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hwaightme · 9 months ago

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THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR STAR’S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut)(masterlist) (taglist)

❤️‍🔥 pairing: husband!seonghwa x gn!afab!reader ❤️‍🔥 genre: smut, fluff, pwp, established long-term relationship ❤️‍🔥 summary: all work and no play makes seonghwa a needy boy; your husband wants you. now. and he will use any means necessary to get you where he wants you. being in the office is not a problem when you are one message away... ❤️‍🔥 wordcount: 8.6k total ❤️‍🔥 warnings/tags: semi-edited, hwa duality, businessperson!reader, mention of offices/presentations/corporate culture, nonidol!hwa, married but permanently in honeymoon phase, two people very in love, petnames, mutual respect, trust and adoration, seonghwa is smitten, reader wears heels, words crazy+drunk used ❤️‍🔥 taglist: at the bottom of the fic ❤️‍🔥 a/n: spiralled into ponderings with @byuntrash101 (ily), and my fingers slipped. oops. any notes, asks, reblogs appreciated <3 much love!

❤️‍🔥 taglist: sexting, praise, petnames (love, darling, my love, pretty, gorgeous...), consent is king, unprotected sex (consider before you deliver), mating press/missionary (vanilla but make it spicy), 69 (blowjob+eating out), creampie, cumeating, slight spit kink, sprinklings of body worship, possessive terms (my/mine), light overstimulation, implied aftercare

“How do I look?” you called out to your husband, who was sitting behind you on your shared bed, feline in the way he was leaning back on his arms, regarding you through half-shut, curious eyes.

Unlike you, he had the day free, but even so decided to go through the motions of a morning routine with you, though finalising it with a considerably less formal outfit. Dressed in a black sweater and matching black trousers, Seonghwa had stated that he was going to go out to get some fresh produce from the market while it was still early, and the rush of crowds did not plague the city just yet. Patiently, he was waiting for you to be ready to head out to work, and he, to comfortably support the home front for today.

“Hm, you look like me having to come to work with you and me having a blast telling waves of potential suitors that you are off limits.” He responded as a matter of factly. Nevertheless, you caught a cheeky grin in the mirror as he scanned you up and down with the intensity of a burning sun.

“Oh … Hwa, what if I want the attention? And what are you going to do about the stakeholders I’ll be speaking to, hm?” You asked him coyly, finally managing to get your second earring on and tapping it with your manicured finger for good measure.

“Something tells me that I’ll have to step in and act like security.”

You chuckled, taken aback, pleasantly lightheaded because of Seonghwa’s early morning flirtations. With one final once over, he smoothed the bed sheets on either side of him and rose up to step right behind you, placing both hands under your suit jacket and on your waist, leaning closer and closer until he could place a soft kiss on the side of your neck which, thanks to your hairstyle, was exposed to the attention.

The sleek, deep navy suit was an elegant number, peaked lapels on the single-breasted jacket perfectly pressed, the wide-legged trousers perfectly guiding towards the heels - pumps in a nude beige, and the white asymmetrical short-sleeved shirt underneath all combining to create perfect harmony. You had chosen elegance over daring energetic appeal today, picking pearl-based jewellery which, upon inspection, was exactly how you had imagined it would be with the outfit. A delicate balance was struck, and was reminiscent of how your husband was gingerly manoeuvring over and around you, until he appeared to have had enough with stalling.

Seonghwa’s arms lazily slid forwards, wrapping a little tighter around you, while his head moved to nudge you towards himself with his chin, until he could rest his head on your shoulder comfortably. Initially wishing to pry yourself away given how little time you had left if you were to make it to the office at a reasonable time, your hands rushed to his own, but as your husband began to sway side to side, blissfully taking in the image in the mirror, you left them there, admiring the priceless scene, and the way in which his hands fit perfectly over yours, the rings matching, another sign of your union completing the masterpiece in the reflection.

"Come on, Hwa, I’ll be late at this rate."

"What's it got to do with me, ma'am? I finished getting dressed fifteen minutes ago, was sitting here, all good and ready for you-" ignoring the word choice, you persisted:

"Because a certain someone was hogging the shower-"

"I told you, you could join." heat flushed to your cheeks as you caught Seonghwa’s less than innocent expression, making you remember exactly why you were not planning to get into any intimate shared space with this alluring schemer before work. Planting a feather-light kiss on your sensitive skin, he was threatening to make you lose track of time entirely. Attempting to wipe the action from immediate perception, you focused on the sensation of tugging on one of your earrings, anything to ground you and to return you into the headspace of the meetings you had scheduled and been booked into for the day, along with the details and key takeaways for each one.

You had always been a fighter in the professional world, and this was one of the many things that Seonghwa adored about you. Having met at a networking event, that was the side of you he had come to be acquainted with first, and had fallen head over heels for. A sublime intensity that came with the passion you had for your work, a fire that ignited when you planned ahead, led teams and managed international ventures were so beautifully contained within you and formulated the intricate maze of your psyche that Seonghwa could not help but want to drown in it, and spend eternity observing you in action. He himself had stepped away from the strict and rigorous structures of the corporate world, instead preferring to offer independent consultation services, but to see you flourish, and to be there for your journey and to have you unconditionally support his decisions and experiments too was nothing short of a blessing. Perhaps the one side effect, a tiny challenge that came with having you as his life partner, his love and his spouse is mornings like this, when you were in the process of escaping for work, driven and ready for battle, your armour being one of the stylish suits of impeccable quality that you took great pains to keep pristine. And the more you did so, the stronger was his desire to see if he could ruin just one, at least one, perhaps the one you were wearing right now. Despite the fact that he had seen you in such garments more times than either of you could possibly count or remember, it made him more drawn to you and involuntarily seduced than he would ever dare admit. Seonghwa’s grip on your hips inadvertently tightened as gaze flashed upwards, settling on the reflection of your perfectly plump, tinted lips in the mirror.

“Besides… As you know, I was making sure that the adjustments were all fine and the overall outfit would be fine for the quarterly review meeting,” you recalled your last-minute concerns over whether the selection was reasonable for meeting persons from the executive office, even though you were not sure if you even had outfits in your job-related arsenal that would not be appropriate, “You could have helped by the way.”

"I did! I gave the fit the Seonghwa seal of approval, but now... honestly am regretting it because you look illegal..."

He turned his attention back to the delicate skin around your neck, planting a couple more kisses with mischief glowing in his eyes. You giggled as his breath left a ticklish sensation and you nearly knocked your head with his in an attempt to shy away.

"And how do you think I feel, leaving you at home like this?”, you let your gaze settle on your husband, a ghost of a smirk revealing itself on your lips, “I need to brush up on my cat fighting techniques, mister handsome, and maybe learn how to teleport" Put him in a rag and he would still look spectacular. Like this, in a relaxed, casual outfit that ideally matched his dark locks, highlighted the broadness of his shoulders and the jawline models would be jealous of, he was heavenly - something which you never failed to remind him of no matter what he was wearing. It was almost a shame that you had to leave for work instead of admiring this beauty for the entire day and an eternity more. You bit the inside of your cheek, banishing less than safe for work ponderings from your mind.

"Woah, Y/N, fighting for me? That's kind of - I do not think I should say what I am thinking."

"You’re being awfully cheeky this morning!" You lightly slapped the back of his hand and spun around, coming closer until only a mere couple of centimetres separated you. "What else can a kitty do with her claws?"

"I mean... my back has no complaints." He speedily responded, tightening his hold on your waist and attempting to capture your lips with his. But at this point, you had gotten good enough at reading Seonghwa to move away at the last second, resulting in a loud smooch right against your jawbone, followed by a purposefully childish whine, "Oh darling you are being a tease."

"Naugh- ty- Seonghwa, no kisses. I took too long to line my cupid's bow. I'm not about to let you ruin it."

You tried to wiggle away, wondering if your suit was actually creaseproof as the assistant at the boutique had advertised, but he was having none of it, now grabbing your hands and swinging them side to side. With his prior seductive aura having subsided after your decisive, playful rejection, Seonghwa’s glances were in many ways boyish, permission-seeking. The most miniscule hint of a pout made its way to his lips as he peered what had to be directly into your heart and intertwined your fingers together, stopping the motion.

“Y/N…”

“Keep this thought in mind, lovely, will you be able to?” you purred, amused at your husband’s slow blinking, reminiscent of an affectionate cat.

“Of course,” you dodged another attempt by him to nuzzle into your neck with a soft, melodic laugh, and pulled Seonghwa to follow you out of the bedroom, “Ah, careful,” he rushed to block the door frame, chuckling at your eagerness to get to the hustle and bustle of your day, even though just a little while ago you still were retaining that light nervousness, likely overthinking every interaction that was not even likely to happen. After all, this was a job only you could do, and it was something that you did better than anyone else. You owned what you did, and everyone knew it.

As you grabbed your keys, and were about to bid farewell to your husband before starting your commute, you sensed his energy shifting to that of scheming.

Seonghwa had a trial to face, and it presented itself with how stunning you looked in the glimmering golden light of the early morning, and how your every step almost sent a shiver up his spine. Wherever you were, he always managed to find you in one sweeping gaze, whether you were on the other side of a room or a few steps away. One of a kind, captivating, the world turned around you whether you would agree with Seonghwa or not. It was a simple fact. And here, in your apartment, where it was just you and him, it was impossible to ignore how his vision was occupied by you, and only you. He was consumed by the effortless charm you radiated, and when you caught him staring, how you lifted one shoulder and responded with a cheeky grin - a gesture of faux coyness. He clenched a hand hidden behind his back into a tight fist until his knuckles turned white, mutely regarding your final preparations before you would disappear behind the door. His thoughts were far away from what he had planned to do today, cursing how you had teased him and blaming routines - your husband would have preferred to take you and himself apart right here right now, unravel the tension that was so obvious he could almost taste it. He bit his lower lip as you leaned down to shift your footing in one of your heels, and barely suppressed a hiss as you glided back up, the pace of the motion highlighting how your curves were complemented by the suit. You were enticing, and watching your back Seonghwa could not help but remember the sensation of running his hand across it, caressing your body, guiding it as you turned into a goddess in the dimmed lights of your shared bedroom, connected with him in every way possible. You smiled at him as though you were not aware of the lustful darkness that began to consume his mind, lips tantalising, dangerous, his favourite heavenly nectar. This was unbearable.

It was impossible to ignore the searing gaze that seemed to have never left you since you had first returned it in the mirror, and was the last thing you experienced as you shut the front door. You kept the radio in your car silent, afraid that your thoughts would be louder than the music either way. Your husband was up to something, determined, and focused on you. And it was beyond exciting. This undercurrent of energy that was eternal, and ran through anything and everything he did was one of the multitude of reasons why you loved him. He was enigmatic, and yet so easy for you to explore. He had opened himself up to you so readily, revealing the edges of his vibrant soul that was so unparalleled and high octane that you swore that after meeting him, you ceased to breathe oxygen and could only ever inhale the adoration he provided. He was a dreamer, an ideator, a man devoted to the search for happiness, and that balanced you out so perfectly - it had only been a month when you had decided for yourself that Seonghwa was the one for you, and you would never let go. He was an eternal surprise, an enigma that was as soft and lovely as a cat, but wrapping itself around you like a serpent, slow and sensual. You wondered, as the day commenced and you were pulled into your first meeting, then another, just what your husband had crafted in his beautiful mind palace.

It did not take too long for the plan to reveal itself. Fortunately, because you did not enjoy facing unknowns. Unfortunately, it was in the middle of a meeting with some rather senior people. On the brighter side, you had proposed a five minute break before continuing the session so you had at least a couple of breaths to re-compose yourself, but other than that… it was only you, the phone that you were squeezing so hard in your hand that it could break, and the daring photograph blaring on the screen, setting you on fire. You had exchanged a couple of messages with Seonghwa prior to the meeting, his responses being cryptic and dizzyingly abstract, but nothing could have prepared you for the surprise.

Your other hand quickly found your thigh, gripping onto it so that you would not break your stoic disposition with a shaking leg, and you glanced side to side to make sure that the colleagues next to you had not returned to the room yet, and the others were preoccupied with their own devices or were deep in mundane conversation. So, this was what he was so enthusiastic about down following the morning antics. Clearly, you had not been passive enough for him to dismiss your glances in his direction - if you were to be honest, you had been eyeing him up and down from the moment he intentionally walked into you while changing, making you wonder how it was possible for you to want him more and more with each passing day, rather than feelings of attraction and enamourment subsiding with marriage and with sharing all the ups and downs. Instead, both of you were each other’s paradise, and that presented itself in all forms of desire. As you regarded Seonghwa’s form in the picture, lightly biting your lower lip as you tried to think of how you could respond to it, you could only be amused by how he knew exactly what buttons to press, and how to reignite what you had tried to pause earlier this morning - simply as an attempt to retain your sanity for handling paperwork and handshakes.

Resting on the chair that was in your bedroom, he made sure to accentuate his impeccable form, and how his long hair suited him so spectacularly. He had changed outfits - just for you, and that made you want to devour him all the more. Your precious husband who looked like sin. The vibrant beige jacket, which appeared almost brown in the sensually dimmed lamplight, hung freely over his upper body, revealing a tastefully bare abdomen, and consequently, the lovebites you had managed to leave above his heart and towards his collarbones after a particularly intense night a couple of days ago - they had only now begun to show signs of fading. Towards the very bottom of the picture you could spot the edge of a matching pair of trousers, black belt intentionally loosened to make your imagination run wild. A centrepiece, his black silver necklace and a perfectly paired earring, were the icing on top of the cake, their shimmer beckoning you. It was impossible to choose what to focus on; the head tilt, the elegant hand on which he was practically resting his head, how one leg had been thrown over the other - confident, in his element, so very Seonghwa that it made you hurt; and want him. Desperately. You shut your eyes and rolled them as you imagined the smirk on his face as he sent the image, knowing exactly what state he would pause you in, and hurl you into. When your husband was in the mood, it gave him an additional thrill to either catch you off-guard completely with bold advances and compliments, or fluster you until you were melting in his arms. And you did not mind one bit; that was your time to let go, to give up your stresses and iron grip and let all strains snap and become threads with which Seonghwa could pull at your very essence, praising you for how well you could follow his guidance, and just how perfect you were for him. You did not notice how your thumb was merely hovering over the keyboard until another message slid into view, and you barely suppressed a gasp, again looking up to make sure no one was watching you.

“Missing you, your taste, your everything, darling,”

This was the last straw, as you almost forgot what meeting you were in, where you were, how you were supposed to behave. You jolted upright, standing straight and excused yourself with a bow of the head, pointing at your phone - with the screen turned towards you. It was easy enough to get out, and storming down the corridor until you were out of everybody’s earshot, you pressed onto the call button, only to be met with a deep chuckle after a single ring. You could envision him still sitting on the chair, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling as he toyed with your passions, beckoning you to race home to him. He knew you couldn’t until the day was officially done, and that was part of the fun. It only meant that when you were to finally open that front door, you would be more than ready to give yourself up to his tender love and care.

“Park Seonghwa, what do you think you are doing?” you hissed, pressing the phone right against the side of your face as your foot tapped an abstract rhythm on the carpeted floor.

“What do I think? I think I am talking to you right now, what about you?” he replied, purposefully feigning obliviousness.

“Hwa, the photo… the damn message....”

“Oh! That… yeah, it’s nothing special, really, I just did not send you any in quite some time, so thought I could spark… something,” he paused, indulging in your shallow breathing before finishing the sentence.

“Well you sparked something alright. Seonghwa. Or should I say, my demon of a husband?” you raised an eyebrow as you were met with a silence on the end of the line, but not long after, a sweet, resonant hum of agreement.

“Mm, what a title. Is that how I am making you feel, precious? Are you missing a certain something too?”

Missing. What exactly did both of you imply the other was missing? The word was laden with ambiguity and promise, imagination running wild from the emphasis that Seonghwa had placed on it, lifting it onto a pedestal, above rationality and stability. Inhale, exhale - you counted your breaths, knowing that in a minute you had to be heading back to talk numbers, strategies, even though only your husband would be on your mind.

“I-... yes, damn it,” you mumbled, lashes fluttering as a shiver ran up your spine.

“Mhm, I see… Now, don’t be shy, tell me, what is it that you are missing, what do you feel?” if there had been any hope of you remaining focused on work for the rest of the day, it was most certainly wiped now. You were mesmerised, clinging onto Seonghwa’s voice as though it was your only salvation in the midst of a storm. Quickly, you were losing all sense of your surroundings, too focused on his breaths, his sigh when he was obviously displeased with having to wait for your answer, and finally, his subtle command:

“Don’t be shy, tell me what’s on your mind,” you could not bring yourself to even part your lips, eyes darting to what you could see through the blinds into the meeting room. Your senior colleagues were still lethargic, unfocused, scrolling away or engaging in idle chatter. Maybe it could be advantageous, but judging by the heat that began to rise over your body you would definitely struggle stringing words together with eloquent cohesiveness. Seonghwa. The devious man. Your favourite drug. Your worst and best addiction.

“Perhaps you might need a little… inspiration… yes?”

“I…”

“...wouldn’t mind having you right on my tongue, writhing, falling apart…”

“Park Seonghwa-”

“I want to taste you. Want to keep you close for a long…” he paused, indulging in your electric silence, “long time, warm my cock while keeping you in a tight embrace, kissing you until we cannot breathe… how does that sound?”

“G-good…” you struggled to mumble out, wondering why your knees were transforming into jelly. The coolness of the wall against which you decided to lean provided some illusion of support.

“Your turn,” his tone turned more commanding and that did not go unnoticed. You bit your lower lip, not caring if that was going to smudge your lipstick. Nothing mattered, “I didn’t spare any details,” he waited. You remained frozen in your own thoughts, thousands of desires darting around your mind, but none being brave enough to escape and reveal itself to your husband. Perhaps for the better:

“Please don’t make me beg,” he must have heard you stifle a sound that was far too inappropriate to ever be heard in the workplace - the airy laugh that you were met with over the line was downright sinful, and made you curse your job. You needed him. Needed the release he was so readily offering.

“Or do you want me to pry your dirty little secrets out of you until you are the one begging?”

A shaky inhale, an equally shaky exhale. You uttered his name, in a low voice only he had ever heard. Simultaneously hostile and tantalising. He now knew that he had you hooked.

“Mm… fine. Please, my darling. Please, tell me all those precious filthy musings swimming around in that delightful brain of yours,” you clenched the phone tighter in your hand and crossed your legs. You knew you had no time, despite easily imagining the position that Seonghwa was in, where he was and how lost he was in a lascivious dreamland. Eyes glossed over, lips wetted with his own spit, tension building in his core which he refused to unwind. Without you, at least. With a sharp intake of cold air, you steadied yourself. You were not about to reward demands with treasures.

“Now, what would be the fun in that?”

“Come on… Y/N, I-”

“Be good, and you might just find out.” you cut him off, offering a fake smile to a colleague who walked past you. You needed to come back. Immediately.

“So you will be heading back on time today, right?” he was daring you, but at the same time it was easy to notice the notes of desperation. Untouched, riled up, overwhelmed. Needy. Just how you loved him.

“Hm… I do have a couple of things I could do…” who were you kidding? You had already gone through the fastest route home in your mind.

“Is that refusal I am hearing?” you heard him shift in his seat, the image of him leaning forwards to put an elbow on his knee so vivid that it was as if he was before you.

“Not at all, love, not… at all…” giving up due to your growing distraction, you let your husband have at least a little bit of hope. Clearly, the words worked wonders as with newfound vigour, Seonghwa bid you farewell.

“Then see you soon, Y/N darling.”

Soon could not come soon enough. You were glad no one could see your leg shaking under the table, and that you were well-practised in discreetly checking the time. Teasing, tugging you along to follow his game, striking you out of the blue and opening the door to the world that only you two shared. You would be lying if you said that you were thinking about anyone else while debating with an executive, or when you were brave enough to point out a blatant assumption that was used to support a projection earning yourself a few pointed questions. But nothing compared to the blaze that caressed your skin, spurred you on and made you feel alive. Your favourite deviant, seductive god, king of your heart and keeper of your soul, he gave you control just as much as he could take it away. Wiping away anxiety, he left anticipation. Erasing doubt, he left a blooming confidence.

And with that feeling and darkened gaze, you were racing against the clock, accompanied by the sound of your soles clicking against concrete, accelerating away from the skyscrapers that housed your professional victories and into winding tunnels. You mutely cursed at every delay and every pause in your commute, but nonetheless made it home in record time, astonished by the vista of the setting sun which you normally could not catch in the winter months.

---

The jingling of the keys alerted Seonghwa of your presence, and he set his phone screen down onto the kitchen table, turning to perch himself on the doorframe. He crossed his arms, a ghostly smile on his lips. Aside from going through the regular domestic chores he had planned for himself - a feat in his far from concentrated state, he had decided to be a little more forward with his demands, much to your shared excitement. This, of course, began with his appearance, or rather, a casual exposure of himself in a way you had always encouraged him to do, loving his body so genuinely that it translated into an unparalleled self-appreciation for him. At the same time, that meant that in moments just like this one, he could use your infatuation with his mind and his physique against you. All for a little bit of harmless fun.

He was right, as always. The moment you lifted your head and were about to announce your arrival, a breath hitched in your throat and words died on the tip of your tongue. Hair loose, bangs neatly falling to frame his face, and that damn jacket with a leopard print inner lining, casually thrown over his bare upper body, befitting him so well that you needed to give yourself some time before choking out a quick, feeble ‘I’m home’ and kicking off your heels. He grinned, outwardly innocent, pretending to ‘just be happy to see you, when in fact his imagination was already beginning to forgo every article of clothing you had on. Scanning your form, Seonghwa could not help but bite back a groan. Since the moment you had left this morning, he wanted you back because he wanted you. On the bed, on the table, on the counter, he did not care about the mess. In fact, if there was to be a mess, he would be all the more satisfied. His skin was burning worse than if he were to have a fever, and every moment that passed while you were going through the regular after work motions was pure torture.

As you finished washing your hands, and were about to tiptoe past him, likely to set your bag aside in your home office, he stopped you with one, quiet utterance.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day…”

Your heart was pumping an unsteady, deafening rhythm, and your hands were on the verge of shaking. Nothing was stopping you from simply giving in… except maybe an inkling of rebellion that clung onto you. He already had you in his hold, mouldable to whatever form he wished for, but if he was to play the long game, so were you.

“Mmm… don’t know about that. Missed the memo,” you huffed, wasting a little too much strength on forcing the phrases. Rushing past your husband, you headed to your office and pretended to be taken by both your bag and the miscellaneous stationery left on the desk.

You heard Seonghwa stalking behind you loud and clear, hyperfocused on his catlike steps, but remained rooted to your spot. Taking every item out of your bag, painfully slow, you were rapidly succumbing to the vision of your husband taking you apart. Gorgeous tanned skin, which you knew he was purposefully flaunting to you, intoxicating plush lips which were so vivid in your mind you could almost taste them, and his skillful hands… which just so happened to now be hovering over your waist. You clenched your jaw when they found purchase on your hips, and almost guided you to stand up and be pressed right against him.

Heat was rolling off your stunning lover in waves, and it was downright unbearable to have your back be connected to his toned chest. Seonghwa had no plans of letting you go. He pulled you closer, until you could practically trace his half-hard cock with your ass. He sighed at the contact, air softly passing over your skin, and let his lips trace a broken line upwards to your ear.

“That won’t do at all…” he flexed his arms as his hands roamed your body, “Fortunately, I know exactly how to show you,” you completely blanked, “what a good husband you have.”

As he was about to toy with the buttons at the top of your shirt, the one on your jacket having been long undone, you sprung into action and stopped him, barely suppressing a smirk as you turned your head and spotted a dash of confusion in his glossy eyes.

“I do have a wonderful husband, indeed. Too bad he does not know how to behave properly,” using the moment you slipped out of his embrace, and sauntered towards the door. Seonghwa was left in shock, starved and needy, having been thinking about you, you and only you all day. But his composition returned just as rapidly as it had faltered. You slowed down before reaching the door, as if being pulled back.

Seonghwa was, indeed, magnetic. Lithe, agile, he reminded you of a panther, slinking across the couple of metres that separated you. You were aching to rip off the beige two piece right where he stood, and involuntarily darted your tongue between your lips, much to your husband’s amusement. He was not quite as gentle this time, grabbing a hold of you until you were chest to chest and securing your position by pressing on your lower back. His breath tickled your face; your hands snaked under his jacket, running over exposed skin, worshipping every part you could both see and visualise.

“Really, Hwa. So eager,” you mumbled, brushing your lips over his, testing the waters and seeing a lustful, desperate storm clouding his dilated pupils.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered against your cheek, leaving a tentative peck. You dared to glance at him, poking his nose with your own.

“You’re acting out… disrupting me at work… sending such dirty things to me… calling me to tell me how you want me… is this to be rewarded, my love?” a shudder rolled over Seonghwa’s body, resulting in him planting more feverish kisses over your face, moving towards your jawline and finally across to your ear, nipping it.

“How could I ever behave when I need you, and you are looking like this…” his fingers caressed the collar of your shirt, scalding hot, “and are wearing my favourite perfume…” he inhaled, as though he was drunk off your scent - it was nothing more than what had come to be your signature, a bouquet of notes that defined you, but soon enough turned to being another way in which you occupied Seonghwa’s senses.

Both of you subconsciously moved towards the door, getting impatient. Fingertips mapped the hickeys with violently cautious touches, and Seonghwa swore that if he did not act now, he would go mad. It was ridiculous. You were his life partner, a person to whom he had committed with his entire being, and yet with every passing day his desire for you kept on growing and he was falling deeper and deeper in both love and lust. With you in his arms he was a man lost at sea, blanking out, spiralling and devoted to passion. A big difference between your time dating and your married life, however, was that he did not have to hold back on his own wishes anymore, being as explicit as he was comfortable with, knowing that you would do the same, and no matter what, pleasure would be mutual and adoring. And, he needed it. Seonghwa needed you now. His hand moved on its own accord to cup your face and guide it towards his own. Millimetres apart, he set you ablaze along with him.

“...please…” spilled out, a feeble plea. Seonghwa’s eyes were darting all around you, trying to get some kind of answer, permission, anything. You nodded. And the thread holding you two back snapped.

The kiss was messy, animalistic, far from the calm lover with whom you shared your daily life. Seonghwa did not give you a chance to breathe, instead pushing his lips against yours with the ferocity of a starved man. Unparalleled sweetness graced you as his tongue slipped inside, and he eagerly revisited the movements he found most entrancing, his occasional rough and low growls sending you into a frenzy. Your muted whine spurred him on, and he pushed your entangled forms out of the office, and into the bedroom, the door to which had been left open.

One nip, another, it was as if he wanted to mark you as his everywhere, teeth leaving a pleasant blend of satisfaction and a dull pain to spread from your lips and shoot straight to your core. You began to push off his jacket, a request which he readily accepted, leaving him constrained only by his bottoms. Seonghwa would not give you any false advantages, speedily tugging your jacket off you. His erection was pressing into your thigh, and you could not resist grinding against him, eliciting a delicious groan.

Soon enough, your shirt and bra hastily joined your jacket on the floor, while Seonghwa spared no time in kneading one of your breasts, while feeling the air with the other in an attempt to reach the switch on the floor lamp, growling into the kiss when he missed the first couple of times and hand to open his eyes. You broke away from your husband, resting your palms on his abdomen and admiring just how pretty he looked in the warm, dimmed light that washed over the room in a flash. So it was that kind of night.

“...Want to see you…” he mumbled as he pressed his forehead against yours and locked your lips together once more, guiding you backwards towards the bed. When your legs hit its edge, he hooked his strong arm around you, a quick “careful,” escaping him.

“Let’s get this off, shall we?” gliding a finger on the inner side of the trouser waistband, he waited for you to comply. It did not take much time for you to get rid of the remaining clothes, and be left only with the full awareness of just how wet you really were.

You pressed your legs together, only for Seonghwa to inch his knee and push it in between, forcing them back apart. It was times like this when you realised that he really could read you better than you could read yourself, and any gesture, thought or fantasy, was his as much as your own.

“You’re so beautiful, no need to hide from me,” he scanned over your body, and you felt like you were on fire, melting into him. While your husband’s eyes were glazed over with lust, within them they still held so much love that your heart could burst. “Ah, wait a minute,” you watched as he removed his bottoms, and with a hiss, let his hard and leaking cock spring free. His low chuckle was music to your ears, “now we’re good.”

“Mhm… oh Hwa… I really did make you wait…” you lowered your gaze to his cock, finger tracing a line down his stomach and stopping right before its base. He sucked in a shallow breath, nuzzling his face against yours to hide how close he was to being pushed completely over the edge. Patience was a virtue, and he barely had any left. “Let me take care of you, hm?” you suggested, trying to move to the side to gesture for Seonghwa to sit down on the bed. He remained still, and whispered against your cheek:

“No… I wanted to do that- ah-” your leg brushed against Seonghwa’s sensitive cockhead, pulling a gasp out of him.

“Then I have an idea, if you’re with me on this. Lie down for me?” pulling away, you switched where you were standing, and tilted your chin to gesture at the bed that was now in front of you. Seonghwa peered around his shoulder, and back at you, a soft, tiny smile, albeit a meek one, dancing on his lips.

“Baby you’re doing too-”

“Shush, we can make each other feel good,” promptly following Seonghwa, you were now hovering above him, playing with his necklace.

“I love you,” he said breathlessly, making the side of your mouth curl into a half smile.

“I love you too.”

“Now I’m craving something sweet,” you lightly slapped his chest and shook your head in an attempt to hide your amusement.

“Oh stop it…”

“I think I’ll go crazy if I don't have you sitting on my face in the next few seconds.”

“Can’t have that happening.”

You adjusted positions, and once you had your back facing Seonghwa, he pulled your hips towards him to lower your pussy over his face. Carefully, you leaned forward, relishing in the sight of your husband’s impossibly stunning body, every muscle a work of art. After finding a comfortable balance, and waiting for the initial shock of Seonghwa tasting you to turn into a continuous thrum of pleasure, you spat into your palm, and wrapped the hand around his cock. His thighs tensed in response and his grasp became tighter as he rolled his tongue over your clit.

Mirroring him, you teased his cockhead, and only then proceeded to take his length into your mouth, relaxing your jaw and moving slowly to ensure that he would not reflexively buck into you. You flattened your tongue, dragging it along the shaft and spreading spit and precum. You took him deeper until he hit the back of your throat. With hollowed cheeks you began to bob your head at a leisurely pace and not caring for the mess you were making at the base of his cock, clear liquid running down past the corners of your swollen lips.

Seonghwa produced a muffled noise, unable to stay completely focused while you were driving him towards his high, but not breaking contact. He sucked on your clit, making you whine while deepthroating him. Your eyes were starting to water as you wanted more, always more, and you reached to fondle his balls, pausing to get some air. Strings of saliva and precum momentarily connected you still, and the lewdness of the scene was downright pornographic. You were relentless, addicted to this man whom you had the exclusive ability to call your husband. You were the one who knew how to take him apart and put him back together.

The wanton sounds of Seonghwa devouring your pussy stimulated you further, and the coil which had been growing tighter with every pass of his skillful tongue was ready to snap and release. A hint of a trembling sensation passed through your legs, and you sped up your own motions, your hand jerking off the base while you swirled over his tip in preparation to take him fully again.

Seonghwa dipping his tongue between, in and out, and through your wet folds had you seeing stars, and you grinded against him. He gripped you tighter so that you would not be able to instinctively squirm and lift yourself upwards, and circled around your aroused clit, sucking it in between his lips and returning to fucking you with his tongue. His vision was clouded, he was in a daze, unable to process anything anymore, except the static fuzziness in his brain and how delicious you were.

He used up what little attention he had left on your clit, and repeated ministrations had you tipping over the edge and shuddering in his hold. Seonghwa remained buried between your legs as your climax hit you, and held you to prevent your hips from leaving him, and continued to lap at your sopping heat, catching your release. You moaned against his cock, freezing in place and letting your husband chase his high by bucking his hips upwards and using you. In no time, he was painting your mouth and your throat with thick strings of white, falling back onto the bed while you followed to try and swallow as much of his release as you could. Cum and spit was dribbling down your chin and his shaft when you were finished, and once you, with Seonghwa’s help, were laying on your side and face to face with him the unmistakable glistening fluid on his face made you love him all the more. One kiss, another, you tasted yourselves on each other’s lips, choosing to make your lungs scream rather than let go.

He was so beautiful. His loving, electric gaze - a permanent feature of his expression when it came to you. Everything about him was a reason to adore him. You brushed away a strand of hair, one which had stubbornly stuck to his forehead, only for Seonghwa to take your hand in his and plant a soft kiss on its back. You giggled, enjoying the contrast of this intimate, but lighthearted moment as opposed to the passionate exchange earlier. This was how he was, and you would not want him any different.

You took your time regarding him, and he did the same to you. Blissful, overflowing with a want for more. His lips were on yours again, and you deepened the kiss by bunching his long inky hair in your hand. Every reaction, every gasp was your favourite music. Seonghwa rolled over and positioned himself between your legs, arms on either side. Hair perfectly framed his elegant features, and the shadows cast shapes akin to a painting you would see at a gallery. He was a masterpiece.

“Lift your hips for me,” you followed his request, wriggling into position while he lifted himself up to take your legs and bend them towards your torso, “thank you, my love… such a pretty pussy, all mine,” the dirty talk came naturally to him, and it was not your first time hearing it, but nonetheless had you biting the inside of your cheek.

Still sensitive, you whispered his name when he glided his hardened cock between your wet folds. Coated in slick and cream, Seonghwa met no resistance and bottomed out in one stroke. Your loud moan prompted words of praise and adoration, and he was certain that nothing could ever be better than this.

“Ah- just perfect-” you watched his face contort , eyes threatening to roll back as he started to thrust into you.

You could barely form words, sinking into the pillows and peeking at Seonghwa through half-lidded eyes - the most you could muster. All your senses were filled with him, and you swore you were going to fall apart at any moment. Grateful for his arms supporting your legs, you physically couldn’t resist the drowning pleasure, instead trying your best to keep up with his cock drilling into you, failing whenever it brushed over your sweet spot.

“H-hwa-”

“Mm?”

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, making him push your legs further apart and crawl a little ways over you until his orbs, near black in the dimly lit room, were boring into you.

You intertwined, overlapped, transposed into something greater than yourselves. Sharing the same air, you panted in time with your lover and captured his lips with yours over, and over again. His body was so close to yours, that you could feel his necklace brushing over your chest, occasionally touching your neck. Seonghwa filled you to the hilt, the slight stretch turning your moans into barely audible mewls.

“Please- h-harder- I l-love your cock so mu-uch-”

Seonghwa cursed under his breath, drunk from your choice of words, and with one final kiss curled over you and quickened the rocking of his hips to a brutal euphoria. You were on the verge of melting, bodies turning agonisingly hot with each passing second. Your hands searched for his wrists, weakly wrapping around them for some form of support. Carnal; you were infinitely turned on by how instinctive his reactions were. You could not care for anything in the world, words turning to a garbled mess and moans loudly echoing in your husband’s ears.

“F-fuck, you feel so good I’m-” he was fisting the bedsheets, ruthlessly pounding into you, the slapping of skin against skin and your sounds making him fall apart.

His pace faltered as he came, legs shuddering, voice breaking as he unleashed an airy and high-pitched moan, but he still continued to thrust while he filled you with his warm load. He pushed his release deeper inside you, breathing heavily and pressing you more and more into the bedsheets. The squelching was downright filthy, but you wanted to capture every drop and threw your arms around Seonghwa as much as you could given your position, simply so he could be flush against you. He hissed through gritted teeth as your walls began to clench around his aching length, prompting aftershocks from his orgasm.

“Hwa-a, I’m coming, I- don’t stop please-”

“Come for me, love,” his gentleness, even in such a feverish moment, was your undoing. The thread you had been clinging onto snapped.

Your head fell back against the pillows, and if it wasn’t for Seonghwa’s form securing you from above, you knew you would be arching off the bed, uncontrollable. You called out his name like a mantra, and in your ecstatic haze could sense him slowing down, helping both of you ride out your intense climaxes. Vision spinning, you did not dare move, instead transforming into a pliable doll for Seonghwa to rearrange. Shakily, he let go of the bed sheets and sat upright, tapping your legs to relax. Lazily, you stretched out, heart still racing, and barely registered the dip of the mattress next to you.

When you turned, your husband was there, head resting on his hand, propped up by his elbow. He was studying you with a small smile, and when he noticed you were more present, leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Hello,” it was almost unbelievable, just how honey sweet he could be in a matter of seconds, making you more shy than during sex. This made you all too aware and critical of your current state, and you turned your head to search for something to cover yourself with, until you heard a sigh escape your husband, “It’s like I’m dreaming. You’re so enchanting.”

He fell fully by your side, draping an arm over your upper body and gingerly massaging your hip. It was rare for him to not rush to clean both of you off, but you were not complaining about this kind of moment of closeness. It felt raw. It felt real. You got to fall in love for the nth time. Seonghwa’s face was rosy, blushed, and he was just barely steadying himself, but even then, was not letting go of you, choosing to retain all physical proximity in favour of going about routines. HIs cum is smeared over your folds, was dripping onto the covers and had smeared across your inner thighs, you had remnants of spit and release on your face, and yet he was still looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. His one and only.

“Not too sore? Shall I run a bath?” He poked your nose with his own, grinning when you ran a hand over the side of his face.

“Mm… I’m fine. But a bath would be nice. Can we…”

“Want me to join?”

“Mhm. Want you to give me a head massage.”

“Ah, of course, at your service-”

“Come on…” you chuckled at his joke and trailed off, pausing to stare deep into his eyes, musing everything and nothing all at once.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

“Just thinking how you should send me pictures more often,” a hint of darkness flashed in his eyes; mischief, future schemes formulating themselves. You traced past love bites, ran a finger over his plump lips which were equally as red and swollen as yours, you bet.

“Mm, you changed your mind I see. None of that ‘I am at work’ anymore, then?”

“Maybe you should be the one who is worried now,” you shot back with a smirk.

Seonghwa sat up, swinging his legs over to the edge of the bed, but turning back to give you one last adoring look before launching into a routine long-familiar to you. In no time, you would be taking careful sips of water while waiting for the bath to fill, and your husband would be telling you to stay put, having returned from the clouds and back to finding it unbearable to have clothes on the floor and creasing. Your heart swelled. He was everything at once, flipping switches, changing from one second to the next while still being his gorgeous self. Before, it had made you confused, flustered. Now, you just loved him. There was no other way to put it. You got to see every curve and edge, and always discovered something new.

“I’ll be impatiently waiting.”

❤️‍🔥 taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @starrysvn @shakalakaboomboo @uwuheeseungie @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

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familiarscars · 6 days ago

Text

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 02

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, bad words, drug addiction, betrayal.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

On the bus, you were focused on your notebook, while Jolly played a few chords on his guitar, and together you started shaping what seemed to be the melody for a potential new project. The label was pressuring for a single with a different energy than what had been done on the last album—you needed to reach a new audience, and it wasn’t the time to settle into a comfort zone.

“I like this,” Jolly commented with a faint smile on his lips.

You felt a flicker of hope that you were still capable of writing something worthwhile. In your recent attempts, everything had seemed awful, and your head was always too clouded to try again.

“I like it too!” Ruffilo chimed in, sounding excited as he grabbed the notebook from your hands to take a closer look. “If we make the guitar riff heavier in the chorus, we’ll have the perfect song without losing our identity. You take the lead, and Noah handles the growls.”

“Thanks, guys!” you said shyly, tugging at the sleeve of your sweater and clutching it in your hands. Your head ached from the drinks you’d had the night before, and you could hear your stomach growling loudly. “It’s just a draft; there’s still a lot to improve.”

“It’s too melancholic,” a voice cut through the space just as the bathroom door slammed shut.

Noah walked toward where everyone was gathered, his hands still buried in the pockets of his hoodie. Tilting his head slightly, he surveyed the group with disdain.

“If we’re aiming for something different, I don’t agree with sticking to what we did in The Death of Peace of Mind. It had all those elements, and I don’t want to replicate the same formula,” he said, yawning between sentences. You felt your face flush with embarrassment. “This band doesn’t just write about messed-up heads and broken hearts. It’s time to move on.”

Amazing how he could make you feel ridiculous with just a few words.

“Noah’s got a point…” you started, but Jolly quickly stepped in, cutting you off.

“No, he doesn’t!” Jolly’s tone was firm as he stared down his friend, who was idly fiddling with the string of his hoodie. “Our strength lies in being experimental, mixing sound textures and shifting genres in each track—from melancholic to hardcore. This lyric is perfect, and everyone here agreed it’s powerful enough to deliver what the label wants. But of course, you’d be the only one to disagree.”

“I didn’t agree because I don’t want to do the same work as if we weren’t capable of venturing into something new.”

“Well, Folio’s asleep, so we’ve got three votes against one. We’re producing this song, and it’s up to you to decide whether you want to be part of the process or not.”

Noah’s expression shifted from disinterested to furious. He hated being overruled, especially on matters involving the band. Of course, the final word always had to be his, no matter the circumstances. But you couldn’t help feeling a flicker of satisfaction, seeing the guys finally speaking up for themselves.

Still, you knew this wasn’t the end of it.

A coffee at a shady diner in Dallas was exactly what you needed. As soon as you stepped off the bus, you checked your pockets, made sure everything was in place, and headed inside.

Drinking wasn’t enough anymore—alcohol no longer took the tension out of your body the way it once had. Over time, you’d started seeking something stronger.

After snorting the thin white line on the bathroom sink, you lifted your head, tossing your hair back as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your reflection didn’t seem as drained now, and the world around you no longer looked as gray as before.

Leaving the bathroom, you adjusted your clothes and pulled the oversized hoodie tighter around yourself. When you sat down at a table, his eyes were the first thing you saw.

Noah knew you well. He could tell when something was off, and the way his brows furrowed spoke volumes about his thoughts.

“I already ordered for you,” he began flatly, scanning the menu without much interest. “Chocolate cupcake and a cappuccino.”

Your favorites.

“I’m not hungry.” You craned your neck, scanning the room for the guys, but there was no sign of them. Resigned, you sighed. “You can have my share.”

The diner smelled great, but the scent of coffee turned your stomach, empty for nearly two days. You had no appetite, and the unease in your chest seemed to seep into every part of your body. Across from you, Noah ate like a starved man.

You almost laughed, noticing how ravenous he must have been as he downed two sandwiches in record time.

"Since when did you start biting your nails again?" Noah asked, pulling you out of your thoughts as he gestured with his chin toward your hand, partially hidden by the hoodie’s sleeve.

You used to bite your nails until the skin around them was raw and scabbed, a habit born from your anxiety. When Noah noticed, he helped you stop, gradually teaching you to redirect that nervous energy. Writing, singing, breathing, thinking of things you loved.

It used to work.

“I…” You took a deep breath, almost forgetting to exhale as your eyes met his worried expression. Noah wiped his fingers on a napkin, and that’s when you noticed the silver ring on his index finger.

The ring you’d given him.

“I was just bored.”

“We have a radio interview at Rock FM today. Just you and me,” he said, the words heavy as if speaking them required effort. “If you’re not feeling up to it, we can reschedule.”

“I feel fine.”

“That’s not what it looks like.” Noah placed his coffee cup on the table, his gaze sharp and steady, his voice dropping to avoid attracting attention from other patrons. “You can fool Matt and the guys with your excuses, but not me. I know damn well why you’re anxious and why you’ve lost your appetite these past few days, so don’t treat me like I’m stupid!”

“You’re making assumptions about me and don’t want to be called stupid?”

“Caring about you and what’ll happen if you keep acting like you’ve got infinite lives isn’t making assumptions!” he shot back through gritted teeth, pointing a finger for emphasis. “Do whatever the hell you want with your life—you’ve made it clear you don’t give a damn about what I think—but the band is still our only connection, and you need to respect that!”

You rubbed your face, trying to rein in your frustration before meeting his gaze again. Noah was a puzzle. On one hand, he was openly admitting to a sliver of concern for the self-destructive path you were on. On the other, it was clear his priority was keeping the band out of jeopardy.

“Yes, sir.” You saluted sarcastically, pushing back from the table to stand. “Don’t worry, I’ll show up for the damn interview.”

Blowing out a puff of cigarette smoke on the balcony, you caught the signal—it was time to head inside for the recording.

The Rock FM studio was a small room on the top floor of a downtown building. You and Noah arrived just in time, waiting as they finished soundchecks before starting.

Both of you worked hard to keep the cracks in your relationship hidden during public appearances—interviews, performances, band meetings, recordings. Together, you mastered a façade worthy of applause.

Noah took his seat, and you settled into the one next to him. After adjusting your headphones and pulling the mic close, you exchanged a fleeting glance before turning your attention to the interviewer. Noah, wearing a cap and sunglasses, was grinning so enthusiastically you had to check if he’d been abducted by aliens.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t stop fidgeting—tucking strands of hair behind your ears, crossing and uncrossing your legs, licking your lips, and biting the inside of your cheek. Thankfully, your own sunglasses shielded your expression, offering a small barrier of composure.

“Hey, everyone! Today we’re joined by the two vocalists of the most talked-about metalcore band of the moment, Bad Omens! First off, thanks for being here. As a fan, it’s an honor to have you in our studio!” the interviewer began.

“Thanks for having us,” Noah replied with a grin.

“To kick things off, I’d love for you to talk about the band’s creative process. We’ve watched your sound evolve, how you experiment with new collaborations, mixing styles, and pushing boundaries in your productions. How do you pull all of that together into such a cohesive final product?”

“We like to draw inspiration from just about anything, even things that seem totally irrelevant,” Noah said. “The sound of an egg frying, a broom sweeping, a slap on my dog’s belly—if you work with it creatively, it can turn into something really cool. Our lyrics aren’t always tied to real emotions, either.”

“Noah speaks for his own lyrics,” you interjected, your sarcasm cutting through as you flashed a smile that made him shift in his seat. “As for me, everything I’ve written for the band has always been deeply emotional. Real feelings. Real words. I want our fans to hear something I can stand behind with pride—something they can listen to and say, Yeah, that was written by her.”

"Wow! That’s amazing!" the interviewer concluded, oblivious to the tense atmosphere that had settled in the studio. "Could you tell us which composition had the biggest impact?"

"I believe it’s the song I’m currently writing," you replied confidently. "It talks about feeling trapped, but not exactly by visible strings. In real life, there are so many things that immobilize us—whether it’s a crappy relationship, a bad job, or a toxic friendship. Things that don’t let you break free from cycles because, in some way, you need them. These things keep you alive."

"Lyrics like these are interesting to experiment with sonically. Slow beats and intense growls post-chorus," Noah added.

"Let’s just say Noah isn’t much of a fan of lyrics like that," you teased. "He’s the kind of guy who prefers to mask his feelings with heavy and contradictory lyrics."

You heard Noah cough and couldn’t help but smile, knowing you’d hit the target.

"I don’t think this is the ideal place to debate my musical taste," Noah said with an awkward laugh. "But yeah, I don’t believe a song can define me—that’s something personal to me."

"Dude, that first segment was incredible, and it’s so cool to get inside the minds of the people behind our favorite songs!" the interviewer exclaimed.

He was trying to contain his enthusiasm, but honestly, it was starting to get on your nerves.

"But I couldn’t avoid asking something that’s been a hot topic on the internet for a while: There’s been a rumor that your relationship has been strained since the last Sick New World festival, and some cameras caught an intense argument backstage. After that, countless pages started reporting that you had a relapse with your alcohol and drug issues, blaming Noah as the cause of it resurfacing. How do you feel about that, and how do you ensure these kinds of distractions don’t affect the band?"

You felt the ground disappear beneath your feet.

The live stream of Rock Radio had over 100K people watching the interview in real time. He had just brought up a subject you’d been avoiding for months, the one that made you disappear from social media. You couldn’t bear the weight of guilt, having all those people point fingers at Noah as the culprit. You couldn’t stand being so weak as to relapse. You couldn’t handle having so many strangers scrutinizing your relationship until the day it ceased to exist, leaving nothing but a painful scar on your chest.

Your body froze, and you couldn’t manage a single word.

Noah's hand touched your leg, and you heard him softly say you didn’t need to answer any of that. Your heart was pounding so hard, and sweat beaded on your forehead, even though you weren’t hot.

On impulse, you stood up and stormed out of the studio, running down the hallway. Tears streamed down your face, and you watched the drops fall onto your jacket. Your chest burned, and you felt so lost wandering the streets that a taxi almost hit you as you crossed the road. The blaring horn snapped you out of your daze.

You felt an immense emptiness.

You felt guilty for the ruin of everything you’d worked so hard to build over the years, dragging along the people you loved in the process. Yet nothing seemed enough to pull you out of the quicksand that kept dragging you down.

At the bar, you bought a bottle of whiskey to drink alone, staring out the window at the storm forming outside while the men around you cheered for the football game score. The liquor burned your throat as you gulped it down, ignoring all the calls making your phone vibrate.

You just wished the feeling would pass and, for one minute, you could stop being yourself.

Hours later, after finishing the bottle, you tossed it at the first street corner. You were drenched from the rain, your makeup completely smeared. Standing on an avenue you knew well, you recognized the perfect destination since you couldn��t take another step.

Stepping out of the hotel elevator, you walked right past your door and headed for his.

You just wanted a crumb of comfort. You wanted him to tell you the same lies he always did—the ones that somehow managed to calm your heart. You wanted the touch, the kiss…

The kiss someone else was receiving when you opened Noah’s door and saw him on top of another girl.

Slowly, you chose to close the door, not waiting for Noah to say a single word.

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soothinglee · 3 months ago

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| shitty 808s - kim jongseob x gn! reader - 1.2k wc✔︎

my notes⎯ sorry for not writing in a bit- I got hit by a scooter and lost hearing in my left eye. anyway- enjoy! (ilovejongseobsm). also the reader is younger than jongseob- so they're the maknae! warnings⎯ lowercase intended, cursing, not really proofread, I don't know jackshit about making music- I do make it just for fun but I don't know it on a professional level. songs⎯ "take you there x no bs" | dj short and "trillions" | alicia keys

“dude this sounds like shit.”

“it’s literally only 808s. it’s not going to sound good.”

“tell that to carti.”

jongseob groans and relaxes his body into the creaky studio chair. from where he's at; body slouches and neck bent, he feebly grabs for the mouse, each time he reaches he just barely misses it- giving a pitiful grunt every time.

you slap his hand away playfully, scooting your chair over in his place to play with the track. in the 30 minutes you've been in the studio you only managed the 808s. ass, in your opinion but something to start the song off as a base.

"what are you doing?" he mutters, looking towards the desktop screen. the black background of the software lights up every time you move around tracks. the purple and blue sections reflect off his glasses, "stop pressing stuff, you're gonna mess it up."

a scoff leaves your lips absentmindedly, choosing to replace the pre-made 808s with a original. you play it back for a spilt second- nodding to yourself feeling content in your work.

"you should be thankful I'm helping you," you start, adding a few high hats some measures into the song, "today is my off day and youngji just came out with a new episode."

he rolls his eyes and reaches over to grab his water bottle, he uncaps it and throws the lid on your lap. you make no effort to move it, "you would've had to come in eventually. jiung needed you today to record your verse."

you reach over to twitch your hand infront of his bottle, as if faking him out. he jerks his body away from you quickly, the water shakes in his hand- some even coming from the top and onto his sweater.

"bro." it comes out weak and quiet, a frown forming on his lips but you're quick to talk over him;

"for him, I wouldn't have complained. it's different when I have to do it because it's scheduled then come in to help someone work on his song." you spilt the back ground voices you added from files and slip in theo's guitar solo along with a 4 bar bass drum.

at this point you haven't listened to what has been added, jongseob still hogging the headphones. though you have enough confidence in yourself, and as one of the main producers, to know that the song will be somewhat decent- and way better than whatever he had before.

"what even is your inspo?"

"'bambi', baekhyun."

he makes a face, "sexy, no?"

you shrug, clicking around on the application to add some reverb, "piece will love it, fnc will tolerate it, intak will be happy. what more is there?"

he doesn't respond.

the difference between the software when jongseob had it compared to it in your hands is insane. infront of you the screen decorated with rainbows of colors, the static lines tracking the sound range from lengths and size. it's beautiful.

you feel a heavy weight on your left arm and look down to see jongseob leaning on you, he lets out a tired breath, and reaches up to fiddle with the loose string on your sleeve.

"are you almost done yet? you're hogging my equipment and I have other stuff I need to do."

"is all you do is complain?" you ask, titling the song with a random phrase and saving it, "because if that's the case I'll just get keeho."

his grip on your sleeve tightens as he tenses. for some reason jongseob is afraid of keeho- the latter always picking on him and fighting him. you would ask why and how it started but in all honesty, you couldn't really care.

"no no no, it's okay. you can keep working."

a proud smirk graces your lips as you reach over to slip the headphones off his head. he lets you, reaching forward to give you better access, smiling when he feels your hands pat down the mess they left.

you bend down slightly, apologizing when his head falls from your shoulder, and blindly reach for the tower to unplug the cord from its socket. "alright," you mess with the setting once more, turning the volume up enough so it can be heard. "you ready?"

jongseob yawns, "about time." you smack him upside the head.

the song is only about 3 minutes long, but in that three minutes it sounded wonderful. even though you were on playing around with it, something to keep jongseob satisfied until he could figure out what he really wanted to do with it, you think it could actually be the final product.

as the song plays you would take a look at his face to gauge his opinion. he seemed to like it; bobbing his head with the melody, a soft smile on his lips. it made you feel somewhat better about missing youngjis' show.

"okay, what do you think?" you ask as the beat fades out, you pause it so it doesn't play again and turn your body towards him, knees knocking each other.

he doesn't say anything for a minute, staring at the poster on the wall behind your head. his face is back to neutral. you think about snapping your fingers infront of his face to wake him up.

after a while he takes in a breath and says, “buns, actual buns.”

“you’re only saying that because it’s not jiung working on the song.”

he doesn't say anything but nods in agreement. there's a cheeky smirk on his face. "if that's the case, I'll just delete the song." you move the mouse to press erase before a hand catches you before you do.

"don't." he says, a mild glint in his eye as he pries your fingers from the mouse. he gently places your hand back in your lap while maintaining eye contact, moving the device to his side of the table.

"so it's not 'buns'?" you ask, the smirk back on your face.

he hesitates and then says, "no it's still ass, but why would I delete it just to start over, waste of time."

you laugh and go to answer but your phone vibrating catches you off guard. you use your face to open it to read the message;

멘토르 (mentor) come to floor 4 pls, we're ready for you :)

"uh oh," the chair beneath you slides backward as you stand up to collect your belonging. the bottle cap falls from your lap as you hand jongseob his headphones, "duty calls, i'll be gone for about an hour or two, if you need me, don't. I'll be busy."

he laughs, watching as you put on your shoes. you places a kiss on his head as you retreat for the door. you hear the clicking of a mouse and muffled music from behind you.

as soon as you reach for the door knob a voice calls out. "yeah?"

jongseob, hood pulled back so that you can see the bangs of his brown hair, his glasses that reflect the sparkle in his eyes, and the big smile on his face says, "I know I give you shit but thank you. you saved me a lot of trouble."

you smile back at your elder, a content look matching his own, "hey, anytime."

you close the door and head towards the elevator.

⎯if you want to be apart of my taglist let me know!

→ thank you for reading!

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jermer10 · 8 months ago

Note

(I'm new here so if you have done this already, MB) could you write heavy x reader when reader finds heavys clothes and wears them and heavy catches them?? I would like reader to be gender neutral or female and it can lead to NSFW if you want it too 🥴 thank you (ignore if needed) 💛💛💛

TF2 sweater weather | heavy x reader

18+ only, afab reader | i fucking LOVE heavy

drabbles under the cut :P

Every merc had a designated job in order to keep the barracks clean, and yours happened to be the bathrooms. You absolutely hated this job. Ten mercs living under one roof where 90% of you were men? Yeah, those bathrooms were feral, and after having to scrub them clean 2 times a week for months, you were beginning to grow exhausted. So when Medic offered to swap the laundry job with you for a week, you took full advantage of his generosity. You had no idea how much laundry 10 mercs produced in the span of a week. The first night is when you saw Misha's sweater in the dryer. It was massive, the biggest piece of clothing you had ever seen, red and adorned with black stripes and diamonds across the chest. It smelt of washing detergent, the musk of old clothing, and a hint of the lemongrass cologne he had been wearing that hadn't been washed out in the machine.

This wasn't the first time you had seen the sweater, in fact he wore it often during the colder months, but it was the first time you had it in your hands, the first time you were able to smell it up close, the first time you were able to feel the plush fabric scrunched up in your fists. You felt dizzy, face flushing in both embarrassment and lust. Your crush on the older man had not gone unnoticed by him, and his small advances had done nothing to aid the sticky wetness which gathered in your underwear whenever he had gotten too close. You closed your eyes, breathing in the scent of him, hands inching to the waistband of your shorts.

"YO! MEDIC! I NEED SOME UNDERWEAR!" A voice boomed from the entrance to the laundry. You snapped out of your trance, and threw the sweater back into the laundry basket. Scout came swiftly around the corner, towel wrapped around his lanky hips. "Oh! Uhh, hey y/n." He grinned, blush dusting his cheeks. "Hey man, underwear is in the basket. I'm not finished sorting through them yet so you'll have to search for 'em." He nodded, scavenging through the clothes. 'I need to get my shit together, that was so gross..' you thought, the blood rushing to your face once more as you began to toss the dirty clothes into the washing machine.

Night three you had seen the sweater again, and this time it was in the dirty basket. You couldn't help the perverse thoughts, gingerly picking the piece of clothing and setting it aside. You figured you could get a couple of loads on before washing it with the last of the clothing, then you would have adequate time to...do what you needed. It was dirty, the way you continued to glance over at it even after you had resigned yourself to doing your job. You needed to smell it, the blood entrenched in the fibers of the fabric, the lemongrass stench that you could pick up from across the spacious room, the smell of Heavy, his natural odor alone set you off.

"Fuck," You breathed out, feeing your fingers slide into your pants as you held the sweater to your face. You could cum there and then, imagining him as the person touching you. It wasn't enough, you needed to wear the sweater. You needed to feel him wrapped around you. It slid over your head with ease, the sleeves far too large, the bottom hem of the sweater reaching well below your knees. You came hard, muffled noises of moans as you shoved your face into the bunched up fabric. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" You clasped your face in your hands.

It was Sunday, the final day of washing clothes before you would have to go back to the bathrooms. The week had been slow, and you were certain Misha had picked up the change in your behavior. You were skittish, face red whenever you saw him, and whenever you saw him swearing that god forsaken sweater you couldn't even bare to stay in the same room as him for longer than a minute. That fucking sweater. Sitting clean, in the dryer, waiting, no, begging, for you to put it on. You obliged, slipping into the cloth eagerly. You stood there for a moment, smelling the fabric, taking it in. This was the last time you would get to do this. The last- "What are you doing?" You heard the thick Russian accent of the man behind you before you even heard what he had said.

You couldn't even look at him. You didn't have to, you could hear his menacing footsteps walk up to you, and then you felt his large hands grasp your hips. You couldn't help but gasp at the sensation. "Heavy has been waiting for opportunity like this. This is why you have been so scared of Heavy hmm?" His tone was hot, heavy, and laced with false concern. "Uhh, yeah I guess." You mumbled awkwardly. He laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that made your knees weak and your eyes squeeze close. "Come, little голубь." You felt yourself being lifted into the air and placed on the folding bench in front of the machines.

Heavy stripped your shorts from you, leaving no time for you to process his actions before your bottom half was completely naked. "Heavy came here to talk, but fucking you will get point across much quicker." He grinned, a lovestruck, sadistic grin. If you had been wet before, you were soaked now. He knelt down face lined up with your sobbing pussy, his tongue prodding at your entrance before his mouth absorbed your sex. "Ohhhhh fuuuuuuckkkkk" The moan drawls from your throat, its raw and guttural. Your body writhes and shakes under his gentle touch.

His tongue snakes it's way onto your clit, gently sucking and prodding at it with his lips. You're getting close, your fingers gripped onto his face, pulling him in closer, begging for release. He pulls away, and before you can produce a whine of protest, he pushes his index finger into you. It's enough to stretch you, to fill you up completely. He thrusts his finger in twice, placing his mouth back onto your pussy, and you cum hard. He pulls away licking his fingers clean, you're a heaving whining mess. "Wear Heavy's clothes more often." He states simply, standing up and smacking your ass before kissing you passionately and walking out. You should swap jobs with Medic more often.

#ask #tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 imagines #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #tf2 heavy #tf2 heavy x reader #heavy x reader #tf2 x you smut #tf2 x reader smut #tf2 smut #smut

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sweaterproducer · 6 months ago

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justlookfrightened · 1 month ago

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'I Wanna Be Like You'

Filling a prompt from @goddess47: A new rookie has broken one of Jack's rookie records and Jack finds he's really upset; Bitty offers comfort.

The puck thwacked against the tape on Jack’s stick just as he drew it back, and Jack fired it toward the net in one motion, sending the frozen rubber disc sailing over the goalie’s right shoulder and into the back of the net.

In an instant, Willie was embracing him against the boards while Poots and Connie skated in to join the celebration.

Hold on for another thirty seconds, and the game would be theirs.

Sure, it was a meaningless game at the end of another lost season, at least for the Falconers. The best that could be said about it was that the team was playing spoiler, ruining the Blue Jackets bid for the last playoff spot in the east.

Well. They wouldn’t have beaten Carolina in Round One anyway.

The buzzer sounded and Jack started to join the team as they filed down the tunnel towards the dressing room, stopping when one of the broadcast producers plucked at the sleeve of his sweater.

“Number two star,” the producer said.

Jack nodded, waited for Montblanc, the goalie, to take his turn and salute the crowd as number three star, then skated out and raised his stick to the Providence crowd’s cheers.

Willie, who had scored the first goal and gotten the primary assist on the third — Jack’s goal — was waiting to go out as first star.

“You mind waiting here a minute?” the producer asked as Jack tried again to go to the dressing room.

He was tired, his shoulder hurt and his gear was starting to feel uncomfortably clammy. He didn’t know why they would want him for the post-game on-ice interview; that was the first star’s job, although sometimes it got passed to the second star if the first one was new to North America and wasn’t comfortable speaking in English.

That wasn’t the case for Willie, though. Matty Wilson had been drafted by the Falconers in the first round last summer, a product of Minnesota who had moved to Canada in high school to play major juniors. He wasn’t huge for a hockey player, but he was compact and strong, with a powerful first step and a cannon of a shot. He also had the good looks and winning personality that meant he was likely to be the next face of the Falconers.

That was fine with Jack. A decade into an NHL career that he had thought wouldn’t happen at all, Jack was ready to pass the torch. And Willie had had a good season. A great season for a rookie.

Valerie, the broadcaster who did the rink-side interviews, positioned herself between Willie and Jack at the boards.

“Congratulations, Matty!” she said. “With your goal and assist tonight, you have 65 points for the season, a new record for a Falconers rookie.”

“Thanks,” Willie beamed. “It’s been a great season, and I’ve learned so much and developed so much more as a player.”

“Do you know who set the previous rookie scoring record for the Falconers?” Valerie asked, turning to Jack.

Because of course. Jack had set the previous rookie record, at 64 points.

Valerie explained that in case anyone in the arena had missed the point, while Jack offered congratulations to Willie.

He meant his congratulations. It was a huge accomplishment, something that wouldn’t have happened without Willie playing almost every game of the season, without him playing serious minutes in those games, without him becoming a very real scoring threat nearly every shift.

Almost like Jack, who had eclipsed his rookie point total five times in the last 10 years, but not this year.

Willie thanked Jack, and went on to say, “It’s a real honor to be mentioned with Jack, let alone play on the same line. I can only hope to have a career like his.”

Then they were headed down the tunnel side by side, Jack working to make sure he didn’t have a sour expression on his face.

Bitty was still up when Jack let himself in the back door of the house they’d bought three years ago. That was when Jack had signed his last contract, the one with the no-movement clause, and he and Bitty had agreed it was time to think about raising a family. No kids yet, but Bitty adored the dog they’d adopted two weeks after moving in.

The house wasn’t far from downtown Providence, but it was on a big enough lot for Bitty to have a large garden with room left over for an eventual play structure, and, maybe someday, a tiny rink in the winter. Bitty loved it because it backed up to the water, and the kitchen had marvelous natural light for taping his cooking segments.

Jack liked it because he could go out on the back deck at night, and it was magnificently quiet.

“Nice goal in the third,” Bitty said, looking up from his laptop on the kitchen table. “Protein shake is in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, letting one word serve as answer for both things Bitty told him. “Puck go out yet?”

Puck lifted his head from the rug in front of the sink when he heard his name.

“Not yet,” Bitty said.

“Come on, chiot,” Jack said, still carrying the tumbler with his shake.

He stood on the deck while Puck sniffed around the yard, watched the dog’s ears prick forward when a rabbit passed by on the far side of the fence, gazed out at the bay. This was better, right? Better than being a rookie, wondering how his career would turn out? He had a home, and a husband (and a dog) who loved him, they were planning to raise a kid or two or three together, his name was on the Stanley Cup twice … this was better.

Better than having his whole life ahead of him? Better than having his face on all the billboards and the sides of buses. Well, yes, for that part. Even though he was still on some billboards.

Some things were worse. The way his shoulder hurt after a hard game. The ache he was starting to feel in his hips every day when he got out of bed. How intentional he had to be to recover from one game and be ready for the next.

“Jack?”

He hadn’t heard Bitty come out behind him. Jack looked over to see his husband wrapped in old oversized hoodie, wearing flannel pajama pants and fuzzy slippers, carrying a steaming mug of what smelled like chamomile.

“You okay?” Bitty asked. “Puck should be ready to come in by now.”

“Ouais,” Jack said. He sighed and looked up at the sky, imagining the stars he knew were there from the nights he had spent at the family cabin in Nova Scotia. “Sorry. Just … thinking.”

“About what?” Bitty said, coming to stand right next to Jack, so that when Jack lifted his arm it settled naturally around Bitty’s shoulders, pulling him even more closely to Jack’s side.

“Willie. Matty Wilson. He broke the Falconers rookie scoring record tonight.”

“I saw,” Bitty said. “Is that what’s got you down, that he broke your record?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Jack said.

“No, sweet pea, I didn’t mean —”

“No, I know you didn’t,” Jack said. “It’s just, it’s not the record, really. Records are made to be broken. It’s a cliche, but it’s true. I didn’t expect it to last forever.”

“But you didn’t expect to score the goal that let someone break it?”

“I didn’t even know,” Jack said, with a little huff. “I’m his captain. I should have known. I mean, I knew he was having a great season, I knew he was close, but … maybe I didn’t want to know? I didn’t know when I set my record.”

“That’s because the previous record was like, forty points or something,” Bitty said. “You didn’t break that record, you obliterated it.”

“And we had so much success early on,” Jack said. “Then these last few years have been tough. I wanted to stay around until the team gets better again, until we have a chance … but I don’t know if I can. Did you hear him, Bits? Saying that he hopes he has a career like I’ve had? Like it’s over?”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t actually say that,” Bitty said.

“Maybe not,” Jack acquiesced. “But the implication was there.”

Bitty hummed a noncommittal response.

“I guess I was just remembering what it was like, back when I was a rookie,” Jack said. “I was so worried about everything. I thought I’d ruined everything and would never play in the league, but I did … and I was afraid I’d ruin it again and there would be no more chances.

“And we were new, too, you and me — really, maybe not the best idea for either of us, timing wise, but we made it work,” Jack said.

“That we did,” Bitty said, nuzzling a little into Jack’s shoulder.

“Once we got to the end of the season, and made the playoffs, it felt like — like anything was possible,” Jack said. “And once I retire, it won’t be anymore.”

“No,” Bitty said. “It won’t. Every choice you make — every choice everyone makes — closes off other choices. We bought this house, not the one in Warwick. I went to Samwell, not Georgia. Sometimes we miss out on things just because we got older, or because things don’t go our way. I hate to have to admit this, Jack, but I will never be an Olympic figure skater. And you will never be an NCAA hockey champion. Even though you deserved that so much more than me.”

“You deserved it,” Jack protested.

“I’m not saying I didn’t.” Bitty answered. “But you did too, more than I did. … I don’t know what I’m saying, really. Just that, no one gets everything they want, and I don’t think anyone’s life is really easy, not when you know them well enough to really know. But I hope you don’t have too many regrets. Not about your career, at least.”

“No,” Jack said. “Not about my career. Not about us, or our life, either. I could never have imagined this when I was growing up. It’s just — I got jealous, I think. I got jealous, because Willie still has everything ahead of him, and that feeling that everything is possible. And I remember how exhilarating that was, and how scary. Why did I waste my time being scared? Why didn’t I enjoy it more?”

Jack felt Bitty shrug.

“Because it is scary, when you don’t know how it all turns out,” he said. “People forget that part. Somebody saying they want to be like you — that’s a compliment, Jack. Take the win.”

“I guess,” Jack said. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

He turned to kiss the side of Bitty’s head briefly.

“And I know I got lucky,” he said, before releasing his husband and calling the dog, who had been sniffing at the bottom of the fence in hopes of finding another rabbit.

“And I know one more thing,” Jack added, as the three of them turned towards the door. “Willie won’t get to win a Stanley Cup his first year. I guess I’ll always have that.”

Bitty shook his head as Jack waited for him to enter the kitchen first.

“That’s the spirit,” Bitty said. “Is there anything you won’t turn into a competition?

#omg check please #zimbits #omgcp #my fic #prompt fill

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thefirstlioveyou · 3 months ago

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he's still wearing the sweater from the farm bts!! he wears a white shirt under the sweater. they just removed the sleeves again for courtesy it seems since those kind of lights produce lots of heat, and they need lots of light at night shoots. but the fact it's the same sweater... these episodes are gonna be long as shit holy

#byler #mike wheeler #st5 leaks

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sweatermakers · 11 months ago

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andypantsx3 · 2 years ago

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fingerprints | 8 | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 3.3k of est. 37k words | 8th of 9 chapters

summary: When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run.

tags/warnings: romance, soulmate au, fluff, pining, not actually unrequited love, aged up characters, eventual smut

Cooking with Shouto turned out to be a disaster.

Though armed with a coherent recipe and what were ostensibly all the correct ingredients, what you produced barely met the metric for edibility.

Shouto, for his part, chopped ingredients as though he had never once encountered terminology such as careful and uniform, producing an array of sliced vegetables whose size varied from microscopic to nearly fist-sized. He looked so handsomely put out when you set upon him to correct his work that you had to smother a laugh into the collar of your sweater for risk of offending him further.

You, however, did not actually fare much better. Ordinarily you were a passable cook, nowhere near gifted but not quite helpless either. But the sight of Todoroki Shouto in your kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows and a little pout on his mouth as he concentrated, was way too distracting for you.

You missed entire steps in the recipe, only to have to circle back later, and the amount of time your eyes spent glued to Shouto’s firm biceps as he chopped meant you also missed huge swathes of time, leading to a slightly-burnt tasting sauce and overdone chicken.

Shouto made things even worse by consulting his phone, murmuring directions in his mind-numbingly low tone, so gentle and hypnotic that you forgot to listen to the actual steps.

In the end, though, it didn’t even matter. You were so pleased to just be with him, in the same space, doing something distracting together.

You loved the way he took up space in your peripheral, his broad shoulders making the kitchen seem smaller than it was. You loved the scrunch on his nose when he concentrated particularly hard, the way his elegant fingers curled around the handle of the knife, the way he’d lean in close to you to get something at your side.

He was such good, easy company, and it made you fall even more helplessly in love with him than you already were.

The two of you ate stuffed together at your coffee table, reaping the inedibility that you had sown, but you found yourself too satisfied to care. Shouto, too, did not look like he minded much that whatever you made probably in no way approximated the recipe Fuyumi had given him.

When it was finally time for him to go, Shouto leaned in and drew you into another hug, pressing you tightly against him once again.

It made your head swim with all of the questions that were beginning to crop up about this new phase of your relationship. About what it meant that you’d been exposed, and things were only going to get more public from here. About what it meant that Shouto was getting notably free with your person. About what it meant that he’d bought you a property for your animal rescue, and had roped his own mother into helping him fund it for you.

None of those things had seemed at all possible just twenty-four hours ago—and yet here you were, a publicly-recognizable, thoroughly-hugged future owner of an animal rescue.

Shouto left with a final press of his fingers to the skin of your hand, watching raptly as the color flooded your skin. He leveled a kneecap-shattering smile at you, and promised to see you soon.

And then he left you alone, feeling better, but with about a zillion more questions than you’d had to start with.

The ensuing weeks only made things more confusing.

You were mostly confined to your apartment as the Todoroki Agency did its level best to combat the rampant speculation on your identity and the nature of your relationship to Shouto. The tack they seemed to be taking so far was that Yoshizuki Ayumi’s speculations were intended specifically to hype up sales of her book, and were not grounded in any true knowledge of who Shouto had come into contact with that day.

Shouto’s terrifying manager was in the news daily, running circles around the press in her little pearl set and tight ponytail. You knew it was only a matter of time until the truth was fully revealed, and you’d have been more sorry to her if Shouto hadn’t sent you a litany of texts implying she was having the time of her life cooking and eating reporters for breakfast.

Shouto continued to text you updates from his patrols, pictures of things he’d seen, lunches he’d eaten, cats he’d rescued from trees. He called you after every shift, sometimes directly after, and you’d hear the unbuckling of his uniform in the background, the rustle of cloth as it slid off him.

Those phone calls gave heart palpitations of the worst sort, though not as bad as when Shouto himself turned up at your apartment, greeting the rotation of heroes who’d taken to guarding your neighborhood. You met an entire slew of heroes you’d only ever heard of—Mudman, Lizardy, and most excitingly, Cellophane, all of whom you learned had been Shouto’s classmates at UA.

You spent your free hours consolidating your rescue funding plan, and working with a contact Shouto had provided on the plans to remodel the building he’d purchased. You tried to keep costs down, already overwhelmed by the amount of debt you were in to him, but Shouto seemed to have stipulated to the contractor that no dollar amounts were to be provided to you.

You reamed him out over text once you’d figured it out, only to be immediately steamrolled into silence by a selfie of Shouto with Princess, her cream-and-orange face pressed contentedly up against his inhumanly handsome one. Your mind blanked once confronted with that kind of cuteness, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to text back that wouldn’t give away how horrifyingly whipped you were.

Shouto was notably smug the next time you saw him.

You also worked up the nerve to start cold-calling possible donors to the rescue, armed with an opening date and operational model. You registered for non-profit status, drowning in heaps of government paperwork. You posted job listings for volunteers and full-timers, and reached out to Mari to gauge her interest. Handed in my 2 weeks!!, she texted you immediately.

You set up an accounting system and budget, a mission statement, and got in touch with every kennel, shelter, and veterinary office within thirty kilometers, alerting them to the impending opening of your rescue, your policies, and your capacity.

It was unbelievable that you were finally getting to do the thing you had always wanted to do, and that Todoroki Shouto—your soulmate—had made it happen for you.

And that left you with the final, most dizzying question of your relationship to him.

Because Shouto was being confusing as hell.

It still needled you, weeks into these new developments, that everything Shouto was doing for you was too much. It was absolutely beyond what a normal friend would do for someone, even if that friend was as rich and well-known as Shouto was. Opening an animal rescue on someone’s behalf itself was huge, and possibly within the bounds of platonicness and professionalism if you squinted. Maybe.

But Shouto was in touch so constantly that you wondered how he had time for anyone else. The end-of-shift calls were long, sometimes taking you both hours into the evening as you chatted idly while you cooked, while you cleaned, while Shouto played with Princess. When he spoke, he mentioned time with his mother and sister and his friends, but nothing about time with Yaoyorozu Momo, and between all the time he spent on shift, sleeping, and speaking to you, you thought he had very little time left.

He was more forward than ever, too, sitting close whenever you were together, pressing his fingers to your skin in greeting or in parting. But he never made any particular move that might be construed as romantic—he never moved in to kiss you, even if sometimes (very privately) you thought he looked almost like he was waiting again.

You didn’t know what to make of it. All of it taken together–the gifts, the rescue, the time together, the personal space—it all seemed too unbelievable. You knew you were just an aggressively plain, average girl, and the daily tweets that were still flung your way confirmed that. But Shouto made you feel—made you feel—

He made you feel different. Special. Precious.

Confused as hell.

It was the impending release of Yoshizuki Ayumi’s book, however, that pushed things to a head. Though Shouto’s agency had been able to delay the book and cast doubt on Ayumi’s publicity efforts, there were no legal grounds on which the book might be stopped altogether. And you honestly didn’t think that would have been fair, even if there had been. Technically, she wasn’t wrong. And technically, you had thrown her under the bus first, all those months ago.

You didn’t like the thought of being publicly known.

But you had been able to avoid it long enough to get to know Shouto naturally, organically, peacefully, without any of the pressure of public opinion that might have otherwise altered the nature of your relationship, ambiguous as it was. And when you thought about it deeply enough, that’s all you really could have asked for.

It was roughly a week from the revised book release date when Shouto told you the agency would need to make a definitive statement once and for all. And then he shocked you.

“I will leave it up to you,” he told you, one evening in his living room, where he’d finally been able to smuggle you for a change of scenery.

Princess had seemed thrilled to see you when you’d arrived, surprisingly, almost twice the size of when you’d seen her last and looking more haughty and elegant than ever. She’d padded over to give you a greeting sniff, and had immediately seized the hem of your pants with her claws, a familiar routine. You’d sank onto Shouto’s couch and let her highness do her worst to the bottom of your jeans.

“You what?” you’d echoed, staring at him in the soft buttery light of his lamps.

Shouto watched you carefully, his handsome face solemn. “I have thought about it,” he said in his low, soft tone. It was gentler than ever, and yet strangely shuttered, as though he didn’t want to betray any of his own opinion in his voice.

“I will not pressure you to be my soulmate publicly,” he said. “There are options. If you wish it, I can tell the public we are not. I can tell them I am a donor to your rescue and our relationship is purely professional. I have discussed it with my manager. It would be feasible that we would have spoken in debriefs after the attack, and that I’d identified your rescue as a charitable cause for the agency to invest in.”

The idea of continued privacy was admittedly tempting, but you did not like the carefully blank look on Shouto’s face as he continued. “However, we would be watched after that. I…We would no longer be able to meet like this,” he said.

He paused a long time, before finally adding, “I would do it, if that was what you wanted. It will be…difficult for you, once you are known, you can never regain that privacy again. I do not want you to have to experience that.”

You sat there, shocked by the idea. You hated the idea of not getting to see Shouto like this anymore. Much as you’d resisted it at first, you loved the time spent with him–how easy, effortless, comfortable it was–yet heady, thrilling, exciting. He took up so much of your headspace every day, the person you wanted to run to with news, the person you wanted to turn to when things felt overwhelming. Even if he wasn’t in love with you the way you’d always wanted your soulmate to be, the thought of giving him up just like that was unbearable.

But you also couldn’t help but wonder, privately, if there was anything else that motivated Shouto’s saying so. You knew he cared for you—there could be no doubt, after everything these past few weeks—but if he really did have a girlfriend, if he really was committed to someone else, if you really could never fit into his life the way you had always wanted…

You didn’t know how to weigh it. Your privacy vs the uncertain balance of this soulmate relationship. Your disbelief that Shouto meant for you to feel as special as you sometimes did versus the unshakeable feeling that he did mean it.

You needed more time. More information. More perspective—

You wanted to choose Shouto. You knew you did. You just wanted to be sure that Shouto wanted you, more than anything, to choose him too.

There was one last thing you wanted to scope out, you thought, before you made the choice that would define your relationship forever. One last corner of his life that you hadn’t been directly privy to, to figure out how you would fit into it, and what his relationship was to everyone once and for all.

You summoned up the courage and turned to Shouto, as Princess victoriously tugged a thread free from your jeans, letting out an ugly yowl that nearly drowned out your next few words: “I think…Shouto, would it be okay if I met your friends?”

The former members of UA’s hero classes gathered biweekly at a dive bar downtown. Chargebolt and Red Riot had apparently picked it shortly after graduation for the central location and cheap drinks that paired well with a brand new pro hero’s meager starting wage.

Over the years, most everyone from Classes A and B had rocketed their way up the ranks, but they had become so accustomed to and so unreasonably fond of the place, that it was still their go-to meeting spot almost a decade onwards. It certainly looked divey from the window, dark and dim, decorated mainly in neon beer brand signs and crammed with cheap stools and tables bearing decades of scratches.

Despite its shabby appearance, your spine still prickled with nerves as you approached, Shouto a long, lean shadow beside you.

“What is it, love?” he asked, leaning in.

Your heartbeat kicked into your throat. He’d been calling you that so much lately—love—and every time it sent your head spinning. You really didn’t think it was all that platonic of a nickname, and it was just another reason you had to make sure this evening that Shouto really meant for you to choose him.

The back of his hand pressed to yours, and you gratefully seized it, shuffling a little nearer to him like you could absorb his calm demeanor if you were just close enough. Your whole body prickled with awareness of his hand in yours, those long, pretty fingers gripping you carefully. You didn’t look down, but you knew the pads of your fingers were leaving smudges of color all along each other’s skin.

“I’m just a little nervous,” you admitted. “I want to make a good impression.”

Shouto’s heterochromatic gaze picked over you carefully, and he bent his head to look you in the face. “You already have.”

You looked at him curiously, and he took a step forward, gently tugging you with him, steering you into the bar’s interior. You could have sworn you saw the tip of Shouto’s right ear go a little pink against the white of his hair.

“You were all the Class A group chat would talk about, when it first happened,” he said, his tone carefully blank. “Some of them quite liked that you made me give chase.” You thought if his tone wasn’t so meticulously devoid of emotion, he might sound like he was pouting.

“Hell fucking yeah we did, that was the funniest shit I had ever seen!” a bright voice chirped, and suddenly a wide smile and electric yellow hair were filling up your vision. “I’m Kaminari Denki,” the man introduced himself, and you realized you were speaking to pro hero Chargebolt. He appeared to be attempting to blind you with a million watt smile. “I’m a huge fan of the running.”

You took his proffered hand and gave your own name, unable to help laughing. “I didn’t really mean to leave him there like that. I just panicked.”

Kaminari’s smile widened and he was joined by Mina Ashido—pro hero Pinky—who grinned brightly at you too. “I think it did him a little good,” she whispered conspiratorially. “He’s never had to chase a girl in his life.”

Your face heated at the implication, and Shouto’s fingers tightened in yours almost possessively. Mina just looked at him and laughed, blowing him an apologetic kiss, and then turned and beckoned you over to the corner that Class A had taken over. They’d pushed several tables together and dragged over some stools from the bar, and a dozen members were already present, sipping beers, chatting and laughing, some of them waving invitingly.

Mina found you a seat between her and pro hero Cellophane—Sero Hanta, who you’d already met a few times on duty at your apartment, who fist-bumped you in greeting, smiling his huge toothy grin. Then he turned and fist-bumped Shouto, who looked long used to this treatment.

“Shouto, man, good to see you. Even better to see you, Y/N,” he said. He introduced you to the rest of the people at the table—which included some truly dizzying names, like Midoriya Izuku, the number one hero Deku, who smiled sweetly at you from beneath wild green curls, waving a heavily scarred hand.

It wasn’t even a minute before Mina was plonking some aggressively pink drink in front of you—”My favorite, trust me you will love it!”—and you were immediately absorbed into the group’s conversation, like you’d always been there.

They were a friendly, rowdy, extremely tight-knit bunch, as anyone would be, after all they’d been through together as a class. You were fascinated by the dynamic—Shouto was alternately roasted within an inch of his life and indulged as the baby of the group—all it took was a little pout from him and he instantly got whatever he wanted. You appreciated that you weren’t the only one who was helpless against him.

When Shouto ordered his first drink—something fruity, served in a voluptuously curvy poco grande and garnished with a rainbow of fruits and a little umbrella—Kaminari seemed to start down the well-worn grooves of an old conversation. “So secure in his masculinity,” he sighed as Shouto sipped, his long fingers toying with the pink umbrella. You stifled a fond smile in the collar of your jacket.

Mina kept you in a steady rotation of luridly-colored, juice-heavy drinks, all of which Shouto seemed to want a sip from, and you slowly relaxed into the ease of everyone’s company. You thought maybe you did have a place in Shouto’s life, could fill the space at his side, and it would be as easy as breathing.

You just needed to confirm one more thing.

You were on your third drink, beginning to smile a little bit goofily, when the door blew open and in walked the final piece of your mission this evening. She was tall, elegant, and as dangerously curved as Shouto’s poco grande glass had been, her hair pulled up in her iconic dark ponytail, swinging daintily.

Yaoyorozu Momo: pro hero Creati.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto x you

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