#sometimes I feel like I´m the only sane one here

[myfanfictiongarden]

What…? Am I the only one who actually likes this show so far? Please explain, what is going on here? Why all the headlines of this or that being wrong with it, when so far- until episode 3 that is- we have seen none of it? I mean, who knows, maybe with episode 4 it will go downhill, or maybe episode 5 will be unwatchable, or by the time of the season finale I ll say “This is the worst thing ever!” BUT UNTIL NOW NOTHING OF THAT IS TRUE! We have a fantastic story, charming and interesting characters, cool fights, incredible costumes (I’m a costume girly), great score, visuals, drama, conflict, humour, emotions… what else do you need? 

You know what? You have no right to complain, I bet you are the same kind of people who claimed George Lukas ruined Star Wars with the prequels, who said there is nothing worse then the prequels, the dialogue, the acting, the characters- Lukas killed Star Wars! Only to come suddenly back and say “oh the prequels were incredible, kethlyn kennedy killed Star Wars with the sequels!” Stop it! Yes, opinions change over time, we change over time, but you can’t proclaim something as garbage and then later praise it to the heavens only to bash on other things.

What exactly is your problem right now with the show? The fact that we see more of the expanded universe, that we have complex characters, other perspectives mentioned? Weren’t we already told since 1977 that the galaxy is wide, the world not black and white, and truth may depend on the point of view? The Jedi feel responsible for something that happened a few years ago? Good people do feel responsible! Good people usually feel guilty when bad things cant be prevented! We have a coven of witches who think they are in the right? So… none of you watched the Clone Wars show?

I have no idea what will happen next or if I ll like it till the end, but until now? I’m hooked.

[glossdebut]

Take a Bite Ch. 1

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: social drinking, mechanical bull-related injuries lol

✧ WORDCOUNT: 2.7k so far

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! i'm aqua and this is my first ever fic so please be nice!! i will be crossposting this work and all future works on my ao3 of the same name. i'm figuring out how this works as i go, so please be patient with me. tags are subject to change with every update. i won't have a posting schedule for this one, but i have the first few chapters pre-written, so expect an update sometime next week!

Chapter 1: Lay Your Cards Down, Down, Down, Down

Although this is the furthest thing from your scene, you can’t help but think to yourself that you should invest in some cowboy boots. You could make them work, you’re sure of it.

Even if you know you would never pull the trigger on purchasing any, too far out of the comfort zone of your normal style, the thought is the only thing keeping you sane—that, and the sound of Cowboy Carter blasting through the speakers of the bar, a welcome reprieve from the drawling, boring country anthems you’d been suffering through for the past hour or so. 

You pride yourself on seeing the merit in all genres of music, you do. You were always the type of person who puffed up her chest when you told people ‘I listen to everything,’ uncaring of how pretentious it may sound. You mean it. It’s an asset in your line of work, and as far as you’re concerned, a little bit of pretentiousness is a small price to pay for the, quite frankly, baller route your fledgling career is heading in. 

But a Western bar? Not the kind of place you’d spend a precious Friday night willingly. Another hazard of the job.

After months of skillfully avoiding the weekly Friday nights out with the other rookie reporters at the magazine, you’d run out of excuses not to join them. If four years studying communications taught you anything, it was that connections are everything in the journalism business. Even more so where the music industry is concerned.

So here you are, at your fourth stop of your night of bar hopping with your extroverted and extremely drunk coworkers, nursing warm beer and observing from the least populated corner you managed to scout upon entry. All things considered, you had been a good sport at the three previous stops. You just draw the line at square dancing with the people you work with. College may have beaten your fear of impromptu phone calls and talking to strangers out of you, but your social battery can only take so much. 

Your phone battery, too, you think bitterly as you stare down at the low battery warning on your screen. Okay, so you’ll finish your shitty beer (because you’re not quite successful enough yet to afford wasting alcohol that you’re paying for) and then use your phone’s remaining juice to catch an Uber home. No biggie.

You’re in the middle of turning off your phone with full intent to work out the kinks of your exit strategy when you realize, with irritation, that your chosen corner is about to be invaded.

Your eyes land on a pair of black Jordans ( in a Western bar? your mind supplies, as if you have any room to judge in your Docs) and travel up, past torn black jeans and a black shirt, and just when you’re sensing a theme with this guy, your eyes reach a head of (regrettably, very nice) black hair and a pair of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. Anish Kapoor would wail at the sight of these eyes, you think.

As if sensing your apprehension, your corner-thief raises his free hand (the other clutching a plastic cup of his own) palm out, as if to say ‘I come in peace’ and stops in his tracks.

“I can find another spot,” corner-thief says, the low rumbling of his voice barely audible above Texas Hold ‘Em. “I’m just waiting for one of my friends to get bored or injured so I can leave.”

“Injured,” you repeat, despite your better judgment to take him up on his offer and let him be on his way. But your phone is dead and you’re a little bit drunk, bored, and even for an unwanted partner in social evasion, this guy is nicer to look at than the frat guys playing beer pong you’ve been observing for the better part of an hour.

Corner-thief grins a stupidly charming gummy smile, leaning just the slightest bit closer to be heard better but still keeping a respectful distance. As if he’s still wary that you’ll lunge at him if he encroaches on your space any further. Good man.

“There’s a mechanical bull upstairs,” he says, using his index finger on the hand holding his cup to point at the ceiling above you both.

Of course there is. With your luck, you’ll also have to peel someone off of the floor later after going head-to-head with the bull.

“Not your thing?” you guess, glancing pointedly at his Jordans, and he shakes his head, huffing through his nose in what you can only guess is a laugh.

“No, I wouldn’t say so.” 

He pauses, shifting from foot to foot for a moment before speaking again. “So, will you share your wall? I can look around again but this place is more packed than I would’ve pegged it for.”

You nod and he smiles again thankfully, taking the spot on the wall next to you. That should be it. Two strangers who don’t want to be here standing in companiable silence next to each other while they wait for their friends–or coworkers, in your case–to put them out of their misery and let them go home.

But… You consider your options, your phone taking its dying breath in your pocket, and you sigh, turning to him.

“Y/N,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake. 

He takes it with his free hand, giving you an amused look. “Yoongi.”

“What’s that look for?”

He laughs again, a little bit more this time, and your heart does a stupid, funny thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been greeted by a pretty girl in a bar with a handshake,” he says, causing you to flush and pull your hand away as if it’d been burned, your shoulders tensing as you take a sip of your beer. 

A western bar certainly isn’t your scene, but admittedly, neither are bars or clubs in general. You got all of that out of your system in college where everyone was awkward as fuck or too drunk to care that you were, and ever since you got your degree you have lived and breathed your work. Your social skills were never quite up to par, but you didn’t realize you were this fucking embarrassing.

“I came out with coworkers right after we got off, so I think I’m still kind of in work mode,” you lie, and as if sensing that you feel slightly made fun of, Yoongi shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, swear,” he says, tilting his head at you. Dark eyes considering you. “Honestly, I’m thankful you’re putting up with me at all. I don’t think I’d be so kind if the roles were reversed. I know firsthand how hard it is to find a spot to breathe in places like this.”

You feel your shoulder muscles relax just the slightest bit. “I thought about sending you away, but I couldn’t help it. My heart aches when I see an introvert in need of a hiding spot,” you attempt to joke. 

“At least I’m out with friends,” he says sympathetically. “I’ve done the coworker thing before. It’s a drag.”

“It’s weird ,” you correct. “I mean, I sit in meetings with these people. I avoid answering their emails all day. Why is it considered rude to not want to see them piss drunk?”

Yoongi hums in agreement, nodding his head. “What do you do, anyway?”

“I work for Look Here Magazine,” you reply, straightening up a bit in pride when Yoongi’s eyes flash with recognition, his body turning so his shoulder is against the wall now. You turn as well, facing him. “I write for the music section.”

“No shit? I’ve probably read your stuff, then,” Yoongi says, grinning. 

He’s cute. Hot. You can’t help but notice, no matter how hard you’re trying not to. The way that he seems to carry himself in particular, you think, might end up driving you crazy if you’re exposed to it for too long. Maybe you’ve been living under a rock, but you’ve never met a fellow wallflower that still exuded such confidence. He wears it insanely well.

“Look Here covers a lot of big artists,” you hear him continue. “I’m a little surprised you’re hugging the wall, honestly. This place is nothing compared to music industry parties.”

“Ah, I only started a few months ago,” you admit, looking down into your cup. “Not a lot of bylines yet. I haven’t made it into a room with an artist that big yet.”

“But you want to,” Yoongi guesses, and you nod, looking up to meet his eyes. He looks impressed, impressed by you , and that… does something to you. Huh. “Shit, that’s… That’s really cool.”

“Thanks,” you say. You can feel your cheeks heating up again, and you’re suddenly very eager to turn the attention away from yourself. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Ah,” Yoongi says, fixing his eyes to his cup just as you had a moment ago. “I’m a music producer, actually.”

You perk up at that. So that’s why he reads Look Here, why he seemed so interested when you told him what you do. 

“Anything I’ve heard?” you ask, leaning in like he’s about to tell you a secret. Networking never stops.

He watches as you lean, his mouth turning up at the corners in a smirk. “Probably.” 

You wait for more, but it doesn’t come. Shithead. So much for that.

“You’ve gotta give me more than that,” you say, and god, you can hear the pout in your own voice. Are you that drunk? Flirting for a lead in a story?

“I don’t,” Yoongi says simply, his smirk in full force now. Mean and annoying and hot. He hasn’t leaned away from you yet. “I want to know more about you, actually. Journalism is hard work. I’m surprised you have time to go out like this.”

“Like I said, I was forced.”

“Still. Spending time with your friends or family or partner or whatever must take priority when it comes to your free time.”

Why is he so interested? You scrunch your nose, trying to figure out what he could be fishing for here. You don’t make it a habit to divulge the details of your sad excuse for a personal life to strangers, but the alcohol has loosened your lips. Maybe you need to talk about it. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again, anyway.

“My family is back home. My best friend is this insanely talented playwright. She’s constantly traveling. I see her when she can get some time to fly out.” You take a quick sip of your drink, ignoring the pang in your chest. Sometimes it sneaks up on you, how lonely you are. “Other than her, it’s just me, really. The dating thing… Nobody really seems to get how demanding my job can be, and it always ends in hurt feelings.”

There’s a long pause, and you’re worried you’ve shared too much. You’re enjoying talking to Yoongi. You know it doesn’t matter, that you’ll likely never see him again, but it would really, really suck if his permanent mental image of you ends up being ‘lonely weird drunk girl,’ even if that’s what you are. You force yourself to look up at him. The look in his eyes makes your heart flip stupidly again.

“I get that,” he says, and his voice is soft, barely audible over the music filling the space. You’re reading his lips more than anything, honestly, and you don’t let yourself look at them for too long. He may be pretty—unbearably so, you’re realizing—but he’s a stranger. A mean, annoying, hot, pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Every guy says he gets it. This needs to stay what it is, you think. Momentary companionship between introverts who would rather die than square dance.

You don’t get much time to agonize over it. Whatever is going on between you and Yoongi is intercepted quickly by his phone buzzing in his pocket and his responding grimace when he pulls it out to check it.

“Namjoon fell off of the mechanical bull,” he says, like he’s completely unsurprised by that news. He downs the rest of his drink and pockets his phone again, pushing off of the wall. “I’ve gotta deal with that.”

You nod, pulling what you hope is a sympathetic face. “Good luck.”

His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and you hold your breath. He looks like he wants to say something, torn between rushing upstairs to save his friend and staying, just for a moment.

You think you know what he wants to say, think foolishly that maybe he wants to ask for your number, and you honestly don’t know if you’d give it to him if he did. You’re so used to saying no.

He runs his fingers through his hair, opens his mouth to speak, and then he looks down like his phone is buzzing again. When he looks back up, it seems like he’s thought better of it.

“Thanks for sharing your wall,” he settles on, smiling congenially. You smile back, and then he’s heading towards the stairs.

Good, you think. You know better. If he really gets it, he does too.

★ ★ ★

You’re dragged out to one more bar before you finally make it home, your interaction with Yoongi having knocked you off-kilter enough to agree to a few more drinks.

It does wonders for your social status at work, you’re sure, but by the time you’re dropped off you’re dizzy-drunk, fighting to stay upright in the elevator of your apartment building.

You’re fumbling and failing at getting your key into the lock of your front door, tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration, when a voice calling your name a few feet to your right almost makes you jump out of your skin.

You yell, clutching your chest, and when you turn to face the owner of the voice that almost made you lose the contents of your stomach on your doormat, you’re greeted by none other than corner-thief-mean-annoying-hot-pretty Yoongi himself, leaning against the door to the apartment two doors down.

“What the fuck,” you blurt out dumbly, and he laughs. At you! How dare he stand there, lean there, all hot and annoying and in your apartment building for some fucking reason and laugh at you.

“I was going to ask if you needed help,” he says, and oh, fuck. You were safe from just how deep his voice was under the thrum of the music at the bar, but in the quiet of your apartment building this late, you can hear it just fine. Feel it, even. Feel it in places you do not want to humor right now. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you do.”

It’s obvious that Yoongi is faring much better than you are, although his night clearly didn’t end after the mechanical bull incident. Faster than you can react, he’s right in front of you, gently taking your key from your hands and turning it in the lock, like it’s easy.

“Gonna make it in okay?” he asks, looking down at you. You force your brain to make words.

“I’ll be okay,” you assure him, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “Are you stalking me?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I think we’re neighbors.”

“Oh.” Oh. Okay. That’s fine. Just because he’s your neighbor doesn’t mean you have to do something stupid, like see him ever again.

“Give me your number,” he says softly. Oh.

You blink at him, and he grins. Gummy smile. You feel like you’re going to vomit all over his Jordans.

“In case you ever can’t use your keys again,” he clarifies. “I told you, those music industry parties are killer.”

And really, you’re powerless to resist. You give him your number, using all of your remaining brain power to remember the order of the digits. Seemingly satisfied, Yoongi pockets his phone and steps back, heading back to his front door.

“Goodnight, neighbor,” he says, unlocking his door with ease. “Sleep on your side.”

You swallow thickly and nod, slipping inside your own apartment as quickly as you can manage. 

Once you’re in, you sink onto the floor, your back pressed against the door behind you. Your cat, perched on your coffee pot, stares at you in your drunk, flustered state, unimpressed. Offended, even, judging by the way she licks her paw.

You’re so fucked.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

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[sitp-recs]

Love ur recs sm so I come here screaming crying begging for eight year/hogwarts era recs... binged the classics and craving more but I swear I've read all of them...please help lovely sitp 🙏🙏

Hello 🙌 I did a couple reclists for 8th year but here are some fics I don’t see recced often:

A Pain of Our Choosing by @lqtraintracks (E, 6k)

It’s 8th year and everyone’s still a bit messed up. Harry and Draco fall into being messed up together.

Good Company by Greenflares (T, 8k)

With Hermione and Ron always together, Harry's return to Hogwarts to complete his education isn't exactly fun. Somehow, it's his unlikely friendship with Malfoy that keeps him sane.

What Country, Friends, Is This? by khalulu (M, 8.4k)

When Harry and Draco are paired up for a nebulous “capstone project” in 8th year, Draco suggests they use it as an opportunity to take a free Grand Tour of Europe. Harry isn’t interested in being grand, and they soon veer off the beaten path. The journey to find what (and who) you really want can lead to unexpected places.

swallow your words by icarusinflight (E, 9k)

The truth is, not many things are known about the magic that is behind soulmarks. They'll turn up when they want and not before. The truth is, you don't get a choice in your soulmark. The truth is, not everyone is okay with that.

Marginal Notes by @blamebrampton (G, 9k)

When you’re 18, and nothing is as it was meant to be, sometimes it can be hard to let the right people know what you are thinking.

Stand Back: I'm About to Perform Archaeology by Blowfish_Diaries (E, 9.7k)

A new Muggle Studies professor takes the Eighth Year students to work on an archaeological excavation. In which Draco is lazy, Harry is sweaty, Hermione is drunk, and Ron turns red.

Slow Hands by eleventy7 (T, 10k)

Blood, shadows, and paper hearts. The Shadow hunts students, but Draco Malfoy most of all.

warmest part of the winter by warmfoothills (T, 11k)

It’s not even a balcony, it’s just a window with a bit of a ledge, and Draco’s read Shakespeare anyway, he knows how this one ends.

Find The Balance by lauren3210, Obliviate_Amores (M, 15k)

After Harry gives Draco his wand and goes back to using his own, they both start having trouble making them work. Finding out why is a lot simpler than fixing the problem.

Said and Unsaid (or, The Value of Knowing When to Stop Talking) by bryoneybrynn (T, 15k)

When the Interrogator asked if he had anything to say on his own behalf, Draco shook his head, his lips pressed tight in a thin line. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

Hey, Potter by SunseticMonster (M, 16k)

Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 8th year, determined not to let Malfoy get to him. But when the snarky teasing starts up again, Harry finds that returning the jibes with compliments has a far more interesting outcome.

On Our Way by dynamic (E, 30k)

Draco is trying to spend the summer keeping his head down, but a repair project and a certain snowy owl have other plans for him.

Colloquy by @dracoladon and @lazywonderlvnd (E, 30k)

Harry's not gay, Malfoy just smells good.

All Things Go by @sorrybutblog (E, 33k)

Draco’s back at Hogwarts by court order. Harry’s back for no particular reason at all. Some things change, some stay the same. Neither expects to spend eighth-year living in close quarters, playing rugby (poorly), staying up late, sneaking around, and finally figuring it all out.

Inside Your Mind by lazywonderlvnd (E, 35k)

Goyle's taken it upon himself to act as Malfoy's personal, one-man guard and Harry can't help but feel like it's only making the bullying worse.

Eager for the Sky by @oknowkiss (M, 35k)

It was announced, just as the Triwizard Tournament had been, at the start of term feast. A year-long, international Quidditch varsity match — the inaugural Wizarding Academy Cup.

Like Lightning at Your Fingertips by potterwatch (T, 43k)

The problem with living with another insomniac is, eventually, they find out you’re one, too. When Harry and Draco return for their eighth year, they think they’ll see very little of each other. Then McGonagall assigns them to room together.

The July Tree by oknowkiss (E, 51k)

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail… nor well-meaning friends, nor questionable communication skills, nor seven years of hating each other’s guts can keep Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy from falling in love.

Seeker, Chaser, Keeper by VivacissimoVoce (M, 59k)

Rumor has it that a wealthy investor is starting up a brand new professional Quidditch team and he’s looking for players. Harry and Draco both want to make the team, but there can be only one Seeker. Will competing for the position bring them closer or drive them further apart?

The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy (M, 66k)

How was Harry supposed to know that coming back for eighth year would be so confusing? Everything is the same, and yet not the same. And nowhere is this more obvious than with Draco Malfoy.

Reparo by amalin (E, 85k)

Voldemort's final defeat does not mean Harry Potter's troubles are over; far from it. In the aftermath of war, he returns to a Hogwarts that is fractured and divided, but this is no break that can be fixed with a spell.

[majorbaby]

as someone who has Feelings about House (I was watching it when I became disabled so oof), do spill the House takes?

Gregory House is a relic of early 2000s, vaguely Dane-Cookian, edgelord-style comedy so it's somewhat amusing to watch tumblr blorbify him. It gives me the sense that people are unaware that he's the type to unironically say, "I'm not racist, I hate all races equally". Blorbofication seems to to really rely on projecting on a character, or identifying with them, and House is a character who should be blorbofied with care. Of course you can identify with a character that makes poor choices and behaves badly while simultaneously condemning those actions IRL, but honestly, there seems to be a lot of irony-turned-sincere in the "asshole (affectionate)" sector of various fandoms these days and the push to rehabilitate House in fanwork so that he's a better person leaves me with a lot of questionmarks.

the rest of this is beneath a cut because it got super super long, sorry about that!

Here's one thing I do like about him: sometimes his unabashed assholery allowed House to do and say more progressive things than any heroic protagonist could ever say on television at the time, because radical speech is almost always an affront to the status quo. House could be pro-choice, staunchly atheist and practically allergic to any kind of traditional romantic relationship, and this was all acceptable to audiences because House is intentionally written as an asshole.

He's still an asshole though, in plenty of ways that aren't cute or excusable. The show and the character are plenty misogynist, racist, homophobic and yeah, House is disabled himself, but he's also ableist towards his patients. I'm not pointing these things out to say "don't watch this show because it's bad" but they're also unavoidable truths about the show. It's not subtle at all either, and it extends to production. House MD is famous for its wacky plotlines and doctors committing all kinds of medical malpractice or outright felonies, with the exception of Foreman who got less material because, as House would put it, "black guy". This kind of works out for Foreman because by virtue of getting much less material beyond "only sane man" or "voice of reason" or "endlessly patient with his racist boss", he's the most normal of the cast, and it made sense for him to succeed Cuddy at the end of the series. Every woman on the show exhibits saint-like patience towards him. Cuddy, Cameron and Thirteen could've collaborated to quietly murder this guy and I'd be shocked (well. would I??? this show did some truly wacky things) but I can't say I'd feel a terrible amount of sympathy.

The issue I have with a lot of the recent fic and headcanonry around the show is this "healed by love" trope that I keep seeing pop up. House's most basic traits are that he's 1) brilliant and 2) an asshole. The show asks over and over whether or not House will ever change, and the answer is always no. If he's rehabilitated, he is no longer Gregory House. Like, write what you want but why write House if he's not going to be an asshole? Or if you are going to rehabilitate him, understand that there's 8 seasons of television that deliberately, consistently portray him as being a lost cause in terms of positive character development. I've seen the claim that he's "good disabled rep" and like, on its face I agree with that. House is in pain 24/7, his brain functions differently from other people, he struggles in social interactions, he wants to be loved in spite of knowing he is hard to love, he tries to do better but he repeatedly fails. All of these experiences have a place in fiction, but rehabilitating him revokes that place.

More specific to my own blog, I've encountered a few posts comparing beejhawk to hilson and that's on its face ridiculous. Even if we disagree that Hawkeye is a good person, MASH frames him as a good person whereasHouse is a bad person who is framed as a bad person. I'm more ambiguous towards the Wilson-BJ comparison, but at least Wilson is canonically shown to possess some of the traits that are commonly assigned to BJ within fanwork. House and Hawkeye on the other hand... like Hawkeye and Wilson have more in common with one another, Wilson being compassionate and communicative towards his friends and patients, including House when House isn't being particularly likeable (there actually might be a bit of BJ in House, lol).

imo, it's part of a trend of homogenizing ship and character dynamics, molding characters/ships/settings to certain popular tropes rather than the other way around across fandoms... to what end, I have no idea. I'm of the opinion that nothing in fanfic presents any kind of real-world "risk" in comparison to mainstream media, but it seems to me that presenting all the big gay ships as being "the same", essentially inventing new gay stereotypes is something we maaaay want to move away from. Or at least ask ourselves why we do this with gay men specifically.

okay MASH/perils-of-gay-fandom tangent over. basically, House is a mediocre show, albeit with some very good acting. it offers great fodder for fanwork because the characters are all some kind of hot mess (except for Foreman), it's got plenty of sex and drugs, and despite the fact that every medical drama to ever exist has contained all of these elements setting each other off, there's still a societal expectation that doctors and nurses have their shit together. these are people who are responsible for human life, so they can't possibly be sex-having, substance-abusing, hot messes, right?

[casspurrjoybell-22]

The Art of Sin - Chapter 22 - Part 1

•Ire Byakko (Kitsune)

*Warning Adult Content*

If I had to describe love, I would equate it to a river.

Sometimes it flows with force, gushing past anything and everything, carrying whatever falls in and becoming a home for various specimens.

Sometimes, though, there can be a drought.

Low levels of water that babbled more than rushed.

Sometimes dams would appear, slowing or even stopping the river's cycle.

Love is a river, never the same twice.

At the moment that I was connected with Nikoli, I felt like my blood was that river, every cell full of love, feeling like they were about to burst, like the river was going to flood the lands that were my life. 

I knew it was naive of me to feel this strongly for him, for everyone, so soon but I'd lived so long without the warmth of others.

I was tired of it.

Sometimes you just have to leap and, for once, I was doing it for the right reasons and oh how I was alive, my body erupt with pleasure, roaring through me like flames on a mission and wrecking pleasurable chaos.

I couldn't help but tremble when he began to move.

My arms wrapped around him, my nails digging in.

They scratched from his shoulders down to his ass where I gripped, pulling him into me with more force.

He liked the dose of pain, his cock hardening inside me.

I didn't know whether it was due to being an incubus or just how much I wanted this but my body adjusted to him quickly, easily taking him in as deep as I could.

Nikoli echoed my moan as he, too, got swept up in it, thrusting into me faster.

I began to jerk myself off, the tip of my cock leaking as I watched him above me.

The overhead lights creating a halo around him.

I almost laughed.

He may look like an angel but this man was filled with unending lust.

No one could be pure and drill into me like that, leaving me panting for more, begging.

"Please, Nikoli.." I whimpered.

'Me. Whimpering.'

"What do you want my love?" his voice was deep and gravely, his breath against my ear before I felt his tongue taking my lobe into his mouth. 

"M-more. I need more."

There were tears streaming down my face as I felt my body numbing, my toes curling as I felt the nearing climax. 

My back arched beneath him as he took my nipple into his mouth, nibbling and sucking.

I felt myself spasm and I clutched him close as my cum shot out, leaving me a mess in more ways than one.

Nikoli didn't stop, a smirk so sinful in place my cock stood up instantly. 

A loud cry of pleasure escaped as he switched positions, my legs straddling him as he repeatedly hit my prostate.

I scattered kisses on his shoulder and neck before nipping his earlobe as he drilled into me.

My tongue swept over it, loving the way I felt him shiver in response.

I continued my assault of his skin, doing what I could to stay sane as I greedily moved my hips in tune with his thrusts, my doubts filtering through my mind and disappearing as I felt only him.

'His cock. His embrace. His love.'

Although I was sure I was fine mentally and physically after the Oberous incident, I knew there was a small part of me somewhere that asked...

'What if? What if I was just repressing trauma? What if making love was something I was incapable of now?' 

And it infuriated me that I couldn't fully move past it.

I was strong, I knew that for a fact that my skin was thicker than most.

Oberous could only truly scar me by harming my family but I stopped that.

I'd spent too many years to count having meaningless sex, painful sex, degrading sex, sex that would horrify others and make them sick but I did it and usually without complaint.

That was the old me but parts of my past self were still here. 

There were parts of myself I didn't even want to acknowledge.

Parts I hid with false confidence.

Parts like how I craved sex even after all that became of my life.

How it made me feel dirty.

How I didn't feel like I could call myself a victim of the abuse I was given but there were also things I liked. 

I liked that I could not breakdown by thinking about Oberous and all the ones that came before.

I liked the memories of my homeland, the beauty and nature.

I liked being able to seduce people, to feel in charge, even as Nikoli fucked me I felt like I was in charge. 

I liked how confident I felt around him and the others.

How I knew they wanted me even after all the shit that happened. 

I liked myself, even if it wasn't completely.

I couldn't change so drastically in such a short time.

There were things that I needed to work on, things I had to discuss with everyone.

I needed to communicate better, to even correct them and help change their perspectives just as they've done mine. 

I wanted to change for me but that it would take time, time I now had with people who loved me.

I had decided that enough was enough and I wouldn't let myself fall into despair.

What happened with Oberous wasn't meaningless and his face was one I didn't think I would ever forget but I refused to let myself get swept up in negativity.

It was for my family and that wasn't something I would regret.

I didn't feel like being broken anymore and I admit, I was scared, somewhere deep down as cheesy as that sounded, that I would breakdown.

That I had unconsciously tricked myself into thinking I was okay with what happened.

That the floodgates would bust open when I got to embrace my family but they didn't.

I was ecstatic.

Making love with Nikoli was the best sex I'd ever had and I felt such a relief in that thought washing over me.

Everything seemed to stop as Nikoli gripped me, his fingers sure to leave marks but marks I knew I would smile at.

His cock twitched after giving a last thrust,  drenching my insides in cum.

The feeling of my ass being filled made my own cum spurt out, sticking to both of our chests as we held the other close. 

We sat there panting, staring at each other.

I could see it, that he had heard my last thought, part of the relief I'd felt had been from him.

There were no words between us but I knew exactly what he felt, like clouds of pure emotion was flowing back and forth.

Nikoli leaned down, capturing my lips with his in a gentle kiss.

It was almost innocent.

His eyes shined with love and acceptance but there was also a bit of nervousness.

After hesitating, he opened his mouth, voice rough with emotion.

"Winter, I promise you to become someone you can rely on. To learn and cherish your likes and dislikes. To protect what you hold dear. I strive to become a man to satisfy you in any aspect I can and act with reason when I can't. I will not chain you to me nor will I control who else you share your life with. All I ask is that you honor me with a portion of your heart to call my own, to allow me the chance to become a better man and learn from the mistakes I've made, and to never lie when we exchange words of love. I'd like for you to be in my life"

His gaze was strong and sincere, patiently waiting for any response I would give. 

I knew my decision.

I'd barely uttered a soft but joyous yes when I was crushed in a hug.

He whispered thank you's repeatedly, peppering me in kisses as I felt myself relax and a smile break out on my face. 

Nikoli paused, looking at me.

"What is it?" 

He coughed uncomfortably.

"I just well, I hadn't planned to take you in the training room of all places. At least, not the first time."

There was a slight blush to his cheeks and I burst out laughing.

"I've imagined you 'taking' me in every single room I've been in and let me tell you, none of it compared to this."

My smirk drew out a chuckle, his fingers lightly brushing along my cheek.

He smiled, giving me a slow kiss that turned more heated.

I felt his cock harden, reminding me he was still inside me.

Nikoli pulled back suddenly, this time with a smirk of his own.

"As much as I'd like to continue this here, I feel like I might need to watch my back if we leave them hanging while I hog all your attention."

He tilted his head towards the others, all flushed with visible tents.

None of them could tear their eyes away from our show, not even to pleasure themselves.

I'd completely forgotten we had an audience.

I wasn't fazed and instead licked my lips, watching how they focused on the action.

Nikoli was fully erect inside me but I slowly slid off, hiding a smirk at his low groan. 

I was completely naked, my own cock standing at attention.

My expression was nonchalant as I pretended to absentmindedly rub my finger in the cum sticking to my body.

They watched intensely as my finger trailed lower to stroke my myself.

I had to stifle a moan, my body feeling like it'd burst from the pleasure, from the lust I was absorbing  from everybody.

The room was full of pheromones but I still wanted more.

"I think I'm going to go up to the bedroom," I said huskily, glancing at them with eyes telling them exactly what I was going to do once I got there.

[bocchithelewd]

For the one word drabble for Bridget: Burst~

"Ugh...t-thish ...blurrRRPPP... may not'sh hmmff h-have been de b-besht'sh idea" Bridget finally admitted to herself, her revelation only slightly marred by the slurring of her words. The bounty hunter had been invited by her friend May to a banquet that the Jelly Fish pirates were having. It sounded like it would have been fun, so she went along. Thing was there was apparently 'important pirate business', so none of them could attend, leaving Bridget alone in a huge feasting hall, filled to the brim with food. She couldn't quite remember why, maybe it was because she was feeling a bit peckish...but she decided to start eating. Turkey after turkey, tuna after tuna, entire cakes and flans...she devoured it all, unable to stop herself. Which is what led to the bounty hunter in her current predicament, practically the size of a whale, her belly red and taught due to all the food she had managed to put away! Her clothes were drenched in food stains and torn all across her body. Currently a large, gelatinous piece of flan rested between her fat tits. She looked at it skeptically, as if trying to puzzle out how bad it would be if she ate it. "Hmph. m-maybe jusht'sh ...hmphhh... a splat... b-bite..." She mused to herself as she used her bloated digits to prod at her belly. There was simply no room left inside of it, each poke shooting a spike of pressure through Bridget. Any sane person would have taken that to mean they should stop, but then again, no sane person would be in this situation to begin with. 'its basically a liquid' Bridget thought to herself 'It should be fine...' She managed to use her impressive strength to lift up her flab buried arms and grab her flabby tits, pushing them up and sending the flan sliding towards her mouth. The bounty hunter slurped it down with gusto. giving deep husky moans as she did so. The jellyfish pirates really knew how to coo- Pain, Unending searing pain shot through her as Bridgets expression of hedonistic glee quickly deformed into one of agony. She could immediately tell she went too and did her best to go back. She tried to throw up what she had eaten, but it was too late. The world became red, then black for the bounty hunter, as in her final moment before entering eternal darkness...she swallowed more of the flan. Sometime later the door opened, a cheery high-pitched voice entering the eerily quiet room "Alright! Sorry to have kept you waiting, we hope the food is sti-woah."

May nearly slipped on something as she came inside. She looked down to see a slippery white hunk of something on the ground "Whale blubber?" She questioned with some hesitation "Whats that doing here? and...wow I must have gotten hit in the head pretty hard. When did Johnny get the mess hall painted red?" She walked further in, careful not to slip on any of the 'whale blubber' as she looked at the devistation. It was like a bomb had gone off here. Tables were overthrown, sending plates and cups all over the room. The pirate wondered what could have caused all of this...before she stumbled upon her friend and wished she never found out. "Oh...." Was all she could manage to say.

[its-really-dry]

yessss ok ok ok NATASHA ROMANOFF X READER ANGSTTTTTTT

ANGST

A N G S T

ana :)

u got it boss *salutes*🤚

i kinda accidentally made it sad too-

-- your trust is unreliable --

natasha romanoff x fem!redroom!readerrrrr

remember this is an *AU*

soupmary: natasha romanoff was your wolf in sheepskin. a thief dressed as a saviour. a bully acting as a friend.

(not my photo 👀)

natasha romanoff.

your first redroom friend.

your first ever friend in general.

she was the only person that bought you joy at the hell-hole.

nat would be the one and only thing you would look forward to every day you'd wake up, knowing she would be at your door, ready to walk you to the lab stations.

it had come a part of your routine ever since you met.

even though you were a trained assassin just like natasha and so many of the other widows were, you never had to carry out a mission for you were highly praised by the bosses and leaders for your knowledge in science. he kept you to lab work, you and 16 other girls, stuck in a lab from dawn till dusk, sometimes not even being allowed to leave until all the work you were given was finished.

those nights were the most stressful. especially being under the watchful eye of the mother, you couldn't afford to have a slip up. but sometimes, if she wasn't out on a mission, tasha would come and sit down next to you in the laboratory, and quietly watch you.

although not much was spoken, her presence was all you needed to keep you sane.

unlike the widows, you and the 16 scientists weren't brainwashed with their "assassinate and hurt everyone" serum, or whatever it's called. guess drekov thought it would be ok since you would never actually get to leave he red room at all, and the only outside intel you could get, was from any widow who decided to share their mission story (which was extremely rare).

when natasha escaped the red room, you never knew. you just thought the worst.

she got killed.

well, that was the only thing you could think of. the bosses never say when or if a widow has been killed so when or if one stops showing around, you just assume they were dead.

a few years pass, and your exceptionally outstanding work and efforts didn't go past a blind eye. you were heavily rewarded by drekov himself with a hidden home in Ohio. moving from the familiar and safe surroundings of the red room lab to some place in the middle of america was pretty daunting at first. there was a weird feeling of somewhat, freedom. after never seeing the light of the outside world for the 20 years you were stuck in the building was overwhelming, but you got used to it as the time past.

one day, on a warm, sunny and peaceful july afternoon, children were playing out on the greens, the birds were singing, and 4 loud thumps on your door echoed through your house, startling you out of your concentration.

you carefully place your equipment down and make your way to the door. when you opened it, you were met with a short blonde who had a stoic expression on her face.

"are you professor. y/n y/m/n y/l/n?" she asks.

you look at her and then behind her to see if anyone else was there.

"who's asking?"

"i am. obviously."

"and you are...?"

"yelena belova. former red room assassin."

your eyes widen at her statement and you raise an eyebrow,

"former?"

"yes. i was rescued by a fellow ex-widow who i shall not disclose." yelena says.

"why are you here?" you ask.

"to save you."

"from what? im not in danger?"

yelena makes her way into your house she looks around, as if she is analysing the place from atom to atom.

"is anyone else in here?"

"uh.... why?"

yelena ignores your question and continues to examine your living room and she comes across your latest project that has been commissioned by drekov. yelena picks the bracelet up and turns around to face you,

"what are these?"

"widow bites. the red room has asked me to come up with a better and much stronger system for them." you explain to the girl.

yelena nods as she places the bracelet back down onto the table, then she whistles softly as she gazes out of the window. the whistle pattern sounds oddly familiar, but you have no time to think about where you heard it, your senses are clouded by a thick red smoke. you cough violently, shaking your head in an attempt to get rid of it.

once the smoke thins out, you open up your eyes and as your vision clears, you see someone standing in front of you with their head tilted.

"y/n/n? y/n/n are you alright? can you hear me?"

no.

no.

it could not be.

there was only one person who ever called you "y/n/n".

"t-tasha?" you whisper and the woman smiles

"yes! yes, it's me! i'm here." she says and hugs you tightly.

you start to cry onto her shoulder, tears of both sadness and joy.

"i thought you were dead! i thought they killed you."

"me? oh no, they don't have the skill for that!" nat jokes which makes you laugh.

"what was that smoke stuff you sprayed at me?"

"it's red dust. it rids the widows from their subjugation to the red room, in turn, making them free again." yelena tells you as she picks up a tube that was full of red liquid, like the empty one nat was holding.

"why did you spray it at me though? i was never under drekov's mind control."

both nat and yelena look at each other in amazement. that didn't make any sense? how did they keep you there for as long as they have?

you notice their expressions and decide to explain.

"i'm a scientist. therefore i never had to go out on a mission like you guys. i was stuck in the lab."

"so are you still trained to assassinate?" yelena queried.

"of course! you can never be too sure of what the future beholds! as mother always said, widows must be ready for the best, and the worst." you say with a smile.

after making some drinks for your two friends, you expose all of drekov's plans and schemes to them, and how you want out of the red room but it's not in any way easy. when more and more widows started to disappear, the rules and restrictions had heightened. the red room were taking no more risks. no more slip ups.

you were so grateful that yelena and natasha were able to escape the cruel grip of drekov's claws and free the other victims that were within his widow programme, it was still an extremely dangerous pursuit. and getting caught was a high risk.

as the months pass, you grow close to yelena and closer to natasha. you felt at ease once again now that the red head was back in your life, and she would be lying if she said otherwise.

you would help them with finding out information about the red room, and tactics they could use to save more of the widows, while also trying not to get caught yourself since you still technically worked for drekov.

although you knew that continuing with his work was wrong, there wasn't much you could do about it and yelena knew that. nat? well, let's just say she ignored the fact you were doing it. or so you thought.

every time you would be operating on new machinery, technology, serums, weapons or anything at all, natasha would sit there, watching you intently. you didn't think much of it at first, you thought she was just falling back into her old habits from all those years ago. however, you would notice that there were certain flies missing from their folders and drives from the computer.

the other day, you had left the room to go and get a few more screws from the garage, but when you came back, you saw nat, furiously typing away at your keyboard for a few seconds and then pulling out a USB from the side of the computer, shoving it into her jacket pocket. you stood there in shock, not quite sure how to react but nonetheless, you walked in as if nothing happened.

you knew something wasn't right about her behaviour, sneaking around and being secretive, still, you didn't want to jump to conclusions. but here you are now. regretting everything that led up to this moment. cursing yourself for even opening the door on that dreaded day.

natasha romanoff.

your first red room friend.

and last friend you vow to make.

she is the one that bought hell to your joyful life.

the one who is the cause of you, being bound up by the arms, legs, waist and chest to the uncomfortable wheelchair you are now on. the chains so tight you can barely breath.

she watched through the glass as they dragged you onto the chair.

she watched them tie you up like an animal.

she watched as they treated you like a psychopathic murderer.

4 shield agents wheel you out of the holding cell and into the interrogation room. your glare falls to her and you feel anger and betrayal rise inside of you.

"now, ms y/l/n-"

"oh for the norns sake, would you shut the hell up. i couldn't give two sh*ts about what you wanted to ask me nicholas." you snarl.

fury's eyes widen, but he decides to stay quiet.

you look over to natasha who has her head hung slightly which makes you laugh.

"awww! is little tasha all sad now? are you sad that you lied to me and used me in the most disgusting way possible?"

nat doesn't say anything.......

(part 2 tomorrow cause im tired 💀)

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

this kingdom iv, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Being without your girlfriend sucks. Being without your girlfriend because she wants to play League of Legends uninterrupted by your dick is a big sulky sadge. Jeon Jungkook is big sulky sadge. He was forced to go on vacation with his friends. He misses your ass. Not you, obviously. Well. A little. Okay... a lot. Hmph.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; Jungkook is low-key high-key? a brat; if you play LoL, spot the references, hehe; intense smut (fem reader, dirty talk, begging, pet name (for JK), scratching / marking, pain kink, choking, reverse cowgirl, handjob, thigh riding, overstimulation, mild restraint, m-receiving oral, shower sex, anal, squirting); non-idol!BTS; long black-haired, tsundere softsub!Jungkook x self-assured, cocky, power-bottom/softdom noona!reader; switches between Jungkook’s and your POV, OT7 scene is third person POV (OT6 are somehow the third wheel lol)

you don’t have to read the other parts to enjoy this

--

part i | part ii | part iii

-

Jeon Jungkook often wondered what it was like to have a normal, demure girlfriend.

He did not want one. He just wondered what it was like not to feel violently horny, twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week. Okay, and yes, he sometimes wondered about his own sanity. He wasn’t sure what sane person would be choking their girl from behind while being completely paralyzed because he was hypnotized by her round, juicy ass bouncing on his dick. Yeah, whose girl could get choked and still command the pace of the fucking?

Only his.

No, Jungkook was not taking any refutations.

He tightened his grip around her neck, his fingers pressing down right under her ears, forcing her chin up, the fullness of her ponytail skimming her arched back. Fuck, so fucking hot. He loved reverse cowgirl, not that he would ever say that out loud. But he did, he loved all of it, the way she tipped her head back, the way her shoulder blades flexed, the delicious curve of her spine, the forced definition of her waist, the way it flared out to lush hips, and that sound, ugh, that delicious firm slap of her ass to his crotch, her slick juices sliding down his balls and coating the inside of his thighs, suffocating tightness of pulsating heat wrapped around his entire length, gasping at the feeling of her fingers sinking into his tense thighs, her nails digging in, fucking him up with the visual of her open mouth and her wet, pink tongue curling in the air. On a rollercoaster and he could do nothing about it except grind his free fist into the sheets and clamp his tattooed fingers down on her neck.

Who is the one being choked here? Her or him, fuck, he couldn’t breathe, his inhale caught in his throat from the constant barrage of pleasure that was her powerful pussy squeezing his rock-hard length all over, so good, so fucking good he couldn’t think, his brows furrowing and his eyelids fluttering at the added sensation of her fingernails scratching up his tense thighs, nothing but ecstasy at the hurt.

“Tighter, little bunny,” she growled, her voice thinned out from being choked, and yet her tone was still light, teasing him as if this was nothing.

“Shut up,” Jungkook wheezed out, intending for it to come out as a snarl but he was too messed up to do so, sliding his hand back on the bed, dragging her head back by the neck. Tighter she said, and he obeyed, pressing down harder, moaning as he felt her walls clench and squeeze all around him, his hazy gaze meeting her upside-down one, half-lidded eyes slyly mocking his ruined state, smacking down on him harder, faster, the pleasure burning through him, nerves on fire, sparking shivers all over, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, his eyes darting from bouncing ass to parted lips and lolling tongue and dangerous eyes, so fucking pretty and lewd and calling his name in a sensual hiss, and Jungkook was weak, core tight and whine of her name in his throat, gonna cum, please let me cum, on the edge of fear and want, unsure if he could take it if she denied him, and so he shoved down his pride and pleaded.

“Please…”

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Say it again,” she breathed, low and raspy. “I love hearing you beg.”

Sinking down on him, gripping his twitching length with slick walls and throbbing pulses.

He didn’t care anymore, he needed it, need it, I fucking need it right now, please.

“P-Please, noona, f-fuck…!”

She sucked in a breath and moaned loud, right up to the ceiling, clawing at his inner thighs and igniting lines of pain that rolled into crashing waves of her orgasm spiraling around him, fierce smack and vicious constriction all around him, instant splatter of slick sweetness onto his balls, and Jungkook was gone, his hand flying off her neck, needing both to hold himself upright. Gasping for air, bucking his hips up, seeing stars at the unbearable convulsing tightness, shooting his load into the condom, feeling it all over, oh shit, from head to base, vibrating desire from her to him and he could do nothing but let the pleasure consume him, her wild lust eating him up and dragging him to her level, hunted on these proving grounds.

On cloud nine, feeling the slow, measured constriction of her muscles around his shivering cock.

He was panting, feeling like he had just been running for his life. Now groaning, tipping his head back, his long back hair sticking to his face, wet from sweat, his chest quivering as he felt her hand slide between them, smearing her cum onto his balls, massaging them in the slippery mess, her fingers easing in between their joined hips.

“We’re not done,” she drawled, lifting herself off him while holding the condom down, periodically stopping and pulsing around the remainder of his length, still hard as he watched her perfect ass rise off him.

“You’re… c-crazy…” he choked out.

She slowly turned around, predatory smirk on her lips.

Jungkook loved this kingdom.

Well, it was more like tyranny, but apparently that turned his dick on.

Clenched his jaw, growling deep in his chest, knowing his messy black hair, narrowed eyes, and sharp gaze made him look formidable even if this was the one person he could never faze, even if it was never going to work, even if he was always the loser, Jungkook was never going to act like a loser.

Never.

She ticked her chin up, presenting her throat.

He snapped his teeth and his right hand shot up, snatching the offering.

She licked her lips and peeled the condom off him, his own cum and lube leaking down, replacing the condom with her punishing grip, jacking him off hard and fast.

“Fuck!”

She grinned and rubbed her wet pussy onto his left thigh, letting him feel the swollen nub of her clit against his flexed muscle. He bit back a pathetic whimper, trapped in an agonizingly tight grip, pleasure from the pain of overstimulation, soothed by the slickness from the lube and his own cum. He grasped her throat and she choked his dick while riding his thigh.

Deliberate eye contact, not looking away.

His breathing shallow, tendons of his tattooed hand popping out, black ink on his forearms trembling from rigidity, not noticing because he was lost, captivated by mischievous eyes that commanded him with the thin whisper of her breath, deadly the way that she purred his name so sweetly, dancing between submission of her current position and domination from both of them knowing that she had complete control over him. Glistening wet pink tongue extending between open lips, dirty and lewd, tighter and faster, her eyes rolling back, lovely lashes fluttering, his name a strangled hiss.

The curtain call.

“Jungkook…”

He whimpered and came, shooting thick, sloppy strings of white up and all over her thigh and stomach, shuddering as he felt the squelch of her juices, her soft thighs clamping down on his hard one, her hips rolling, feeling her wet pussy flex against him, riding it out on him like he was just a toy, her toy, that was what he was, her favorite toy.

Ridiculous how she brought a whole new meaning to joystick.

Her thumb softly rubbed at the base of the throbbing head, dribbling cum spurting out, his hips flinching and the whines tearing through him, too sensitive but too stubborn to ask for it to stop, deep down not wanting her to stop, something carnal and arousing about how brutal it was, awed by how she knew the perfect balance of suffering that escalated all sensation into euphoria.

His hand was still around her neck, loosening as she leaned forward and captured his lips, passionate force and nipping teeth that teased his lower lip, his moans ringing in his ears, embarrassed that he was reduced to carnage from her fervor. His arms gave out, causing him to fall onto the bed, and her mouth chased him, devouring him with kisses, her fingers tangling in his hair, cum on their skin and now slippery between their bodies, kiss after kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer, closer not close enough, wanting it, the intensity, the possessiveness, the uncontrollable craving, all three of those things mostly describing himself.

“I love you,” she breathed into his throat.

His hands slid down, kneading her ass, enjoying the feeling of being hunted.

“Fuck, I love you,” he panted, his thoughts a jumbled mess, his voice gravelly and hoarse from holding his breath, so drunk on the lust-induced high that he forgot to hide behind the walls of his pride. “I love you so fucking much, don’t you ever leave me, please, fuck, please, I’ll do anything, fucking anything, and don’t you dare forget it.”

She sucked on his lower lip, working it with her teeth and flicking her tongue against it, and he moaned, his thundering heartbeat roaring in his ears and his fingers sinking into her ass, malleable and soft, just like her thighs that were now squeezing the sides of his hips, gasping as she released him, her dark chuckle above his shaking exhale.

“Little bunny,” she murmured, infuriatingly calm and turning him on, stupid little nickname did that to him now and he didn’t even care. “You will always be mine, wandering back into your cage even if I leave the door open, begging me to hunt you until you can’t take any more.”

If Jungkook had his wits, he would have said, no, you’re wrong, but he didn’t. Instead, he told the truth and whimpered, needy and compliant, lifting his head so she would kiss him again, lost in the infinite duress that was the wolf whose sharp claws sank into his heart.

-

“What’s with him?”

“He’s sulking.”

Jeon Jungkook was sitting in the hot water with a soaked towel on his head, eyes closed and alone.

“He’s been sulking ever since we got here.”

It was true. Ever since the seven men entered the luxury hotel penthouse with the personal balcony pool and hot tub, Jeon Jungkook had been sulky. Six pairs of eyes watched him slowly boil himself into oblivion and did nothing to help. The rest of them were currently in cozy pajamas or fluffy robes, either having been out already or just gotten out.

“The pussy can’t be that good.”

“It probably is. You’ve seen the ass,” Park Jimin said sagely. “I sympathize.”

“You’ve never touched her ass,” Kim Taehyung snapped, smacking Jimin in the back of the head. Jimin scowled and was about to scold him, but Taehyung reached up again and gently rubbed the spot he had hit, making the shorter man bust into – what do the kids call it these days, ah, yes – uwus. “Although if her ass is any indication, yeah, probably,” the deep baritone voice added with a nonchalant shrug.

“Please stop talking about her ass like that,” Kim Seokjin grumbled as he looked between two books, looking ready to read neither of them.

“Oh, hyung, wouldn’t you know, but I guess you wouldn’t since you fell asl–”

Seokjin chucked both books at Jimin’s head and Taehyung snatched them out of the air, sighing as Jimin giggled like a maniac and hid behind him.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake,” Jung Hoseok said soothingly, rubbing Seokjin’s broad, pajama-covered back.

The older man twitched and hissed under his breath. “Should have known the little shit wouldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

Said little shit roasting himself in the hot tub let out a big, long sigh.

“Man, now I feel bad that we didn’t invite her,” Kim Namjoon frowned. He was suddenly handed the books from Taehyung. The tall man turned them over in his hands, now distracted, looking greatly interested in both.

“We did invite her.”

Five faces turned to the freshly washed-up black-haired man at the entrance of the balcony. He was wrapped in a thick charcoal sweatshirt and sweats, his feet tucked into the complementary white hotel slippers, very fuzzy. He looked a bit like a fluffy, satisfied cat.

“At least I did,” Min Yoongi mused, brushing off imaginary dust on the hem of his sweatshirt. “I asked her if she wanted to come with, because I knew he would be like this.”

“A sad boi?”

Yoongi shrugged at Taehyung’s comment. “She said she had a League of Legends event to participate in and asked me to, quote, please whisk him away so I can avoid him sulking in the background as I’m playing, end quote.”

“So…” Hoseok blinked, looking back to Jungkook. “So that he can sulk in the background here?”

Yoongi rubbed his temple. “Like I said, I knew he would be like this. He’s rather attached.”

Jimin snorted. “More like horny and pussy-whipped.”

Yoongi ticked his head with a shrug. “Can you blame him though?”

All six looked at the sinking head bubbling down into the scalding water, leaving a blob of floating black hair and the folded towel, thinking of a specific ass in leggings. Except Seokjin. Seokjin had seen that ass full-on naked, so he was thinking about the naked ass. Good thing for his dignity that his blue pajama pants were loose.

“Guess not…”

-

“He’s sulking.”

“Is he?” you asked absentmindedly, wondering if you should take something other than Biscuit Delivery under the Inspiration tree, but this rune was so fucking busted that you were sure every champion except for the two junglers on each team had damn biscuits. So tempting to go down the Precision tree for your runes, but you were playing the shielding mage Karma, the Enlightened One, and you were supposed to support. You were going to.

Aggressively.

In your defense, that was how the lane was played.

“I think he’s trying to become a boiled dumpling with the amount of time he’s spent in the hot tub.”

“I love dumplings,” you mused, waiting for the game to load. “It’s only the third day.”

“What did you do to him?” the deep voice chuckled, slightly raspy and breathy from his satoori.

“Nothing, Yoongi.”

“Mhm.” You could tell he did not believe you in the slightest. “Bet he hasn’t texted or called you.”

“Nope.”

Your boyfriend was sulky and mad that you banished him to vacation with his friends to play League of Legends uninterrupted. How terrible for him. He refused to speak to you because of it. Therefore, you had to recruit said friends to keep tabs on him.

“Hah,” Yoongi clicked his tongue. “How childish.”

“Does he know you’re calling me?” you chuckled at the game started, buying your starting items and heading to bottom side of the river, following the pings of your jungler, spear-wielding warrior Xin Zhao, the Seneschal of Demacia. He was going to start at the monster camp named Red Brambleback. Being a good teammate, you were scouting for an invade along with your gun-and-trigger-happy ADC, Jinx, the Loose Cannon.

Your phone was propped up by your monitor. On speaker, but not video call.

“No, but I could let him know.”

“Don’t torture him.”

“I heard he likes that.”

“Not from you.”

“Are you sure?”

You almost glanced down at your phone, but again, it wasn’t a video call and you had to leash for your jungler. You smacked the jungle monster a couple times with your auto-attacks, both you and Jinx dealing damage so it died faster, speeding up Xin Zhao’s already quick clear. He wasn’t going to gank bot lane – there was no point in trying to attack the opponents you and Jinx were facing since they were highly mobile. A cocky adventurer and a damn cat. Ezreal and Yuumi, to be specific. You let Jinx handle the minions as you weaved about and threw in your Q ability to harass your opponents. Dodging their harassing abilities was easy.

Provided you had a mouse and a brain.

“Repeat that,” you replied, dropping your voice a dangerous octave.

“Hm?” was Yoongi’s casual, unfazed response. He was not going to repeat it. You could tell by his devious tone. “I think Jimin heard your voice coming from the speaker. Oh no.” He did not sound bothered.

You cocked an eyebrow even though he wasn’t there to see.

There you calmly double-killed the enemy bot lane.

Flash, W, Q, Jinx E to prevent Ezreal from escaping, killing him instantly and taking the poor defenseless kitty right after. Poor Yuumi. You didn’t even have to use Exhaust because they died so fast. You let Jinx have both. She needed the money more than you, even if you did most of the work.

Such is the life of the support.

Ugh, you wished you were playing your main role, but this Jinx had refused to trade roles.

“I’m sorry if Jungkook becomes annoyed at you.” You didn’t sound that sorry and you weren’t. Mostly because you figured Yoongi was fully capable of taking care of himself. He didn’t need protection. You cracked your neck. Pressed the B button, returning Karma to base, watching the minimap. Xin Zhao was ganking top lane. Got a kill. Nice. Game was starting off well.

Yoongi let out a sly snicker.

You didn’t have to see him to know he was smirking.

“You should join us on the last day, hm? He’ll have so many… emotions to release.”

“Oh no,” you calmly lamented, not the least bit bothered. “Don’t wind him up.”

He couldn’t see you but, judging by his tone, Yoongi knew that you were smirking now.

“Talk to you later,” the deep raspy voice purred.

“Enjoy your vacation.”

“I will.”

-

Jeon Jungkook was seething.

He did not want to be seething, but he was. He pretended not to be. Unlike Kim Seokjin who was, in the youngest’s eyes, a weak bitch, Min Yoongi was scary. Jungkook was not ready to fight Yoongi. No, his hyung was not ripped nor particularly violent in any way. He was just scary. Jungkook caught spooky vibes from Yoongi.

Not skeleton spooky, but like… ready-to-deliver-some-verbal-karma spooky.

Scary.

Jungkook would muster up the courage to become angry, looking up at his hyung ready to explode, and Yoongi would already be staring at him. As if he already knew what Jungkook was thinking, giving him this look, this you-really-think-you-can-mess-with-me look, and Jungkook realized that he could not, nope, he could not mess with Min Yoongi.

Also.

Yoongi remembered Jungkook’s likes and dislikes, preparing his favorite foods during the entire vacation in the hotel kitchen when they weren’t eating out.

It was hard to be mad when his belly was full.

Shit.

He heard from a certain chirpy chick that Yoongi had been on the phone with his girlfriend. It tortured Jungkook not knowing what it was about, but he was not speaking to her right now, trying to teach her a lesson, upset that her obsession with her video game seemed more important than being with… hah, okay, yeah, than fucking him.

Was that petty?

Yes.

Was it dumb?

Yes.

Was he being childishly stubborn?

Yes.

This was Jungkook’s brand and he was sticking to it even though he was aware that he shouldn’t.

“It’s an Irish Bomb. You have to drink it all at once.”

All seven of them were at a bar and Jungkook stayed close to Yoongi. Just in case. Maybe she would call again and he could catch his hyung in the act. Then Jungkook would pounce. Or something. Honestly, Jungkook had zero idea what he was going to do. He didn’t plan that far ahead. His brain scolded him to call her and ask, but Jungkook’s stubborn ass was going to do no such thing. His stupid pride was too strong so, instead of being reasonable, he stuck by Yoongi. The best way to attack the enemy was to be his friend, right?

Something like that.

Yoongi reached over and tucked Jungkook’s bangs behind his ear.

“Isn’t your hair long enough to tie up?” he chuckled. “You look like a poodle.”

Jungkook frowned and pulled the cold glass to him. “Who cares,” he grumbled. There was only one person that he wanted to look good for and he wasn’t talking to her right now. Hmph.

Maybe he was a dummy.

Jungkook raised the glass and began to down the whole thing.

He knew he was being a dummy.

Yoongi’s fingertips lingered against the curve of his ear.

Jungkook was reminded of hovering lips and the nick of teeth.

A hot shiver slid down his spine.

Yoongi’s hand was already gone and he was drinking his own Irish Bomb faster than Jungkook could finish his, and now his mind was racing – why had that touch reminded him of her tongue teasing his ear, why did it send his mind down a spiral of erotic memories that he desperately tried to wash away with the alcohol in his hand, confused as to why the feeling was so similar, it was all in his head, right, right, of course, yet now he couldn’t stop thinking, conversation happening in his head, I miss you so much, I don’t want to teach you a lesson anymore, I know I’m being silly and foolish, come and teach me a lesson.

Pleading.

I need the pain. Only you can deliver it.

Jungkook let out a gasping puff as he finished the drink, his head swimming with wishes that he wasn’t going to beg for, not yet, adamant pride still in his way, and he knew he wasn’t actually jealous, he wasn’t even mad, he just embarrassed that he missed that ensnaring smirk and her strangle-thorns buried into his heart. He even missed that dumb nickname that turned him on now.

Little bunny.

He missed the scent of her hair, their bodies side by side, falling asleep together.

I love you.

He never said it enough, but he did, mouthing it against her skin, not letting her hear, but she must know, she had to know, it was impossible for her to not know.

“What do you think?”

Jungkook started, jerking his head to Yoongi’s raised eyebrows.

“Ah… it’s good. Better than I thought it would be.”

Yoongi half-smiled.

“Someone on your mind?”

He felt his ears burn.

“Uh, no. What should we try next?” he asked quickly, and Jungkook only realized later that Yoongi had asked someone and not something, wasn’t that weird, huh, but at that point it was many drinks down and too deep into the night, Jungkook was too sleepy to think about it anymore.

He forgot all about it when he woke up the next day.

-

Hot.

Wet.

Shivers.

Tongue on the curve of his ear. A single, nimble swipe leaving a line of sensitivity and heat radiating through his body, chills of fire that left him gasping, trying to move his hands, but they were pinned behind him, jammed between the small of his back and her stomach, her hands on his forearms and her nails sinking into his skin. He thought about trying to break out, but he couldn’t, what if he hurt her wrists or something? Besides, it felt too good, kisses at the base of his ear and her tongue flicking his earrings, creating a faint musical sound along with the soft sigh of her breath, and he remembered her asking, how many more piercings are you gonna get, and he remembered saying, hmph, how much pain you want me to be in?

Her lips brushed against his ear, murmuring his name.

“Jungkook…”

His blood shimmered in his veins, violent adrenaline.

Just like that time back then, her voice in his ear, murmuring his name and whispering.

Challenging.

“How much pain can you take?”

Thus, Jeon Jungkook showed up at her doorstep with an eyebrow piercing, lip piercing, and six new lobe piercings on his right ear.

“Enough?” he had scowled, demanding approval.

Now, she let go of his arms. He kept them behind his back, gasping as her naked breasts came into contact with his shoulder blades, her hard nipples rubbing against his hot skin, her thighs flush against the sides of his hips, delicious press of softness to hardness. Her hands appeared. Fingers curved inward, nails descending, and the air was trapped in his lungs as he watched and felt her nails rake across his chest, blooming pink lines of carnage on his tan skin, the pain drawing out a gasp.

She said the same thing now that she said back then.

“I love knowing that you can take so much pain, little bunny,” she whispered into his ear.

It wasn’t… it wasn’t his thing or anything.

It was their thing, and he was into it because he was into her, he wouldn’t be like this with anyone else, he wouldn’t put up with it if it was anyone else, couldn’t, she put up with him, so he was being accommodating, he was only addicted to it because she made it feel so good, fuck, it always felt so fucking good, felt so good when she clawed up his flexed pecs to his tense shoulders and she nudged his arms, indicating that he could free them now, and only then did he untangle them and reach back and sink his fingers into her ass, kneading the plump softness with a strangled moan as her tongue toyed with the side of his neck and she forcefully gripped his chin, pushing it to the side to gain more access to that sensitive skin, his roaring pulse torrential underneath snapping teeth.

She had him by the throat and she didn’t need her hand around it.

Just her tongue painting desire all over his skin.

Yes, this.

She curved her body around him, tongue and lips dancing down, kissing the lines of burning fire she had created, each one scalding him, ecstasy like wildfire rampaging within him, boiling down to his core, this was theirs, his hands following, forcefully adjusting her so she was in front of him, on top of him, kisses above his racing heart, gripping her thighs and squeezing them, moaning at the roundness and the visual, her amused chuckle and arrogant smirk mocking him, this was their thing.

Jungkook liked being the little bunny to the big bad wolf.

There, he said it.

In his head, not out loud.

She licked the edge of her lips, grinning.

He sucked in a breath, his hips rolling onto the palm that suddenly squeezed his clothed erection, slow and soft touch promising to mess him up.

“My little bunny needs to be taken care of by the big bad wolf, doesn’t he?”

“S… Shut up.”

She was about to remove her hand, but he grabbed it and pressed it back down.

“If you’re gonna talk,” he growled, cutting it short as she rubbed his hard length through his underwear, biting back his whimper. When he spoke again, he could no longer hide the plea in his tone. “I-If you’re gonna talk so much, u-use your mouth.”

Her plush lips parted. Tongue sliding out, pink and glistening and so fucking hot.

“Oh yeah?” she taunted.

Her body slid down, down, between his legs.

And then he woke up.

-

Jungkook woke up with your lips wrapped around his morning wood.

You had attempted to wake him to announce your arrival, but he was difficult to wake up. Seemed a bit crabby. That didn’t surprise you. He shoved your hand to his dick, which also didn’t surprise you, mumbling to use your mouth, in that same grumbly tone that was him attempting to be harsh. Instead, it came out needy. Awake or asleep, your younger boyfriend was always needy. You liked that about him though. Maybe a bit too much.

Nah.

You removed his boxer briefs and tossed them aside.

Gripped his thighs and swallowed his hard cock.

Jungkook’s hips jerked and thrust up into your throat, suffocating your breath, lewdly moaning to the ceiling while his hands flew up and clutched the hotel pillows. His eyes cracked open and then snapped open in disbelief upon seeing your lips pressed against the base of his dick.

“N-Noona?!”

You tightened your throat and lapped at his balls with the tip of your tongue, unable to speak or even breathe.

None of that stopped you from cocking an eyebrow at him.

“How a-are you – o-oh, shit…!”

You pulled back and slammed back down, as fast and as hard as you could, burying him into your throat over and over again, so deep that you only had partial seconds to breathe, pressing your tongue from the top of his balls, up the underside of the length, all the way to the base of the head, rubbing the slit, and you could tell it was too much sensation for Jungkook, his eyes rolling back and uncontrollably groaning, longing and need, cutting himself off when he abruptly realized that he was still in the shared penthouse of the swanky hotel that he and his friends had booked.

He slapped his hands over his mouth, dark brown eyes wide, long black hair sticking up every which way, adorable bedhead, and you could tell he was struggling, stuck between telling you to stop in case anyone heard him, but it was too late, he was too far gone, whining behind his shaking palms as you pinned his hips down, tilting as you descended so the engorged head rubbed against the roof of your mouth, wet, palpable friction.

You didn’t bother to hide the amusement in your eyes as Jungkook’s glazed over, succumbing to the pleasure. Heavy pants leaking through his closed fingers, his naked chest shaking with effort, staring down at you. You were still clothed, kneeling between his legs and your ass up in the air.

Black skintight leggings ruining his life.

His grip over his own mouth was loosening.

He moaned deep in his throat. You lifted one hand. Continued to blow him, your tongue swirling around the length, sliding him into the back of your throat. You walked two fingers across his abs and then jerked your thumb in the general direction of the door.

Jungkook dropped his hands, shuddering whisper, his silvery voice hoarse from sleep.

“I don’t care, don’t care, p-please…”

You jammed him all the way down and scooped up his balls to your tongue with your free hand, rubbing the head against the top of your throat, powerfully pulsing the muscles around it. He sputtered, tumbling into rambles, talking too fast in his rough voice, dragging his hands through his hair, pulling at it to add stinging pain to amplify the brutal pleasure your mouth was giving him.

“N-No, keep going, please, I missed you, I’m sorry, I got mad, it was s-stupid, I’m stupid, I want you all the time and, I know, it’s distracting, I know you paid for the pass to play the event and all you did was tell me to go on vacation with my friends, I s-shouldn’t be mad, I just miss you, I just want you, please, noona, don’t stop, please…”

He pressed his hands to his cheeks, covering his embarrassment with chunks of black hair, his eyes only partially visible, trembling tone, ears red, pink flaring over his cheekbones, dropping his tone to a imploring whisper, the mole underneath his lower lip quivering, desperate.

“Please… please let your little bunny c-cum…”

You hadn’t expected an apology so soon. Perhaps he felt guilty and it had been on his mind for a while now. You were going to slow down, maybe edge him a little, but only to talk. You hadn’t even said hello yet, but Jungkook was pleading with you, appealing to his queen, ah, he was so good at it now, that stubborn pride crumbling down, glassy eyes so vulnerable. Starving to be devoured, and, well.

You didn’t want to stop anyway.

You grinned around his cock and audibly slurped up the length, blanketing the twitching head with your tongue and rubbing it all over before swallowing him again.

“Fuuuuuuuck…”

You gave it to him the way he liked, suffocating, deep, not too fast, building it and building it, compounding pleasure, layering the sensations. Kneading his hips, pricking his skin with your nails. Lips soft. Mouth tight. Tongue moving at a slightly different pace, massaging the underside to push it up against the roof of your mouth, your eyes on his face, teasing him until he was forced to look away, throwing his head back and gasping, too good so he closed his eyes to feel more, his hands curling to fists, bunching up the white sheets under him. Black tattoos on tan skin, rippling muscle, clenched jaw and wanton moans leaking from gritted teeth, warning you he was close, his hips threatening to rise.

You held him down, not letting him get away.

His jaw unclenched and Jungkook gasped, holding his breath, arching his back, and there was no mistaking it as the groan dragged unwillingly out of his chest, obvious that he wished to last longer, but it was too late, he was already there, erotic high so strong that his right hand flew up and smacked into the headboard, so hard that the wood violently rattled against the wall.

“Fuck!”

He shot into your throat and you swallowed right away, wrapping your lips around his jerking length, his orgasm coating the back of your tongue, strong and salty and thick, delicious, and you half-wondered if he hadn’t jacked off all this time, maybe, maybe not, but he tasted good, so good you held some in your mouth and painted his cum onto his shivering cock to lick it off, listening to his small whines and gasps, trying to cover them up the best he could, his shoulders flinching as your tongue softly toyed with the sensitive head, keeping him inside your mouth, playing around, caressing his sides.

Lazily looking up at him.

Slurping. Wet, lewd, and loud.

Jungkook was panting, his black hair all over his face, messy and slightly sweaty.

“C-Come up here and kiss me,” he demanded.

You hummed, lapping at the slit with the tip of your tongue, cleaning him off.

“I’d rather not. You have morning breath.”

Only then did Jungkook seem to remember that he was not, in fact, in your apartment.

-

“I can’t go out there.”

“Why not? I told you they went to pick up breakfast. They weren’t here.”

“So what? They’re going to be back at the end of this shower.”

“We don’t have to do anything.”

His fingers closed in around her hips and dragged him to her, pressing his nose into her wet hair, rolling his crotch into the juicy softness, addicted to it. Already hard. How could he not be, seeing the water dripping down gleaming skin, highlighting that perfect curve?

“I have to,” he breathed, hot and heavy against her ear.

Pressed her chest into the wall, the water glossing over them, and her hips swayed, reaching between them, lining his stiff length in between her ass cheeks, delicious wet friction, his hands holding onto her ass to keep it tight but letting her do all the moving, her body below him commanding his.

That was how Jungkook liked it.

He pressed his chest against her back, putting his weight on her, slow, even thrusts, his lips against her ear, unaware of his soft moans and wispy gasps, his eyes closing, yes, it felt that good, fuck, please don’t make me leave you again, I can’t take it, I hate not being near you, and she chuckled, her palms pressed into the shower wall, you’re a naughty distraction, no, he wasn’t, I’m not, I need you.

Jungkook liked being told what to do.

Unless the order was, you can’t see me for a week.

Then he hated it.

“Punish me,” he mumbled.

The water tumbled down, down. His lips brushed against the curve of her ear. It was his breath that was shivering, anticipation eating at his sanity, listening to her calm exhale, knowing she was smiling under his larger frame towering over her. He was the king in this kingdom, but this kingdom belonged to his queen. He had no power here.

He never did, and that was how Jungkook liked it.

“Punish me, please.”

He ran his fingertips over her wet skin, pouring his love in his touch.

“I love it when you punish me.”

He rarely said these kinds of things. Only quietly, when they were alone, when he was sure she could hear him, when he wanted it more than he wanted to hold onto his silly, stubborn, stupid pride. It was all for show, anyway.

He knew it, she knew it, fuck, his friends probably knew it too.

Her voice was smooth, sultry, sensual. “Back up a little for me.”

He obeyed.

She bent down more, and he backed up more, confused, unsure what to do, knowing they always used condoms for birth control, so then–

Jungkook choked as she spread her ass with one hand and guided his cock. Pushed back, and he locked his legs, standing rigidly because that was the only thing he could do, suddenly enveloped by mind-numbing tightness and then pillowy softness wrapped all around him, sucking him into her ass.

Oh, God.

He had thought about it, of course, he did, who didn’t at least wonder, but he figured, no, it wasn’t going to happen, and, in any case, he was a bit of a clean freak, at least when it came to hygiene, he didn’t think he could want it due to the very nature of the act, he had never thought about it in the shower and he could barely think about it now, grasping her hips for dear life, hardly able to comprehend that he was doing anal.

Right now.

Perfect round ass flush against his crotch, her palms against the shower wall, bent down to get that angle, lowering a little more and, fuck, that was it, that was the position, not too high and not too low, perfect constriction at the base of his cock, so tight but so soft, not quite as much stimulation as the pussy, not as rigid as her hand, and not commanded by the multiplicative skill of her mouth, this was something else, a whole new sensation, ring of tightness right at the entrance and then.

She moved.

She rocked her hips forward and smacked her ass back onto him.

“Oh, fuck!”

Jungkook had forgotten that he should probably move, wait, should she be stretched out, he didn’t know, he had never, oh my God, she thrust his length into her at a measured pace, building it up, harder and faster, water dripping down legs, back, ass, swirls of wet hair swept over one shoulder, fucking him as if he was merely her personal sex toy, rough pace, soft hips in his hands, and who was moaning so loudly and so pathetically, not him, right, no, and then he heard her chuckle, raspy with exertion.

The moaning one was him.

Damnnit.

“Don’t tell me you’re all bark and no bite. Come on, Jungkook, fuck me.”

He clenched his jaw to silence his whines and thrust forward, gasping for air. It was too much, it was a little wrong, it was too good, it was driving him just a bit insane and then some. His fingers sinking into her ass, his hard thighs slapping into her soft ones, his balls smacking her slick pussy, oh wow, he could feel it, feel her slippery cum spreading all over and she threw her head back in a sharp hiss, ah, Jungkook, yes, I’m going to cum, and his eyes widened, the powerful massaging pulses enveloping his rock-hard length, familiar but different, still so soft. The dirty squelch of her orgasm, fully audible and nearly as loud as their slapping hips, drenching his inner thighs along with the water.

“Fuck, that’s so sexy…” he managed to gasp out. “Can feel you cum on me, fuck…”

And suddenly he needed it again, just one more, harder, holding onto her hips and slamming his crotch into her, asking between pants, are you okay, tell me, please, and she growled back at him, sending hot shivers all over his skin with her forceful tone.

“Give it to me, Jungkook, want you to creampie my ass.”

Who needed sanity anyway?

Sanity was overrated.

“You’re so tight, a-ah… I can’t, please cum, I want to feel it again, please, n-noona…”

Harder, faster, together, her pushing back and him pushing in, so deep that he forgot the bathroom echoed his cries, needy and lustful and helpless with desire, her name mixed with his pleas, no one else, he wanted no one else and if that made him crazy, so be it, he loved it, he loved everything she did to him and the claws she had buried into his heart, just a helpless little bunny in the jaws of the big bad wolf, hunted again and again, wandering back into his cage to be bound by this passion over and over again, raising his hand and spanking her ass sharply, once, twice, fucking loud, as loud as the slapping of their hips, and there was nothing better than her breathy moan and lovely purr, her hands curling into fists against the white tiles of the shower wall.

“Gonna cum, Jungkook, mmm, fuck!”

She bucked her ass back into him.

Squirted down his inner thigh with a splattering squelch, all the way to his knee.

Jungkook came in an instant.

Everything crashing down, shooting his load deep inside, his cock twitching and shuddering, so strong his shoulders and spine shook, a lustful, shameless groan exploding out of his chest, immediately letting go of her ass and raking his nails down her back, scratching it up because the euphoric high was so, so intense, uncaged and uncontrollable, and she squeezed him approvingly, making his eyes roll back into his head, throwing his wet hair back, arc of black now out of his vision, pleasure bolting up his core and seizing his heart.

Infinite duress in the claws of her passion.

He basked in it, hot steam and agonizing afterglow, and then he reached down, collecting her in his arms, yanking her up, furiously kissing the tops of her shoulders, her fingers caressing his forearms. He could feel it, her love in her touch.

The queen of this kingdom, all his.

-

“Well.”

“He’s not sulking.”

Six pairs of eyes watched the two heads leaning against each other. Both had matching soaked, folded white towels on top of their heads.

“Now I’m sure that a juicy ass can solve anyone’s problems.” A small hand in a graceful arc, as if he was indicating the definition of a problem. “Exhibit A. Jeon Jungkook.”

A single dark brown eye opened, glaring at Park Jimin.

Then, without warning, a tattooed arm swept a small tsunami of hot water right into Jimin’s face.

“Gah!”

Unlike most times, Kim Taehyung could not block water. He was not Aquaman, nor did he try to be, and he immediately swam away from Jimin as the shorter man pretended to drown.

Dramatically, of course.

“Why are you guys in the hot tub anyway?” Jeon Jungkook hissed. “Go away.”

Kim Seokjin scoffed. “If we leave, you two are going to do indecent things.”

“That wouldn’t be very nice for the hotel workers,” Kim Namjoon scolded, shaking his head.

“What? I thought we were watching?” Jimin complained, immediately forgetting that he was supposed to be pretending to drown. “Wasn’t that what he agreed on?”

“Nobody agreed to shit,” Jungkook spat, looking ready to forcibly hold Jimin’s head under water. Jung Hoseok wagged his finger at the youngest and swam in front of the giggly troublemaker protectively.

“Never know. You might like it,” a raspy voice hummed.

Jungkook whipped his head to the closed eyes of Min Yoongi. Only his head stuck out of the steamy water. There was a towel on top of his black hair, making him look like a freshly boiled dumpling. Yoongi opened one eye pensively. Unbothered as usual.

“It’s important to try new things. That’s how you grow.”

Jungkook seemed hesitant to drown Yoongi and whipped his head to you, his big brown eyes desperately asking you to refute his hyung’s words. Do something! Instead, you palmed his already hard dick under the bubbling hot water, right through his swim trunks.

He froze up, sputtering.

“Yoongi’s right, Jungkook,” you mused thoughtfully. “You can’t expand your horizons by doing the same thing again and again. Aren’t you always looking to improve?”

Jungkook turned beet red and not because of the hot water.

“NO!” Seokjin shrieked.

“YES!” Jimin shouted.

Everyone started yelling.

Except you and Yoongi, who simply sat there with towels on your heads, and Jungkook, who slowly sank under the water and pretended he was Aquaman, despite everyone knowing that he would probably make a better Spiderman with the way he tended to perch on chairs, but that was a story for another time.

-

part v

--

masterpost

[cellard0ors]

I don’t know if anyone asked you yet but I’ve seen others ask everyone else. Soooo… your top Hackearney fic reqs… pls? 🥺

I HAVE been asked this and I've sworn up and down to do this, but I've just been lazy as f*ck. HOWEVER today is the day!

So, strap in, y'all here are my hackearney fics recs!

Keep in mind, the authors here all have MULTIPLE works in this fandom/ship that are good, I'm just picking the ones I've specifically bookmarked and read.

There are also some I've heard are good and just haven't read yet (looking at you, Garden of Moonlit Grief) and there are others that I'm sure are fantastic, but are not my cup of tea (ie, noncons, fics that might be TOO dark, etc)

In other words, if I don't mention you and we talk I don't mean to hurt your feelings I love all of the Hackearney hivemind omggggg...

(these are also listed in no type of order)

Every Single Edge - E - Skymasters - A week after the events of The Quarry, Laura can't get a certain sheriff out of her mind. She pays him a visit.

So, this was the first fic I ever read with them and it was in character and super hot. It's also one of those fics I envy, because I wish I could convey things this insightfully in a one shot fic as opposed to the Tolstoy novel-length fics I write!

Late Bloomer - M - FanFicReader01 - Travis’ heart felt heavy. Sometimes, it felt like he was the only sane Hackett left and that could be seen as a stretch.

Another one of the first fics I read fics, I found this idea incredibly romantic and creative, but also very sad. It's not a happy ending kind of fic, but it hits well and I enjoyed it a great deal.

I Will Spin You Rose Evenings and Gold Mornings - E - TheWeirdDane - Laura Kearney is at the end of her rope when it comes to managing her finances for vet school. Contemplating various ways to earn some extra cash, she eventually turns to sex work, and goes on to meet with an older guy who will pay for her time and intimacy.

There's something about Sugar!Daddy fics. Rhink got me into it and this fandom is pushing me into it further. I really enjoy AUs - especially ones where Travis is softer but still a firm disciplinary - noice.

Werewolf Bites and Hot Summer Nights - E - winterlilyflowers - An AU in which Laura and Max can’t find Hackett Quarry and end up at the Harbinger Motel, before becoming camp counsellors for the summer. Max is moody and secretive and Laura keeps bumping into the grumpiest sheriff with the cutest puppy dog eyes, and when he gives her his number ‘just in case’ a girl can’t help but drunk dial him one night. Cue overprotective and jealous Travis. And shouldn’t the officer get a birthday kiss? An unlikely start for a badass werewolf fighting duo, but a hot one.

Listen, if you're part of the fandom and a shipper and haven't read this, I don't know how to help you. It's so damn good. I re-read one, ah, scene in particular...it involves Travis's cruiser and being outside and...yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaah. 👀

I LEGIT re-read that scene last night! but the entire fic is good. Again, I'm a big AU fan and I like the idea of how the game might have gone with little changes, so, this one fits that bill and then some. The Travis/Laura snark is also there as well, so - love it,

Caged - E - Gaqalesqua - Laura Kearney did not expect to spend her summer locked up by a creepy cop. Travis Hackett forgot that human beings have needs even when they're in prison.

This is one of those fics that has no right to be as hot as it is. I felt like the author really nailed Laura's voice too - they also get Travis, but since a lot of it is from Laura's POV, it's just really spectacular to me how well they got inside her noggin.

Also have to admire a fic that starts out just hot and then gets deep and makes you emotional.

Family - M - Tianasina - Laura sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the number on her phone’s screen. Her hand shook as she held her phone. She glanced briefly at the object clutched in her other hand. She sucked in a panicked breath and looked back at the phone, pushing her other hand out of her vision. Her thumb hovered over the green dial icon before shakily pressing down upon it. Dialing Travis…Laura needs help, Travis is willing to help.

I was legit surprised by how much I enjoyed this. Maybe I shouldn't have been, considering how domestic it gets, but honestly - not usually a fan of baby fics. But Travis with a baby is heart melting and I like how organically his relationship with Laura grows. A fun sweet read.

No Hard Feelings - E - Professional_Creeper - Travis had been having trouble staying hard while masturbating, but it was just stress from dealing with the curse. It was just because his hand wasn't exciting. With a woman as beautiful and alive as Laura writhing beneath him, he would be fine...

Listen, someone was GOING to have to write an ED fic for this ship and I'm glad this person did, because they nailed it and made it so genuine and heartfelt but also still sexy as fuck??? I couldn't pull this off - and I always admire those who can do what I cannot. And boy did they do it with gusto - this is like, give them a prize! fic. I would if I could!

Love Me Under The Neon Lights (If Only For The Night) - E - @spookyscaryscully - Travis could think of a thousand different places he wanted to be on his night off. A strip club was not one of them. AKA: The Hackearney Stripper AU.

Someone who has a LOT of irons in a LOT of AU fires and they're all burn hot, but I'm choosing this one because I just really love the whole solid idea of it. And, again, sucker for a soft!Travis!

There's just a lot of great work here - this idea could have just been sold as a silly thing but instead there's some distinctive depth. Love it.

Warmth - M-False_Mortal - A litter of kittens and their mother were dumped in front of the police station. Travis takes them in because it’s snowing and he maybe has a heart. Laura is a veterinarian assistant at the local shelter, where she sometimes works the front desk.

Travis, Laura, Cats - all things I like and in one place. SOLD. It's also just heartwarming and cute, but still with delectable sexytimes. Also, again, an AU and I adore AUs!!

Dear Friend - M - lovemeforallmyfaults - A new substitute professor settles in at her new job, with the help of a friend she meets in the college forums. A tenured professor tries to open up to someone other than his close relations. (aka - the You’ve Got Mail Set In College AU absolutely no one asked for)

Um - I think EVERY fandom should have a You've Got Mail AU?!? And luckily this writer rose to the challenge! It's fun to see Travis and Laura spar in a completely different environment but still feel like them. Not to mention, I again adore the whole concept of letters and not knowing it was you and so, yeah - love this!

Pass Me The Shotgun (And I'll Hand You My Heart) - E - @norrington-hell - Sometimes the best way to deal with your trauma is to see a therapist. And sometimes it's to find the surly bastard responsible and rock his goddamn world. Laura knows which option she prefers.

I already did a whole post about this, but - shut up. THIS FIC. I both love it and hate it. THIS IS NOT A BAD THING. I love it, because it's probably one of the best written things I've ever read. I hate it. because when I read new chapters or re-read it, I feel this overwhelming seething jealousy towards Norrie and her talent, when I know I should be a good girl!

I - for the life of me - have a hard time writing conflict and super!mean Travis and bratty!Laura and Norrie just strolls up to the bar and is shooting bullseye's left and right and blind folded for it like it's no big thang.

Her world is so rough and real and not at all sugar coated. It's not easy, so, when things go well for these two, it feels so EARNED. UGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH! Take me out of this club, I'm DYIIIIINNNNG.

...in conclusion, I will always recommend this fic forever and always and it's probably a staple of how you should approach writing them.

Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo yeah - here you are anon and anyone interested! If you follow me and one of these fics are yours and I didn't know your tumblr name because I'm smart-like-that (tm) please let me know so I can tag you properly!

[noteguk]

danger zone | knj | m

— summary; in which namjoon lives a dangerous life and sometimes you can’t really stand it. Still, you can’t step away either. 

— contents and warnings; smut, a little spark of angst and a fuckload of fluff, criminal!namjoon x reader, established relationship, dom!namjoon and sub!reader, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), dirty talk, begging, Namjoon has a big dick, unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of possessiveness, multiple orgasms, overstimulation 

— words; 4,5k 

— author’s note; this was supposed to be a quick pwp drabble but here we are… 

Words could not explain the relief that washed over you when you saw the headlights peaking through the diaphanous living room curtains, blasting inside your house like beacons of divine hope. You ran to the front door faster than ever before, stepping into the cold mist of the night as he closed the car door behind him. You managed to see his friend, Hoseok, waving you goodbye before he pulled out of the driveway and you started balling your eyes out. 

And then you couldn’t really see anything else. 

Namjoon did not hesitate to walk toward you, wrapping his strong arms around your lower back and pulling you closer to his warm chest. He smelled of vanilla and cigarettes, and your knees almost buckled at the thought of losing that scent forever. 

“Baby, you’re gonna catch a cold,” he mumbled, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. Namjoon positioned one hand on the nape of your neck, playing with your hair as you whimpered against his hot embrace, fists clenched over his pecs. You were wearing only pyjama shorts and a tank top, and the gelid breeze of the night showed you no mercy. “Why don’t we go inside?” 

For a moment you thought that your legs would fail you, but, to your relief, it was just a feeble impression. Namjoon held you tightly against him as you two walked back inside your house, mumbling how much he missed you, how much he couldn’t wait to see you again. All that you could do was to listen, with your nose stuffy and eyes tearing up, as he started telling you about his past few weeks.

You had been sure you had lost him that time. Namjoon had never stayed longer than a day without talking to you (or at least telling you that he would be a bit M.I.A. for the following weeks, because of the secretive nature of his work), and the fact that you had gotten nothing but silence for almost three weeks was enough to make your mind go wild. It wasn’t hard to imagine that the worst had finally happened. 

There was no one you could call — as in, you had a few numbers, but you were prohibited to get in contact with them. Namjoon had made it clear that he didn’t want you to get involved in his business, and something as simple as a phone call to the wrong person could be enough to get you wrapped up in an official investigation. He had made special efforts to make sure that, in case all went to shit, the feds could never prove that you knew anything about his illicit schemes. If something happened to him — prison, death, something in between — Namjoon would be at peace knowing that you were safe and taken care of. 

So, you had been good, and you didn’t call. You had just waited, fighting through your normal routine and forging fake smiles towards your coworkers. By the time that the second week rolled around, you were considering calling every morgue in the country — and then quickly melted down once you realized he was probably not even using his real name. There was nothing you could do but wait. For god knows how long. 

Times like those made you want to give up on everything. You and Namjoon had a chemistry that you never felt before, you understood each other in levels that you never thought possible. He loved you with all of his heart and you felt the same. And yet, you were exhausted from being so scared for him, from feeling so helpless in the face of his unstable and unpredictable job. 

You had told yourself that, if he came back, you would end it all. 

But now that he was standing in front of you, things weren’t so easy. 

Your boyfriend took you to the kitchen, where he warmed up a drink for you as he told you about how he had spent those last few weeks. Namjoon explained that one of his shipments had been stolen (of what, you didn’t dare to ask), and he had to take care of it himself. During that time, he and his crew were being attacked and watched constantly, and he would never risk the idea of pulling you into that mess. It was an unspoken truth that having you as a hostage would make all of his defenses crumble. Expressing any sort of weakness in his business was like bleeding in a sea full of sharks.  

You understood, because of course you would. And he understood when you told him about how terrified, how overwhelmingly worried you had been. 

“I wanted to call Yoongi, Hoseok… I don’t know, anyone,” you said, taking your cup of tea closer to your face. The heat emanated in waves, warming up your lips as the thin lines of smoke curled up in the air. You took a small slip, and the coldness of the night was just a memory then. “But I knew that I shouldn’t do that, so I just… Joon, I thought you were dead.” 

“I’m so sorry, love.” Namjoon pulled you in, wrapping one arm around your back and pressing a kiss against your forehead. You always felt so safe in his arms, like nothing could ever touch you. “I know how you feel, it’s unfair making you go through this.” 

“It is.” You sniffed, looking down at your tea cup. “But it’s all for you. And I love you, Joon.” 

There was a second of silence as the words floated in the space between the two of you, a deep sigh from your part as you placed the cup on the marble surface of the kitchen island. That house felt too big for you, too spacious and filled with expensive stuff, and it whispered doubts in your ear. You didn’t know where all that money came from, you often didn’t know what Namjoon was doing or what he was thinking about. You had no idea what kind of dangers he faced every single day, or the hoops he had to jump through to keep you safe. 

You could have given up on everything already. You knew that he would understand. But you didn’t. Time and time again, you would realize that all your momentaneous bravery towards a breakup was short-lived: you loved him more than you feared losing him. You wanted Namjoon and no one else. You knew that ending things and stepping into an ordinary life, with an ordinary guy and ordinary worries, would never cut it. You had learned to live in the danger zone that was your relationship with Namjoon, and you doubted you could ever truly step away from it. 

Namjoon knew that too. He looked down at you with a deep mixture of tenderness and devotion in his dark eyes, caressing your cheek as he dove in to place a kiss on your lips. “I love you too, baby,” he murmured. “I missed you so much.”  

You melted in his hold, surrounding his waist with your arms and pushing yourself against his chest. “Missed you too,” you said. “I know why you keep these things secret from me, but it fucking sucks.” 

Namjoon chuckled, his calloused hands caressing your hair. You realized that he probably was just as worried as you — not knowing if you were safe, if you hadn’t gotten yourself in a messy situation trying to find him. Needless to say, he was filled with pride knowing you did everything he had asked you to. “I’m gonna tell you a secret, but you can’t tell anyone.” The suspense in his voice was enough for you to pull away from his chest, looking up at him with expectant eyes. Namjoon cupped your checks with his hands and smiled. “You're the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

You could not fight the smirk that crawled up on your lips. That simple sentence was enough to shift the weight of the atmosphere around the two of you, allowing for your hurt to slip away. “Bullshit,” you said. 

“I’m serious.” He raised his eyebrows, lowering himself so he could place another pec on your lips. ���Inside and out.”

That time, you could not hold back your laugh. “You’re so cheesy.” 

Your comment seemed to light up something inside his head, because, the next second, Namjoon was pulling away with a click of his tongue. “Speaking of cheesy, I almost forgot,” he started to say, turning around. “I got you something. It’s in the bedroom with the rest of my stuff.” 

You stood still for a second, trying to understand his words. “You... got me something? In the middle of all of that mess?” Then you were rushing behind him, going up the stairs as Namjoon simply hummed in agreement. “Joon, it’s okay, I—“ 

“Accept my gift, baby.” He stopped as he reached the second floor, waiting for you to catch up. “It’s not gonna make up for the time away, but I want to make you happy.” 

“What is it?” You asked, wet eyes blinking up at him, but he only smiled and turned around, gesturing for you to follow him into the bedroom. 

~ 

Namjoon’s present was a dress — or, rather, the dress. It was this beautiful long gown you had seen a few months back during one of your trips to the mall, a grandiose red thing that wrapped around the mannequin’s upper body before expanding just beneath its thighs. You remember feeling overwhelmed by its beauty, holding Namjoon’s hand tighter as you shared your amazement with him. Your fascination was short lived, though, because soon the price tag scared you away and you made yourself forget about that overpriced dream. 

Until that night, that was. Namjoon told you he had the gift ready to go before it all went down with the shipment situation, and the image of you wearing it was one of the few things that managed to keep him sane for so long. The glimmer of happiness in his eyes was enough for you to silence yourself before you could argue about the dress’ ostentatious price, instead choosing to thank him. 

You changed in the large bathroom of your master suite, eyes lost in the way the red shade, pure as sin, clung to your body like it was made for you. There was a wave of love gushing out of your heart, a joyfulness that only came from those little surprises that Namjoon would give you. You loved it. You loved him. 

“God,” Namjoon mumbled to himself when you stepped out of the bathroom, his figure sitting on the corner of your large bed. There was a moment of silence as his eyes ran all over your body, trying to memorize every little detail of you, his mind going blank and his mouth dropping in awe. “I might as well fall to my knees and ask for your hand in marriage now.”

You giggled, stepping closer to the bed. “Careful, I might say yes,” you told him, placing your arms around his shoulders. Namjoon looked up at you with so much devotion that you thought you could collapse at any given point. “I loved it. Thank you, Joon.”

He hummed, taking his large palms to rest on either side of your waist. You could feel his heat emanating through the fabric of the dress, sending waves of anticipation up and down your body. “I’m glad you did,” he spoke, his voice much lower than before. You knew Namjoon enough to know exactly what he was thinking, and there was nothing you wanted more than that. “My girl is so pretty…”

His lips were on your neck soon after, nipping and sucking your skin like they were made for that. Namjoon’s hands were trying to explore everywhere at the same time, moving from to your breasts to your waist, then back down your thighs and up your hips and toward your ass — where he placed a strong grip. 

“So fucking pretty… all mine,” he was speaking to himself at that point, his breath heavy around your collarbones. Namjoon tugged at the sides of the dress, completely ignoring the zipper as he tried to take it off of you. 

You laughed at his eagerness. “Careful with the dress, Joon.” 

“I’ll buy you another one.” He tugged at the fabric again, harder that time, and you were afraid that he was actually going to tear it in half if you didn’t act soon. “I’ll buy you any dress you want, don’t care if I ruin this one.” 

“I don’t want any other dresses, though.” Your hands left his shoulders and moved up your back, finding the zipper and swiftly pulling it down. Soon enough, the dress was just a pool of redness circling your feet. “I just want you.” 

Namjoon swallowed hard at the image of your bare body in full display for him — he should’ve known you wouldn’t wear any underwear with that piece of sin, and he couldn’t say that he was disappointed. All that it took you was one glimpse at his pants to see his hard cock already straining against the fabric, needy for you. 

“So beautiful,” he said, reaching out to place his hand on your hip. Namjoon’s eyes were everywhere at once, drinking you up. You knew he was holding back, he could flip you over and fuck you into the mattress at any second he wished to. “Is this all for me, baby?” 

“Yes,” you told him, taking his hand and guiding it to your breast. Namjoon squeezed the soft flesh, making you whimper at the feeling. “All yours, Joon.” 

“All mine,” he repeated, finally breaking out of his trance and meeting your stare. Namjoon was probably stressed out of his mind, and you just managed to turn all that negative energy into pure sexual stamina. Not that you were complaining. “Want you to lay down for me, baby.” 

You did not hesitate to do as he requested, moving around the large circular bed and placing your head against the soft pillows. There was a fire of expectation burning at the pit of your stomach and accumulating between your thighs, which only grew as you watched your boyfriend undress for you. 

Namjoon was quick and objective with his movements and soon enough he was naked, his golden skin shining under the warm lights and his big cock standing erect and flushed, ready for you. Just by looking at him you could feel your walls clenching, a sigh perishing on your lips at the memory of his member inside you, stretching you out like no one else could. Your boyfriend didn’t only have one of the biggest dicks you had ever seen, but he also knew how to use it — a dangerous combination that mostly explained why you couldn’t walk straight after a good night by his side. Again: not that you were complaining. 

The mattress dipped under his weight, your eyes following his movements as Namjoon placed himself between your legs. His eyes were hungry and focused, more than you had seen in a while, and when he commanded you to “Open your legs for me, love,” you couldn’t obey fast enough. 

Namjoon hummed in content as he leaned down between your thighs, one finger lazily dragging upwards between your soaked folds. He barely touched you, but you were so on the edge that the motion was enough to make you sigh. “Such a pretty cunt,” he said, and the finger moved back down, tenderly rubbing around your sensitive entrance. You flinched at the feeling, biting on your lip to suppress a moan. “So wet for me. Did you touch yourself while I was gone, baby?” 

There was no reason to lie, he would know regardless. “Yes, but only once.” 

It was true: after Namjoon had stopped contacting you, you were so scared that you didn’t even think about anything sexual — nor were you in the right mindset for that. 

He seemed to like your response, humming for a moment before he took a second digit to your entrance — never going in, though, only teasing its surroundings. “Was it good, baby?” 

You knew exactly what he wanted to hear, “Not as good as you,” you said, leaning on your elbows so you could hold his gaze better. Namjoon was looking at you like a starved man, and you knew it was just a matter of time before his own self-control ran thin. “Your cock is so much better.” 

He chuckled — a deep, melodious chuckle that sent heat straight to your core. “Needy girl,” he said, gaze flickering towards your face. “I can’t give it to you just like that. What’s the fun in doing something so fast? You have to earn my cock.” 

Patience was not a virtue you shared with your boyfriend, though, and that was why Namjoon loved to push you to the limits of your self-restraints. You had been foolish to think that things would be different just because he missed you. “How?” You asked, ready to do whatever he asked. 

Namjoon hummed, pretending to think for a moment. His fingers left your opening behind and he moved closer to your pussy, taking a long look at it before saying, “Cum on my tongue and I’ll think about giving it to you.” 

Before you could even think about what to respond, his mouth was on you and your head was spinning. Namjoon repeated the same motions of his fingers — licking a thick stripe up your folds and then back down, protruding the wet muscle against your entrance, swirling his tongue around it. You whimpered at the feeling, body crashing against the bed and fingers intertwining on his hair as he decided to move back up, lips wrapping around your clit as he gave you a gentle suck, humming when you started to moan out his name. 

“Right there, please,” you asked, your voice nothing but a pathetic plea. 

Namjoon, however, was marching to the beat of his own drum. He ignored your request and neglected your clit so his mouth could return to your opening, this time allowing his tongue inside you, drinking every drop of wetness you were giving him. A tremulous breath got caught in your throat when he pressed two of his fingers on your hole, coating it with his saliva before plunging in. 

You cried out, your back arching off the mattress as he continued with his ministrations; his fingers stretching you out as his mouth returned to play with your clit. Namjoon had you the way he liked it: a hot mess sprawled on the bed, seeking your high like it was the most important thing in the world. And he, of course, wouldn’t mind giving it to you as many times as you wanted it. 

The sounds you were making were lewd, mixing with the noises of his fingers pumping in and out of your clenching heat. Namjoon was only human: his cock was so hard that he was losing his mind, and the gorgeous sight of you fumbling under his touches was making him wish you could just cum so he could fuck the soul out of you. 

And because you two were in sync, that was exactly what you did. Namjoon watched in awe as you came around his digits, tightening around him so perfectly that he swore he was about to spill himself on his pristine white sheets. But he managed to keep it together as you continued to roll your pussy against his face, milking the last drops of your orgasm as your wetness dripped down his fingers. 

Namjoon moved away when you started to produce those high-pitched whimpers that signaled your sensitivity. He climbed up over you and crashed his lips on yours, humming as your tongues danced together, filling your mouth with your own taste. His cock was enlarged and heavy against your lower body, barely brushing on your sensitive clit. 

He pulled away so he could speak, his voice was a devilish low groan swimming in the hot air. “Want my cock inside you, baby?”

You were spent already, both of you knew that, and yet there was no hesitation in your tone when you promptly answered with a timid, “Yes, please.”

No matter how much you loved Namjoon’s mouth and fingers on you, there was nothing in the world that could compare to the feeling of having his cock thrusting inside you, filling you up so perfectly. You could fight against a bit of pain, you had done that a few times already, and you knew how fast your boyfriend was to turn everything back into pleasure. 

“Can you cum again for me?” He asked, lowering his hand so he could align himself with your pussy. You swallowed at the brushing of his head against your hole, heartbeat quickening in anticipation. “Can you do one more, baby?” 

You nodded, looking deep inside his eyes. “Yes, as many times as you want.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Namjoon spoke gently, honest as ever. He leaned in and kissed you slowly, savoring the caresses of your lips as he sighed against the kiss. “You’re too good for me.” 

And then he was pushing himself inside you, spreading you open like he was meant to be there, filling you up to the brim. You heaved and held to his shoulders as Namjoon reached incredibly deep inside you, getting used to his size. No matter how many times he fucked you, every time still felt like the first. 

“Fuck, your pussy feels perfect, like it was made for me,” he cursed, slowly thrusting inside you. You whimpered at the delicious drag of his cock against your walls, already experiencing the switch of pain to pleasure. “Keep your legs up for me, baby.”

You could only nod, pushing your legs to the level of your chest. That small change was enough to give Namjoon just a bit more space to slip into, a grunt exploding on his throat. 

“Joon,” you called. Namjoon looked up at you, his eyes dazed and unfocused. “Fuck me, please.” 

That was all that he needed. Self-control long forgotten, Namjoon buried his face on the crook of your neck and went to town — fucking you so fast and hard that you swore you had never moaned so loud in your life. Suddenly, everything was becoming too much: the bouncing of your breasts, the pressure of his hands on your thighs, the drilling of his hard cock inside you. Every worry you had those past few weeks were washed away just like that, barely an echo at the bottom of your head. 

Namjoon was a mess above you, grunting and moaning out as his cock fucked you open, your walls clenching around him like you were his personal brand of heaven. “Fuck, you feel so tight,” he cried out, already recognizing that familiar pressure at the base of his spine. “Such a perfect pussy for me, baby.” 

“Feels so good, Joon,” you said back, tugging at his hair. “Look at me.” 

It seemed to take him an herculean amount of force, but Namjoon did as you requested, meeting that fucked-out gaze he adored so much. “What is it?” 

You smiled tenderly at him, a timid moan falling from your lips. “I love you.” 

Now Namjoon was absolutely sure that he was in paradise, floating in the clouds above. He could not hold back the smile that crossed his face. “I love you too, baby.” He kissed you. “Are you close?” 

You nodded. “Really close.” 

“Cum on my cock for me, then,” he urged you on, not stopping with his advances. He felt so good inside you; your mind was consumed by all of him: his smell, his warmth, the deepness of his voice and the lust in his gaze. At that moment, Namjoon was everything in the world for you. “Come on, I wanna feel it.” 

And you did as he requested, clenching around his cock not even two minutes later. You sobbed and whimpered at the feeling, calling out his name again and again until Namjoon found his own high, spilling himself inside you, milking his cock in your pussy until you were full of him. He thrusted a few more times, trying to make that moment last a bit longer, and he only stopped once he started to grow soft inside you. 

Namjoon turned around and crashed next to you on the mattress, his arm curling around your waist as you fumbled closer to him. With a happy sigh, you nestled against his chest, drowning in his warmth as his fingers caressed your skin. 

The instant of peace was glorious, and you had almost started to drift away into a tranquil sleep when his voice broke the silence. “I’m gonna have to travel again next week,” he said. 

Your heart started hammering against your chest, stomach curling in anxiety. You raised your head from his chest and stared at Namjoon, your lips opening and closing before you finally found your voice. “But… You just got home.”

“I know, that’s why you’re coming with me.” He smirked. You must’ve shown him the most confused expression, because Namjoon could not hold back his laugh. “It’s not business, baby, don’t worry. You and I are just going to have some well-deserved time together. How does that sound?” 

Relief washed over you for the second time that night, calming your anxiety instantly. “Amazing,” you admitted, resting yourself back against him. You could really use a vacation, you didn’t know the last time you had a proper one. And even better if it was with him. “Thank you, Joon.”

“I should be the one thanking you.” He breathed out. The caresses on your skin were calling the sleepiness back into your body, and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you floated into the land of dreams. It has been a long time since you had a proper night of sleep — you had been too restless waiting for his return. “I know this is really hard for you. You know I’d understand if you wanted to leave.” 

You smiled lovingly, placing a kiss against his chest. “It’s worth it if it’s for you,” you mumbled. 

And you knew he felt the same. 

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Born to Run / Chapter 11

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Marathon Runner f!reader (no y/n)

Rating: E (SMUT, 18+ only)

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Mentions of spanking, body worship, ROUGH oral sex (m receiving), face fucking, d/s dynamics, soft dom!Marcus, also not-so-soft dom!Marcus, brief choking, restraints (why tf did Marcus bring his handcuffs on vacation??), dirty talk, good aftercare practices!!, implied oral sex (f receiving).

Summary: Your relationship grows deeper. Marcus reads to you one night, you tease him, and find out that teasing Marcus comes with consequences...

A/N: All the rough smut is 100% safe, sane and consensual. I mean, it's Marcus we're talking about here. My DEEPEST apologies to one Charlotte Brontë for putting her words alongside this FILTH.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

After your frank conversation after your nineteen mile run, you and Marcus grew even closer. Everything felt easy, effortless, in this little honeymoon period you found yourselves in.

The two of you seemed even more insatiable, exploring your now explicitly stated dynamic in the bedroom with increased enthusiasm.

("This time you're going to count them," Marcus said one night as he dragged the flogger across your cunt, causing you to nearly come then and there with only Marcus’s words and the light touch of the leather. "You're so worked up," he tutted as he watched your pussy flutter and clench around nothing. "Wonder how high you can count before you come," he continued, and you could hear the smugness in his voice, the pride he felt in seeing you tremble for him. "My guess is not that high," he said with a smirk, then brought the flogger down, and you gasped out "O-one!")

Almost better than that, though, (which was saying a lot--this was easily the best sex of your life) was how your relationship progressed outside the bedroom. It seemed that Marcus was in his element, almost incandescent whenever you willingly gave up your control to him. You couldn’t help but let his contentment rub off on you. You felt more comfortable letting him do little things here and there for you, letting him extend a bit of the influence you let him wield over you during sex, allowing him to care for you the way he wanted to.

It was just small things--like letting him wash your hair some mornings after a run, or sitting on his lap occasionally when he asked, but your favorite little habit he had picked up by far was when Marcus would sit on the sofa, pat his leg and look at you with a soft smile. You would lay down next to him, your head on his thigh, while you watched a movie, or, even better, while he read whatever book he had that night aloud to you. And every time, he would set his hand on the back of your neck and stroke up and down, up and down, making you melt into a happy little puddle of goo.

On one such evening, you studied him as he tapped his thigh and wiggled his eyebrows playfully. He was… beautiful. Such a sweet, gorgeous man, and you hoped he felt as cared for by you as you always felt from him. You wanted to show him how much you valued his presence in your life.

Instead of laying to the side of Marcus, you crawled onto the chaise lounge between his legs, resting your head on his inner thigh and bringing your arms to hug around his waist.

“Interesting way to lay on my lap,” Marcus huffed.

“I like it,” you said, matter-of-factly, hugging your arms tighter to punctuate your meaning.

“You want me to start from the beginning, or from where I left off reading myself?” Marcus asked.

“Where you left off.” You smiled. “I’ve read this one before.”

“Good,” Marcus hummed. He started flipping through pages until he found his place.

“‘Because,’ he said, ‘I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you--especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you,--you’d forget me,” Marcus read, and you suddenly wondered whether this was truly where he had left off or whether he had hand-picked the exact passage he had wanted to read to you.

You reveled in the feeling of his warm thigh underneath you, the other just beside you, caging you in. Marcus was focused on the page, still reading, and you suddenly wanted to show him just how much you cared for him, too. You brought one of your hands out from where it was resting around his waist and started to lightly trace up and down his leg, pushing up his loose gym shorts and feeling the soft dusting of hair and the strong muscle underneath.

Marcus let out a little hum of contentment. “Feels nice,” before continuing to read.

“‘As we are!’ repeated Mr. Rochester-- ‘so,’ he added, enclosing me in his arms, gathering me to his breast, pressing his lips on my lips: ‘so, Jane!’”

Your fingers continued exploration, sometimes digging in a little more firmly to massage any tension away, sometimes just gently caressing, feeling him. You loved his body so much. You loved how it looked, but also how it made you feel--whether it was the mind-numbing, overpowering sensation of him pounding into you from behind, or the comfort you felt whenever you were lying in his arms against his soft tummy and broad chest. You hoped he knew how much you liked it, you thought. You wanted to show him. You moved your head and let your lips take the same meandering path up and down his thigh as your hand had done. You worshipped him with the soft, open-mouth glide of your lips up and down his leg, letting the hair tickle your upper lip. You punctuated your journey with soft, occasional nips that you then soothed with your tongue.

Marcus groaned. “I can’t tell if this is relaxing or arousing me,” he said from above you.

You giggled. “Bit of both, hopefully?”

Marcus continued to read as you moved your ministrations to the opposite leg, pushing up his shorts and nuzzling the muscle with your mouth and nose. You followed a path up, up, up--eventually moving your mouth over his clothed, half-hard erection. You inhaled his scent, breathing him in as you nosed him softly, just wanting to feel him, tease him.

Marcus let out a low moan. “Now you’re just teasing,” he said lowly.

“Is it really teasing if you have every intent to follow through?” you asked, playfully. Marcus cleared his throat, visibly affected by your actions, but started to read again, although his voice was slightly strained.

“‘I would not--I could not--marry Miss Ingram. You--you strange--you almost unearthly thing!--I love as my own flesh. You--poor and obscure, small and plain as you are--I entreat to accept me as a husband.”

You moved from his bulge down to the first thigh again, repeating the little kisses, nips, and licks once more. “Can’t get enough of you,” you confessed. You wanted him everywhere, wanted to consume him as much as he consumed you. You mouthed your way back up to his crotch, just wanting to feel it against your face again. You exhaled purposefully, hotly, against his now rock-hard cock.

Marcus stared down at you, book forgotten. When had he stopped reading? “You’re playing with fire, you little tease,” he growled.

You held his stare defiantly, as you opened your mouth over his clothed testicles, letting out another little puff of air and running your nose over the base of his cock.

His tongue darted out to lick his lower lip. “Are you wanting to test me?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You only licked the front of his shorts in response.

Marcus’s hand darted out and caught you directly under your chin, his large hand squeezing gently on the sides of your neck, just enough to show you what he could do to you in this position. Using his hold on you, he lifted, pulling up slowly so that your body would follow. You scrambled up, eyes wide. He brought your face right up to his mouth, but stopped you just short of kissing you. His eyes were dark orbs. You let out an involuntary shiver.

“Stand up,” he directed, his soft, low voice contrasting with the fire in his eyes.

You swallowed thickly, getting to your feet, eyes not leaving his.

Marcus stayed where he was on the couch. He jutted his chin up, saying, “Take off your clothes.” He added, “Slowly,” when you rushed to comply.

Your heart was pounding as you brought your shirt up over your head and pulled off your sports bra. He didn’t react, only watched you drop them beside you on the floor. He nodded at you to continue. You pushed your leggings down over your hips, down your thighs, stepped out of them, and straightened, now clad only in your underwear. You paused and looked up at him, but he only raised one eyebrow again, and you held his eyes challengingly as you removed the last stitch of clothing and stood before him.

Marcus sat up, then, and moved to the edge of the couch. He reached out, and with one finger, traced the bend of your hip lightly, making you shiver. When he spoke, his voice was even quieter than before. “Walk to the bedroom.”

You swallowed again, heart still pounding with anticipation. You turned and did as he asked, pausing when you passed through the doorway to Marcus’s bedroom. He had followed, of course, and was right behind you. “Stay there a moment,” he said in your ear, and he moved into the room to his suitcase, reaching down to dig in the front pocket. You watched as he pulled out an FBI badge, set it aside, then reached back in for whatever it was he was looking for. What was he--oh, fuck. Your cunt clenched as you caught a glint of silver metal and you knew, you knew what he had retrieved even before he brought the object completely out of the suitcase. His handcuffs now in hand, he stood again, facing you. Watching, assessing.

He held them out, letting you get a good look at them. “Is this okay?”

Can we play like this?

You felt the wetness of your desire dampen your thighs. You could feel your lower lip trembling--with nerves, with excitement, with lust.

You knew by now that nodding wasn’t going to be enough for him. “Y-yes,” you managed to stammer out. You nodded frantically, enthusiastically, trying to show him you were, in fact, very into this, and that your shaky speech was a result of desire, not fear.

Satisfied, Marcus moved towards you, reaching out a hand to caress your cheek. In stark contrast to what was about to happen, he gently kissed your forehead, and your eyes fluttered closed. He moved behind you then, bringing his hands to your shoulders and trailing his fingers down, down, down, guiding your arms back as he did so, until he reached your wrists. He caught them in one large, warm hand, and you felt the handcuffs click loosely into place around them with finality. Marcus appeared back in front of you and caught your cheek with his giant palm once again, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip.

“So pretty like this,” he whispered. He trailed his hand down from your cheek to your shoulder, applying gentle pressure to indicate what he wanted you to do next. “Can you get on your knees, for me, beautiful?”

You nodded, and he gently guided you, helping you balance with your hands bound, as you slowly dropped to your knees. You couldn’t look away from his eyes. He held your gaze as he reached for his belt, unzipped his pants, and brought his cock out.

“You were so desperate for this earlier,” Marcus said with a little smirk. “Figured I should give you what you wanted.”

You whimpered as he dragged the tip of his cock gently across your cheek, teasing you with it. He brought his other hand up to your mouth, caught your lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, and slowly, wordlessly, pulled down. You opened eagerly for him, and he chuckled.

“So eager for this?” he hummed. “Don’t forget--you were such a tease on the couch. I’m not going to let you take this at your own pace.”

You moaned loudly at his words. Please, you thought. Please don’t be gentle. You nodded up at him, mouth open, his thumb still holding your lip.

Marcus gave a little shudder of pleasure at your brazen enthusiasm, then pushed the tip of his weeping cock into your mouth, letting go of your lip and bringing his hand around to hold the back of your head as he pushed forward.

He didn’t give you any time to adjust; you didn’t expect him to. You desperately tried to get a handle on your gag reflex, willing your throat to relax as he kept pushing steadily inside, only stopping when he was seated fully in your mouth, your nose just millimeters from his belly. He started thrusting almost immediately, with deep, punishing thrusts, holding the back of your head as he slowly fucked your face. With your hands cuffed behind you, you had no control over his movements, no control over how deep he pressed. Tears immediately sprung to your eyes at the roughness of his cock pushing down into your throat over and over and over. But oh, you loved it. You wanted him to take it, to own you.

Marcus started talking above you, his voice hoarse with pleasure. “I’m starting to think you don’t want me to be gentle,” he gently chided you. “You want me to take you, shove my dick down your throat, is that it?”

You couldn’t respond (obviously), but you moaned around his cock in agreement as he continued to overwhelm your mouth with his thrusts.

He continued, voice even softer, barely audible over the sound of him thrusting deep into your mouth, your heartbeat whooshing in your ears. “You want to be mine, yeah? Want me to have you so completely that you’ll even beg for me to use you like this,” he whispered. His words were filthy, dominating, but he said them so softly, so reverently, as if he couldn’t believe that you were letting him do this.

You were floating, concentrating only on when to snatch in ragged, hasty breaths as he continued to fuck your mouth. You could feel the tears of effort spilling down your cheeks, mixing with your saliva. His thrusts started to speed up, growing shallower, losing his rhythm, as he neared his climax.

“Fuck, you perfect little thing, look at you. Oh, shit, I’m-I’m gonna-” He thrust deep inside you one final time as he spilled down your throat. With effort, you swallowed around him, drinking him down.

As soon as he was finished, he immediately withdrew and sank to his knees before you, his eyes searching yours as he reached behind you to remove the cuffs. You were sure you looked like a disaster, your face covered with tears, spit, and God knows what else, but Marcus still regarded you with reverence, tenderness, with... with… lov-

Your face was suddenly being wiped gently clean with one of his shirts that had been lying beside the bed. Marcus examined your wrists for any injuries and kissed away the stiffness in your joints from the position. Pulling back, he took hold of your shoulders and looked you over.

“Feel okay?” he asked, trailing his fingertips up and down the sides of your neck. “All good?”

You nodded, “Good.” Your voice was hoarse from the rough treatment. You tried to clear your throat. “Promise.”

“Come lay with me for a little bit,” he said, helping you stand and then guiding you to the bed.

He leaned against the headboard and you settled on his chest with a happy sigh as his hand started its habitual, ceaseless journey up and down your spine.

He pressed his lips to your forehead. It seemed as if Marcus was happiest whenever his mouth was against some part of your body--you noticed that he often spoke his words directly against your skin. “You did so well for me,” he murmured against your temple. “So good. Letting me fuck that pretty little mouth so hard like that.”

You shivered, your neglected cunt still throbbing, flooding with desire after getting no relief of your own.

Marcus chuckled, sensing your need. “Just rest here with me for a few minutes, catch your breath. I didn’t forget about you, baby.” He tightened his hold around your shoulders and as always, you basked in his praise, in the safety and warmth of his arms. “Did so well… want to give you a reward for that,” he murmured.

You perked up. “Oh yeah? What do I get?” You smiled up at him, playfully.

He smiled back and leaned down, his nose brushing against yours.

“I’m going to return the favor, you silly thing. Fuck you with my tongue and fingers, and I don’t think I’m going to stop until you’ve come…” he looked up dramatically, pretending to consider. “...three times. But I think we could do better than that.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah? Is that right?”

He extricated himself from your arms and started to move down your body. “Mmhmm. Three’s the minimum,” he frowned with mock seriousness. “I bet I could give you more than three.”

He did, you thought--hours later, as you finally drifted off to sleep beside Marcus. He really, really, fucking did.

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

Additional A/N: Marcus is reading from Jane Eyre and you KNOW he picked that part on purpose ;)

-

Taglist: @honestly-shite @thirddeadlysin @deepstarsco @221bshrlocked @mando-amando @frenchyjuju @farfromjustordinary @chronic-nosebleed @stilettoforbeginners @leslie-lyman @gaiuswrites

[the-witty-pen-name]

Deadbeat Pt. 8

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), fluff, angst, cursing, abandonment, toxic parent, violence, toxic siblings, infatuation, cheating/divorce, insecurity, mild housewife kink, mentions of prostitution, mentions of alcohol, corrupt official, fake relationship, jealousy, jail

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room.

A/N:

IMPORTANT UPDATE

I made a Google form to be added to my taglists, so if you want to be added, the link is in my bio. I’ll only be adding people to the list if they requested to be added by filling out the form! This way all of the requests are just in one place so I don’t miss requests! Thank you!!!

Also, if you are liking this series, consider checking out my new Lee Bodecker series, The Nanny. Part One

Thank you all so much for reading and sharing my work. Everyone whose reached out and told me how much they love the story really makes my day, oh my gosh!! I love you all so much, I’m so thankful.

This is unedited, and I missed anything I should include as a warning let me know! I hope you all enjoy!

Also, even when this fic is over (it’s not yet don’t worry!), I want to continue writing for Lee and this reader, so send me ideas of what you would want to see! Smut, fluff, I just wanna hear ideas you think would match this story! Like moments of them living together, dreams, or even ideas for one shots of Arvin x Reader when they were dating if you want more from that aspect of the story... anything else you want to see with this story that will be like one shots that are part of this same universe. 

Tags and Requests are OPEN

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven

That’s the funny thing about time. More often than not it’s the one to dictate you and not the other way around. Rationalizations regarding time hardly ever work out in your favor.

Oh, I just need more time for this, and then everything will work out.

Just need to make it through this week and then next week will be better.

If I had had more time, I could’ve gotten everything done.

How often did those actually ever work out? Time, especially in this town, was never an ally. It worked against you, spreading and infecting as fast as a forest fire. Time let rumors spread and time allows for circumstances beyond your control to unfold. It’s the catalyst that expertly pulls people apart and sometimes if you’re lucky, back together.

Perhaps, two years ago, you would have thought you would have been one of the lucky ones. One of the select few that time actually heals, but you had since given up on that notion. Lee was gone, ripped from you as quickly as he had swooped in. Your job was ripped from you as well, leaving you incapable of supporting yourself. And now you had Tommy back as well you needed to worry about. That was the one positive in the whole mess Lee left you to clean up alone.

The events like a domino effect just tore things done one by one. Now the room is cleaned out and his things are tucked away in boxes in your garage just like his car. It was the only physical evidence that had proved it all had actually been real.

You didn’t even want to try to visit him at first. You were hurt, and felt used. He had kept so much from you, especially your job. His lies had been so effortless. It bothered you immensely. He let you believe you had been able to land it by yourself. Maybe you could have. But now you’ll never know. What employer is going to hire you now?

Tommy got a job fairly quickly and you found a job outside of town, away from the people who knew your name or Lee’s. The article published that revealed Lee had gotten you the job was evidence enough for the town that all the rumors and gossip that they spread with no forethought were actually true. You had slept with him for the job, of course. Some people pinned the blame on him and some on you.

It took you six months of him being gone before you would even go in his room. Anything of yours that had secured a permanent spot there you just went without. But you needed the money, and Tommy had the good idea to get another tenant. He helped you box everything up and move it all down to the corner of the garage, making it all out of sight out of mind.

You had managed to sneak several of his shirts into the bottom drawer of your dresser. You were impressed with how much of a front of indifference you were able to put up. You had made it like an assembly line, and you ignored the tug at your heart at how it reminded you of when he first moved in. Keeping busy kept your thoughts at bay. However, nothing prepared you to what you found in the drawer of his nightstand.

You had just wanted to get the work done fast, removing the whole drawer and dumped the contents into a cardboard box. It was mostly junk, but then a black velvety box had caught your eye. It stood out from everything else. You hadn’t been nosy, and up until this point, you hadn’t given much thought to any of the items you had been packing away. It was a necessity to keep you sane.  But like Pandora’s box, you really just couldn’t control the urge to open it. You reasoned it was probably cufflinks or something for special occasions he just never wore. But the temptation was just too much and you sat down on the floor and fished it out of the half-filled box. You opened it and you immediately burst into tears. Not once had you cried since he had been gone. You hadn’t given yourself the opportunity to, not when there were so many things that needed to be done.

It looked brand new, a gold band with a perfectly round diamond sat perched in the box that he had hidden away in the junk drawer he assumed you’d never have a reason to go through. You distinctly remember Janie’s ring had been white gold, and you remember Lee had told you she kept her ring. He said he didn’t want it back anyways; he had said over coffee one morning. Nope, this was yours and the receipt you found in the cardboard box confirmed it when you saw the date printed on the top. He had gotten it a month before your whole world went to shit.

For the next two weeks, you had kept it stashed away, hidden under the t-shirts you selfishly kept out as well. The weeks really started to blend together, just going through the motions and not really feeling like you were living. You were on autopilot. And before you had realized it, it was coming up on a year. Time had moved somehow simultaneously slow that year and also fast enough for you to lose track. You hadn’t moved on. You were just ignoring it, not wanting to acknowledge the hurt that was still behind your eyes, still as apparent since the day he was carted away.

One night, you don’t know what switch in your mind flipped, but you started crying in the shower and then couldn’t stop until you had cried yourself to sleep. You had just exhausted yourself and the cycle continued night after night as soon as you stepped in the door after work. You were lying on your bed, still in your clothes that you had worn to work even though it was way past midnight. You turned your head and just stared at the bottom drawer of the dresser, your eyes straining from the tears and also from the darkness. Maybe, just maybe, it would make you feel better. You got up, walked over to the dresser and sat crisscross in front of it. It was probably the first conscience decision you had made in weeks. Somehow it made you feel more alive.

Stripping down to just your underwear, and leaving the work clothes haphazardly in piles on the floor, you grabbed one of the t-shirts and pulled it over your head. Just the smell of him cleared your head. The way it was able to just aid your headache was almost instantaneous. It smelled like him. It grounded you, and had the opposite effect you thought it would have. You skeptically believed you were torturing yourself, and grabbing one of his shirts would make you feel worse. For the first time in a while, you felt comforted and finding a candy wrapper in the front pocket just made you smile.

You then pulled out the ring and looked at it, taking it out of the box for the first time. You slipped it onto your left ring finger. It was a little loose, but Lee didn’t do awful guessing your ring size. You didn’t care, you thought it fit perfectly. It was understated and stunning and you had never seen a nicer ring. It was simple, very unlike what your relationship had been. Actually, that wasn’t true, you realized. It was very easy falling in love with Lee, and when it was the two of you, it was perfect. It was the world and circumstances outside of your control that made it complicated. You also realize you had forgiven a while ago, but you had been too stubborn to admit it.

Fuck it. Fuck everything that you let overpower you for so long. What? The old ladies at Church call you a slut? Let them. The amount of weight that words hold over everyone here is so toxic. No one in this town was a saint. The whole town is held hostage by their own twisted dark secrets and the way people get by is just exposing the secrets of others. No one was moral. You hadn’t done anything wrong. What was your crime? You did nothing. Lee was as guilty as sin, but what made them better? What gives anyone the right to decide for themselves his motives, and ignore the good in him to villainize him?

It was early Saturday morning. Getting up from your spot, somehow feeling lighter on your feet, you see its after two in the morning. You settle back into your bed, and the revelation allows you to have the most restful sleep you can ever remember having. You woke up feeling refreshed, and feeling alive. Your head was clear. You still didn’t look good. Your undereye bags were dark and heavy. It would take more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep to remedy those. The pain behind your eyes was still there, but the motive had changed. It was a longing, and a missing of him that weighed heavy on your head.

You wake up shortly after seven and your body doesn’t allow you to sleep in despite your attempts. You get ready for the day, changing into a pair of your fitted jeans that were cuffed, a pair of your Keds and one of your white t-shirts. You grabbed your purse, and made your way downstairs. Tommy had already left for work early and he doesn’t like to wake you. It was probably better, because had he been there, he would probably talk you out of what you were going to do.

The bus was pretty crowded, always was on Saturday morning. You hadn’t realized how close he was to you this whole time until you realized you had been on the bus for less than twenty minutes. This whole time, he had felt so far away, almost like he was erased, even though he was just in the next town. You arrived just as visiting hours had begun. You weren’t even sure you’d be allowed to see him, or if he’d want to see you. You hadn’t come before, and you wouldn’t blame him if he refused to see you. Hell, you didn’t even know what you’d say. You didn’t think about it once. You just wanted to see him.

The guard at the front desk took all your information and got you situated and then you just had to wait. It was probably less than fifteen minutes you had to sit there but it felt like forever. It was that familiar feeling of time messing with you again. Finally, the same guard returned and led you down a really bleak hallway, until you reached a room with a long table, with seats and dividers, and phone receivers. The seats situated across from each other separated by think glass. You gulped, you’d only ever seen rooms like this in the movies, and you shuddered facing where Lee had been stuck for so long. You weren’t the only one there, and other prisoners in beige scrubs were seated behind the glass talking over the receivers with their loved ones.

You took the seat the guard motioned to, and you thanked him. You were trying your best to not shake or show how nervous you were to see him again. You were scared he would hate you for not coming sooner, or he’d say he didn’t want to see you again. You couldn’t blame him. It has been a year. Yet, your heart leaps and betrays you when he walks in and any brave front you had is gone. He looks more tired than you, and his hair is slightly shorter than when you last saw him. But overall, it’s still Lee and goddamn, what you wouldn’t give to break the glass. The silence is deafening when he doesn’t even look up at you when he grabs the receiver. Does he not even want to look at you? He sat down without even looking up from his feet. He looks so defeated.

“Lee?” you ask softly into the receiver; you aren’t even sure if it picked up the sound. Apparently, it had because his eyes shot up at the sound of your voice. His eyes were wide and looked vulnerable as he scanned your face, like he was trying to keep from blinking.

“Oh sweetheart,” he gasps, “I’m so sorry. Everything- all of it. It was all my fault.” He also looks close to tears.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” you say, unable to pull your eyes from his.

“I didn’t expect you to even want to see me, darling,” he admits.

“You left an awful mess I had to clean up first,” you joke, making him chuckle halfheartedly.

“You deserve so much better,” he said sadly, “Settle down with someone your age, with a nice job or something- get out away from this place.”

“Christ, Lee, if I wanted that do you think I’d be here?” you joke. He smiles.

Four months ago, Arvin offered to drive you home from Church. Even with your brother being back, you still ended up going by yourself most Sundays. You weren’t even sure why you still showed up. It was an hour of being stuck in a room with a ton of people where you didn’t even have one ally. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. You had Lenora, who’s sympathetic smiles from across the aisle let you know her silent solidarity, and you had Arvin, who wasn’t one to care what others thought much anyways.

Leaving Church now since the news was finally printed, no one tried to talk to you afterwards except for Arvin and his family. His grandmother was still as sweet as always, but you could see how much she pitied you. Arvin was always friendly still, and he had been so helpful with everything.

“I don’t even care if it was true you know,” he said suddenly, pulling your attention from the open window on the passenger side.

“If what was true?” you ask looking back to him.

“You know, how everyone is talking,” he says in a hushed tone, not wanting to actually say it.

“That I slept with the Sheriff to get the job?” You finish his sentence for him.

“Yeah, I- It doesn’t change anything,” he says, “You’re still you and I don’t care. We’re all human.”

“It’s not true,” you confirm, crossing your arms, and then looking back out at the passing landscape.

“Look (Y/N),” Arvin continued, “I’m sorry about what happened. I feel awful. I want to do anything I can to help you.”

“You’re always such a good friend to me,” you smile, “You shouldn’t be putting yourself out too much for my sake.”

“I want to,” he insists with a smile, “We got a history, you and me.”

“Yeah,” you say with a content sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” he admits nervously. He pulls in front of your house, and as usual he runs over quickly to get the door for you. “And just that we aren’t kids anymore,” he continues, and you nod. You dig for your keys as he talks.

“I got a job, pays pretty good,” he continues on, “You got a good job, and this old house. I know you better than anyone. I know it isn’t that romantic, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I’d love to marry you, if you’d have me.”

“A-Arvin, are you serious?” you ask, your heading whipping up at the sudden proposal you hadn’t anticipated.

“Tell me it wouldn’t make sense,” he laughs softly with a shrug, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Arvin, I don’t want to just marry someone for the practicality of it,” you sigh.

“It’s you and me,” he continues, holding your shoulders gently and his eyes are latched onto yours. “I know I made a horrible mistake, but I have been trying so hard to make it up to you. You’re the only girl I ever loved- I never stopped. I loved you when we were eighteen, I love you know that we’re twenty-two and I swear if you let me, I can love you for the rest of my life.”

“Arvin…”

“It’s always been us, hasn’t it?” he asks rhetorically, “There’s never been anyone else…”

“I’m in love with Lee,” you say hurriedly, cutting him off before he continued.

“You what?”

“I’m in love with Lee,” you say again, slower and much more purposeful. You watch his whole expression fall, and it breaks your heart to hurt him.

“You’re in love with Sheriff Bodecker?” He asks, “That fucking deadbeat?”

“He’s not,” you insist, “You don’t know him…”

“You don’t either, (Y/N),” he cuts you off. “He’s no good and crooked. He manipulated you, took advantage…”

“No, he didn’t,” you affirm.

“(Y/N), he’s a liar, and he’s good at it,” he continues, “You don’t think he just up and told you anything he thought you’d want to hear to just get what he wanted…”

“You’re wrong!”

“He’s an alcoholic, no good drunk who took advantage of you with your mama gone…”

“Shut up!”

“He was using you!”

“You’re wrong, Arvin! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Okay, fine,” he sighs, “Let’s say you’re right. So, you’re gonna wait for him? Wait out the five years until you’re twenty-six? And then after you wait for him to get out, how do you know he wants you? Then what are you going to do? I know right now you hate me, but God, (Y/N), I’m a good guy who only wants to put your happiness first… I’ve always put you first. I love you and I’m not going to make you play a ton of games or keep things a secret. I’ll run around this whole town right now screaming how much I love you at the top of my lungs so the whole town knows.”

“I don’t love you.”

Lee still can’t believe you’re finally here in front of him. He thought about this moment for so long. He had even tried to prepare himself to brace the possibility that you might never want anything to do with him ever again. His dreams would plague him with thoughts of you. Sometimes they were happy, and he’d be woken up with the horrible realization that they hadn’t been true, and others were worse. He’d dream about getting out, and seeing you with someone else. Married, and happy, and he wasn’t the one you settled down with. Sometimes, he wouldn’t actually see you with someone else, it was always just implied, or he’d see you with Arvin.

Most nights he’d jolt awake and be covered in sweat, and he would still be cursed by the images that flashed before him in his dreams. He just thinks about all the things he wished he could change and how much he’s hurt you. He just thinks about all the things he would say if he ever got to see you, or what he would do to try to win you back. Then, other nights, he’d be much more self-deprecating and he’d internally fight with himself about how you don’t want him anymore, and you’d realize he was never what you wanted.

Now, he can’t believe you’re here across the glass. He could see the pain and exhaustion behind your eyes and he hates that he is the cause of it. He can’t stop looking at you, and part of him thinks he’s actually back in his room, having another dream about you that he will wake up from and find himself alone again. His eyes scan your face and just wants to take in every part of you, it had been so long. Then his eyes land on a shimmer of something on your hand and he might just die in his seat.

“You found it?” he whispers, looking at the ring on your finger. You look puzzled and then you follow his gaze down to your hand. You had forgotten you hadn’t taken it off.

“Um, yeah,” you admit shyly, looking down at it, “I assumed it was mine.”

“It is,” he smiles, pressing his fingertips gently to the glass briefly. “If you really want it.”

“It’d be a shame for it to just sit in the box,” you shrug. Neither one of you say anything for a moment, neither one of you not knowing what to say to fill the silence.

“I’m going to wait for you,” you declare, aimlessly playing with the ring on your finger.

“Are you sure?” he asks. He can’t let himself get too hopeful. Not yet.

“I’ve never been surer of anything, Lee,” you affirm.

“I will make it up to you.”

“Yes, you will,” you joke, making him laugh.

“I love you,” he sighs relieved, like the weight of everything that has held him down this past year just vanished. You wanted him, and he wouldn’t lose you.

“I love you too.”

PART NINE

Taglist:

@scar-is-bi @jiminlife2k18 @asylummaniac01 @rosalynshields @charmed-asylum @jamesbuchananbuckybarnes1917 @alexandrathegreat3 @hersilencedscreams @malar-region @purplerain85 @vesper852 @smilewolfdolan @softshell-taco @champagnebucky @lilacmeadows @mollygetssherlockcoffee @bluebouquetcupcake29 @stucky-my-ship @moonliightbabes @sassy-kassaay @lharrietg @bbmommy0902​ @hoe-for-sebstan 

[kitawarheit]

Choke

Hey guys! I decided to post it here too~ Anything this is some Frank x Danny x female reader insert hella self indulgent smut~ Ngl, had someone ask me, "how far do you take your dirty talk?" aaaand here's the example I guess?? lmao Either way it was fun as hell! Enjoy! <3 Can also be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31056830

Tags include: dub-con (ish), verbal humiliation, dirty talk, name-calling, spitroasting, f/m/m threesome

The Fog had been a living hell, for sure. You dare say you were getting used to this “Entity” and its foul games. The pain didn't seem to feel as bad as when you first got here—or maybe that was just your mind knowing you wouldn't truly die? Your cruel resurrection was inevitable in this hellscape. But, you found solace in the small things. To start, you had the other survivors. The companionship was at least enough to keep you sane (for the most part) until you found a way out. But was there?

Trial after trial, your morale drained slowly—that is, until your curiosity was piqued. Some of these vicious killers were... well, human. For the most part, maybe. Take The Legion for example: although they switched off, they were all still four human punk-asses. Sure, being cat called while chased by Frank or having insults hurled at you while Julie choked you to death wasn't the most ideal thing... But it was a breath of fresh air. There were others, yes, but the most talkative or entertaining ones were primarily Frank and Danny—The Ghostface, as they called him.

Speaking of those two—back to the predicament at hand. How the fuck are two killers allowed to be in a trial at the same time!? It wasn't fair! Not only for obvious reasons but more personal ones... Sometimes, you wanted to punch Frank in his stupid face for his chastising, filthy mouth. But, that was only really because of how hot and bothered it actually made you. You knew back before this shit, you were really into dirty talk and stuff, but here? Now? Surely, The Entity knew and was doing this on purpose.

No, you were absolutely sure The Entity was doing this on purpose when you saw the second killer was Danny. He had a nasty mouth on him too—a bit more aggressive than Frank overall, but it still didn't help you not be affected by his “teasing”. But why? Sure, you enjoyed their talk, even if your brain tried to yell at you that they were there to murder you, not sweet talk you to bed. But did The Entity even give “graces” like this? No, no—it must be for the killers. After all, they were the ones that essentially gave power to this thing.

No matter why or for who, it didn't matter. You weren't going to look this gift horse in the mouth. You deserved a slice of pleasure too, right?

So, here you were, being dragged into the old ski resort lodge, two sets of hands moving over every inch of your body, making you squirm between them.

“Hey, hey,” Frank cooed in a smug tone as you were turned to face him. “Settle down, kitten, we haven't even started yet!”

“She can't help it,” Danny mocked behind you, grabbing your ass, which made you give a squeal of surprise. “She's gonna get double fucked! Any slut would be excited by that.”

“You're right,” Frank practically purred, sliding his hands under your shirt and making his way up to your chest. “I'm surprised she's not already trying to tear out of her clothes.”

“Fuck you,” you hissed weakly, trying to squirm from their grasps—but, the both of them proved to be too strong and they kept you firm in place. “Let me go...!”

“Oh, don't worry, kitten,” Frank said, lifting his mask to sit on the top of his head as he eyed you over. “You'll fuck me soon enough~”

You were too busy examining the details of a face you hadn't seen without the mask to notice Frank giving a nod at Danny. There was a chuckle behind you and, suddenly, Danny had his hands over your torso, ripping open your shirt and pulling the ruined garment off, letting it fall to the floor. Another squeal escaped you as you tried to cover your arms over your chest, face flushed. Of course, Danny wouldn't let you do that as he gripped your wrists and held you in place.

“Fuck, she's got some nice tits,” the man behind you mused.

“Hell yeah, she does,” Frank agreed, brandishing his knife. “Let's get a better look, though...”

Before you could make a protest, Frank's knife slipped under the front of your bra, harshly tugging upwards to tear it in half. Quick on the move, Danny let go of your wrists to let your arms hang low so that he could swiftly tug your destroyed bra off and down to the ground.

“D-Don't touch me,” you shrieked, only to have them do just the opposite. Danny's hand cupped one of your breasts, while Frank toyed with the other, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. You were trying so hard not to make noise, but the look on your face must have given you away.

“What a slut,” Frank laughed, making you jolt as he pinched your nipple. “Hmm? You like having killers play around with your tits?”

“Look at her face,” Danny cooed. “She totally does! Nasty bitch~”

Your mind was failing to think of words to says, insults to hurl, threats to make. But, it didn't matter, they were too strong for you and you had nothing to fend them off with. And if the heat pooling in your core had any say in the matter, you were likely going to break anyways. Sooner, rather than later, if they kept this up.

You tried to at least keep quiet—if you couldn't make threats, the least you could do was not make any moans. Your focus was brought back to the situation as Frank cupped your chin, forcing your head up to look at him. For the moment, he had let go of your breast and Danny took full advantage of that by cupping both in his hands, squeezing them.

“Fuck,” Danny grunted behind you. “I've gotta get my dick between these sometime...”

Frank seemed to be searching for something in your face as he looked you over, yet abandoned that endeavor rather quickly. He let go of your chin and scoffed, grabbing hold of your hips now.

“I bet you anything she's already fucking soaked,” Frank mocked, emphasizing his last word as he popped the button of your jeans. “Let's just check that... 'Kay, kitten?”

Frank slipped his palm over your stomach, making his way down as you squirmed in Danny's grasp. He slipped past your pants and toyed with the waistband of your panties briefly before finally slipping his hand down over your folds. There was no warning when Frank brought his head closer, dipping under your chin to bite harshly into your neck, at the same time he pushed two fingers into your pussy. You were already losing yourself, but there was no way you could hold back the moan that ripped past your throat at Frank's actions. You could practically feel his smirk against your neck...

“Ho~ly fuck,” Frank cooed as he released your neck, pulling his head back to look at you while he pulled his fingers out from your jeans, just to hold them in front of your face. Of course, Frank was right —you were already wet by now. “This bitch is a total whore! Look at how wet she is already!”

“Damn,” Danny laughed, pinching both of your nipples in an attempt to draw noise from you. “I guess we got lucky with this one, huh?”

You whimpered softly as Danny pinched again, squirming as you watched Frank make a show of licking his fingers clean. Your mind teetered on the edge between wrong and right, just a touch away from going over and begging for them. In some pathetic last attempt to escape, you tried to pull away again. Frank clicked his teeth and gripped your hips again to hold you in place, Danny giving a light grind into your ass. Fuck, you could already feel how hard he was.

“Please,” you spoke softly, trying not to look Frank in the eye. To this, he roughly grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eye, a smirk tugging his lips upwards.

“Please what, kitten,” he sneered, bringing his face even closer to yours. ...That was it. That was the tipping point and your brain tumbled down the wrong side. But, you didn't give a hot damn. You needed this... and you needed it now.

“Don't tease me,” you breathed out, flashing Frank a look—oh, did he know that look well. The look of letting go and giving in to carnal desire. It was show time.

“That's what we wanna hear,” Danny chuckled, his voice more clear now and you could only assume he took his mask off as well. “A slut in the end—can't resist having some cock in you, right? Even if it's from a killer?”

Frank gave a vicious grin from ear to ear, letting go of your chin to dip his head down against your neck.

“Good girl,” he purred, giving another firm bite before working on pushing your pants and panties down. This time, when he bit into you, you let out a soft whimper, wiggling your pants and panties down the rest of the way to help, then stepped out of them.

Behind you, Danny removed his gloves, letting his bare hands slide down your chest, savoring the warmth of your skin as he kept moving further down. Sure, he knew Frank was right—but he couldn't help to feel for himself as his fingers dipped between your damp folds, his fingertips gliding up and down some. Your breath had already started to become labored from his small actions alone, surely stroking his ego more than it was. You wanted to savor the moment, but Frank seemed a bit impatient.

“Lemme have her,” Frank spoke, a bit of a grumble behind his tone. “I got an idea~”

Frank seemed to enjoy simply tugging you along and keeping you out of the loop. Throwing you over his shoulder like he would to carry you to a hook, that instinctual fear almost began to rise. As Frank started to climb the stairs with you, Danny followed behind, looking just as impatient as the other man.

“Don't worry, baby girl,” Danny cooed, patting your cheek some. “You're not going on a hook. We got something better in mind for you!”

On the second floor, there were a few empty rooms with faded memories of what this place once was, long ago. In one of the rooms, there was a large mattress and pillows, cigarette butts littering the ground with the smell of smoke still rather fresh. This was probably Frank's sort of make shift bedroom, if you had to guess... You almost wanted to ask (why, you weren't sure), but the wind was briefly knocked from you as Frank threw your body on the mattress with ease.

“You're gonna love this, kitten,” Frank hummed as you coughed a bit. “All just for you! I know a little whore like you can probably take more... But we'll start here, okay?”

You weren't sure what he meant and you weren't given any time to dwell on it before he rolled you onto your stomach, just as Danny came around to sit on the mattress, close enough to your face that you could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body. Grabbing your hips, Frank lifted your bottom half up to meet his crotch as he let his erection rub against your ass through his jeans. With a chuckle, he shoved his hips forward, forcing your face into Danny's crotch, making you both groan.

“I know you're excited, kitten,” Frank sneered, giving a harsh slap across your ass. “So get to work! I'm sure my friend here would love to see how talented that slut mouth of yours is~”

Propping your torso up just a bit, you looked up at Danny as he began to unfasten his pants, pushing them down a few inches just to make it easier to take his aching erection out. You couldn't help but stare for a moment, impressed by his girth. Damn, were all the killers like this...? Taking your distraction as hesitation, Danny ran his fingers through your hair, gripping tightly as he tugged your head forward a bit.

“I'm not gonna wait all day, bitch,” Danny sneered, purposefully rubbing himself against your lips. You whined a bit at the tight grip he had on your hair before obeying—placing one hand on his thigh to steady yourself as the other gripped the base of his cock. You gave one long, broad lick along the underside of his cock, dragging your tongue up until you flicked it off of the tip. Frank rubbed the side of your ass he slapped earlier, as if silently giving praise at the little show.

“Ohh,” Danny groaned, flashing a smirk down at you. “I can already tell she's used that mouth well before. Think she's tried to use it to bargain for the hatch?”

“Probably,” Frank said with a laugh, giving your ass another slap, causing you to gasp out. “At least, I wouldn't put it past her.”

You could feel yourself throbbing, started to become impatient yourself. But you weren't going to beg—oh no, not yet. To keep yourself quiet, you took a few inches of Danny into your mouth, sucking lightly as if to savor him. Danny groaned and muttered small praises to you, so focused on him that you were deaf to the sound of Frank's zipper being pulled down behind you. When you felt his rubbing the tip of his cock against your slit, you gasped, but were unable to stop the soft moan you gave.

“Oh, you're gonna feel so good around my cock,” Frank cooed, rubbing a bit more incessantly. You started sucking harder around Danny's length, trying not to give in to the feeling of Frank rubbing against you. Trying was the key word, but your body acted first, trying to rub back against him for more friction. He gave a click of his tongue and used his free hand to keep your hips still.

“You want it, kitten,” Frank asked with a mocking tone. “You gotta beg for it~”

Danny yanked your head up and off his cock, making you wince as you glanced up at him. Seeing the smirk on Danny's face made your heart jump and you were all too sure that Frank had the same look on his face. Flushed, you chewed your bottom lip a bit, as if a bit embarrassed to say it out loud. Frank gave you an encouraging, yet hard, slap across your ass, making you squeal out and tremble a bit.

“P-Please,” you squeaked out, whining as you tried to press back against Frank. “Fuck me, Frank...! Please...!”

“You want my cock in you,” Frank chuckled, giving another smack to your ass. “Say it, bitch!”

“Y-Yes,” you moaned out. “I want your cock in me, Frank! Please!”

“What a total cock slut,” Danny laughed as he brought your face close to his cock again, making sure you had him in your mouth before releasing his hold on your hair. You felt Frank lining himself up, pushing just the tip in before gripping your hips with both hands. Without warning, he suddenly gave a single, sharp jerk of his hips, thrusting himself inside you to the hilt, causing you to lurch forward and deep throat Danny. You almost gagged on him from the sudden force, but Danny only groaned, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck,” Frank groaned, keeping still a moment. “She's tight, too... Damn, she feels good!”

Frank pulled you back some, letting you off of Danny's cock to catch your breath, watching you cough a bit from the surprise forced deep throat. Once you were mostly settled, Danny gripped your hair again to guide you back to his throbbing length, rubbing the back of your head encouragingly. Frank pulled out most of the way before speaking up again.

“That was your warning,” Frank taunted, rubbing his thumbs over your hips. “So you better get ready—'cause I'm not stopping until I've filled you up, got it?”

“Do anything you want to me, Frank,” you whined out, glancing over your shoulder at him as your mind clouded with lust. “Please use me...~”

“Damn,” Danny scoffed, turning your face to him again with an amused grin. “She's a compliant little cock sucker.”

“Ohhh,” Frank cooed, fingers digging into your hips. “You just sealed the deal there, babygirl~”

Listening to Frank, you knew this was your one second to attempt to brace yourself. Taking Danny back into your mouth, you pressed your tongue against the underside of his cock, but let your jaw hang slack. If Frank's “warning” was anything to go by, you wouldn't need to be doing much head movement, anticipating his thrusts would be enough to do that for you.

And that it was. Frank showed no mercy, no easing you into it—no, he immediately started with a rough, somewhat quick pace as each thrust would push you back down onto Danny. You had let yourself go well before this point, so there was no trying to suppress your moans, loud and needy as they were. The small vibrations from your moans sent a shiver up Danny's back as he gripped your hair tight again, seeming to be holding back the urge to straight up fuck your mouth.

“Shit,” Danny hissed, leaning his head back some as he savored the feeling of your mouth. “It's gonna feel so good to cum down your throat!”

The anticipation and promise of his words excited you, more so than you thought as your inner walls clenched down around Frank, drawing a low moan from him.

“Easy, kitten,” he groaned, the bruising grip on your hips never letting up. “I know you're a fucking cumslut—nghh—but no need to rush it~”

Frank's pace started to deepen as he was back to burying himself all the way in with each forward snap of his hips. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as everything started to become overwhelming—the way Danny almost hit the back of your throat every time you were shoved forward, the lewd sounds of skin slapping skin from the force of Frank's hips, the pleasurable throb that came each time Frank's cock rammed against your cervix. You were a mewling, moaning (and if you could move, you'd probably also be writhing) mess between the two men.

You could already feel that familiar heat starting to coil down in you as you practically drooled onto Danny's cock, doing your best to rock your hips back against Frank. His grip was stead-fast, but he seemed to let up just a tad to enjoy you trying to fuck yourself back onto him. It earned you a groan from the man behind you, your wet walls throbbing around him in a pleasurable thrum. You were close, you knew it—but it seemed Frank knew this too.

“What a whore,” Frank groaned as he stilled his hips, swatting Danny's hand away so he could grip your hair instead, wrenching your head off of the other man so you could speak properly. Danny made a groan of protest, but allowed it as he was just as eager to hear your cries. “You wanna cum, bitch?”

“Yes, please,” you whined out, frustrated from being so close to your blissful high.

“Yes, what,” Frank sneered.

“I want to cum...! Please, let me cum!”

“And you wanna take our loads like the good little cumdump you are, right?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes, I-I want to be filled by you both...!”

“Atta girl~”

Frank promptly shoved you back down on Danny as he went back to his brutal pace, close to his own release. As you were shoved down and fucked hard, you finally snapped, your orgasm tearing through your body like a tidal wave. You moaned loud around Danny's length and your pussy clamped down and convulsed around Frank, both being the final push they needed to fill you. Frank bit his lip as he moaned behind you, burying himself all the way before cumming hard inside your willing cunt. Danny gave a few thrusts into your mouth, hand back in your hair, and held your head in place while he released in your mouth, groaning low.

“Swallow you fuckin' cumslut,” Danny growled, keeping a firm grip on the back of your head. You didn't need to be told twice as you swallowed a few times, making sure to take down every last drop. Satisfied, Danny pulled you off of him and released your hair from his grasp. Behind you, you could feel Frank pulling out, taking a moment to admire the view as his cum dripped from you, a few drops hitting the mattress below.

“Damn,” Frank hummed, giving one side of your ass an appreciative rub. “Now that is a good fuck!”

“Fuckin' right,” Danny concurred with a laugh before lifting your chin to meet his eyes. “Give us a sec and we'll get you ready for round two, babygirl. Don't think we're done with you yet~”

[jungkxook]

—demon-etized. (m)

⟶ pairing: namjoon x reader

⟶ analytics: youtuber!namjoon / ghost-hunters au / smut

⟶ words: 6,260

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ warnings: idiot ghost hunter bts, ghosts making namjoon horny ig?, slight exhibitionism, fondling, fingering, standing sex, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ description: in this episode of unsolved, namjoon and the boys risk their lives by spending overnight in an abandoned and supposedly haunted asylum in the hopes of finding some ghouls — but the boys are pretty certain the real reason for the spooky moaning isn’t allowed to go on youtube. ***warning: very scary!!!***

⟶ pinned comment: this is part of the not clickbait series!

“Well, this has been fun. Let’s go home now.”

You were starting to think this was a very stupid idea ━ but stupid would be an understatement. The looming asylum standing before you with nothing but the darkened midnight sky in the foreground acts as a foreboding omen that you’ve seen one too many times in pretty much any horror movie. The creepy abandoned estate offering itself up as a seemingly perfect and totally innocent means of adventure for a group of friends only to end in murder or a demon possession should have been enough to scare you all away. Fortunately, you’re not the only somewhat sane person (and you say that very loosely because you did, after all, agree to come with the boys), because you’re both startled yet thoroughly relieved to hear the worried statement coming from a very tense-looking Jimin.

It really was a stupid idea. Spending overnight (which, really, just translates to a few hours and a clickbait-y title for the video) in a supposedly haunted and derelict asylum from the early 1900s offered all sorts of problems that weren’t just supernatural. Squatters, creepy cult members, and risking getting whatever sorts of diseases are riddling the walls of the ancient dwelling were starting to get to you. But it was Namjoon’s idea to come here for his next video upload especially when considering the fact that for the entire month of October he and his group of YouTuber friends host a fan favourite ghost-hunting series titled Unsolved ━ and, whatever Namjoon usually suggests, the boys usually tag along with, no matter how daring or how stupid it may be.

“We literally just got here,” Hoseok retorts as he hops out of one of the two cars you and your friends had shared on the way here. It was a three hour drive from the city with the estate being much larger than you expected it to be, four main buildings sprawling out amongst empty fields. At least the stories of its creepy atmosphere are all the same. Was it the cool autumn breeze sending chills down your spine or something else entirely? The moment you stepped foot out of the car and gazed upon the asylum, it was almost as if you could feel something watching you. But that was definitely just you imagining things. “Don’t be a pussy, Jimin. What’s the worst a ghost is gonna do to you? Rattle some chains? Ooooh, spooky.”

“Okay, first of all,” Jimin rounds on the older boy almost immediately, “vaginas are the strongest muscles in female anatomy, so I’m not being a pussy. Let’s get it right, okay? I’m being a little bitch, and I embrace it. Second of all, if a ghost does rattle some chains near me, I will definitely be booking it back to the car and leaving all of you stranded here.”

From beside you, Yoongi snorts amusedly. He’s the resident non-believer amongst your group of friends so you always wonder why he even bothers to come to these things. He says it’s to help filming, but you think he’s banking on maybe one day seeing a ghost even despite all that charade of hostility. Even now, he’s already filming for the vlog, getting shots of the building but also mostly just Jimin and Hoseok’s banter in the background. “If a ghost does anything tonight, I’ll be genuinely surprised.”

“Something is going to happen tonight. I can feel it,” Jungkook says confidently. He’d been huddled over the opened side door of one of the cars with Namjoon and Jin, sifting through their high-tech equipment that you’re certain they just bought off of Amazon or something. “This place is one of the most haunted places near us. Have you even heard the stories? Apparently there are two most popular ghost sightings. One is some girl━”

“Is she hot?” Taehyung asks.

“She’s dead,” Jungkook deadpans. “Also, pretty sure she was eleven when she died from tuberculosis. Anyway, she’s more of a benevolent ghost. They say you can hear her laughing sometimes. There’s a lot of activity in one of the kids’ rooms. And the other sighting is less friendly. They just call it a shadow man because it’s hard to see its face, but you can always see an outline of a person walking by in one of their treatment buildings. There’s even been physical attacks, with one person saying they got scratched by an invisible force.”

Jimin visibly winces. “Sounds very much like a demon than a ghost to me.”

“Sick!” Hoseok exclaims. You’re worried to find that the group’s morale (aside from yours and Jimin’s) isn’t any less vivacious than when Jungkook started his story. “This is gonna be awesome.”

But you can’t help but to roll your eyes, your feigned boredom really just a weak attempt at hiding your own fright. “Oh, shut up. That’s such bullshit.”

“Is it?” Jungkook quirks a brow, challenging you.  

“Well, whatever happens, we’re gonna catch it.” This confident statement comes from Namjoon. After he hands out the pieces of tech to the rest of his friends, he glances upward at the asylum with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Come on. Let’s find us some ghosties.”

As the group begins to follow Namjoon towards the nearest building, Taehyung can be heard wolfishly quipping aloud, “Time to rock and roll, ghoul boys! And, er, girl.”

“Don’t call us that,” Yoongi grumbles.

It’s comforting to hear the rest of the group erupt into fits of entertained laughter, but any banter is quick to subside as you walk up to the building. You’re relieved when Jimin decides to hang back with you and doesn’t seem to protest when you start to cling to his arm as you’re all ushered through the main entrance of the building and into utter darkness only broken apart by the dim glow of your flashlights. If you weren’t already so frightened, maybe some of it would be comical, like the way the front doors creak open so very slowly in suspense.

Under Jimin’s breath, you can hear him mumbling in chagrin, “We should have gotten holy water.”

As your eyes adjust to the darkness within, you’re able to make out that the inside is just as horrifying as it was on the outside. Dust and debris hang heavy in the air and on the ground, and almost every inch of any surface within the building is covered in graffiti works of art. 

“Oh, fuck that,” Jin scoffs. “We only just stepped foot into here and this place is already giving me goosebumps.”

“Aw, sweet, bro! Check this out!” Hoseok says abruptly, startling almost all of you. He’s standing a bit further off down one hall, beckoning the rest of the group to follow. As you approach him, you can make out what sort of graffiti marking on the ground has suddenly grabbed his attention. “Who wants to lay on the pentagram with me?”

“No one,” You retort.

“I will!” Jungkook says at once, much to your dismay.

Yoongi lets out an audible strained sigh. “If any of you fucks get possessed and kill me, I’m never gonna forgive any of you. Just letting you know ahead of time.”

“Yeah, what are you gonna do?” Hoseok asks. “Come back and haunt us?”

“No, I’ll be dead. Ghosts aren’t real,” Yoongi says. “But I will still be very angry.”

“Noted.”

Before Jungkook or Hoseok can haggle Yoongi into filming them laying on the pentagram drawing and potentially offering their souls up to whatever demon lays waiting beneath it for their souls, the group is moving on. You explore the first bottom half of the building together in a tense silence before making your way up the dilapidated stairs to one of the treatment rooms that Jungkook makes certain to point out is where the infamous shadow figure is often seen. Taehyung decides to suggest, “Should we try the spirit box?”

You almost groan aloud. You fucking hate that thing, for obvious reasons. 

Whether or not you believe in it, the loud gurgling noise is always unsettling and you’re already on edge. Still, you sit back with Jimin as the rest of the boys nod in agreement and fiddle with the piece of tech until it’s been turned on. You’re immediately met with a cacophony of crackling radio static so deafening that your instinctual reaction is to cover your ears. You refrain miraculously, but you still cower in one corner with Jimin as the boys listen intently to the noise.

“Is anyone here?” Namjoon calls out to no one in particular. “If you are, can you give us a sign? Move a chair or say something or push Yoongi━”

“What the━?” Yoongi gawks. “Why me?”

“‘Cause you said you don’t believe in them.”

Yoongi clamps his mouth shut, and nods in a way that admits Namjoon has a point. At that moment, there’s a pique in the static, a jumble of inaudible words that almost sounds humanlike.

“What was that?” Hoseok asks. “Sounded like… It almost sounded like it said ‘leave.’”

“Leave?” Jimin squeaks. “Think we should take that as a sign, guys.”

“Nah, I definitely heard Steve, not leave,” Yoongi says.

Jungkook frowns. “Who the hell is Steve?”

“Maybe that’s his name,” Yoongi suggests nonchalantly. “Be nice.”

After a handful of minutes of even more strained silence, the boys are only able to discern certain words that you’re positive don’t have anything to do with the asylum or ghosts. At long last, they shut the machine off and the room is once more plunged into a formidable silence so dense that you almost miss the spirit box. But almost as soon as the piece of tech has been silenced, does Jimin cry out in pure anguish. “What the fuck was that?”

The boys instantly round on their startled friend who is now cowering behind you. The colour has all but drained from his face, eyes wide in a frenzied panic.

“What’s wrong?” Namjoon asks.

Jimin looks hysterical as he shoves a pointed finger in the direction of the wall opposite the room in the corridor. “I swear on my life I just saw something move out of the corner of my eye over there. Like a-a person o-or something. Looked like a shadow. I don’t know! I thought it was one of you guys━”

“Stop it, Jimin.” Your voice treads on apprehension as you look over at the alarmed boy. “You’re scaring me.”

“Yeah, ease up, Jimin,” Namjoon says, though he seems more entertained than anything. “I’d prefer if you didn’t throw my girlfriend headfirst towards a demon or ghost or whatever it is you saw.”

“Joon.” His name rolls off your tongue in a scolding moan as you rub wearily at your eyes. His words do little to help console you, and you’re certain it fairs even worse for poor Jimin.

“I’m sorry. I just━” Jimin pulls you tighter in front of him. “I swear I saw something. Holy shit.”

Jungkook’s the first one outside the room, his own camera in his hands as he goes to investigate. As the rest of the boys file outside in the corridor, you drag Jimin along with you, favouring not to be alone in any part of the building. You can hardly see anything, let alone a shadow. 

Jungkook turns back around at long last, a devious grin on his face as he finds Jimin’s wandering crazed stare. “Maybe it was the shadow man. Told you he exists.”

“I don’t care what it was. My heart almost fell out of my ass,” Jimin gasps. He clutches at his chest over his heart, for added emphasis. “Let’s get out of here.”

You aren’t quite sure if the boys believe him, but you do notice how quick they are to move on from the room and corridor. A palpable tension hangs heavy in the air that makes you realize perhaps the boys are starting to lose their cool under pressure. 

As you reconvene below on the main floor of the building, Namjoon pipes up. “Let’s split up. See if we can find anything on our own.”

“Okay, Scooby Doo,” Jin snorts. “You do know that this is how every horror movie begins, right? There’s power in numbers.”

“Yeah. Which is what we’ll all be saying when this video reaches trending on YouTube with a million views,” Namjoon says, matter-of-fact. “Which we can only do if we get some interesting content. So, let’s split up into pairs of two. We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

“We could just fake it,” Jimin suggests desperately. “Like every big YouTuber does. The magic of editing, guys.” But no one seems to be listening anymore as the group begins to splinter off. Yoongi and Jungkook decide to venture back upstairs in pursuit of the elusive and supposed shadow man, while Hoseok and Taehyung wander outside. Lost and dumbfounded, Jimin gawks around at his retreating friends, calling out in one last effort, “Anyone? …No? Okay, cool.”

He nearly lets out a yelp when Jin clasps a hand on the boy’s shoulder in a reassuring manner. “You’ll be okay, Jimin. C’mon, let’s go.”

Finally alone with Namjoon, he offers up his outstretched hand to you. You take it at once, gripping his palm a little tighter than necessary as he pulls you towards him. 

“You doing okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” You lie, even though you know he can see right through it. 

You’re content to find that he at least keeps your hand in his even as he tugs you along with him to explore the rest of the asylum. You decide to leave the building you’re both in and wander to another one where you stumble upon Hoseok and Taehyung on the main floor briefly. Then, making your way upstairs, you find nothing out of the ordinary but empty rooms that you suspect were once upon a time sleeping quarters for the patients. It’s less frightening than the other buildings, though still a little unnerving the longer you stay to explore. You climb the stairs until you’re on the third landing and inspect almost every room to find nothing. 

At some point, you let out a wavering sigh. Namjoon is busy waving around an EMF reader in a room. It’s empty aside from a dusty cot and a broken wardrobe, amongst a few other oddities covered in a thick layer of cobwebs and dirt. You could have sworn you’ve heard footsteps in almost every room you’ve entered that wasn’t either yours or Namjoons, and the strange sensation that you’re being followed hasn’t been able to shake from you. “Joon? Can we go back now? I’m starting to get a little spooked.”

Namjoon comes to a halt at once, turning around to face you. He gives your palm a comforting squeeze. “Hey, you’re okay. There’s nothing to be scared of. I don’t mean to sound like Yoongi but I highly doubt we have to worry about any ghosts.”

“Well, what do you think Jimin saw?”

“Who knows?” Namjoon shrugs. “It was probably just his imagination. Your mind plays tricks on you in the dark, doesn’t it? Here, let’s talk about something else to distract you.”

“Like?”

A moment of silence passes between the two of you as Namjoon considers another thought. You don’t even realize the smug smirk unfurling on his face until it’s too late. “Well… I had an idea earlier. Just a passing thought, really, but I bet it’d be fun anyway.”

“What was it?”

“We could probably have a quickie in one of these rooms and the boys would never know any different.”

You nearly choke at this, sputtering for air as you reach out to flick Namjoon’s shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” You admit sheepishly. He places his hands on your hips then, pulling you delicately towards him in a manner that makes it hard to focus now. “But I don’t know how I feel about ghosts watching us. Also, the couple that has sex in any horror movie usually ends up dying first.”

Namjoon shakes his head at you, albeit a little amused at your worrisome thoughts. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you. At least not while I’m here.”

“Coming from the man who tripped going up the stairs at your dorm the other day,” You point out tauntingly. The distant reminder and the sound of his abrupt laughter is enough to momentarily soothe your hammering heart. 

Namjoon gasps, feigning a look of mock hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean!”

“Means I love you very much but I don’t know how well you’d fair against ghosts or demons.”

“Ahh, I see how it is.” 

He sounds mildly offended and pokes his fingers at your sides but, in the ensuing scuffle to flee from his grasp, the both of you trip and fumble until you’re pressed up against the nearest wall, the sound of your snickers like music to his ears. He comes colliding against your front, hands digging into your hips. He leans forward to kiss your lips slowly, feeling you smile against him. A delightful chuckle bubbles at your mouth and he parts from you in the next moment wiggling his brows suggestively while a teasing smirk stretches at his face so wide, his dimples start to poke through.

“Wanna?” he asks. 

It’s a simple question, weighing heavy with dirty implications ━ and honestly? You’re kind of into it. Or maybe that’s just because he returns to kissing at your lips, only this time at the corners of your mouth, then the underside of your jaw. Tantalizing motions that seem to make your head spin violently. Your head lolls back against the wall behind you as he droops his head to your neck, lips meeting with the soft flesh of your throat to suck a delicate blossoming hickey there.

“Okay,” You rasp, “so maybe we can spare some time for this.”

“Ah, so now you’re interested.” His voice is huskier now, muffled by the way he busies himself by nipping at the same spot on your throat. He hears your breath hitch, feels the way you part your legs just slightly enough to have him sink further against you. He marvels at your decision in the morning to throw on a skirt and a pair of thick wool tights. At the time, you had said it was because the weather wasn’t too brisk outside just yet; now, he was thanking you silently for unknowingly picking just the right outfit for the occasion. 

“Namjoon…” Your voice is strained now, a mix between a plea and a whine and he grunts against your neck.

It takes Namjoon a moment to rack his brain, realizing that he finds it hard to even form a proper sentence anymore. “Don’t even need to feel my dick in you. Just wanna get you off, baby. Can I?”

You’re already practically drooling. “Think the boys will notice if we’re gone a little longer?” 

“Who cares?” Namjoon quips. “Jimin’ll probably think we got possessed and lost in the demon world or something.”

You giggle, though your voice splinters off into a soft moan as he continues to nip and suck at your neck. His hand falls to your thighs then, fingers brushing upward faintly until he meets the short hem of your skirt before disappearing beneath it. His hand comes to grasp at the delicate curve of your ass, his palm hot and firm against your soft flesh. 

He groans into your neck. “Been dying all night to touch you.”

“Then don’t stop.”

If the way his hardening cock now forms against your inner thigh any inclination, you don’t think he has plans on doing so. Instead, you watch as he lifts his free hand to your mouth, fingers tapping at your lips in a wordless motion. “Open up.”

You do as you’re told, lips parting just enough to wrap around his two fingers. He gazes at you with hooded eyes as you suck at his digits, tongue laving against the sturdy form in your mouth until his fingers are coated thick with your saliva. His other hand, still attached to the rump of your ass, moves like water over your skin to your thigh once more, nudging you aside just enough, pinching delicately at the skin there; he pulls his fingers from your mouth then, then lets the same hand venture under your skirt in a similar fashion. He wastes no time in pushing aside the material of your panties, pressing his digits at your core, watchful eyes staying fixated on yours if only to watch your every expression. His dampened fingers slide over your folds, spreading them open, running across them, admiring the way your stickiness already forms between your legs. 

“Joon…” You cling to him tighter, both to steady yourself against the sudden ministrations and to shield yourself more from view, though you’re certain there’s a slim chance the boys will come across you and Namjoon like this. You hope.

Namjoon’s fingers slip past your folds then, slow and steady as he feels the tight constricting walls of your cunt. You throb around him, thinking only of his cock, imagining the girth of it fitting snug deep within you. The similar stretch of your walls, the fluid motion of his length burrowing in and out of you, wrecking you into shambles. Now, Namjoon wriggles his fingers upward, scratching at a spot within you that has you writhing against him, the slick wetness of your arousal sufficiently coating his fingers. His thumb finds your clit then, running small circles against the small bundle of nerves.

“So wet,” Namjoon moans, resting his forehead against yours. He notes the way your teeth sink into your lower lip, and pulls his free hand out from under your skirt to tap his fingers against your chin. “Gonna moan for me, baby? Let the boys hear you? Maybe wake the dead?”

“You’re such a brat,” You simper through a shuddering breath, and if you weren’t so consumed by him then maybe you would have laughed at the joke he manages to squeeze in at the last moment. But he’s not wrong. What’s the point in keeping silent in an abandoned building that you’re positive only you and your friends are currently occupying? How much longer do you expect to keep quiet, when the way he’s making you feel begins to slowly burn at your insides? 

He curls his fingers deep in you, and your jaw unhinges in a silent gap. You wonder how long you can last, face burning with every passing second as he fingers you closer and closer to your high. Your hips jut outward to meet his hand with every motion, grinding against his knuckles in a desperate need to get off. You’re shameless about it too, fingers gripping his shirt tightly, brows scrunched together in hardened dedication. 

“Such a pretty little mess,” Namjoon hums. “Want you to cum on my hand, baby girl.”

“Fuck, Namjoon━” You whimper now, head lulling back as he twists his fingers further in you. 

But, as soon as you do so, the echoing sound of footsteps has your eyes darting to the darkened corridor. You make out the sound of oblivious chatter, and the familiar voices of Taehyung and Hoseok echoing from somewhere down below. They must be two floors down, though you can hear them screaming at nothing in particular, except for a string of profanities that meet your ears.

“Jesus, fuck!” That definitely sounds like Taehyung, voice shrill with worry. 

“Chill!” There’s Hoseok, but you think he was also screaming moments ago with Taehyung. “It’s just a spider.”

“I don’t care! Get it off of me!”

“Bunch of dumbasses,” Namjoon shakes his head rigidly, a fleeting grin forming on his face that is quick to fade as he curls his fingers upwards further into you. And, while your attention is somewhat fixated on the boys, you find yourself treading a fine line of not giving a fuck as Namjoon’s fingers stay buried deep within your cunt. Still, Namjoon can sense the slight urgency in your demeanor when your hands wind around his neck to tug at his hair, as if to gesture to the strangers that he already knows are nearby. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs reassuringly, voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re doing so good, love.”

He slows his fingers almost to a halt as you burrow your face in the crook of his neck. Your walls continue to clench around his fingers, and he adds a third finger to stretch you out just enough in a teasing leisure manner. He does it on purpose too, this much you know for certain, as he pinches playfully at your waist. It’s lewd, the idea of him fingering you out in public like this but the emboldened adrenaline coursing through your veins doesn’t want him to stop. By now, your high overwhelms everything else, causing you to writhe against Namjoon as he cradles you to him. You cum moments later, your orgasm overcoming you before you can sense it, trembling beneath his hands as he continues to finger you through it. Warm, wet arousal leaks from your core, coats his fingers all over as a punctuating whimper of his name tumbles from your lips.

“That’s it, baby,” he says gently. “Let everyone hear how dirty you are. Let it all out.”

Your thighs shake, squeezing shut around his hand, and all he can do is rub soothing circles into your hips with his free hand. He waits for your breath to steady, as the coil in your belly loosens, instead taking the time to admire you to your fullest, drunken hooded eyes glazed over in that perfect expression he loves.

“Want your cock in me now, Joon,” You whine breathlessly. The whining persistence in your voice excites Namjoon, only amplified tenfold by the way you begin nipping and sucking at his neck. 

“Now?” he asks.

“Now.”

Almost instantly, there’s a noticeable shift in his expression, a shit-eating smirk tugging at his mouth. You smother the rest of it before it can become too smug, folding your lips over his. Still, he hums through your eager kissing, “Yeah? Gonna let me fuck you like this, love? Take you raw against this wall, right here, right now?”

“Yes, please,” You mewl. Growing restless, you beg silently, “Namjoon.”

“Better make it quick then, hm?” 

You can only nod, still in a daze from the orgasm that still courses through your veins. Namjoon’s quick to oblige, pulling his hands from your heat and wiping your slick wetness off on his thigh. Clumsy hands between the both of you fumble to undo the button of his jeans, hastily undoing them just enough to free his straining cock from within. He wedges himself between your legs, hiking your skirt farther up your thighs, and he hurries to free his length from its confinements, wild locks spilling out onto his forehead and into your own line of sight. You push his hair up and away from his face, though your fingers grip suddenly at the roots of his locks when he grips your thigh and hoists it up to his hip, and then pushes himself into you at once, the tip of his warm cock easily coaxed by your already wet walls. He moans into your neck but muffles it halfheartedly by kissing along your throat.

“Easy there, boy,” You snicker, though your own words are a weak drunken slur, drowning out into a muffled whimper as he thrusts himself into you all the way. His hips meet yours roughly, grinding against you as your walls stretch around his throbbing cock.

“I’m needy,” he whines. “Just wanna feel you around me.”

He wastes no time in moving again, pulling his hips back only to thrust into you, adopting a steady fluid pace in such a way that has your head lolling back against the wall, and your mouth popping open in a silent moan as you shift beneath him. The wall of the building behind you is rough and jagged but you don’t feel it, not with the way he continues to thrust into you. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, stretching you apart in such a way that has him pummeling his length into your core just right. 

“Fuck,” he grunts into your neck. Impatient hands move to yank your shirt up to your chest, pulling your bra down just enough for your breasts to pop out. He moves to leave a wet trail of kisses to your breasts, catching one of your nipples between his teeth and sucking harshly at it. The new sensation has your own walls clenching around him, and he almost comes undone then. Against your chest, you can hear him murmur breathlessly, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Mmm,” You tug harshly at the roots of his hair. An unabashedly loud moan nearly tumbles from your lips before you can bite it back. Elsewhere, you can hear the sound of faint footsteps once more in the far distance, Taehyung and Hoseok much closer this time (quite possibly on the same floor as you, but the opposite end), but you don’t seem to care much anymore about the potentiality of being caught. “Fuck, Namjoon━”

“You like being fucked like this?” he rasps. “Out in public, for anyone to see?”

You feebly muster a nod, lips parting in a silent moan safe for the sound of your hot panting in his ear. Hurried yet deep shuddering strokes, he fucks into you again and again until your head is spinning. Every thrust sends a jolt up your spine and, still riddled by your first high, your body is quick to turn into shambles beneath him. Your hands flail outward to grasp onto every inch of his body, hands slithering beneath the material of his shirt, fingernails to dig crescent shapes into his torso, then snaking downward to grasp at his bum, pulling him in closer each time he rolls his hips into yours.

“Joon…” Your voice is an exhausted moan when it meets his ear. He almost doesn’t hear it, instead too caught up in the way your panting breaths mingle with the crude wetness of his cock delving past your folds each time. Somewhere, once more, in the distance even closer this time is the sound of footsteps once more. The thought of someone walking in one you like this━Namjoon wedged between your thighs, drilling his leaking cock into your wet cunt and tearing you to utter shambles━does something chaotically good to you. “Not gonna last.”

“Me neither,” he gasps. “Don’t care. Just wanna cum. Just wanna feel you cum around me.”

His thrusts begin to tread into sloppy territory, fervently itching to get both of you off. You reach your second high first, tumbling towards it with open arms. You can’t contain yourself, the tempting moan dancing upon the tip of your tongue, burning in your throat as your orgasm twists at your belly. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna━” 

But your voice splinters off into a delicious sounding whimper. Wary of being caught by your wandering friends when you’re both so close to being undone (because, really, the idea of someone else hearing you whimper because of how good his cock is exhilarates him), Namjoon’s hand clamps over your lips and you welcome it graciously, favouring the idea of his fingers poking into your mouth so that you have something to distract your moaning. It still comes, broken and inaudible, smothered by Namjoon’s hand, as your tongue lavs around his digits. 

Now, you’re truly a sight to behold, making Namjoon’s length twitch amongst your walls. Exhausted, fucked out eyes gawk at him, too weak to carry on, instead jutting your hips forward to meet his with each thrust. 

“Shit,” he whines. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N━”

He comes moments later, frantic slaps of his own hips having him spilling his seed sloppily into your already wet cunt. The abrupt sensation as your own walls clenching so impossibly tight around him, he feels as if he can’t move, though it’s not as if he immediately plans to. Instead, after a few more rocky thrusts into you to ride out both of your highs, he collapses against your chest and you smooth your fingers delicately through his hair. 

It’s a miracle when you both manage to finally pry themselves off of one another. As Namjoon hurries to tuck himself back into his jeans, you fidget with your bra and shirt, and then the hem of your skirt, tugging it as low as it can go. His cum is still warm and sticky between your legs, slowly beginning to run down your inner thighs. 

You catch him looking at some point and ask curiously, “What?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “Just wondering how you still manage to look so beautiful even after having my cum fucked in you.”

You roll your eyes as you reach out to ruffle his messy hair in an attempt to tame the damage you’ve caused. He smiles wide at the effort anyway. 

“Decent?” he asks.

“Good enough,” You say. “Now, let’s find the boys before anyone notices we were gone for too long.”

And this, he doesn’t disagree with.

Later, when you and Namjoon have regrouped with the rest of the boys back by the cars parked outside the asylum, everyone looks a little more on edge than when you left them. Except for maybe you and Namjoon. You wonder if the boys notice, judging by the way you and Namjoon keep giggling amongst yourselves.

“So,” Jungkook says, “did you guys find anything?”

“Nothing,” Jin admits. “Just freaked out Jimin a little bit more.”

The boy in question can be seen scowling to himself, arms folded over his chest. “All I gotta say is screw this place.”

Hoseok looks indifferent as he reviews a recording on the camera in his hands. When he speaks, his voice is a casual drawl. “Dunno. Thought we heard some suspiciously loud moaning from one part of that building that I’m almost positive Namjoon and Y/N were exploring.”

At this, Taehyung bursts out into wolfish laughter, only prompted further by your sudden horrified expression that you try to play off nonchalantly and fail miserably at doing. So they had heard you two after all? “Ha! They sure were exploring something.”

While the rest of the boys look either intrigued or rightfully confused, Namjoon shakes his head defiantly. “Nah, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Resisting the urge to hide behind your hands, you bite your tongue and try to sift through your brain for something else to discuss. Over the childish giggling sounding from Taehyung and Hoseok, you ask, “Well, did you guys find anything? Thought we heard you exploring the third floor.”

“Third floor?” Hoseok echoes, dumbfounded. “We didn’t get that far.”

“But I could have sworn I heard you guys.”

Hoseok’s brows knit together. He exchanges a look with Taehyung, then returns his stare to you. “You probably heard Tae screaming like a lunatic because a spider was on him. We were only in there long enough to try the spirit box out again, but that was on the second floor. Then the spider thing happened. Then, we left.”

Now, this is alarming. You gap at the boys as your mind tries to piece together the puzzles of this dilemma. Had you heard the boys, or perhaps something else entirely? Or maybe it was just your imagination. Namjoon did say your mind plays tricks on you ━ but the sound of footsteps had been so vivid. 

Even Namjoon looks stupefied, gawking at Hoseok. “Wait, you’re not joking, are you?”

“No,” Taehyung shakes his head. “We were filming the whole time. We can show you. Are you guys joking?”

“No,” You promise. “We were━ Erm━ We got distracted. We weren’t really paying much attention but━”

You’re fortunate when Yoongi decides to speak up, interrupting your embarrassed stammering. “So then what did you guys hear…?

A beat of silence passes amongst your group of friends. One-by-one, you each turn to look up at the haunting asylum still standing behind you, the night blurring its shape into one incomprehensible monstrosity. Okay, so maybe the ghost stories about this place are true. A shiver runs down your spine. 

Then━

“So does that mean the ghost is a Peeping Tom or━?” Jungkook asks. You wonder if you should be concerned by his serious tone.

The boys howl with laughter at the thought, though you’re still admittedly a little shaken up by the idea of a ghost watching you and Namjoon bone. Maybe you asked for it, what with deciding to have a quickie in a haunted asylum. 

“I don’t know, but can we please get out of here?” You press thinly. “Jimin was right. Screw this place.”

If the boys are as deeply unsettled by yours and Namjoon’s sudden revelation, you don’t know. You all manage to pack up your belongings and clamber in the cars in record timing, speeding away from the asylum unscathed. And if you really did just witness a ghost encounter, then you suppose it isn’t all that bad. 

At the very least, Namjoon’s video does make it to the trending page.

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[gallickingun]

break the glass {in case of emergency} || t.s.

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto needs help, so he hires a nanny. More specifically, he hires you. 

PAIRING: Pro Hero!Shouto x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, smut, slight violence, etc. WORD COUNT: 21.2k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is at the end of this post!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the definition of a labor of love. big thanks to @k-atsukidayo, @freckledoriya, and @lady-bakuhoe for keeping me sane. and super shoutout to my love @shoutogepi bc she’s been my hype lady! i hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations because wow has it been a wild ride ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

Shouto’s feet are trudging through the proverbial thick of life.

His ankles twist the further he tries to advance, and with every step forward, another tragedy breaks the fragility of the glass box he now lives in. The etching begins at the center, spreading out into cracks like lightning, threatening to shatter what remains of the clear cage.

And yet, Shouto must put on the mask, he must pretend that everything is fine when in fact he really would rather crumble to the floor with his hands in his hair. There are nights when he presses his palms into his temples, wishing and praying that someone out there might be listening so they can help him to will away the painful throbbing between his eyes. He can’t whimper, can’t make a sound, because if he does, if he withdraws the curtain and allows the world to know how inundated he truly is, then it will all be for naught.

“Daddy?”

Shouto blinks harshly to bring himself out of the vortex of his trepid thoughts, “Hey, love, what are you doing awake?”

Her teetering body scrambles into the room, pawing at the bedsheets as a broken sob parts her lips and shakes her chest. Shouto leans down to tuck his hands under her armpits, jolting her upward so she’s pressed into his chest. Her small hands grip onto the skin of his pectorals, thin fingernails scraping at his flesh. Shouto winces, but cradles her around the back regardless, the warmth of her heated cheek on his collarbone alarming.

“Did you have a bad dream?” he asks, soothing one of his hands through her hair while the other rests splayed against her back, dipping gently to try and ease her crying. She doesn’t answer, hiccupping cries making her whole body shake as she clutches onto him.

“Hey,” Shouto presses his lips to the crown of her head before coaxing her head backward. He tucks his thumb underneath her chin, “Talk to me.”

The little girl’s lower lip is wobbling, eyes doe-like and full of tears, thick white eyelashes dense with the little saltine droplets. She palms at Shouto’s face with one hand, seeming ancient when she whispers, “Why did they take mommy from me?”

And just like that, the glass box shatters.

Shouto feels the explosion, but maintains his composure regardless of the impact. Shards lodge into his throat and lungs, painful twinges jutting into his insides. His voice feels jagged when he speaks next, grating against his esophagus and tongue, “Sometimes the world just isn’t fair, love. I wish I had a better answer for you, but there’s not always a perfect explanation.”

Her bejeweled turquoise eyes behold him, thumbs against his mouth as she stares up at him. Glassy irises are blown wide by frightened pupils, “I miss her.”

She collapses back into him like a star shattering in the galaxy, explosive tears dripping down his chest as she tremors. The implosion of her life plays before him in the form of an empty half of the bed, a bare side of the bathroom, and a nightstand still left unembellished despite having been there for almost two years.

“I miss her too,” Shouto murmurs into the child’s silvery hair.

If he sheds a few silent tears of his own, she does not admonish him for it, instead laying quietly until her tears and shaking sobs have exhausted her tiny body. Her lips part and she begins to drool into the pocket of his collarbone, hands twitching against his chest.

A gentle melody vibrates Shouto’s lungs as he rolls himself to the side, carefully displacing her from his body to the empty half of the bed. The toddler grabs for him as soon as the warmth of his body disappears, and Shouto focuses all of his energy into regulating the warmth of his left side. He brushes his thumb over her cheek, pushing her silken hair from her mouth so it does not stick with her drool.

He chuckles, tucking her locks behind her ear, cupping her cheek with his warm palm, “Good night, Hana.”

The only acknowledgement he receives is a gentle snore that flares her nostrils and expands her chest, small body only looking tinier in the large expanse of the king-sized bed. Shouto lies there in wonder, his heated hand keeping in contact with her body until she halts her shivering.

How did I get so lucky? He thinks to himself, the threat of tears pressing intensely against the backs of his eyelids. He can’t close them, though, because he’s afraid he might miss a moment of his daughter’s sorrow.

Shouto leans forward to press a kiss to her furrowed brow, the familiar weight of his lips on her head giving her the comfort she needs to release the tension in her sleep. Her expression mellows, the crinkles in her forehead smoothing until she looks something akin to peaceful, ethereal.

The last thing Shouto sees before his mind succumbs to the lure of unconsciousness is her silvery hair glistening in the moonlight of the bedroom, her tiny palm wrapped around his index finger, clutching on like he were her lifeline.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“I can handle this on my own.”

“This isn’t just another assignment. This is your daughter, Shouto.”

His nostrils flare, “Yeah, and?”

Fuyumi rolls her eyes, containing herself by taking a deep breath through the nose. Shouto’s eyes wander as Hana teeters around the kitchen with a few crayons and a plush rabbit.

“There’s no reason to keep yourself from admitting you need help, Shouto,” Fuyumi grits her teeth and attempts to appear somehow cheerful, even if just for Hana’s sake. She flexes her jaw, “This is an insanely large house, brother. You could use the extra hands.”

Shouto narrows his eyes, the scar over his left side appearing even more intimidating when his expression shifts, “You’re not moving in here, ‘Umi. I’ll figure something else out.”

His sister runs a hand through her hair, shaking her head as she turns her attention to the toddler bobbing her head to an invisible jukebox as she colors another page in her book. Fuyumi licks her lips, “Listen, will you at least call her? She’s great with kids, and she’s between jobs right now. It could at least turn into a short-term benefit for the both of you.”

After a moment of aggressive silence, Shouto nods. He decides, internally, that his agreement is purely out of the recognition that it will force his sister to let the topic rest.

“I’ll call her.”

“Thank you,” Fuyumi’s chest deflates, releasing a pent-up breath she had been holding in unexpectedly. She sifts her fingers through Hana’s hair, thumbing at her ear gingerly, “I know you hate that I loom over you like another mother, but I just want to make sure that you’re both taken care of.”

Shouto’s expression softens, eyes turning from jeweled beads to something more pliable. His chest tightens at her admission, the reality of their situation doing nothing to lighten the burden on his shoulders. He takes a step towards his sister, praying she can see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks, “I’ll be okay, ‘Umi. I promise.”

Fuyumi allows herself a moment to take in the sight of Shouto’s twenty-one month old child, watching as she scribbles her crayons onto the coloring book in front of her with as much precision as she can muster. A somber smile tugs on her lips and she sighs, closing her eyes as she readjusts her glasses, “I just worry about you, is all. Taking over a large agency is a lot of work, especially with the added pressure of being a good father.”

“I will be a good father,” Shouto is quick to refute her lofty accusations, the intensity of his voice causing Hana to turn her attention from her book to her father. He narrows his eyes at his sister, “I won’t turn out like dad.”

Holding her hands up in mock-surrender, Fuyumi takes a step back, “I know, Shouto. Trust me, I know.” Her eyes are wide and Shouto feels fear grip his spine like a cold shadow, curling up into him and suffocating his throat. He wants to gasp but he cannot show weakness, not now. Fuyumi inhales a short breath, “You’re the furthest thing from our father. Which is why I think you should seriously consider reaching out, getting another pair of hands on deck.”

Shouto considers her, tilting his head. The implications that his ability at caring for his daughter makes his chest constrict, heart aching in a way he’s never felt before. His eyes dart downward, catching on the silver hair of his child as she sits on the floor, grubby hands gripping at crayons while she smears color all over the pages of her book.

“I’ll call her,” he repeats his words from earlier. “I will.”

Fuyumi reaches out to take her brother into a hug, breathing her peaceful nature onto him like a ghost begging to infiltrate his body. Shouto takes a long drag, lips parted when he wraps his arms around his sister’s smaller frame.

As his sister is leaving, Hana’s eyes focus on the door. Todoroki can’t help himself wonder for a moment if she believes that someone else might come walking back across the threshold, if only she were to look at just the perfect moment. The sun shines on Fuyumi’s figure, forcing a silhouette onto the floorboards of the entryway. If he were to squint the right way, it’s possible he could see her outline there, darkness shaped by the light.

Shouto must bite the inside of his cheek to keep his mind still.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Later that evening, when Shouto has his daughter resting in the crook of his arm, an educational children’s program playing on the television for background noise, he pulls his phone from his pocket to sift through text messages and emails. There are dozens of alerts to sort through, but the one thing his fingers keep returning to is the sight of your contact information in a message forwarded to him by his sister.

If you are every as bit as wonderful and kind as Fuyumi says you are, then Shouto is frightened of what you are capable of, based on your resume and photograph alone.

Not only do you have a stunning personality – caring, gentle, organized – but you have a beautiful outward appearance as well. Shouto notices the curve of your lips, the structure of your jaw and cheeks, and the way your eyes lilt upward at the camera.

The one thing Shouto hates the most about himself, the very being engrained within him to emulate, is that he was brought up worrying about these different kinds of things – the anatomy of a potential candidate.

It’s the Todoroki within him, the lurking presence of his father threatening to stifle his breathing, to suffocate him until Enji is the only glowing ember left in his charred, desolate soul. Shouto sits in the dark, the looming reality that he may very well end up exactly like his father forcing him to press the little green button at the bottom of the screen.

You pick up on the second ring, “Hello?”

“H-Hi there,” Shouto’s voice sticks in his throat.

A gentle laugh from the other end of the line makes his heart stop beating within the confines of his chest, “What can I do for you?”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Shouto has never been so worried about the interior design of his house before.

He realizes suddenly that there are no photographs on the walls, no pictures hanging to tell the sad tale of his life story. The recognition of this little detail only further throws him into a darkness he knows he won’t ever be able to fully crawl out of. Every day he must fight this beast, this unseen presence that sits on his shoulders, forcing him to carry the burden. He’s never wanted to tell his life story, not with the way it played out, especially not now.

Abusive father. Hospitalized mother. Deceased wife.

When the doorbell rings, he pulls himself from his stupor to step forward into the foyer. Shouto takes a deep breath and curls his toes into the rug to ground his body as he turns the doorknob. It’s as if the door stands for something much weightier, a distance currently built between you and him, something he can control.

But when the heavy door gives way to the sunshine outside, your body casting an elongated shadow on the hardwood, Shouto’s ankles lock and his fingers still against metal.

“Todoroki Shouto?”

The sound of your voice, completely unadulterated from the natural static of a phone, makes Shouto’s head spin. He nods, swallowing so hard his throat bobs, “Yes, please come in.”

You kick your shoes off as soon as you step across the threshold, tucking them to the side near the other pairs of dress shoes and sneakers accompanied by little ballerina slip-ons and tiny formal shoes. He notices the way your eyes linger on the pink ballerina slippers that aren’t really shoes at all, more like glorified socks, and he has to hold back a chuckle.

Shouto raises his hand in a greeting, kicking the door closed with his ankle as he turns to face you, “Thank you for meeting me.”

“I appreciate you interviewing me,” you answer him, reaching forward to meet his handshake. You’re grinning when he makes eye contact with you, cheeks round with your smile. “I know that your schedule is very hectic.”

Shouto can’t think about it too much or it makes his brain throb within his skull. He grits his teeth, “Yes, my assistant was able to push out a few other unimportant meetings for this. I do apologize, but my daughter is currently with my sister. I thought it may be best for us to meet first and then decide if it will be a good fit before we introduce her into the situation.”

“I can respect that.” You smile, wrapping your arms around your waist as you stand in front of him. The surprising warmth from his hand sits with you, palm tingling even as it’s tucked between your body. A nervous laugh parts your lips as your feet shuffle, “I wouldn’t want to get too attached to her if you didn’t like me.”

Shouto chuckles, his eyes darting to his toes, “Oh, it’s not you I would be afraid of being incompatible. Hana can be very picky.”

Your thumbs dig into your biceps, rolling your lips together as you consider your reply. A soft padding forward of your feet on the dense rug makes little sound, but still breaks Todoroki’s gaze from the floor.

“You’d be surprised,” your left eye dropping in a wink. “I have quite the effect on people. Especially those who stand three feet and shorter.”

He is shocked to find himself grinning at your jesting remark, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he shuffles a step backward from you. You tilt your head, eyes washing over his tall frame, “I’ve been doing this a long time, Mr. Todoroki. Usually children are withdrawn from their caretakers because they fear we’re trying to replace someone more important in their lives.”

You are closer to him now as you stride across the tile. Todoroki feels his chest constrict when you speak, “I’m not here to be anything more than supplemental. You set the boundaries, Mr. Todoroki, and those are what I will abide by without a shadow of a doubt. I’m here to do as much or as little as you need of me.”

It takes him a moment to recuperate, faltering before he replies, “I appreciate that. I-I’ve never done this before. I wasn’t planning on it.”

Shouto notices the way you visibly shrink away from him, understanding the subliminal tones in his words. He holds a hand in the air, palm face-up, “No, that’s not, I just-”

A sigh parts his lips and he looks back down at his feet, but you’re careening forward to save the day before he can dig himself further into a hole he’s already drowning in. You chuckle, “I don’t think many people choose to have children only to set them into the hands of a nanny, Mr. Todoroki. You needed help, that much is clear, and I don’t blame you for reaching out. I think being able to push through your pride and do what is best for your child is not something you should be ashamed of.”

Oh yes, Todoroki thinks to himself with a smirk on his lips, hand outstretched towards you again, He’s going to like you just fine.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

You did not imagine your initial meeting with Todoroki Hana to go like this.

Shouto’s voice is mildly frantic on the other line, which is telling in it of itself. Even upon your first meeting, you knew that he was to be a mild-mannered, easy-going man. He does not seem to be a person who is easily upset by much, so the lilt in his voice is a clear indicator to his mood.

“It’s okay,” you try to remain calm in spite of his fear, praying that your clear head can help him to unwind. “I’m sure she’s fine, Mr. Todoroki. I’m already in the car, on the way to the daycare right now. I’ll go pick her up and call you as soon as I have my eyes on her.”

A breath is exhaled from the other end of the receiver, and you can imagine the way his chest deflates at your words. You smile to yourself, phone pressed to your ear as you drive down the highway, “It will only take me twenty minutes. Until then, try to keep yourself busy, okay?”

The two of you exchange pleasantries before you close your phone, slipping it back underneath your thigh before focusing on the road again. You were thankful that Shouto had already installed a car seat into back row, allowing you to go pick up Hana without having to do too much extra preparation.

Driving to the daycare facility takes eighteen minutes on one stretch of highway. You feel your palms sweat the entire way, recalling Todoroki’s words about Hana’s injuries she sustained on the playground not very long ago. The tremor in his voice sent a jolt down your spine, your bones rattling around in your body as you imagine the dozens of different cuts or gashes she might have on her body.

And then there’s the reality that this will be the first time you ever lay eyes on Todoroki Hana. It will be your reckoning day, the deciding moment of happenstance when she makes the choice of whether or not you are worthy of her acceptance.

You park and walk into the building, your eyes wavering over the entire intricate structure. It’s a formation of pillars and high roofing, accented with filigree of metal curved into beautiful shapes. The price point of this facility does not go over your head, given the marble pillars look genuine, smooth and rounded in all the right places. You run your fingertips over the cool stone as you walk to the thick, mahogany door. The doorknob is sparkling gold, as if someone polished it when they saw you park.

All the details wrapped into a pristine package ease your mind about the salary that Todoroki Shouto is paying you. Originally, you’d wanted to fight him on it, but you acquiesced into silence after taking note of his watch and the name brand of his suit jacket.

Your hand shoves at the front door, weighted and dense, and you step up to the front desk. Resting your forearms on the top of the divider, you smile down at her, “Hi, I’m here to pick up Todoroki Hana.”

It’s clear this woman has never seen you before by the way her eyes gawk over your appearance. You may not be dressed as pristinely as she might like, but you still look rather presentable, given the time restraints you were under to come pick up the young girl.

She tilts her head as if considering you like prey before grabbing up the phone on her desk, muttering a few words into the receiver. As she hangs up, she holds out a clipboard, “We’ll need a copy of your ID. Mr. Todoroki called ahead to let us know you’d be coming, but we’d just like confirmation. For Hana’s safety.”

It all makes sense, and is rather sound policy, but the curl of her lips when she says it forces a vat of acid into your stomach. You swallow your retort that is sitting on your tongue like a knife and gently take the board from her hand.

As you’re filling out the paperwork, the sound of little footsteps starts down the hallway. You tilt your head, pen stilled in your grip, awaiting what feels like your very own doomsday. This little almost two-year-old holds your fate in her tiny, grubby hands.

You stand and replace the clipboard onto the front desk, sliding your ID along with it. Turning your head, you await the arrival of your own two-foot-tall guillotine. You twist your hands together, knuckles wrung out white as you wait for Hana to approach the curve of the hallway and seal your fate. You know you should not be this anxious over a child who has just broken into real sneakers, but the rational part of you never wins out in these kinds of situations.

Todoroki Shouto is paying you something on the upside of expensive, offering you a generous starting bonus in addition to your typical pay so you could start working earlier than expected and still make your rent payments without worry. It would be a shame to lose that thick paycheck just because you could not win over a teetering toddler who probably babbles about princesses and the color purple most of the day.

“Hana, it looks like your-”

“Nanny,” you interject as you hear the voice echoing down the hall, attempting to avoid any confusion if possible. You brush your thighs free of any imaginary dust and crumbs so you can hide the shaking of your joints, “I work for Mr. Todoroki.”

When they finally round the corner, you stop breathing.

The little girl standing in front of you cannot be much over two feet tall, bright blue eyes shining as she drinks you in apprehensively. Her pupils shrink the closer she gets, bejeweled eyes swallowed by the inkiness. Her hands fidget at her sides while she stutter-steps towards you. The long locks of pale, silver hair reach midway down her back, the curled tips giving her an almost doll-like appearance with their perfection. Her full lips are drawn inward, tentative, much like her father.

And there, covering her right eye, a gauze bandage attempting to staunch and protect a wound.

You cannot help the way your eyes widen at the sight of her injured face, your hands ready to snag her up and race her to the nearest emergency room. Todoroki hadn’t told you the extent of her injuries, just that she had an accident on the playground, and someone needed to pick her up immediately.

“Hi Hana,” you squat down so you can appear to her at eye-level, an effort to put her at ease. “Your daddy heard you took a fall outside with your friends and he wanted me to come pick you up. Are you okay?”

She has obviously been crying, cheeks dark red and swollen, her visible eye puffy from tears. Your inner nature is telling you to reach out and comfort her, taking her by the hand and drawing her up into your arms to give her a gentle squeeze. But you know that there is a time and place and threshold for each form of affection, so you withdraw.

“How bad is it?” You turn your gaze upward, calves screaming as you shift your weight. You seek out the eyes of her teacher, trying to gauge your reaction based on her body language, “It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding too much now, and she’s rather calm. Was her eye directly injured?”

“No, it’s just around the orbital,” her teacher runs fingertips through Hana’s hair, “I don’t think she’ll need stitches, but she will definitely need this wound cleaned up by a professional. I know Mr. Todoroki has a nurse he usually calls.”

It’s as if these women are trying to suffocate you with their knowledge of Todoroki, almost like them knowing he has a nurse, or not knowing he’d hired you until today, would win them some sort of award or accolade. You try your best not to let your stomach turn at the sight of them, desperate and petty.

“Hana?”

She tilts her head up at you, another round of tears welling up in her eyelids. You wonder if it is from stress, pain, or a mixture of that and the uncomfortable feeling she can sense from the way you’re interacting with the daycare staff. She sniffles and wipes her face with the back of her forearm, careful of her injured eye, “Y-Yes ma’am?”

So Shouto has taught her manners.

You attempt to keep your composure at the sound of her tinny, trepid voice echoing out the words that are normally rare for even full-grown adults to use. In reaching out your hand, you notice she does not shrink away from you, not this time, “I think we ought to go have that nurse of your dad’s check out your eye, what do you think?”

There is silence for a moment, genuine concern evident in her sparkling irises. She blinks quickly, like she is trying to figure you out before she makes her decision in response to your question. You don’t want to clue her in to the fact that, at the end of the day, it’s not really her choice to make – that plight between staying here and going somewhere else has been completely left up to you.

“You know,” you’re whispering now, dramatically hiding your mouth behind the palm of your hand, pretending that that others standing around can’t hear you. “I think that I saw this cool ice cream shop on the way here. You think you could help me try a new flavor?”

This makes her eyes widen, pushing herself up on her tiptoes as she fails to contain her excitement at the suggestion of a sugary treat, “Wh-What flavor?”

You grin, warmth seeping into your chest as a giggle bubbles up in her throat, “I was thinking bubblegum, or maybe cotton candy?”

Hana’s nose scrunches at the suggestion, “No way!”

“Well,” you stand to your full height, hands on your hips as you pout, “what would you rather have then?”

She is full-on smiling now, cheeks drawn upward so her dimples can dip into her cheeks on either side, “I like mint w-with choco-chips in it!”

You hold your hand out again, praying that now, after divulging your favorite ice cream flavors, she won’t totally reject you. The last thing you want is for her to force your hand in making a decision to pick her up and take her out of the daycare.

Hana pushes herself up and down on her toes, biting her lip before bursting with a smile, “Y-You really mean it?! Ice cream?”

“I don’t see why not,” you shrug, wriggling your fingers as the other women watch on in amazement as your connection to the child. “I think you deserve it after that nasty fall you took.”

Bouncing towards you, Hana bobs into the air by pushing upward on the balls of her feet. She reaches out and snags your hand into her grip of her own accord, before beginning to tug you to the exit. She is babbling on about all of the ice cream flavors she’s tried, and what they taste like, and the last time she had ice cream was oh so long ago…

“See you later, ladies,” you wave over your shoulder, unable to hide the satisfied smirk making your mouth crooked, “I guess we’re going to get ice cream.”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Hana knows how to buckle herself in, so she’s already clambering up into your car as soon as you have the door open. Her injury is completely forgotten as she bustles up into the seat, climbing in awkwardly before turning around to plop her backside into the curve of the cushions. Her fingers are frantic as she desperately tries to get the straps clicked together so you can be on your way to the nearest ice cream shop. You smile at her struggle, allowing her to settle with a pout before offering her your help.

“I-I can do it!” she insists, eyes misted. “I-I’m a big girl!”

“Oh, no doubt,” you shake your head in reassurance, pursing your lips as you hold your hands up in midair, palms facing her. “I’m just trying to help so we can get to our ice cream just a tad faster.”

Your reasoning seems to be sound, because Hana releases the offending buckle and puts her hands on either side of her car seat to give you enough room to maneuver and snap the contraption in place. Your hands make swift work of the buckles and straps, tightening them to the perfect spot on her chest and hips. She smiles up at you when you’re finished, expectant and excited.

It is strange, the intense desire to protect her that immediately washes over you at first sight. You have to stop yourself from rushing into allowing her between the cracks of your heart. You are frantic to seal them so you can let yourself down easy if this job ends up being as short-term as you’re worried of it becoming.

You pull away from her, face blank, and shut the door as Hana begins to fiddle with the remaining length of the straps around her body. Her fingers swirl around the black fabric and plastic, tugging and pulling, but not hard enough to adjust any of your hard work.

On your way to the parlor, you decide to call Shouto.

“Daddy!”

A relieved sigh sounds from the other end of the receiver, and you can’t help the warmth that blooms in your belly when you grin. Shouto coughs thickly, clearing his throat, “Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay!” Hana twirls her fingers in midair, watching around like Todoroki may appear out of thin air like his voice echoing in the car. “We’re going to get ice cream!”

“Ice cream?” his voice sounds slightly judgmental, but you try to push it off and pretend it means nothing. You spare a glance over your shoulder, “Tell him what flavor you’re getting, Hana.”

You pull into the drive through window of the ice cream shop, listening as Hana babbles on about the different flavors you two talked about and whether she’ll get a cone or a cup. You put the car in park as the person in front of you orders, swiveling your hips so you can look her in the eye, “I was actually thinking about a milkshake. How does that sound?”

“Ooh,” her eyes grow wider, chubby little hands curling into fists in her lap. She’s practically buzzing at just the thought of it all, “That sounds like fun!”

You chuckle, hand on the gearshift, “Oh, I meant to ask, have you already scheduled the nurse to be at the house? I wasn’t sure if you’d rather it be someone personal to look after her, or if you’d want me to take her to a general hospital.”

“I’ll call Masuyo and have her meet you at the house.” Todoroki’s voice is muffled as he turns to speak with someone else in his office, hand over the receiver. You hear him cough, voice tense, “S-She’s okay, though. Right?”

“I think she’s a strong girl,” you make your voice confident, straightening your spine, “she’ll be fine once we get her cleaned up. Right, Hana?”

You spare one final look at the little girl in the backseat, all bright eyes and buzzing fingertips. She’s already shuddering off of pure energy, and you wonder if sugar was really the best route to go down for her comfort. Either way, she nods her head, enthusiastic about what’s to come next.

“Yes!” She leans forward in her seat, getting closer to his voice, “I can’t wait until you get home, daddy. We’ll play prince and princess, right?”

You can sense the hesitation on Todoroki’s end and your heart turns to granite in your chest. When he speaks, you feel the weight of it settle in your belly, throat tightening.

“I’m not sure, love. I’ll have to see. It’s very busy this afternoon.”

Hana allows her expression to fall for a mere moment. You honestly would not have caught the change in her demeanor if it weren’t for you studying her as Shouto uttered the words. Every bit of enthusiasm that was previously holding her cheeks high is drained. Her face pales and her lips turn downward in a frown, eyes dropped to her hands as she fiddles with her knuckles in her lap.

And yet, almost as soon as she falters, her smile returns, albeit not enough to light up her eyes as it did before. It’s like she is reconstructing a mask that she feels pressured to wear in order to keep her father satiated and undisturbed.

“Oh, that’s okay, daddy,” Hana’s voice is as cheerful as her little strong will can force it to be. She attempts to be dismissive as she waves her hands, despite Shouto unable to see her, “I played princess at school anyway.”

Your heart continues to crack as she says her final line, “I love you, Daddy.”

Shouto exhales, voice breathy when he repeats the sentiment, “I love you more.”

“I love you most.” Hana’s tone lilts then, a crack in her metaphorical armor at his affections despite his absence. She swipes at her face and you wonder if she was crying, because you certainly didn’t see any tears.

Your throat grows thick with emotion, making it difficult for you to tell him goodbye. You roll down your window and rattle off your order, trying to keep a close watch out of the corner of your eye to monitor Hana’s mood and expressions as the moments progress. You feel horrible for intruding on their very personal, private moment, and it only makes your heart wrench more when you see Hana’s glazed eyes unable to focus on one thing in particular. She’s docile, void of emotion as she stares out of the window, watching clouds pass as the world grows darker with the threat of a sunset on the horizon.

You settle the milkshakes into the front seat, finishing up at the drive through window before rolling forward into a vacant parking space. With your foot still on the break, you reach back to hand Hana the small milkshake cup with the straw already pushed through the opening on the lid, “There you go.”

She takes it from you gingerly, small palms wrapping around as much of the cup circumference as she possibly can. Her lips are pouted just enough that you wonder if she’ll take a sip at all. You busy yourself, pretending to clean up trash in the front seat and maneuver things around on the floorboards, waiting on her first drag from the ice cream cup.

But it never comes.

After five minutes of waiting, you press your hand to the passenger’s side headrest and look her in the eye – as much of her pupils that you can catch in spite of her hooded lids. Hana is still dazed, looking into her milkshake cup as if it might have the answers to all of her life’s confusing questions.

“Hana?” Your voice calls her from whatever lull she was in, eyes blinking slow as she connects back to this version of reality. A vague, “Yes?” is uttered from her lips, but she isn’t focused, not just yet. You brush your hand against the top of her knee, quick and gentle, and it does the trick. She blinks one final time before her pupils dilate back to their usual size, gaze settled clearly on your face.

“Did something upset you?” you ask, your hand wrung around the headrest again. “Or do you just not want your milkshake?”

“I dunno,” Hana admits quickly, eyes downturned once she realizes she’s let the emotion slip from her voice. It makes the edges of her words raw and ragged, “I guess I just don’ wan’ it anymore.”

You are persistent; your job is to make her happy and keep her safe, and right now with a milkshake melting in her lap, part of you feels like you’re failing.

“Was it what your dad said?” Your question is asked in a low tone, something you’re trying to use to convey that you are being patient and kind. You take a chance and rest your palm against the car seat armrest, close enough to make contact but not adjacent enough to infringe upon her personal space. You swallow thickly, taking a short breath, “About not being home to play?”

Hana is pinching the straw between her fingers, looking into the little opening as it closes with the squeeze of her fingers. You wonder if she does this often, with tangible objects. Does she ache to control something so much so that she becomes lost in the euphoria of it all?

She sighs, kicking her feet, “Daddy is just always working. It makes me sad sometimes.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, not really. If you had known her for longer, or met Todoroki some other way, you could likely refute her statement. However, there’s truth in what she’s saying, a vulnerability that you weren’t sure you would see from the child so soon.

When she speaks next, Hana reminds you of a full-grown woman, attempting to redirect the conversation from something personal to something vague, “What’id you get?”

Her voice sounds like an echo of her true self, nothing like the way her tone lilted when she first spoke with her father. There is a seemingly eerie mask she has perfected, something both audible and emotional. And it would appear she knows just how to slip it on and off when the time is right, despite her young age.

Then and there you choose to burden yourself with the purpose of breaking her out of her glass box of entrapment.

“I got cookie dough,” you say as you take an over-dramatic sip, crossing your eyes at the sensation of cool ice cream flowing down your throat, “What did you get?”

Her face scrunches inward, nose wrinkling at the bridge, “Y-You know what I got, don’ you? You ordered it for me!”

You make an exaggerated face of confusion, tilting your head backward and tapping your fingertip against your chin. “Hmm,” you nod, agreeing with her accusation, “I guess you’re right, huh?”

“You’re silly,” Hana giggles before going in for her first sip of her milkshake. Her eyes are narrowed downward at the cup, hands cradling it carefully as if it were the most important thing in the world and she might be in danger of spilling it at any moment. Her eyes are wide, doe-like in nature, as she comes up for air, “This is good!”

“Great,” you answer her, switching the gearshift back into drive so you can pull out of the parking lot and out onto the highway to head back to their house.

The remainder of the drive back to the Todoroki residence is spent in moderate silence, gentle music playing on the radio as Hana preoccupies herself with licking every last drop of her milkshake from the straw. She sucks the mint chocolate chip ice cream from her thumb and looks up at you when you park the car in the driveway, “We’re home?”

You unbuckle yourself from your seat and answer her, hopping down from the car to open her door. She’s already working at her buckles, undone the top half, but still struggling with the bottom. By the time you’ve gotten her undone from the chair, she trusts you enough to reach out her arms and ask for you to help her down to the ground so she does not have to clamber down and risk falling onto the concrete.

When the soles of her shoes hit the concrete, she’s reaching up for you, grabbing you around your fingertips to hold on as she walks. You squeeze her hand gently, fishing the keys out with one hand to unlock the door.

The nurse is already inside, set up on the couch. Hana runs straight to her, plopping herself unceremoniously down on the furniture, hand hovering over the patch as she talks with Masuyo about her ice cream experience from just moments ago.

You busy yourself with dinner, prepping meat and vegetables, as Masuyo starts to clean and treat Hana’s wound. It’s another thirty minutes before you start to sear meat on the stovetop when you hear the garage door rattle open unexpectedly. Todoroki shouldn’t be home until later this evening, he texted you after you’d been in line for ice cream to tell you as such.

And yet, when the door opens to reveal his familiar frame, you can’t help the way your jaw unhinges.

“You’re home early,” you mention, flipping the steak pieces in the pan to sear the other side. “Everything okay?”

Todoroki is stunned by how grossly domestic the sight of you in his kitchen is and he’s jarred back into his prior lifetime where he had the full family package. He blinks and takes a short breath, forcing himself away from the swirling blackhole of the past to smile at you, “Yes, well. I decided that my daughter’s health was more important than some paperwork. I had a few of the first-years handle it.”

That is how it starts. Your first day as the new nanny of the Todoroki household.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“Are you sure you got the right color plates?”

“Yes.”

“And what about the cake?”

“Ordered it three weeks ago.”

“How about the-”

“Shouto.”

He turns to look you in the eyes, breath frantic, “What?”

You can’t help but laugh at the wide-eyed expression he wears, all of his emotions blatantly displayed on his face. You take a step toward him, reaching out to cup his elbow, “I’ve got it all handled, okay? Her birthday party isn’t for another week, Shouto. Are you ready for the zoo?”

Todoroki hesitates, gritting his teeth together so harshly that you can see the muscles in his jaw quiver. He turns his palm to press flat against your forearm, heterochromatic gaze seeking you out for some sort of comfort, “Did you need me to pack the bag?”

“No,” you chuckle, forcing yourself to remove your body from his grasp by walking back to the sink to finish up the load of dirty dishes you wanted to get into the wash before you left. You tilt your head to look across the bar at him, “We’re leaving in half an hour.”

Hana comes careening down the hallway, a doll in either hand, her pajamas still crooked on her body. She giggles, bouncing on the balls of her feet before launching herself forward to latch around Todoroki’s calf like an animal, “Daddy!”

Shouto bends at the waist to pluck her up, hands careful under her armpits when he tucks her into his side, “Yes, love, I’m going to the zoo. But it looks like you need a change of clothes.”

“I already laid some out on her dresser,” you pipe up from behind the sink, “but you’ll need to spray her down with sunscreen first, it’s not very cloudy outside today.”

As Shouto turns to walk Hana back to her room, you allow your gaze to linger a moment longer than the ordinary. Ever since you first took this job, you could note Todoroki’s beautifully carved body and stellar facial features. He is built perfectly for the type of Pro Hero that he is – thick muscles wrapped around dense bones, and yet still a relatively lean frame to hold it all into place. Shouto’s face is cut sharp at the jawline, cheekbones stark against his skin. You are sure to admire him whenever you can.

When you hear him and his daughter talking, sharing words and laughs, it only adds to the flame that burns in your belly at the thought of Todoroki Shouto.

There is no doubt in your mind that it is improper to feel the way you do about a client. They should be nothing more than a paycheck and a steppingstone, and yet somehow you have found a way to allow Shouto to wind his pristine claws into you. He’s got you by the heart and it has only been a few months.

You force your hands to work at the dishes, cleaning what remains so you can start the dishwasher. After you’re done, you make your way upstairs towards Hana’s room, where you hear various grunting noises.

A laugh threatens to part your lips and give away your spying secret when you notice Shouto frantically trying to pull the shirt you picked out over the top of Hana’s head. Her arms are stuck in the wrong spots and you can already tell that it’s somehow inside out, but none of that pushes you to step forward and take over.

It’s only when Hana spots you spying in the doorway that you’re coerced into treading into her bedroom. She pouts and Todoroki doesn’t look much happier. He chuckles, “I swear I’m better at this than I look.”

“Oh, I know you’re helpless,” you smirk across at him, squatting in front of Hana to help untangle her from the clothes and put her back in right side up. Her little hands grab for your face, squeezing your cheeks as she surges forward to kiss your nose, “Daddy is helpless, isn’t he?”

You are too busy fussing over Hana’s hair to notice the way that Todoroki drinks you in like he has been parched for years. He cannot stop himself from memorizing the color of your irises, the slope of your nose, the bow of your lips.

The reality that he could even be attracted to you is lost on him – he swore after his wife died that he would never find another woman to replace her. You have only been here a few short weeks and he’s already begun to question his earlier statement.

It’s just the way she is with Hana, he tries to convince himself. I am kidding myself into believing she’s here for us, not just because it’s a job.

And yet, when his gaze connects to yours, Hana babbling about lions and tigers as you slather her down with sunscreen, Todoroki swears that he feels something different.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

The day of Hana’s party comes quicker than expected.

You’re frantically spinning around, making sure there is enough food and drink for everyone in addition to trying to keep an eye on the children as they play around on the various structures setup outside.

A group of moms gather at the bar, one of them urging the others to look at you with a sinister lilt in their gaze. You continue to serve everyone at the party, filling drinks, bringing new plates of food, and yet their eyes never waver from you.

When you are cleaning up some stray garbage in the kitchen, the blonde woman near the end of the bar perks up, “Excuse me, nanny, would you mind filling my glass?”

It is like the floodgates have opened, and now they are all asking you for favors. You swallow your pride and do as they say whether that’s food or drink or a new napkin or even cleaning up their garbage. They are all gossiping behind their hands, palms raised to their mouths as if that will do anything to staunch the flow of the conversation, or even make it more difficult for you to hear the way they speak of you.

Your pride takes each hit in stride, attempting to roll the insults off your shoulders while you tend to them kindly. It takes Shouto stepping into the kitchen for your face to falter.

You gaze across the room at him and your strong façade falls away, hands shaking by your sides as you look at the floor in shame. You swallow your self-importance and build your walls back to their full height before looking up at him once more.

Todoroki is fuming, to put it nicely.

His hands are curled into fists, knuckles white and cheeks hot at the sight of your unease. He takes a few strides forward, features softening as he reaches out to press his fingertips into the small of your back.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs into the shell of your ear. His breath is warm, spilling down your spine like molten lava, pooling the heat in your belly and turning your insides to mush. The expanse of his palm splays against your back, the plane of his chest flush with your arm when he stands too close.

You take a short breath, unable to get enough oxygen with him crowding your space like this. It is like he’s thinning the air within a few feet of his body, making it difficult to breathe.

“I’m fine,” your voice is high and thick, nostrils flaring when you make eye contact with one of the women at the bar. She is smirking proudly, head tilted so she can look down her nose at you. You swallow the shards of emotion sticking in your throat and look up at Todoroki, confused at the fury held in his irises, darkening them both so they look almost the same color as his pupils.

He turns and you watch in slow motion as his jaw hinges open, anxiety gripping your throat tightly. Your body moves before your mind can catch up; you shift your feet, so your hips are in front of him, hands palming against his pectorals to bring his attention down to you.

You tug on the fabric of his shirt, breathlessly calling to him, “Shouto.”

Todoroki turns his eyes downward, jawline quivering just enough for you to see at this close of an angle. He is intoxicating, the combination of his cologne and his body heat sending your mind spinning. You lick your lips and his eyes track the motion, turning butterflies over in your belly, their gentle wings brushing the insides of your body delicately, enough to tickle.

“Shouto,” you mumble his name again. “S’okay, alright?”

The sound of barstools scraping the floor signifies the judgmental women taking their leave, and your chest deflates at the change in atmosphere. Your hands go slack against Shouto’s chest, head falling forward to rest against his collarbone.

When his hands brush your hips, you snap your eyes upward, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle to meet his gaze. Shouto grinds his teeth together before speaking, “I’m sorry they were bossing you around. You’re not here to take care of them.”

“It’s okay, really,” you pat your hand on his chest as if solidifying your statement, smiling enough to sell it.  

His thumb grazes the hem of your shirt, fingertip slipping beneath the fabric to brush against your skin. Your breath hitches and every instinct within you tells you to push yourself up on your toes and grab his shirt in your tight fists, but when you’re eye-to-eye with him, you wish you wouldn’t have listened.

You can feel his stuttering breath on the bow of your lip, and it makes your shoulders quiver. Your name is whispered between his teeth and suddenly he is too close, so close that you’re intoxicated, and every inhibition of yours has been forgotten like dust in the wind.

“Daddy!”

The sound of her voice breaks you apart, stumbling like teenagers caught underneath the bleachers. Todoroki turns to Hana, tending to her face with a napkin and listening to her sugar-driven babbling. You take the moment to slip past them and back to the outdoor area where everyone is gathered.

For the remainder of the night, you feel Todoroki’s eyes on you, following your movements as you maneuver throughout the guests, offering them refills and to take their garbage. He cannot help but feel the heat incinerating his body from all sides, not just his left. The sensation is strange, the ice on his right side usually taking over any and all feeling he might have.

It feels foreign, but not unpleasant. Todoroki’s neck prickles at the impending awareness that he might be in for a crude awakening soon.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

The next few months are a breeze.

Until they are not.

Todoroki has begun to spend more time at work and less at home with each passing day. The threat of his job creeping over him like a looming dark shadow, slowly engulfing him inch by inch until he is surrounded entirely. He spends his days fighting crime, and nights doing paperwork.

You are slowly starting to spend more and more time at the Todoroki house – you are now expected to arrive around five in the morning, and sometimes you do not leave until nine in the evening. It is exhausting, given your drive back to your apartment is a half-hour on a good day with little traffic.

Somehow, you have been able to keep Hana satiated, even without her father around. There are fleeting moments where her cheery expression falters and she sheds a few tears, but you are there to wrap her up in your arms and let her cry until she has nothing left. And then, after she’s dried her face on your shirt, she looks up at you with those beautiful blue eyes and begs you to play princess.

One night, when you are half asleep on the couch with Hana curled into your arms, you feel a palm press to your shoulder, “I’m home.”

You blink blearily, a short jolt of breath stinging your lungs. You swallow and look to the right of you where Todoroki is squatted beside you. He is smiling; you can tell, even in the darkness.

“Hey,” you whisper, careful to cradle Hana’s head as you sit up. “Sorry, it’s been an eventful day.”

Shouto shakes his head and helps you to your feet, palms finding any juncture of you that he can use to support your body. His hand is against your elbow when he speaks next, “No, I’m sorry. I should have been home hours ago. I know you were making dinner.”

“I make dinner every night,” a laugh parts your lips and you run your fingers through Hana’s hair to try and keep her asleep despite the noise. “So, it’s nothing new, Todoroki. Let me go put her down and I’ll head out.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but his jaw snaps shut before he can let out whatever secret he is harboring. You disregard it, walking upstairs to tuck Hana in for bed. She stirs but does not wake entirely and you are thankful. The day has already been tumultuous enough without having to sing her back to sleep or stay up any longer.

As you are walking down the steps, you’re surprised to find Shouto pacing in the hallway, his thumb pinching his chin and his brow furrowed harshly. He looks rather intensely conflicted, and there is a moment where you’re worried, he may decide to fire you. Could you have done something wrong with Hana? Did she not like you? Was he upset that you let her have chocolate before noon the other day?

“Shouto?” you call, padding forward, toes sifting through the carpet. “Is everything okay?”

Another yawn splits your lips and you cover it with your palm, apologizing through your teeth. He shakes his head and steps toward you with a palm outstretched, “Yes, everything is fine. I just have something I’d like to ask you.”

You tilt your head and it reminds him of a curious animal, sniffing him out for food in the form of information. Your hand rests on his bicep and it is dizzying to be this close to you, even after several months of working alongside you. His head still spins when you are too close.

“I was wondering if you might consider moving in.”

You blink dumbly, mouth parted so he can see the pad of your tongue and the tips of your canine teeth. Your fingertips graze against his arm and you feel like lightning is sparking at the cusp of your touch.

The reality is this is not far from normal – most full-time nannies do end up living with their families. It makes everything easier and cheaper. If you live there, he does not have to pay you for drive time, and your boarding costs can be directly deducted from your standard paycheck. This option is what makes the most sense, but you are not focused on sense right now.

All you can see is his bare torso.

You are imagining accidentally walking in on him after he’s taken a shower, or him stumbling in after his morning runs with his tiny running shorts and shirtless upper half. Your tongue goes dry at the thought of it all, but you force yourself to push words past your lips, so you won’t look like a dead fish.

“That’s a pretty permanent decision, Shouto.” Your words hold weight and he knows it, he’s thought this through a dozen different ways to Sunday. You swallow and when your hands brush over his skin, he swears sparks light beneath your fingertips; it makes his arm numb. “I don’t mind, but I just want to make sure that you’ve really thought this through.”

He nods, stepping closer so he’s almost flush with you now, “I feel awful having you drive so early and so late. Your hours would not change, your responsibilities wouldn’t change. You would have your own room and privacy, and I don’t expect to lessen your pay just because you live here. It’s just-”

“Shouto,” you’re laughing now, shaking your head as you look down at your toes, “I don’t expect everything to stay the same if I move in. I’m prepared, are you?”

Truly, he’s thought about that question far too much in the passing days when he sees you around the house or speaks with you on the phone during the day. The idea that you will be here every hour of every day is suffocating, but in a way that makes him want to drown. As time moves faster, Shouto realizes that you have become a second nature in his house. He is thinking of you during his office meetings and the late nights on patrol.

He cannot be honest with the true reason he is asking you to move in, because then he would have to face his emotions and he’s not ready for that yet. And yet, his body betrays his mind as he reaches forward to brush his thumb over your cheek, “I think I can handle it.”

Emotion swells like a blooming heat between the two of you, your bodies almost entirely pressed up against one another as your voices grow softer. You are not sure if it’s the sleep-muddled brain you’re working off of, but you swear that you see his eyes drop to your lips. There is some part of you that wants to fall into him, to let him take you and burn you and leave you for dead, but the rest of you is working off of sense and logic and you know that would never work.

“Well,” your voice shatters the fragile moment, “I guess I better get home and start packing.”

Shouto releases you and something shifts in his irises, but it is gone as soon as it appears, and you don’t have enough time to discern the emotion. You pluck up your bag and slip on your shoes, turning to wave at him over your shoulder as you step past the threshold and back to the garage.

As you start your car, you rest your forehead on the steering wheel before you pull out, and murmur to yourself in utter chagrin, “What have I just agreed to?”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“I’m telling you - Red Riot is going to give you a run for your money.”

“That blockhead?” Shouto chuckles, swirling his glass, “I doubt it.”

You tilt your head, “And what about Ground Zero? He’s got his own agency now, doesn’t he?”

Shouto rolls his eyes, “God, can we please leave Bakugou out of this conversation?”

Another swig of the rum and coke slides down your throat, burning in the best way. Your head feels hazy, but you don’t mind, taking advantage of Hana’s early bedtime for the first time in a few weeks. You push your mostly empty glass towards him, “Bartender?”

Todoroki smiles, tipping the bottle downward to refill your glass. You grab the soda off the countertop and fill it to the brim, swirling the mixture with your straw. Another gulp of the liquid has you asking, “You and the other big players all went to Yuuei together, right? Ground Zero, Deku, Red Riot?”

Shouto nods, “Yes, we did.”

“Wow, to have gone to Yuuei,” you whisper in wonder, eyes heavy as you look down into the dark liquid fizzing in your glass.

He leans forward on the counter, body close to you as he asks his obvious question, “You don’t have a quirk, do you?”

“No,” your answer is quick, curt. You swallow thickly, shards of shame sticking in your throat. “I was born without one. You’ve seen my shoes.”

You are referring to the wider shoes that those with no quirk have to wear thanks to the extra joint in their pinkie toes. You lift your foot up in the air for good measure, painted toenails catching the light just right as you wriggle your toes around dramatically. You sigh, “I didn’t fully know who you were when I took this job. It’s kind of embarrassing that I don’t have a quirk, and you’re some superhero saving people with ice and fire.”

Shouto holds out his left palm, face up, and ignites a small flame, “I hated this side of my body for so long. It comes with a burden I’m glad you do not have to bear.”

The weight in his voice entices your eyes upward, connecting with his gaze as the heat blossoms, sucking the oxygen out of the air. Shouto curls his fingers inward and cuts the flame short, a gentle wisp of smoke floating from his palm.

“What does it feel like?” you find yourself asking, the alcohol creating a dull buzz behind your eyes that latches onto all of your inhibitions and immediately tosses them away.

His breath hitches audibly, pupils dilating as he attempts to focus on something other than the way your lips bow when you speak. Shouto steps forward, hands gentle as he cups your cheeks, a bravery he did not know he could muster bolstering his movements. His fingertips tickle your skin and it’s difficult for you to keep your eyes open when he is holding you so tenderly.

Shouto closes his eyes in concentration, taking a deep breath before narrowing his concentration onto the pores of his hands. His palms are flush with your skin and you let your mind wander while he is working up his quirk.

How would his touch compare to different parts of your body?

Your eyes slip shut at the thought, biting your lip as your mind runs rampant. The heat curling in your belly reminds you of his quirk – burning and licking at your belly like a raging flame. You only wish you had his right side to cool you down from the inside out.

Slowly but surely, you feel the right side of your face grow warm while the left side has started to chill. Your eyes go wide, and you circle your fingers around his wrists, voice breathy when you speak, “Wow, Shouto, that’s amazing!”

Your voice goes quiet and it is like the world stops spinning when he opens his eyelids to look down at you. You feel frozen in your spot, but you know it isn’t his quirk affecting you. Your grip tightens but he doesn’t seem to notice, his eyesight directed to your lips, zeroed in on the way that you gnaw at them when you’re nervous.

The tension is like a rubber band begging to snap. You feel the coil twirl around your spine, bunching you together and screaming at you to run away. There are a thousand different reasons why getting too close is dangerous, but your wanton body cannot be bothered to list them. Instead you are pushing yourself up in your seat, so your back is arched toward him, chest brushing his pectorals.

Shouto reminds you of something innocent when his mouth parts and irises glimmer beneath half-hooded lids. You feel distinctly profligate for envisaging his mouth on other parts of your body, the pink of his tongue peeking from behind pearly teeth doing little to quell your thoughts. You swallow thickly and shudder as his hand that produces cold shifts into your hair, rustling through the tresses at the nape of your neck.

Your hands are suddenly wrapped up in the fabric of his shirt, fisting the soft material, and you are pulling him towards you. Even so, it is Shouto who tilts your head upward, heels of his palms gently angling you by the cheeks.

The two of you take a breath before devouring one another whole.

His mouth tastes like whiskey, sharp and biting, but his tongue is in stark contrast to the flavor. He is gentle while still taking over your every sense. His tongue maps out the curves of your teeth and the pad of your tongue while his chilled palm keeps your skin from searing with blush.

The tenderness with which he holds onto you makes your heart rattle around within the cage you have built just for him. You knew this entire time that if he were to wriggle his way in, to touch your heart in just the right spot, you would crumble beneath his ministrations. This entire time you’ve been beholden to him, despite the utter denial you’ve been bathing in to hide the confession.

“Todoroki, I-”

Your voice is cut off by a blazing hand drifting beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers dipping against your spine, “I hate it when you call me that.”

Your eyes go wide but he’s enraptured you with another kiss square on the lips. Your words fall into the confines of his throat, never to be heard again as he swallows them into silence.

Hands are everywhere, so much so that you can’t tell where you begin and he ends.

Shouto nips your lip and you gasp, your hips canting forward of their own accord. Your mouth is gaping, begging for air, and he gives in to your silent request, drifting his lips downward to your jawline. He mutters a string of curse words as your hands finally make their way to his hair and shoulders, digging into him like he might float away.

He hums against your collarbone, teeth bared as he licks and nips at your skin. The alcohol in your bloodstream mixed with his essence in your veins only spins your mind into overdrive, dizzying you to the point that your eyes cross. You whine as he bites kisses into your skin, fingernails dug sharply into the skin of his back through his shirt. There will most likely be little crescent moon imprints when you release.

The trail of his kisses loops back up the column of your throat, teeth grazing your jaw as he works his way to your mouth again. You whine into his lips when his frozen fingers stroke your bare skin beneath your top, “Shouto, please-”

Todoroki’s confidence grows when he hears you moan his name into the air, begging him with only a few syllables. He disconnects his mouth from yours to look you in the eyes, “God, you’re so damn pretty, y’know?”

Your mouth hangs open and Todoroki must hold himself back from slipping his thumb between your parted, full lips. A shuddering breath passes between the two of you, time frozen as the moment sits still. It allows the both of you to agonize over one another, taking in each and every wanton feature as you beg quietly.

“So pretty,” he whispers before digging his hands into your backside and tugging you forward so you wrap yourself around him. His mouth is on you in a flash, all teeth and tongue pulling and prodding at you in a divine way you’re sure only he has mastered.

You are enraptured by him, fully captivated with his dual-ended quirk sending your body into a haze. Your mind is bewildered, thrown into a twirl of rum and Todoroki. If he were to give you a moment to catch your breath, you might be able to find it within your resolve to push him off you, to tell him how wrong this is. And yet, with his tongue tangled in your teeth, you can’t force the word no out of your throat.

Instead it is just his name.

Todoroki picks you up to deposit you on the countertop, thumbs digging into your hips to help you settle. His fingers make quick work of your top, slipping beneath them hem to graze over the swell of your breast on the underside. You whimper at the ghost of his touch, trying to angle your arms so you can tug at the band of his sweats.

When he realizes what you are fumbling with, he uses the bottoms of his feet to tug his pants down to his ankles. He steps out of them, but you can’t focus on anything other than the prominent bulge strained against his dark briefs. You have to swallow the drool accumulating in the center of your mouth, threatening to pool over the corners of your lips if you were to speak.

Before he tugs your shirt over your head, he looks into your eyes, sincerity cutting through the lust clouding his irises, “Last chance.”

He is giving you an out. One last clear path to purity.

You hesitate for a moment and his hands curl tighter around the hem of your top, restraining himself from ripping it away like an animal. His jaw is quivering as he waits on your response, nostrils flaring when you do not answer right away.

Whether it is the alcohol or the need talking, you are the conduit for the words spoken next, “Fuck me, Shouto. Now.”

Your shirt is yanked over your head unceremoniously, but you don’t care. Your eyes are wandering, begging for him to be nearly as naked as you. You don’t have to ask, because he’s already stepping away from you to remove the offensive piece of clothing, baring his body to you.

You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, especially upon moving into the Todoroki residence. He goes on shirtless jogs and sometimes does not wear anything on his torso for a while after he’s showered. There are days he has hardly anything remaining of his costume, after a particularly rough villain or training session.

And yet, this time it feels different.

He is baring himself for you. The intimacy of the moment does little to dull the ache in your mind, the strain of your heart in your ribs. You know that if he were to show you much more openness, you may have bruises beneath your skin from the way your heart threatens to beat at such a quick, tumultuous pace.

Shouto wastes little time in lurching forward to palm at your breasts, mouth too busy with your lips to pay attention to much else. You hitch your thigh between his hips, the curve of your leg brushing into his clothed cock. He grunts into the trap of your teeth, brow tugged with focus as he ruts his hips upward into you. You’re sure to put pressure back against him, the tip of his cock bulging on your thigh.

“Sho’,” you whimper when his mouth drifts from your lips to your neck. Your hands find his hair and his shoulder, eyelids fluttering halfway closed while he licks and nips at your thin, sensitive skin. Your throat burns, flesh aching as he starts to bite into you, rolling the skin between his teeth slowly, agonizing your very core.

A fresh wave of arousal coats the inside of your walls, and you know it is stained your panties, but you don’t have enough dignity to care. All that is on your mind is how he can take you on the countertop, and if you’ll be able to keep quiet enough not to wake the sleeping girl up the flight of stairs.

“Shit,” he’s cursing when your hand finds his bulge, “sweetheart, I-”

His breath is stuttered over your collarbone as you begin to palm him through his briefs. The nickname tumbling from his lips in a moan turns your stomach, effervescent champagne bubbles drifting up from your belly until they are suffocating your lungs. You gasp to relieve yourself of the pent-up anticipation as his left hand reaches the button of your shorts.

Shouto is careful as he unbuttons your pants, slipping the coarse fabric of your jeans down your thighs. As he squats down to help you out of them, all you can think of is what might happen if you were to grab him by the hair and force his mouth to your cunt.

Almost like he was reading your mind, he leans forward after he’s tossed your jeans to the other side of the kitchen floor and his mouth ghosts over your core. Your lower lip wobbles and you must bite your tongue to keep your mewling cries from tumbling out in excess. Todoroki kisses the top of your thigh, nose nudging over the edge of your lace underwear, his eyes closed so you cannot make out the expression settled in his ordinarily stoic irises.

“If you smell this good, I can only imagine how wonderful you taste,” Todoroki smirks against your skin, tilting his head so he can look up at you from his crouched position.

Your hips cant forward at the sentence, pussy already dripping just from the timbre of his deep voice. The vibrations of his word are like shockwaves straight to your core and you want to beg him to give you something, even a teasing lick over the center of your underwear.

Shouto kisses the little bow at the center of your panties, smiling as he snags the accent between the bite of his teeth and uses it to tug your underwear down your thighs. Your muscles tense, his ministrations slow and tantalizing. He chuckles and the sound shoots through your bones as if they were hollow like a feather, the warm honey of his laughter seeping slowly into your every pore and breaking down what remains of your resolve.

You have to cover your mouth with your hands when you yelp at the pad of his thumb brushing back the hood of your clit. His cool palm finds your thigh, just below the curve of your ass, and he stabilizes you with a firm grip, “Sit still, Princess.”

The authoritative tone of his voice turns your spine rigid, eyes facing the wall as he butterflies your pussy so he can see the silvery strands of slick built up between your layers of skin. He licks his lips and you feel the threatening heat of his tongue near your clit and you’re squirming. You are white knuckling the countertop, jaw under immense pressure as you clamp your teeth harshly.

He does not give you warning before delving his tongue between your folds, licking up your accumulated slick with one slow movement. His glittering grey iris tries to find your face, but the only thing he can make out is the line of your jaw and chin as your head is thrown back. Shouto chuckles before starting to explore the glutenous walls of your cunt with his tongue, his one hand still pressed into your thigh, fingers digging so hard that you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow morning.

Your body responds to him quickly, hips canting forward to buck against his mouth, begging for something more than just the quick slithering of his tongue in and out of you. In retaliation, Shouto presses his tongue flat, creating the illusion that it is thicker than before. You keen when he turns the pad of his thumb near your clit, close but not near enough.

“Sho’, please,” you pant, sweat beginning to bead up on your temples from the anticipation alone.

His cocky smirk is something you can sense when he speaks, but even further, you can feel it as he continues to lavish your pussy with his tongue. He huffs before standing to his feet, your slick mixed with his saliva giving his mouth a dangerous glint in the lowlight of the kitchen.

Shouto licks his lips as he steps closer to you again, bodies flush with one another. The hand that you know could burn you in an instant drifts down your side towards your pussy and you feel every muscle in your body clench at the thought of what kind of damage he could do to you if he tried.

Oh, and you’d let him.

You are about to beg him again, wanton moans vibrating your throat, but he intercepts you before you can lower your inhibitions any further. Shouto’s elongated middle finger slips just between your folds, using his saliva and your slick to lubricate his digit as he begins to pump up into you.

Todoroki Shouto is by no means a small man.

However, he is not so muscular that it looks like he is uncomfortable whenever he is walking. He is lean but built, which means that even though his hands are thick with muscle, they are not painful when pressed into your tight heat. Rather, they are snug and comfortable, his knuckle providing a pleasure you’ve not experienced before.

The tip of his finger brushes the spongy spot at the base of your core, and you swear you feel him in your spine. Shouto leans forward kiss you and you receive him quickly, desperate for some sort of tactile relief. He’s grinning into your lips, but you do not care so long as you find some reprieve from the coil beginning to twist within your stomach.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Todoroki whispers into your teeth as his tongue licks against your gums.

At his comment, you clench your cunt around his fingers, tightening your hold only to see how he will react. His hand stills for a moment, but then he is pushing another finger to accompany the first, splitting your cunt open despite the vice-like grip you have on his knuckle. He pumps until the base of his digits are finding the heat of your pussy, his fingerprints searing into your walls as you attempt to stay clamped around him.

Your legs begin to shake from the way you are holding yourself up on your toes, knees bent so you can be closer to his body. Todoroki feels the tremors in your thighs as his hand roams the dense muscle, whispering, “C’mere, love,” and then he’s picking you up gingerly.

Shouto hooks one of your legs around his waist at the knee, arching your back so your cunt is still butterflied open for him. Your other leg dangles from the countertop as he balances you on the edge.

The way his fingers work into you is nothing short of sinful, that white-hot flash of pleasure sinking into your eyelids slowly but surely. You begin to lose your peripheral vision as the impending ecstasy begins to settle in. The crest of the wave is close, his knuckles dragging salaciously against the innermost part of you.

Your jaw hangs open the closer you are to coming undone, panting breaths prying your lips apart. You feel utterly exposed in front of him like this, lewdly strewn against the counter that you were sipping rum and whiskey against not even a half hour ago. And yet, somehow, Shouto’s hand cradled against your shoulders is all you need to bring your self-consciousness down to a manageable level.

From this angle, you can reach down and pull Shouto’s briefs down so his cock can spring free. You’re palming at him as soon as you see the dark red of his cockhead. He stutter-steps forward when you pump him the first time, eyes close to bulging from their sockets at the sensation.

You twist his cock in your palm, running your thumb against the pearlescent bead of pre-come collected at the curve of his slit. Using what you can of the liquid, you drag your damp thumb down the length of his cock for slight lubrication. Shouto bucks into your hand when you bob your palm up and down to connect with the base of his pubic bone.

Now that you’re secure on the countertop, Shouto allows his free hand to wander around the curvatures of your body, mapping out the dips and contours of your frame. His hand is on your neck, thumb brushing your jaw, when your mouth drops open from a particularly pleasurable swipe of his fingers. Your cunt is dripping, and you’re honestly not sure if it even matters if you come, he should be able to slip right between your tight heat with ease.

“S’pretty,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek as his thumb brushes the bow of your bottom lip.

On instinct, your tongue laps towards the digit, silently begging for him to do more.

Shouto listens, dipping his thumb into your mouth, pressing the pad of his finger into the thick muscle of your tongue. You lick and suck at him, rolling your mouth to match the pace of your hand as you work his hard cock towards release. Shouto fixes the rhythm of his fingers so every part of your bodies are going at the same speed.

The collective sensations of his hands and mouth are too much and you cry out, digging your free hand into his shoulder to attempt and ground yourself. You pant, looking up at him with bejeweled irises, tears sitting dormant on your lashes as a whine sits pretty on your lips.

“What is it?” he asks, borderline patronizing. “Are you gonna come on my fingers?”

Your lower lip trembles and you feel yourself slipping into some subservient headspace at the tone in his voice. You nod, rolling your hips to meet him as he slows his hand, “P-Please, Shouto, I-”

“I want you to come,” he murmurs into your ear, leaning forward so his breath is hot on your skin. The hand he has buried in your cunt begins to heat and the searing sensation sends your mind reeling. Shouto nudges his nose along your jawline, warmth creeping along the base of his palm, “C’mon, love, I want to see you come. Make a pretty little face for me, yeah?”

His words do little to quell the growing ache between your thighs, the pent-up need begging to be released. You clench around him again, not forgetting his cock between your hand. You continue to twist your wrist, flicking your fingers along the length of his dick, dragging with just enough pressure to make his eyes cross. Teasing the head, you drag the pad of your thumb over it, catching another swell of pre-come and trailing the liquid down the thick shaft.

You whimper his name, squeezing your eyes closed so harshly that the corners of your lids crinkle. Your sounds only grow louder when his mouth begins to suck at your nipple, massaging your breast in his chilled hand. The crystallization of ice draws your attention, a frozen cold so intense that it almost feels hot in its own unique way.

There is a stinging excitement at the duality of the temperatures that grow further apart the longer he activates his quirk. Your nipples pebble while your pussy floods from the heat, copious amounts of slick trickling down his fingers to pool in the creases of his palm. Shouto murmurs obscenities against your earlobe but you’re in such a realm of fevered phrenzy that you can’t make out he’s even speaking English.

“Sh-Shouto, I-I’m close,” you manage, feeling the way his cock throbs beneath your touch helping to bring you back to the cusp of reality. You dive deep again when his fingertips brush against your cervix, allowing his passion to force you beneath the surface.

His thumb is circling your clit as he murmurs, “C’mon, darling, I know you can do it. Come for me, yeah?”

It’s as if his words united with his caress are enough to shove you head-first into the pool of desire. You are whimpering, cunt fluttering around his fingers as your come drips down the crevices of his palm. Your release reaches his wrist, milky liquid tickling his skin.

“Atta girl,” he kisses your cheek, fingers stilling for a moment to allow you to collect yourself. You continue to ride out your high by bucking your hips over his knuckles, slippery fingers easily providing you the rest of the comfort you need to come down from your high.

“Your turn.”

You’re pushing your way off the countertop when the creaking of the stairs makes your heart still within your chest.

Shouto’s stare flickers from you to the staircase, jaw hung open as he analyzes the sound. When another step echoes in the hallway, he’s quick to yank his briefs and sweats back over his hips. He helps you into your shorts, the silvery strands of your release forgotten as he tugs the fabric up your hips.

You’ve just gotten your pants buttoned when Hana’s teetering figure creates a shadow on the kitchen floor.

“Daddy?” she whimpers, fists digging into her tear-filled eyes.

Shouto swipes his hands against his sweats before crouching in front of her. His palms find her sides quickly, thumbs grazing her rib cage in an attempt at comfort, “Hey, love,” the sound of the nickname makes something stir within your belly, “what’re you doing awake?”

Hana swallows a hiccup, “I-I had a bad dream.”

You step forward, pressing your hand to Shouto’s shoulder, offering a gentle nudge of comfort. Hana blinks up at you, jeweled irises focused on your face, “M-Momma?”

The title holds a weight you had not prepared to carry.

She’s all but forgotten Todoroki, pushing past him to barrel into your shin, wrapping her stubby arms around your knee. She wipes her face against the skin of your thigh, sniffling louder as a fresh wave of tears takes over her body. Her shoulders shudder and you don’t have time to wonder whether she’s cognizant enough to realize that she’s just called you her mother.

You scoop her up in your arms, holding her gingerly by the back and head, and she wraps her legs around your midsection to anchor her little body to your torso like a frightened animal. Hana buries her head into your neck, tears sticking to your skin and creating an unbearable heat.

“You’re not leaving, right?” Hana whimpers, “I-I had a dream that you left.”

In an effort to comfort her, you run your fingers through her hair, gently separating the strands so your nails can scratch her scalp. You kiss her temple, “Of course not, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me.”

She retracts from your neck and a rush of cool air washes over you. Her irises are swallowed by her pupils, thick droplets of tears wetting her cheeks. You smile, forcing yourself to forget the way you were just about to jump her father’s bones, and brush your nose against hers in an eskimo kiss.

“It was just a dream, babe,” you comfort her, making sure you are looking at her directly when you say it so she feels much more solid in the reality that you are here to stay. A soothing hand reaches forward to couple with yours, thumb tracing the bump of her shoulder.

Todoroki kisses the back of her head, “Hana, there’s no need to worry, love.”

“I already lost one mommy,” Hana sounds ancient when she speaks, voice far away and intelligent beyond her young years, “I don’t wanna lose another one.”

Your voice is lodged in your throat now, tears of your own pressing threateningly against the back of your eyes. You try to swallow but the shards of your heart are blocking your windpipe, cutting off your oxygen. Todoroki slips his hands beneath Hana’s armpits, separating her from you so he can cradle her body against his chest, “You’re not losing anyone, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to bed.”

You take this as your cue to leave, grabbing your things as Todoroki takes Hana back up the stairs to her bedroom.

A sense akin to despair settles in your chest, restraining your heart in such a way that makes it difficult to breathe. The world seems to settle atop your shoulders and in the next moments you have turned into Atlas, forced to hold the earth up by your careless grip. Tears settle in your lids as you pull away from the Todoroki residence.

Something tells you that things will never be the same.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

As much as you hate it, that little voice eating away at the back of your mind was right.

The looming reality that Todoroki is avoiding you does little to satisfy the curiosity settled in your bones, affecting you down to the marrow.

Ever since that night, he hardly looks you in the eye.

In fact, he’s barely even around to see you at all.

Todoroki leaves for work before you can emerge from the bathroom with Hana in tow, fresh from a bubble bath and ready for breakfast. He slips back through the doors late at night, normally after eight, so Hana is either passed out with you on the couch or curled up beneath her covers in her bedroom. There is not another time where he touches you gingerly on the shoulder and guides you back to bed, not anymore.

You have wondered many times if you should approach him, beg him for some sort of explanation. Not only is his distance affecting you, but it’s turning Hana into a child you hardly recognize. She is still cheerful a majority of the time, begging you to play princesses and watch Bubble Guppies. But there are times when she turns angry, ripping the heads off her dolls and trying to sabotage Todoroki’s work clothes by drawing on his shoes or dropping her glass of morning milk on his suit jacket.

You start to cook his meals the day before, packaging them up in a Tupperware container that’s always gone when you check at breakfast the next morning. You are not a blind woman, and you normally choose to indulge his silly game of hide and seek instead of confronting him about what happened that night.

However, tonight, you’ve had enough.

Even though he’s decided to spend the weekend at home for the first time in a few weeks, you’ve never felt more on edge. Hana is extremely irritable, nightmares plaguing her mind during the time she’s supposed to be sleeping, and it would seem there is nothing you can ever do to satiate her throughout the day.

Playing princess is boring, coloring is stressful, blowing bubbles is stupid.

You are reaching the end of your rope and Shouto’s evasive presence does little to satiate your temperamental moods. You clutch at the cusp of sanity, praying that it will not leave you just yet; the only thing holding your tongue back from lashing out is the sliver of discretion that you’ve managed to sustain in spite of the day’s events.

“Hey, uh-” Todoroki’s voice is strained as he stands in the archway of the kitchen, “Would you mind making us a couple of sandwiches? I think Hana is getting hungry.”

The warmth from the dishwater gives you something other than his irises to focus on, your eyesight directed downward, “Sure. What would you like?”

“Let’s just do peanut butter and jelly,” Shouto shrugs nonchalantly. “Grape, if we have it.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of a specific flavor. You are certain that if you were to look into the refrigerator that you would not find grape jelly, but it’s obvious that Shouto is otherwise unknowing.

“Grape?” you echo, pulling your hands from the dishwater to wipe them on your hand towel. “You think that’s a smart choice?”

Shouto scoffs and it stings so much that you turn your head away from him, eyes now focused on the floor beneath your feet, “Yes, I’m sure. Why does it matter anyway?”

“Oh, no reason.” You pluck a jar of strawberry jelly from the refrigerator and begin to prepare the countertop for your sandwich making.

He takes a step forward to protest, but you’re waving the knife in his direction before he can stride across the tile, “You listen to me, Todoroki. And you listen good.”

Shouto pauses, throat bobbing as his line of sight zeroes in on your lips. His eyes widen, pupils swallowing his irises in fear. The knife wavering in your grasp holds much more weight than any other butter knife he’s come into contact with.

“We don’t have any grape jelly because your daughter is allergic to grapes.”

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the butter knife in your hand, “And if you were ever here you might notice a thing or two, such as an allergy to something that could, I dunno, kill her?!”

The sound of your voice raising an octave or two reverberates off of the walls and thrums at Shouto’s heartstrings. He swallows thickly, but you’re not done tearing into him just yet.

“This little charade you’ve got going on has got to end.” Your voice is desperate, unhinged, and you feel the honesty scrape against the front of your throat, “Your daughter is turning into someone you can barely recognize, and you’re not far behind her.”

Silence envelopes the room, and the only thing you’re able to hear is your heart beating frantically in your own ears. As your pulse thuds rapidly, rushing like a river of thick emotion throughout your body, you feel your palms begin to sweat. The longer you keep quiet, the louder the sound grows.

Finally, after giving him a few minutes to respond, you press the tops of your fists into your hips, glaring down your nose at him, “If you want me gone, all you had to do was ask. I thought we respected one another enough for that.”

You slap together two sandwiches quickly, tossing the plates onto the counter for him to pick up on his own before you turn and walk from the room. You’re unable to look at him any longer, not sure if it’s the loitering reality that you may have to move on from this chapter of your life or the loss of a generous paycheck and living situation that wraps your heart like the talons of a bird, squeezing until you can’t breathe.

The tumultuous roll of emotions scrapes away at your chest, and you’re surprised that there isn’t blood gushing from your ribs. You lean back against your closed door, head tilted backward to stave off the tears, saltine droplets coating your lashes as they sit in your ducts, pending the gentle sway of your neck to drip down your cheeks.

You aren’t sure how long you stay this way, crumbled against your door with the heat of disappointment building smoke in your lungs. It’s difficult to breathe, a dizziness taking over your mind that you’ve never felt quite so acutely before. You cradle your head in your hands, massaging your temples with your thumbs to try and mitigate the oncoming migraine.

A knock sounds at your door and you jump, hand pressed over your frantic heart, “Y-Yes?”

“Can-Can I come in?”

Shouto.

The sound of his voice does little to staunch the metaphorical puncture wound in your chest. You flex your hands before standing to your feet and opening the door, allowing him to step over the threshold into your room.

“Listen, I think there’s just-”

“No,” you interrupt, a short breath filling your lungs, “I’m going first.”

Todoroki’s eyes dilate, his feet stuttering backward as he takes in your assertive sentence. He grits his teeth, jaw quivering under the stress, but keeps his lips sealed in spite of desperately wanting to speak out.

“If you don’t want me here, you could have just said so.” You wring your hands together, knuckles knocking against one another as you twist your fingers. You close your eyelids and inhale a deep breath, “What happened, u-us kissing, wasn’t professional, and I apologize. But what you’re doing to Hana?”

You flare your nostrils as your hands turn to fists at your side. Todoroki watches you closely, eyes never wavering from your frame as he takes in your quivering, quiet fury. Your jaw muscles tense and you force your eyes to meet his, despite the glossiness settled in them, “You’re never here, Shouto. You missed her ballet recital last week, then you forgot she was allergic to grapes, and now you’re not seeing what’s directly in front of you!”

The more you speak, the louder you become. You can feel your cheeks heating, the tears building up in your eyelids with every syllable. Your fists clench at your sides, and your fingernails dig irately into your palms, so harshly that you swear you might draw blood. Each word draws out an anger in you that you didn’t realize you were harboring, like a fugitive sitting in the cage of your chest, tugging on the bars of your heart as they beg to be broken free.

“Hana deserves better than this, and you know it, Todoroki. So if you don’t get your head out of your ass,” your lower lip wobbles and you reach forward to poke him directly in the chest, index finger dug into the space between his pectorals, “you’re going to lose your daughter.”

You’re shaking your head and your fist as the next sentence comes tumbling from your lips, heart strings fully wound as you speak, “Listen, I don’t know what your problem is, but if it’s me, then I’ll leave.”

Shouto’s brow furrows as he looks down his nose at you, “Are you finished?”

The deadpan of his voice stirs something in your belly, something like an acrid fire that plumes in your chest, the smoke of it all curling around your throat and begging to be spewed like acid from your tongue. Your teeth grind into each other, a creaking sound echoing in your own ears. The way your heart twists in your chest makes it difficult to breathe, but you manage.

“Fuck you, Todoroki.”

You go to turn away from him, your hand falling from his chest, when he snatches you by the wrist, repeating his question, “Are you finished?”

A small remaining sliver of your patience sits heavy on your chest, forcing you to nod your head. Regardless of how you feel about him, Todoroki Shouto is an important man, and you need to leave here a dignified woman. If you make a scene, if you flash your fists and bare your teeth, it’s possible you won’t have another job ever again.

“I don’t want you to quit,” his voice is breathless, an octave higher than normal; he almost sounds sick, “but there is a problem.”

The anticipation of what he might say next brings back that acidic wash in your belly, throat squeezed shut by the clamped hands of insecurity and doubt. Shouto takes a careful step forward, mindful of your personal space as he does so. His fingers never leave your wrist, circled around your arm even as it’s pulled away from his body.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

To say that the world stopped spinning was an understatement.

You feel the whole planet turn on its axis, your body undergoing vertigo as the metaphorical rug is yanked out from beneath your feet. Your stomach flips, the acid molting into lava, hot and sticky as it licks up against your skin, pooling just below your navel. His grip is too restrictive, and you can tell your body is beginning to shift into panic mode.

“You’re right,” he barges in on your internal monologue of self-hatred, eyes boring into your soul, “I’ve been a shitty father, which is painful for me to admit. But it’s the truth.”

The conviction in his voice is solid, and you know that he is being authentic. Todoroki has a clouded past when it comes to his father, Enji. You are aware of the influence his estranged parents have on his relationship with his child, which is one of the reasons his distance has troubled you. Every time he has had enough vulnerability to allow you to peek into the glass panes of his soul, he’s shown you the scars that Endeavor has left on him.

Todoroki uses his free hand to cup your cheek, thumb under your chin to pull your attention back to him, “I tried to distance myself from you to get a better grasp on the way I was feeling.”

His palm grazes down the column of your throat, his eyes careful not to stray to close to your lips or else he’ll get distracted. Your mouth bobs open but you have nothing to say, and the bewildered expression on your face makes him laugh. The sound of his baritone chuckle does little to quell the storm raging beneath your skin, lighting striking with every single touch of his fingers and thunder booming in your chest at the sound of his voice.

“For the longest time, I believed I would never love anyone again after my wife passed away.” The feel of his knuckles slipping between yours, palm searing into you despite it being his right side. At the mention of his wife, your whole being begins to shudder, the weight of expectations and self-doubt pressing into your chest like a mass you cannot remove.

Todoroki swallows the lump in his throat, neck bobbing, “I was content with it just being Hana and I for the rest of our lives, us against the world, until you came along. You fit so perfectly into our family, sliding in seamlessly as if you’d been here the whole time. You managed to win Hana over in a day and now she can’t stop talking about you. And then, when Hana called you mom, it threw me.”

Shouto’s eyes are intense as they stare into you, narrowed and attentive. The odd combination of one blue, one grey, is hard to grasp, unsure of where you should look specifically. His fingers against your neck card through your hair, keeping you anchored to him and this world.

“It was easier for me to dive into work because I knew I’d have you here to pick up the pieces,” Shouto admits, his gaze finally breaking away from your face to narrow focus to his sock-clad feet. “I was so weak for you that I couldn’t bear it. And then you and Hana both suffered for my cowardice.”

A wave of destiny washes over you, looming like a shadow, begging you to make a decision.

“Todoroki, this is-”

“I told you,” his thumb grazes your cheekbone, “not to call me that.”

Your jaw hangs open and tears cloud your vision, and you want to smile no matter how hard your body fights against you. Your lower lip quivers and you shake your head, saltine droplets lingering on your cheeks, “I-I can’t, Shouto. I’m not right for you and Hana, I’m not-oh.”

His mouth slots against yours, angled perfectly to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. Shouto’s hands are on your face, holding you in place so you can’t run from him, despite how every cell under your skin is screaming to bolt from your place.

As he parts from you, you’re left in a daze of euphoria, eyes half-lidded, mouth still pursed as you chase after him, pleading for more.

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip before retreating to trace your jawline.

And you know that you can’t; your body has already betrayed your words with the simple action of a kiss. Your hands follow suit, wrapped around the fabric of his shirt to keep him close, frightened he might leave you all over again.

Shouto’s hands drift down your abdomen, slow against your rib cage as if he were counting each bone to make sure they were all there, safe and sound. He kisses your forehead and then your nose, mouth hovering over the bow of your lips, eyes begging you even though his voice is caught in his lungs.

You say a stupid thing then, just something meant to break up the quiet, but with the floaty tone of your voice it breeds for much more wicked thoughts.

“Your lips are really warm.”

Shouto laughs before devouring you at the seam of your mouth, leaning forward to scoop you up in his arms, hands dug in at your thighs. You squeal against his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist, your fingers dipping into the muscle of his shoulders for an anchor.

He’s got you back against the bed before you can breathe again, leaning back on his thighs so he can pull his shirt over his head with ease. Your palms are like magnets to his abdomen, fingerprints finding each curve and dip of his muscle, praying you can map it out so you might memorize it for the times when he’s not able to be this close.

As his fingertips graze beneath the hem of your shirt, your eyes go wide, stuttering breath accompanied by panicked words, “H-Hana? Is she-”

Shouto chuckles, “She’s laid down for her nap. We have about two hours.”

The devilish glint in his eyes does little to quell the rampant thoughts running in your mind. You suddenly want to feel his hands and mouth everywhere on your body, insatiable in your lust for his touch.

“Sh-Shouto, please,” you’re panting and he hasn’t even undressed you yet, “need you.”

A devout confession such as that one, something so primal in its nature, shifts his demeanor from playful to sinful. Now his fingertips are dancing beneath your shirt, palming over your skin like he might find a hidden treasure in your bones.

He shakes his head, nose grazing your cheek as he starts towards your collarbone, “Tell me what you need, darling.”

“Need you.”

You are quick in your answer, eyes screwed shut at the tantalizing ministrations of his fingers on your flesh. He is teasing you, just close enough to your breast that it hitches your breathing, but not too close to where you can feel pleasure. A hot wash of arousal rolls into your body, slick beginning to gather between your thighs.

“More specific,” the words are muttered around the skin of your chest, one of his hands tugging on your collar to bare more of your body to him.

You whine, bucking your hips upward, knowing exactly the shape his cock will be in beneath the underwear that has him caged from you. You reach forward and tug at the waistline of his briefs, “Please, Shouto, I want to feel you.”

At the mention of feel, he takes you by surprise as he slips two fingers between your folds, curling into you quickly. You muffle your whine into the pillow, turning your face so your cheek is smushed against the downy cushion. Shouto’s palm that isn’t occupied with your tight heat tugs your shirt up over the tops of your breasts, baring your chest to the cool air of the bedroom.

“You are feeling me, sweetheart,” he teasingly licks over your nipple, thankful for the lack of a bra separating you from his wanton tongue.

Another moan drags salaciously from your lips, vibrating your throat and making his cock twitch, “Sho’, wan’ your cock. Please.”

You’re able to drag his pants and briefs down at once, his cock springing free from the restricting fabric. When it bobs against his abdomen, enflamed red cockhead leaking pre-come, you feel saliva build up in the back of your throat. You start to pump him as best you can, watching as his weighty balls swing under your touch.

Everything about him is enticing, from his dual-toned hair to his heterochromatic eyes to his chiseled body. You’d use your tongue on every part of him if he’d let you, but right now you’re focused on only one thing.

Once Shouto has coaxed enough of your arousal to coat his hand, he curls his fingers into you one last time, collecting the silvery fluid on his fingers, and then stands to step out of his clothes. You keen at the loss of contact, eyes wide open so you don’t miss a second.

“C’mon, baby, take your clothes off for me.”

At his command, you’re stripping down until you’re bare in front of him, clothes in a pool of fabric on the floor right next to his. Even the simple intimacy of his clothing overlapped with yours does things to your heart, a pinpricking sensation making your skin heat.

“Hi,” he whispers, fingers framing your face as you get lost in his touch. His voice is gentle, and his touch is probing in the best of ways, a genuine smile tugging his lips upward as you echo the word back to him.

You can feel your arousal tumbling within the confines of your body, begging to be put to use as you feel his cock against your thigh. Todoroki guides you back into the mattress, shoulders pressing into the cool sheets, your body given some sort of contrast to the molten heat circulating under your skin. Your blushed skin draws Shouto’s attention, eyes dragging over each inch of your body, mesmerized by your beauty.

Todoroki shakes his head, “You’re beautiful, you know?”

And at the end of his sentence, acting like punctuation, his cock slides between your heat.

Your eyelids flutter shut and your hands are on him in an instant, nails dug into his flesh to try and dispel some of the energy already built up within your fragile body. Shouto feels lightning spark up into his spine, the trails of it striking his hidden heart, licking at the edges of the glass box keeping him imprisoned from the world.

As your cunt clenches around him and your mouth utters his name like a prayer, Shouto can tell that his chest is constricting, tightening around his heart in an attempt to break himself free from the confines of his past.

“Sho’,” you’re mewling for him now as the veins of his cock drag salaciously against your tight, glutenous walls. Silvery slick coats his dick and he moans as your pussy clamps again.

He begins to build up the speed of his thrusts, his thumb brushing over your clit slowly, the very beginning of a pleasurable end building up within your belly. His mouth is attached to anything on you he can find – breast, collarbone, jaw, throat, cheek. Teeth and tongue lash out at you, parting his mouth so his heated breath can wash over your body.

Shouto focuses as best he can on forcing heat down the length of his arm, pinpointing the warmest point onto the tip of his thumb. You preen, eyes bulging out of your sockets well enough that he can translate your pleasure. On the opposing hand, the one currently preoccupied with your nipple, begins to freeze. Gooseflesh trembles on his arm but he does not mind, not when he gets to hear your panting whines of his name mixed with the begging sounds of please, please, please.

“Such a good girl,” Shouto murmurs into the thin skin of your throat, tongue delving from between his lips to lavish your jugular. “So pretty, laid out just for me.”

You nod your head as best you can, eyes wide as you drink in his praise. Your mouth bobs open but you can’t form words, not anything intelligent anyway. Shouto reaches his icy thumb towards your lips, brushing his cool touch over the heated skin, steam wafting between the two of you.

“Have you been thinking about this as long as I have?” he asks rhetorically, not expecting you to answer based on the fucked out look in your eyes, the drool seeping from the corner of your mouth as his body makes quick work of you. Shouto grunts, “I’ve wanted to take you against every damn surface in this house for months.”

His left hand peels from your clit, running up over the curve of your thigh to press beneath your knee, pushing your leg upward so he can thrust into you from a better angle. Your hands are stuck on the sheets now, his body just out of reach thanks to the twisting of your hips. Shouto slams into you, balls slapping your ass as he ruts forward.

You feel his cock harden even further from within the confines of your cunt, the tip of him brushing against the spongy corner of your insides. After another deep thrust he’s bottomed out within you, hips absolutely flush with your thighs as he presses into you.

Shouto leans forward, not daring to pull himself away from you just yet, enjoying the way you envelope him fully, “You think you can come for me, love? I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

“Y-Yes, Shouto, I-I’m getting there, almost,” you promise him, eyes fucked out to the point you can barely make sense of his frame loitering above you. Your lower lip wobbles as you pout, “A-Are you gonna-fuck-want you to come in me.”

It’s a simple sentence, but the weight of it makes Todoroki’s heart stop. He knows you’re on preventatives, he’s had to stay home with Hana to cover during the day for your doctor’s visits. But something stirs at the base of his cock, weighing in the thick of his body, and for some reason he wishes you were his for the taking in every sense of the word.

As you whimper beneath him, his eyes trail over your body, landing on your belly. His fiery touch grazes the swell of your stomach where he knows his cock is pressed deep within you. His balls throb at the thought of coating every inch of you in his spend, you begging for more as it leaks out of you and onto the sheets; him drawing you into another round just to make sure that you’re stuffed full.

Suddenly, a fracture within his chest allows him to breathe deeper. As you buck your hips into him, begging him for more, telling him how good he’s making you feel, Shouto recognizes the fragile box surrounding his heart, guarding it from the world, has begun to shatter.

“Shouto, please,” you are begging him now, glassy eyes and pitched tone designed just for him, “Need to feel you, everywhere.”

Your plea is the final rock thrown at the glass box, cracking it in every direction. Shards of emotion lodge in his throat, tearing into him so he cannot breathe. As he gasps for breath, fingers digging into your skin, he knows he’s bruising you but he can’t bring himself to think of it as anything other than finally marking you down at his.

And then, when your breathy voice curls in the air, settling on his chest like a balm, he feels the glass melt away, turning to liquid fire in his gut. The words you utter tear open his heart, leaving a gaping, belligerent wound that he knows only you can mend.

“I love you, Shouto, I love you too.”

His eyes find yours, wide and wanting. You nod as if that will solidify his place in the universe, tears blurring your vision, repeating the sentiment over and over again, uncaring to the way your face looks glassy beneath the lowlight of the bedroom. You just need him to know, need him to understand.

“Shit,” he pushes the heel of his palm into the bottom of your stomach, itching to feel the way his cock pulses in and out of you as he thrusts into your body. His thoughts are even more permanent now, the idea of filling you up, pouring his body into you in the most primal way possible, is the only thing he can see. Your hand makes its way into his hair, tugging at the crown of his head as you lean forward.

A mix of crimson and white is bunched between your fists, matching the little tufts of hair that tickle your pelvis every time he bottoms out within you. You scrape your nails against his scalp, but that only spurs him on faster, panting moans busting his throat open and begging you for more.

Your lashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks, mouth parted so he can see the pink of your tongue, “Sh-Sho’, I’m close.”

He makes it his mission to twitch his cock within your walls, providing an extra layer of stimulation as his channels himself into you mercilessly. Somehow, he does it with such a finesse that it does not feel rushed or sloppy. Shouto is very careful, precise, in everything he does, and you are not surprised it works its way into the mannerisms he exhibits between the sheets as well.

“C’mon, darling,” he coos into your ear, folding your thighs upward so you’re fully pressed into the mattress, “I want you to come for me, yeah? I want you to coat my cock. You can do it, you’re close, I can feel it.”

His praise intertwined with the thickness of his cock bulging within you breaks the crest of the wave, allowing pleasure to flow through your body and onto his cock, coating him in your thick, sweet release.

“Fuck, you feel good.” Shouto continues to thrust upward into you, eyes focused on your face as he uses your cunt to bring his own euphoria down from the clouds. He’s looking down at you, jaw hung wide as he buries his cock into your tight heat, enjoying the way your slick lubricates his length.

You buck up into him and he drops his head to your collarbone, thrusts becoming sloppier the longer he tries to hang on to the edge of the cliff. Your hand in his hair tugs on the strands, mouth by his ear as you whisper, “Please, Shouto, want to feel you come in me. I want you to pump me full of your hot load, stuff me-ah.”

His hips stutters as he releases his seed into you, tongue lapping at your throat carelessly to try and force his body not to start up again. The need to feel you coming around him, begging for his cock and come, is something he has been denying for too long.

“I love you,” he whispers into the curve of your earlobe, nipping at the skin as his hips still. “Fuck, I love you.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to the curve of his scalp, “I love you too.”

As he reaches the extent of his high, he presses his body flat into you, cock twitching within your core. Your palms find his shoulders, grazing gently with your fingernails until he’s moaning into your neck, hot breath fanning out over your skin.

“Unless you want to go again, I suggest you put an end to that,” he warns, but there is no intent behind it.

You laugh, rubbing your ankle against his calf, “We’ve got a little one about to wake from her nap. Maybe later.”

And that is a promise you fully intend to keep.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“Momma?”

You turn your head, pancakes on the griddle in front of you, “Yes, honey?”

Hana bounces towards you, white chiffon dress bubbling out at her knees, “When is breakfast ready?”

“When daddy gets back from his run,” you answer her, squatting in front of her to smooth the wrinkles from the fabric of her dress. “I made yours with choco-chips.”

Her eyes go wide and you feel a little sunbeam shining directly on your heart, warming your chest. She grabs you by the cheeks, palms squishing your lips together, “You can’t tell daddy!”

“Oh, I won’t,” you promise, voice distorted from the way she has you in her grasp. You brush a hand through her silver curls, tucking the strands away from her face. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Don’t tell daddy what?”

Hana squeals, turning on her heels to sprint towards the garage door. She’s on Shouto’s leg in an instant, clutching him like her life depends on it. You stand back to your feet, brushing your thighs clean before turning back to the griddle to start another round of pancakes.

“We can’t tell you or else it won’t be a secret, duh!” Hana sticks her tongue out as she pokes Shouto’s leg, rolling her eyes like it should be obvious. “Look, Momma’s making pancakes!”

Todoroki looks across the room at you, eyes reminding you of colorful gems as they behold you. Every time you catch him staring at you, you swear it’s even more infatuated than the last, his love for you only growing as time passes.

“Is she?” He peels her from his leg to shift her into his arms, holding her securely against his side. Todoroki walks over to you, leaning into the counter so he’s close enough that you can reach him but far enough that he can’t burn Hana on the griddle.

“You’re back quicker than I expected,” you admit, pouring batter out onto the stovetop. You grab the spatula, prepared to flip once they look done enough, “Did you pull something?”

Shouto shakes his head, leaning forward to intercept you with a kiss to the lips, “I just missed you.”

“Ew, gross! Kissing means cooties!” Hana pushes your faces apart, a hand on your mouths as she dramatically lolls her tongue out of her mouth to prove her disgust.

You chuckle, leaning forward to brush her hair from her eyes again, tucking it behind her ear even though you know it will spring forward not long after. Your eyes flash from her to her father, watching the pride settle into his irises, solidifying them even more. A gentle touch of your hand to his bicep brings him back to you, gaze unwavering as he maps out the features of your face yet again, each time finding something new to behold.

“Well, that means you have time to shower before we eat,” you squeeze his arm and return to your station at the griddle, flipping the next set of pancakes. “I’ve still got to make eggs and bacon, and some hash browns for the princess.”

Hana is beaming, bright smile tugging on the strings of your heart, “Momma makes the best hash browns.”

Todoroki places her back down on the ground, patting her backside as a silent gesture to tell her to go play. She takes his hint, sprinting back into the living room to resume her tea party with a stuffed elephant and a Ken barbie doll.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You never-ooh.”

He’s got you by the neck with one hand, the other anchoring to your hip to hold you close. Todoroki melds your mouths together, the heat of his body quickening your pulse. He steps closer, knee between your thighs so you can feel the hard bulge pressing into the fabric of his running shorts.

You hum as he parts from you, pancakes momentarily forgotten in the wake of his affections. You pat your hands on his chest, gnawing on your lower lip, “Smooth one, Todoroki.”

Shouto pinches your hip, growing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “You. Me. Nap time.”

“Oh?” you ask as he unwinds himself from you, nudging your body back towards the griddle.

“And I’m not talking about sleeping.”

Todoroki disappears from around the corner, slipping up the stairs to your now shared bedroom.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your lips. When you go to turn this set of pancakes, the diamond sitting on your left hand catches the luminescent lights of the kitchen and you marvel at it. You roll your ring around on your finger, trying to find a different angle to appreciate it from, but you’ve already memorized the shape of it after three years of marriage.

Your palm finds the gentle swell of your navel beneath the baggy t-shirt you’re wearing, one of Shouto’s early proofs for a new merchandise design. You bite your lip and look down, speaking to the rustling new life currently blooming in your belly, “Here’s to tomorrow, little one. May it always be just a little better than today.”

The pancakes are done and the bacon is sizzling when Shouto returns with damp hair and a pair of sweats on the lower half of his body. He curls an arm around you from behind, kissing your shoulder, “Smells good, love.”

You turn to offer him a kiss, which he takes with fervor. Hana voices her disgust from her seat at the table, but Shouto hushes her quickly with a playful rise of his eyebrow, pointed finger making her giggle.

The three of you are sat down to breakfast, just like any other Saturday, but this one feels special for some reason. You can’t quite make it out; maybe it’s the sun shining outside or the crisp breeze blowing through the open windows, but your soul is settled in a way that can only be achieved by utter bliss.

“Hey,” Shouto calls you from your stupor, “your choco-chip pancakes are going cold.”

You blink slowly, returning your gaze to him, a gentle smile on your face.

At least you’ll get to spend the rest of your life with someone as mindful and kind as Todoroki Shouto.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

taglist: @bakugous-forehead @kamehamethot @burnedbyshoto @rivendell101 @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @bitchtrynafck @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @multifandom-fanfic @that-one-enthusiast @blue-peach14 @pastel-prynce @bokunokangae @shoutodoki​ @todorki-shoto​ @bakuoushoe​ @1-800-callmekatsuki​ @tenyaingenium​ @lxvely-mha​ @myherorambles​ @ramen-rambles​ @honeytama​ @sleepysuneater​ @bratwritings​ @samanthaa-leanne​ @orokayagi​ @whats-her-quirk​ @riotfuckery​ @sunbeamwrites​ @bnhawritten​ @aizawamirite​ @lovekatsukibakugo​ @suckersuki​ @secondhand-trash​ @yaoyorozuwrites​ @kingtamakimurder​

[seraphimdivine]

Seraph-22-they/them! Femme aligned nonbinary at times ♡bi/poly Absolutely no minors. Cishets can interact but don't be WEIRD abt my gender / sexuality. Be respectful ^_^. More info under the cut♡

Hi! I'm seraph!! this is just an nsft sideblog. It's alot of reblogs and some original posts. Inbox and dms are usually open! Only for queer/Trans people though tbh. Cishets owe me 20 usd for even looking at this blog. Just because i are am poly doesn't mean i am looking for a relationship or plus one! I have a partner :D Usually tagged under 🐶. Main blog has the word Seraph in it. Most of this blog is tagged/organized,but sometimes I get lazy so sorry about that. US based !!

If youre confused about the emojis or tags at times, just ask!

Dont question me abt my gender, im whatever makes the joke land ♡ (nonbinary ^_^)

Dms only open to queer/trans people but that doesnt mean im gonna sext u fr ♡ and i do not want your dick pics. Don't ask me or try to push me for things :) if you know my main don't spread it ♡ if we happen to be mutuals there and u found it uhmmm sorry♡

At the end of the day this blog is for ME (and the stuff i post for my partner) ^_^

System safe and friendly blog! <-literally a member of a System lol (Traumagenic ! Yhis is not a roleplay blog. ) some other headmate nsft blogs if they want to share: @backseatofmycab

DAILY AFFIRMATION:🕯I AM SUBMISSIVE AND BREEDABLE🕯

♡YES♡

-Size kink

-breeding kink

-monsterfucker

-biting

-somno

-dilfs/milfs/etc

-fem dommes fr💪

-t4t nsft

-dumbification

-Terato / Monster fucking / knotting / WEREWOLVES♡♡♡

-getting used like a toy? Idk if there's a phrase. Objectification

-manhandling/mild rough housing

-overstimulation

-mounting/breeding press

-pet play

-pet names

-primal

-high sex , i guess thatd count as intox but i do not drink so. No

-open to a lot more that I can't think of

《Anything listed here is always safe sane and consensual! Nothing too out of bounds or genuinely Bad / icky》

×NO×

-detrans

-misgendering

-race play

-scat/unhygienic things

-forced preg

-gore/snuff/vore

-inc//st,step siblings,etc.

-ddlg [calling someone daddy/mommy is fine tho as titles! Just ask! ]

-age play

-probably more just don't push it or be a freak/neg!

I try to trigger tag things + I do tag Genitalia Ment. If you need anything tagged lmk!

Edit: i usuallt forget to tag genitalia ment now sorrryyy♡

Okay that's all byeee^-^ enjoy ur stay!

Another edit !-

Emoji key!: (not indicative of preferences for now, mostly in order of who mostly uses this blog)

🪽/🐇 - S. (She/They/He)

🐈‍⬛- J.(He/They/hole. /hj) [ @backseatofmycab ]

🔆 - L. (She/Her)

💙- A. (She/They,He sparingly)

🎰- A. (She/They/He)

🌙- S.(He/They)

🌕- M. (He/Him)

🐏- D. (they/them boygirl thing.)

[The other emojis are for others outside of sys. U can ignore those they know who they are ♡. Also, when looking at the tags, sometimes the person reblogging it will go first , and then add extra tags if it reminds them of anyone.

Example: if A.(💙) is making a post that also happens to remind her of J., it could look like

[Post body]

#/💙 #/[maybe a few comment tags] #/🐈‍⬛

Anyways any questions or concerns feel free to ask :)

Like this post or shoot us a dm if you've read it ♡♡ or if you'd like to be mutuals!