#trying to get his shift covered at work? unrealistic'

[aethersea]

devastating to go into the tag for an obscure vampire movie I've been quietly obsessed with for years to find mostly gifsets of minor characters (played by big-name actors) and review blogs saying they didn't like it :(

@ everyone who made a post saying "I liked it :)" I am blowing you a kiss. everyone who made a lovely gifset or photoset of the cinematography I am tipping my hat. that one poster that said "bro did y'all just miss the Entire Message about class and race or???" I am shaking your hand with enthusiasm there was SUCH a message about class and race

anyway everybody should watch Night Teeth and revel in glitzy flashy modern vampires in LA with me

[hyuckiefluff]

casual | mark lee

pairing: idol! mark lee x waitress! fem. reader genre: fluff, strangers to lovers wc: 8k summary: you wouldn’t normally fall for a guy who left his number on a dinner bill. too bad that guy was mark fucking lee. content warnings: slightly suggestive content (making out), light cursing, food mentioned, parasocial themes, reader works a service job, a very overworked mark lee :(. no explicit smut in this part. a/n: hiii before anyone yells at me—yes, i know this isn’t the haechan fic i’m supposed to be working on (promise i’m still on it!!) but listen… i went to the smtown concert last week and it fully reignited my delusions, so i wrote this as a coping mechanism :P ik we’ve all been out with friends maybe at a restaurant, and thought, “what if my bias walked in right now?” right?? that’s basically the entire premise of this fic. pretty unrealistic but super fun to write & i hope it’s just as fun to read! also no smut… yall know what that means lol if you want a part 2... just say the word. ps: if you’re ever at an italian restaurant, do yourself a favor and get the gnocchi. trust me.

giving up your one free day to cover someone else’s shift wasn’t how you planned to spend saturday. but when your coworker begged with teary eyes and a story about her sick cat, saying no felt impossible.

so instead of sinking into your couch with a pint of chocolate ice cream and pride and prejudice on repeat, you were hustling through a saturday night at one of the city’s busiest restaurants.

it was hour six of your shift and you were at that breaking point where one starts fantasizing about quitting—or at least hiding in the walk-in freezer for five peaceful minutes.

any weekend here was a carnage with nonstop orders, zero patience, and customers who thought yelling would grill a steak faster.

but it was finally past eleven which meant the dinner rush had slowed and the only remaining stragglers were either couples too in love to notice the time or office workers too tired to cook at home. just two more hours, you thought to yourself.

“y/n! table four,” your coworker called, rushing past with a stack of empty plates.

you snapped out of your daze and walked over, expecting tired business executives or another couple feeding each other breadsticks. instead, you made eye contact with the two people you least expected to see here.

mark lee and johnny suh were looking right at you.

your heart dropped to your ass. for a second, you actually considered turning around. but even with your brain buffering, you knew you had to keep it together. the last thing you wanted was to make them uncomfortable.

you stopped beside their table, immediately recognizing the other two who had their backs to you as haechan and jungwoo. internally, you were combusting, but externally you prayed your expression didn’t scream that you were seconds from melting into the floor.

“hi, welcome to cecconi’s,” you said, voice steady enough despite your heart hammering your ribs.

when you handed over their menus, your fingers brushed mark’s briefly and you hoped he didn’t notice you flinch. that’s when you noticed the book peeking out of the front pocket of his hoodie.

you recognized the cover instantly— south of the border, west of the sun by murakami.

you cleared your throat, smiling before you could stop yourself. “that’s a good one.”

mark’s eyes followed where you were pointing and his eyebrows shoot up when he realized “wait… you’ve read this?”

you nodded, trying to be casual, as if you hadn’t picked that book apart alone on your bedroom floor at 2 a.m. two months ago. “i’ve read all of his stuff. but this one was a whole different experience.”

“i literally can’t put it down.” mark said, angling his body to yours with excitement. you could see he was tired but the small talk seemed to give him an energy boost.

“right? anything by murakami makes me feel like i’m eavesdropping on my own memories,” you said, mostly to yourself.

“that’s exactly it!” he said, eyes going wide. “i never knew how to put it into words before.” you had to look away before you got caught smiling at how boyish he looked when he got excited.

the other members stared with amused expressions on their faces, so you quickly straightened up and went back into server mode.

“right… uhm, our special tonight is black truffle gnocchi in a garlic cream reduction, topped with parmesan and chive oil. would you like something to drink while you look over the menu?”

“what kind of beers do you have?” johnny asked, leaning back in his seat.

you rattled off the list, stepping in to point them out on the menu. your hand was visibly shaking, but you hoped they’d chalk it up to general social awkwardness and not the fact that your four favorite idols were sitting in front of you.

“just water for me,” mark said softly. despite his smile, you could clearly hear how strained his voice was.

“great, i’ll bring those right out.”

they must’ve come straight from the venue. tonight’s show—the very one you’d missed because of this shift—had ended less than two hours ago. and now they were here, in your section, eating dinner. 

you walked to the bar, filled the glasses as requested except for mark’s. for him, you brewed a mug of hot water, dropped in a slice of lemon, a swirl of honey, and a small nub of ginger. it wasn’t even on the menu but something about his tired eyes and strained voice made you move on instinct.

you brought the tray back with all the drinks, placing them down carefully. when you reached mark, you set the mug in front of him.

“i hope this is okay,” you said quietly. “honey-ginger tea. it’s good for your throat.”

mark blinked, taken off guard. “oh… thank you.” he looked down at the mug, then back up at you. “seriously. that’s really thoughtful.”

you just smiled, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “are you guys ready to order?”

they each placed their orders, nothing too extravagant. jungwoo wanted pasta, johnny asked for a steak medium rare, and haechan—after a dramatic five minute debate with himself—settled on the truffle gnocchi. mark went last.

“can i get the steak medium rare? and the mashed potatoes instead of the fries, if that’s okay,” he asked, glancing up again, voice still carrying that soft exhaustion.

“of course,” you said, jotting it down. “i’ll get those in for you.”

you dropped the order slip at the kitchen window, still feeling weirdly out of sync with your body. it didn’t help that you had to keep circling their table to serve other guests. table five had just ordered dessert, the group behind them needed their wine refilled, and your feet barely touched the floor before you were moving again. 

still, awareness prickled at the back of your neck whenever you passed their table.

you turned your head slightly, pretending to scan the room. mark was looking right at you but quickly glanced away, suddenly very invested in the tea in front of him.

you hesitated. maybe they needed something?

smoothing your apron, you walked back to their table. your heart thudded way harder than it needed to, but you managed a smile.

“everything okay here?” you asked.

mark cleared his throat, shaking his head as a faint flush crept up his neck. “we’re good. thanks, though.”

johnny’s lips twitched, and haechan was very clearly hiding a smirk behind his glass.

you smiled again, warmth rising in your chest at how shy he looked. “no worries. food should be out soon.”

back behind the bar, you tried to focus. really, you did. but your eyes kept drifting back to their table. thankfully, they seemed too wrapped up in their conversation to notice. every now and then, though, mark’s gaze would flicker your way.

he’s probably just zoning out, you told yourself. or exhausted, probably both. don’t be weird about it.

still… he kept looking. did you have something on your face? was it obvious you recognized them? god, what if he thought the tea was too much?

you groaned softly and buried your face in your hands when no one was looking.

pull it together, y/n. finish the shift. freak out later.

they are pretty quickly and eventually, their table quieted down. it was past midnight now, and the restaurant was finally starting to shut down. you printed their bill, then hesitated, chewing your lip as your pulse ticked higher.

should i?

this was your shot. it was maybe a little silly and borderline embarrassing, but if you didn’t say something now, you’d regret it forever.

before you could second-guess yourself any more, you scribbled a note at the bottom of the receipt:

"hii, hope this isn’t weird but i’m a really big fan. you’re amazing and i hope you enjoyed your meal and that the tea helped. get some rest tonight! :)"

you took a breath, walked back over, and placed it gently in the center of the table.

“here’s your bill,” you said quietly. “no rush, of course.”

mark looked up first. the smile he gave you was a little tired, but genuine.

“thank you,” he said warmly.

you nodded and stepped away, legs wobbling slightly as you disappeared into the back.

it’s done, you told yourself. no going back now.

as you busied yourself cleaning other tables, you watched from the corner of your eye as they got up. haechan said something that made mark laugh quietly, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your stomach flutter helplessly.

then they were gone.

you waited a few extra minutes before heading over just to be sure. as you cleared the plates, you reached for the bill with your heart already racing, though you told yourself not to expect anything.

but when you opened the leather folder, your breath hitched.

they’d left a generous tip—but that wasn’t what caught your eye. there was something written under your message, a response scribbled quickly in neat handwriting:

"thanks for taking care of us tonight. especially the tea! :)"

followed by a number.

your heart kicked so hard you had to brace a hand on the table edge. there was no name at all, just the number. the ink looked a little smudged near the dash like whoever wrote it had closed the presenter in a hurry.

holy shit.

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

it was past one when you finally made it home, hair smelling like garlic butter and burnt steak. the city lay quiet, your apartment even quieter, yet your brain refused to join the calm.

with a tired sigh, you tossed your bag onto the couch and collapsed beside it, fingers still gripping the bill tightly.

you’d reread the message ten times already. the ink was even more smudged now from your fingers, but the number was still clear.

you exhaled loudly, then groaned into a throw pillow.

“what the hell is happening.”

it had to be mark. right? it felt obvious. 

then again, maybe another member had simply appreciated the gesture and thanked you on behalf of mark. after all, their handwriting wasn't exactly familiar. you’d seen them a few times on signed albums or online fan letters, but not enough to be certain. 

suddenly determined, you sat upright, snapped a quick photo, and zoomed in immediately.

“this is insane,” you muttered.

 but that didn’t stop you from opening a tab to search: mark lee handwriting.

this wasn’t your best moment. you were tired, emotionally compromised, and clearly spiraling. still you opened a second tab and went deeper until you were staring at stan twitter handwriting threads for half an hour.

after many more side-by-sides, you sat back and stared at the screen like it could confess to you.

“it looks like his,” you whispered.

just text him. what's the worst that could happen?

the thought alone conjured every embarrassing scenario possible and made you nearly throw your phone across the room. how would you even start that conversation?

“hi, is this mark lee from nct? because i’m lowkey in love with you and i really hope you're the one who left your number at my workplace tonight?”

your heart nearly stopped at the thought. you glanced at the clock again—2:17 a.m.

yeah. no. you needed to lie down. you’d sleep on it. calm down a bit and gain some perspective.

but three days passed.

three whole days. that’s how long you spent agonizing over a single text. you'd written and deleted at least twenty drafts—too casual, too eager, too weird. one even included a joke you cringed at the second you typed it, and deleted just as fast.

he’s probably already back in korea, you reminded yourself while folding napkins at the restaurant on tuesday. fan accounts had posted airport photos before you even got out of bed. mark in a beanie and headphones, eyes puffy with exhaustion.

two more days passed. eventually, courage outweighed dread.

on thursday night, curled up in your pajamas, you stared at the too-bright glow of your phone while netflix asked if you were still watching. just do it, you told yourself. again.

you opened a new message. typed. erased. retyped. your pulse pounded, drowning out mr. darcy’s proposal in the background.

hi! this is y/n, the server from cecconi’s last saturday night. i know you’re probably crazy busy, but i just wanted to say thanks again for coming in. hope you’re resting well :)

it was friendly and not too over the top… right?

you hit send and immediately shoved the phone under your blanket, like that could somehow shield you from the rejection.

an hour passed, then three more, and nothing. you forced yourself to sleep, pretending the tight knot in your chest wasn’t disappointment. the next morning, you checked your phone before even opening both eyes.

still nothing. not even a read receipt.

it’s fine. they were idols. they were busy. you’d waited too long anyway. the group was back in rehearsals, buried in schedules. who had time to answer a text from a random server in another country?

another day passed with no reply. you tried to talk yourself down. maybe it wasn’t even his number. maybe it was a manager’s. maybe his phone was off. maybe international sims are weird. maybe—

“why did you wait so long,” you muttered into the couch, face buried in a pillow.

you were just about ready to let it go when your phone buzzed softly against the coffee table.

your heart nearly launched itself out of your chest. you scrambled for it, almost knocking over the entire table in the process.

a new message.

sorry!! things got crazy once we got back to korea. i’m really glad you texted though. and we’re resting (sort of haha). it’s mark btw :)

you stared at the screen.

read it. then read it again. and again.

warmth flooded your chest. you'd been right.

it was him.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, brain scrambling for something to say. but for the first time in days, all you could do was smile.

you hadn’t realized how easily a single text could flip your whole mood until he replied. you must’ve read that message ten times before you even responded.

somehow, the conversation flowed naturally from there.

it started with casual back-and-forths. he’d talk about the tour, and you about your shifts. it quickly turned more personal though like blurry late-night snack pics from his studio, or mirror selfies of your server fits before dinner rushes.

none of it felt forced. but still… what was this?

you’d be wiping down table six or pulling espresso shots for a regular who never tipped, and suddenly your phone would buzz with a text message.

mark: can’t believe you’ve never seen inception…

you: maybe i was busy having friends

he sent back a string of laughing emojis and a photo of his laptop playing it.

mark: you’re watching it with me next time. no excuses.

next time.

you didn’t know what that meant, but it echoed in your head for the rest of the shift.

by the second week, it wasn’t just texts.

sometimes he’d call when your time zones aligned, and you were both free. once while you were folding laundry. another while he walked home from the studio, breath fogging the cold air as he complained about his busted heater.

“i feel like an old man,” he said once, voice scratchy. “my knees hurt”

“you’re twenty-five.”

“and breaking down.”

you laughed until your stomach hurt. he was quiet for a second, then said, “i like your laugh.”

you had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright.

a month later came the first video call.

it was early morning. you were still half-asleep, texting with one eye open, when your screen lit up with a facetime request. you froze.

no makeup. puffy eyes. pimple cream still on your chin. but your fingers accepted the call before your brain could stop you.

he was lying down, hoodie half over his face.

“oh thank god,” he mumbled. “i thought you weren’t gonna pick up.”

“i almost didn’t,” you laughed, pulling the covers up to hide half your face. “you caught me in a vulnerable state.”

his eyes crinkled. “you look cute.”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you just tucked your face further into the blanket.

after a few hours, the call fell into a comfortable silence, his eyes starting to flutter shut as you both lay in your respective beds.

you should’ve hung up, but you didn’t. you just stayed on the call, watching him sleep.

video calls became routine after that.

at first, they were short—ten, maybe fifteen minutes. he’d call after practice, his hair a mess, face still damp with sweat. the phone would be propped against his water bottle as he peeled off his hoodie and complained about sore calves.

but the calls started stretching longer. sometimes he was lying on a hotel bed, cheek pressed into the pillow, telling you about his comeback preparations. other times, he wandered through whatever city he was in, showing you the neon signs, quiet side streets, and cafés tucked into corners no tourist would ever find.

“i’ll take you here one day,” he said once, camera panning to a ramen shop. “i mean… if you ever visit.”

you didn’t answer right away. just smiled and pretended the idea didn’t stick in your chest like a pebble you couldn’t shake loose.

you started saving little things throughout the day just to tell him later. customer stories, songs that reminded you of him, strange headlines you knew would make him laugh. without realizing it, your brain made notes labeled tell mark this later.

he did the same. he sent you photos of whatever snack he was eating on set, told you about a dream where you both worked in a space bakery, asked what you thought of new songs he was writing. he never sent full demos, just a few seconds here and there—but it still felt intimate.

you started noticing things you hadn’t, even after all your years as a fan. how he bit the soft skin of his knuckles when he was anxious or the fact that he brushed his teeth for 6 minutes (yes, you counted).

neither of you brought up what this was. and maybe that was okay.

still, on some nights, you’d wonder does he text other people like this? has he done this before, video calls, sleepy laughter and quietly sharing his day?

you never asked.

you didn’t want to ruin the quiet magic of it all by needing too much too soon.

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

mark eased you into his life bit by bit.

on a random thursday night, you were sprawled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through tiktok when your phone buzzed. you smiled automatically when you saw his name and hit accept.

but it wasn’t him when the call connected.

“yo! she’s real!” johnny’s voice boomed through the speaker, far too loud and way too amused.

you blinked. “wait—what?”

the screen shook as mark scrambled to get the phone back. “okay, okay, stop—hyung, give it back!”

“nice to meet you,” jungwoo added brightly in the background. “finally!”

haechan’s face popped into view next. he hovered close to the camera, flashing a crooked grin. “she’s the one, right? the reason he’s always giggling at his phone like a loser.”

they were all speaking in korean, except for johnny—who made sure you caught the gist. you weren’t fluent, but you knew enough to piece it together. their tone said a lot, anyway.

“what did he say?” you asked, laughing nervously.

johnny leaned in. “he said mark’s obsessed with you.”

mark groaned in the background. “don’t translate that.”

“he talks about you,” haechan added in english, still half-hiding behind jungwoo but clearly enjoying himself. “all. the. time.”

you stared at the screen, wide-eyed, face already burning. “oh god—wait, we just—”

“aigoo, she’s cute,” jungwoo said with a grin, nudging haechan’s shoulder. “mark, you’re done for.”

mark finally got his phone back, his flushed face filling the screen. he was breathless from laughing.

“i’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “that was… i didn’t mean for that to happen.”

you were still blushing but grinning too. “so you talk about me all the time?”

he covered his face with one hand. “please. don’t start, they won’t let me live this down”

after that night, it became a running thing. sometimes you’d call just to talk to mark and end up ambushed by his members. taeyong once popped into frame with a plate of fruit, offering you a piece through the screen like you could actually take it. “for energy,” he said in halting English, then smiled and wandered off.

chenle appeared a few times asking random questions as if you’d been friends forever, one time he asked “do you like mark as much as he likes you?”

you sputtered something while mark tried (and failed) to shut him up.

renjun showed up once too, squinting at the screen. “so this is the girl,” he said, then walked off dramatically without another word.

it was chaotic, awkward, and constantly embarrassing but it also made your chest ache in the best way. knowing you weren’t some secret he was hiding. you were someone he wanted them to know.

and then one night, a few weeks later, mark called with a different kind of energy.

“guess what?” he said, barely able to sit still.

you blinked at him through the screen. “what?”

“we’re going to the US,” he grinned, and your heart nearly stopped.

“wait, seriously?”

“yeah, for a festival. just one weekend, but i’ll have a couple free days before the flight out. i—” he paused, scratching the back of his neck. “i was really hoping i could see you.”

you stared at him, stunned for a second.

“you want to see me?” you asked softly.

“yeah,” he said immediately. “i mean, only if you want to, obviously. i just… i’ve been thinking about it for a while. texting and calling is great but,.. i kind of miss being in the same room as you.”

not just the same city,  not just in passing. but in the same room with you.

you swallowed past the nerves bubbling up in your chest and nodded, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i want that too.”

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

you tried for tickets the second they went live.

you had alarms set, several tabs open, your card ready. but none of it mattered…

they sold out in minutes.

you stared at the screen in disbelief, refreshing the page over and over hoping the outcome would change. it didn’t. your chest tightened with each failed refresh.

you were so close. and now, you had no idea how to tell mark.

you waited a whole day, thinking they’d release more tickets, maybe someone would resell—but the prices were insane, triple what you could afford, and the longer you waited, the more hopeless it felt.

when he finally called you that night, you tried to act normal for about ten seconds before it all came spilling out.

“i didn’t get tickets,” you said, voice cracking before you could stop it. “they sold out so fast and now the only ones left are like impossible. and i know you’re going to be super busy and probably won’t be able to meet up anyway, but i was really looking forward to seeing you perform, and now i don’t even know if i’ll get to see you at all—”

“hey, hey, slow down.” mark’s voice was soft. “breathe, y/n.”

you inhaled shakily, pressing your forehead to your knee, curled up on the couch. “sorry. i just… i really wanted to be there.”

“i know,” he said gently. “and i want you there too.”

you went quiet, biting the inside of your cheek.

“but we’ll figure something out, okay?” mark continued. “don’t stress about it too much. just… trust me a little.”

“what do you mean…,” you said slowly, suspicion creeping in.

he chuckled. “nothing. just saying... maybe don’t give up hope yet.”

you narrowed your eyes at your phone. “you’re being cryptic.”

“am i?” he said, way too innocently.

you groaned into your pillow. “don’t do this to me.”

“i’m not doing anything,” he replied. “just... keep the day of the festival open, okay?”

you wanted to press him, but the look in his eyes was too confident. so you nodded slowly, heart still a little heavy but soothed by the warmth in his voice.

the day they landed in the US, you got the call while brushing your teeth.

your phone lit up with his name, and you answered with a mouthful of foam, spitting it out quickly as you mumbled, “hey, did you land?”

“we did,” mark said, voice laced with excitement. “and i have good news.”

“what?”

“a car’s going to pick you up the day of the show,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “my team helped sort it out. we wanted to make sure you’d be there.”

you blinked, wide-eyed, toothbrush still in hand. “wait what? you—what do you mean? mark—”

“you’re coming to the festival, y/n. you’re not missing this. not if i can help it.”

you clutched your phone, stunned into silence, overwhelmed by how much care he’d tucked into those few words.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i know,” he interrupted, voice softer now. “but i wanted to.”

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

you’d never felt more nervous getting ready for anything in your entire life. not for job interviews, not for first dates, not even for a final exam. nothing compared to the fluttering anxiety buzzing in your chest right now.

it was almost ridiculous how much effort you'd put in. your hair was carefully styled in waves that took you half an hour to do, your makeup was done and redone multiple times until you finally settled on something subtle but pretty. your outfit had taken ages to choose, you didn’t want to look too casual but also didn’t want to make it seem like you were trying too hard. so you settled for a regular black skirt and a white long sleeved top, it was comfortable but not boring. you wanted to look good, even though mark had already seen you at your most tired, sweaty, and disheveled.

the car arrived precisely at the time mark had promised. your heart jumped to your throat when the driver opened the door for you, offering a polite nod. 

your hands trembled slightly in your lap the entire ride to the venue. you felt giddy, overwhelmed, and deeply nervous all at once.

but when you finally arrived, the excitement abruptly shifted into self-awareness. several staff members glanced at you warily, some whispering to each other and throwing quick looks your way. suddenly, you felt very out of place, shrinking slightly under their scrutinizing gazes.

“excuse me,” came a sharp voice behind you. you turned around to see a woman approaching, her expression serious, a clipboard held firmly in her hands. “you must be y/n?”

“yes,” you replied nervously.

“there are some documents you'll need to sign,” she informed you.

“documents? like—”

“standard NDAs, confidentiality agreements, liability waivers,” she cut in and handed you a clipboard, flipping briskly through pages filled with dense legal text. “you'll need to sign these before we move forward.”

you stood frozen for a moment, feeling incredibly naive and small as reality hit you like a slap to the face. you’d let yourself get carried away, almost forgetting who exactly mark was—who exactly these people were. they weren't just regular guys; they were idols, celebrities, people with management teams and carefully guarded images.

this was serious and you had somehow underestimated all of it.

the woman noticed your hesitation, her expression softening just a fraction. “it’s standard procedure,” she said, “mark personally asked us to ensure you’re comfortable, but we need to protect everyone involved.”

“okay,” you whispered shakily, taking the pen from her hand. your fingers felt numb as you signed, barely registering the words printed on the paper. 

once the woman was satisfied, she took the clipboard back, nodded curtly, and gestured for you to follow her. your heart thundered in your chest as you walked through the busy hallway.

then she stopped in front of a dressing room door, knocking sharply once before opening it slightly. “mark? your guest is here.”

you held your breath as the door slowly swung open, your pulse so loud you could hardly hear anything else.

mark appeared in the doorway, eyes widening slightly as he took you in. suddenly, all the anxiety, paperwork, and awkwardness faded into the background. his expression softened immediately, that familiar warmth returning as his eyes crinkled in a gentl smile.

“hey,” he breathed softly, clearly just as relieved to see you as you were to see him. “you made it.”

mark steps fully into the hallway, blocking the view of the bustling green-room behind him. for half a beat you both just stare, soaking in the fact that you’re finally sharing the same oxygen again instead of pixels on a phone screen.

“wow…” he breathes, cheeks coloring as his eyes scan you. “you look so—” he catches himself, smiles sheepishly, and opens his arms. “can i?”

you nod before your brain supplies coherent language, letting him tug you forward. the hug is quick—he’s hyper-aware of everyone around you—but his hand stays at your elbow afterward, grounding you.

“sorry about the fuss,” he murmurs, voice pitched low so only you can hear. 

“it’s okay… just a bit intense.”

“i know.” his thumb sweeps a tiny circle on your sleeve. “but you’re here now. c’mon, the guys are waiting.”

when you walk inside the room is buzzing with energy. there’s stylists zipping garment bags, a makeup artist following jungwoo around to touch up his lips, haechan drumming on a folding table with two half-empty water bottles. the second he spots you, his face splits into a grin.

“look who made it!” he crows, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “mark’s special guest.”

johnny swivels in a chair. “oh, the infamous y/n at last.” he stands, offering a hand that turns into a gentle half-hug when you take it. “nice seeing you again.”

jungwoo waves from a corner, cheeks puffed with gummy bears. “hi! mark’s talked a lot about you,” he says around the candy. 

mark groans. “ignore them, they’ve been insufferable since i told them you were coming.”

“insufferable?” haechan clutches his chest theatrically. “hyung, we’re just supporting your relationship!”

you feel your face go nuclear. “it’s not— we’re just—”

“friends,” mark supplies, shooting haechan a warning glance. but the tips of his ears have gone pink, and the little smile tugging at his mouth totally betrays him.

johnny leans closer, whispering, “lies, he’s always grinnung at his phone like a middle schooler whenever you talk.”

you let out a mortified laugh that turns into a squeak when mark nudges johnny away. “we have to be on stage in ten minutes, maybe focus?”

jungwoo claps. “right! you can watch backstage with staff.”

an assistant appears then, handing mark an in-ear pack. he hesitates, then squeezes your hand once before following the others toward wardrobe.

“sorry i gotta get dressed,” he says over his shoulder, “see you in a bit.”

you exhale for the first time since stepping off the car, pulse finally settling as the door swings shut. you tuck a stray hair behind your ear, catching your reflection in a vanity mirror. your cheeks are flushed and there’s a stunned little smile on your lips.

the staff member that escorted you in approaches again, her expression now more polite but still distant as she walks you down a narrow hallway. “you’ll be watching from here,” she explains as you reach a curtained-off section just beside the stage entrance.

the space is just wide enough for a couple of folding chairs, and a monitor showing the stage feed. even through the curtain, you can hear the low rumble of the crowd growing louder by the second—cheers, screams, the crowd chanting “ilichil, we love you!” 

you perch at the edge of a chair, feeling entirely out of place and wildly overwhelmed.

what am i even doing here?

this wasn’t some fantasy anymore. you weren’t watching fancams in your pajamas or whispering to your screen during late-night video calls. you were backstage, in their world, and everyone around you belonged to it except you.

you looked down at your outfit again, smoothing invisible wrinkles, suddenly doubting every choice you’d made that morning. your nails, your shoes, even the way you’d done your eyeliner. it all felt too much and not enough at the same time.

a soft noise pulls your attention back to the side curtain. one of the stylists slips through, handing off a mic pack to someone just outside your view. you recognize mark’s voice quickly.

he’s laughing at something jungwoo said, but even through the laughter you can hear the edge of nerves in his voice. it makes you feel… less alone in your own.

you peek around the edge of the curtain. they’re all gathered near the wings, adjusting their in-ears and bouncing on their heels to shake out last-minute jitters. mark’s back is turned at first, but then he glances over his shoulder almost like he can feel your eyes on him.

your breath catches when his gaze finds yours. through all the chaos and noise, his eyes meet yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t wave or call out—he just smiles.

he turns back as staff starts to guide them toward the entrance tunnel, and you’re left sitting there with your heart doing an unholy rhythm in your chest.

you hadn’t expected this, the building pressure in your chest, the way your emotions feel too big to hold.

but underneath all of it, layered between the nerves and the noise inside your own head, there’s a flicker of anticipation.

he’s just a few feet away now. he’s about to be on stage, doing what he was born to do, and you’ll be right here, watching not just as a fan anymore.

but as someone who matters to him.

the stage lights cut to black, and the low hum of the backing track pulses through the arena like a heartbeat. from your narrow perch in the wings you can feel the vibration under your soles, a physical reminder that this isn’t a dream.

a lone spotlight slices across the darkness—jungwoo steps into it, and the crowd erupts. the boys fan out behind him in practiced formation.

mark is near the center, head lowered, hand cupped over his earpiece as he settles into position. you’ve watched this opening on countless fancams, but up close everything is magnified: the hiss of their in-ears, the snap of jacket fabric when they turn, the ragged inhale before the first line.

johnny’s deep vocal rolls out, haechan answers with his bright harmony, and suddenly the whole place is singing along..

mark’s part hits next. he steps forward, eyes scanning the sea of faces before flicking to you. it’s only a second, a brush of attention so quick the crowd would never catch it, but it lands like a spark in your lungs. he grins, then pivots into choreography.

you never understood how performers could look both effortless and deadly focused until now. sweat beads at their hairlines within minutes, but they don’t miss a beat. haechan riffs a playful ad-lib, doyoung shoots him a mock glare, johnny laughs into his mic; the crowd screams, drunk on the interaction.

halfway through the set, they perform gold dust as a surprise, the stage lights go yellow. mark moves to the far edge closer to you and delivers his verse straight ahead. but on his last bar he tilts his head, eyes skimming the shadows where you’re standing. his voice drops into that warm, gritty register you know too well from late-night calls, and despite the roar of the arena the moment feels impossibly intimate.

you tuck your hands under your arms, trying to calm the goosebumps, but the sheer thrill of seeing him own that stage while still tossing these tiny pieces of himself your way is overwhelming.

the final song explodes in confetti cannons. the boys hit their last pose, breathing hard, grinning wide. the screams from the audience are deafening; even the backstage staff exchange awed looks.

mark bows with the others, shouting “thank you!” into his mic, but as they turn to exit he catches your gaze one more time. he taps two fingers against his chest, then points subtly toward the hallway where you’re waiting and mouths the words stay right there, i’ll find you.

and you waited exactly where he told you to.

or… at least tried to.

but the moment the boys disappeared off stage, chaos swallowed everything whole. several stagehands rushed past with crates, wires and gear flying in every direction, staff barking orders into walkies while backup dancers and security weaved in and out of the narrow corridors.

you stepped back into the corner, trying not to get trampled, but every second you waited the crowd thickened, people shouting over each other, crew passing by so quickly that you were bumped into more than once. you caught glimpses of the members being swept off into different directions—haechan laughing breathlessly with a towel around his neck, johnny taking a water bottle from someone. but there was no sight of mark.

“you can’t stand here,” someone snaps, grabbing your elbow and steering you quickly away. “please, move along.”

“wait, i was supposed to—” you start, but your protest drowns in the noise as you’re guided through the maze of corridors. 

you glance over your shoulder anxiously, panic rising in your throat. mark said he’d find you but you don’t even know where you’re going.

the staff member stops abruptly near a back exit, where a van is parked outside the open door. he gestures hurriedly. “wait in there, please. someone will be with you shortly.”

before you can question it, he’s already vanished back into the building. hesitantly, you climb into the empty van, settling awkwardly on the leather seat. not even a minute later your phone buzzes with a text from mark.

mark: where are you??? backstage is insane, i can’t find you.

you quickly reply: someone moved me to a van near the back entrance?

your heart pounds as minutes stretch into eternity and doubt starts gnawing at you—they will probably film some behind the scenes content now, interviews, livestreams, what if he doesn’t have time to find you before he’s sent away?

but just as anxiety peaks, the van door suddenly slides open. your eyes widen as mark appears, breathing heavily like he ran to reach you, his stage makeup slightly smudged, hair damp and tousled from the performance. he sighs in relief, shoulders visibly relaxing the second he sees you.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes, climbing quickly into the van and closing the door behind him. “i was so worried. everything okay?”

“yeah, it was just really hectic—” you start, but your words fade as he sits beside you, closer than you’ve ever really been. close enough that you can see the faint glitter along his jaw, the sweat glistening at his temples, the warmth in his gaze as it settles fully on your face.

“you were incredible out there,” you say softly. “i’ve never…  it’s different seeing it up close.”

his cheeks pink despite the post-performance flush. “i kept looking for you.” 

“i noticed,” you admit, smiling.

mark’s gaze drops to your hands twisting in your lap and he reaches out.

“thanks for being here,” he murmurs. 

your laugh is a shaky exhale. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“also…the NDA,” he starts quietly. “i didn’t want you to feel like i was cornering you into some weird situation. that’s not what this is.”

“mark, i didn’t think that. i mean—it was overwhelming, yeah, but i get it. you’re…” you gesture helplessly. “you.”

he laughs softly, but there’s no real humor behind it. “i hate it. you know, not being able to just… hang out with you. not having the freedom to do normal things, like… i don’t know—go get coffee or show you the city or tell people about you without it turning into a whole thing.”

“is that what this is? am i…” you hesitate. “something you’d want to tell people about?”

he looks up at you, and there’s not a trace of hesitation when he says, “yes. i think about it all the time.”

you blink, throat suddenly dry.

he leans in slightly. “i just… i didn’t want you to think i was trying to make you sign your silence just so i could keep you a secret. it’s not about hiding you. it’s about protecting something that means a lot to me.”

and there it is. the part he hadn’t said yet.

you mean a lot to him.

your chest tightens with the weight of being chosen in a world that doesn’t make space for this kind of closeness, that demands boundaries, a good image and clean lines drawn in ink. and yet here he is, blurring those lines for you.

“thank you for saying that,” you murmur, voice trembling a little. “i didn’t realize how much i needed to hear it.”

mark reaches across the space then, taking your other hand. “i don’t want this to feel like you’re walking on eggshells because of my life. i want it to feel real.”

your fingers tighten around his instinctively.

“it already does,” you whisper.

and when he finally closes the distance between you, pulling you into a quiet, careful hug, it feels so right.

his arms wrap around you and for a second the world outside the van ceases to exist. he’s warm even through his stage jacket, you can feel his heartbeat thudding fast against your cheek. you breathe him in, clean sweat and fabric softener.

when he pulls back, he doesn’t release your hand. his thumb brushes lazy paths over your knuckles.

“i kept picturing this,” he admits quietly. “all week. wondering if it would feel the same in person as it did in my head.”

“and?” you whisper.

“it’s even better,” he says without hesitation.

he shifts slightly, the space between you rapidly shrinking. his gaze flickers briefly down to your lips, and the movement sends your pulse racing.

“mark,” you whisper, voice barely audible, “i—”

his other hand gently finds your cheek, thumb tracing lightly along your skin, tipping your chin up just a fraction. he searches your face, breathing shallow and eyes heavy with something soft and vulnerable.

you lean in instinctively, eyes fluttering closed as his breath ghosts warm over your lips—

and then the van door suddenly swings open, a burst of noise and harsh backstage lighting flooding in.

“mark hyung, manager hyung says—oh shit.” haechan freezes halfway inside the doorway. “ohhh, sorry… was i interrupting something?”

mark jerks back, cheeks blazing crimson as his hand quickly leaves your cheek and lands awkwardly in his lap. “dude, are you serious?” he groans, dropping his head with a sigh and muttering a very un-idol-like curse word. 

you cover your mouth, laughing breathlessly through the embarrassment even as your pulse continues hammering in your ears.

“sorry, sorry,” haechan says, grinning wickedly, clearly not sorry at all. “but uh, we gotta go. manager hyung’s freaking out. we got an interview, hurry up.”

“yeah. coming.” he searches your face, apology written in his eyes “they’ll herd us to the hotel soon. can you wait a little longer? i want to ride with you after they clear the crowd.”

you nod, trying to ignore the throb of almost-kiss still sparking across your lips. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“give me twenty minutes tops, and then i’m kidnapping you for actual food.”

“bold of you to assume i’d say no.”

as he slips out, you catch the faintest curve of a smile before the door thuds shut and you’re alone again.

thirty minutes later, mark slips back into the van. this time freshly changed, hair still damp but swept under a dark cap.

“sorry that took forever.” he drops into the seat opposite you, knee bouncing with leftover adrenaline. “do you wanna come meet the other members properly before we leave?”

you follow him back through a quieter service corridor to a smaller green room that smells heavily like hair spray. inside, half the members are sprawled on sofas in various states of post-show exhaustion. the energy shifts the second mark ushers you in.

“guys, this is y/n,” he says.

taeyong shoots up first, hand extended. “the legend herself,” he jokes, grinning wide enough to prove he’s still riding his performance high. jaehyun offers a shy wave and drags over a chair so you won’t have to hover. yuta, also walks over and introduces himself politely.

doyoung is the only one who stays seated, arms folded. his eyes flick between you and mark, assessing. it lasts all of three seconds before he notices how relaxed mark looks—those shoulders that usually sit somewhere near his ears are loose, his smile easy. doyoung’s expression softens.

“thanks for cheering him up,” he says quietly, a little sheepish. “he’s been impossible the last few weeks.” the tease lands gentle, and mark flicks a sweat towel at him in retaliation.

the small talk bubbles up easily. the topic shifting from favorite festival moments, to whose in-ears cut out, and the confetti that caught in doyoung’s mouth during a high note. the atmosphere is warm and surprisingly normal, until a manager pops his head in to remind everyone they’ve got early rehearsals tomorrow.

mark steers you quickly back to the van after saying a quick goodbye.

“so…” he ran a hand through his hair and put his hat back on. “food?”

“please,” you groaned, head falling back against the seat. “i’m starving.”

“wanna go to a restaurant?” he offered.

you winced. “too risky.”

he nodded slowly. “true, my hotel’s worse.”

you turned your head to face him. “sasaengs?”

“they wait outside sometimes, follow the vans from the venue” he trailed off, already looking annoyed with the reality of it.

“we could…” you swallow, then barrel through. “we could go to my place? it’s not far, and no one knows where i live. we can order in.”

mark’s head tilts, surprised but already nodding. “are you sure?”

“only if you’re okay hiding out in a tiny apartment that smells like scented candles and stale coffee.”

he smiles brightly. “sounds perfect.”

you rattle off your address to the driver, heart hammering as you drive through the city. mark’s knee bumps yours every time the van hits a pothole, but neither of you moves away.

he glances over. “thank you for trusting me with your space.”

you breathe out a shaky laugh. “thank you for trusting me with… all of this.”

his fingers brush yours on the seat between you. outside, the van slows to a stop at your curb. the driver kills the lights for discretion. thankfully, the street is empty.

you turn to mark, pulse racing for an entirely new reason now. “welcome to my part of the world.”

he grins, tugging his cap lower and reaching for the door handle. “lead the way.”

your apartment is small, cluttered with book stacks and half-burned candles, but it’s yours—and when mark steps in, slipping off his shoes at the door like he’s done it a hundred times, it feels suddenly, impossibly domestic.

“so,” he murmurs, looking around with quiet curiosity. “what’s good for takeout around here?”

you settle on thai food after a chaotic five-minute debate that ends with mark looking up from your couch and going, “okay but do you trust me with your spice tolerance?”

you blink at him. “mark. i watched you cry eating jalapeño chips during that one livestream.”

“they were ghost pepper!” he defends, slightly pouting. “and i didn’t cry, my eyes were just... dry.”

you giggle and the tension that had followed you into the apartment fades with it.

while you wait for the food, he wanders around your space with curiosity. never touching too much, just observing. he stops at your bookcase, smiles at the titles stacked sideways, fingers brushing one of the cracked spines.

“so this is where you’ve been calling from,” he says as he returns to the couch, flopping down beside you. “it’s cozy.”

“that’s code for small, right?”

he tilts his head, grinning softly. “no. cozy means i don’t want to leave.”

you glance over at him, heartbeat spiking in your throat. his hoodie’s a little rumpled from the ride, cap tossed somewhere by your front door, and he’s leaned so close your shoulders brush.

“you’re kind of the only boy who’s ever said that,” you murmur.

“then they’re idiots.”

your lips twitch with a smile. mark leans his head back on the cushion, you get distracted by the cute bump on his nose and the lines of his jaw.

you both fall quiet for a while, your legs stretched out beside his on the couch, ankles knocking occasionally. your body relaxes more than you expect, as if it remembers this feeling from all those calls and imaginary versions of this moment.

when the takeout finally arrives, you both eat cross-legged on the couch, plastic containers open between you, your playlist humming low in the background.

you talk through mouthfuls of noodles about everything and nothing—his weird craving for peaches whenever he’s overseas, your childhood phase of putting ketchup on rice, how you both secretly judge people who don’t rewind movies when they pause.

somewhere between “i really miss my mom’s kimchi stew” and your story about the nightmare customer who demanded gluten-free breadsticks, your shoulders touch. a minute later his arm slips along the back of the couch, fingers grazing your shoulder each time he shifts. your nerves fizz under your skin, but the contact feels safe.

You lean into him. He doesn’t move away.

the conversation slows and when you glance up to make a joke, your nose brushes the edge of his jaw. his breath hitches at this, then a warm hand settles on your knee.

“this feels…” he starts, swallowing. “kinda unreal.”

“yeah.” a whisper—because your voice has gone missing.

his palm lifts to your cheek, thumb soft against your skin. “can I kiss you?”

you’re already nodding.

the first kiss is shy and careful, more smile than pressure. The next slips deeper, mouths moving in a lazy rhythm neither of you rush. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his hoodie; his other hand skims your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the quiet drum of his heart.

eventually the couch gets too cramped. mark breaks the kiss with a sheepish laugh. “my back is dying,” he murmurs.

you tug him down the hall to your room, giggling when he nearly trips on a sneaker. he perches on the edge of the bed and you climb into his lap without thinking, legs draped around him. his hands settle on your hips and he sighs.

“i really, really like you,” he says, forehead resting against yours.

“i like you too. a lot.”

he kisses you again. you spend the next half hour like that, trading soft laughs and softer kisses until the adrenaline drains from his limbs. head falls heavy on your shoulder, he mumbles something about the best night of his life…and falls asleep mid-sentence.

You ease him back onto the pillows, kick off your skirt, and curl into the space beneath his arm. One leg hooks over yours; his hand rests at the small of your back, protective even in sleep.

it’s the tenth call that finally wakes him the next morning.

mark groans into your pillow, dragging his phone blindly toward his face. “what…”

a second goes by and then he jolts upright. “shit. shit.”

you blink groggily, one arm reaching out for him. “what’s wrong?”

he’s already stumbling for his shirt which he doesn’t even remember taking off last nigh. “i slept in. i never—fuck, i never sleep in.”

you sit up slowly, watching him try to shove his hat over tousled hair while checking his phone. “i have like ten missed calls.”

he answers the incoming call hurriedly, voice tense and apologetic. “yeah, i’m sorry, i know… i’m on my way now, just got… held up. i’ll explain later.”

he glances down at you then, taking in your messy hair, swollen lips and sleepy eyes, and the look on his face softens just a little.

when he finally hangs up, he rushes back to your side, quickly pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i gotta run, but i'll text you as soon as i can. i promise.”

you smile sleepily up at him, already missing the warmth of his body against yours. “go. don’t get in trouble.”

he pauses briefly before leaving. “last night was… perfect. thank you.”

and then he’s gone, leaving you to curl back into your pillow, still feeling the ghost of his touch and the lingering warmth of everything you shared.

[chimielie]

send flowers to my funeral

summary: Matsukawa x Reader. happy birthday FREAK

word count: 924

cw: no minors pls 🙏 suggestive content (scene starts immediately after mattsun and reader have finished having sex), no gendered terms or genitalia are mentioned but reader is pretty clearly. how do i put this delicately. getting fucked by him on the regular, fwb to lovers

a/n: my apologies for the incorrect characterization (mattsun and makki have a coffee table which is frankly unrealistic). also i insert a completely random rarepair headcanon with no context and then don’t expand at all

"My back hurts," you moan. "Get off me."

"One second," Issei says, his naked chest warm as his big body blankets you. "I'm tired."

"You're tired?" You can't even twist your neck up to look at him. You hope your tone betrays your incredulity.

"Well, I was the one doing all the work," he says, and you gasp indignantly.

"No, actually, get off of me!" You say. "All you have to do is," you back your hips up into his, where you're still connected. He groans, and you lose your train of thought for a split second. "You think those acrobatics are easy?"

"It was a mutual effort," he cedes. "Hey—"

"No," you say, aggravated. "I'm sore."

He shifts slightly, one thick forearm braced next to your head. You're bent over the arm of the couch, forehead almost touching the cushions. You say: "Okay, after I shower."

Showering together is one of those things you don't do, like kissing or staying the night. You'd put up emotional guards when you started doing whatever it is you and Issei do.

They hadn't worked, like, at all.

In the shower, you don't play music, just scrub yourself down and prod the red marks he'd left behind. On the hips, the chest, the ass. You never take long, afraid to use up his hot water or reveal something you don't mean to vis-à-vis the affinity for love songs you've developed.

After you've left the shower and the both of you drip water all over his covers, he puts the sheets in the laundry and pulls you back onto the couch, really on the couch this time, his feet up on the arm, his arms around you.

"It's my birthday today," he says suddenly, and you jolt. You hadn't known that. "My friends and I are gonna go for dinner. Come with?"

You stare at him with wide eyes.

"You should've told me, I would've been nicer to you," you say, still trying to wrap your head around the question he'd asked you.

"You're plenty nice to me," he laughs, "what are you talking about?"

"What are you talking about?" You parrot. "Do your friends even know about me?"

"'Course," you feel one shoulder move in a shrug beneath you. "I told them about the time you faxed nudes to the mortuary.”

You’d been particularly proud of that feat, right up until he’d called you and you’d heard it in his very voice that you wouldn’t be walking the next day.

“Wow, I had no idea that was what made me stand out,” you laugh. “I don’t have any plans tonight, anyway. How many others have you invited?”

“Oh, it’s just the guys from high school,” he shrugs. “Kawa and Iwa always have some other volleyball addict strapped to their backs, so there’ll probably be a couple more, but I don’t really like parties.”

Issei is the most low-maintenance guy you know. You admire his ability to go with the flow, to let life wash over him and appreciate the ride.

“No, I meant how many of the others,” you gesture to yourself, a tiny movement. “Like me?”

“You’re the only person who’ll be there that I’ve had sex with, if that’s what you mean,” there’s a little smile on his face, one that makes your heart skip a beat. “Crazy.”

“Didn’t you and Iwaizumi have a thing for a while?” You point out.

“Hooking up once in high school is not the same as having a thing,” he insists. His heartbeat is speeding up under your palm, you notice. Funny. “You and Iwaizumi, then. That’s it.”

“Huh.” You say, and then are quiet for a while. “Matsukawa, forgive me for asking—if this is weird—what are we?”

“I hate that you only call me Issei in bed,” he says.

“I called you that on the couch, like, an hour ago.”

“You know what I mean, don’t be difficult.”

“I am difficult,” you say. “I’m high-maintenance and I’m too much work for someone easygoing like you.”

“I like working on you,” he says, pinching your arm. “I like that you try to be low-maintenance ‘cause you think that’s what I want and you still take up half my day when you’re here and all my mind when you’re not.”

Your lips part, blown off-kilter by his sincerity.

“I think I’m trying to ask you to be official,” he finishes, “but I think I’m fucking it up.”

“You’re not,” you laugh, “don’t worry. I was just going to die if you asked me to come meet all your friends just as the one who faxed you nudes.”

“If you died, I’d do your funeral for free,” he promises. “Oh, shit! That’s what I forgot.”

He shoves you away rather unceremoniously and you struggle to catch your breath on the couch in the few seconds he’s gone.

Issei comes back, a cluster of flowers bundled in one hand, his hair sticking up on one side from lying on the couch. You’ve never seen something so handsome.

You sit up and kiss him before you think about it, his lips soft and warm and a little chapped under yours. For all the time you’ve spent with him, it has the same clumsy charm as any first kiss with someone new, the sparking romance as metal strikes against itself. His cheeks are hot under your hands when you pull away.

“It should’ve been me giving you a birthday gift,” you say softly. “Thank you, Issei.”

(The two of you are late to dinner.)

[ophelia-writes-fics]

you're screwed up and brilliant, look like a million dollar man [kilgrave x reader - 18+]

A second run-in with Kilgrave leaves you reeling.

Tags (please read!): smut, fem!reader, AFAB!reader, mind control kink, mentions of marking during sex, fear, implied fear kink, degradation, some praise (but mostly mixed with degradation), humiliation, humiliation/degradation kink, hair pulling, edging, begging, frottage, handjobs, overstimulation, like a LOT of overstimulation, i cannot emphasize the overstimulation enough, possessiveness, light face slapping, mirror sex, riding, clit slapping, painplay, spanking, sadism (kilgrave), masochism (reader), multiple orgasms, a frankly unrealistic amount of orgasms

Word Count: ~6.3k

TWs/CWs:

super dubious consent. like last time, reader is into everything without being compelled (with one smallish exception if you squint?), but again, it's not negotiated

unprotected sex

mind control/mind altering

Kilgrave is still a walking red flag (and we love him anyways <3)

(as always, talk to your partners, get consent, etc :))

part one here

It had been a long, exhausting week since you last saw the man known only to you as Kilgrave. You hadn’t stopped thinking about him since your last encounter, not just because you’d had to take the next few days off of work afterwards — your boss was worried that getting up onstage covered in bruises, scratches, and bite marks might send the wrong message to the patrons of the club. She’d been worried about you too, but you’d assured her that everything was fine. Which it was. The other reason you couldn’t stop thinking about him was because you desperately wanted to see him again. 

However, you still needed money, so having time off at your night job meant picking up evening shifts at your day job, which was bartending at a casino on the other side of town. It was Thursday, which meant the place was absolutely deserted, and the patrons who did show up were barely drinking anything. The past two hours of your shift had involved nothing but standing behind a bar, staring into space, and wiping down the pristine counter every few minutes in an attempt to look busy.

However, you were snapped out of your mindless rhythm when your coworker tapped you on the shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other. “So, my break is coming up and I’m super tired and I really wanna take it, but there’s some weird shit going on in there.” She jerked her head towards the main room. “There’s this guy at the poker table? He keeps winning with the worst fucking hands I’ve ever seen, and it’s, like, insane amounts of money. Way more than I’ve ever seen anyone come in here with. Could you take over for me for, like, 20 minutes? And could you keep an eye on them and tell me what happens when I get back?” 

Damn it. 

There was one man you knew who could definitely win at high-stakes poker with the worst hands imaginable. You didn’t know for sure, but you had a sneaking suspicion that was only growing that you’d be seeing him sooner than you’d previously expected. 

You took the champagne bottle from your coworker’s hands without a second thought and walked into the main room, bracing yourself for whatever waited inside. 

The moment you stepped through the door, all your suspicions were confirmed. Even with his back turned to you, you could practically feel his presence in the air. 

Right there, holding court in the center of the room, sitting at the head of a table covered in poker chips and stacks of cash, was Kilgrave. 

You sighed. Goddamn it, you thought to yourself. As captivating as he was, you were still technically on the job, and you’d get fired if the house lost that much money on your watch. You’d get in extra trouble if anyone found out someone had cheated their way into getting it. Your mind raced as you tried to formulate a strategy. 

Okay. You can’t try to kick him out. If you call security, he’ll just tell them to fuck off and they will. You can’t tell the dealer, because there’s no way he’ll believe that the other players have been mind controlled. Besides, you can’t call attention to yourself. He’ll recognize you. Unless…

An idea clicked in your head. 

There’s no way he’d give up that kind of money, unless he had something better to tempt him.

You weren’t sure it would work, but if it did, well… it was a win-win situation, wasn’t it? 

You slowly crept up to the table. No one spared you more than a passing glance, including Kilgrave, whose eyes were firmly on the cards in front of him. You snuck a look over his shoulder as you approached. He really did have the worst hand imaginable. It was almost funny. 

You took a breath to steady yourself, then softly cleared your throat as you placed a hand on his shoulder. 

You’d been expecting a few different reactions, but you didn’t expect him to shake you off without even looking up. 

Oh, of course he’s a dick to waitresses. It deeply annoyed you that, somehow, this didn’t make you want to fuck him less. Irritated, without giving it a second thought, you gave him a light, backhanded smack on the arm. 

The table went silent. That got his attention. 

He turned around to face you. His expression, which had started as a mix of bewilderment and anger, quickly shifted to one of alarmed recognition. He blinked once, his brow furrowing. 

“It’s you,” he said, his tone unreadable. 

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “It’s me,” you replied. 

Kilgrave stared you down for a moment. You desperately wanted to break eye contact, for him to forget you were ever there, to just go back to work, until suddenly, his expression changed slightly, and he turned to face the men at the table, setting his cards down. 

“Right. I’m leaving. Do not get up from this table, and don’t cheat. We’ll continue this game when I get back.”

He stood up and took your arm, pulling you away. 

“Are you really just going to leave them there?” You craned your neck to try and see if his command had worked, and sure enough, everyone remained seated and still. A knot formed in your stomach. 

He didn’t answer as he pulled you out of the room and down the hallway to the coat check, snapping his fingers at the employee behind the counter. 

“You. Take over for her. Serve champagne, clean tables, whatever it is she does.” Kilgrave plucked the bottle of champagne from your hand and thrust it at the checker. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding it. “Close the coat check. We’ll be going back there. Don’t bother us.” And with that, he breezed past, pulling you into the coatroom with him and slamming the door behind you both. 

The moment the door was shut, Kilgrave cornered you against a wall — not touching you, but close enough that he could grab you if you tried to leave. 

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. 

“I work here!” you replied indignantly. 

“Tell the truth.”

“I. Work. Here. It’s my day job.” 

His posture relaxed slightly, but he still didn’t step back. 

“Did you follow me here?” 

“No,” you answered, keeping your tone as calm as possible. You just hang around shady establishments a lot, apparently, you added silently. 

He leaned back a bit. 

“Why did you approach me?” 

“Because you were illegally winning a ton of money off the house and I don’t want to get fired,” you huffed, before somewhat reluctantly muttering, “And I wanted you to fuck me again.”

“Repeat that last bit?” 

“I wanted you to fuck me again,” you snapped, a bit louder than you’d meant to. “But frankly, right now I’m not in the mood anymore.”

He pursed his lips. “Why not?” 

“Because you’re keeping those people prisoner in there!”

“Which people?” 

You stared at him in disbelief, trying to gauge whether or not he was messing with you. Shockingly, his confusion seemed completely sincere. “Those men at the poker table. Are you just going to make them sit there for however long you’re gone?” 

He glanced in the direction of the casino and sighed with irritation, as if he’d just remembered they were there, before shaking it off with a slight roll of his eyes. 

“Forget about them. Come upstairs with me.”

Your brain filled with that all-too-familiar cold fog. It felt like you had tripped going up the stairs - your whole body was thrown off balance, your heart raced, and your thoughts raced to catch up after the interruption. What had you been thinking about? Something about the main room? 

You must have been worried about someone covering for your coworker. Yes, that seemed right. He’d told someone to do it, hadn’t he? Yes, he had. Then it was fine. There was nothing to worry about. 

With that, your brain fog cleared, and your worries went with it. You realized you were trailing behind him as he walked towards the elevators. 

As you passed the entrance to the casino itself, you turned your head slightly and peeked into the room. You cocked your head. Huh. I wonder what all those guys are doing just sitting at that table. I don’t think they were there before.

-

When the elevator arrived at the top floor, Kilgrave walked ahead of you along the hallway to the penthouse suite at the very end, pointing you towards the bed once you were inside. 

You grinned, reclining on your back and supporting yourself on your elbows as you kicked off your shoes, watching him shrug off his jacket and undo his belt before sitting down at the armchair in the corner of the room. 

He then turned his gaze toward you and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Stand up,” he ordered, as if it should have been obvious. You obeyed, and it felt like second nature by now. You felt the cold hardwood floor under your feet, even through your stockings, and you couldn’t help but turn your gaze slightly downward as he observed you, scanning you up and down for any imperfections. 

He sighed. “No, no, this won’t do.” 

Your heart dropped. He couldn’t be bored of you already, could he? You felt slightly panicky, as the reality of what he could do caught up to you again. Would he make you forget everything you’d done that day? Forget he existed? Would he kill you? Your mind raced as you tried to figure out if you could run before he ordered you to do anything. You felt your muscles tensing, preparing to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded, keeping his dark eyes on you. 

Your whole body flooded with relief and arousal. You briefly scolded yourself as you quickly stripped out of your uniform, the rational side of your brain reminding you that worrying that he was going to kill you if he was even slightly dissatisfied with you is probably a red flag before the horny side of your brain dismissed the thought with a well, he didn’t, and you don’t know he would, so it’s probably fine. 

You stood bare before him, hands clasped in front of you, obediently awaiting his instructions. He beckoned you over with a small motion of his finger, and you sank to your knees in front of him. You fidgeted nervously as he watched you, biting your lip as you worked up the nerve to ask him for what you wanted most. 

“Could you, um…could you do that…thing again?” 

His brows raised slightly. “What ‘thing’?” 

“The thing where you…um…command me, or whatever it is you call it. The mind control thing.” You hesitated before adding a quiet “please.” 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, if you were expecting any response at all, but one of the last items on your list of things you were expecting to come out of Kilgrave’s mouth was a short, shocked, high-pitched laugh. A grin spread across his face as he stared down at you, and you felt a fluttering in your chest. 

“You really would let me do whatever I want to you.” It was a statement, not a question, but you nodded vigorously anyway. “God, that’s disgusting. You’re so desperate to get off that you’d cum your brains out if I mind controlled you?!” 

You squirmed, face burning as you clenched your thighs, and he laughed again. You felt pathetic, and it made your cunt ache for him. 

He considered you for a moment—you could practically feel him wondering what exactly he should do with you— before stretching one leg in out front of him, positioning himself so that the toe of his brand-new, expensive-looking leather dress shoe was just barely starting to press into your clit. You kept completely still, waiting for his orders, your body alight with anticipation.

“You want to get off that badly, then do it,” Kilgrave said, his bored tone only thinly veiling his enthusiasm to watch. 

You wasted no time, desperately rubbing yourself against him the minute you were permitted to, grinding your sensitive clit against the black leather. You bit your lip, moaning in humiliated arousal at the feeling, watching as your pussy dripped with need all over the supple material as you fucked yourself stupid. 

You felt Kilgrave’s hand in your hair, pulling you closer and shoving your cheek against his knee, holding you in place and keeping your eyes on him as you rutted against him. 

“You’re filthy,” he rasped, pressing his foot into your clit harder as you watched his arousal grow. “You’re disgusting, getting off like this, riding my fucking shoe, it’s fucking vile. God, I just want to watch you do that for hours…and you would, wouldn’t you? If I ordered you, you’d do it. I don’t think I’d even have to control you, I think you just want it that badly. Such a depraved little thing, aren’t you?” 

You nodded, and he smiled at you. 

“Of course you are. Keep going. Don’t you dare stop. I don’t care how sore you get, you’re going to keep going until you wear yourself out. Do you hear me?” He pulled your hair tighter, turning your face to him for emphasis. “Nod if you understand me.” 

You obeyed, feeling the friction against your cheek as you nodded again. You kept going, desperately chasing your orgasm, your senses blurring into a pleasured haze as your eyes rolled back, when without warning, your whole body seized, harshly stopping your motions. It took your brain a moment to process that Kilgrave had told you to stop. You looked up at him, and you must have looked as betrayed as you felt, because a self-satisfied smile appeared across his face. 

“Oh, sorry,” he mocked, mimicking your affronted pout before his grin returned. “It just looked like you were getting close. I wanted to remind you that I didn’t say you could cum.” 

You whined in protest, but the sound was cut off when Kilgrave pressed his hand over your mouth. He leaned back once you were quiet, his detached demeanor only slightly interrupted by the visible outline of his hard cock in his pants. 

“Keep going, but don’t cum. You don’t deserve it yet.” 

You obeyed. Of course you did. Your body betrayed you, automatically stopping you before you could cum, each time getting just that little bit closer before it was ripped away, over and over again until you lost count. It was torture, and although you would have done anything for it to end, you couldn’t get enough, drinking in every sensation at once. All the while, Kilgrave watched you intently, only speaking when you began to beg after what you thought was your seventh time being edged, although you’d long since lost count. 

“Kilgrave, p-please, I can’t anymore, it’s too much, I’m going to break, I can’t take any more!” 

He gave you a mocking little frown in response. “What a shame. I thought you were tougher than that.” 

“I am, I can be! I just — ahh! Please, please, I just want it so bad…” 

“Oh, is that it? You just want it so badly? In that case…” He patted your head, which would have made you melt if it hadn’t been so condescending. “You can make yourself useful, can’t you? Use that empty head of yours and think of something you can do to earn it.” 

You didn’t dare stop rubbing against him, afraid you’d be punished if you stopped edging yourself for even a moment, so you kept going, the torturous friction of the fabric of his trousers against your clit making your heart pound as you leaned forward to undo his belt and take his cock in your hand. 

He offered nothing more than a small moan from between clenched teeth in response, but that was all you needed. You stroked his cock, slowly and gently at first, watching him as closely as you could. You followed every cue his body gave you - every small motion, every sharp breath, every thrust of his hips - chasing them, desperate for more. You wanted to earn it. You needed to earn it. Your body longed for it like oxygen, longed for approval, for your orgasm, for his cock finally inside you again. 

You stroked him harder; slow, steady motions that lavished him with attention and calmed your shaking hands. Judging by the way he gripped the arm of the chair, he seemed to be nearly as close as you were. You sped up both your hips and your hand, trying to finish him off before he could rip your pleasure away again, moving entirely on instinct and desperation. However, as you neared your peak, you felt his hand on your wrist, pulling you away. You looked up, your vision slightly cloudy, prepared to beg him not to stop you, but the command never came. All he did was look back at you, eagerly watching as you fucked yourself against him. 

You refused to let your opportunity slip away. Unless he forced you not to, then you were going to cum. You sped up, ignoring the ache in your muscles. Your hips stuttered and ground against him harder, rubbing your clit with short, rough little thrusts. Your vision was completely out of focus now, your eyes half-lidded — your brain was too fucked out to function properly, let alone see clearly. Every bit of your body burned, but all you could do was keep going and going and going, getting closer and closer, your breath coming in quick gasps as you rapidly approached your peak, and he still didn’t stop you.  

Your entire body tensed as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, muscles trembling from being clenched so tightly for so unbearably long. You gave a strangled moan that became a wail as the sensation fully washed over you, and you collapsed against Kilgrave, your hips still erratically jerking against him. You felt overwhelming relief as he let go of your hair; the sudden loss of tension made you realize how tightly he’d been holding on. He shoved your chin upward with his knee, forcing you to make eye contact. 

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, and your stomach dropped. You were thoroughly worn out and so overstimulated it hurt, but the look in Kilgrave’s eyes told you that you weren’t getting a break. 

You clambered unsteadily to your feet, nearly falling twice, legs still shaking. You barely managed to get upright enough to collapse facedown onto the duvet. 

You moaned weakly, feeling Kilgrave’s hands around your hips before he flipped you over so that you were facing him. He leaned in close, lips nearly touching yours, his hands holding your wrists in place by your head, his cock pressing against your clit in a way that had you fighting your own instincts to squirm away from the overstimulation.  

“Now, did you follow my orders from last time?” 

Your mind raced to clear away the exhaustion as you tried to remember the request he’d given you the last time you met, and you nodded. “I haven’t slept with anyone else,” you panted as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Hmm,” Kilgrave purred, letting go of one wrist to tangle his fingers in your hair. “And why is that?” 

You blinked in confusion. “Because…you told me to?” 

Kilgrave clicked his tongue once in disapproval. “No, no, that can’t be it,” he said, his expression one of feigned contemplation. “Any order I give wears off after twelve hours. You wouldn’t know that, of course,” he gave you a quick glance before continuing, “So you must have not wanted to.” 

For some reason, you’d assumed that his commands lasted longer. Looking back, it was odd that you couldn’t tell when whatever power he had wore off. But he was right, you supposed. Whether the thought was originally yours or not, you hadn’t wanted to fuck anyone else for at least six days after the command would have worn off, so you hadn’t. 

You nodded in agreement, a bit dazed. It was so hard to focus with him touching you. 

“And why didn’t you want to?” 

That you didn’t have an answer prepared for. 

“Um…I…just didn’t?” Your response came out like a question. 

“Hmm, not quite.” Kilgrave tilted his head slightly to one side, waiting for another answer, but when you stayed quiet, he leaned in further, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

“The correct answer,” he whispered, his tone growing dangerous, “is that you don’t want to fuck anyone else because you’re mine. Isn’t that right?” 

The familiar brain fog took over as you felt a warmth in the pit of your stomach. “Yes, it is,” you replied instinctually. 

“Then say it.” 

“I’m yours, Kilgrave.” 

“Again.” 

“I’m yours! Now please, please fuck me, or I swear to god I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” His tone darkened. 

You bit your lip. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what you could do against him. You couldn’t overpower him. You wouldn’t ever want to. 

He reached up and slapped your face — lightly, but hard enough to know that he wasn’t afraid to take things further if you didn’t cooperate. 

“Answer me, slut. What exactly are you going to do to me if I don’t fuck you right now?” 

Your mouth opened of its own accord at his command. “Nothing,” you choked out. “I won’t do anything. I’ll be good.” 

Kilgrave rewarded you with a satisfied “hmm” and a smug smile before pulling away. 

“Show me your neck,” he ordered. 

Confused and a bit terrified, but in no position to argue, you craned your chin upward, closing your eyes as you exposed your most vulnerable flesh to the man above you. You could feel your pulse jump, just below your sensitive skin. You couldn’t hold back a shiver when Kilgrave ran his fingertips, gently and slowly, down the column of your throat, over the nearly-faded bruises he’d left the last time you saw each other. 

He went still for a moment, lingering on the prints of his fingers on your skin before pressing down ever-so-slightly. 

You gasped, but managed to keep yourself from squirming as Kilgrave wrapped his slender hand around your neck, not hard enough to choke you, but enough to make you need to take a deeper breath than normal. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your thighs together and willing yourself to be patient, before you felt Kilgrave’s other hand shove your legs apart before slamming two fingers into you. Your body jerked involuntarily as he roughly scissored them, thrusting them in and out a few times before pulling away entirely and sitting down on the edge of the bed. You glanced up at him, slightly confused. 

“Come here,” he ordered, patting his leg in a clear invitation for you. “Face the mirror.”

You obeyed, struggling to move on your still-shaky legs, situating yourself so that your back was to him as you lowered yourself onto his lap. You gasped as you felt Kilgrave press his cock into you as you did so, impatiently forcing you backwards so that he was buried deep in your cunt with barely a moment for you to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. His hands grasped your inner thighs, pulling them apart roughly so that you had no choice but to watch yourself being fucked. He leaned in close, biting your neck before ordering: 

“Ride me. I don’t care if your legs hurt. Don’t stop fucking yourself until I tell you to.”

You were in no position to disobey. You moved as best you could, still trying to stay as close as possible to him, grinding your hips against his lap, closing your eyes as you felt him hit your most sensitive spot. He moved his legs so that they were keeping yours wide open, pinning you right where he wanted you. He grabbed your chin roughly and forced your half-lidded gaze towards the mirror on the wall in front of you. 

“Look at yourself. Look at you, getting fucked by a complete stranger. It’s pathetic. I absolutely ruined you the last time we met and you loved it so much, you just couldn’t help but bother me while I was working, eh? Oh, you must have been desperate for me,” he murmured through clenched teeth as he fucked into you, jerking his hips upward. “No one else can fuck you like this, can they? I’m the only one who can control you the way you love so much, so I’m the only one who gets to fuck you. Isn’t that right?”

There was that possessiveness again, making your heart beat faster than it already was. You reached upward, clutching the hand that held your face, and leaned back into him. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, I’m yours, Kilgrave…” 

His name fell from your lips like a prayer as he fucked you. You worked your hips, bouncing up and down on his cock. Your eyes stayed glued to yourself in the mirror, staring at your fucked-out reflection, thoroughly mesmerized by the sight of his dick inside you. One of his hands wandered to your hip, gripping it hard; you could feel his nails digging little crescent marks in your skin. His other hand found its place at your clit, delicately massaging it with light, little circles, teasing you, tormenting you.

You arched your back in a silent plea for more, your moan becoming a sharp yelp when his hand came down hard and slapped your clit at full force. 

Your legs automatically tried to close, but Kilgrave had you firmly kept in place. He leaned upward, pulling you close, your back pressed firmly against his chest. 

“Oh, what’s the matter, sweetheart? Is it too much?” 

You paused, considering it, then nodded weakly, your eyes screwed shut. Your heart had skipped a beat at the pet name, but you had more pressing matters at hand. 

“Really? You came like a whore when I hit you with a fucking belt, but if I slap your cunt just a bit too hard, then you start whining?” 

You nodded again, feeling thoroughly humiliated. 

Kilgrave hummed in satisfaction. “Mmm. That’s too bad, I suppose. You’ll have to learn to like it.” 

You whimpered and writhed as another hit came, then  another. You moaned, starting to feel the stinging pain give way to a wave of pleasure, but still you trembled, completely overwhelmed. 

“See? Look at you. You’re desperate for it. I know how much you love it when I hit you. Stop squirming and let me give you what you want.” 

Your body relaxed involuntarily, eyes automatically locking onto yourself in the mirror. Again his hand came down, and your hips jumped forward, anticipating it.

You bit your lip as the stinging pain slowly settled into a pleasurable tingling feeling, watching as your clit grew bright red and slightly swollen as Kilgrave kept going, slap after slap after slap until you were gasping for air, jerking your hips against nothing in a desperate bid to cum, your head spinning. 

He stroked your clit with the tip of his index finger, just the barest of touches, but it was enough to make you flinch at the sensitivity. You groaned, but you still thrust your hips forward, wanting more. 

“Oh, look at that. Feels good, doesn’t it? Greedy fucking whore.” He punctuated the sentence with one final, harsh slap before pulling out and moving you off his lap.

You tumbled limply, until you landed in the middle of the bed, facedown and panting, feeling your abused clit throb pleasurably with every heartbeat. You didn’t even have time to try and take a full breath before you felt Kilgrave position himself above you, his cock brushing at your entrance. 

 “Are you gonna be good for me?” he murmured close to your ear. 

You nodded, and you felt him lean closer, his teeth grazing your neck before he spoke again. 

“Then tell me what you’re going to let me do.” 

You exhaled a moan before taking a shaky breath in. “Whatever you want to do. I can take it.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mm-hmm,” you sighed. You wriggled your hips, trying to maneuver yourself back onto his cock. “Just fuck me, I’ve been thinking about you all week — oh my fucking god!” 

Kilgrave had grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, forcing himself inside of you with a deep moan that was almost a growl as he did so. You frantically moved to match his pace, throwing your hips back against his to meet every brutal thrust. Your eyes rolled back as you felt him fuck against your most sensitive spot, over and over and over again, never letting up, never faltering. 

He slapped your ass once, twice, three times before ordering you to cum. No teasing, no making you beg, just one simple order: “Cum.” And you obeyed, grinding out your orgasm, keening with pleasure as you did so. 

It was nearly a full minute before your brain started working again and you realized he hadn’t stopped fucking you. Your thoughts were hazy, but you had the vague feeling that that was odd. You remembered last time, and how he’d refused to let you cum until he was right on the edge. So, you mused vaguely, you’d figured he was close, but he was still going.

However, you didn’t have any time to think about it any further, because he was ordering you to cum again - the same way, just one blunt command. 

“Cum.” 

And your body obeyed without warning. 

You normally needed more time between orgasms; your body was still reeling from the last one. And yet, you still found yourself cumming, trembling from the force of it, your cunt clenching onto him desperately. 

Your shaky hands faltered where they gripped the sheets and you briefly scrambled to try and hold yourself upright, but your efforts were in vain. The minute you thought your body was stable, the command came again. 

“Cum.”

This time, you completely let go. There was no way you could have even tried to hold yourself together. The pleasure was blinding you, making your heart skip a beat as it raced in your chest. You fell forward, burying your face in the sheets. The only thing holding your hips upright was Kilgrave, his grip on you holding firm even as you convulsed, unable to regain control of your exhausted muscles.

You were nearly hyperventilating now, your breath coming fast and hard as you turned your face to the side and desperately tried to get words out. 

“Wh…what…what the f….fuck are y…you…doing to me?”

You couldn’t see Kilgrave, but you heard the grin in his voice, even as he panted with the exertion of fucking you. 

“You said I could do whatever I wanted. What I want is to see how many times you can cum before you tire yourself out. I’m not going to stop until you can’t move, and you don’t get my cum inside you until then. Besides, being mind controlled makes you a complete slut anyway, doesn’t it? You’d do it, whether I commanded you to or not. Now be a good girl and cum.”

And your body obeyed without question. 

You bit down on the sheets to keep from biting your tongue, half-pained moans of overwhelming bliss escaping from your throat in guttural, needy cries. You couldn’t feel your legs anymore; you had no idea how your lower half was still upright, and you could feel every nerve in your overstimulated cunt begging for a moment of rest that never came. 

For what felt like hours and hours, every time you started to come down from your last orgasm, Kilgrave would order another from you, and you had no choice but to comply. Eventually, your shaking legs gave in, but he just maneuvered you onto your back without hesitation and kept going. 

Around the time of what you thought must have been the eighth one (although there was no way you could have kept track at that point), you mustered every single bit of your strength to try and resist his orders. You held out for as long as you possibly could, letting the cold fog fill your head for as much as you could bear it, your entire body shaking with the effort, until you cracked and the torturous pleasure flooded you, leaving you even more of a wreck than you had been before. Even worse (even better?), the feeling of being mind-controlled by him acted like a direct line to your brain’s pleasure center, and trying to disobey only made the feeling intensify the longer you tried to resist. Whenever you finally let go, your orgasms only got stronger. And the stronger they got, the more vicious Kilgrave became, taunting you as he fucked your dripping cunt: 

“Oh, yes, take it, just like that, we both know how much you love getting fucked like this…oh, are you trying to resist again? That’s precious. Fine, struggle all you like, you know you’re going to cum anyway, don’t you? There you are, just cum for me. Let it all out. It feels so good, doesn’t it? I know, it feels so good for you to be treated like a slut. God, look at your cute little cunt, leaking all over me, making such a fucking mess. Keep taking it. This is where you belong, isn’t it? Getting impaled on my cock. You’re all mine, all fucking mine. Cum for me, cum for me…such a good girl…fuck, you’re so tight, how are you still so tight after being fucked for this long? It’s like you were made for me, made to get fucked by me. God, I love hearing you scream for me…I don’t even think I’d have to tell you to cum at this point, I think you’d just keep going all on your own, wouldn’t you? Mmm, of course you would. But I know what you’d like more than that. You want me to order you to, don’t you? Come on, beg for it…ask nicely…there you go, I’ve trained you so well, haven’t I? Go on then, cum for me…”

Finally, finally, long after every single one of your senses had been dulled into near-nonexistence, long after your dripping pussy had gone numb with overstimulation, and long after you stopped being able to process anything Kilgrave said, your jerking muscles gave into exhaustion and collapsed, leaving you unable to do anything but moan quietly, your voice having gone hoarse ages ago.

As your cunt twitched weakly with what you prayed would be your final orgasm of the night, you felt Kilgrave’s grasp on you tighten. Through your blurred vision, you saw him throw his head back in ecstasy as he came deep, deep inside you. 

Your eyes rolled back and your lids fluttered shut as he pulled out of you, the relief so intense you would have cried if you hadn’t been so worn out. 

You heard soft footsteps as he made his way to the side of the bed, then felt his hand brush something wet from the corner of your mouth. You felt slightly embarrassed at the realization that you were so fucked out that you’d started drooling. 

You mustered your last bit of energy to crack one eye slightly open. 

“Thank you,” you sighed, your lips curving into a smile as your eyes shut again. You thought you felt a hand brush your hair, but you couldn’t tell - you were already half asleep and dreaming. 

-

When you woke up, it was well past midnight. Your shift had ended hours ago. You groaned as you stretched your sore muscles and rolled over in bed. You were briefly surprised at the realization that you were under the covers, before deciding that you must have pulled them up around you in your sleep. You didn’t let yourself consider the alternative, or that you’d woken up in the exact same position you’d fallen asleep in. 

You blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust your vision to the dark. You weren’t expecting to see Kilgrave there, but his absence still caused a slight pang of hurt. Still, you figured, no one had come up to clean out the room or kick you out since he had, so he had at least booked it for the night. You decided to take advantage of it as your exhaustion caught up with you again and you sank back into a deep, deep sleep.  

-

You woke up a full twelve hours later at noon the next day. Thank god it’s my day off, you thought to yourself as you gingerly got out of bed. You slowly put on your uniform, picking it up from where you’d left it on the floor, wincing as you moved. Still, despite the slight ache that you felt all over, you’d slept better than you had in ages. 

As you smoothed your skirt down, you felt an odd texture inside one of the pockets, a slight crinkling that gave you pause. You felt your heartbeat quicken as you pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. You slowly, anxiously unfolded it to find three sentences written in pencil. The first was an address — based on the street name, you knew it was downtown, in an incredibly expensive neighborhood. You felt a grin spread across your face as you read the rest of the note:

“Save me the trouble of coming to your job again. 8:00 pm tomorrow.

-K.”

You knew exactly where you were going to be tomorrow.

A/N: i literally cannot thank you guys enough for sticking with this, i know the wait has been absolutely insane, but i really do love writing for you guys, and i want to thank each and every one of you for reading <3 as always, my requests are open, and feel free to like/comment/rb if you enjoyed this fic :)) thank you all again for your patience and for all the love - i had NO idea my first kilgrave fic would blow up so much, but i'm delighted that it did!

🍓 the title of this fic is from million dollar man by lana del rey 🍓

[oscinhaslandito]

Bloody Chaos

Warning: ik some of the parts are a little out of touch and unrealistic but it's all in good fun for chaos please don't send hate

Y/N wakes up feeling a little off, but she assumes it's just morning hunger. She slowly pulls the covers off, trying not to wake Oscar, when she sees it— a huge bloodstain pooling underneath her on his crisp white sheets.

Panic sets in. Her eyes widen in horror, her breath catches in her throat, and before she can think, a small, accidental shriek escapes her lips.

Oscar, still half-asleep, grumbles and shifts next to her. "What? Who died?"

"ME. I JUST DIED. LOOK AT THE SHEETS."

Oscar cracks one eye open, blinking in the dim morning light. His gaze drops to the stain, then drifts lazily back to Y/N. "Oh. Okay. No big deal."

"NO BIG DEAL??" Y/N screeches, face heating up in mortification. "I JUST BLED ALL OVER YOUR BED, OSCAR."

He rubs his face, sitting up, looking frustratingly unbothered. "Babe, it's fine. Happens, right? At least we know we don’t need Plan B pills after last night, now."

Y/N gasps, launching a pillow at his face. "I AM GOING TO END YOU, PIASTRI."

Oscar catches the pillow mid-air, smirking, before suddenly reaching over and scooping Y/N into his arms.

"Oscar! Put me down!"

"Nope. You’re going straight to the shower. I’ll handle the bed."

Y/N kicks and squirms, but he carries her effortlessly, striding into the bathroom. He places her down inside the shower, steps back, and before she can react—he shuts the door and locks it with a chair under the handle.

"Oscar, what the hell?!"

"You’re not escaping until you shower," he calls out. "I got this covered."

Y/N bangs on the door, mortified beyond belief. "OSCAR, WAIT—I DON’T HAVE ANY HYGIENE PRODUCTS."

Silence.

Then, the distant sound of music turning on from the speakers outside the bathroom.

Y/N groans. "You have got to be kidding me."

Thirty minutes later…

Oscar finally realizes his mistake, sheepishly jogging up the stairs.

"Oh shit, you're right, you need hygiene products."

Y/N, still trapped in the bathroom, is one second away from combusting. "YA THINK?!"

He sprints out of the house, drives thirty minutes to the store, and returns looking way too pleased with himself as he holds up a pack of… cotton balls.

Y/N blinks at him. "Oscar. What is that?"

"Tampons," he declares proudly.

She stares at him, then at the literal pack of cotton balls in his hands. "Oscar, those are cotton balls."

"Yeah! That’s what tampons are, right? Like, little cotton things? You just… y'know… use them?" He gestures vaguely.

Y/N buries her face in her hands. "Oh my god."

Oscar tilts his head. "What? My mum told me once they’re just cotton you put in there when you’re bleeding."

Y/N groans. "Oscar. No. No, no, no. That is not how it works."

A pause.

"Oh."

Another pause.

"In my defense," Oscar adds, scratching the back of his head, "I moved to a different country super early, and I went to an all-boys boarding school. How was I supposed to know? No one ever taught me tampon science."

Y/N gapes at him. "Tampon science?"

Oscar nods solemnly. "I feel like this should’ve been in the curriculum."

Y/N sighs. "Just… go back and get the right thing. And for the love of god, get pads."

Another trip to the store later…

The moment he returns with actual pads—albeit the smallest size possible—Y/N finally emerges from the bathroom, exhausted and grumpy. She snatches the bag from his hands and rifles through it, her irritation bubbling over when she sees the tiny pads.

"Oscar, why are these so small?"

He shrugs. "I thought it was like clothes sizing."

Y/N exhales sharply, staring at him in sheer disbelief. "Oscar. That is not how this works."

Oscar scratches the back of his head. "Should I go back again?"

Y/N crosses her arms. "What do you think?"

Cue another thirty-minute round trip, and this time, Oscar returns with an assortment of pads in every possible size. The cashier had apparently given him a knowing look, and he'd fled the store in mild humiliation.

The rest of the day…

Oscar spends every second trying to make Y/N laugh, but she’s not having it.

Determined to make her feel better, he insists on making her tea, only to immediately burn himself on the kettle. Y/N watches, unimpressed, as he yelps and shakes his hand dramatically.

"Are you okay?" she deadpans.

"I need a hospital," he groans, clutching his wrist like he’s just lost a battle.

"You need common sense."

Later, as a final attempt at redemption, he announces that he’s going to bake her a cake.

"Do you even know how to bake?" she asks, still skeptical.

"No," he says with a confident grin, "but how hard can it be?"

Famous last words.

By the time he’s done, the kitchen looks like a war zone, flour is in his hair, and the cake is…questionable. The batter somehow ended up on the ceiling, and the frosting is a runny mess, but Oscar beams at his masterpiece like he’s just won a Michelin star.

"Tada!" he says proudly, presenting the lopsided cake to Y/N.

She raises an eyebrow. "Oscar… is it supposed to look like that?"

"Absolutely," he lies.

Y/N sighs, gives in, and takes a bite. It's terrible. But when she looks up at Oscar, who's watching her expectantly, his face full of hope, she swallows it down.

"Good, right?" he grins.

"Mmm," she hums, forcing a smile.

He narrows his eyes. "You hate it."

"I love it," she corrects, even as she struggles to chew. "Best cake ever."

Oscar leans forward, smirking. "You’re lying to spare my feelings."

"Duh."

With a laugh, he pulls her into his arms, ignoring her protests. "Well, too bad, because you’re stuck with me forever. Period stains, terrible cake, and all."

Y/N groans but doesn’t push him away. Because at the end of the day, despite all the chaos, she’s maybe—just maybe—falling in love with this sweet menace of a man.

[morganski-19]

The One Where Steve Feels Smart

“Where are Jon and Argyle?” Steve asks Nancy. The rest of the group gathered around the table for their weekly group dinners.

“Jonathan said that he has a lot of work to do, and Argyle is working closing. Said they would try to come later if they could.” Nancy sits at the table, acting as if the information doesn’t bother her.

Steve doesn’t buy it. “I thought Argyle never closed on Fridays.”

“I don’t know,” Nancy shrugs, annoyed. “Maybe he’s covering for someone. It doesn’t matter, so just eat.”

Steve still doesn’t buy it. Jonathan will always use their hangouts as a break, so his eyes don’t try to kill him. Argyle values friendship too much to take a shift during one of their hangouts. If what Steve knew about them was right, though.

But, he decides to ignore it, and eats dinner.

The next week, however, something like this happens again. It’s not an everyday thing that the group gets together at the coffeehouse after work to talk, some can’t justify buying coffee five days a week when they can just make it themselves. But today, everyone is there. Everyone except for Jonathan and Argyle.

“Isn’t it weird that they aren’t here?” Steve asks, mainly to himself. He’s sitting at the bar, bugging Eddie while he’s on shift.

Eddie shrugs, passing a drink across the bar to a customer. “Maybe they’re busy again. Didn’t Jonathan shoot like four wedding in the past two weeks? That’s a lot of editing.”

“But he would bring it here. Especially since Argyle would get off shift,” he looks down at his watch, “an hour ago. They would come in here together and chill with the rest of us.”

“Don’t know man. Maybe they just wanted to stay at home. The weather is kind of shit today.”

It’s never stopped them before. Something else is going on.

The next time it happens, it’s on game night. He asks Nancy if she’s heard from them and gets shut down immediately. Something about the both of them needing to work. Nothing else.

When it keeps happening, Steve starts to get more and more suspicious. Everyone else seems unbothered. Blind to the excuses that mean nothing, and continue on with their lives. When Steve knows that they are hiding something.

He decides to bring it up again when him and Robin are making dinner. Trying to use both their heads to figure this out without Nancy shutting him down immediately.

“You don’t think they finally,” Steve makes a motion with his hands, indicating that they are together.

Robin glares at him from the kitchen. “Probably not, Jonathan’s demi, remember.”

“That is not what I meant,” Steve says, partially annoyed. “I just meant like, dating. What if they are dating.”

“I would hope they would tell us if that actually happened. We’ve listened to too much of their suffering to not know.”

Steve stares at the cutting board. Not so sure about that. “I think Nancy knows something.”

“Here we go,” Robin groans.

“No, Rob, seriously. Like every single time I ask, she shuts me down almost immediately. With the same excuse. Jonathan is busy editing, or has a shoot, and Argyle is working a closing shift. I’ve never known Argyle to have this many closing shifts in his life.” He turns to her, hoping to see that she sees what he sees. “Isn’t that a little weird?”

“I guess,” Robin goes back to stirring the vegetables in the saucepan. “But maybe their rent got raised and they had to pick up a few extra shifts. Wouldn’t be that surprising.”

Steve is still not convinced. “Maybe.”

A week later, the group was planning on going to see a movie. Some weird horror movie that Nancy and Eddie love, but will probably traumatize both Steve and Robin. Normally Jonathan and Argyle would come along and laugh at how unrealistic it is, but they bailed again.

They’ve been bailing for about a month now, something was definitely up.

Steve stands in line to get the popcorn, letting the rest of the group go into the theater to get their seats. Hoping that Eddie is able to save a seat next to him for Steve.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees two people who look familiar. After thanking the guy behind the counter and turning toward his theater, he sees it. Jonathan and Argyle walking in with their tickets. They make eye contact with him, looking caught.

“Well, there you guys are,” Steve says, trying not to make it weird. “I feel like I haven’t seen you guys in weeks.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jonathan says. “Just been really busy with work, that’s all.”

Steve nods, going alone with the lie. “Yeah. I’m glad you guys were able to make it tonight though. Unless, you know, you came to see a different movie.”

Argyle opens his mouth, going to say something. Jonathan nudges him with his shoulder, shutting him up. Argyle presses his lips together in a forced smile. Eyes wide.

“Yeah. We were just going to get some popcorn, so why don’t you go into the theater, and we’ll meet you in there.”

The smile that forms on Steve’s lips is one of pure joy. “I don’t mind waiting. It might be easier to carry all this shit to the theater.” He takes a glace down and sees their hands clasped together. “Four hands are better that two, so.”

“Four hands?” Argyle questions under his breath.

Jonathan looks down at their hands, and pulls them apart.

“You guys weren’t going to see the same movie, were you?” Steve questions. Feeling smug.

“No, we weren’t,” Argyle blurts out. “We were going to see this comedy together because we’ve been dating for a few months now.” He immediately slams a hand over his mouth.

“A few months,” Steve says much louder than he should.

Jonathan starts looking around. “Dude, quiet down.”

“Sorry.” Steve lowers his voice to whisper shout. “A few months. I thought you were just dating for a few weeks.”

“You knew we were dating?”

Steve snorts. “You two are not as subtle as you think you are. Always missing hangouts conveniently at the same time. It’s really rude to cancel on your friends to go on dates for your secret relationship, by the way.”

“We’re sorry,” Argyle apologizes. Looking like he’s going through multiple emotions at once. “We just have been busier with work so the only times we’ve been free to go out are the days we would hang out.”

“You’re not going to tell everyone, are you?” Jonathan asks, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s your thing to tell. I wouldn’t do that. I just miss you guys. I am still going to gloat about being right, they just don’t need to know what about.”

“Thanks, dude.” Argyle finally calmed down back to one emotion.

“We really appreciate it.”

“I have to go, the movie’s about to start. Have a good night, guys.”

Steve turns and head to the theater. He finds the rest of them and sits between Eddie and Robin. The popcorn immediately getting pulled from his hands.

“What took you so long?” Robin asks over a mouthful of popcorn.

“The line was long,” Steve says. This was going to be fun.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @emmabubbles, @eriquin, @grtwdsmwhr

@croatoan-like-its-hot, @dreamercec, @dreamy-jeans137

[dilf-din]

(Would it Really Kill You) If We Kissed

Frank Castle X Karen Page

WC: 3150

Warnings: canon typical violence, wound care, soft Kastle, hurt/comfort

Author’s note: another short scene for them because they control my brain like a parasite <3 I’ll write something less heavy for them soon I promise

Read on AO3

Frank Castle could handle his shit. Hell, he could handle ten people’s shit without breaking a sweat. Fifteen is where it started getting dicey though, and that’s how many men he was ambushed with tonight. He should’ve known better than to trust a slimy guy that used to work for Fisk. He must’ve let their deal slip and walked away a hell of a lot richer, meanwhile Frank barely made it out within an inch of his life. A firefight of that size was sure to have the police busting down the door any minute now. Madani would have his hide for making a mess this big.

Frank was miles from home and everything was starting to look blurry. Rain had recently wet the bricks of the alley he was limping down, and his shoes were already slick with blood. He struggled to stay upright, leaning hard against the mildewed wall and pulling himself forward step by step. There was only one place to go on this side of town, be it fate or luck or his piss poor planning that landed him here. Luckily he was able to limp into the parking garage unnoticed, collapsing between two sedans. Sweat was pouring profusely down his neck and arms while his shaking hand fished a flip phone out of his front pocket.

There were no numbers saved in the contact menu, but he knew this one by heart well enough to punch it in with blood slick, trembling fingers. Maybe she wouldn’t be home, and that would be that. He’d use the last of his strength to drag his body somewhere else so she didn’t get blood on her pumps when she walked down in the morning. But of course she answered. She always did.

“Frank?” she asked before he had a chance to say anything.

“Hey Kare, I got a bit of a situation,” he strained, trying hard not to let too much pain seep into his voice.

“Where are you? Are you hurt?”

Frank could just see the way her arms were crossed over her chest as she toyed with a split end, falling into an anxious pace around her kitchen.

“M’downstairs next to your car,” he huffed.

“Jesus, Frank. I’ll be right down.”

She wasn’t even in his sights yet and he was already beating himself up for coming here instead of bleeding out in a gutter somewhere. Just another way the scales would never be even between them. He’d have to make it up to her, and that was starting to feel like the most unrealistic thing he had ever wished for. Frank leaned back against the wall with a wince, and shut his eyes for a brief second. The elevator dinged, and he didn’t even bother to peek and see if it was her.

Rushed footsteps and a whiff of tea tree oil shampoo and he was home again. Her presence alone dulled the shooting pains and deep aches radiating through the split skin and blooming bruises that covered his face and torso right now.

He felt soft hands guide his head upright so she could check his pulse.

“Frank? Frank?” She lightly tapped his cheeks to get him to open his eyes.

“‘M here,” he slurred.

“Not here enough. I need you to open your eyes big guy.”

She sounded scared. His eyes crept open.

Blonde hair fell in dripping strands over her shoulder, leaving wet patches on the faded university tee shirt she must’ve thrown on when he called and pulled her from the peace of her shower. Her brows were drawn together, and thinly veiled panic colored her features, but she looked relieved to see he was still conscious.

“‘S’just a coupla bullet holes,” he grinned and leaned his head back again.

“A couple?” She hissed, “How many is a couple?”

He shrugged to the best of his capabilities. The shift of his shoulders caused his body to slump hard to the left. Karen was under him in an instant, offering her weight as a brace.

“Can you walk?”

“Gonna have to,” he grunted, taking a series of quick breaths before pushing off the cold pavement. His knees buckled twice on the way up. Karen did her best to support him without adding pressure to anything that was already hurting, which was easier said than done.

“Just a few steps,” she huffed, using a burst of strength to get him onto the curb and over the threshold of the elevator. They leaned against the wide metal rail while she quickly pressed the button to her floor. Frank’s head lulled and his clammy forehead pressed against the cool skin of Karen’s. “You’re burning up,” she murmured.

Frank didn’t respond. That was never good.

Karen didn’t take time to check if there was anyone in the corridor before she hauled Frank to her front door.

They stumbled in messily, and she extended a hand to quickly secure the lock behind her.

“Bed,” she instructed him as they turned away from the living area and headed into her dimly lit room.

Frank grunted as he collapsed onto his hip and elbow, holding a hand against his side in a pathetic attempt to apply pressure.

Karen hurried into her bathroom and pulled a sewing kit and first aid kit out of the top of her linen closet. She drew a pair of red sewing scissors, and in three swift cuts, peeled Frank’s sleeves and the rest of his blood soaked shirt away, throwing it into a pile on the floor.

“Oh my god,” she almost felt faint at the sight. His right hip was pouring blood, and the tip of a bullet was visible through the torn flesh. His right shoulder was sporting another gunshot wound, red and swollen. There was a gash above his eyebrow, and dozens of other bruises and mini breaks in his skin. Karen didn’t know where to begin.

“Dig that one bullet out. Don’t worry about the one in my shoulder. Slap a couple bandaids on me. I’ll be alright,” he panted. Breaths were coming fast and labored.

Karen nodded and got to work laying out all her supplies. Tweezers, alcohol, gauze pads, tape, a needle and thread, and a bottle of hydrocodone she had leftover from a dental procedure that spring. Unscrewing the cap, she shook two white pills into her palm and passed them to Frank’s mouth, offering him a glass of water that he gulped down greedily.

Groaning, he laid back flat, thankful for the break from holding himself up.

“Hopefully that will kick in before I get to the stitches,” Karen cast him a sidelong glance and a quirk of a smile.

“Too bad I didn’t have it before I got shot,” he said drily, draping his good arm over his eyes.

“A good way to avoid getting shot is to not go around people with guns,” she observed while she wiped her tweezers down with an alcohol soaked rag.

“What, are ya gonna shoot me?” He craned his neck to meet her eyes with a playful smile.

“If you bleed out on my bed I might.”

“I’ll buy you new sheets,” he waved his hands.

“It’s not the sheets I care about,” she said with a tight lipped expression as she leaned closer to fish for the bullet in his hip. The muscles in Frank’s forearm tensed at the sensation of the tweezers brushing his bloodied nerves. “Sorry,” she murmured. Teeth gritted, she willed her hands not to shake while she suddenly became thankful for all those games of operation she played with her siblings growing up.

“Got it,” she said mostly to herself.

“Attagirl,” Frank said weakly, not moving from his reclined position.

Karen doused a rag in antiseptic and pressed it to the wound. Frank didn’t move a muscle, but swallowed hard at the sensation. She knew any apology would be met with dismissal, so she applied pressure wordlessly, continuing to take in measured breaths knowing the worst was ahead of her.

A bloodied hand crept up to squeeze hers where it lay firmly against his hip. She splayed her fingers without lessening the pressure applied, and he lay his fingers in the spaces between hers, not using the strength to fully lace them together, but filling the gaps nonetheless.

Two shaky heartbeats. Two sets of lungs. Two keen minds. But when both of them were covered in his blood, it was easy to feel like one unit. One team.

With a lump in her throat, Karen lifted her other hand and ran the back of her knuckles lightly over a blackening bruise on his ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. She rubbed her thumb over one of the clear patches of skin on his chest, and a chill ran down his spine. Still his arm lay over his eyes, and he was otherwise solid and unmoving as a stone. He couldn’t bear to look at her, she thought. Couldn’t face the vulnerability of need.

Calm hands unrolled gauze like a sacrament. Fingertips stained red, like blood and wine alike. This is my body, broken for you. Karen fought the urge to lay a trail of kisses up his side, praying there was something sweet as honey that hung in her lips that could seep into his cracks and make him whole again. Sometimes, she was surprised Frank didn’t bleed gold like the ancient gods. Lightning stripes of ichor holding him together like some sort of divine kintsugi, like he was a marble statue carved and reshaped over and over again to be a guardian to a fallen world.

A lump formed in her throat as she tried to not get caught up in the intimacy of it all. She wondered how many times he had done this alone. Crude stitches and joints popped back into place with no tenderness.

Every gash cleaned and bandaged, every bloodied rag discarded was an act of love, a declaration of war against his self hatred. A sterilized needling pulling weeping skin together stitch by stitch said, “I am in this with you. Let us become whole together.”

Karen didn’t know what brought him to her doorstep tonight, what made this fight different than all the others, but she selfishly hoped it would be the start of a new chapter for them. She couldn’t bear to set him loose again without knowing when, if, she would ever see him again.

Time passed between them in near silence save for the occasional grunt of pain that he couldn’t stifle and a hurried, “Sorry. Sorry. Almost done,” from her.

Once his torso was an amalgamation of antiseptic flushed wounds held together by bright white bandages carefully laid, Karen hurried to check for anything else needing immediate attention. She ran firm hands down his legs and turned his outstretched arm over, scanning with a furrowed brow. At last she scooted farther up on her mattress to lift his left arm. It peeled stickily from his forehead where it had sealed and reopened the laceration above his eyebrow. She held his wrist in one hand, dipping her final rag into a bowl of what was once warm water. She gently scrubbed the blood from his forearm, before turning her attention to his face. Gentle pulls of the rag against his skin stripped away sweat, blood, and gunpowder. Frank swallowed hard. A butterfly bandage was all she needed to coax the skin on his forehead back together, securing it with a firm tug.

“There,” she breathed softly, casting a lingering gaze over every exposed inch of him.

He had been fighting sleep off for most of the process, only pulled out by the sharp pain of healing. Now that she was done, she assumed him to be asleep for real. A sigh of relief separated her lips that had been drawn together tightly as she concentrated. Tense muscles in her back and shoulders began to let go as the first part of this evening was coming to a close. Karen didn’t know when the dam of tears broke, just that her cheeks were wet all of a sudden. She sniffled quietly, gathering all the discarded cloths and gauze wrappers to dump in the trash.

Feeling the pressure of her knees pushing into the mattress to walk away, Frank extended a hand and grasped her wrist gently. Karen froze.

His eyes fluttered as he fought to open them even a crack.

“Thank you.”

Karen just smiled, sniffling again and wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“Any time.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and exited into the bathroom, hoping that if she spent enough time washing his blood from underneath his nails, that he would be deeply asleep by the time she had to face him again.

For all the shit she gave him in her mind about being closed off, she knew how volatile this all was. She half expected to wake to an empty bed tomorrow with a pile of cash for new sheets and otherwise no trace of him.

Her reflection showed someone tired and hollow, feet shaking on the precipice of grief. She wouldn’t fall into the pit while he was just an arm’s length away, but there was no way to cushion the inevitable fall of him leaving again. There never was. She noticed rusted splotches on her shirt and peeled it off to swap it for another clean one from her closet.

Karen tiptoed onto the firm carpet, plucking the rest of his wreckage up to throw in a bag and dispose of later. There were a few crimson streaks in the beige fibers she would have to scrub out tomorrow. Washing away traces of him was something that never got any easier.

Frank’s breaths were coming deep and even. Somehow, he was sleeping through the pain, a skill he must’ve perfected in the past few years.

Karen paused, with a hand pressed to her mouth as she looked out into her living room and then back at Frank. She wanted to be close in case he needed something. She couldn’t bear to be awake in the other room wondering if he had drawn his last breath cold and alone.

Fresh tears sprung as she tried to banish the thought. She crouched to lift the plush, green armchair from the corner by her dresser and nestled one leg against the bed. One more trip into the bathroom to pull extra blankets from her linen closet, and she switched the light off for the night.

The heavier blanket, she shook out and draped over Frank’s body, resisting the urge to tuck it snugly around his form. For herself, she chose a patchwork afghan that had been passed down from her grandmother. She wrapped it around her shoulders and tucked her legs beneath her while she tried to find a comfortable position for her neck. A hand snaked out from her blanket and reached for Frank’s left one, which was outstretched in her direction.

Timidly, she laid her hand on top of his, barely curling her fingers around his much wider ones as a light anchor to get through the storm of this night.

Exhaustion fell over the entire room, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep much easier than she expected.

Morning light tickled her eyelids, pulling her from her slumber with a start. Memories of the past night colored the scene with a bloody context, and she craned her neck to gaze at the sleeping man beside her, his hand still and peaceful beneath hers. His lips were parted slightly, puffing out microscopic snores and reassuring her that he was still alive. Despite it all.

Karen slowly peeled her hand away from his and readjusted in the chair to wake up her stiff muscles. Frank didn’t stir at all, chest rising and falling like it always did. He was held together by stubbornness and spite. She almost laughed at how many times he had crawled back from the grips of the underworld with bony fingerprints indented into his ankles. There was always more fight in his spirit.

He slept soundly for the whole morning and most of the afternoon. When the sun had just begun to color the sky and the walls of her apartment orange, Karen stepped away to make a cup of tea, and returned to him stirring for the first time.

Frank fitfully tossed his head, murmuring something that Karen couldn’t quite make out. She set her tea down on the nightstand nearest her, and perched on the edge of the seat to draw his hand into hers again. He squeezed hard at the touch and his eyes shot open. His breaths came out panicked and trembling as he tried to orient himself.

“Frank,” Karen called out and his eyes locked on hers. Instantly, his face softened, and his grip went from severe to tender as he pulled her closer to him.

“Thought you left,” he panted a little incoherently. “I thought,” he trailed off.

“No.” Never. “I’m right here.”

He let go of her hand and raised it to catch her jaw softly. He threaded his fingers through her hair, and Karen almost didn’t dare to breathe. Frank could be like a stag sometimes, ready to run at the first sign of someone getting too close.

Karen swallowed and continued with an incredulous laugh, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“‘M sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” she countered.

“No it’s not.”

“For the love of—“

Karen sprung forward and, without thinking, crashed her lips into his.

Frank hesitated for a millisecond before finding her head with his hand again, splaying a wide palm against the back of it to keep her close.

It ran through him like a river after a drought. The cracked ground of his heart pulsed with possibilities as the future laid roots through every inch of him. Every cell came alive under her touch. He felt like he was being reborn.

She pulled away reluctantly, and he chased her mouth for another quick kiss. Their foreheads pressed together as ragged breaths shook their whole beings.

Silence hung heavy between them. There would be a lot to talk about later, but for now, Karen curled up on the edge of the bed, resting her head softly on his chest, drinking in the comfort of his hammering heartbeat beneath her. Her own heart beating in hummingbird sync as she rode the shared wave of adrenaline back down again.

Frank pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and her lungs let out the sigh of relief that had been compounding for years.

“Are you hungry?” she craned her neck a bit to see his face.

“Got everything I need right here,” his voice rumbled through her.

[fawnnpaws]

aurrr sub patrick u get me…. thinking abt being on a video call for work in bed (unrealistic but maybe we r sick ok) and patrick comes home unexpectedly bc his coach told him to go and rest, his play is weak and hes just sleepy and needy for u… he comes home desperate and all over u and u have to manage ur call with him hanging off of u :( stop him from trying to nuzzle and kiss ur neck, leaning out of frame and coaxing him to stay under the covers - babying him while still focusing on ur work, ur used to this, which makes him just want attention more :(

oohhh poor dejected patrick coming home after a really hard practice and you’re busy :(( the drag of his feet and the slouch in his shoulders give him away the second he comes home. he’s moving in your peripheral and you continue to feign interest in the meeting you’re in, though you can tell something is up with him. he slides onto the bed next to you and paws at your hips, trying to coax you away from your laptop. with a quick glance, you make sure no one is paying attention to your little box and mute your mic so you can lean out of frame to press a kiss to the top of patrick’s head. he’s faster than you though, he snaps his head up and catches your lips with his own. with a sharp exhale, you feel his body relax into the kiss and bring one hand to cup his cheek.

you can only lean into it for so long before someone saying your name forces you to pull back and refocus. you keep your hand on his cheek offscreen as you start bullshitting through whatever you just missed. you’re trying to focus but you feel him pressing kisses into your wrist, your palm, then, because he’s seemingly determined to distract you, he takes two of your fingers in his mouth. it forces you to clear your throat to cover the sigh that was about to escape from you. he waits until you stop talking to release your fingers and move up your body to try to bury his face in your neck. you catch his jaw in your hand, stopping him just before he enters the frame, and shoot him a hard look. all he does is melt dreamily in your hand, so you roll your eyes and push his head away. he goes easily, shifting focus and positioning himself between your legs. you mute your mic again and give him a warning look over your laptop.

“you better fucking not, patrick.” you scold, but he’s already pressing kisses against your inner thighs and pulling your shorts down.

“please, i’ll be so good, just need to taste you,” he whines. “you won’t even know i’m here.”

you have to get back to your meeting, so you relent and spread your legs for him. it makes positioning your laptop difficult, you essentially have to just hold it up instead of resting it in your lap, but you manage to make it look normal. below you, patrick is alternating between mouthing at your clit and pushing his tongue inside you to gather as much of your wetness on it as he can. he’s letting out soft moans into your pussy that you hope aren’t loud enough for your coworkers to hear. patrick should know by now how good you’ve become at ignoring him, but it doesn’t stop him from getting restless a few minutes in and wanting your attention again. he can’t stand that there’s no waiver in your voice no matter what he does, that even though you’re petting his hair you’re still focused on work when he’s right here, hard and willing for you. he tries doubling his efforts, moving his tongue faster, slipping his fingers inside you. all he gets is you shifting your hips for a better angle, no real acknowledgment. it’s not enough, he can hear that you’re speaking to your coworkers but none of the words register. there’s nothing going through his mind but getting your attention back on him as he moves up and presses his hard cock against your thigh. he braces his hands on either side of your hips and looks at you from over your laptop with a pitiful expression. he’s positioned behind it still, so no one would know he’s there, but he’s fully in your line of sight again. his mouth hangs open as he rolls his hips forward and he tries to be good, he really does, he’s trying to be quiet, but he needs you so bad. “please baby - let me - can i just - please.”

sometime while he was mindlessly eating your pussy it seems that he shucked his pants and boxers off because you feel his cock catch at your entrance. you smile to yourself and roll your hips to meet his, letting his tip catch against you again. his breath stutters in his chest and he can’t help but push in - then he can’t help but start thrusting. his self control went out the window the second he saw you smile, now he’s humping his dick into you, whimpering and biting his bottom lip so hard he thinks it’s going to bleed. you still won’t acknowledge him, he doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong. you’re so focused on your fucking meeting he thinks he might cry. he needs your eyes on him, needs to hear your pretty moans, needs the praise only you can give him after the day he’s had. tears well in his eyes and he’s about to slam your laptop shut, force you to pay attention to him, when the clouds in his head part and your eyes meet his. you look so proud, he actually does let out a little sob.

“you did so well, sweetheart,” you say, closing your laptop and tossing it to the side. “go on, take what you need, i’m so proud of you for being patient.”

his eyes roll back in his head and he starts thrusting wildly, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise so he can bully his cock into your cunt. a stream of thank you, thank you, thank you falls from his lips and you watch his brain lose function. he hauls you up so you’re sitting in his lap and he can rail his cock up into you. you wrap your arms around his neck and fuck yourself down to match his thrusts.

“good boy - oh fuck - good fucking boy, fuck me,” you nip at his ear and suck bruises into his neck just below it. the room is filled with lewd sounds of his balls hitting your ass and your moans mixing with his.

his hips speed up and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, “‘m so close - can i cum? please let me cum.”

“yeah - yes - fuck - cum for me, baby.” you barely get the words out before he’s spilling inside you, pumping his cum so deep you practically feel it in your stomach and drawing your orgasm out of you with him. he collapses on top of you and gives a few more shallow thrusts before he’s settling beside you, his dick still sheathed in your dripping cunt. he nuzzles his face into your neck again and lets out a contended sigh. he’ll talk about his day when he’s ready, for now the two of you settle into blissful silence. you’ll catch up on the rest of the work you needed to get done later.

[lucysgraybird]

Erm i js read ur pregnancy fic, is it possible for u to write an alternative version yk a happy one ??? 😭 it was rlly good tho but that hurttt

YES babe ofc im so sorry 🙏 i saw angst and it got away from me. sorry for losing my head. here is an alternate ending to this fic

warnings: labour/childbirth, blood mention, deeply unrealistic (should've put this on the other one too! i am an 18 year old virgin i know where babies come from and that's it)

The night the baby comes is dark and peaceful: there hasn't been more than a soft fall of rain in weeks, and the spring has brought balmy evenings that have made chores almost a gift to do.

Even more of a blessing is the time after chores, curled up on the porch under Billy’s arm. He's twisting the ends of your hair around his fingers absently, and you twist to look up at his face.

“What's on your mind, honey?”

“Hm?”

“I can hear your thoughts from here, Billy. Are you worrying about something?”

He tucks his chin over your head and you hum contentedly at being wrapped up in him, safe and warm.

“Just thinkin’ about the baby is all,” he says. “What we're gonna name her and that stuff.”

You laugh. “I bet it'll come to us in the moment. We don't even know if the baby’s a girl.”

“I do.” He slides his arm off your shoulder to your waist, placing his hand flat against your rounded belly. “Gonna be the best little girl, and she's gonna look just like her mama.”

"Mm...with your eyes, if we're lucky."

You crane your neck to peck Billy on the lips, coaxing a smile from your husband. Out of nowhere, a cramp twists through your lower back and you cover Billy’s hand with yours, wincing. He shifts you off his chest slightly to look at you.

“You okay?”

The pain passes and you can breathe again – it's not something you've felt before, but you know things get weirder the bigger the baby gets.

“Fine, yeah. I think she was moving around or something.”

Billy gives your stomach a firm look, which coaxes a laugh out of you and chases away your nerves.

“‘s not the baby’s fault, honey,” you say. “She's just getting comfy.”

“You're sure you're alright?” He confirms. “I can ride into town and-”

“I'm good. You don't need to worry, okay?”

He nods and pulls you back against him, his body a shelter from any worries.

As the night creeps on, there are a few more cramps but nothing notable, and you're able to fall asleep almost immediately when the time comes.

That is, until the middle of the night, when you wake up with your entire core on fire.

“Billy,” you whimper, grabbing for his arm.

He groans, still mostly asleep.

“The baby’s coming, Billy, you gotta-” You pause, a bolt of pain too great to speak through wracking your body for a moment. “You gotta go get the doctor.”

That wakes him immediately, and he's rolling out of bed before his eyes are even completely open. He takes in your face, screwed tight and shiny with sweat, and he's trying to get ready and comfort you at the same time.

“It's okay, darlin’, you're gonna be okay,” he says, not even bothering to take off his pajamas before tugging his work clothes over them and shoving his feet into his boots. “I’m gonna get the midwife and she'll take care of you.”

For all his confident words, his voice trembles and breaks at the end of his sentence from seeing you in this much hurt, which sends tears spilling down your cheeks. Billy scrambles for the door, then back to you to press a kiss to your forehead and a hand to your cheek.

“Gonna be fine, darlin'. I'll be back as quick as I can.”

You don't even have time to reply before he's out the door and gone.

The pain only increases while he's gone, time going hazy and strange. You can't figure out how long ago Billy left, or how long it should be until he's back – you can't really think of much besides the ache throbbing from your pelvis to your chest. Noises that don't sound like your own are tearing themselves from your throat as you writhe in bed, trying to find anything that'll ease the pain.

Soon (or maybe not soon at all, you can't say), Billy is bursting back into your room, the midwife hot on his tail. She takes one look at you and turns to Billy.

“I need boiling water and strips of cloth.”

Billy nods wordlessly and disappears out to the kitchen. You didn't realize how desperate you were for him until he was gone, and a new bout of sobs streak down your face.

“Oh, lovey,” the midwife says as she strips back your covers. “Your boy will be back soon, he's just helping me keep you safe while you're in labour. Can you tell me how far you are along?”

She tugs your nightgown up around your hips, and you're in too much pain to feel any shame.

“Baby’s right on time,” you groan. “Just about nine months.”

Your body bows forward with another stab just as Billy walks through the door with a steaming pot of water and strips of a clean sheet, and he nearly drops everything in his haste to get to you. Once he's sure that the midwife has what she needs, he's settling next to you, offering a hand to squeeze and a shoulder to lean on.

“You may want to step out, Mr. Bonney, this-”

“I'm stayin’,” he says, surely putting on a brave face when you grip his hand like a vice. To you, he soothes, “Hold on as hard as you need, darlin’, you're not gonna hurt me.”

“Okay then,” the midwife says. “Get ready to push, lovey, this baby is just about to come out.”

You don't even have to think when the time comes, a baser instinct taking over for you. It hurts like nothing has before and a wail chokes out of your mouth. Billy is still holding you, whispering sweet nothings that you can't quite hear against your temple. His lips are dry on the skin there, and it's grounding in the sea of sticky and hot that you're swimming in.

Suddenly, the pressure in your pelvis changes, but the pain doesn't. Everything is so wet. What is that?

“I'm going to insist you step back now, Mr. Bonney,” the midwife says.

You look up at your husband, whose skin is ash-white against his dark hair.

“Billy…?”

"You're okay, darlin', I'm just gonna let the midwife take care of you." His voice is shaking in a way that makes you nauseated, and the world is swimming around you on top of that.

He goes to step away, just as the midwife requested, and heartbreak rips across his face when you reach out for him. Then there's another gush of wetness and a dizzying wash of pain: the last thing you see before you pass out is the form of a baby in Billy’s arms and the most genuine fear you've ever seen on his face.

When you wake, it's just Billy in the room, cradling a bundle of blankets in a chair he's dragged to the bedside. He's up as soon as you wake, trying to smooth a hand over your head and hold the baby properly at the same time.

“Hey, darlin’, how are you feeling?”

You try to sit up and immediately throw in the towel, groaning. “Tired. And sore. Is the baby okay? What happened?”

“Baby’s just fine,” he says, tilting the bundle to show you a wrinkled, sleeping little face. “The midwife says she's the healthiest baby she's seen in a while.”

A soft smile blooms on your face. There's a relief warming you from the inside-out that you've never felt before.

“You were right about the baby being a girl, then.”

“Mhm.” There's a teasing pride in his hum, and you use a little of your waning energy to nudge his shoulder with your head. “I haven't thought of a name yet, though.”

“Can I hold her?”

Billy hands her to you wordlessly, helping you settle your arms around her.

“She's so small.”

“And she's already caused a lot of trouble for her mama,” Billy says.

He's joking, but when you look up at him, there are tears in his eyes.

“Honey, are you-”

“I'm okay, I'm okay. It was just a lot of blood, and I didn't know what was goin’ on. I thought you…”

The sentence ends there, but you know where he was going, and you lean into him.

“Can't get rid of me that easy, cowboy. We got a little girl to raise.”

The baby stirs a little in your arms, then settles back into a deep sleep. You watch her thoughtfully.

“Billy,” you say.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“How would you feel about naming her Kathleen? After your mother?”

There's dead silence for a moment before Billy presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I think that's perfect,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to go any louder without breaking. “If that's what you want.”

“It is. Welcome to the world, Kathleen Bonney,” you say, and Billy wraps an arm around you. It is a perfect tableau: mother, father, and baby, and all the love there is in the world.

[justyechan]

Choso x FTM!Reader

For my trans kings! 💋

Warnings: angst, comfort, slight smut, FTM!reader, top surgery mention

It was Friday night and you couldn't be more relieved, not only because it meant "break from hell for two days" but also because it was "movie night with my beloved boyfriend Choso."

When you left work you stopped by for snacks for the night. You felt your phone vibrate, it was a message from your boyfriend. "On my way :)." You smirked and without further ado you hurried your step towards your place.

You arrived and took a quick shower before getting everything ready. You really missed your partner, you didn't see each other very often due to the irregular schedules of your jobs, so you made the most of the weekend.

Not long after, Choso would arrive and help you finish what was missing. You both bluntly snuggled between the blankets on your bed, that night it was the black-haired man's turn to choose the movie.

The first forty minutes were normal, you didn't know what kind of movie was until you realized it was a romantic one. It seemed a little strange to you, your boyfriend wasn't really into romantic movies, according to him they were very dramatic and unrealistic. It didn't really bother you, you even thought it was cute since he was trying something new with you. But you wouldn't deny that the idea of ​​seeing something of that genre made you nervous.

Everything was relatively fine until a sexual scene began, the protagonist's partner began to undress her and pass his lips over her abdomen, stealing sighs.

Your cheeks turned red and you turned slightly to look at Choso, your muscles tensed a little when you saw how he was already looking at you for you don't know how long, and just like you, with his cheeks red and clearly embarrassed. He leaned towards you slowly, taking your hand.

“Y/N....”

His deep voice resonated in your ear. Chills ran down your spine and soon you felt another of his hands cup your face to kiss you. At first you let yourself go, feeling somewhat needy after days without feeling any touch. He took off the blankets that covered him and sat on top of your lap, moving his hips back and forth as he lowered his kisses to your neck. You were trying to stay calm by playing along with Choso thinking that things wouldn't go that far, but you were alarmed when you felt his big, cold hands go under your shirt. You broke away suddenly, scaring the black-haired man.

“I... I don’t think I can,”

“Why not? We’ve talked about this before. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

A lump formed in your throat, the words caught somewhere between your heart and your lips.

“It’s not that simple.”

You shifted your gaze to the blankets, as if among them you could find the courage you needed to express your feelings.

You glanced down at your body, the mirror in your mind reflecting every insecurity you tried to hide. The scars, the lingering doubts, the fear that his touch might come with a moment of hesitation and disgust—it all felt like an insurmountable wall between you.

“Choso, I just don’t want you to look at me and feel disappointed,” you confessed, your voice trembling. “I don’t want you to think I’m not enough. After all I'm not... a real man.”

“Fuck, stop saying that.” Choso echoed, his voice low and firm. “Y/N, you’re more than enough. I’ve seen you at your best and your worst, and it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

But your heart twisted with the weight of his words. You couldn’t shake the fear that clawed at your insides, whispering lies about your worth. The pressure to conform to expectations, to fit into a mold that felt impossibly rigid, left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Y/N, look at me,” he urged, lifting your chin gently. When your eyes finally met his, you could see the sincerity etched in every line of his face. “I would never feel disgust for you. You matter to me.”

“It’s hard to believe that,” you admitted, the crack in your voice betraying the turmoil within. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Choso said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “We can take our time, and I’ll be right here with you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the weight of your fears pressed down on you. You wanted to believe him.

“What if I’m not what you want?”

“You are exactly what I want,” Choso said, his gaze unwavering. “No matter how long it takes, I’ll wait for you. I’ll never rush you into something you’re not ready for.”

His words enveloped you like a warm embrace, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into the comfort of his presence.

Your heart was beating at an unknown speed, you had never felt that someone loved you with so much intensity, so much tenderness, that they accepted you just as you were. Living for so long in fear of rejection had made you believe you were unworthy of love. And that was an idea that constantly tormented you, especially when you felt alone and just wanted a kiss.

The idea of ​​a significant other seemed silly to you, not all people would have someone special to complete them and making them believe they would find their person seemed cruel to you.

Until the black-haired man came into your life to change it. Choso made you feel those butterflies in your stomach that everyone was talking about since you saw him.

Stupid butterflies.

They just made you remember how in love you were.

Little did you know that your future boyfriend was also fighting the rebel butterflies in his stomach.

You gently pressed your foreheads together, closed your eyes and allowed the silence of the moment to surround you. The tips of your noses clashed subtly, seeking comfort in each other, snuggling to the sound of your heartbeats.

The black-haired man gave you a smile that melted your heart.

And you knew that if you were by his side you would be fine.

You slowly pulled away, took a deep breath, and directed both of your hands to the edges of your shirt. With a little hesitation, you took it off, revealing the scars from your top surgery. You shivered as you felt the cold air hitting your skin and Choso's attentive gaze.

The black-haired man ran his fingertips through those darker areas carefully, caressing everything in his path, observing carefully as if he were recording every part of you in his mind. As if every imperfection of yours was perfect for him.

“You are so beautiful...”

It was going to be a long night.

[osamusriceballs]

The Accident Part VIII

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: None

Words: ~ 2k

About: You finally meet your good friend &lt;3

Part I II -> Next part

"You know each other?!"

You stare at Atsumu with wide eyes, who just stares at the short blonde next to you and raises his eyebrows as if he just had an epiphany.

"Where have I—wait. Karasuno. Karasuno's manager! You're a friend of Shoyo-kun!" Atsumu's eyes shine when he talks about Karasuno, and you furrow your brows when you remember that it's the name of Yachi's old school. "Shoyo-kun? Like—Hinata Shoyo?" You ask, recalling a bright orange-haired man you've met a few times already when Yachi had invited you to drink with her and her friends. They had always been a lively bunch, definitely growing on you the more often you saw them.

"Hmm, we work together," Atsumu nods, and you blankly stare at him while you try to digest that piece of information. You know that Hinata is a professional volleyball player. Very professional. Olympics level professional. He offered you cards to his games quite a few times, and you had politely declined, not wanting to cause him trouble, but he had sent you tickets anyway for a game in a few weeks.

That probably means that Atsumu is a professional player too—or he might be some kind of manager, according to the vague statement that they are working together. His physique and his posture tell you that he potentially could be an athlete- you would believe that in a second.

"Working together like... playing volleyball too?" You ask for clarification, tilting your head curiously while you watch his reaction. His lips curl into a smug smile, and the confidence he's radiating now makes your legs turn into jelly.

"Yeah. I'm a professional, just like Shoyo-kun. He loves my sets, by the way. Always aces them with no problem."

His eyes capture yours and you hang on his every word, definitely surprised by the development. You're married to a probably very famous professional Olympia volleyball player. You're not even sure what to think about this; the new details just made the whole situation more absurd and unrealistic. The only good thing is that Yachi apparently knows him. You could maybe get more information out of Yachi about him later.

"I—wait. The marriage—you married ATSUMU MIYA?" Your attention shifts to Yachi, who turns almost worryingly red, and you quickly step closer to her and reach for her arm, trying to calm her down. "Yes, but it's okay. He's a good guy, okay?" You smile encouragingly, and Yachi takes a few hasty loud breaths before she nods.

Atsumu watches you both and awkwardly clears his throat, a faint blush covering his cheeks at your words, and rubs the back of his head. "I'll leave ya two alone then. I'll call ya, y/n."

The last thing you see is his smile before he turns around and walks away with his hands in his pockets now. His broad back is evident, especially when he's wearing the white dress shirt, and you can't help but admire the man for a second before Yachi enters your sight once again.

"Y/n! - what happened?!"

xxx

"I can't believe you're married to Atsumu Miya!" she exclaims, still sounding shocked as she repeats the same sentence for the third time after you managed to tell her the fully story during the car ride. Both of you sit on her comfortable plush couch, adorned with a few of her stylish designer blankets. You're glad to be in a familiar place finally, but you can't help but to think about Atsumu. Will he call or leave a message soon? You wouldn't mind him calling today already- just to make sure you have his number. Nothing else. Just to clear that whole marriage thing. And nothing else.

You nod with a mild smile an attempt to calm her slight panic. Atsumu has assured you that everything will be taken care of, and you find yourself actually trusting him. "It'll be okay. You mentioned he's a good guy, right? I mean, he's friends with Hinata."

Yachi deeply inhales and takes a sip of her tea and nods. "He's close to Hinata. They get along really well. But let me tell you, Atsumu Miya in high school is something else. His serves were powerful and terrifying- not as much as today, but still enough to keep us all on the edge. Even Nishinoya had a hard time receiving them. Atsumu-san and Osamu-san managed to copy Hinata's and Kageyama's special attack effortlessly. It was insane. Maybe we can find a recording of it."

She grabs the remote to turn on the TV, and you lean forward eagerly at the thought of seeing more of Atsumu. "I wonder what Atsumu looked like in high school," you muse, taking a sip of your tea, its slight bitterness complementing the rich flavor. "He basically still looks the same. His hair got a bit brighter, and I think he grew a bit. And gained mass," Yachi responds, finding what she's looking for with an excited squeal. "Here!"

You both watch how a much younger Atsumu raises his arm and much to your surprise the whole crowd falls silent. "What- that's not normal, is it?" You turn to Yachi who seems slightly pale, probably because she remembers the moment vividly. "That's normal for Atsumu Miya. He was so good and popular that he got that special treatment. It helps him to focus. Oh, and watch his steps! You can tell what kind of serve he's going to make by the number of his steps."

You diligently nod and watch him serve again, taking six steps this time. The camera angle is a tad bit closer this time, and you don't fail to see his yellow-ish hair that definitely looks different compared to his looks today. He was very fit, even back then, but he is definitely more buff today.

You watch some more of Atsumu's powerful serves, his form screaming utmost perfection, and memories of the very same strong, muscular arms wrapped around you make heat rush to your cheeks. Yachi continues to share insights about his playing style, and you quickly try to focus on her words.

"...their combined attacks are difficult to anticipate. But look at how Kei blocks it!" You nod enthusiastically while you observe Tsukishima's impressive block. The video then shifts to another game, showcasing Atsumu in a black uniform adorned with yellow claw prints on his sleeves.

"Oh, that's from the MSBY game! You should have seen him; there's this amazing set—" Yachi's words trail off as the camera cuts to an unusual angle, revealing Atsumu's impressive thighs in full glory as he sets the ball with a ridiculously seductive smile. Your jaw drops at the unexpected sight- you know for sure you would have fainted if you saw that scene in live. How dare he look so good while setting the ball?? "Look, Hinata easily managed to hit that! And there's Bokuto-san!" You recognize the orange-haired spiker, sharing a smile and high-five with Bokuto. "I can't believe that they all actually know each other."

"Yeah," Yachi smiles and nods. "Hinata always talks about Atsumu-san. And Bokuto-san is close with Osamu-san, I think. I've seen him post a few pictures with Akaashi-san at Onigiri-Miya."

"Is that the name of his restaurant? Atsumu said he would take me there someday." Yachi gives you a side-eye, and reaches for her phone. "You've gotten pretty close, haven't you? You seemed really flustered when-" You quickly interrupt her, "No! I—I don't even know him. I don't even have his number. He was just being nice, we're not really close."

Yachi nods with a small grin, and hands you her phone. "Here. That's his Instagram. He's also often at Onigiri Miya. It seems like he's very proud of his brother's success. I though you might want to have a look at his life."

"Thank you." Yachi is truly a great friend, and you feel once again fond of being close to her. As you scroll through Atsumu's Instagram, you find a mix of game snapshots, some pictures with Osamu, in which he always has a plate full of food in front of him, and you can't help but zoom into the plates, impressed by the neatly arranged dishes. As you keep on scrolling, you almost gasp loudly when you find a very surprising collaboration with Calvin Klein, featuring a shirtless Atsumu from a very close perspective. At first, you keep on scrolling, too flustered at the sudden revealing picture, but curiosity makes you go back after a few moments, and you look at the picture again.

He looks good. His muscles are well-defined and he grins seductively for the camera while he poses, clad in only a ripped pair of jeans. It's almost unfair how ridiculously attractive he looks, but you still think that he looks even better when he's just woken up, just like he did this morning. You exhale loudly and curiously click on the comments.

"I would pay real money to have him like this in my bed." "Christmas came early this year- and so did I." "Bless the Miya genes. I'd gladly help to spread them." "Thank you Calvin Klein. I'll make sure to get a pair of these pants." "*FAINTS* HE'S SO HOT, I CAN'T-"

You're startled when you notice how the comments get even more unhinged and shameless as you keep on scrolling. "He... has a lot of fans," you remark, scrolling back to the top and handing Yachi her phone back, to which she nods heavily. "He had his own fan club in high school, and ever since the Japanese team won the Olympics, the whole team has been very popular. Especially Atsumu-san and Sakusa-san."

You hesitate before asking the next question, uncertain of what the answer might bring. "Is there a reason why he's single? He seems like a decent guy, looks good, and he's probably rich. Isn't he the perfect catch?"

Yachi furrows her brows, thinking. "I don't know, actually. It's probably the same as with Hinata and Kageyama. They focus a lot on their careers; they simply don't have time for dating. I also found out that most volleyball boys can be a bit... intense. It's probably hard to find a partner that understands their passion. They prioritize training over anything else. I've never seen Hinata skip a day of training, no matter what happens. Their partners must accept that they put a lot of their energy and time into their jobs."

"Ah," you simply nod, slightly surprised by the revelation. You would have assumed that they have a very lively dating life, but it seems like they just live for work. Sounds a bit lonely.

"I also think that some fans are a bit obsessed with their private lives. There was an incident before with Atsumu-san and one of their fans- but things have calmed down lately, so you should be fine." Yachi reassures you, reaching for a cookie on the couch table.

"I think that—" she is interrupted by the sudden sound of a ringing phone, and both of you exchange confused glances before realizing it's your phone. Yachi's eyes light up, and she squeals, "Maybe it's him—I mean, I could have gotten his number through Hinata, but maybe he's got some news—"

You fumble with the phone, the unknown number undoubtedly belonging to Atsumu. Taking a deep breath, you nod at her and hold the phone to your ear, answering the call with a simple,

"Hello?"

[thesakuragarnet]

Pillow Talk

Summary: Toya is finally ready to take his and Hawks' relationship to the next level. (Another oneshot in my Civilian Social Worker Toya X Pro Hero Hawks AU timeline)

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY! S3XUAL TAGS WILL BE HIDDEN BELOW THE KEEP READING BUTTON!

Non-Spicy Tags: smut, DabiHawks, Civilian Social Worker Toya X Pro Hero Hawks, swearing, making out, fluff, Keigo is a good significant other, they are so in love it's disgusting

Word Count: 2,757 words

AO3 Link

Spicy Tags: first time bl0wjobs, explicit s3xual content, one partner is experienced/one partner is a virgin, consent is sexy, healthy communication is sexy, sub bottom Dabi, dom top Hawks, praise k!nk, handj0bs, aftercare, c0me swallowing, slight body worship, enthusiastic consent, feathers & featherplay

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“Fucking shit!” Toya shouts as he rushes back into the kitchen, realizing he completely forgot to take the lasagna out of the oven. The one night he wanted to cook dinner for his boyfriend, he’d gotten distracted by a work call and left the food in too long. Keigo would be off shift any minute, meaning he’d be walking in the door seconds after. It was the first time he was spending the night over at Toya’s apartment, and his attempt at a good impression was already slipping through the cracks. 

Toya had wanted so badly to be a hero…to be like Keigo. But…that was unrealistic. So he was forced to take the only other route that appealed to him: social work. He got kids out of homes that mimicked his own growing up. He took medication to quell his Quirk. He met Keigo in an alleyway after he had saved him from a mugger, and Kei had walked him home. They became friends…and then…after a year…something more. They weren’t official yet…mainly because Toya didn’t want his father to find out. After all, he worked closely with Hawks. They’d been dating in secret for about three months, and, finally, Toya had invited him to come over for dinner and stay the night. 

“No, no, no!” Toya hisses as he reaches for the oven door without thinking and grabs the side of the tray with bare hands. 

“FUCK!” He screams as he immediately drops the scorching hot dish, and it shatters on the floor, sending splats of lasagna all over his nice button-up shirt and pants; shards of porcelain fly everywhere. Toya’s heart sinks to the depths of hell as he hears Keigo turning the key he gave him into the door, and he freezes. 

“T? I heard a crash, is everything oka-?” Keigo’s concerned voice stops short as he walks in and sees Toya standing agitated in the kitchen, completely covered in splashes of sauce like a crime scene. Keigo quietly closes the door and clasps a hand over his mouth, as if trying not to laugh. Toya’s face turns bright red. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I was just trying to make dinner, and I got distracted,” Toya mutters in agitation and embarrassment as he ducks down, disappearing behind the bar as he attempts to pick up the broken dish without slicing his fingers open. He winces as he feels the burns on his hands, though it doesn’t hold a candle to the pain he could feel while using his own Quirk. Keigo walks around the bar into the kitchen, and his eyes widen when he sees the extent of the damage. 

“Here. I got it. I got it,” Keigo offers, picking up some of the broken shards. He sharply inhales when he sees the dark burns forming on Toya’s hands. 

“Toya! Go run your hands under the water! What are you doing?!” He gasps, and Toya blinks, realizing the extent of the scalding from the dish. The flame Quirk-user gulps and nods, dropping the few pieces he picked up and running to the sink, flipping on the cold water. 

“If you wanna go jump in the shower, I can get all this cleaned up and order us something to eat instead. You don’t have to dress all fancy. I’m probably going to go ahead and change out of my Hero suit,” Keigo says with a warm smile that touches Toya to his core. Nervous out of his mind, Toya nods and hurriedly makes his way to his bedroom, keeping his head down as he leaves Kei in the kitchen. 

…

Toya sighs as he stares into the bathroom mirror, drying the last droplets of water from his hair. He hoped he hadn’t fucked everything up. He pulls on one of his old grunge band T-shirts and gray sweatpants before walking back out of his bathroom, out of the bedroom, and down the hall to his living room. He stops in the doorway when he sees Keigo facing the other direction in nothing but bright red boxers, his Hero suit discarded and hanging off the edge of the sofa. Toya’s face flushes as his boyfriend stretches, exposing all of the rippling muscles in his back. He flexes his arms in the stretch, highlighting his defined biceps, making Toya feel even fainter. He wants nothing more than for Keigo to wrap those big strong arms around him. Admittedly, it makes him feel a little self-conscious. He absentmindedly rubs his own forearms, wishing that he had an ounce of upper body strength. How could Keigo, with the sun-kissed skin and body of a Greek god, love some pasty, thin weakling like him? Yet, here he was. Keigo turns around to dig into his duffel, revealing his toned pecs and rock-hard abs, and Toya can’t tear his eyes away. Unconsciously, he bites his lip, trying not to drool over the sight…that is…until Keigo looks up and realizes he’s being watched. Toya practically trips over his own feet as he straightens up and clears his throat, trying to act natural. 

“Food’s on the way!” Keigo beams as he slips on a gray athletic T-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. “Are your hands okay?” 

Toya gulps and nods, feeling his palms get sweaty. 

“Yeah. Just stung a bit,” He coughs, walking over to the couch as Keigo plops down on it, slinging his duffel back to the ground and opening his arms, beckoning Toya to join him. A small smile crawls across the social worker’s face as he snuggles up into his boyfriend’s arms, which wrap around him almost instantly. He feels incredibly safe with Keigo…safer than he’s ever felt in his entire life. 

“Thank you,” Toya mumbles appreciatively, and Keigo laughs. 

“Don’t mention it,” The Pro yawns before kissing the top of his boyfriend’s head. Toya smiles and shuffles closer, wishing he could just stay like this forever. The kind of love that Keigo provided was an unconditional breath of fresh air that he craved his entire life. For a while, he didn’t even believe in that kind of love. Now, he wanted to live in Keigo’s tender embrace. 

“How was work?” Keigo asks, his fingers dancing up Toya’s arm. 

“Stressful as always. I’m finally hitting a breakthrough though. What about you? How was the twelve hour patrol shift?” Toya replies, and Keigo huffs. 

“Twelve hours of helping old ladies cross the street. You’d think they’d learn,” He jokes, flapping his wings two times. A soft, caring smile spreads across Toya’s face as he reaches up and gently runs his fingers through Keigo’s hair. The Pro’s eyes flutter shut, and he leans into the touch. 

“So, besides dinner. You have anything else planned for us tonight?” Keigo hums, turning his head to softly press his lips into Toya’s open palm. Toya gulps as his heart skips a beat. 

“Well, uh…um…what time is the food getting here?” He stammers, his mind racing. There was more than one reason he wanted this night to go perfect, and he was cursing himself for how long it was taking and how sideways it was going. 

“Maybe an hour?” Hawks cocks his head, eyebrows furrowing in thought. Toya chews his bottom lip and sits up straight, feeling sweat bead on his forehead and his palms get clammy. 

“I…I’m…I’m ready, Keigo,” The white-haired man stutters, trying his best to keep his voice steady. 

“For?” Keigo asks, seeming a bit confused. Toya blinks, staring at him as if he’s waiting for Keigo to figure it out. A few seconds pass by, and then Keigo’s eyes widen. 

“ Oh . Really?” He smiles, perhaps a little too eagerly. His wings seem to puff up, and Toya shifts nervously before nodding. They had done the bare minimum of physical intimacy in their relationship; nothing more than making out like high school kids and over-the-pants action. Keigo had a body count; Toya did not, purely because he always feared that level of attachment in relationships. He wasn’t sure if it was a sense of pride or autonomy, but there was something about being completely vulnerable that made his stomach turn. Nonetheless, his heart told him that he was willing to move in that direction with Keigo. Keigo made him feel safe. Keigo made him feel loved. Keigo was different. After all, he’d been surprisingly chill with the boundaries Toya had already put in place. 

“Well…what…what exactly are you wanting to do? I only wanna do what you’re comfortable with,” Keigo says earnestly, cracking his back. Toya puts his hands on his knees as he stares into his eyes. 

“Uh…well…I…I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna fuck yet. I mean…I do . I’m just…not ready for that yet,” He speaks slowly, carefully thinking over his words. 

“But you wanna see if you can work your way up to that?” Keigo raises his eyebrow, and Toya sighs. 

“In a way…yeah…let’s just…let’s just see what happens, and if I freak out or don’t like it, then I’ll tell you,” Toya offers, feeling his face get hot. He can’t believe that he’s planning his sex life out loud like it’s another case he’s working. He feels so fucking awkward. 

“Sounds good to me,” Keigo murmurs sweetly before kissing Toya on the cheek. 

…

They’re in Toya’s bed, stripped down to their boxers, simply passionately kissing as they have been for months. They’re lying on their sides, Keigo’s wing draped protectively over Toya and pulling him in close as Toya’s hands run through Keigo’s hair. Keigo cups the side of Toya’s face as he slips his tongue into his mouth, eliciting a choked whimper from his boyfriend. Slowly, Toya feels Keigo’s hands sinking lower, down his neck, brushing over his chest, slowly down his abdomen…feathers pull off both of their boxers...

“Mmm~” Toya moans into Keigo’s mouth as Keigo gently grips his half-hard cock. He greedily sucks on Keigo’s bottom lip, hands moving from the blonde tangles to the sensitive feathers. Keigo breaks free from the kiss with a lewd sigh, eyelids fluttering as Toya stares at him open-mouthed. Carefully, Keigo starts pumping his hand, and Toya completely submits. 

“So good,” Toya whines, relishing in the feeling. Something about Keigo being the one touching him made the sensation infinitely sexier. Keigo smirks devilishly, indulging in the power he has over his boyfriend. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Keigo huffs, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as his golden eyes meet Toya’s blazing cerulean. Toya’s breath falters, as if the words shake him to the very core. 

“Really?” He sighs, wondering how Keigo, with his incomparable looks, can think that he’s even close to beautiful. 

“Really,” Keigo sneers before joining their lips, and, this time, Keigo’s heartbeat skips as Toya’s hand clutches his length. Toya’s hips are moving with a mind of their own as he starts desperately thrusting into Keigo’s hand; strained, high-pitched noises of pleasure muffle in his throat as he traces his tongue along the inside of Keigo’s mouth.

“Fuck, you’re making me feel so good, baby,” Keigo growls between sloppy kisses, and Toya feels primal lust stirring in his gut.

“Keigo, I’m getting close,” Toya whimpers, his thrusts becoming spastic, and Keigo’s gaze darkens. He releases his grip before immediately disappearing beneath the sheets, and Toya’s face changes from confused and disappointed to pure ecstasy as Keigo starts sucking him off. Toya moans his boyfriend’s name over and over as his eyes roll into the back of his head. Within a few moments, his cries of pleasure turn to stutters and end with a sharp gasp. Toya’s fists clench as he spills his load down Keigo’s throat, biting his lip harshly through the orgasm as Keigo licks him clean. 

“Fffuuuck,” Toya sighs as the afterglow washes over him, and Keigo climbs back up to be eye level, his cock leaking onto Toya’s stomach.

“C-can I?” Toya stutters dumbly, looking down at Keigo’s dick, and the Hero eagerly nods. Toya takes a deep breath, softly pushing Keigo over to lie down on his back as he slowly moves down. 

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Pizza!”

Toya freezes, but Keigo seems unfazed as a swarm of feathers leaves his wings and slips beneath the crack in the bedroom door. 

“I’m taking care of it,” Keigo smirks, and Toya steadies himself, carefully licking at the precum that drips down Keigo’s length. The Hero starts panting, and Toya gazes up at him as he takes him all the way into his mouth. Almost immediately, he reels back, gagging and wiping the water from his eyes. 

“You don’t have to take it all if you don’t want to,” Keigo breathes, slightly amused. Wordlessly, Toya slowly sucks him all the way back in, eyes watering as his cheeks hollow out with every movement. Keigo sighs his lover’s name as Toya slowly bobs his head up and down, his own breath staggering at the sight of Kei falling apart because of him. 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Keigo hums, reaching down to run a hand through Toya’s hair. Toya throbs at the praise, and a soft whine stifles in his throat, vibrating around Keigo’s dick. 

“Oh, so you like it when I praise you, T? Well, in that case,” Keigo huffs, and two feathers fly free from his wings before tracing across Toya’s cheeks, sweeping his jawline, as if Keigo is caressing the side of his face. “You make me feel things that nobody else can, baby. Keep doing what you’re doing. Fuck , you’re so good.”

Toya’s eyes start welling with a mix of tears from gagging and overactive emotions as he starts bobbing his head faster, trying hard not to melt under the heat of the moment.

“Such a good boy. My good boy. You’re putting me on cloud nine, baby,” Keigo moans, closing his eyes and leaning his head back into the pillow as he feels the approaching climax. Toya is whimpering now, breath hissing out of his nose as he swirls his tongue before pressing it flat up against it. Tears stream down his face as he watches his partner relish in the ecstasy. 

“Close, baby. I’m close,” Keigo groans, and Toya pulls back, suckling on just the tip. 

“ Fuck ,” Keigo sputters as he spills into Toya’s mouth. Toya closes his eyes, delicately swirling his tongue until his boyfriend stops twitching. He removes his lips with a slick pop, swallowing before wiping the mix of drool and precome off of his chin and blinking away the residual tears. 

“Did…did I do okay?” Toya mumbles as if he’s ashamed, leaning back to sit on his knees. He knows Keigo has had other partners, and, with his inexperience, he can’t help but be worried about Keigo drawing comparisons. He knows he shouldn’t…but…he’s spent his whole life feeling like he isn’t good enough. 

“Okay? Touya that was fucking amazing,” Keigo chuckles as he sits up, basking in the afterglow. 

“Are you hungry?”

…

The lovers lie in bed, watching the credits to Thor: Ragnarok with an empty pizza box between them. Toya reaches over, grabbing the remote and switching off the television while Keigo’s feathers send the pizza box to the trash can and turn off the light. His wings immediately envelop Toya, who promptly snuggles up close to him, burying his face in Keigo’s pecs. 

“I love you,” Keigo whispers, and Toya can’t help but grin. He’d heard him say it for the first time last week, and it still gave him butterflies every time. 

“I love you, too,” Toya mumbles, focusing on the feeling of Kei’s feathers on his back. 

“And you promise you were okay with everything we did today? Everything I did? And you? I don’t ever want you to feel forced to do anything, Toya. I want you to know you don’t have to reciprocate if you aren’t ready to take that step," Keigo murmurs sweetly before kissing the top of his head. 

“Yeah, Kei. It was…fun, I guess. I’m…I’m not sure what to call it, but I liked it,” Toya yawns, wrapping his arms around Keigo to pull him closer. 

“Good, I had fun, too. Do you want me to stick around for breakfast tomorrow? I wasn’t sure if you had plans, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” Keigo stammers, almost sounding nervous. 

“Stay as long as you want, Birdbrain,” Toya smirks as he feels himself drifts off to sleep.

[bamtorri]

Spot Me

.˳ 👟 ˚̩̩̥͙

・ Synopsis. Late night gym sessions became your sanctuary after long shifts. These days, your gym buddy has been Mingyu, the guy your bestest girl friend gushes about on a daily. But, being his gym buddy had a catch. You were set to gather new information on him to help your friend. Here you are, gathering facts, but what you really gathered was a big fat crush.

・ Pairing. mingyu x reader (f)

・ Word Count. 3.4k

・ Genre/Warnings. nsfw (18+) acquaintances to lovers, unrealistic depictions of a public gym LOL, swearing, public sex, pet names (princess, pretty girl, sweetheart, slut), degrading, lots of flirting and teasing, getting caught, mingyu grinding/cumming on readers ass, edging, anal, clit torture, mingyu covering readers mouth, unprotected sex (DONT FUCKING DO THIS!)

・ Note. hey ovulaters…heh! short one-shot for ya cause i’ve been a lazy bum who can’t start my big wonwoo fanfic rn, so we got the man himself, kim mingyu. not proofread, rushed, and idk im lowk js in a freaked mood. loser trapped in a hot body typa thing got me thinking bout writing this sooo ENJOYY!

・ Disclaimer. This is a work of fiction, and isn’t intended to be representations of the Seventeen members. ♡

“Are you just going to sit there?” He asks with a slightly agitated tone. While the question lingered in the air, Mingyu’s hands occupy themselves with a pair of twenty-pound dumbbells. Your eyes are elsewhere, specifically down at your lap where your phone is, checking to see if your best friend left you a text.

Today was rough. Work overstimulated you more than ever, to where you weren’t in the mood to sweat your stress off at the gym. Meetings that ran back-to-back and a never ending stream of unanswered emails demanded your attention. It was hectic, to say the least. The constant chatter of your best friend made you dread the day even more. It left you feeling like a zombie by the time you arrived at the gym. All you wanted to do was collapse onto a massage chair and zone out, perhaps take a nap while you’re at it. Yet the reminder of why you’re also in this shared space kept you somewhat on your feet.

There you sat on an unoccupied sit up machine, waiting for that text message your best friend usually sends around this time.

“You joining me?” Your eyes lift up from your device to land right onto Mingyu, who is now busying himself with the pair of dumbbells. He’s got you captivated, making you watch him curl the dumbbells with such ease, flexing his biceps each rep.

It’s a shameful thing to admit, but you’ve fallen for your best friend’s eye candy. How it happened? You aren’t quite sure either. One minute you were swapping laughs and exercising tips, and then the next, you were searching for excuses to spend more time with him. More than you should’ve. Your guilt tried to brush it off like it was a matter of admiration, but deep down you knew what your heart desired. “No, not today. I’m just going to sit here while you do your own thing.” You timidly reply with.

Mingyu hums at your unusual response but it doesn’t disrupt him from finishing his set. His tight white tank top is hugging his toned figure, accentuating the muscles in his arms and chest that make it all the more difficult to avert your gaze. “Slacking today, pilates princess?” He wipes the sweat off of his forehead after completing his set.

“What’s with that nickname-” you stammer, trying to find your next words, but your flushed out red cheeks have given you away. “It’s just for today.” There’s still no text message from your friend, and you’re left to open up Pinterest on your phone. Scrolling through your feed, savings random outfit inspirations or workout ideas all while checking for the text that never seemed to deliver.

Mingyu sets the pair of dumbbells back to their original spots and walks over to where you’ve chosen to rest. He’s a few feet away from you, hands stuffed into his sweatpants and eyes watching your every move. “Watcha doin over there?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Startled, you barely make eye contact with him and ‘busy’ yourself again. “Doomscrolling on Pinterest.”

“Mm?” His husky voice sounds closer. There’s a sudden rapid beating in your chest as he approaches, but you almost let out a sigh of relief when Mingyu wanders over to the machine beside you. “Looking for anything in particular?”

“You.” It slipped off your tongue like a bar of soap, you felt your eyes grow wide, then you felt the urge to bash your head into a wall. The mocking sound of Mingyu’s laugh wasn’t in favor of your situation either. Your face has turned into a tomato by now. “I had no idea I had pictures on Pinterest.”

“No I’m sorry-” You try to recover from your slip up but find yourself faltering even more. “Forget I said that, please.”

A coy grin forms on his face, “All good,” he stands there idly in front of the machine, wondering if he should use it or not but then a thought comes to his head. “Gosh you look so miserable sitting there.”

Mingyu waits for a few moments for a response from you, but nothing comes out of your mouth after embarrassing yourself. “Come on, pilates princess, let’s get you moving. You’re already in your gym attire anyway.” A hand is extended out to you out of the blue. You’re in a state of shock, eyes darting all over the place, but they ultimately meet his. “I…I’m not sure.” You say slowly, a wave of self-conscious washes over you about your lack of motivation.

“I’ll make it worth your time.” And those words made you give in easier than he’d hoped when you took his hand. He easily pulls you off of the sit up machine and retrieves his hand back. You’d hoped he’d hold it for just a moment longer, but you had to focus on the new task at hand.

You’ve been led over to a chest press machine. You’re gripping the bar tightly as Mingyu stands beside you, identical to a gym trainer. “Keep your core engaged,” his hands hover over yours as he guides you through every movement. “Press the weight away from you, extend your arms fully then bring them back to the starting position. Alright?” His voice is laced with tenderness, completely contrasting his ripped figure.

As you begin to press the weight, you feel Mingyu’s warm hands lightly touch yours, providing a gentle correction to your form. Your heart skips a beat, but you concentrate on the exercise, pushing the weight away from you with steady motions. Satisfied with your efforts, he smiles approvingly at you as you match gazes. “Good form,” he chuckles in the middle of his words, “Let’s do another set.”

You powered through a productive workout session thanks to Mingyu. You both come to a realization that time has passed tremendously when there’s practically nobody to be found, other than the staff. The only source of sound was the annoyingly loud air conditioners.

As soon as you catch your breath, you’re quick to thank him for brightening your night. “Thank you so much, I seriously needed this.”

“You’re a natural,” Mingyu smiles endearingly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m glad I could help.” Then with a nod, he swings his bag over his shoulder and heads towards the locker room. “Same time tomorrow, per usual?” He calls out to you over his shoulder.

“Of course!” You beam, adjusting your gym shorts before reaching for your phone to check the time, and that message you’ve been anticipating.

It’s crazy to think that you didn’t even plan on showing up tonight. Miraculously, your gut told you that maybe seeing Mingyu would relieve your stress, and it did. But that guilty feeling of betraying your friend, liking the same guy. Heck, you didn’t even know if Mingyu already had a girlfriend.

It ultimately ended to one thing and that was you had essentially abandoned that mission you had going for your friend. To make that worse, you couldn’t stop the blushing or fluttering in your chest by the way he looks at you. It’s like he wants you that exact way you want him.

The thought of Mingyu having a girlfriend made your stomach twist into knots. There was no right to feel this way. But how could you shake off your crush when your feelings refused to be ignored?

You grabbed a hold of your phone, but as your fingers wrapped around it, something felt wrong. The phone case felt unfamiliar in your grasp, and as you flipped the phone over and tapped it to see the lock screen…

You realized you were holding Mingyu’s phone.

“No- no…no! Fuck!” You cry out in panic to yourself, and helplessly scan the room in hopes that Mingyu isn’t far, but he’s already made his way to the locker room.

Eagerly, you rushed towards the locker room, every step making your heart beat faster and faster as if it was racing you there. You burst through the doors and start calling Mingyu’s name endlessly, hoping he’d hear you. But it was far too late. In between isles of lockers, there he was, shirtless and oblivious to your unexpected entrance. Then there in his hands was your phone. Your phone. Your freaking phone. Your eyes widened impossibly to the sight, his eyes darting from you then over to the screen of your phone.

“Oh my gosh- I’m so sorry-!” You avert your eyes some place else while turning your body to avoid him. Then you feel a hand on your arm that gently whips you back around, and he shows you the text message that is guaranteed to be your best friend’s.

< mingyu is so fuckable. ]

As absurd as the situation is, Mingyu is surprisingly calm, “This is your phone, isn’t it?” He says, as if it wasn’t obvious to the both of you already. There’s no other option than to nod in shame. Your hands that rest at your sides have turned into fists and you feel too paralyzed to cry or speak.

“I’m starting to understand why you were so eager to get your phone back.” His voice teases its way to your face, making your cheeks burn all sorts of bright tints of red and pink. You wanted to stuff yourself into a locker and rot.

Mingyu’s puppy eyes glistened with playfulness, now that he’s got you where he wants you. “So, I’m ‘so fuckable’?” He mirrors the text, a sly giggle left his mouth.

“Give me my phone back.” You say trying to sound stern but you sound stupid now that your voice is cracking under all this pressure. Your hands make an attempt to grab at your belonging, but he’s quick to dodge. “Hey, I think I’m starting to develop a little fan club.”

“Please- I want it back!” You breathe out with teary eyes.

“Not until you admit it.”

“What? Admit what?”

Trying to feign your innocence only made you more vulnerable. “Please, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Out of nowhere, he’s leaning in, his hot breaths hit the conch of your ear causing you to flinch. “It’s you. You’re the one who wants me, pilates princess.” You mustered up the courage to meet eye to eye with him now that he’s not even inches from your face. In a moment that felt inevitable, Mingyu’s lips attached themselves onto yours.

The kiss was a gentle first-exploration of each other’s lips. His mouth was warm and inviting, leaving you to melt into the sensation. You parted your lips slightly, granting him access to kiss you deeper, love you deeper. His tongue brushed up against yours, eliciting a soft whine from you. As you kissed, your hands came up to frame his face, while his roamed down your body and underneath your shirt, his fingers, gentle against your skin.

Mingyu breaks the kiss to allow the both of you to catch your breath, but within a matter of seconds, your hands are pulling him right back into you. This time, with greed. It was urgent, you demanded more of him that you knew you shouldn’t receive. His eyes flash with surprise but he gives in, devouring your lips in the same manner. Your chest is heaving with excitement, but you push at his chest abruptly which causes him to pull away from you.

“Mingyu- this was a bad idea, we can’t…I can’t-”

“Then why are you still kissing me?”

His words knock you back into reality, making your head wander all sorts of places for an answer to his question. But before you can stand your ground, Mingyu speaks, “You’re right, this might be a bad idea,” his words drip with an unspoken meaning. “Yet, I don’t think I can stop, not when I’ve tasted how addicting you are.” He snakes a hand up to your face to wipe your face soaked with tears.

You know you shouldn’t continue. You know that you should push him away, tell him to leave, but your body seemed to have other plans. Your hands still lingered on his bare chest, feeling the heat and sweat. Mingyu’s eyes seemingly drop to your lips and you knew he was thinking about kissing you again. You should’ve forced him off. Instead, it’s you who chose to betray your friend. It’s you who was desperate for his touch. It’s you who whispered, “Mingyu, please,” before his lips found their way over to yours again, losing your thoughts immediately. As the kiss deepened, you knew the trouble you stirred up.

He groans against your lips, his hands making their way down to your ass and giving it a tight squeeze, making you whimper. You break the kiss, your saliva trails dripped to the floor.

“Mingyu,”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Show me,”

“Show you what?”

“Show me that you’re so fuckable.”

Mingyu snickers at your words, before crashing his lips down onto yours once more that night. But now, his hands are quick, and work at your athletic shorts, then your panties, your shirt, and bra, then eventually his sweats.

He effortlessly picks you up, relocating the both of you to a vacant shower room, and shutting the curtain behind him as you get backed up against the wall. He pins your hands up with one hand, his other at your side, twisting the water on. “Showers relieve stress, y’know.” You both exchange laughter, before exchanging saliva once again. His hand finds its way over to your breast, massaging it as he kisses down your neck, marking you, claiming you. The warm water created steam in the small space, creating a sense of isolation, of being in your own little worlds.

Mingyu’s fingers trailed down to your core, stroking circles against it which made sweet sounds erupt from your swollen lips. He can’t tell if you’re soaking wet because of him or the shower’s constant pouring water. Nevertheless, he’s working at your clit while stealing quick kisses from you.

“M-Mingyu-” You manage to choke up, desperation evident in your little voice. His fingers work at you stronger, hearing how lovely you sounded in a public space, as if wanting to be caught red handed here.

“Fuck, you sound so pathetic saying my name like that.” He comments, the constant repetition of his name being said in such a pitiful way made his blood run south, making him harder than he already was for you. “Did you just need some good dick? Is that why you’re not pushing me away? Hm?”

All you could do was hopelessly moan. Your voice being silenced by your sweet sounds of pleasure. You feel that you’re going to be teetered at the edge at any given moment right now, the way his fingers know how to reward your slutty behavior. You could live like this forever.

But when you feel your climax hitting, he hastily pulls his fingers away from you. Your legs are quivering from the unfinished job, but before you can tell him to continue, he has you facing the cold tiles, your cheek nearly pressed up against the wall before you.

His hands drag down from your shoulders, to your back, then to your ass. He takes hold of his aching cock in one hand, and slaps it against your entrance. “Can I cum on that ass?” He slaps your ass with a hand causing you to yelp, and brings it up to your jaw, cupping it as he leans forward. “Please princess? It’d look so pretty with my cum.”

“You didn’t let me cum.” You whined, your throbbing core could’ve came from one single touch but Mingyu didn’t allow it. His teasing hands danced across your body but never quite touched the spot you needed him most. “M-Mingyu, please.” You begged, not even sure what you were asking for anymore.

“I love seeing you like this,” He pumps his thick cock with a hand while stroking your ass with the other. “You’re turning me on so bad pretty girl.” His breathing becomes heavier as he strokes himself, leaving you speechless, the way he’s jerking himself off to just the sight of you. Your body jolts up when you feel his dick slide onto your ass. Mingyu fucks himself on you, his desperate moans sounding more impatient. “You want me to touch you? To kiss you? Mm?”

You nodded obediently, your body aching with needs that hadn’t been quite met, but will. “Aw, but what if I don’t want to? What if I just want to tease you, make you feel like shit?” He whispers, grinding himself on you harsher, his movement staggering as he approaches his high. Although his words are meant to jab at you, you find yourself getting turned on by this dirty talk.

“B-beg me then,” you feel his release running down your legs as the water washes it down the drain, he’s panting in your ear like a dog that yearns to play. “Beg me to touch you.”

You couldn’t help yourself anymore, the way he’s hovering over you, in full control of you makes you look so pathetic. It’d only make you look more like a whore if you begged, but isn’t that what he wanted?

“Please,” Your voice shakes with needs, then the corners of your eyes fill with tears. You look back at Mingyu, who’s biting his lip in satisfaction, when you comply. “Don’t leave me like this-” Your hips start to move on their own, making Mingyu’s cock twitch at your entrance. “N-Need you so bad- I’ll be a good girl,” You sniffle, trying not to touch yourself with the hand he was reluctant enough to set free.

Then, you gasp as you feel his hips thrust right into you, knocking the air right out of your lungs. Your hand instinctively flew to the cold tiles on the wall, when he started moving into you.

Even with the smallest changes in pace or precision, your moans grew louder. He frees your other hand, then places both of his hands on your hips, pulling you in and out of him. The sound of skin slapping against each other along with your sinful voice filled the locker rooms.

“Trying to get us banned, princess?” He giggles at the way you look at him with guilt that made his dick twitch inside you. “I-I’m sorry-” Is all you can say before he’s hitting your sweet spot over and over again. Your back arches in reaction to the sudden sensation, the pleasure was unbearable. “Good form.” Mingyu teases, leaning forward to cover your mouth with his hand.

“You want everyone to hear how good I’m fucking your pretty ass right now? Is that it?” He hums, stroking the side of your face with his thumb.

“N-no!” You muffle through his fingers, but you aren’t able to give full responses with the way he’s ramming into you. You’re whimpering sweet little nothings into Mingyu’s hand, unable to decipher them yourself.

“I fucking bet you do.” He chuckles, pecking at your neck. “Can I cum in you? Mm?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and cry out helplessly, your noises being suppressed by Mingyu’s large hand. “Oh that’s right, can’t say anything.” He releases his hand from your face, and your moans bounce off the walls in a frenzy.

“S-shit! I c-can’t-” Your tears streamed down your face from all the pleasure, and your body trembled with immense heat. “Mingyu!”

“Cum, slut.” He kisses your cheek before pulling away from your face and letting you ride out your orgasm. Soon enough, you’re painting the floor of the shower room with your essence. You can feel his warm release in you as you both reach your limits.

As you’re recovering from your orgasms, he turns off the shower’s water to hear you better. You’ve turned that whole area of the locker room into a sauna with all the steam produced from just your shower room alone. Then, there’s a loud thud at the other side of the room when you’ve caught both of your breaths.

“Fuck, we’re busted.” Mingyu quietly whispers into your ear, making you both quietly giggle behind the curtain that could blow your cover in a blink of an eye. “And whose fault is that?” You added, as the footsteps grew louder and louder towards the shower curtain.

“Same time tomorrow?” You ask Mingyu, but the answer has already been decided.

author note: NO WAY JOSE U SURVIVED MY MINGYU FIC!!!

[minevn]

(I'm sorry for the mistakes) What do LI do in life?

Minato: Minato has been helping his grandparent's out at the shop ever since he moved in with them! It first started with getting things ready in the displays and helping his grandma get orders ready. Then on the weekends Minato would get fishing lessons from his grandfather until eventually he was the one who got most of the fish and delivered them to where they needed to be.

Haruto: Haruto is a CEO of his mothers interior design company that was handed down to him in her will. Haruto and his mother are both clean freaks who enjoy nicely decorated homes. Haruto enjoys his job, he likes what the job entails. Honestly, he's not even sure what job he would do if not interior decorating, no job is cleaner in his eyes.

Jun: Jun is college student majoring in fashion and in her free time is an influencer. She wants to make beautiful, trendy outfits for everyone to wear! She enjoys doing silly little challenges and showing off her designs online. She'll lose her mind if she finds out you watch her and if she see's you wearing her designs.

Hoshi: Hoshi works as a cook in his dad's restaurant with his dad. Hoshi honestly doesn't have any aspirations, nothing that he's ever been like "Oooo! I wanna be that! That's my dream!" He's tried many other things, but nothing too appealing for a life long aspiration. He's pretty fine with being a cook, he likes it enough.

Habiki: Habiki works as a host for his dad's restaurant(At least in the beginning) and he hates it. Unlike his younger twin who has no dream, Habiki does have a dream. They want to go on stage and play the violin, they want to make beautiful music for everyone, mainly themself.

Kage: Kage is a job-hopper, they can never keep a job too long and don't really have any jobs they want. They try to find night shift jobs or jobs where they can stay inside. Currently, in game they work at the graveyard, making sure that no one is digging up bodies or anything, often cleaning the graves as well.

Kei: Kei is a hacker, legally and illegally. He has his own little cyber security business that helps with stopping hackers from hacking your computer. But he often hacks into places like he shouldn't, places that contain confidential info that is only supposed to be seen by few eyes. He enjoys his job and studies for a bunch of other things as well :3

Yani: Yani's a coder, for video games. She makes the characters, the music, the backgrounds, everything. She does a few other side jobs, but never keeps jobs long, things like cashier at a convenience store. Yani also enjoys animating and has a fairly large following on her animation channel. She also take's commissions. She doesn't buy a lot of things so has quite a bit of money saved up.

Aki: Aki is a model. She often helps Jun model outfits, but she'll model any kind of outfit. She often makes it on covers of magazines and has a ton of fans, helps get Jun some exposure! Sometimes her job can be really stressful with obsessed fan and high, unrealistic expectations.

[angrythingstarlight]

Has bucky ever told bumblebee no because that was the reasonable thing to do (malyshka wouldn't allow it) . How did he feel?

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

A/N: Written on my phone. Part of the Bumblebee series.

|Mafia Masterlist| Main Masterlist|

Bucky finds it almost impossible to deny you pretty much anything, always has and always will.

He has this innate need to please you, make sure your always happy, and spoil you. He watched his grandfather treat his grandmother like a goddess and the most important person in his world.

Bucky is the same way with you.

And now he has his little Bumblebee and that innate need to see his baby, always with a smile on her chubby face, always happy, seeps into everything he does.

Sometimes he has to say no because it’s not safe for her or it’s too unrealistic, even for a wealthy mobster.

The first time Bucky had to tell her no, it devastated him.

This man survived being brutally attacked by one of his rivals without so much as breaking a sweat, but seeing her large eyes fill with tears and her bottom lip jutting out was one of the worst things he’s endured.

“Are you sure? We could figure something out- “he starts, frowning down at Bumblebee crying in his arms, his sharp black suit covered in Graham cracker crumbs. "I mean maybe it won't-"

Trying not to smile at the sight of their matching mournful expressions, you carefully explain, “Bucky, there’s no way that’s going to work, it’s too dangerous. What if something happens to her?”

He briefly shuts his eyes, the mere thought of her being hurt is unfathomable. Bucky will never let anything happen to his girls.

“You're right, you're right,” he murmurs, kissing the top of her hair, he strolls around you, patting her back as her tears slow down. “Damn it.”

“Dab it,” Bumblebee instantly parrots, her tone way too serious for her little voice.

Lifting her head off his chest, she wipes her face with her palm, her bottom lip popping out even more before sighing.

You and Bucky look at her and then each other before bursting into laughter. The tension breaks, shifting into something lighter, carefree. Her gaze bounces between the two of you and her pout morphs into a cheeky, sweet grin.

“Dab it, Papa” she repeats, giggling when you both laugh harder.

Bucky smiles at you, scrunching his nose. “What if we took her to see that ballerina movie instead? I can have the theater rented out, so it’s just us?”

You kiss her crumble covered cheek, poking her belly with your finger. “What do you say?”

“Yes!” she squeals, beaming up at you and Bucky, her eyes shining with excitement. “I wanna be a ballewina.”

“You can be whatever you want, Bumblebee.” Bucky promises, nuzzling her nose with his.

He smirks when he sees you taking your phone out of your pocket, already looking up dance studios. He makes a smug noise in his throat and you playfully glare in response.

“What? Like you weren’t about to do it,” you say, turning your phone away from his curious sea-blue eyes.

“True,” he hums with a pleased grin. “Alright let’s get ready, Bumblebee.”

You trail behind them, listening as they talk about the movie and dresses and dancing on tiptoes. You see one link that catches it your and you tap on Art in Motion studios, various images of smiling dancers posing in front of barres and on stages appears on the screen. 

It looks promising. 

She's going to love it.

[ghoulsgraveyard]

The Big Swap

2.3k words

Content warnings: this is smut. I’m talking straight up porn. Dynamic swap, degradation, slut shaming (but it’s hot don’t worry), pegging, anal sex,Daddy kink (not in the way you might think),  reader is afab but gender neutral, impact play, aftercare. no use of y/n because I don't like it <3 

a/n: i’m a total virgin, so this is a very idealized and unrealistic view of sex because your boy is scared of intimacy. This is super self indulgent

The smaller swaps happened all the time. Covering the bill before he could put his credit card down, pulling his hair after he pulled you onto his lap, holding the door for him after he opened your car door. Just the little things subtly swapping who wears the pants in the relationship; you or Steve.

Most of the time it was Steve. From a young age his father had instilled the idea that he had no choice but to be the provider and caretaker, that he had no business being cared for, that he was a pansy if he ever leaned on anyone for support. So when Steve got in relationships he became the dominant personality. Despite unlearning most of his dad’s “teaching” Steve still had no reason to step down from his spot as the caretaker, he liked it. Most of the time it was Steve. But then he met you. You who had taken his life by storm, a whirlwind who respected his boundaries but pushed him out of his comfort zone. You who held his hand and laughed at his jokes and loved him. You who slowly started to take care of him. It started when he was sick, and you would give him medicine, and feed him and keep him warm or cool. Steve was delirious with sickness but grateful nonetheless. Then you started to bring him lunch at work, claiming you wanted to avoid “hangry Steve” which was partly true. Then you started bringing over dinner on movie nights. When Steve gave you a key to his house you kicked it up, doing some light cleaning, doing his laundry, leaving him gifts, sneaking some extra cash into his wallet. Slowly getting him used to being taken care of.

This extended into your sex life. Focusing on his pleasure, being soft with him when the sex was more intimate and slow. When the sex was more rough, Steve took charge.

Tonight was no different, it had been a few days since you two had last had sex, both of you were a bit pent up, but Steve was no more rough than he’d been before. His mouth no more filthy than usual. “Oh yeah? You like that? You fuckin like that?” Steve loomed over you, your shitty mattress squeaking and headboard banging at the force of his thrusts. “U-uh huh” you replied to the best of your ability, which was difficult considering Steve was practically knocking the air out of your lungs. “Yeah you like it, I can- I can tell. Pussy’s fuckin squeezing me down here.” You grabbed at him to try and ground yourself, he whined as your nails dug into his back, leaving red trails in their wake. “God you’re so good for me, so good” he said through gritted teeth, gasping for air “such a good slut for me huh?”

For the first time since Steve pushed into you, your mind was clear. Slut. Degradation wasn’t new to your sex life, Steve had called you plenty of names before, but never slut. You weren’t mad or offended, but that word made you remember an old nickname you had for Steve. One you never called him or even said out loud, but back in highschool, when you had only heard tales of King Steve, your mind had dubbed him “Slutty Steve Harrington ''. Memories of locker room talk of his sexual escapades juxtaposed with how pretty the man above you looked, pink lips gaping and face flushed while the word slut rang in your ears culminated in a shift inside of you.

He was calling you a slut? He was calling you a slut? Steve Harrington who had been passed around over half of the female population in your age group was calling you a slut? You barked out a laugh.

He slowed, “Is everything okay?” His big eyes full of concern contrasted the hair stuck to his face from sweat, his kiss swollen lips and blushed complexion. In that moment the only way the man over you could look better, is if he was under you.

“You wanna repeat what you just said to me?” hooking your legs on his lower back, using all your strength to flip your bodies so you were straddling him “because it sounded like you just called me a slut”

His eyes were immediately full of concern “I'm sorry baby I should have asked I just-” you pressed a finger to his lips. “It’s okay Stevie, I'm just playing. I wanna try something new with you, is that okay?” you spoke slowly. Steve felt a sort of haze cloud his mind, and he nodded a bit dumbly, you continued “do you know what to say if it stops being okay?” blinking slowly Steve responded with the safeword you two had agreed upon.

You snapped back into character “You called me a slut Steve. Which is rich coming from you. You wanna talk about sluts Steve Harrington? Let's talk about the biggest one I've ever met. You.” you slinked off of his prone form, grabbing a few things from your bedside drawer. His eyes followed you as he watched you pick up handcuffs, lube, a dildo and some mass of leather straps he’d never seen before. You crawled back on top of him. “Hands up, slut.” he quickly obeyed, you put them on, looping them through one  of the poles in your bed frame. He gave them a quick pull, testing his range of motion, wanting to check in, you raised your eyebrows at him, silently asking if he was comfortable. He quickly nodded. Shuffling down his body, pushing his his thighs apart and up to his chest.You slid a pillow under his hips to prop him up

Leaning forward you pressed a sloppy kiss to Steve's lips, then forced your middle finger into his mouth, which he quickly accepted. Pulling your finger back from his mouth the string of saliva connecting your digit to his lips was enough to make you groan. With your middle finger  now wet you could get started.

Lightly circling his hole, and slowly adding pressure, before slipping your finger in up to the first knuckle. Steve’s eyes shot open at the shock of what was happening. Snapping open the lube and dribbling a liberal amount on his hole, Steve gasped at the cold liquid, clenching. Slowly but surely his channel opened up to you, you added a second finger, feeling around until you heard Steve release a filthy moan so unholy it could’ve sent an angel straight to hell. Steve was a mess above you. “Please” he whimpered “please touch me” his big wet eyes looked at you “I am touching you, greedy whore.” he threw his head back in frustration “please, touch my dick” he struggled getting the words out. You gave out a hearty laugh “that fucking thing? Absolutely not. That dirty dick has been passed around this whole town and god knows where else and you want me to touch it? You must be dumber than you look.”

Steve whined high in his throat.

You picked up the mystery object you left on the side of the bed and fiddled with the leather in your hands. Steve spoke up “wh-what is that?” you met his eyes “oh this? This is my harness.” you continued adjusting the straps, then clipped yourself in. “why do you need it?” he practically whispered. You smiled cruelley at him “oh honey” you leaned in so your lips were right next to his ear “how else am i going to fuck you?”

Steve had never heard himself make a noise like that before. A high pitched whimper, so pathetic he almost snapped out of his haze to berate himself. Almost.

He watched with wide eyes as you fit the dildo into the harness. Almost going cross eyed at the intimidating size. You lubed the dildo up and applied extra to Steve's hole.

You loomed over him, mimicking the position from earlier. “You want me to fuck you? Huh slut?” Steve nodded, that wasn’t enough, lightly slapping his face “then beg you stupid whore.” gasping at the pleasure pain from his cheek, Steve was quick, letting words tumble out of his mouth before his brain could begin to process them “please oh god, please. Please fuck me. I need it so bad. Please I- I need to be your slut please make me your slut. Please fuck me daddy”

As soon as the words registered Steve began to glow with embarrassment “I-I’m so-” you cut him off “oh that’s good. I like that. Call me daddy baby I’ll be your daddy” you began pushing the strapon into him, Steve whining the whole time, practically thrashing in his cuffs. You kept filling him with surprisingly little resistance “look at that slut. Your little hole is practically swallowing me with no problem. Now tell me, you ever been fucked in the ass or does your body just know that you’re a whore” Steve was so overwhelmed it felt like he was losing his mind in the best way possible “I’m a whore I’m a whore” you laughed at his state continuing to slowly push in while keeping a healthy amount of lube on him to ensure his comfort.

When you finally sank the last inch into his desperate ass as your hips met the backs of his thighs, Steve wrapped his legs around you. A mess of whines, whimpers and moans Steve felt like he was melting into the bed. You stayed seated all the way inside him, waiting for him to relax. About a minute later Steve started making coherent sounds again “daddy, daddy please” his hips started rocking, trying to gain friction from his prone position. You pet the hair out of his eyes “what is it slut? What do you need daddy to do?” you cooed at him.

Time seemed to stop when the Steve Harrington looked you dead in the eyes and whispered “fuck me daddy”

The world seemed to come back with the slow and steady thrusts you gave. Rolling your hips, gyrating, just barely pulling out and then sinking back in. it wasn’t until Steve started begging “more daddy please more” that you started to really fuck him. Pulling out until just the tip remained “god you’re a slut” then slamming back into him. He practically screamed. You fucked him in earnest, alternating short deep thrusts to pull out little gasps, with long hard strokes pushing out wanton moans. When you tried to go gentler on him he just whined “daddy harder. Faster, more please. Please” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his desperation. Nevertheless, harder and faster you went. Pounding into him, shoving him up the bed, bending him so he was practically folded in half, his neglected cock bobbing against his stomach being thrown with each thrust, leaving sticky patches of pre-cum in its wake.

His moans became louder and more frequent and soon the begging started back up again “I-I’m close, fuck, daddy I’m so fucking close. Oh god please. Please I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum daddy I’m gonna fucking cum please let me, please let me cum daddy”

the man was once the most popular boy in school, a rich kid, a star athlete, and now he was cuffed to your bed, calling you daddy while you fucked his brains out, and he thought you weren’t going to let him cum?

“You’re gonna cum? You’re gonna cum only from getting fucked by daddy? I didn’t even have to touch your dick, but you’re such a slut I didn't need to! Your hungry little fuckhole just needed daddy’s cock. Yeah. yeah you can cum. Make a fucking mess of yourself baby, cum all over your chest, go on, make a mess for daddy. Cum on daddy’s cock you can do it slut. Cum.”

His back arched so far off the bed it was like he was being pulled up by an invisible force. His balls twitched as his cock released rope after rope seemingly unendingly. His moans were so high in his throat they were practically silent but as he was riding down his high they became deep and throaty. God he was loud in bed. All the while you fucked him through it, slowing down only when tears of overstimulation beaded in his eyes.

He hissed as you slowly pulled out. Panting and gasping for breath, Steve didn’t have the energy to notice you speeding off to the bathroom. Returning with two wet cloths, you cleaned him up while trying to avoid overstimulating him, then laid the other wet cloth on his forehead to cool him down. You made quick work of unlocking his cuffs and cooed at him while you rubbed and kissed the red marks they had left. Steve’s eyes fluttered “hey honey, you doing okay?” he groaned in response you smiled and kissed his nose “someone is sleepy huh? Can you be convinced to take a shower and a sheet change?” he grumbled unhappily. “I’ll make you breakfast in bed tomorrow if you do!” that got him rolling out of bed. You helped him to the bathroom with his shaky legs. After washing each other and changing the sheets you couldn’t help but admire the man next to you. God he was pretty. Even if he was a slut.