#smart carpet and flooring

[sototallynormaliswear]

yeah sorry I know he has a cool leather coat and glowing red eyes and insane amounts of trauma, but he's just not a bad boy type of guy. he's more of a loser really. no I know he could kill you easily and that's part of his allure. but also last week he nearly died and despite the blood loss lectured the English teacher on muiltiple classic novels. he also got locked outside in the rain. so

[damnprecious]

Moving be like "shove Djungelskog and Whitebeard the Whale into a sack"

[antimony-ore]

I had the thought yesterday 'CPS would take me if I was still a child in this environment' and I'm not exactly a functional adult am I?

[luveline]

also didn’t realise that amanda was their little baby but here’s an idea if ur up for it. amanda inherits like spencer’s smartness i guess and so when she starts spewing facts about the random-est stuff spencer’s overjoyed and then bombshells just staring at them with adoration in her eyes?? idk something really fluffy

“Shoes?” Amanda asks. 

“Yeah, babe.” 

“No thanks.” 

You hold Amanda’s socked feet in your hands. “You need shoes to keep your feet warm.” 

“I’ll have socks.” 

You look past her tiny face to her father for some assistance. Spencer scratches his neck, looking absolutely exhausted, though he’s dressed sharply. You’d spent a few minutes finger curling his hair this morning before it dried, and he’s brushed them out gently, giving him a windblown look. You pretend to take a photo of him. He rolls his eyes. 

“Amy,” he says lovingly, baby-voice in play as he leans over the back of the couch, “you know why you have to wear shoes?” 

“Why?” 

“Because growing up, your feet are very small, and very fragile. They need time to grow in proper structures, and they can’t do that if you don’t wear shoes when you’re walking a lot.” He gives her shoulder a rub. “Don’t you wanna match me and mommy?” 

“You wear shoes… different. Mom has heels,” she insists. 

“What if I wear flats?” you ask, eager to leave the house before afternoon. 

She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest with a Spencer style pout. 

Spencer sits down next to her with a sigh. You’re both aware of how smart she is for her age, and while it can be interesting, it’s also made some stuff so, so hard. Like explaining shoes. “I’m not want to wear them. It’s good for my skin to breathe.” All her r’s sound soft, like w’s.

You rub your eyes. Spencer sucks in an excited breath. “Yes! Skin can’t really breathe, but it’s good to have it uncovered sometimes to help your circulation and your pores.” 

“‘Xactly,” Amy says. 

“And, you know, shoes that don’t fit right force your feet into narrow positions, which can cause a whole bunch of problems.” 

“No shoes,” Amy says. 

“But…” Spencer backtracks, thumbing under her eyelashes gently. “If you don’t wear your shoes, we can’t go out to the store for groceries and we can’t go to the bakery on the way home. Which means you won’t get your sugar donuts, mommy won’t get her slice of cake, and that’s gonna make me so sad.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I love when your mom is happy. It makes me happy when she’s happy. She doesn’t look very happy now, does she?” 

In all honesty, you’re much too pretty to be sitting on the floor, tights to the carpeting and your cute black dress bunching up your thighs. You refuse to close yourself into the ‘mom’ box some may expect of you, dressing as you had before you became a mom, but you’ve allowed Amanda the opportunity to choose your necklace; a gold pendant ring with green and pink sapphires. It’s gorgeous, colourful, and doesn’t even slightly go with your outfit. Spencer reaches for it now, tugging it straight carefully against your neck. 

You frown deeply, pulling your widest, softest doe eyes. “Please, lovely girl, put your shoes on. Or I’m gonna have to be strict, and I hate being strict.” 

“Don’t fw-own, mommy,” she says, listing into Spencer’s side, “you’ll get wrinkles. Worse wrinkles, ‘cos your muscles remember.” 

And again, all her r’s are w’s, her pronunciation lispy and sweet despite her amazing expertise. Spencer laughs and takes her face into two hands, kissing “Wow, smarty pants,” into her crown. “You’re so smart! I can’t believe it!” 

You feel your annoyance softening. Fine, she’s a smarty pants, and you secretly love it so so much. You’ll just have to carry her to the car. Or her genius dad can carry her. Actually, that could be great, Spencer’s never looked so handsome as he does carrying around your little baby, especially now he’s started working out every now and then. 

“Better role your sleeves up, Spence,” you say, standing up off of your knees. “I’m keeping my heels on. Daddy’s gonna carry you, and you’re gonna get wonky feet.” 

“That’s fine,” Spencer says to her in a whisper, “I’ll carry you forever if you want me to, even if you do get all wonky, bubby.”  

Amy preens as she wraps her arms around him and he picks her up. He takes her shoes from your hand without her seeing. 

“Isn’t she amazing?” he mouths, and he means it, his eyes wide with it. 

“She’s gonna protest socks, next, Spencer Reid, and then what are you gonna do?” you ask. You aren’t half as concerned as you’re pretending to be. Amy’s a baby. She’ll learn how important shoes are soon enough. 

“I’m gonna hold her in my coat, like this,” he says, pulling his coat over her legs. 

“Like that,” you say to yourself, grinning. “Okay, you two do what you want. Can we go now? We really need to get some groceries.” 

[kitten4sannie]

ᴀ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ᴀᴅᴊᴜꜱᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ

ᴀɢ��� ɢᴀᴘ/ᴀᴜʀᴀʟɪꜱᴍ ➠ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ

pairing: personal trainer! yeosang x fem! reader

genre: pure smut

summary: you love your weekly visits with your personal trainer. he always stretches you out just right.

w.c: 2.4k

warnings: mean(ish) dom! yeo, sub! reader, 15 year age gap, seduction, teasing, sir kink, dirty talk, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, auralism, groping, half dressed kink ig?, cumming untouched, oral (receiving), fingering, squirting, brief deep throating, unprotected sex on a yoga mat, creampie

a/n: i done lost it guys TT just imagining having messy sex with mean dilf yeo somehow adds and takes off ten years of my life at the same time like some pemdas shit aughhh… i hope you enjoy this filthy mess <33

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ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“What do you mean you’re breaking up with me?” you gasped into your phone, holding a hand against your chest, personally offended that your boyfriend of six months would suggest such a thing. “And what about my personal trainer? He’s like fifteen years older than me. Baby. You really think I would do that to you?” 

“Y/N, I’ve seen him with my own eyes. I know you’re fucking him, and I’m over it. It’s over,” your boyfriend repeated into your ear, just ripping the bandaid off then and there. 

“You can’t do that. We’re not breaking up,” you scoffed, wrapping a lock of your hair around your finger, your lips forming a pout. “Babyyy, come on, you’re being so dumb right now.” 

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he quickly said, before hanging up. 

“Ugh.” Pissed off, you tossed your phone onto your canopy style bed, knocking one of your limited edition plushies off and onto the carpeted floor in the process. You turned to your full length mirror, glaring back at your scrunched-up face, your hands formed into fists near your tiny tennis skirt. “If he thinks I’m fucking my personal trainer, then I’ll fuck my personal trainer, alright.”

And so, your petty, self-righteous plan of spiteful revenge was set. You were a smart girl. You knew exactly what to do to get your ridiculously sexy personal trainer to break his professional and moral codes. All you had to do was wear something impossibly tight without anything underneath and moan a little louder when he was stretching you out. It was as simple as that. Right? 

࿏࿏࿏

Yeosang was everything a woman desired, all the way down to his persistent ability to respect them. He respected you, almost too much in your opinion. Here you were bent over in a ‘stretching position’ right in front of him, wearing a too-tight pair of gray leggings and the tiniest sports bra known to man, knowing damn well he could see the way you had your tits all pushed together for his viewing pleasure in the mirror, yet his eyes remained on yours. 

“How does it feel, Y/N? Are you tight anywhere like last time?” Yeosang asked, his voice, like dripping honey, filled your body with a comforting warmth. He studied your stretching form, one hand resting comfortably underneath his scruffy chin, the other on his hip. 

Your knees trembled slightly underneath you, urging you to return to a resting position, eventually sitting on your knees. You looked up to him, your eyelids lowering slightly, a pout on your glossy lips. “Really tight, yeah. I think I need help, Yeo…” 

“Then, I need you to lay down on your back for me,” he replied in a soft, though stern tone that made your cunt pulse, getting down onto his knees beside you with a small grunt. “Show me where, Y/N. You can do that, yeah?” 

Just as you laid down on the yoga mat, a fresh wave of slick slipped out of you. Damn him. He should be getting worked up over you, not the other way around. How would it be an act of petty revenge if you were soaking wet just from hearing your personal trainer’s absurdly sexy voice? 

“Nnngh, it’s right here…” you exhaled, feeling out your stiff hips, looking up at him past your lashes. “I need some stretching out, I think.” 

“Mm, I see. Well, let’s get you taken care of,” Yeosang nodded as his lips curled up into a somewhat mischievous smile, positioning himself so that he was in between your spread legs, wrapping his hands around one of your thighs and gently pushing it down towards your body, causing you to gasp. “Just relax for me, sweetheart…that’s it…” 

You were about to lose your mind, trying harder and harder not to let out a pornograhic moan the more Yeosang pushed his body weight onto you, your lower halves practically flush together. You wondered if he could feel how wet you were through your leggings, knowing there were no panties to catch your slick. “Yeosang…fuck…” 

Yeosang pushed down a little further, nodding his head apologetically. “I know, sweetheart, I know it hurts, but it’ll be worth it,” He gave you a charming smile, his fingers squeezing into the flesh of your thigh, pushing you down further, until the ache of your muscles matched the ache inside your cunt. “Still hurts?” 

“No, it feels good now, keep going, Yeo,” you sighed out, your eyes glazing over with lust, gently running your hand over his, sensing a hint of desire when it began to peer through Yeosang’s own lingering gaze, his hands moving towards your other thigh, beginning to give it the same treatment. 

“That’s a good girl,” Yeosang praised innocently enough, pressing your other thigh down against your body, leaning his body weight on you just enough to drive you mad, you cunt clenching around nothing. His other hand slipped around your opposite hip, expertly massaging it around with his calloused fingers. “Mm, you’re almost there. Just a little more…” 

“Yes, sir,” you sighed out, swearing you heard Yeosang’s breath get caught inside his throat just as soon as you felt something hard and heavy forming against your lower abdomen, hoping you weren’t just imagining it with your overheated brain. “I’m still so tight, Yeo…be gentle…” 

Yeosang bit into his bottom lip, coming to terms with your current shared predicament, wondering if you were both on the same page, but not fully knowing if he should cross several professional boundaries or not. Regardless, here he was, already pressing his stiff erection into his very young, very horny client’s cunt through her soaked leggings. What did he have to lose? His license maybe, and the respect of his peers perhaps, but it was worth the risk, especially now that most of the blood in his body had left his brain and filled up his heavy cock.

“Gentle, huh?” he chuckled deeply, pulling back slightly to admire the sight of your soaked cunt through your slick-stained leggings. “Sure you don’t want it rough, considering the way you’ve been dripping for me this entire time?” He ran two fingers down the legging seam that separated your puffy folds, rubbing them into your clit, making you let out another gasp. “Thought you could hide this from me, did you? I could feel how wet you were getting…”

“Fuck– Nooo, Yeo, I just wanted you to see it for yourself,” you answered whinily, spreading your legs open just a little wider, grabbing at the waistline of your leggings to make the shape of your cunt more pronounced, your pout returning. “Do you like it, sir?”  

“Jesus, of course I do. My slutty little client shows off her wet cunt and thinks I wouldn’t like it? Huh? Did you think I would be able to hold myself back?” Yeosang shook his head out of disbelief of his insane luck, taking his time running his calloused fingers up and down your clothed slit, admiring the way the material formed to the shape of it. 

Fuck it. You were too desperate now to reclaim any semblance of control over the situation, your act of personal revenge long forgotten, your mind only having enough space in it to think about Yeosang and getting used by him.

“I did it because I want to be your slut, Yeo. Please? Can I? I’ll be so good for you.” You began to move your hips along with his movements, in desperate need of more friction, more pleasure at your disposal, begging him with your glistening doe eyes. 

“Of course you can be my little slut, princess. You already are. I mean, just look at you, whoring yourself out for your personal trainer like this,” Yeosang groaned out, just as he lifted your ass up into the air by your hips, licking his lips. “I’ll make you mine, sweetheart.” And with that, he tore your leggings open just enough to expose your leaking cunt, leaning down slightly to take a deep inhale of your warm, flowery scent. “God, you’re completely soaked for me, Y/N. You’ve been wanting this so bad, haven’t you? Just dreaming about my tongue inside this tight hole of yours, huh?” 

“Yess, oh my god, please eat me out, Yeo, I’m begging,” you squeaked out from below him, already teary-eyed, ready to beg on your knees for the older man’s attention if you had to. 

Yeosang took an experimental lick up your cunt, already collecting enough slick inside his mouth for him to swallow down happily, idly working your clit with two agile fingers. “Do you play with your little clit like this and think of me before you go to sleep at night, Y/N?” he asked huskily against your cunt, beginning to lap at your leaking hole, teasing it with his tongue. “Huh? Do you think about me stretching you out with my tongue? With my cock?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned, just as Yeosang’s tongue fully slid inside you to rub at your inner walls, tongue-fucking you in a ravenous manner, his fingers still flicking at and squeezing your clit, your juices dripping down the lower-half of his face. “Fuck…! Yeosang…!” 

“Uh-huhhh…” he moaned into you, sending pleasurable vibrations through your cunt, eventually replacing his tongue with two more fingers, fucking you so quickly, you couldn’t even get a chance to breathe. “That’s it, baby, you’re so close, aren’t you? Going to squirt for me, yeah? Is my slut going to cum all over my face?” 

“Yes–fuck, Yeo–” you could barely call out, your muscles tightening suddenly, your lower half pulsing more and more until you let out an involuntary cry, clear liquid squirting out of you and pouring onto Yeosang’s face, spilling onto the yoga mat, and soaking into the material of your torn leggings, some dripping along your abdomen.  

“Oh my god, that’s a gooood girl, look at you…” Yeosang praised shakily, gently slurping up your squirt from your twitching cunt, moaning into it, his softening cock resting against his cum-covered inner thigh. “What a good little slut you are, Y/N.” 

“Good enough for cock?” you simply asked from below, reaching up to spread your cunt apart further for him, all while gazing up at him with barely open eyes, still swimming in your post orgasm bliss. “Wanna be stuffed, Yeo. Please?”  

Your adorably filthy behavior alone made Yeosang harder than he’s been in a long time, making him want to join in on the fun. He wasted no time positioning himself so that his knees were on either side of your head, slowly lowering his joggers until his long, veiny cock sprung out in front of your face. “I think you should drool on my cock for me first, princess. Maybe take it down that pretty throat of yours. Sound good?”

“Yes, sir,” you obeyed, opening your mouth wide enough to take what you could of Yeosang’s impressive length inside, gagging immediately when he began to fuck into your throat, dribbles of spit leaking down your chin. “Mmmfff…” 

Gutteral groans routinely escaped Yeosang’s throat, continuing to pump himself into your mouth, unable to release himself from the tight, warm confines of your now bulging throat. “God, you’re taking me so fucking well, princess. Wish I could watch you swallow my load down…” He suddenly pulled out, resting the tip of his heavy cock on your saliva-streaked lips, letting you lazily lap up the beads of pre-cum that spilled from it. “Gotta fuck you, though. I know that slutty cunt needs to be filled with cock.” 

“Fuck, yes, sir, give it to me,” you purred against his cockhead, sucking and slurping on it like it was candy, only stopping when he pulled away to lower himself down your body, until his cock was slowly pressing into your willing hole instead. 

“Doesn’t matter whose cock, huh?” he asked in his low, honey-like voice, wrapping his fingers around your hips, massaging into them like before, only this time he was sliding you onto his pulsing length little by little until he had completely bottomed out inside. 

“Mm-hm. I love cock, especially yours, Yeo,” you admitted breathily, the shame you felt only increasing your arousal, barely able to hook your thighs around his waist when he began to quickly pump himself into you, your hole swallowing his thick cock up each time.

“You’ll let a–fuck–older guy…someone who’s your personal trainer…nnngh…use you like their own personal cum dump and–” He pulled out suddenly, only to plunge himself deep into your cunt, making you cry out. “–pump you full of his cum as long as you’re getting stuffed and bred. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Uh-huh…!” you cried, unable to keep yourself from moaning and whining each time Yeosang slammed himself into you. “Fuck me like the slut I am…Please, sir…” 

“Oh godd, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Y/N, gonna fuck your goddamn brains out,” Yeosang gruffed out in between brutal thrusts, resorting to grabbing and holding your wrists down so that you couldn’t get away from him, drilling his aching cock into your squelching hole like he was getting paid to do it, which he technically was. Life was good for Yeosang.

Yeosang did indeed fuck your brains out. He fucked you until you didn’t know which way was up or down. The only thing that brought you back to reality was something warm and thick gushing inside you, Yeosang’s calloused hand holding your own down against your abdomen, his nasty words barely reaching your hazy mind. 

“You feel that, princess? All the cum I’m filling this whore-hole up with?” he asked you softly in between harsh pants, a few beads of sweat sliding down his sharp chin and landing onto your flushed face. 

You could hardly move, let alone form a coherent sentence. “Yes, yes, yes…” 

“I want to see it…Want you to see what I’ve done to you.” Yeosang slowly pulled out of you, milking the tip of his cock, groaning softly, leaving a few more spurts of his load on your puffy cunt, a few drops of it getting onto the torn hole inside your leggings. 

He gently turned you around, so that you were facing the mirror on the wall, reaching past your spread thighs to spread open your cunt with his thumbs, laying his lips against your ear, “Look. You got cum leaking out of you, your leggings are all torn up, and you got squirt all over the mat too...Do you see what a mess you’ve become for me, Y/N?” 

“Yeah, I see, Yeo. I love it…” You gazed at his hazy reflection in the mirror with hearts in your eyes, wishing you had seduced your personal trainer at an earlier date. 

Inhaling your flowery scent once more, Yeosang pressed a kiss onto your cheek, nuzzling it. “That’s my girl.” He tilted his head to the side, his hands rubbing into your sore hips. “Same time next week?” 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[chillian-murphy]

Let Your Big Brother Take Care of You

SUMMARY: While visiting your stepbrother at college, you have a hard time falling asleep after some drunken mishaps. He helps you out.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS/ADDITIONAL INFO: Smut 🔞, dubcon, stepcest, intoxication, fingering, comfort sex kinda??, gratuitous mention of Taco Bell

Beta read by @sasybanana

Actually visiting with your step-brother had been the last thing on your mind when you told your parents that you would be visiting him this weekend. Sure, you got along fine, but you barely knew each other and it felt like he was moving out for college as soon as your families joined. Instead, you were hellbent on finding the best partying and hooking up opportunities his film school had to offer. Framing it as a sisterly visit and a chance to learn about campus life was purely an excuse to convince your parents to let you travel on your own, which they seemed to buy as you were headed off to school yourself next year. Besides, Neil had an off campus apartment you could crash at, which would be cheaper than a hotel.

He greeted you with a hug as you entered and set your stuff down, instantly being assaulted by the scent of unwashed laundry and old weed smoke. Still, it was comfortable enough, and was a nice taste of freedom from your mom’s house.

“So, my baby sister wants to visit me for the weekend, for reasons not at all related to my school’s reputation as a party campus?” He smirked as you situated yourself.

“Of course! Just like how my big brother spends all the money he gets from our parents on textbooks and tuition.” you shot back.

“Touché. Well, whatever trouble you’re determined to get into, fuck, I dunno, be smart about it. Use condoms, don’t get drugged. Don’t drink so much that you puke, or at least, try to puke somewhere other than carpet.”

“Wow… so caring.” you rolled your eyes as you headed to the bathroom to get ready for the evening. You snatched a flyer off of a phone pole for a house party, and the directions you got off google said it was only a few blocks away. As soon as you had your heels and your lashes on, you were off.

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

Stumbling back to Neil’s apartment with your heels in your hand, the night had been a bust. You finished too many mystery drinks too fast and ended up puking in the lap of the one guy who was interested in you, locked yourself in the bathroom to cry for the better part of an hour, and bolted for the door as soon as you pulled yourself together. Thank fuck Neil had the first apartment on the first floor, otherwise you might not have been able to find it in your impaired state.

The door was unlocked, and Neil hadn’t moved from his place on the couch in the hours that you had been gone, presumably wrapped up in whatever it is that he does in his spare time (Watch movies? Play video games? Jerk off? You really didn’t know). This was fine, you really didn’t need him noticing you at the moment. You tried to enter quietly, but tripped over yourself as you moved.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

Neil rushed over to you to make sure you weren’t hurt. Unable to form words, you started crying again when you met his gaze, big fat mascara tears rolling down your cheeks. Even as he helped you to stand, you wobbled on your way up and had to lean on him for support.

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Dunno… a lot.” It was true, you had chugged whatever you were handed and helped yourself to a variety of half-finished cups that were abandoned by their owners. You had never drank this much before, and had no idea how much was too much until it was too late.

“Shit, um, let’s get you to the bed. The room is yours tonight, don’t worry about it. Do you think you can walk that far?” There was genuine concern in his tone, even if he was a bit panicked and clueless. He looped an arm around your waist and guided you as best he could to the tiny room. Your flop onto the twin bed wasn’t exactly graceful, but landing on a mattress was about a thousand times more comfortable than landing on the floor.

As soon as Neil turned to leave, you began fighting your way out of your tight, itchy dress. Unfortunately, the zipper was stuck (damn cheap clothing) and the garment was too fitted to pull over your head. Refusing to spend any more time stuck in scratchy fabric hell (Seriously, Forever 21, who sells unlined sequined dresses?), you continued wrestling with the zipper and wiggling to find a better angle until you rolled off the bed and landed with a thud. Not knowing what else to do, you shouted for your stepbrother.

The worried look on his face quickly turned into an eye roll as he entered the room and saw you on the floor again.

“So are you like… determined to spend the whole night down there? Undeniably attracted to shitty carpeting? Horny for the floor?” Having a laugh at your drunken expense might not have been the nicest thing for Neil to do, but you were being such a handful tonight.

“I can’t get my dress off,” you sheepishly mumbled as you avoided his gaze. “The zipper’s stuck and I need your help.”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine.” Neil soothed as he knelt down to meet you on the floor. “If anything, I’m flattered… Usually I have to buy a girl dinner before she even thinks of asking me to undress her.”

You shot him an unamused glare, but nonetheless turned and leaned towards him so he could reach the zipper. His touch was warm and gentle as he fiddled with the impossibly tiny hook-and-eye clasp atop the zipper, one hand gently pressed against your upper back to steady you while the other went to work. Before you knew it, the dress slackened and you were able to free yourself from its confines, modesty be damned.

“A tiny little dress and no bra? You really were planning to have fun tonight.” You were still turned away from Neil and couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

“It has built-in cups, pervert!” you huffed as you rushed to cover yourself. You groped around for a t-shirt or something before remembering that you were in an unfamiliar room and not at home. “Get out, I just wanna sleep.”

“That doesn’t explain the little lacy panties, though.” Neil let his eyes trail over you before tossing you one of his own shirts. It was true, you had gone out partying with the hope of hooking up as quickly and anonymously as possible, but you weren’t going to admit that. All you wanted was to gain a little sexual experience of your own before heading out to college, but now the only boy to see you naked was your weird stepbrother. “And I’m not leaving you alone tonight. You can’t even stand and I’ve had to help you up twice. You’re too much of a mess to be alone.”

He helped you onto the bed again, only this time he climbed in behind you after hitting the light. The bed was small enough that there was almost no choice but to snuggle up to him, using his shoulder as a pillow. As weird as the whole situation was, it felt nice having him there, like a grounding tether against the spinning sensation in your head.

“For what it’s worth, I thought you looked really cute tonight. Before all the puking and crying and falling, I mean.” He chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. As sweet as the gesture was, you couldn’t ignore the growing gurgle in your stomach.

“Neil… I want Taco Bell.”

“I’ll buy you all the Taco Bell in the world tomorrow if you settle down and go to sleep.”

“Okay…” you buried your face into the crook between Neil’s neck and shoulder as he pulled you closer and idly rubbed your back. You couldn’t help but moan softly at the sensation, which Neil tried his hardest to ignore.

Had you been a little more awake or a little more sober, you might’ve noticed the hitch in Neil’s breath as his hand trailed up and down your back, or the way his hand soon opened into a flat palm and started exploring lower, dangerously close to the waistband of your panties. Instead, you continued to lay silently, dozing off as his hand inched lower.

Eventually, his hand made its way to your ass and cupped the supple flesh. Feeling emboldened by your lack of response, Neil began to squeeze and knead. This made you squirm away, but in doing so, you were met with the perfect amount of friction as your clothed pussy rubbed against Neil’s thigh. Neither of you had realized just how closely you were snuggled together until now, when it dawned on you both what was happening.

Part of you panicked, part of you realizing that this was wrong through your drunken haze, but another part of you only cared that you were being touched, and it felt pleasurable. That was the whole reason you made this trip, right? you rationalized to yourself as you attempted to grind against your stepbrother’s thigh a second time. 

Instead of being met with the delicious friction, you felt Neil shift beneath you. Did you fuck this up? Were you just imagining his hand on your ass? But before you could worry any further, he was rolling you onto your back with his thick, firm leg pressing between your thighs and spreading them, and the unmistakable poking of his erection against the spot where your hip met your belly. He pushed his thigh against you, inviting you to grind it.

“Is this what my horny little sister needs? Can’t fall asleep without coming?” His voice was low and husky, in equal parts from being half asleep and his obvious arousal. You were starting to transition from drunk to hungover, feeling more drowsy and dizzy than anything else, and the most you could answer with was a pathetic little whimper as he nudged you.

You rubbed yourself against him as best you could, unable to find just the right angle from the new position you were placed in. In a fit of frustration, you tried pushing Neil off of you so you could rub yourself with your hand, but he was deceptively strong and had you pinned.

“Neeeeeeeeeiiiillllll” you whined, once again wondering if this was all a mistake, maybe you should just try to fall asleep and forget this ever happened. Forget the whole night ever happened. Change your name, move across the country, and never talk to anyone who witnessed tonight ever again.

“Shhhh, it’s alright, just lie there and let your big brother take care of you.”

Just lying there was about all you could do as Neil snaked one of arms between your legs, stroking your folds through your panties a bit aimlessly before gathering the courage to reach beneath the cloth and explore further. After a bit of awkward poking around, he found your clit and began circling it gently with his fingertips, eliciting another whimper, this time of pleasure.

“See? I know exactly what you need. M’gonna play with your little pussy until you relax and fall asleep, like a good girl.” His fingers began teasing your slit, tracing up and down its length without daring to breach inside. It never would have occurred to you that Neil would know his way around pussy, he never brought any girls home when he lived with you. He must’ve gotten a lot of practice after moving out, because the way his fingers were just barely ghosting over you was driving you crazy in a way you couldn’t understand. You wanted him to stop, you wanted him to continue exactly what he was doing, you wanted him to start giving you more. All you knew was that you wanted him, and for him to keep touching you.

As if he could read your mind, he spread your innermost lips and plunged two of his fingers inside. The stretch was sudden, but not at all unwelcome. You were wet enough for him to thrust his fingers in and out of you easily, spreading your slick wherever he touched. As soon as he began alternating between fucking you on his fingers and roughly toying with your clit, you started seeing stars.

“You like that? You like me finger fucking your tight little pussy? I wish I could see it, I bet it's all pink and cute, like your nipples. I bet you’ve never even taken a cock before."

Too drunk, too horny, and too tired to form words, the most you could do was shyly squeak in affirmation.

“Next time I’ll have you bounce on my cock so I can watch your face as you come. Or maybe I’ll eat you out so I can really get to see how cute your pussy is. Or maybe you’ll just want to pay back the favor I’m doing you now and suck me off.”

Next time? You hadn’t considered something like this happening again, or even the fact that you’d have to see him again. In mixed company. With your parents around. Would he fuck you in your childhood bedroom while everyone else was downstairs cooking dinner? Or would he keep your liaisons a dirty little secret that only happened away from home?

You didn’t care. You were coming from your stepbrother’s touch, in your stepbrother’s bed, far away from anyone else you knew. You felt your stomach tighten and your toes involuntarily curl, much stronger than you ever felt sneakily rubbing yourself in the shower. Thank fuck you were in a dark room, because you swore you could feel your face going all stupid.

You must not have realized how much you were panting and clenching around his fingers, because Neil seemed to know exactly how close you were and began whispering in your ear, encouraging you to come. You could barely register what he was saying, you were so lost in the sensation of his breath on your neck and his hand on your cunt.

Your orgasm finally took hold, and you could hear yourself babbling in pleasure but had no idea what you were saying, if you were even forming coherent words, as the pleasure ripped through your body like an electric shock. After the initial burst, you felt your body relax in a way you didn’t know was possible, releasing tension you didn’t even know you were holding. You swore you could feel yourself melting through the mattress before realizing that no, that was just sweat.

Noticing that you were lying there like a limp noodle and no longer squirming and moaning, Neil rolled off of you, withdrawing his hand from your panties. His fingers were completely soaked with your wetness, and while his initial instinct was to wipe them off on his shirt, roll over, and go to sleep, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he was rock hard. In a stroke of genius that would soon lead to literal stroking, he realized he had the perfect lube on hand.

He shoved his drenched hand down his boxers and began tugging his desperate member, softly grunting in rhythm with his pumping fist. Part of you felt bad that you weren’t helping, you had kinda forgotten that Neil was a complete person with desires of his own and not just a machine to get you off, but you were cozy and half asleep and he seemed to be handling the situation well enough on his own. At least, well enough that he was coming all over the front of his shirt.

He carefully pulled his soiled shirt over his head and wiped off his hand and what was left of his mess before tossing it on the floor and reaching for the blanket that had been kicked to the bottom of the bed amidst all the excitement. You felt yourself being tucked in as you gently dozed off, snuggling into Neil’s side as soon as he laid down beside you.

Yeah, you were going to visit your step brother a lot more often now.

[heartkaji]

‪‪❤︎‬ TEEN ROMANCE !

(n) — bllk boys & their kind of love. includes : isagi yoichi, reo mikage , nagi seishiro , oliver aiku

ISAGI YOICHI ! — romeo & juliette.

dating yoichi is sweat-soaked skin pressed against sweat-soaked skin on the mink fur rug of your bedroom floor carpet. isagi is yawn slash yearning—he kisses you silly with honey on his tongue & your back pressed against your bedroom floor with thighs wrapped around like ivy on his waist. there are bruises on your neck & cherry lipstick stains his cheeks & every minute or two you have to pull away because ‘i swear i hear my mom coming up the stairs.’ even so he nibbles at your neck & traces comets on your skin because ‘don’t worry pretty, she’ll never find us out.’ your heart’s in your throat & you swear the footsteps are getting louder but all you can do is swallow your chest & pray. you hug yoichi a little tighter because unlike romeo & juliet, your story will not end in split hearts & summertime sadness.

REO MIKAGE ! — skin & a country club

super rich kids make nothing but fake friends but the ghost of reo’s lips on yours is oh-so-sloppy yet oh-so-real. his mouth tastes like raspberry syrup & strawberry chambourd & when his palms slip below the seam of your skirt you think he is grace. you know that once the party’s over & it’s time to leave the yacht you’ll go back from star crossed lovers to trust fund babies who long for something more than riches & bloodline; so you tug at his hair & guide his hold to your hips in hopes he’ll hold you tighter & never let you go.

NAGI SEISHIRO ! — lovelorn lethargy

nagi seishiro is lazy lover & lazy kisses & lazy touch on your waist, neck, everywhere. he smells like sea foam deluxe & cotton elixir but you want to crush his bloody throat between your palms because ’one more round angel, i swear it.’ it was one more round thirty minutes ago / an hour ago / an hour and a half ago & you’re only a girl so you’ve decided you’ve suffered enough. you have your coat on your shoulders & mary janes grace your feet & you’re about to leave but your waist feels warm & there’s a weight on your neck—‘m’sorry bunny, i’m all done now, yeah ?’

OLIVER AIKU ! — sex & a daydream

last week he left scars on your back / this week he left scars on your neck / next week he’ll leave scars on your heart. you hate aiku & his smart mouth but you love the way it swells & blossoms with peach smeared lip stick when you bite his lip & kiss him silly. aiku is fox teeth ripping through peach flesh—he tastes like brown sugar & warm honey in a wheat field but you can smell carolina herrera & you know it’s not yours. your heart bleeds up your throat & you should push him away but his hand’s in your hair & his palms grip your knees. you’ve got all the time in the world—you might as well kiss him now & curse him later.

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, edit, translate or reupload

[wqnwoos]

“i seriously don’t know how to tell you this,” your friend says, somehow looking anything but serious. “it’s about vernon.”

you glance between seungkwan, who’s sat himself directly in front of where you’re playing with vernon’s carpet, and vernon himself, who’s just gotten up to make popcorn. “alright,” you reply, mirroring seungkwan’s hushed tone. “what’s up? is everything okay?”

“well, no, actually.” seungkwan has a flair for dramatics. “it isn’t my place to say this, but i’m going to say it, because it’s been literally almost two years, and neither of you are saying it. and so by this time, it’s like, my moral duty. like, i owe it. to society.”

“kwan,” you say, wrinkling your nose, “i love you very much, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

“you’re in love with him. vernon.”

the statement in itself doesn’t shock you. seungkwan is smart; you’d honestly be more surprised if he hadn’t known your deep, dark secret. what’s surprising is that he’s bringing it up, when vernon is literally just a few feet away, bopping his head to some invisible tune or the hum of the microwave.

“no comment,” you whisper, finally, adding in a hiss: “and also shut up. he’s right there!”

“___, please,” seungkwan begs. and there is madness in those eyes; he looks borderline frantic. “i can’t be the third wheel for any longer. like i physically can’t take it.”

you reach for his knee to pat it soothingly, eyeing him with a wary expression. “i still don’t know what you’re talking about. but it’ll be okay, kwannie. i believe in you!”

he groans, miserably, but continues, still speaking in rapid-fire whispers. “i’m saying vernon has feelings for you. like, more than friends.”

“…you mean, like… best friends?”

seungkwan collapses. throws himself backwards onto the carpeted floor with a long, drawn-out groan — you’re used to seungkwan’s dramatics, but this is top tier for him. you’re honestly kind of impressed with how long he keeps the groan going. it’s injected with very emotive frustration, and you can respect that.

seungkwan sits up with abrupt suddenness, grabbing you by the cheeks. his eyes meet yours with ferocious intensity; yours meet his with a confused blink. “you,” your friend says, very seriously, “are fucking stupid.”

you don’t even get the chance to muster a response, simply sitting dumbfounded on the carpet as seungkwan gets up. “i’m leaving,” he announces loudly over the beeping of the microwave. “jeonghan hyung called. i have to feed doljjongie.”

vernon sticks his head out the kitchen, brows furrowed. “you mean the rock?”

“yes.” and with that, seungkwan points at you, mouthing a verocious say something, before turning on his heel and marching straight out the apartment.

“yo,” vernon says, glancing at the front door with bemusement as he rejoins you, armed with a bowl of warm, buttery popcorn. “what happened to him?”

your mind is still reeling from two minutes ago (“vernon has feelings for you. like, more than friends.”) and so when vernon squishes against you, as he always does, you choke up. can’t answer his question, determinedly staring at the screen in front of you both.

you only offer a lame little shrug in response to his question, sneaking glances at vernon from the corner of your eye. you’re stupidly in love with him: the way he always eats three pieces of popcorn at a time, knocks you on the side of your knee with his when he wants your attention, brushes his overgrown hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand.

you used to think it felt like the world was coloured rose when you looked at him. a swooping, butterfly-inducing, fluttery feeling — but now, you’ve realised that’s not it. with vernon, you see the world exactly as it is, bright and grim, but maybe a little softer round the edges. a little less daunting, because he’s always on your side.

even from a distance, seungkwan is the one to buzz you out of your reverie. your phone vibrates and lights up with a text from him —

[9:36pm] seungkwan: say something!!!!!!

you let out the smallest sigh, and vernon catches it, eyes flicking to your phone and back to your expression. he nods, once, eyebrows raised, “everything good?”

“just seungkwan,” you say. and without any build-up, you blurt out, “vernon, do you ever think about dating?”

his brows furrow and his lips twist in their characteristic vernon way. “dating?” he pauses, meeting your eyes. “that’s a random question. do you think about it?”

all the time. “do you?”

“i mean. yeah, i guess so,” he answers slowly, uncertainly. “sometimes.”

again, without warning, you’re changing the subject, speaking rapidly before you can think it through. “seungkwan didn’t leave to feed doljjongie.”

the movie is long forgotten by now, vernon shifting more to face you. “i mean, i figured,” he starts, half-amused, half-concerned. “it’s a rock. you’re acting weird. are you okay?”

“seungkwan left because he didn’t want to be a third wheel.”

you watch as bafflement appears on vernon’s face. “third wheel? but — we’re not — we aren’t dating.”

you swallow, suddenly wondering how you’ve found yourself in this situation. “yeah, well. i guess he thinks we should be.”

there’s a heavy silence that settles in the room, then. vernon doesn’t move away, his eyes falling to your twisting hands, watching as you start picking mercilessly at your nails.

“don’t do that,” he says quietly, taking your hands in his, separating them. he squeezes, ever so gently, just enough to make you look at him — when your eyes meet, his grip tightens ever so slightly, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows.

“what do you think?” he asks, after a moment that feels like forever.

you blink at him. “what?”

“seungkwan thinks we should date.” he hesitates. “i think we should date. what do you think?”

when you breathe out this time, you’re smiling, unable to bite it back. “i think i have to agree with the majority.”

the smile you get in return is practically divine.

an / one day i will figure out how to write another trope for vernon. today is not that day. neither is tomorrow.

also my taglist is currently not working and i have no idea why 😭 will try and tag in the replies but if i miss anyone i’m so sorry! (edit - taglist is not working at all!! sorry <3)

edit #3 I THINK I GOT IT

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm @phenomenalgirl9 @lightnjng @strnsvt @onlyyjeonghan @athanasiasakura

[b3ach-bunn7]

FORWARDS BECKON REBOUND PT2

You learn to live without Dabi, and he learns he can’t live without you

nsfw, smut (u can lowkey skip it, it’s right at the end), angst with happy ending, Villan!Dabi

—————————————————————————

You don’t know what you were expecting.

He’s a villain. A villain who kills and burns people alive, who’s looked death in the eyes enough to know him by name. He was cruel and he was calculated. He works for the biggest villains in the country, the ones you’ve seen targeting children, quirkless people like you.

And you think you love him. 

You think you love him and you miss him. So much more than you thought you would’ve. You’d had hope, that first morning when you’d woken up and seen that he was gone, that he’d come back. It was the first time he’d left the house since you’d found him, and you thought that maybe he just wanted fresh air. To go outside. You ignored the voice in the back of your head that told you otherwise, and you held out hope. 

But then a day passed. And another, and another, and soon you lost track of how long it had been. You had to bite the bullet. Pack up the clothes you’d bought him and shove them in a box deep in your closet. The sight of the couch in the middle of your living room was too painful of a reminder, so you put it on Craigslist, and despite the stains and the ugly pattern, someone buys it. You buy an equally cheaper and uglier one, and bite back tears as you push it into place. As quickly as he’d entered your life, Dabi was gone.

You don’t know if you should allow yourself to mourn him. You don’t even know what it is you’re mourning. A lover? A roommate? A friend? A boyfriend? You hadn’t even kissed, barely gotten closer than falling asleep on his shoulder, sitting little too close to him on the couch.

You spend your days trying to forget. You call your friends. You pick up a few extra shifts at work, tend to your ruined flowerbed. Despite all the extra work you give yourself, trying your hardest to tire yourself out, you still can’t get to sleep at night. You toss and turn and think of him. It oddly reminds you of his first few nights here. You’d been convinced he’d come and kill you in the night and you’d made sure to lock your door before you slept. Now, you sort of wish he did kill you. Or at least do something horrible so you wouldn't miss him so much.

You don’t even know why you did it. The smart thing to do would’ve been to just call the authorities, but part of you knew calling the police and the ambulance would cause too much drama. You know where you live. Cheap and affordable places are never going to be in good neighbourhoods.  You’ve seen the types of people that lurk around at night. You can only imagine the reaction of those living around you if you brought police to their front door, the news channels aching for a story on one of the most infamous villains almost dead on some random lady’s door. 

So you took him in. Like a stray. You sewed him up and did what you could to stop the bleeding. You apologised to a man who couldn’t hear you as you cut his shirt away, tossing it in your bathtub. He’d mumbled incoherently to you the whole time you’d seen him shut. Something about rain? Rei? You were unsure. His words were slurred, and the grip he had on the hem of your shirt loosened as he lost consciousness bit by bit. When you finally settled him down on your couch, old tarp shoved underneath him, he was out cold.

And then you waited. For him to wake up and kill you, for him to leave. You had no idea. You felt so stupid every time you looked at the sleeping figure on your couch. The marred skin, the staples hastily pressed into his skin. He looked evil. He looked scary. You scrubbed at your carpets and your tiled bathroom floor for what felt like hours to rid them of the red that had seeped into them. Or maybe just for something to do.

And then when he did wake up, and those piercing blue eyes landed on you, you felt your heart drop into your ass. He was beautiful, a fact that annoyed you greatly. The strong lines of muscle, the straight edge of his jaw. His eyes had narrowed at your staring, and you think that was the beginning of the end. 

He loves to stare. You learnt that very quickly. Any time you changed his bandages or just walked around the house his eyes were trained onto you. Watched your every move. You felt  hunted in your own home, prickling under his undivided attention. 

And you don’t know when the lines blurred. When instead of avoiding him in your room you sat on the loveseat next to him. When you started talking. When you learnt his favourite food was soba, that he liked the colour purple. You felt silly asking him such inane questions but what could you do? You wanted to get to know the man living in your home. Dabi was a villain, sure but he hadn’t been very villainous towards you. Granted, he did threaten to kill you every other sentence but you were almost completely positive he was joking. 

And you got closer. He opened up little by little. Stopped staring at you all the time. You took that as a sign of trust. You dutifully cared for the stab wound on his chest, and he got bolder. 

That was around the time he started flirting with you. Well, he had been flirting from the start, but this was less minor sexual harassment and more actual flirting. Calling you pretty, complimenting the stuff you wore. Kept calling you baby despite you reminding him of your name every time. You ignored the feeling in your stomach at the grin that stretched over his face whenever you flushed red. The fact he was always fucking shirtless. It makes sense he’s well built, what with all the villanous fighting and all. But god, if you can’t stop staring.

Dabi calls you brave. You don’t think you’re brave, you think you’re stupid. You’re stupid to start sitting right next to him. To feel the warmth radiating off his body as he leans his arms on the couch behind you, as he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re reading.

You watch him grow more comfortable in your home. He stops looking so on edge all the time, relaxes. You get used to the sight of him lounging in your home every time you come home from work. 

Dabi starts doing little things. You come home and find the dishwasher empty. He’s learnt where you keep your dishes and your cups. He watches you cook. Pesters you until you let him lick the batter off your spatula. It feels so horribly domestic it makes your stomach turn.

And you ignore the thoughts you have that stop being about roommates and delve into something more dangerous. You don’t miss the way Dabi’s eyes linger on your body, the set in his jaw as you complain about a flirty coworker. You think you’re seeing things, but then your mind drifts to that night at the window. The last time you saw him.

He’d looked so perfect. The two of you soft and ready to sleep. It had been early, early enough that the sleep niggled in the back of your mind, loosened your tongue. He leant against the window and his biceps curled as he leant forward to put out his cigarette, flicking it on the floor. You tut, and he grabbed another while assuring you littering is not the worst crime he’s committed.  

And you knew he could see the disbelief on your face when he called himself ugly. And you barely thought as you call him hot. Hot as fuck, at that. His lips twitched like he was about to smile, instead he brushed you off.

And then you touched him. You couldn’t help yourself. You’d always wondered and now seemed as good a time as any. With you in a shirt that smelled like him, his eyes not leaving yours for longer than a minute. He didn’t stop you, barely tried with a teasing comment you knew held no meaning. You traced his skin like a puzzle, from the rough texture of his scars to the soft skin next to it. He’s told you time and time again he doesn’t feel but he shivered against your touch like he did. And you didn’t need to look at him to know he was looking at you so intensely you felt his gaze down to the bottom of your feet. 

And you chest tightened as he let you. He let you touch him, and it didn’t feel like the times when you’d leant on his arm or bandaged him up. It felt different. It filled you with emotion you can’t describe, and you let it. And when you brushed against his face you saw him breathe. Physically saw his chest heave up as your touch became more insistent. Dabi looked at your lips and you looked at his, wondering what it would feel like to kiss the scarred skin on them.

And then your phone rang, and the moment was shattered. Now, you can’t remember what your mother had wanted, what the call was about.

And when you awoke the next morning, he was gone.

Maybe you pushed too far. Maybe he had business to attend to. You’ll never know, because he never told you. You had no way to contact him and you don’t think you would if you could. The message he was trying to give you was clear.

Your friends invite you to drinks, and you decline. It had been a long day at work, and while you could do with your favourite pink mimosas, you’re tired. The idea of being in a bar right now makes you cringe. So you bid your farewells, and make your way home. You stop to grab a few groceries. It took you a few times to remember you didn’t need two times the amount you usually buy.

You don’t think about Dabi as you walk up your driveway. Not when you look at the newly planted flowers you’d bought at the market. You will never see him again, and it’s a fact you need to learn to live with.

At least, that’s what you think, until you walk into your house to find him sitting on your couch. His leg is jigging impatiently up and down, and he’s wearing the long trench coat you see him in on the news. You stand in the doorway, shopping bags dropping to the floor. The noise pulls him out of whatever stupor he’s in and he turns to you. Eyes travelling up your body before he looks away.

“The lock on your door is shit. Took me less than a minute to pick it.”  

You don’t say anything. It’s your turn to just stare at him. His voice sounds exactly the same and yet you feel like you’d forgotten the low drawl he always spoke in. 

“You should get that shit changed. It’s a shitty neighbourhood you live in.” 

He looks at you again and it seems to wake you up. You grab your bags and take them to the kitchen. You wrap your coat around a chair and sigh, hands rubbing at your face. Your hands shake, and you clench them tightly so he won’t notice. You walk back inside and Dabi is still sitting up. Like he’s scared to let himself relax.

You clear your throat. “Are- Is the wound okay?” You ask, voice quiet.

 Dabi looks confused for a second. “Oh. Yeah, s’fine.”

You nod. You haven’t moved from the entryway of the living room.

“The fuck are you standing around for?” Dabi speaks suddenly. 

Your eyebrows furrow at the tone of his voice. “Don’t talk to me like that. I don’t know what’s going on right now. Why- Why are you here?”

Dabi fixes you with a pointed look. He doesn’t say anything. You clench your fists tighter. He’s starting to piss you off.

“Well? You can't just, just break into my house whenever you want. I don’t know what you think this is.”

“God, I leave for two weeks and my roommate status is revoked?” He drawls.

“This isn’t funny, Dabi.” You scoff. “I’m not in the mood for your jokes right now.”

“You aren’t?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It’s been two weeks. You just left without saying anything.” 

“Did I owe you an explanation?” 

Your brows furrow and you scoff. “Well it would’ve been nice, considering you’d been living in my house for two fucking months.” 

Dabi just shrugs. And you want to throttle him and hug him and kiss him all at once. Instead, you just stay where you’re standing, crossing your arms. He huffs a laugh at your figure.

“I feel like a school teacher is about to tell me off.”

“Dabi.”

He glances at you quickly then turns away. It’s his turn to clench his fists, and you pale a little at the sight of smoke curling out of them. You take a small step back.

“Are you- You’re not here to-“ You don’t even finish you sentence but he rolls his eyes, frustrated.

“I’m not here to fucking kill you. I would’ve done that a long time ago if I was.”

“Then what? Why are you here, Dabi?”

Dabi goes quiet again and you seethe. He’s not fucking talking. Nothing of meaning, anyway. He’s just looking at you and it's making you more nervous and antsy than you already are. 

Just when you’re about to say something else, he rises to his feet. And in a few quick strides, he’s in front of you. You’re not short by any means, but he towers over you, the smell of smoke and cigarettes lingering on his clothes. His hands twitch like he’s about to reach out to you before he decides against it.

“I’m here because I can’t stop fucking thinking about you.” He rasps. Dabi speaks like the words hurt to get out, and he looks anywhere but at your face when he says them.

“I thought leaving would make me forget about you. But I can't. It’s like you fucking haunting me.” He laughs slightly but he looks slightly feral as he does so.

His hands reach up. They grip the edges of your unzipped coat and pull you closer. 

“Why are you trying to forget about me?” You mumble.

He shakes his head. Slowly, eyes screwed shut. “Because I know. I know you don’t- You don’t deserve this. You deserve a good man, baby. Not somebody like me.”

You want to tell him that you want him. Not someone else. But you can’t speak. He lets your coat slip down off your shoulders. One hand curls around your waist and the other travels up. Settling on your shoulder, fingers dancing against your pulse. 

“And I know that. And yet I can’t keep away.”

“You-“

“I thought about killing you.” 

He speaks like he’s talking about the weather. And that should scare you, but his hand is so gentle as it closes around your neck, so tender and you don’t think he could kill you if he tried.

“Coming back and setting this whole place alight with you inside. But that wouldn’t do shit, would it?” You swallow roughly and his hand moves against your throat.

“And then I tried to fuck the thought of you away.” The hand on your waist tightens its grip.

“But that didn’t work either. Every single one of them reminded me of you.” 

You shake your head. “You’re an idiot.”

He tilts his head. “Am i?”

“Yes. You don’t get to decide what I deserve and what I don't.” You frown. You reach up and cover the hand on your shoulder with your own.

“If- If I wanna be with you, I’ll be with you. Whether you think I deserve it or not.” 

His finger moves against your lips. “You wanna be with a big bad villain?”

You smile slightly. “You’re not very bad to me.”

Dabi sighs, defeated. “You’re so stupid, you know.” 

“Yeah, probably.” Your other hand comes up to grip the collar of his jacket.

He breathes heavily. “I don’t do this.”

“That’s okay. We can figure it out. If. If you want to.”

“And what if I don't?” 

You shrug. “I don’t think you’d be here if you didn’t.”

Dabi huffs a laugh. “Fuck. You gonna let me kiss you?”

“If I have to.”

And it’s not like how you imagined he’d kiss you. You thought he’d be rough and violent, but he’s so slow as he leans his head down and presses his lips against yours. His eyes flutter shut and yours follow quickly after, hand on his jacket pulling him in closer. And for a moment you think you should feel guilt, some horror that a murderer is kissing you so softly, but he sighs into your mouth and you don’t think you could care if you tried.

His hand curls inside your hair, tugging your head back to give him better access. He crowds over you, and the hand on your waist is hot as he starts moving with more purpose. He licks against your bottom lip and you open your mouth. His tongue tease over yours, and you feel the cool metal of a piercing and you whine, hands pulling him closer.

Your noise seems to awaken something in him. Because suddenly he isn’t being soft and gentle, and he pushes you back until you hit the door of your kitchen, and he’s on you. Hands lifting up your shirt, mouth pressuring hot, heavy kisses on your mouth, your neck. He bites hard and you wince, but he just grins at you.

“Don’t give me that face, you love it. Take this off for me.”

He pulls the straps off your bra as you reach behind you and unclip it clumsily. Dabi looks at you like he’s got stars in his eyes. He takes too long to travel the expanse of your neck, your collarbones. He takes his time before he reaches your chest, sucking marks into your breasts, and you moan as his hand reaches up and pinches your nipple.

“When’s the last time someone fucked you, huh? M’gonna ruin you for anyone else.” He breathes, tongue licking over your nipple.

“Dabi, please-“ 

“So pretty when you beg, baby. Be patient now.” 

He doesn’t stop licking at your chest, mumbling about how pretty your tits look, as he uses a hand to undos the drawstrings on your scrubs. He holds your trousers away from your body and you gasp at the heat on your legs as he burns them off your body. He grins, all teeth and stretching staples.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. Not unless you ask for it.”

His fingers trail over the front of your underwear and your cheeks heat up, embarrassed at the wet patch on the front. He clicks his tongue, pressing down with two fingers and you keen at the pressure on your clit.

“All this for me? You been hiding this pretty pussy from me?” He hums.

You lean your head back and it thuds against the wall. Dabi slips his coat off and the t-shirt he’s wearing quickly. You let your eyes trail over his body, fingers dancing against the scar across his chest. He kisses you again, long and hard. 

“Want you to cum on my fingers, okay? Can you do that for me?” He murmurs, free hand curving against your cheek.

“Yes, yes, please-“ 

Your voice hitches as he burns off your underwear. Without warning, he shoves a finger inside of you and your nails dig into his shoulder, a curse leaving your mouth at the sudden intrusion. His finger hits deeper than yours ever have and he barely gives you time to adjust before he shoves in another. You can hear it as he pumps his fingers in and out, can hear how wet you are for him. You move against the steady rhythm.

“Such a slut. Look at you, humping on my fucking fingers.” Dabi grins and you face flushes and you turn away. He tuts, grabbing your face in his hand and turning it back to look at him.

“No, you watch. Look at yourself dripping all over me.” He breathes, kissing the crook of your neck.

You moan as his thumb circles against your clit. He begins scissoring his fingers, stretching your walls. You let your hands run down his body, smoothing against the panes of his chest. He just watches you face as it twitches the further he pushes, you face scrunching in pleasure. You keen as he hits that soft spot deep inside you and he looks like he’s struck gold, suddenly moving with more fervour. He puts in another finger and you shake your head, breathing getting heavier.

“I’m close, Dabi.” You pant. It’s been an embarrassingly short time but you feel your toes curl as he presses into you again.

“Good girl, you gonna cum for me? Gonna squirt all over my fingers?”

You arch your back, chasing and running away from the sensations. “Dabi- please-”

He licks a stripe up your neck. “Beg me. Ask me if you can cum.”

“Please, Dabi, please I need- I need to cum, make me cum.”

“Fuck, come on. “ His thumbs speeds up on your clit and your back arches as his fingers pump into you faster. He whispers sweet words into your skin, dragging you through your orgasm. You breathe heavily, leaning against him as you come down from your high.

He pulls his fingers out and you watch with lidded eyes as he sucks them into his mouth, tongue curling around as he groans at the taste of you. 

“Taste so good, baby. Now up. Let’s go.” 

He pats the side of your leg, gesturing for you to jump. You rest your arms on his shoulders, head leaning against his. You do and watch as his biceps curl as he carries you effortlessly, hands gripping at your ass as he enters your kitchen. You eyebrows furrow and you tap his shoulder.

“Dabi, my bedrooms down the hall, what are you-”

“Can’t wait. Need you now.”

Before you can protest he drops you and bends you over your own counter. You grunt as your chest hits the cool surface. Your skin welcomes the cool sensation because you're covered in marks, purple and red and indents of his teeth littering your skin. Dabi’s hands smooth over your ass and you yelp as he slaps it. He uses his other hand to grab both of yours, easily circling both your wrists in one of his.

“Been dreaming of this ass, you know.” He starts unbuckling his belt. You try to turn around but he pushes you back. “Always walking around in those shorts. Such a fucking tease.”

And when he presses his against you, you can feel him. Long and hot and so impossibly hard on your back, and so big. You have no idea how the hell he’s going to fit inside of you. Dabi notices the way your thighs clench and you can’t see the smirk on his face but you can hear it when he moans into your ear. So filthy. He sounds like a pornstar.

“You feel that? It’s all for you, baby. You put that there.” Dabi grunted. “And I’m- Wait, shit.”

This time when you turn, Dabi lets you. He looks pissed and you’re momentarily distracted by the sight of him with his jeans and boxer slung below his hips.

“What? What’s wrong?” You ask.

“I was in such a fucking hurry to get here i forgot to bring a condom. Or condoms.” He frowns.

You relax. “Oh. It’s fine, I’m on birth control, you don’t need it.”

Dabi freezes slightly. “What?”

“I mean, I’m clean. If you are too, then yeah, you don’t need one.”

Dabi just stares. Breathing heavily still. You falter, thinking you said the wrong thing. “I mean, if you want one still I probably ha-”

He descends on you again. He kisses you desperately, both hands cupping your face as he presses you into him so you can feel him on your thigh. When he parts he pants for breath, turning you around once more, bending you back onto your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me. Want me to fill you up, is that it?” He hisses as you grind back into his crotch. He delivers another slap to your ass, this time harder, hotter.

“Want me to fuck you until you’re dripping all over your own kitchen?” He laughs as you shudder, and you nod frantically. “Spread your legs for me. Wider, baby.” 

You comply shakily. You arch your back. “Come on, Dabi.” “Patience, Y/N. Don’t worry, you’ll come on this cock.”

And he lines himself up at your entrance. Dipping himself between your folds and dragging the tip of his dick, wet with his pre-cum, up and down your slit, gathering your wetness and spreading it around his dick. He spits into his hand, uses it to wet his dick before he starts pushing into you. The stretch is delicious, and you grip the edge of the counter as he pushes into you slowly. He shudders, cursing low under his breath. 

“Good girl, that’s it. God, you’re so, fuck, you’re so warm.” He grunts.

You whimper as he pushes himself fully inside you. You think if he was any bigger you’d see him in your stomach. He stills for a moment, lets you adjust to him. You can hear his restraint, hands so hot as they hold your arms back. He waits for a moment too long though, because you start wriggling, pushing your hips back.

“Please, Dabi, come on.”

His hands slide down your back to grip your hips. “What do you want? Tell me.”

“Want you. Fuck me, Dabi, please.” You whine. 

It spurs him into action. He thrusts into you, deep enough that it pushes you against the counter. You moan loudly and he groans, hands leaving bruises in the dip of your hips as he fucks into you harder.

“Yeah, fuck, that’s a good girl. So fucking wet.” He sucks in a sharp breath. “You’re so perfect for me.”

You feel your cheeks heat at the compliment. His thrusts were constant and so deep you feel so full of him. Sweat drips down your back and your hair plasters to your forehead. Dabi presses kisses down your back, hands kneading your ass.

“That feel good?”

“Yes, yes, Dabi!” You cry out.

“Gonna fuck this pussy so good. Nobody will ever fuck you like I can fuck you, you hear me?” 

He suddenly pulls out. Flips you around so that you’re facing him. You barely have time to think before he’s back inside you. Your hands curl around his neck and your face rests on his shoulder, mindlessly mumbling as he pounds into you. Dabi lets you lean against the counter so he can grab at your hair, pulling your head back.

“I wanna hear you, sweetheart. That bratty little mouth of yours.” 

“S-Shut up.” You breathe, relishing in the feeling on him inside you.

“Been waiting so long for this. For you.”

His praise becomes breathier, his voice stuttering as he gets closer. His finger comes down to rub at your clit, eyes shining as you writhe. No matter how you move he’s there, rubbing maddening circles against you. You moan louder than you’d like, and Dabi leans back, impressed. Kisses your forehead.

“Want, shit, want you to come for me again. Yeah? Gonna come on my cock?” He leans down and nibbles at your ear, voice vibrating low in his chest.

“Yes, I’m close. I’m close.” You breathe, hands scratching red lines down his back.

“Good. Gonna fill you up. Fuck you full of my cum until you can’t walk.” 

You nod, clenching down on him and he groans, low and long. “M’not gonna last if you keep tightening around me like that.”

He loses all composure, thrusting frantically as your chest moves up and down erratically. He kisses you, and you struggle to reciprocate with the tightening of your core. The rise in intensity has your eyes rolling in the back of your head, and it’s only a matter of seconds before you cum, and he curses and sings your name like a prayer as his fingers still work you. He thrusts once, twice and then he’s cumming and you’re thankful that his hands come up to hold your waist because you think you’re legs might give out.

The room is silent except for the two of you panting for breath. He rests his head on your shoulder, black locks tickling the side of your face. You reach hand up and you rub at his scalp and he sighs.

“God. Why did we do this in here? This is so unhygienic.” You huff.

Dabi just smiles lazily. Presses a kiss behind your ear and the side of your neck.

“You’re right. Let’s go shower. Together.”

“Fine.” You sigh like you don’t want to but you already feel heat pool into your gut.

“Good. Does this mean I can finally sleep in your bed?”

“Oh, shut up.” 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

guess u did fix him.. Dabi if ur reading this come home the kids miss u

idk I feel like Dabi wouldn’t be that rough in bed yk? Like I feel like his life is so violent he needs some break from it. Also this is my second ever smut BARE WITH ME if it’s bad

I’ve had the longesttt two weeks 😔 back to back uni and work so I will be having a break for a couple days, so enjoy this fic!!!

[hotch33tos22]

Tomura x reader (smut)

“Messaging.”

New message from -BRAT-

‘Hey’

‘Y/n I'm busy’

He texts back a few minutes later, his annoyance in the short reply was almost palpable. Sheesh.

‘What ya doing?’

Tomura groans reading your next message and rolls his eyes. Did you not understand the concept of him being busy? He was in the middle of something, he didn't have time to chat

‘I told you I'm busy.’

He quickly texts back, his patience was already wearing thin.

'Right haha sorry’

Tomura can't help but scoff at how quickly you gave up-annoyed that you apologized and didn't press further. He was expecting more of a back and forth but not even a minute later you apologized and backed down.

‘Don't be such a pushover’

He texts back with a bit of annoyance, but not necessarily at you, more so he wanted you to put up a fight

He sighs, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor as he glances around the small room. It's a rather boring room-grey walls, grey carpet, and a single bed in the corner. He was staying in a shitty motel for the night since it was already getting late.

He glances at his phone, seeing you hadn't replied yet. He was hoping you'd respond but was starting to think you didn't feel like it. He didn't think he had been too rude earlier...

"Tch..."

He mumbles quietly, scrolling through a shitty phone game to pass time. The more time that passed with you not replying, the more he started to overthink.

Usually you'd keep pushing him, yet for some reason today you hadn't. It was annoying how much you were suddenly acting so passive.

He checks his phone one more time to see if you had answered yet but sighs seeing the last message was still his.

Tomura puts his phone down on the bed, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. He felt a small pang in his chest— something akin to guilt or regret. Was he being too rude earlier? He didn't think so but he was used to you being feisty and pushing back...

He rolls over onto his back and glances up at the ceiling, staring at a stain in the corner as thoughts start swirling around in his head. He really was overthinking this.

'Sorry I was taking a shower’

Tomura feels slight relief at finally getting a response from you, but also gets strangely annoyed all of a sudden. He can't understand why you apologizing again irks him this time—he just feels pissed at the fact that you're being so submissive, so obedient. Why weren't you pushing back?

‘Didn't ask’

He texts back quickly with a scoff, his response sarcastic and bitchy

'Bitch.'

Tomura doesn't expect that kind of response. His eyes widen a little in shock and he slowly sits up on the bed. He smirks at your words and laughs quietly to himself — there you were, finally putting up a fight.

‘Good to know you haven't lost your attitude’

He texts back, hoping to get some type of conversation going. It was boring as hell and he was starting to be antsy.

‘Whatever I was trying to be nice but all I see is a pissy boyfriend’

Tomura is a bit taken back at being called "pissy". He was more annoyed and bored if anything, but you were right about the boyfriend part. He was being a bit sour.

‘Shut up. I'm not pissy I'm just busy and your ass kept messaging me even though I told you so. You're the one being a pain in my ass right now.’

He texts back, a tinge of irritation in his words even though he's kinda amused

'Two messages are you dense?'

‘Doesn't matter how many times you texted. I still said I'm busy and told you to knock it off.’

He rolls his eyes, getting a tad more annoyed that you're being a smart ass but not too annoyed to not entertain it. As much as he can't admit it, he did miss your little back-and-forth. It was interesting. Plus having someone to chat with distracted him from the boredom currently taking over his thoughts.

‘Whatever are you still busy? Or are you with your side piece?'

Tomura can practically feel himself getting more irritable by the minute. How little did you trust him? Why would you automatically assume he'd go and see another woman? The fact that it kinda stung that you'd think that pissed him off

‘You know damn well I'm not with a side piece. Besides who in their right mind would even put up with me?’

He texts back, leaning back against the headboard of the crappy motel bed with a huff

‘Unfortunately me.'

‘Shut up. You make it sound like putting up with me is a chore’

He grumbles, not amused at your sarcastic comeback. He wants to say something harsh to you to get you riled up but can't find the words that won't make him sound like a jackass. So he keeps it short and simple, and thankfully his next message from you pops up on his phone before he has time to think too much on what to say next. He looks at your response and huffs, shaking his head as he types back.

'It is babe.'

Tomura can feel himself get more worked up by each text from you. You were really being a sarcastic ass today. He couldn't even deny the fact that you were correct in what you said. It was usually a chore to put up with him and he knew that... but that didn't mean it hurt any less to be reminded of it�� by his own partner no less.

‘Shut it. Be nice to me damnit’

'I tried to be and you called me a pushover.'

Tomura's hands clench into fists as he reads the last message. You were right, you did try being nice and he essentially just told you to shove off. He's starting to feel guilty... but of course he can't show that

‘That's 'cause you'd been acting like one by apologizing and backing off so damn quickly’

‘I forgot you like it when I get all bitchy'

Tomura has to bite back a grin at your last message. The fact that you were fully aware of how he liked it when you were snarky and challenging was amusing to him. It was also a slight turn on too...

‘You damn right I do. I like you better when you're biting back.’

'whateverrr. Hurry up and get home.'

Tomura feels a small sense of giddyness at your next message. You wanted him to come home. You missed him? He can feel the corners of his lips tug up into a small, uncharacteristic grin

‘I will. I'm almost done up here then I'll be back. Still can't believe you're being so clingy though.’

'well I miss you and your dick.'

Tomura nearly drops his phone as he reads your message. The grin on his face grows wider into a smirk and he can't help the flush that's creeping across his cheeks. Out of all the responses he was expecting... that wasn't one of them

‘You miss my dick huh? What happened to you being so innocent I gotta remind you to watch your language?’

'Oh please you don't say that when you stuff it down my throat'

Tomura's dick twitches slightly at your last message, immediately imagining you on your knees for him. He groans quietly to himself, quickly typing a response back as his free hand comes up to run through his messy hair.

‘Watch it babe. Keep talking like that and I might never make it back’

He gets a sudden idea, one that he's not sure you'd like but it's worth a try

‘Hold on, gimme a sec. I have and idea’

‘Oh?’

Tomura quickly opens the camera app on his phone, setting it to the front camera

‘I'm gonna send you something but I want you to promise that you won't freak out.’

‘I swear if it's another one of those videos where you torture someone I'm losing it.’

Tomura rolls his eyes, not surprised that you'd think that. He can't help but laugh a little at how wrong you can be sometimes.

Although, in all fairness, he was unpredictable and the videos of him 'messing with' unsuspecting heroes probably didn't help

‘No, I'm not sending you a murder video. I'm not stupid.’

"Good.'

He scoffs, typing his next text

‘You gotta have more faith in me babe’

He holds up his phone so his face is visible, and with his free hand, he reaches under the hem of his shirt, his palm coming to rest just above the waistband of his sweatpants. He smirks into the camera, his eyes locking on the phone as he clicks send. He's anxious to see how you respond to the picture, since the only thing visible in the picture are his face, bare stomach, and his sweatpants that are being tugged down slightly

'Fuck.’

‘That was hot.'

Tomura reads your response and he can't help but smirk, feeling a wave of pride at how you reacted to the picture. He was so damn right to send it and get you worked up. He texts you back within the minute, the smirk still plastered on his face

‘Ya like it?’

As you viewed his picture repeatedly you quickly send him a picture of you in his favorite langire as you set the camera showing off your curved body as you stroke a sexy pose on his bed.

Tomura's eyes widen at the picture that suddenly pops up on his phone. You were in his favorite underwear that he bought for you. You were laying on his side of the bed in a seductive pose and it looks like you've already spread your legs a bit...

“Goddamn...”

He whispers, feeling his sweatpants get tighter as he stares at the picture

He quickly types another message, his breaths a little shorter as he stares at the picture you sent as he takes it in slowly

‘You're trying to kill me aren't you?’

‘You started it, Do you have any idea how much I need you.?'

Tomura feels his chest tighten a bit at your words, wanting nothing more than to be able to touch you himself. His hand that's above the waistband of his sweats dips a little lower, a frustrated huff leaving his lips

‘I'll be back soon. That's a promise’

He sighs and glances away from the phone and back up at the ceiling of the crappy motel. Part of him is tempted to send you another picture but he stops himself, thinking it'll be better if he waited until he got home to get his hands on you himself.

As he tried to dose off he got another notification. You had send him a video of you folding your tits together with one hand as you looked up at the camera with those stupid lustful eyes.

Tomura's dick twitched as he watched, his need growing with every second. He could feel his pre-cum already starting to dampen his boxers as he saw his girlfriend’s naked body. You’re beginning to explore your body, cupping your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples, which stood erect and begging for attention. Tomura imagined it was his mouth working on those nipples, sucking and teasing them with his tongue.

Tomura couldn't take it anymore. He needed release, and he needed it now. He stripped off his clothes, his hands already working on the button of his sweats. As he threw his clothes aside, his cock sprang free, hard and dripping. He grasped it tightly, pumping it slowly as he imagined your mouth wrapping around his length, your lips kissing and sucking the tip.

He closed his eyes, letting the video play in his mind, feeling the warmth of the room and the tight pull of desire in his balls. He imagined you were there, your mouth working its way down his body, tasting every inch of him, your hands teasing his balls, playing with them, squeezing gently as your tongue flicked and teased.

Tomura's breathing quickened as he stroked his dick, faster now, a steady rhythm as the head of his cock glistened with pre-cum. His imagination was on fire, he pictured your mouth taking him deep, your throat working as you took him to the back of their mouth, sucking hard, your eyes looking up at him, full of desire.

Fuck he needed you so badly. He was this close to waiting it out, to not touch himself while he was away from your aching body. But you had to send him the most sexy video.

His hand bucked up and down his needy cock as his thump bullied his pink top just how you would.

“F-fuck-..” his voice rasped lowly as he tried to hold in his moans.

“Need you so badly.. s-shit..” he groaned as you continued his movements his balls becoming sloppy bouncing up and down his movements and his tip dripping with pre-cum.

He tilted his head back from all the lent up frustration as he groaned softly.

“H-haa..” he muffled out as he felt himself come closer to his release. His hands gripped around his cock as he hurried his movements rapidly.

“S-shit shit shit y-y/n..” he groaned and grunted as he felt his cock twitch rapidly while he released. As he continued his movements rising his high his breath rasped and hitched.

His cum oozed out his twitching cock dropping down his hand to his sloppy balls. He quickly picked up his phone snapping a quick picture of the sight sending it straight to you.

‘You’re such a damn brat. You’ll get that when I get back, You want me to get you pregnant huh? You want me to come back home and knock you up. Is that what you want?`

[darby-rowe]

୨୧; rafe cameron decided to come over

18+ | nsfw | mdni

cw fem!reader, slight dubcon, gagging on fingers, usage of the word “bitch”, creampie

you were forgetting something. rafe had you pinned down with vice grips on your forearms and something kept nagging at the void in the back of your mind. it was plans you had made. important plans, you couldn’t remember.

it was always like this when rafe shoved his tongue inside your mouth, already feeling his bulge ready to bust out of his jeans as he ground against your pelvis like some salivating, hungry dog. it made your mind into a white room. already so dumb with your brain cloudy and unwilling to cooperate with your smart mind.

smart girl you were, but rafe liked you brainless.

brainless, like how your eyes went blank and glassy as his large cock sank deep inside you. the muttering that flooded out of his mouth seemed to enter your ear then out the other, but you could make out him saying stuff along the lines of, “fuck, such a good pussy. such a good fuckin’ pussy.”

rafe wasn’t a gentle lover, either. he fucked you hard and deep, making sure your cervix knew the head of his cock like you knew the back of your hand. gripping your jaw so tight it made you whimper, he told you to “open wide, baby” before shoving his fingers far down your throat in an attempt to emulate the gargling noises you made when his dick was in your mouth.

the sound of knocking at your front door and notifications from your phone coaxed your brain back from its cock-drunk fog. rafe was quick to slap your hand away when you went to grab for your phone, taking it in his own hand and forcing the screen in your face to activate its face id.

“here,” rafe read your text messages with a perplexed yet intrigued tone to his voice. “it’s your friends. seems like they’re at the front door, but don’t worry. ’m almost done with ya. they can have ya after me,”

carelessly, rafe tossed your phone onto your carpeted bedroom floor and quickened the pace. “gonna dump my load in this pussy — mmh — then you can run off with your friends, yeah? c’mon, don’t get all shy now. what? your friends don’t know how you take my dick every single fucking day? don’t get all fucking quiet on me now, bitch. this pussy is mine,”

with you, it didn’t take long for rafe to shoot his warm cum deep inside you, filling you up and letting him watch as his seed oozes out of you. the cleanup was subpar at best, and your hair and makeup were fucked up after spending precious time on making yourself look nice.

god, you hated how inconsiderate rafe could be about your social life that wasn’t entirely about him. like clockwork, however, rafe always decided to come over at the worst times.

[theemporium]

🧸 le monagasque x reader’s daughter taking her first steps inside charles’ childhood home

☕️

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

edit: I’m a dumbass who only realised now you said daughter😭I’m so sorry

.

It had just been like every other Sunday brunch. 

With so many Sundays robbed from his family due to the race season, it became something like an unspoken tradition for the Leclerc family to spend non-race weekend Sundays together. Something lighthearted and sweet. Something that helped him put his family first, no matter what was happening on the race track or in the garage.

Once upon a time, it was just Charles and his brothers making their way to their childhood home. Each boy would have their own role to help their mother. Each boy would laugh and smile and bask in something as simple as a meal shared together which wasn’t as easy when they were all around the world.

And in more recent years, there had been a few additions to the Leclerc Family Brunch.

“He looks just like you.”

Charles lifted his head to see his mother standing by the doorway, a warm and kind smile on the older woman’s face as she watched the sight in front of her. Her son sat on the floor of the living room, an array of toys around him and her grandchild crawling around as he happily babbled. 

“Really?” Charles asked, a little bashful as his mother’s grin widened. 

“It makes me feel twenty years younger,” Pascale joked, a look of adoration on her face as little Adrien Leclerc garbled happily on the floor before tilting his head up to look at her. “He even has your smile. Different eyes though.”

“He has his mother’s perfect eyes,” Charles cooed as he grinned down at his son.

Though you had been more than welcome at the Leclerc household for their Sunday brunches, Charles also knew that you liked to give him some time with his family regardless of what he said. After many weeks of trying to tempt you early on in your relationship, he finally relented and made his own Sunday tradition with you. It started of as a day to just treat yourself at the expense of his card, but soon became your day away from him and Adrien. 

Just a day for you to take a breather from the Leclerc men in your life.

“Ah, Maman, look what I taught him,” Charles announced suddenly as he shuffled back until his back was pressed against the couch. “We’ve been practising.”

“Charles,” his mother scolded softly. “He’s your son, not a dog.”

“But he’s so obedient,” he teased playfully before turning his focus back to his son. He spread his legs open and patted the floor in front of him as he called his son’s name. “Adrien, box box!”

Adrien’s head snapped towards his father and he let out a happy giggle like he seemed to realise what was happening. He began to crawl towards his father, a wide and toothless smile spread across his face.

“My smart boy!” Charles praised as his son continued to crawl across the carpet towards him.

“Oh Adrien,” Pascale cheered with a clap. However, her smile faltered slightly when he started to slow down. 

Charles' brows furrowed together. “Adrien, come on. Box, box.” 

Adrien looked at his father before he stopped fully. But before Charles could even say anything, he was sitting back on the carpet before he began to slowly push himself up onto his feet with the help of the table beside him.

“Maman,” Charles murmured breathlessly, excitement mixed with tears shining in his eyes as he watched his son stare determinedly towards him. Later on, he would be grateful his mother had half the sense to take her phone out while he was so focused on young Adrien.

Charles could only let out a choked, wet laugh as he watched his son take one step and then another and another, and eventually letting go of the table as he took shaky steps towards his father. He could only let an array of mumbled French as his son fell into his arms, quickly hugging the young boy to his chest as he pressed kisses all over his face.

“My smart boy. My smart, smart prince,” he continued to mumble against his chubby cheeks as Adrien squirmed and squealed in his father’s arms. “Oh, I can’t wait to show Mama what you can do, hm? Gonna be a good boy and show her what a smart boy you are? She’s gonna be so excited.”

And truth be told, Charles cried when Adrien walked in front of you too when he caught a glance at your glossy eyes. But he wasn’t ashamed to be emotional about his family.

.

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 1: Wrong Foot

Joel takes on a new contract as a bodyguard. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Non-consensual groping (not by Joel.) Mention of grief and child loss. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.1k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Next Chapter

Two years later - September 2024

“You really want me for this one?” he asked as he rode up the elevator at the nicest hotel in Austin. Even after two years protecting wealthy assholes, Joel wasn’t used to shit like this. The fast elevators and the plush carpets and the trappings of wealth that provided everything his charges needed. Everything, it seemed, except safety. 

For that, they needed him. 

Protecting people, as it happened, was something Joel was good at. It almost surprised him how good he was at it. It forced him to be aware of what was happening around him for a change instead of just moving through the world like a ghost. It took that awareness for him to even realize just how dead he’d been in the years since the death of his daughter.

Usually, things went fine. Most often, he was shepherding tech or oil executives with inflated egos from business meeting to business meeting while they were in town and looking the other way when they cheated on their wives or put half his salary up their noses. Nothing ever happened with those assholes. 

Occasionally, though, his job got interesting. Rabid fans tried to mob some pop star Joel had never heard of at a club on 6th Street once and he had to carry her out, forcing his way through the crowd before she got crushed. Then there was the supermodel who was posing for photos with fans when one little college-aged fucker thought it would be smart to grab her ass to cop a feel. Joel took a little too much pleasure in punching him so hard that he fell to the floor, knocked clean out. The football player had been the biggest trouble, though. Some hotshot asshole who’d just won the Super Bowl coming back to his college town to party. He picked a fight with the wrong drug dealer and damn near got shot for it, Joel whisking him away and getting winged in the shoulder by the bullet for his trouble. 

He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he liked when the work got dicey. Being shot at was the closest to alive Joel has felt in years. Getting to lay out some asshole without the cops trying to arrest him for it had been the highlight of his month. It made him very good at his job and he liked that, both things that surprised him. 

“You’re my best guy,” Tommy said. “You’ve seen more action on this job than almost any of the other guards and they want someone with a good history. Plus you don’t give a shit about… higher profile clientele. I can’t put fuckin’ James on a job with someone he knows, he’ll fan boy over ‘em. Remember when that one band came through?” 

“Jesus,” Joel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been an easy job but it was one that he’d had to do most of the work on, James practically giddy the entire time. “Yeah, you’re right. So, what, this some pop star or somethin’?” 

“Not sure,” Tommy said. “They’ve been playin’ it real close to the chest, won’t ID ‘em until we sign an NDA.” 

“So you got no idea what we’re workin’ with,” Joel said, grinding his teeth. 

“Just that it’s someone people know,” Tommy said. “Long term contract, real good money. They mentioned a stalker, they’re bringing all the information along on that to review, wanted you to see it before we signed on.” 

Joel nodded slowly. 

“Well,” he said. “Least it’ll be interesting.” 

They made it to the top floor of the hotel, only four doors and Joel fought the urge to laugh. God, this breed of rich asshole was a whole new level. 

Tommy led the way to a door labeled Presidential Suite and knocked, a young woman with close cropped dark hair and a headphone in her ear answered the door. 

“One second,” she said, tapping her headphone before she smiled at the two men. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Miller. My boss prefers to have people come to where she is when she travels, I’m sure you can understand…” 

“Of course,” Tommy said. “Happy to go wherever you need.” 

“Can I get you anything?” She asked, leading the way into a hotel suite that had to be damn near the size of Joel’s entire house. “Coffee? Water? Tea? Also have a variety of Coke I think you call it here if you’d like that.” 

“Water’s fine,” Tommy said. 

“Still, sparkling?” She asked. “Also have cucumber, lemon, mint…” 

“Uh,” Tommy blinked for a moment and Joel fought the urge to laugh. “Still’s fine. None of that other stuff.” 

She nodded before she looked to Joel, her brows raised. 

“Coffee,” he said. “Black.” 

“Of course,” she smiled, leading them to a sitting room and gesturing to a couch. “Quinn will be with you shortly.” 

She disappeared and returned with their drinks, handing them to each of them with a smile before she tapped the headphone again. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost syrupy sweet as she went to another room. “I appreciate you waiting since you’re apparently so willing to try to fuck us over…” 

Tommy’s eyes went wide and he looked at Joel, the conversation becoming almost silent as she closed the door behind her. 

“Definitely ain’t from around here,” Joel said. 

“Guess not,” Tommy said. 

It wasn’t long - Joel only drank half the coffee which was far better than he was expecting it to be - when another door opened, a woman closer to his own age coming out, dressed in an expertly fitted gray suit, her dark hair in long, tiny braids that hung to her waist. Sarah had always liked hair like that, always begged Joel to let her get them. He wished he had whiskey for his coffee. 

The woman was on the phone, too, but she was on speaker. 

“I don’t care,” she said. “You know the deal and I’m not going to just sit here and pretend that you don’t because you decided today was the day to play fucking games. Call me when you want to handle shit like a fucking grown up.” 

She hung up and sat heavily on the couch opposite them, the girl who answered the door almost scurrying into the room and hovering near the large coffee table. The woman in the suit - Quinn, Joel assumed - giving her a single nod and she rushed off, quickly returning with a bottle of water and several folios. 

“Tommy,” Quinn smiled. “While it’s good to see you again, I’m sure you’ll understand when I say I’m looking forward to getting this settled so we can stop meeting like this.” 

Tommy smiled back. 

“Can’t say I disagree,” he said. “Wanted you to have the chance to meet Joel, he’ll be the lead on this contract assuming we go ahead. He’s one of my best guys, got the history you asked for…” 

“I’m sure being your brother doesn’t hurt,” she smiled a little. Joel raised his eyebrows and looked to Tommy but she answered his unspoken question. “We pulled backgrounds for everyone on your payroll. We can’t be too careful.” 

She tossed one of the leather folios on the table. 

“This is what we’re up against,” she said. “Redacted, of course, so you can’t ascertain who my client is but you’ll have access to the full versions should you accept the contract and sign the necessary NDAs. We’ve naturally brought them to the police and they believe the threat is credible. They have a lot of information - some of these were sent to my client’s private residence, for example - and it’s clear they’ve seen my client in person numerous times. We have reason to believe they will follow my client wherever she goes and there is genuine concern for escalation…” 

Tommy picked up the file and looked it over, nodding slowly, before passing a page off to Joel. It was the photo copy of a printed letter. 

You were beautiful today in that green dress. 

One day, you’ll come home to me. One day, I’ll make you see. 

Joel passed the page back to Tommy. 

“I can see why you’re concerned,” Tommy said, handing the folio back. “Don’t seem like anything we can’t handle. I think we’re alright to move forward with the contract as discussed…” 

There was a knock at the door and the girl ran to go answer it, Quinn ignoring it completely. 

“Excellent,” she said, grabbing another folio and passing it over. “This is the contract and the NDA, already reviewed by your legal team. We just require a wet signature.” 

Tommy nodded, looking over the pages, anyway, and Joel was starting to wonder why he’d had to be trotted out like some kind of prize show pony just to sign some damn paperwork when there was a commotion at the door. 

“This really isn’t necessary,” the girl was saying, her voice oddly pleading, the total opposite of how she’d been on the phone. 

“Oh I’m sure Quinn won’t mind,” another voice - a new one but there was a tug of familiarity to it that set Joel’s teeth on edge - said. “I am her favorite client, after all.” 

Quinn’s head snapped in the direction of the sound and, in a sweep of gauzy clothes and floral perfume, you were there. 

Joel recognized you immediately, everything about you seeming to have been built to be remembered. The whole world remembered you, it had been years since he’d been able to escape you. The biggest movie star on the planet, helming major franchises and winning fucking Oscars, on the cover of gossip rags at the fucking grocery store and on billboards advertising perfume and on Saturday Night Live. In person, from the second you appeared, you were a force. Your face, your voice, the way you held yourself, no wonder he always noticed you when you were all around him. No wonder his daughter had been obsessed with you. 

Your face was a poster on her wall, a picture where you had the slightest, confident smile on your lips but your eyes always seemed sad. You turned those eyes to him, ranging over him like you were taking stock and Joel’s heart stuttered before your gaze turned to Tommy and back to Quinn. 

“So glad you got the meeting started without me,” you said, all saccharine sweetness, stepping over Joel’s legs and sitting down on the edge of the couch between him and Tommy. You crossed one elegant leg over the other - your pants ever so slightly sheer so Joel could just make out your thigh below the loose fabric - and leaned forward, taking Joel’s white china coffee cup off the table and helping yourself to a sip with a jingle of your bangles that were piled high on your wrists. You gave him a wink as you did, setting the cup back on its saucer before leaning onto your leg, your arms folded in front of you. “I’m sure the fact that I didn’t know it was happening has nothing to do with wanting to cut me out of the decision making for something that’s going to be apparently integral to my life over the next year.” 

“I just don’t want to bog you down with petty things like this,” Quinn waved you off. “You have enough on your plate, that’s what you pay me for…” 

“Oh I’m sure that’s all it is…” 

Quinn leaned forward, too, meeting your steely gaze from across the table. The knowing smile that had been on her lips just a second earlier was gone. In its place was a no nonsense expression that Joel imagined carried her far when dealing with Hollywood assholes. She, it seemed, was done coddling you. 

“The studios know,” she cut you off. “Someone at the police station leaked it. And they won’t insure you without higher levels of security, especially if you want to spend this much time outside LA. You want to keep working? You need security. At least until we get to the bottom of whoever is sending you letters.” 

“Have you tried telling them how well the tickets will sell when I die?” You asked, brows raised. “I’m sure they’ll be champing at the bit then, especially now that they can just replace me with CGI for whatever isn’t in the can…” 

“That’s not funny,” Quinn said sharply. 

“Oh, come on. It was a little funny.” 

She glared at you. 

“Do you really want someone like that getting close to her?” She asked, her voice almost unsettlingly earnest and gentle. You almost deflated then, giving in. “It’s not safe, babe. I’m trying to keep you safe. It just so happens that it’s also in the studio’s best interest so you don’t have to foot the entire bill.” 

“You must not have told them about the boost in ticket sales, then,” you said wryly. She rolled her eyes. “But fine. If you really think there’s a risk to her? I’ll do it.” 

Joel wondered who this “her” was. Knowing movie stars, probably some tiny fucking dog you carried in your goddamn purse. 

You looked to Joel for a moment, your gaze oddly cutting, like you were seeing through every part of him before turning your attention to Tommy. 

“When does your contract begin then?” 

Tommy glanced at Joel, almost asking if he was actually OK with this. Clearly, this wasn’t what Tommy had expected either. Joel gave a minute shrug. 

“Tomorrow,” Tommy said, looking back to you. “Joel here will be your point man but you’ll also be working with a few other guys from my company. He’ll get you oriented tomorrow and we can work out a way to ensure your protection that’s minimally disruptive to your daily life.” 

You scoffed. 

“Something tells me having a wall of muscle follow me everywhere is going to disruptive,” you said. “But the studio says jump, we say how high, right?” 

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” Quinn said.

“We all know who does,” you muttered darkly, getting to your feet. “Well, since all this was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not, I think I’m done wasting my time here.” 

You turned to Joel and he found himself in the unnatural position of looking up to someone, his jaw tight as you levied those exacting eyes on him again. 

“See you in the morning,” you said, reaching down and helping yourself to another sip of his coffee with a wink before stepping over his legs and heading out the door in a whirl of soft perfume and flowing fabric. He looked back to the coffee cup. Your lipstick was on the rim.

Joel tried not to think about how you looked at him as Tommy finished up with the formalities, the conversation between his brother and Quinn a drone he couldn’t really make out over the noise in his head as his leg bounced impatiently.

When Tommy had looked at him just now, the silent request for permission, he should have bowed out. He should have said he didn’t want to put his life on the line for some spoiled fucking brat and gone home. But he hadn’t and he couldn’t back out of this now. It didn’t matter how much you made him think of his daughter. It didn’t matter how your eyes seemed to cut him to the quick. He owed Tommy. When he’d started in this business, he’d told his brother that he could do this work and sometimes that meant doing shit he wasn’t comfortable with. He would just have to live with that. 

Eventually, Joel gave up on sitting still. 

“Be downstairs,” he said gruffly to Tommy when the conversation with Quinn lulled for a moment. He didn’t wait for a response before going for the elevator, relieved that it as empty on the way down to the lobby as it had been on the way up. 

But the ground floor of the hotel was not the quiet place it had been when Joel had arrived. Instead, there was a press of people just outside the doors, phones up and loud enough that he could hear them through the glass. He frowned for a moment before he realized what it was, the metal of your bangles catching the light as your arm rose above the crowd, a phone clutched in your hand as you took a selfie. 

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, stalking over toward the door. 

At least, he thought, he wasn’t on duty until tomorrow. If you really wanted to handle shit that bad on your own? Fine by him. 

The doorman held the door for him and Joel gave him a stiff nod as he tried to force his way from the building, but the press of people was becoming suffocating, every inch of sidewalk crammed tight. 

“Can I get a selfie?” 

“My girlfriend loves you, can you say hi to her on video?” 

“Can I have an autograph?” 

“Look, I’m happy to give you all whatever you want,” you said, voice friendly but still curt. “But I need a little room to breathe, OK? I’m not in a rush, we’ve got time, it’s…” 

Someone from the outside edge of the crowd shoved forward, sending the press of people toward you, Joel tall enough that he could see how they tripped and jostled, sending you stumbling into the person at your back. You had to fight for the space to stand up again, the man you’d fallen into’s hand running up your side to your chest, cupping the underside of your breast as you tried to find a way to separate from him. If it wasn’t for the look on his face, Joel might have given him the benefit of the doubt. But his lecherous smile gave him away, and the thinly veiled look of disgust on your face told him you knew exactly what this man was trying. 

Something that hadn’t existed much since Joel lost everything took over. It was rage, blind and violent and coursing through him sharp and heady. That rage didn’t give him a chance to really think, but then, it never had. Not when he was a kid and his dad was on some bender, not when he was some hotheaded teenager looking to pick a fight with a bully at school, not when he was at a bar and saw someone who could have killed his daughter. It was no different now as he practically dove into the crowd, forcing the group apart and not caring if people got pushed into the street or shoved to the ground.

“Move!” Joel yelled, not that it seemed to do much beyond warn people that he was coming for them. He reached you in a matter of seconds, towering over the man who’d decided to take advantage of your vulnerable position to grope you. The man - more of a kid, likely some student at UT who didn’t know his ass from hole in the ground - gaped up at him, his eyes wide and his hand still on your breast. 

Joel took your arm and pulled you, roughly, away from his grip, tucking you behind him before refocusing on the kid in front of him. 

“You think that shit’s funny?” Joel asked, his hand curling into a fist. “Touchin’ a woman without permission?” 

“I was just…” he looked afraid and something inside Joel flared with pride at that. Look at what he could do, he thought, it looked like he was capable of something after all. 

“Know what you were just,” Joel cut him off, mockingly, before grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him back into a marble pillar. The kids head smacked against it with sickening crack. “Do that shit again and I’ll bust your jaw.” 

Joel released him and the kid slumped to the ground before he turned to find you, looking down at the kid with your mouth slightly open. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him, ducking your head down low to ruin the picture for anyone who might be trying to take one. “Let’s go.” 

He looked around, the crowd thinner now but all watching him. 

“Move!” He roared again. This time, they listened, parting like the Red Sea as he ushered you quickly away, back into the hotel. He looked to the door man, trying not to glare at him too hard. “Those assholes don’t come inside, we clear?” 

“Yes sir,” the man said quickly.

Joel looked to you next. 

“Where’s your car?” 

“Valet,” you said, your forehead in your hand. “I didn’t get a chance to even grab it yet, someone must have tipped off some fucking gossip blog that I was here…” 

“Got the ticket?” Joel asked. You sighed and fished it out of your pocket and handed it over before Joel took it to the front desk and told them to have your car brought out back. He also got directions to the loading dock before going back to find you, in the same spot on the plush lobby couch, fingers laced together, elbows braced on your knees. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, making you jump before looking up at him. “They’re bringing your car around back, we’ll get you out of here without those fuckers knowin’.” 

You looked back down at the ground before giving a stiff nod. 

“Thanks.” You got up and took a deep breath, raising your chin, an almost serene look on your face before looking to him. “Lead the way.” 

He did as you asked, watching like a hawk for anyone who might be stupid enough to try to talk to you. But no one seemed to pay you any mind, even as the two of you cut through the dining room - closed between lunch and dinner service - and into the kitchen, where dozens of cooks were working to get set for the evening. They just ducked around the pair of you, sometimes giving Joel a dirty look for getting in their way, and then you were at the loading dock. 

“Here,” Joel said, jumping down from the edge of it to the alley still damp from rain from the night before. He held his hands out to you. “I’ll help you down.” 

“Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself,” you said. You were more cautious about it than Joel but you jumped down and landed lightly beside him, brushing your hands free of the dirt from the dock before crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Your jaw was tight, the only sign on your calm, uncommonly beautiful face that something might be wrong. Joel crossed his arms, too. 

“You OK?” He asked after a moment. 

You looked at him for a second, your brows raised ever so slightly. 

“Fine,” you said after a moment before staring straight ahead again. 

“You sure?” He asked. He wasn’t sure why he was pressing. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care.

“Yes,” you said and then you laughed once, sharply. “I mean, no, I’m not but what the fuck am I going to do about it? It’s part of the job, isn’t it?” 

Joel ground his teeth. 

“Shouldn’t be.” 

“Regardless,” you shrugged, glancing at him again. “Thank you for your help. You didn’t have to do that and… Well, I appreciate it.” 

“Sure,” he said as your car came around the corner. You dropped your arms before turning to face him. 

“Looks like it’s you and me starting tomorrow,” you said. “I’m sure your boss will give you all the details but I don’t think I caught your name.” 

“Joel,” he said after a moment. “Miller.”

You smiled, a small, almost hesitant one, the slightest upturn of your lips. 

“Joel Miller,” you repeated back to him. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m…” 

“Don’t need to tell me your name,” he said. “Pretty sure everyone on Earth knows your name.” 

You laughed again in that same, humorless way as your car stopped beside you. 

“Yeah,” you said. “I suppose they do. See you tomorrow, Joel.” 

“See you tomorrow, ma’am.” 

He watched you pull cash out of your pocket and smile more broadly at valet who was damn near gawking at you. You discreetly handed him the money as you shook his hand and Joel stayed there in the alley until he couldn’t see your car any more. 

“Holy shit,” the valet said and Joel looked down at him. He had to be about 18 years old, still wet behind the ears. Probably had fucking posters of you up in his room that he jerked off to before he went to bed. He held up the cash. “She gave me 100 bucks!” 

Joel looked down at him, making sure to draw himself to his full height. 

“You gonna tell anyone we got her out this way?” He asked. The kid swallowed hard and shook his head. “Good.” 

Joel tried not to grind his teeth as he went back inside to find his brother. He wished it wasn’t too late to back out of this. You, he thought, were going to be far more than he’d bargained for. He just hoped he was ready for it.

***

“I’m not wearing this.” 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Seriously dude?” You asked, incredulous. “Can’t you wait like… two days before picking a fight?” 

“Have you seen this fucking thing?” Ellie’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs as she held up the hem of the blue plaid skirt that, you had to admit, looked sickeningly unnatural on your 14-year-old niece. “You could put a whole circus up this thing! And how am I supposed to kick someone’s ass in a fucking skirt?” 

“First of all, language,” you said. She rolled her eyes. You ignored her. “Second of all, you shouldn’t be kicking anybody’s ass. Why are you starting your day thinking about ass kicking? You haven’t even met these kids yet, I highly doubt you’ll need to kick someone’s ass your first day.” 

“I’d like to be able to kick someone’s ass if I need to,” she said, incredulous. “Come on. You know this is insane.” 

You sighed as the doorbell rang and you checked your watch. 7 a.m. on the nose. Well, at least the man was prompt. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “Run upstairs, put on something else…” 

Ellie took off as Esmo, your household assistant, appeared next to you, Joel by her side. 

“Morning,” he said, voice gruff. You looked him over quickly, a side arm at his belt on a pair of jeans that fit him entirely too well. You doubted they were tailored, either, they just fit him like that, the bastard. Just your luck that you’d get stuck with a bodyguard who was unnaturally good looking but also an asshole. “Thought we could get started with…”

“Sorry, that won’t work, things are a bit off the rails this morning,” you said to him quickly, not giving him a chance to respond before turning to Esmo.

“Do you still have the name of the uniform store?” You asked her. “If you do, can you see if they’re open? I think we’re going to need to stop for pants…” 

“Yes ma’am,” she said, quickly pulling out her phone. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think to get pants, the requirements were very clear…” 

“It’s not your fault,” you said quickly. Esmo had only been working for you for a few weeks and it felt like the two of you were still getting used to each other. She insisted on calling you ma’am. You insisted on doing too much for yourself. It was a delicate balance. “She’s just…” 

“OK,” Ellie came thundering down the stairs in the same sweater with a button down shirt and tie but jeans instead of the skirt. “Ready!” 

“Store opened at seven,” Esmo said, pocketing her phone. “I can take her and…” 

“I want to do it,” you cut her off, catching a glimpse of Joel’s shocked expression out of the corner of your eye as you looked back to your niece. “Alright trouble maker, ready to go?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

“Girl,” you said. “Language, please!” 

She made a face but made her way to the front door, anyway, her thumbs looped through the straps of her book bag and you turned to Joel, still surprised at just how large he was, even after being against him the day before. 

“Assuming you’re along for the ride on this,” you said, jerking your head for the door. “But we gotta book it, with an extra stop we’re already not going to be early for her first day.” 

He still had a look of almost shock on his face but he followed behind you as you grabbed your keys and wristlet from the bowl by the door, Ellie bouncing impatiently from foot to foot. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were excited,” you teased as you made you way to the Porsche SUV you’d gotten specifically to haul Ellie around. “Almost like you want to go to school instead of hanging out with me all day.” 

“Spending time with old people does get… well, old,” she smirked, heading for the passenger seat but you stopped her. 

“Absolutely not, you’re in back,” you said, jerking a thumb toward Joel - who still hadn’t spoken. “This man has a good foot on you, we’re not making him sit back there.” 

“Ugh, fine,” she huffed but obeyed, throwing her book bag against the opposite door before clambering in as Joel went for the driver’s seat, holding out his hand for the keys. You gave him a look but he just raised his brow, his arm still extended expectantly. 

“Please,” you scoffed. “I’ll let you follow me around like some guard dog but I’m keeping some last vestige of my autonomy. I’m driving.” 

He narrowed his eyes. 

“No.” 

“And why not?” You asked. “Because you have control issues?”

“Do you know evasive driving tactics?” He asked. “How to watch for pursuers and safely out run them?” 

“No, but I did my own stunt driving for the Fast Track franchise,” you said wryly. “Think I’ll be fine. Now move, you’re making us late.” 

He ground his teeth. 

“We’re talkin’ about this,” he muttered before stalking off to the passenger side of the car. 

“Yeah I bet we are,” you said under your breath as you got in the car and programmed the GPS for the uniform store. 

“So,” Ellie said in a teasing tone as she leaned between the front seats as you started off. “Who are you?”

“Put on your seatbelt,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes but sat back and obeyed.

“This is Joel,” you answered for him. “He’s going to be around quite a bit.” 

“Is he like another assistant or some shit?” She asked. 

“Language,” you said and you caught a glimpse of her rolling her eyes in your rearview mirror. “And no, not an assistant.” 

“Ohhhh,” she smirked. “So he’s like a boyfriend then, got it…” 

Joel rolled his eyes. 

“I’m a bodyguard,” he said. “I’ll be protecting your…” 

“Bodyguard?” Ellie interrupted and leaned forward again, frowning. “Why do you need a bodyguard? You didn’t have one of those in LA, what the fuck?” 

“I have a bodyguard because you can’t go five minutes without saying fuck,” you said wryly. “My life is under constant threat because of…” 

“Please,” Ellie rolled her eyes. “You have a worse mouth than I do. But seriously, why do you need a bodyguard? Is something going on?” 

You saw Joel moving to talk but you spoke before he had a chance to. 

“This is just a different place than LA,” you said quickly. “People here aren’t used to people like me just showing up in grocery stores and stuff. It can get out of hand quick so the studio wanted me to have Joel around. It’s just a precaution.” 

She seemed skeptical but was satisfied enough by the bullshit explanation you’d just given her that she sat back, pulling a Savage Starlight comic book from her book bag and you smiled a little. A lot might have changed in the last few months but at least Ellie was still Ellie. 

You made it to the uniform store and told the woman inside - who was seemingly trying not to gape at you but was failing miserably - what you were looking for. She grabbed a few pairs of uniform pants in different sizes before leading Ellie to the fitting rooms and you hung back, waiting for her to change with Joel by your side. He stood facing you, eyes constantly sweeping the store as though this strip mall just outside Austin were a war zone. 

“No one told me you had a kid,” he said eventually. 

You smiled, sadly. 

“Yeah, well,” you said. “I have a kid. That’s a pretty new development, though.” 

That made him pause, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked to you. 

“I adopted her,” you said. “A few months ago. Her mom was a single parent and like a sister to me. When she got cancer, the first thing she asked me was to take Ellie if… I told her that she was nuts, that she’d be around forever and she wouldn’t need me to do anything for Ellie besides take her to Europe for a cool aunt vacation when she turned 18 but… well, now I have a kid.” 

“I…” His voice trailed off. “Shit. I’m sorry.”  

You shrugged. 

“It is what it is, I guess,” you said. “She’s why I’m here. Things in LA… I’ve always been in her life. I was the second person to ever hold her. But I’ve always kept the paparazzi far away from her, I’ve made sure she has privacy and that she was as sheltered from that part of my life as she could be. I want to settle into this with some version of normal, one that isn’t possible when I’m in LA. And you, Joel, are throwing quite a wrench into that.” 

“Oh this is so much better,” Ellie threw the door to the changing room open with a flourish, in a pair of blue pants that perfectly matched the blue of the sweater. “Not as good as jeans but better than that stupid freaking skirt.” 

“Alright,” you said. “We’ll take five of those and then we have to get you to school because there’s no point in loading you up on uniforms just to have you miss your first day, let’s go.” 

You weren’t as early as you wanted to be - you’d been hoping to have a chance to meet Ellie’s teachers before the day started but that plan was shot - but at least kids were still arriving. You grabbed a baseball cap from your glove box, Joel stiffening as you reached between his legs to open it and you resisted the urge to smirk at that. As though you’d be trying to come onto him at all let alone with your niece in the car. 

Hat on so you were somewhat disguised, you walked with Ellie and Joel to the front of the stone building, one that had clearly taken inspiration from the ivy league schools the kids who went here were all but destined to attend. A gray haired woman in a charcoal pantsuit rushed out to greet you, an almost stern look on her face. 

“Welcome to Austin Preparatory Academy,” she extended her hand. “I’m Amanda Stark, headmistress here.” 

“Good to meet you,” you said, taking her hand, feeling Joel standing oddly close to your back. “This is Ellie, she’s looking forward to starting here today and…” 

“We’re looking forward to having her,” she smiled a little at Ellie before redirecting her attention to you. “But I’m afraid there’s been some… ah… miscommunication about the uniform. Girls are required to wear skirts. I’m sure we have…” 

“No miscommunication,” you smiled a little, steeling your spine. From the moment you’d caved to Ellie, you knew this was coming. But you’d been prepared to fight far bigger battles over this kid, this wasn’t going to be any different. “Ellie just prefers to wear pants. It wasn’t a problem at her last school, I’m sure it won’t be a problem here.” 

Ellie stuck her chin out, smirking a little and defiant as ever and you resisted the urge to elbow her. She could at least act like she wasn’t going to get her way. 

“But it is,” the headmistress said. “The uniform code here has been this way for decades and…” 

“And I’m sure you’re not suggesting that just because something has been done one way that it should continue to be done that way at the expense of students’ comfort and learning experience,” you finished for her, smiling tightly.

“We have expectations for our students,” she said, her jaw clenched. “Just like they will have one day to be successful in life, and…” 

“And you’re wearing pants,” you nodded to her suit. “And so am I. Of course, if you’re suggesting that neither of us is successful then…” 

“No, no of course not, that’s not…” 

“Wonderful!” You said brightly. “I’m glad that’s settled. I’m sure Ellie won’t cause any disruption wearing the uniform pants and now I won’t need to spend my day contacting every major news network here in Austin and asking them to come here and chat with me about your archaic gender rules and expectations. Sound good?” 

You watched her grind her teeth for a moment. 

“Of course,” she said after a moment of silence hanging in the air. “But we are close to the start of the school day and…” 

“Yes, I don’t want to be a distraction,” you smiled before turning to Ellie, tucking a hair that had already broken free of her ponytail behind her ear. “Alright kid, behave yourself, OK?” 

“Yes Sissy,” she rolled her eyes. Your heart still tightened a little when she called you that. She sounded so much like her mother, Anna. You loved that Ellie called you the same thing her mother had but still, it stung.

“I’ll be back to pick you up,” you said, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Have a good first day, OK?” 

“Oh I will,” she said and you watched her head into the building with the headmistress at her side until you couldn’t see her anymore. 

“OK, she’s dropped,” Joel said, his voice tight. “Let’s move, this place isn’t secured.” 

“Well that sure seems like a gap in security, doesn’t it?” You said, brows raised. 

“One I would have fixed if anyone had bothered to tell me you had a damn kid,” he practically growled. 

“Probably a bad idea for your boss to not have insisted on bringing me into the conversation then, wasn’t it?” 

He looked at you, his face hard. 

“Keys.” He held out his hand.

You laughed once. 

“Keys?” You said. “Really? Just ‘keys,’” you grunted it like he did, “that’s it?”

“Your kid is inside,” he said, hand still out. “Don’t have her to use an excuse now so, keys.” 

You looked at him for a moment, the firm set of his jaw, the flecks of gray just starting in at his temples. He was a good looking man, tall and broad with a rugged look to him. He’d make a good cowboy in a western, you thought, or maybe a hardened detective. But protecting someone like you seemed out of place for him. Beneath him a little, almost like he was a sell out.

“No,” you said simply, ducking around him and heading for the car. 

He followed closely behind you, even his footfalls gruff and angry. You sped up a little but he stepped in front of you, anyway, his oddly large body blocking your door. He opened his mouth - probably to try to order you around again - but you cut him off before he had the chance. 

“I’m not letting you drive,” you said. “It doesn’t matter what you do or what you say. If you want to drive, you’re going to have to pick me up and move me so, if you want to get out of here quickly and without causing a scene, you’ll get in the passenger seat and we can go.” 

For half a moment, you thought he might actually throw you over his shoulder. Instead, he just grunted and stalked around to the other side of the car, ripping the door open roughly. You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. All this pretense over some stupid letters from some over zealous fan. 

You got in the car and dropped the keys in Joel’s lap. He frowned, picking them up. 

“You want to have the keys so bad? Fine.” You pushed the button and the car roared to life. “I’ve got them right where I want them.” 

“You gotta come to terms with how this shit is going to work,” he said sharply. “You can’t just do whatever the hell it is you feel like. I get that you’re some spoiled fuckin’ actress who only ever does exactly what she wants whenever she wants but I got news for you, I don’t give a shit how many movies you’ve been in or awards you’ve won. I care about keeping your ass alive and to do that, you gotta listen to me. I ain’t one of those fuckin’ ass kissers you spend all your time with so we can do this the hard way or the easy way but either way, it’s gonna be my fuckin’ way. Understood?” 

You watched him for a moment, your tongue between your teeth to keep from snapping at him. It was something you were used to, something you’d been doing since you were a girl, always shutting up while the people who were more powerful than you - people you’d made fucking rich - made every decision for you. 

That was one thing on set and in your career and even for posed fucking paparazzi shots but not in your real life. 

“I need coffee,” you said, putting the car in drive. “Coffee?” 

“I’m sure you got people who can do that for you,” he said, his jaw clenched. 

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?” You smirked before nodding down to his wrist. “Oh, also? Your watch is broken.” 

You pressed the gas harder than you should have, the car jumping sharply forward, wondering just how far you could push your new shadow before he backed out.

Next Chapter

A/N: OK I'm already in love with writing how these two push each other's buttons. Annoying Joel Miller is my passion, I can't wait to drive this man absolutely insane over the arc of this fic.

Thank you so much for being patient as I wrapped up Yearling and went on vacation! I'm hoping to update this once a week going forward so you won't need to wait quite so long between chapters from here on out. I hope you enjoyed getting to know these two a little better!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler

[luveline]

Ok this isn’t Halloween but I would love to see a fic of the first time r spends the night at Aaron’s and she changes into her pj which r these super cute delicate tank and shorts set and Aaron goes crazy!! Like he’s a gentleman obvi (or trying hard to be) but he starts opening my flirting with her and she’s so confused bc usually he’s much more subtle

thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

cw adult theme mdni

You don't bother changing in the bathroom. It's not an attempt to come onto him, though you're wondering if he might want that, but a realistic practice. If Aaron wants to be intimate with you tonight he's going to see much more of you than your bra.

He returns from the bathroom as you're pulling down your camisole. It's a simple pair of pyjamas but made of a more expensive fabric, the shorts bordering immodest and the camisole cupping your breasts with enough support that a quick glance in the mirror tells you what you'd wanted to know; you look cute. 

Aaron smiles at you, something unreadable in his expression. His brows lift ever so slightly. "Nice socks." 

"I get cold feet sometimes," you say, pressing your fuzzy heels together. 

"Yeah?" he asks, pushing his hair out of his face. "Me too." 

"What side do you sleep on?" you ask. 

"What side do you sleep on?" he asks back. "Go where you want." 

You pick a random side, too nervous to think about it in depth. The sheets are crisps to the touch and smell freshly laundered, soft against your naked legs. You feel a little like you're playing make believe all cleaned and washed yourself, your heart in your wrist as you squeeze it, watching him flick off the big light and cross the carpeted floor slowly. His room, his entire apartment, is smart but cosy, ambient lamp light and open space. 

"Do you wanna watch TV?" he asks, putting the remote in your lap as he shakes out the sheet and slips in next to you. His body heat is immediately felt. His knee brushes yours as he leans in. "Hold that button down." 

Despite what you'd said about cold feet, you're nervous and he runs warm; by the time you've found something to watch on TV he's sewn his arm through yours and you're practically running a temperature. You have to take your legs back out and lie atop the sheets. 

You pull a knee up. The shorts ease down. 

Aaron sinks into the bed with you, his head just a touch higher than your own. "I'm really happy you're here," he says. 

"I'm happy too," you say, turning your face to his. Nervous, sure, but this is a milestone for your new relationship you're ecstatic to achieve. 

Even if he doesn't have any seductive intention tonight, you're eager to spend the night in his arms. He's older (impossible to ignore), more gentlemanly as a consequence, and during the course of your relationship there have been more important things than sex, like establishing trust with one another, and making sure that your relationship could withstand his constant working. 

"I'm really happy," you say, lifting your chin and fireworks erupt in your chest as he leans down to meet you, kissing you gently. 

"Is this…" His hand trails to the soft of your stomach, pink brushing your thigh where it's hiked. "Your usual nighttime attire?" 

"This is the wanting my boyfriend to like it attire," you confess, because he already knows. Aaron knows everything. He could tell you where you bought them if you gave him long enough.

"Consider them true to form," he says, hand sliding like a heavy, hot weight across your stomach and leaving a worse heat behind. "You look amazing." 

"Yeah?" you ask. 

His lips skin your cheek. He nudges you with his nose to encourage your head back and kisses softly under the line of your jaw, "They're a little small," he says, kissing between whispers, "the shorts." 

"They're not tight," you whisper in turn. 

His hand falls to your thigh, spreading your legs a terrible inch as he tugs at the hem of your shorts. His fingertips dip under them a millimetre as he agrees, "No, they're not. Your top, though…" 

"It was a matching set. I couldn't choose–" 

"Do you have many like it?" he asks, pulling away, meeting your eyes with a charge you've only seen a handful of times. You know exactly what it means, your chest aching with want as his hand comes to rest at the top of your thigh. 

"Sure. Two or three." 

"That won't do." 

You're nervous, but he's your boyfriend. You know more about him than he might think even if you don't know him intimately yet, and his arduousness makes you laugh. He's always been such a gentleman —not many men would ask you to be their girlfriend with a pearl necklace, or invite you to stay the night via text rather than at the end of a date. You'd expected your first time together to be a come up for coffee situation, but he's never propositioned you that way. The text was a sweet surprise, an addition. 

Would you like to stay over after dinner on Friday? Let me know. Can't wait to see you either way. 

No matter what you want, Aaron wants that too. 

You turn into his lap and catch his lips with yours, his hand encroaching on the soft fat of your inner thigh. 

His lips part under yours and you take his face into your hands, a giving in if there ever were one, hoping it says everything you're too shy to admit aloud. No matter how much he clearly likes the shorts, he abandons your thigh and hugs your back to him instead, your chests pressed together until yours is heaving for air. 

"You're usually more subtle than this," you tease, breathless, good-natured. 

"You aren't usually wearing this," he says, his usually smooth voice roughened, "I'm losing my mind." 

"Well, we can't have that." 

He leans back in, laughing against your lips. When his hand works its way under your camisole, you think about where you can get more pyjamas like these ones considering he likes them so badly, but then his hand crawls higher and the thought leaves your mind for the time being. 

[soulofapatrick]

Between Battles and Breaths - Bodhi Durran x female reader 

Summary: You can’t sleep, terrified of your enemy you’re facing tomorrow in the challenges and you find yourself seeking comfort in Bodhi 

Warnings: None 

Words: 2.6k

Y/N's POV

I can't sleep. The thought of who I’m up against in tomorrow's challenges has kept my mind racing for hours, churning over every possible scenario. My nerves are a live wire, and the gnawing certainty that this is one I’m not going to win gnashes at me. The others are better, faster, more experienced—and me? I’m just trying to make it through each day without making a fool of myself.

My feet drag across the floor as I pace, the creak of the wooden boards below me a repetitive comfort in the stillness of the night. I know I’ve practically worn a path into the carpet by now, walking the same few steps over and over, but it’s better than lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the panic to consume me. With a huff, I finally stop and run a hand through my hair, frustrated.

I can’t do this. Not like this.

Before I can think twice, I grab my flight leathers, pulling them on with shaking hands. It’s reckless, stupid even, to sneak out so close to curfew, but if I stay in this room for one more second, I’ll go mad. The air feels thick, suffocating, and I need to breathe.

The dormitory halls are quiet as I slip out of my room on the first year’s floor, the faint hum of the academy settling for the night, a reminder that I should be too. But instead of heading outside like I’d planned, something draws me upwards, my feet carrying me to the second-year floor before I’ve even realised what I’m doing.

I hesitate at the top of the stairs, wondering what exactly led me here. I’m not even sure how or why I ended up in front of his door—Bodhi Durran’s door. But I stop there, my hand hovering over the handle. The smart thing would be to turn back. He’s the last person I should be bothering right now, with my nerves as raw as they are, but there’s a pull in my chest that won’t let me leave.

Through the narrow gap in the door, I catch a glimpse of him.

Bodhi lies there, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. The dim light from the window barely touches his face, but it’s enough to see the peaceful, almost boyish look that settles over him in sleep. His sharp features, usually so intense, are softened in this moment of calm. Tousled dark hair falls across his forehead, and there’s something about the way his brow is relaxed, the usual storminess in his expression completely at ease, that makes him look younger than usual, more vulnerable.

I should go, I think, taking a step back, but the thought sticks in my throat when he stirs. The slight rustle of the sheets is enough to send my heart skittering, and before I can react, Bodhi’s eyes flutter open, dark and still heavy with sleep.

He squints at me through the dim light, confusion crossing his face as his gaze lands on me standing hesitantly in the doorway. For a second, I don’t think he’s going to say anything at all, and I wonder if I should just leave before he fully wakes up.

But then his voice, rough and gravelly from sleep, cuts through the silence. “What are you doing here?” His tone is low, hoarse, and it sends a shiver down my spine. It’s not accusatory or irritated, just… curious, like he can’t quite believe I’m standing there.

And in this moment, neither can I.

His dark eyes take in my appearance, sweeping over me with a sharpness that leaves me feeling exposed, bare. A crease forms between his brows as he pushes the blankets aside and sits up, the confusion shifting into something else, something that makes my heart beat even faster. Without a word, Bodhi swings his legs over the edge of the bed, the sheets rustling as they fall away, revealing his body—lean and muscular, his chest broad and defined. He’s only wearing boxers, and it takes everything in me not to let my eyes linger on the way his muscles shift under his skin with each step as he moves toward me.

I feel breathless, like the air has been sucked out of the room, replaced with a thick tension that presses against my chest. My throat tightens with nerves, and I force myself to breathe, but it’s hard to focus when he’s so close, when the sight of him leaves my thoughts scattered, my body anxious in all the right ways.

Bodhi stops in front of me, his presence overwhelming, his gaze dark and steady. For a moment, neither of us says anything, and the silence between us feels charged, like the crackle of a storm about to break. Then, slowly, his hand reaches for mine.

The moment his fingers wrap around mine, it feels like I’ve been set on fire. His hand is large and calloused, rough from training and fighting, yet somehow warm and steady. My pulse quickens at the simple touch, the anxiety in my chest twisting into something deeper, more intense. His thumb grazes the back of my hand, sending a shiver racing up my spine, and I bite my lip to keep from gasping aloud.

“Come on,” he murmurs, voice still thick from sleep, tugging me gently into his room. The door closes softly behind me, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet space. His room is dimly lit, the moonlight slipping through the curtains casting long shadows across the floor. It’s sparse, with only a few personal touches—a pile of worn books on the bedside table, his boots kicked off haphazardly near the window—but it feels so undeniably him. Practical. Focused. Just like Bodhi.

He leads me toward his bed, his hand still holding mine, and the closer I get, the more overwhelmed I feel. The air between us is thick with unspoken words, a tension that leaves my thoughts spinning. I’ve always had a crush on Bodhi—who wouldn’t? But I never thought he’d look at me like this, with an intensity that makes my knees weak, that leaves me wanting something I can’t quite put into words.

“Sit,” he says softly, guiding me to the edge of the bed. My legs feel shaky as I lower myself onto the mattress, and Bodhi moves to his knees in front of me. The sight of him kneeling there, his face inches from mine, sends a sharp ache of longing through my chest. It’s a position that feels intimate, almost too intimate, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, to run my fingers through his dark, tousled hair and pull him closer.

I’m still trying to process what’s happening, still trying to catch my breath, when Bodhi’s hands reach for my boots. He works in silence, deft fingers unlacing the leather with a skill that speaks of years spent in flight leathers himself. When he finally pulls the boots off and sets them aside, his hands return to me, grazing the skintight leathers of my pants legs as he slides his palms slowly, deliberately, up toward my hips.

The touch sends a rush of heat through me, my pulse quickening as his fingers trail higher, a soft, feather-light touch that makes my breath hitch. His hands find their way around my back, moving with purpose but not rushing, until his fingers find the lacings of the dragon armour my brother made for me before I walked the parapet.

He undoes them with practiced ease, and I feel the tension in my chest loosen as the bindings fall away. The weight of the armour lifts, but it’s nothing compared to the weight in my heart, the yearning that’s only grown stronger the closer Bodhi gets.

I’ve wanted him for so long, and now, with him this close, his touch so careful and his gaze so intent, I can’t help but wonder if he’s wanted me too.

Bodhi stands and lifts the now-loosened corset armour from my shoulders, handling it with surprising care before placing it neatly on the chair by his desk. The room feels heavier in the quiet after the sound of the armour settling, my heart beating wildly in the stillness. When he turns back to me, his eyes drop to my waist, his fingers hovering just above my hips. His gaze flickers up to meet mine, and for a moment, everything stills.

He hesitates, his touch light, asking for permission without words.

I nod slightly, barely noticeable, but Bodhi catches it, and as soon as he does, my hips rise instinctively. His fingers deftly find the buttons of my flight leathers, working through each one with an unhurried precision that makes my pulse race. The heat of his touch burns through the leather, and when he finally shimmies the pants down my legs and to the floor, the sensation is almost overwhelming—his hands, warm and firm, feel like fire in my veins.

Once I’m free of the leathers, Bodhi moves away from me, crossing the room toward the washroom. I watch him through half-lidded eyes as he disappears for a moment, only to return with a worn shirt in hand. He approaches me with a soft look in his eyes, holding it out like a peace offering.

The shirt smells like him. There’s a faint woodsy scent, warm and earthy, like pine and leather, mixed with the sharper tang of the wind that always seems to cling to him after a day in the sky. Beneath it all, there’s something uniquely Bodhi, something comforting, steady, that grounds me even as my mind whirls with everything happening between us.

He turns his back to give me some privacy, and I waste no time. My shirt and bra come off quickly, discarded without thought, and I pull his shirt over my head. It’s too big, falling to mid-thigh and swallowing me in its softness, the fabric still warm from his skin. I take a breath, letting the scent of him wrap around me like a second skin, comforting in a way I didn’t expect.

By the time I’m done, Bodhi is already shuffling around me, his movements slow and sleepy, but purposeful. He climbs back under the covers and without hesitation, wraps a strong arm around my waist, pulling me toward him. The warmth of his body presses against mine, the heavy weight of his arm a reassuring presence as he draws the blankets over both of us.

He’s close—so close I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back, the heat of him chasing away the lingering chill in the room. His nose brushes against the back of my neck, and I shiver, not from cold but from the sensation of him so near. Bodhi’s thumb rubs slow, soothing circles along my waist, and it’s enough to make my body relax, melting into the space between us.

“What’s got you up in the middle of the night?” he mumbles, his voice soft and rough with sleep. His breath tickles my neck, warm and steady, and I can’t help but smile faintly at the quiet concern in his voice, even half-asleep.

I don’t answer right away, too lost in the feeling of him holding me, the weight of his arm a comfort I didn’t know I needed. The anxiety that had gnawed at me all night is still there, but it’s quieter now, softened by the way Bodhi holds me like I’m something worth protecting.

Finally, I murmur, “Just… tomorrow.” The words are barely more than a whisper, but Bodhi seems to understand, his arm tightening slightly around my waist in silent reassurance.

Bodhi pulls me even closer to his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat resonating against my back, anchoring me in this moment. His voice, still laced with sleep, drops to a low murmur, sending soft vibrations through me. “You’ve got this, you know,” he mumbles, warmth pooling in his words like honey. “You’ll kick their asses tomorrow.”

His confidence in me feels like a shield against the anxiety that had clawed at me all night. I can’t help but smile, feeling the tension in my chest ease just a little.

“And if that other guy tries anything outside the rules,” he continues, his voice dipping even lower, “he’ll have to deal with me.” There’s a protective edge to his tone that makes my heart flutter, the notion of Bodhi standing up for me sending a thrill through my veins.

He rests his chin atop my head, a gentle weight that feels comforting and safe. “You’re stronger than you think,” he adds softly, each word wrapping around me like a warm embrace. “Just remember that, and you’ll be unstoppable.”

In his arms, with his sweet reassurances washing over me, the fears that had once felt so insurmountable start to dissipate, replaced by a sense of calm. I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of him, feeling utterly enveloped in his warmth and unwavering support. 

Just as I’m falling asleep in, Bodhi is nudging me gently, urging me to roll over and face him. I comply, shifting so that I’m looking directly into his dark, expressive eyes. His hand finds my cheek, his touch warm and inviting, and heat floods my skin at the contact. It’s as if his palm ignites a fire against my cheek, sending a shiver of warmth spiralling through me.

He studies my face for a moment, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips, and then he leans down, brushing a barely-there kiss against my lips. It’s sweet, feather-light, and it leaves me wanting more. My heart races, and before I can think, my hands find their way into his dark curls, relishing the silky softness of his hair between my fingers.

But it’s that soft kiss that sends all coherent thoughts flying from my mind, leaving me breathless and craving. Bodhi deepens the kiss, tilting his head to fit us perfectly together, and the world around us fades away. The taste of him is intoxicating—warm, with a hint of mint and something uniquely Bodhi that sends a spark of electricity through me.

His lips move against mine with a gentleness that contrasts the intensity of my racing heart, each brush igniting a heat that spreads through my entire body. It’s as if he’s exploring, learning every curve and contour of my lips, and I’m lost in the sensation.

Every nerve ending tingles as he kisses me properly, the connection between us growing more profound with each passing moment. There’s a sweetness to the way he cradles my face, a tenderness that makes my heart swell. I can feel his warmth radiating through the kiss, wrapping me in a cocoon of safety and longing.

When he finally pulls back, our lips lingering just a breath apart, I can’t help but chase his mouth for just another taste, a whisper of connection that leaves me craving more. The air between us is electric, thick with unspoken feelings, and in that moment, I know I’ve stepped into something beautiful, something I never want to end.

Fourth Wing Masterlist - To be made Comment to be added to tag list

[morganbritton132]

I love the newer teachers not knowing who Eddie is and visiting Steve at his house and wondering how they can afford such a nice house. I can imagine that they live in a house way above a teachers salary, much less a teacher with presumably, a lot of medical bills. They see gold records hanging on the walls and all of Eddie’s awards on a bookshelf and they are trying to connect the dots to who Eddie is.

David’s first impression of Steve is, admittedly, not great.

He was hired as a long-term substitute halfway through the school year and technically, Mr. Harrington was the only teacher on their floor not to introduce himself to him. They’re supposed to cover the eighth grade lunch period together, but Steve hasn’t shown up once since David was started three days ago.

Instead, the principal covered for him.

Cindy McCullen, the gossipy history teacher across the hall from him, says that it’s because of favoritism. She says that Principal Moreno always lets her favorites run rampant around the school and lets them do whatever they want, especially if they’re tenured. Steve Harrington is the most egregious example of blatant favoritism.

David starts to form an opinion about Mr. Harrington in his mind that only gets worse with every story he hears from Cindy. So, it’s a bit of a shock when Steve shows up for lunch duty the next day with a whole ass service dog.

He feels like an asshole.

Especially because Steve is so apologetic about missing the last three days and leaving David to ‘the wolves’ during his first week, “Is this your first teaching job? I’ve heard from the kids that you’re doing great!”  

He makes a conscious effort after that to get to know Steve and to stop letting other people form his opinions for him. Though, admittedly. He kinda fucks that up too.

The first time David meets Eddie, he thinks that he’s Steve’s brother.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t talk about his life outside of work. It’s just that he doesn’t go into a lot a detail. David knows that he’s married to a man, that he’s from Indiana originally, and he might have a kid. Maybe? A girl name Erica that tells him what a brony is and how they ruin everything.

Hell, David’s not even entirely sure he knows what Ozzy is in service of. Steve just said that he bumped his head one too many times and now he has a dog so his husband stops worrying so much.

The only surefire thing that David knows is that Steve has a brother that’s a bit of a dork. He has great hair and is really smart, but lacks tact. Steve loves him. You can tell by the way that he talks about the guy.

So one day, David is in the teacher’s lounge heating up a cup of Easy Mac while Steve is sitting with his head down at one of the tables. He’s about to suggest that Steve go home and sleep off whatever cold he has when a guy with long hair and a leather jacket sticks his head in the room and declares, “You look like shit.”

Steve doesn’t even lift his head when he flips him off which is – whoa, not something that David would expect from Mr. Harrington. He makes himself busy with stirring his mac and cheese while the two bicker with each other which is, admittedly, childish.

Leather Jacket’s main argument for why Steve has to listen to him and go home is because he’s older. Steve croaks out that that is bullshit and Leather Jacket threatens to call their Uncle Wayne if Steve doesn’t listen. He eventually agrees.

Before they leave, Leather Jacket sticks his hand out to David and introduces himself as the cooler Mr. Harrington (that gets a laugh out of Steve).

So, color him shocked when Steve invites their event committee over to his house.

David hasn’t even fully gotten over how nice of a neighborhood Steve lives in on a teacher and retiree’s salary when Leather Jacket gets introduced as Eddie, the husband Steve has mentioned. Then he just casually mentions a red carpet like, what?

And the craziest part is that he’s asked about his husband before!

Steve mentioned once that his husband was out of town and when David asked what he did for work, Steve said that he was retired. He said that his husband can play guitar and that one of their friends (James Hetfield) needed a last minute guitarist for some kind of fair (Coachella) so Eddie went to help out.

He definitely worded it like playing guitar was just a hobby that his husband has, not like. Not like platinum records lining the hallway to their bathroom or the picture of Steve and Eddie in Vegas with KISS stuck to the fridge. He swears the note on the dry erase board by the garage entrance signed ‘Dave’ is in Dave Grohl’s handwriting.

There’s an Grammy on the bookshelf by the fireplace.

Who the hell is Steve Harrington?

Better question: Who the hell is Eddie Munson?

Kathy laughs the entire drive to her house and she is still laughing when he drops her off. The only thing she says that could even be considered an answer is, “I think he’s on Tiktok. Start there.”