “Please tell me you knew. That you know it was more than that.”

You blink away tears, your chest rising and falling quickly as you meet his intensive gaze. “You’d only come to me at night,” you mutter, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and wanting to pull his hands off of you. “You never stayed. You were always gone in the morning, Shoto. What was I supposed to believe?”

Shoto fights back a wince as he mulls over your words. He sighs, absentmindedly rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I was so busy with hero work,” he murmurs in horror-filled realization, frowning at himself. He shakes his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “That’s not an excuse. I should have tried harder to be around. But it was never just sex for me.”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. His eyes flutter closed, wet eyelashes sticking together as he lets out a trembling breath. “Please believe me, baby,” he pleads quietly. “I’ll be better. I’ll show you I love you. I’ll make sure you know this time, so please…”

Those three words pull the air from your lungs, but when he opens his eyes, you’re left truly breathless. Love, sorrow, and regret swirl in his blue and grey hues. You don’t remember the last time you’ve looked at Shoto like this. “Please come back to me.”

“Shoto—”

“I’ll stop being a hero,” he interrupts you, a deep frown tugging at his lips. “If that’s what it takes.”

You make a face, your brows knitting together tightly. “Don’t be stupid, Shoto,” you hush. “Being a hero is your life. I’d never ask you to throw that away for me.”

“You’re my life,” he presses. One of Shoto’s hands moves to cup the back of your head, carding through your hair. “Our child will be my life. You matter more to me than anything else.”

Sighing, you close your eyes as you lean into his touch. “I’d be even more upset if you gave up,” you murmur. “I understand that being a hero leaves you with little free time. So—”

“No,” Shoto cries out. “Don’t make excuses for me. I should’ve tried harder. I should have realized things between us weren’t clear.” He pauses for a moment, his brow bone tensing as he bites at his lip. “Do you love me?”

With a softened gaze, you knock on his forehead with a weak fist. “You’ve always been it for me, Sho.”

Shoto smiles at the nickname, a slight tick of the corner of his mouth. If you hadn’t been so close and hadn’t known his expressions as well as you did, you might’ve missed it. He leans closer, his nose brushing against your cheek as he kisses your tear-stained skin sweetly. “I love you,” he hushes, tugging you closer. His fingertips trail up your spine until they’re entwined in your hair. “I love you.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the sensation as you curl into him. Your hands trail up his broad chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. Inhaling deeply, you stare at him in hesitation. “Is this real?” you murmur, your mind swirling with the vivid dreams you’ve procured over the years. “You’re really here, right? And you really…”

“I love you,” he says again. He says it one, two, three more times, whispering into the side of your neck and he nudges himself into the empty space. His lips, which are cold against your blistering heat, brush against your earlobe as he all but whimpers your name. “This is real. I’m here, baby.”

You can’t help but believe him, your eyes closing as he presses kiss after kiss on your skin, moving down your neck until he’s reached your collarbones. He nips at the spot, his tongue jutting out to soothe the darkening mark he’s left behind. “Sho,” you scold weakly, your nails scraping against his scalp gently as you brush his hair out of his face.

Shoto grins boyishly at you, his hands resting on your hips as he guides you backwards, stepping over the forgotten pillow you dropped. “Let me show you,” he breathes out, looking down at you with wide eyes until he has you sat on the edge of your unmade bed. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Then, he pauses, a brief flash of bashfulness flickering behind his embering gaze. “Please?”

You’re reaching out for him before you can answer, tugging him down to your height. You don’t reply with words, pressing desperate lips against his as you pull him over you until he’s pinned over your trembling body. Strong forearms rest beside your head, his skillful tongue swiping along the seam of your mouth. You almost moan at his taste—a taste you never forgot.

Shoto slants himself against you, your bodies resembling a mess of limbs. He flips you over with ease, strong hands gripping your hips to seat you atop his shaking lap. The shivers that run down the expanse of his body don’t go unnoticed, and you peck his lips once, then twice, before pulling away. He’s staring up at you breathlessly, lust-blown eyes dark but widened as he takes in the sight of you.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, stroking along the edge of his scar. Shoto leans into your palm, his eyes briefly fluttering closed, relishing in your warmth that he was deprived of for so long.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs back, brushing his lips against your palm. “I’ve just missed you so much.”

Your heart aches at his soft-spoken admission, and you kiss him again to tell him I missed you, too. This kiss is sweeter than the last, softer in its closed-mouth motions. His hand reaches up to palm your jawline, his other remaining on your hip. He sighs into you, breaking the kiss to leave fleeting pecks over your cheeks. “My pretty girl,” he whispers into your skin.

His hand trails up and down your side, as he gently pushes you against his growing erection. You let out a whimper at just how hard he already is, the tent pushing against your clothed cunt teasingly. Grinding your hips down, you relish in the gasp Shoto lets out. Busying his hands with the hem of your loose tee, he pushes himself off of the bed to chase your lips.

Shoto kisses you with a fervour you damned yourself for running away from. He kisses you like he needs your taste on his tongue to live, like you’re a lifeline, and he’s teetering on the edge. Gentle teeth scrape against your bottom lip, just barely grazing your swollen skin. Pulling away to rid you of your top, Shoto bites his lips at the sight of your bare chest. He lays back, propping his head up on your pillows. Tracing a hand down his strong pecs, you tilt your head back at the sight of his complete enamour.

Red cheeks hollow as he takes in a shuddering breath, looking up at you with nothing but love and adoration. “You’re perfect,” he breathes out, his hands tracing your sides so slowly. His thumbs, calloused from years of hero work, barely graze the underside of your breasts before his hands trail back down to your thighs.

“Take these off f’me,” Shoto urges, tugging gently on the fabric of your shorts. Those dark eyes never leave your face, as though he’s committing it to memory.

You don’t hesitate to obey his request, shifting off of his lap just enough to tug off the last of your clothing, fingers dipping beneath the band of your panties to take them off as well. Shivering, you sit back down on his lap, biting down on your bottom lip as you lean back. Shoto makes it clear how much he appreciates the view you’ve given him, his lustful gaze caressing your entire self. His eyes land on the apex of your thighs, and his bitten lips part in admiration.

A wide hand rests on your tummy, just below your belly button, as he gently pushes your hips back and forth. His other hand finds its way to your ass, gripping and rubbing the skin there in tandem with your movements.

You let out shallow breaths at the feeling of his rough jeans against your bare clit. You’re sure you’re sopping wet already, soaking the front of his pants with your slick, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when he’s looking at you like he’d cry if you stopped grinding down on him.

His eyes stay glued to where your hips meet, and he whispers your name lovingly. “C’mere,” he rasps out as he sits up with haste, wrapping those big arms around your midsection and pulling you even closer to him. Shoto kisses the tops of your breasts, moving up and up until his lips meet yours again in a searing kiss.

“Missed you s’much,” he gravels out against your lips, reaching up to cup your left tit. You whimper out when his thumb brushes against the hardened bud, his tongue following shortly after. His lips curl around your nipple as he kneads into you. Breaths leave your throat in shortened huffs as he bites down gently.

Pushing you gently, you find yourself on your back again with Shoto hovering over you. He lets go of your nipple with a pop, lips shiny with saliva as he kisses down your stomach. Arching into his affections, all you can do is lay there and bask in his gentle touches and sweet kisses.

“Sho,” you whimper out when he mouths your skin lower and lower. Strong hands push your hips up until your dripping cunt is in front of his face, and your legs are dangling over his shoulders. Your back arches deeply, his fingers digging into your sides to keep your bottom half suspended in the air. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you’ve gotten—you can’t recall the last time you’ve felt this aroused. “Please…”

Shoto smiles at you softly, looking at you through his lashes as he brushes his lips against your clit, making you jolt. “Patience, baby,” he chuckled. “I haven’t tasted your sweet pussy in too long. Let me take my time with you, yeah?”

When he asks so nicely, how can you refuse?

He leaves open-mouthed kisses where your inner thigh meets your pelvis, kissing and licking just around where you need him most. Pathetic moans slip through your wobbling lips as you press them together, trying not to be too loud. Your body is goo in his hands, and he knows this well. He easily keeps your back arched up off the bed, his beefy arms not straining at all.

When his lips finally close on your weeping cunny, you cry out louder than intended. “Shh,” he whispers, sitting back just far enough to leave you whimpering for more. “Don’t wanna wake the baby, do you?” Those teasing eyes meet yours again, and his teasing expression softens ever so slightly at your already fucked out look. “Be good and quiet f’me, love.”

“Okay,” you stammer out, screwing your eyes shut when he kitten licks at your slit.

Shoto kisses your inner thigh with a grin. “Good girl.”

Without missing a beat, he attaches his lips to your pussy once more, his skilled tongue licking and prodding exactly where he knows it makes your legs shake in pleasure. He eats you out with such expertise as if it hasn’t been over two years. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had a map of your body memorized.

Long, thick fingers push at your entrance, just barely pushing in before pulling out. “More, please,” you beg under your breath, arching into his mouth. “Please, Sho. I can take it.”

Shoto hums as he sucks on your clit gently, drawing circles over the bundle of nerves immediately after. “I know you can, baby. This pussy was made just for me,” he sighs into you, the loud slurping noises coming from the point of contact making you curl in on yourself. “You were made just for me, baby.”

He finally pushes two fingers in, curling up just how you like it. He groans as his tongue moves with ardour, his eyes rolling back behind closed lids as he savours your taste. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “Missed this s’much.”

Shoto’s fingers push in and out, in and out, your slick gushing around them as the filthy sound of your clenching cunt fills the room. His lips are glued to your clit, drunk on your wetness as he fingers you deeply.

“I’m close,” you warn him, gripping the sheets tightly. Your body jerks, your thighs shaking and closing around his head as you feel the string in your tummy grow taught. “Sho—”

“I know,” he growls, kissing your clit again as he looks back up at you. He watches your face twist and scrunch in pure pleasure, moaning at the sight. Pushing a third finger in, his eyes slip closed at the feeling of you clenching tightly around him. “Come for me, baby. Need to feel you come.”

His voice drips with honey, coating your body in its warmth as your back bends. “Fuck,” you cry, slapping a hand over your mouth as your thighs tremble hard. “I—”

Before you can say anything else, you’re cumming around his fingers harder than you ever have in the time away from him. Fat tears line your lashline as he fingers you through your orgasm, lazily licking figure eights around your clit as he continues to push his fingers into you gently. He doesn’t stop, making you come again and again until you’re weakly pushing his head away.

His tongue laps your pussy clean, the lower half of his face covered in your slick when he finally sits back. You watch with lidded eyes as he wraps his lips around his fingers, his tongue jutting out to lick them until they’re no longer soaked with your essence. Moaning, you reach up for him, grasping weakly at his clothed chest. “Need you,” you plea, pushing at his clothes in a sad attempt to take them off.

Shoto only chuckles, leaning over to kiss you. He tastes of mint and musk, the taste of your come on his tongue making your eyes cross. He holds you tight, pressing you against his chest, and his hands run up and down the length of your spine. His head tilts, his mouth ajar as he licks into your wet cavern.

Leaning back, you kiss and lick at his face, cleaning him of your juices. He only sighs blissfully at your ministrations, stroking your hair out of your face as he presses his lips against your temple. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, do I love you.”

You leave one more kiss along his jaw, settling back onto the mattress as you look up at him. His hair is messy, tousled from the many breathless kisses you’ve exchanged in the last hour. His rouge-tinted cheeks make him look younger than he is, yet you can see fine lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows.

“I love you, Sho,” you declare softly, tucking his long bangs behind his ears. He gazes at you with more affection than you think you’ve ever seen him express, and it takes everything in you not to combust on the spot. You trail one hand down his chest, dropping down to his tented pants. Palming his clothed hardness, you glance at him pleadingly, smiling at the moan he emits the second your hand grazes his hard-on. “I need you now, please.”

Shoto nods, kissing the crown of your head before leaning back. You watch with careful eyes as he undresses, his hands moving with less grace than he’s known for. As he fumbles off his shirt, you unbuckle his belt, throwing it haphazardly across the room. You barely register the thud it makes as you tug down his pants. His hard cock slaps against his abdomen, coated with precum.

Fully nude, you sit back to admire Shoto in his entirety. There are many scars you don’t remember littered over his muscled body, and your fingers trace them gently. “I almost forgot how pretty you are,” you say, sitting up to kiss his collarbone.

“Pretty?” he repeats, laughing softly as he grips at your waist.

You hum. “Very pretty, Sho.”

Unable to wait any longer, he manoeuvres you back onto the pillows, adjusting you as he places one beneath your hips. “Gotta have you now, baby,” he groans into you, reaching down to fuck into his fist. You watch with wide eyes as he rubs himself for a moment more, pushing your thighs up against your chest.

Pushing his angry cockhead against your slit, he thrusts shallowly against your soaked pussy. A low moan rumbles out of his throat when his head catches on the hood of your clit. He uses a thumb to guide his length to your entrance, a whimper of your name tumbling from those bite-swollen lips once he finally pushes into you.

Your jaw drops as a wanton noise claws out of your throat. Shoto is sure to move slowly, only moving in an inch of his dick at a time before pulling out. You had forgotten how thick Shoto’s cock is, the stretch of your swollen pussy around his length burning through your body. “S-Sho…”

He groans at your voice, dropping his head to your shoulder as he fucks into you slowly. “I know, baby,” he lets out breathlessly. “I know. You’re doing so well f’me.”

His hips finally press against you after some time, his dick pushing against your pulsing gummy walls. He stills, letting you get used to the intrusion as he kisses you again and again. Propping himself on his elbows, he shakily brushes your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead. “You okay, baby?”

Nodding fervently, you wrap your arms around his neck, pushing his chest flush against yours. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out weakly, barely above a whisper. “You can move—” correcting yourself, you look up at him with pleading eyes. “—please move.”

Without another word, he pulls out slowly, only to thrust back into your hole nice and deep. A loud groan leaves his lips as he settles into a quick tempo, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs as he starts to really fuck into you.

Barely keeping your eyes open, you watch his expression twist with gratification, his brows tilting upwards as his lips part. With lidded eyes, he watches you, too. “You’re—fuck—so pretty,” he whimpers, pressing his forehead against yours as his thrusts become faster. “Missed you. Missed you s’much.”

Sitting up, he grabs at your waist as he fucks you zealously. His thumb flicks at your clit, rubbing tight circles that leave your legs shaking. His cockhead rubs at that spongey spot in your cunt with every thrust, making your eyes roll back. “Sho,” you cry out, the thought of keeping your voice down long gone in your pleasure. “Sho, Sho—!”

His mouth opens as he lets out a stunted shout riddled with lust and overstimulation. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grins down at you, his stomach flexing with each movement of his hips. “Fuck, baby. Can feel you clenching around me s’tight. Are you close?” His words come out harshly, exertion tugging them from his throat sluggishly.

His thumb never stops over your clit, moving in tandem with his hips as he slams into you. Unable to form coherent words, you can only cry out in vague confirmation, grabbing at his forearms. You can feel your slick dripping down the slope of your ass, soaking into your pillow and the sheets beneath you.

Shoto’s smile falters as he feels his own orgasm near, his rhythm becoming desperate as his eyes screwed shut. His head drops, his mouth opening slightly as he chases his high. When your cunt grips tightly around him, he’s sure he’s going to lose it. Harsh breaths heave out of him, his flushed skin causing his hair to stick to his forehead.

“Come for me again, baby,” he begs, barely able to pry his lids open to look down at you. “Please, come, please, please… Gotta feel you…!”

Whether it’s from his words, the whimpering tone that tugs at his voice, or the way his cock throbs inside you as he nears his own high, you feel your orgasm crash over you in waves. “Shoto,” you sob, your body jerking violently as you come hard. He lets out a high-pitched groan as he releases inside you, his thick seed filling you up in seconds. His hips tremble and twitch as he keeps shallowly thrusting, pushing both you and himself into overstimulation.

“I love you,” he mewls, pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss as he wraps his arms tightly around your middle. Without pulling out, he slumps over you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Laughing quietly, you weakly push at his shoulder. “You’re heavy,” you complain, still breathless from the countless orgasms he’s pulled you through. “Get off, Sho.”

“No,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck, cuddling into you tightly. “Don’t wanna let go.”

You roll your eyes. “You can hug me without crushing my ribs.”

Huffing, he rolls off of you, taking you with him as he lands on his back. You both groan lowly at the movement, his dick twitching inside you once you settle onto his lap again. “You’re insatiable,” you comment, feeling him thrust weakly up into your wetness.

Shoto only grins up at you, showing off that rare smile you missed so dearly. “You can’t blame me,” he tells you, wrapping his arms around you. “I have so many years of love to show you.” He kisses your shoulder. “I meant it. Before, I mean. You are everything to me, and I know our baby will be too.”

Your eyes wet again, fresh tears bubbling at the corners before dribbling down your cheeks. “Shoto…”

Looking up at you, he stares with an indescribable look in his mismatched eyes. “I wanna be in your life. I want to be in his life, too, if you’ll let me.” Leaning up, he kisses you sweetly. “So, please, come back to me.”

You only manage to nod tearfully before the shrill cry of your baby echoes throughout the house. Shoto eases you off his messy cock, watching as his release dribbles out of you. He lets out a breath, kissing you sweetly before moving you off of him gently. No words are exchanged as Shoto throws his clothes back on, wrinkled and unkempt. He pauses to wipe you clean, using your shirt, after throwing you an apologetic glance.

A smile reaches your eyes as you watch Shoto bound out of the room to get your child.

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messenger-of-babel · 8 months ago

Text

The Call

Summary: One little call to each of them. One big consequence. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 2.9K

Notes: IM LATE AGAIN. I hope you all know that I do stay up wildly late when this happens cause I want to edit before I submit, even if some of these were pre-written (its 1:30AM RAHH). ANWAYS. Batfamily, I tried to get as many as I could but I haven't collected runs for about half the family cause I am biased towards my boys, but I am trying to be as accurate as possible when I can be and that includes those dynamics! So rest assured I am doing my research and hopefully that'll reflect soon. As usual, enjoy your daily feed and I'll enjoy my nap. Warnings just for general description of violence.

Much Love~! xx

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When Dick got the call, he was in his civilian clothes.

Dick Grayson was suit shopping, needing something for an upcoming gala. He had put it off for so long, since he wore the Nightwing suit more than any other in his closet. He had let it ring out once while he got his measurements taken, but when they called back a second time, his lips dipped into a frown. Excusing himself, he clicked the answer call button, stating his name. He hears the voice of Bruce, but in the stern tone of Batman. He doesn’t think that he's ever left a store as fast as he had that day, feet thudding on the pavement and breath cold in his chest as he hurries to his car. He unlocks it and all but throws himself into the passenger seat, lines on his face hardening. Throwing it quickly into drive he pulls out and heads in the direction of the manor.

He tries to keep himself composed, his emotional training kicking in. His fingers are tense on the steering wheel, passing over the bridge at a speed a cop would most certainly pull him over for. Even though he tries to take a deep breath, there's a burning in his sternum. It builds until it creeps into his neck, making him click his tongue uncomfortably.

The sensation is a rage he hadn't felt in a while, a fire that hadn’t burnt that intensely since he was just a boy grieving his parents’ death. It had flickered when he had heard Bruce had adopted a boy called Jason after him, sputtering to life upon hearing about his death. Yet he had grown, he had risen above it and had become a shelter for his younger, extended family. He was dependable, uncrackable, and upbeat, that was Nightwing. Yet as he drives back with that painful fire in his chest, he felt nothing more than Dick Grayson, the boy stricken with fear at the idea of losing his family.

When Jason got the call, he had been on patrol.

Helm securely on his face, it kept the drizzly night rain of Gotham out of his eyes. It had been a rather quiet night, stopping a few minor robberies and assaults that were common down by Dixon Docks. He was eager to return home, wanting to swing by the manor quickly to take full advantage of the hot water system before heading back to his apartment in Old Gotham for a well-deserved rest. He had just finished interrogating some of Penguins' men, about to call the cave to let whoever was on tonight know that they finally had the location of the new drug den they had been chasing the past month. However, the communication device he had set on his bike was lit, screen full of notifications.

Calls, one after another filled the small holographic display and he pressed the button to call back, leg swinging over the side of the bike as he did so. He had only started the bike but already he screeched to a stop, making sure he heard the words properly. A curse and gruffly shouted questions were his only response and when he got the information he wanted, he cut the call and the bike roared to life. He leant forward as if that was going to help him get to his destination quicker, blood boiling underneath his skin. His chest ached with the urge to sputter out pants, desperate to start the sign of panic racing through his veins. Yet he was stronger than that, keeping his cool like a tightly wound coil, muscles tensed beneath the suit.

His mind buzzes with worry, anxiety gnawing at his ribcage like a feral rat.

Jason doesn't often allow himself to be emotional on the job, despite his tendency for rage.

But rage was different. Rage burned and warmed him up from the inside, was the force that he put behind every punch or kick. It was his kindling, and it served to guide him as well as any star. Of course, Bruce had tempered it somewhat, but he had just guided Jason into turning it into something else, not getting rid of entirely. He used rage to protect the people of the city, the outrage he felt when he saw them get treated badly. He used rage when coming to his family's defence, the sight of hands being laid on people he had come to care for sparking it too. Those were the rages he was used to using, although there was always a third.

The pit.

The rage that bubbled away in the back of his mind, hidden behind a tall wall and shoved into the deepest part of him. That was the rage that crept forth, green and poisonous in his veins and clouding his judgement in a fog of pain and despair and anger. When it would appear, he would often take a moment to himself to pack it back away, contain it once more in the bulletproof casing of his heart. Yet right now, he didn't want to put it back. It made him rev the bike harder, made him feel like he was getting there quicker. The bike kicked up water as he zig zagged through the back streets, his mental map of Gotham rerouting anytime the traffic was longer than five cars deep. He couldn't afford to lost time, to not be fast enough. Not now, not this time, and if he had to use the rage the pit cursed him with, he would.

Tim was at the manor, holed up in his room when he got the call.

It had been a long night the night before, tossing restlessly. Not that he would have told anyone, but the last fight with Bane had left him with a few more bruises than he had let on, cleverly hidden from the keen eyes of Alfred. He wanted to nurse them himself, carry his own weight. In fact, he had been sulking in his room going over the things that had been troubling him, knees pulled to his chest.

Dick was capable and dependable, and the first Robin, the biggest shoes to fill. Jason was tenacious but loved deeply, and he fought for what was right. His methods might be unconventional to the Bat sometimes, but he knew what he wanted to fight for. Steph had flown the nest to become Spoiler, Cass already had such a firm grasp of who she wanted to become now that she was Orphan. Barbara had even been able to turn her life around after being put into her wheelchair, her desire to help leading her to become Oracle when she had to hang up Batgirl. Even Damian, the true son of Bruce Wayne, was so confident, growing at a rate he knew Bruce was quietly proud of.

But then there was Tim, who stayed up on weekends trying to redesign his suit, to carve his own vigilante life, only to look on it and see the traces of his time as Robin printed clearly on it. The role of Robin had outgrown him, but there was the shred of doubt that whispered in his ear that just maybe, he hadn't outgrown it. The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze, and he let it go to voicemail. When it came again, he grabbed his phone with the desire to turn it off, but seeing the emergency signal had him picking up right away.

"Hello?" he called, sitting right up in bed. His eyes widened and he shelved his pity party, running out of his room.

He winds through the halls of the manor until he finds the door he's looking for. Tim's knuckles rap against the wood loudly, repeating until a disgruntled Damian comes to the door, swinging it open violently. "This better be good, Drake." he deadpans, scanning the flustered state of the older boy. Tim just turns his phone screen, showing the emergency call signal before gesturing to the direction of the grandfather clock with his head. "We've got to go." he says curtly, the young boy hot on his heels after he recovers from his shock.

Both of them head to the cave and prepare to depart immediately. Tim slips the suit over his skin like an outgrown shedding, domino mask sliding onto his face. He couldn’t recognise his own face when he caught sight of it in the glass reflection, but a mask and suit would never be enough to hide the panic that clung to him tighter than the Red Robin suit.

When Bruce got the call, he was at Wayne Enterprises.

He was making a rare appearance at the office, knowing that Lucius had something that he wanted to talk to him about. His office felt foreign and sterile, empty and unreal. The glass surfaces everywhere let him glimpse the face of Bruce Wayne, a face that he was beginning to see less and less. It felt uncanny seeing himself without the cowl, and sometimes when he was working, he could swear he saw a reflection of the bat ears in the window beside him. The night had dragged on, and he was only an hour into the meeting with Lucius when the phone in his suit pocket rang.

He and Lucius shared a sceptical look as he turned the phone screen. The call location wasn't displaying as the Batcave, the only place that could contact this phone directly outside of his children, Lucius and Alfred's personal mobile. Yet he knew Red Hood was taking the brunt of patrol tonight, and Bruce was intended to join him after the meeting. Dick was carrying out some errands downtown and everyone else had either stayed home or didn't contact him like this often. The girls preferred to call his phone as Bruce Wayne or spoke through Alfred, so who could it be?

Lucius gives a nod, silent as he sits down. Bruce's face hardens as he presses the speaker button, accepting the call.

"Who is this?" he says, lowering his voice to the gravelly timbre of Batman.

"Da...B-Batman?" comes a broken, shaky voice on the other end. Lucius's eyes widen and flick to Bruce's immediately, mouth parting. Bruce's jaw ticks, eyes widening as well when he hears your voice.

"This is the Batman. How did you get this number?" He asks, having to focus on keeping his voice low, even though the tone of Bruce threatens to creep back in.

"He-he just had it. I don't know. He just told me to speak, I-I'm not even holding the phone I can't see anything; I’m tied, my eyes are-" you begin to ramble, struggling to get through your words before you're cut off.

"Hello, Batsy." calls a voice close to the receiver, and Bruce swore that his heart fell through the floor in that moment. His fingers tighten around the phone the same way that his lungs are constricting in his chest.

"Joker."

The man on the other end cackles, if Bruce could even call him that. "Miss me?" he snickers, Bruce's mind filling with the image of a red stretched grin. "You see, this is more of a... courtesy call. You know Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire?"

Bruce's head snaps up to Lucius, who's rubbing at his face nervously.

He didn't know, did he?

"You see, I didn't make a lot of impact going after the commissioner last time, so I had to think to myself, If I wanted to really shake things up in Gotham, who else is there? Then I thought of it, who better than the playboy of the century?" he laughs, punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers.

"Get to the point." Bruce all but growls.

"Yeah yeah, you always love to rush me, don't you?" The Joker snarks back with fake hurt, before continuing. "Regardless, I have one of his little orphan projects, thinking I might have a bit more success with this one."

He hears a thwack over the phone and a scream, making his nails dig into his palm. He steadies his breathing.

"What have you done?" he asks, low and dangerous.

Another thwack.

"Exactly what I said. But there was a rumour going around that you know Mr. Money, so I thought I'd give you a call, you know, a little gift. If you do know the richest orphan in Gotham, then I want to give you the honour of telling him I've got one of his. Better yet, I want to give you the honour of delivering their body to his doorstep. Maybe that way, you might be able to bond over losing your fake kids."

Bruce feels sick, closing his eyes to try and stop himself from making a mistake right now.

Your life was on the line. He had to play smart.

"Where are you?"

The joker tuts on the other end. "This was a courtesy call, nothing more. I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. Tata for now~"

"Joker-" he starts but then he's cut off, line going dead. Lucius doesn't say anything, his own personal phone pulled out as he calls Alfred, studying the frozen figure of Bruce. It's almost like there's dark tendrils to the shadows on his broad body, deepening the lines on his face.

Bruce doesn't remember too much, but Batman did.

Immediately he had left the room, suit en route to him and arriving within the minute. As soon as the comfort of his cowl touched his skin, Bruce was gone, and it was Batman calling everyone at the same time. It was Dick who picked up first, a couple of rings earlier than Jason before Tim joined, the sound of Damian in the background. Oracle and Spoiler joined together, while the others were still pending. He didn’t have the time to temper his voice as he relayed the situation, immediately getting as many people on recon as possible.

There were shouts and yelling and cursing before all of their lines became inactive, replaced with trackers signalling that their suits were live. When he enters the batmobile he grips the wheel tensely. The lump in his throat doesn't seem to disappear, only growing larger with each second. His mind is filled with pictures of Jason. Pictures of Barbara. The smiling photos of you.

He might never admit it, but he had your photos front and centre in his wallet (something you did in fact know and used to your advantage frequently in 'dad loves me more' battles). He remembers the first day he ever saw you, cold and scared apart from the other kids in the orphanage. He had been investigating a potential human trafficking ring operating out of the centre, but when he saw you, the fatherly pang hit him. The way your eyes stared forward dully as he greeted children as Bruce Wayne, cameras flashing around him. He had enough wealth to buy the children anything they asked for, the other kids excitedly asking for new toys or clothes or art supplies. However, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked you want you wanted, you said only a few words, 'a family'.

And god be damned if Bruce didn't have money enough for that too.

So, he took you in, hid batman from you like he had tried to with everyone else as well. Yet he failed again, but unlike his children in the past, you never asked to join. Never asked for a suit or to stay up or to train in the cave. Never showed any interest in joining your siblings or throwing yourself in front of danger for the sake of the city. When he asked you why you had simply shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

"All I've ever wanted was to be part of a family. I don't need to be a superhero to be loved."

And then you beamed at him with a smile that could have lit up his world and chased the clouds away from Gotham, so pure and genuinely content. That made Bruce feel like he had finally succeeded as a father, and for once Bruce felt like a father. No Batman, no mask and cape. He didn't train with you; he went out with you to the theatre on weekends. You didn't jump from rooftop to rooftop, you liked to come study with him in his office when he had to take care of Wayne affairs. Batman may have been created to save Gotham city, but he was convinced that you were sent to save Bruce Wayne.

Now, he felt that he had failed you as both Bruce and Batman.

"Hold on sweetheart," he whispers to himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment during his exhale. "I'll get you home. I promise."

He pressed the accelerator further, Batmobile display signaling that everyone else was suited up and across the city waiting further instruction. He just hoped, he prayed that when he brought you back, it wouldn't be in a body bag.

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