#hands down THE hottest thing i have ever seen happen in a hallway in my life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wincore · 3 years

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atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of.

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low.

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours.

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget.

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore.

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume.

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type.

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises. If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts.

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself.

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask.

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it.

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it.

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily.

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year.

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately.

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one.

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt.

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover.

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours.

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth.

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words.

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table.

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad.

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back.

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing.

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters.

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs.

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.”

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can.

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off.

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating.

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know.

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young.

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.”

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling.

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung.

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses.

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention.

Inviting him somewhere.

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure.

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more.

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter?

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him.

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.”

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.”

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.”

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts.

You’re disappointing.

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose.

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps.

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask.

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you.

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue.

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.”

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you.

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families.

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe.

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard.

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them.

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out.

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure.

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up.

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt.

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder.

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart.

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it.

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him.

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak.

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time.

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional.

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that��s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love.

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved.

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding.

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either.

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple.

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action.

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t.

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days.

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.”

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by.

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers.

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever.

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout.

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!”

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?”

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this.

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose.

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond.

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—”

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder.

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him.

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too.

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again.

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling.

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you.

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care.

“Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there.

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally.

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer.

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.

2K notes · View notes

avewritesmr · 3 years

Note

Stray kids reaction to y/k having tattoo sleeves? 🙏🏻 I’ve seen reactions where they specified a couple tattoos but I wanna know what their reaction would be with someone that has sleeves. Or wants to get more tattoos (; also could some of the settings be like on a date? Like during the stage where they’re getting to know y/k?) thnx 💓

Reaction to boyfriend who has a tattoo sleeve

A/N: So I only did three members (picked at random) to avoid this getting repetitive, I think I strayed a little off topic, not sure, but please let me know what you think of it anonie, I loved writing it, and I am so sorry it has taken me so long to write it, all the love and in hopes of having more time to write now that college application and decision time is coming to a wrap 💖

Seo Changbin (Implied NSFW Content)

y/n and Changbin meet on the coldest day of winter, it’s literally freezing and the entire city is basically iced over.

y/n is the new producer at JYP and it just so happens that Changbin is asked to work with y/n on a project.

At first Changbin is really skeptical, y/n is this quiet, kind of scary looking person and he communicates through glaring and frowning instead of words.

Then Changbin starts to slowly get to know him and things change, he finds out that y/n isn’t rude or scary and they get pretty close throughout the time they are working on the project.

When they are no longer work colleagues and the project is complete, Changbin works up the courage to ask y/n out on a date.

They don’t officially date or anything for a while, they go out together on a couple dates and hang out, they spend lots of time together and it is very obvious they are both basically in love with each other.

y/n doesn’t try to hide his tattoos or anything, Changbin’s seen a few of them, the one on the side of his neck and the ones on his wrists and knuckles but he’s never seen the whole thing.

Then one day they’re sitting in Changbin’s studio and somehow y/n spills an entire thing of iced coffee on himself and he’s only wearing a long sleeved shirt.

Changbin has a spare shirt from dance practice so he goes to grab it and in the meantime y/n pulls his dirty shirt off.

Changbin finds the shirt in a drawer and turns around to give it to y/n and he just freezes.

y/n doesn’t even notice him staring, he takes the shirt offered to him and slips it on going back to whatever he was doing before while poor Changbin stares on in shocked silence. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You have so many tattoos.” Changbin mutters quietly.

y/n smiles slightly, “You don’t like them?”Changbin shakes his head quickly, he loves them, if he had wanted to kiss y/n before now he wants to jump the other man’s bones, he thinks they are hot and such a turn on.

y/n seems to understand as much and he goes out of his way after that to put them on display even though it’s still freezing outside.

Changbin isn’t complaining (at first), after a while he just finds himself staring at y/n’s tattoos, they aren’t even officially dating so he can’t just grab y/n’s arms and trace over the tattoos or ask the older to do anything to him.The whole thing leads to a lot of frustration on Changbin’s end and a lot of amusement on y/n’s.

“You know you can look at my tattoos if you want, you don’t need to look away every time I look in your general direction.”Changbin’s cheeks flare read but he hesitantly moves to sit closer to y/n and runs the tips of his fingers across one of the many tattoos.

“They’re so hot.” Changbin slaps a hand over his mouth as soon as the words leave it, y/n on the other hand finds this hilarious.

“Are they?” He is so close to Changbins face and his arm has moved to wrap around Changbin’s waist.Changbin remembers every thought he’s ever had about y/n’s hands and the tattoos and what he wants the older to do to him and he can see all the tattoos so close that it makes everything so much worse.

y/n’s smirk is enough to convince him to move towards the older and pull the other’s arm around his waist, he has no idea where the confidence comes from but at this point he has nothing to lose and he’s been fantasizing for way too long anyways.

Things end up so much better than he had every dreamed of and he has to concede that tattoos are the hottest thing ever, especially when they’re y/n’s and they stand out on white knuckles that hold Changbin’s hips down.

Hwang Hyunjin

Hyunjin loves tattoos, he thinks they're cool and the moment JYP lets him get a tattoo (I am not sure if he already has a tattoo tbh) he is getting a tattoo because tattoos are just so cool.

So why doesn't Hyunjin know that his boyfriend (of like 4 months) has enough tattoos to cover 90% of the skin on his right arm? Simple, answer.

y/n is an idol, he isn't aloud to show his tattoos on national television, and since a lot of his initial interactions with

Hyunjin had been backstage at music shows...

music shows = no tattoos being shown.

So let's go back to the beginning to get a clear picture

Hyunjin and y/n first meet at a music show backstage, Hyunjin has heard of y/n but he hasn't really seen pictures of the other that often and now he is face to face with probably the most attractive person he has met in a long time.

y/n is leaning against a wall in the hallway outside the bathroom in a beautifully tailored suit and Hyunjin, who is walking out of the bathroom, is completely enamored by this man that he might know the name of but can't be sure.

person walks past Hyunjin and y/n shoves his phone into his pocket talking happily to said person before they disappear down the hallway.

Detective Hyunjin mode = activated.

His detective work involves a quick google search to identify what group y/n is in and confirm his name, turns out he was right about the name and so he spends the next 2 hours of waiting before he has to preform just scrolling through pictures and tweets about y/n.

He resolves that day that he needs to talk to the other no matter what it takes, he just needs y/n's number.

His first plan is to recruit Jisung and Jeongin's help because they tend to find talking to new people easier and maybe he won't be as awkward if he talks to y/n with other people present.

This plan falls through very quickly because instead of helping all Jeongin and Jisung do is laugh at him.

He turns to his second (and last) plan.

Lee Minho is 2 months older than y/n, so maybe by some stroke of luck Minho knows y/n, or someone in his group, and Hyunjin can maybe convince Minho to help him start a conversation with the other.

Hyunjin is in luck, not only is Minho more empathetic about his hardships than Jisung and Jeongin but he just so happens to know y/n well enough to be able to walk up to him and strike up conversation.

Hyunjin follows Minho with gradually decreasing confidence. Sure he is going to get the chance to talk to y/n, which is what he wanted, but what the hell is he going to say?

Should he just ask for the others number?

Just introduce himself and maybe y/n will ask for his number? Maybe he can just turn around now and run away before this gets particularly embarrassing for him?

Maybe the floor underneath him will open up and swallow him whole because good lord y/n just smiled in his general direction and why are there so many people in this area at this specific time?

Turns out y/n wasn't smiling specifically at him, he was smiling more at Minho.

"This is Hyunjin, he wanted to tag along."

"Hey, I'm y/n, it's nice to meet you." Maybe his smile will kill Hyunjin before he remembers how to talk.

"uhh-hh, yes I know, I- uh, Hyunjin." God why was that so awkward someone save him, where did Minho walk off to? who is that? why did he take Minho away from him?

"Are you okay?"

"yeah, yeah, I am good." god he needed salvation right now.Basically, Hyunjin is awkward and nervous and he feels like the first meeting is a complete disaster and y/n will never talk to him again.

Somehow though y/n decided he isn't pitiful enough to ignore and walk away from, it takes a bit of prodding and joking on y/n's part for Hyunjin to relax a little and they hold a decent conversation. When Minho informs Hyunjin they have to head back y/n is typing his number into Hyunjin's phone and urging him to send a text whenever.

y/n and Hyunjin talk often after that, they meet again just a little over a week later backstage at a music show again and decided that they should take the risk and start dating.

They're moving a little quickly true, but, they can learn more about each other as time goes on.

Neither one of them is necessarily free at any one point in time, they see each other at a few events but their dating is limited to talking over the phone and basically texting all the time.

And then the day comes.

Hyunjin has the day off and y/n has wrapped up a photo shoot, the timing is perfect, the managers are okay with it and Hyunjin is buzzing with excitement because it's been almost 4 months and he is going to go to his boyfriend now.

They decide to meet at y/n's empty dorm just to be in each others presence.

So Hyunjin is standing outside the dorm door waiting for y/n to let him in and he is just shaking with happiness.

So when y/n opens the door with his hair a little messy and no make up on, Hyunjin's first instinct is to launch himself at the other and hug him as tightly as he can.

They might not have been able to see each other these last four months but that doesn't mean Hyunjin hasn't learned enough about the other to love him.

y/n only laughs and pulls him into the dorm hugging back with a soft smile on his face.

Hyunjin is so busy hugging y/n that he doesn't see the tattoos covering y/n's right arm.

He doesn't see them in fact until after he's been ushered into y/n's room and is about to head towards the cat laying under the window.

He turns around to ask y/n about the cat's name and then freezes because holy mother of all beings is that a tattoo sleeve?

"Yeah, is it a problem?"

"A problem? god no!" Hyunjin moves closer to war his fingers around y/n's arm and raise it so he can inspect the intricate designs.

"They look so cool, this just makes me want a tattoo even more." y/n laughs, "I can take you to get one." Hyunjin looks up with starry eyes.

"Management would kill, but I don't really care anymore."

"Maybe you should get it okayed before you do anything?"

"If they try to kill me you'll come riding in on a motorbike and wearing a leather jacket and save me." Hyunjin replies with a serious face.

y/n laughs, "That is just a stereotype, my mom would kill me if I got on a motorbike."So what did Hyunjin learn today?

He definitely wants a tattoo and wouldn't mind getting yelled at by management for getting one behind their back. He wants y/n to go with him because this man is an expert and if anyone (y/n included) disagrees then Hyunjin will be inclined to fight them.

y/n is 100% a mama's boy and Hyunjin is living for it (Another one of his life sources at this point in time is y/n's tattooed arm wrapped around his waist but he doesn't want to discuss those emotions just yet).

Yang Jeongin (I.N)

So y/n’s a barista at a cafe and that is how Jeongin meets him first, it is late summer, the uniform for the cafe workers is a button down white shirt so even though it is 35 degrees (Celsius) out Jeongin never sees y/n in anything but his work uniform which is a long sleeve button down white shirt.

After 2 months of (not really) subtle crushing Jeongin asks y/n for his phone number, they chat for a few days and then go on their first date in early October.

The date is a sweet, cliche outing, Jeongin is a blushing mess 90% of the time and y/n treats him with so much care. Dates aren’t that frequent after the first one but just before winter Jeongin and y/n make it official.

At this point it is so cold that there is never a moment for Jeongin to see y/n without a coat, hoodie or long sleeved shirt, so he lives a life of blissful ignorance for almost a month.

And then one day he is sitting at the counter in the cafe, y/n is just finishing his shift and Jeongin is waiting for him.

The manager walks by and tells y/n to clean up before he hands over to the next person and so y/n moves to the sink and rolls up his sleeves.

Jeongin isn’t really paying attention, he’s a little focused on his phone, but then he looks up.

😯 = Yang Jeongin when he saw y/n’s tattoos.

“Your face literally just derailed.”

“I didn’t know you had tattoos.”

“Well you didn’t really ever get a chance to see them.” Silence.

“I am sorry I probably should have told you before this.”Jeongin doesn’t respond to that, he doesn’t know how to, so he sits in silence contemplating the situation, while y/n finishes up. When they walk out of the cafe it is in strained silence, Jeongin doesn’t like it at all.

“Can I see them?”

“Sure, let’s go sit somewhere.”They end up on a park bench, y/n with his sleeves rolled up and Jeongin carefully tracing the ink covering y/n’s arm his eyes widened in awe.

“What’s the meaning behind thisone?”

��Nothing really, I got it because I thought it looked nice.”Jeongin laughs lightly and goes back to studying the tattoos on y/n’s arm, now that he is over the initial shock of discovering the tattoos he is enraptured by them.

He’ll probably stare at them whenever y/n wears something short sleeved, or rolls up his sleeves.

He genuinely thinks they are really cool and thinks his boyfriend is like a million times cooler with them.

325 notes · View notes

cherienymphe · 3 years

Text

Joke’s On You (Joker x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, NON-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, knife play, blood play, murder, violence,

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary: you’re a part time thief who keeps getting in the Joker’s way. What starts out as rivals quickly turns into something hot and heavy, and before you know it, you’re J’s girl. Whether you want to be or not {based off of this headcanon}

The first time you ever come face to face with the Joker, the clown king himself, is during one of the first night’s you first started to execute your grand idea. You went through a klepto phase when you were a kid, but you never expected you’d return to it, and definitely not on a bigger scale like this.

It wasn’t like you were homeless or right on the poverty line. You had money, quite a bit in fact. One of the perks of being a stripper in the most popular club in Gotham, but there came a certain thrill from stealing from the rich in this city. Sure, you took their money on the stage, did everything you could to make them empty their pockets, but taking their money right out from under their nose was different.

You’re not sure when you came up with the bright idea, but you knew that if you wanted to keep this up and stay out of prison, you had to get smart about this. That was where the Joker came in. That clown ran this city, and you knew that with him around, no one would dare to even notice you. If you made your hits the same time as him, you could get in and out to no one’s knowledge.

It was a solid plan.

Until it wasn’t.

You almost ruin his plans to send a bank up into flames, and your eyes briefly meet his cold green ones before you’re taking off. You half expected to hear the sound of gunshots, even expected to get hurt or worse, but you can hear him telling his thugs to stand down. He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by your presence, no real threat, and you’re unsure if you should be offended or not.

You had never seen the man himself up close before, and you’re shocked to realize that he’s taller than you imagined. More intimidating than you imagined. Despite the fact that he barely paid you any mind, you can’t help feeling like he’s going to break into your apartment and slit your throat. You’re a petty thief, nothing like the big criminals in this city, and your run in with him spooks you. It takes a long time for you to fall asleep that night.

You quickly put it behind you though and tell yourself that you just have to be more careful from here on out. It soon becomes obvious that that’s easier said than done. You hadn’t meant to get in his way when he was taking the mayor hostage. It was an honest mistake when you almost kept him from breaking some other danger to society out of Arkham, but the nail in your coffin finally comes when you do prevent him from robbing a bank truck.

You barely ducked in time as a bullet came flying past your head. You’re shaken up, but you manage to force yourself to get the hell out of there before the cops showed up and before the Joker took another shot. You should have known that he was going to be expecting you. The Joker was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.

You walk right into a trap, and you’re in the bank vault, hands full of money when you feel a sharp tug on your hair. You swallow down a yelp as you’re yanked back into a bare chest, and your eyes widen when a hand curls around your throat. You may not be the best villain in the world, but you’re one that can defend yourself, and the walls of the vault shake as you fight back.

He’s stronger than he looks, but you’re stronger than you look, and you both realize this when he has a gun pressed to your forehead while you have a knife at his throat. Your heart is hammering inside of your chest because not only are you once again face to face with the Joker himself, but he’s seconds away from killing you. You feel like you’re about to throw up, and he’s clearly amused.

He tilts his head at you, red lips parting to reveal a shiny grin, a laugh bubbling in his throat as he presses the barrel of the gun even further into your skin. His purple coat hangs off of him, pale chest heaving and that’s how you know that despite his grin, he’s irritated. Maybe even mad.

“…and what do they call you?”

His voice is deep, and that takes you by surprise. A lot of things about the infamous criminal are taking you by surprise.

“What does it matter? You’re going to kill me anyway, right?”

He hums, stepping closer with a sneer.

“I haven’t quite figured that one out yet…maybe I will when you tell me your name…”

“Well, I haven’t quite figured out what I want to be called,” you honestly told him.

No one but him and his goons knew about you, so you had never counted on anyone else knowing about you either. The thought of an alias never crossed your mind.

“Trying to steal my shine or something? You want to be the big dog around here?”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, and if he had eyebrows, you were sure he’d be raising one at you right now with the look he gave you.

He narrowed his eyes, and in one movement, he ripped your mask from your eyes, making them widen. He looked down his nose at you, taking in your all black attire before finally resting his eyes on your face.

“…or don’t tell me…you’re one of those girlies who thinks she can run around with me?”

You frowned at him, and he continued.

“I take it you’re a big fan.”

His tone was mocking, and you had the urge to spit in his face, but you knew that would surely put a bullet in your head, so you simply rolled your eyes.

“Hardly. With you around, no one will even look my way. Your taste for the dramatics allows me to stay below the radar,” you told him.

He hummed at that, tilting his head from side to side as he weighed your explanation in his mind.

“That’s smart, and I gotta hand it to ya, I didn’t think you were smart.”

Your frown deepened at his backhanded compliment, but it was quickly wiped from your face when he tightened his hold on his gun, and your eyes widened.

“Smart, but not smart enough to stay out of my way-.”

He was interrupted as the building shook, and you both turned as gunshots reached your ears. While he was distracted, you slipped out of his grip, ducking in time to miss a bullet before turning the corner. A recognizable shadow passed over the walls, and you ducked into a nearby hallway just as the winged vigilante himself met the Joker as he stepped into the hall.

The air hitting your face reminded you that your mask was gone, and you quietly made your way to the back exit as the sound of fighting and gunshots grew fainter. You released a sigh of relief when you made it outside, and although you didn’t have anything to show for your excursion, at least you had your life.

A thin layer of sweat clings to your skin as you step down off of the stage, feet aching in your heels. A coworker of yours winks at you as she takes your place on the stage, and you wish her luck. Customers were being a bit stingy today, and considering your last heist granted you with nothing, your lack of cashflow today had you more annoyed than usual.

Sure, it was a Tuesday afternoon, but it was still the hottest club in Gotham. Customers of all types of backgrounds frequented the place, and although the old money crowd practically lived here, you had a love hate relationship with their kind. They tended to be the stingiest with their money despite having more than you could ever dream of.

“What time are you off?”

You turned to another girl who worked at the place, Mandy, and threw her a grim look.

“12.”

She grimaced, blue eyes filled with pity as she shook her head.

“Sheesh. Well, that’s what happens when you’re the best dancer in this place,” she said with a shrug. “Your demand is high.”

“High demand and low pay. What a treat,” you sarcastically replied.

She chuckled, but she quickly swallowed it down, eyes glancing past you. The club was already loud, but there seemed to be an uptake in noise, and you turned to find the cause. You froze where you stood, eyes wide and lips parting at the group of people who just stepped into the place.

All of the men varied in size and shape, all dressed in black as they made their way inside like they owned the place. You supposed that in a way they did. Anyone following the footsteps of the Joker probably felt like he could get away with anything. The man in question led the bunch, strutting past patrons with a dark look in his eye, green hair contrasting against his dark red shirt.

You quickly turned back around, squeezing your eyes shut as Mandy let out a low whistle.

“I haven’t seen him step foot in here in forever,” she commented.

You looked to her with a confused frown.

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve only been here for what, half a year? The Joker used to come in here all the time. They’d get a bit rowdy but what is that when he’s the highest paying customer?”

She shrugged, reaching for a tray of drinks, completely unaware of your internal dilemma. It was almost time to get back on stage.

“Have fun,” she purred, walking past you.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down as you stewed over what you should do. Sure, you were a thief in your spare time, but you couldn’t lose this job. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t walk out of here, so you straightened your shoulders and made your way back to your stage.

You kept an eye out for pale skin and green hair, and you were thankful to find him far on the other side of the room. He and his crew were occupied by another dancer, Mandy serving them drinks. You were thankful and carefully stepped onto the stage.

As usual, you attracted a nice sized crowd, and you made sure to keep your face turned away as you moved around the pole. You were pleased to find that this crowd was more generous with their money, but your satisfaction was short lived when your turned to find your boss gesturing for you to come off the stage. You were confused but did so anyway. He nervously scratched his dark beard as you approached, and you had a sinking feeling in your gut for some reason.

“What is it?”

He grumbled and jerked his head towards the other side of the building, and you hesitantly looked over his shoulder. The Joker’s goons were having a good time tossing money at the dancer on stage, a few of them clearly drunk. The green-haired man, however, wasn’t partaking in the festivities. His unreadable gaze was focused on you, and your heart sank when he didn’t break the stare. You were forced to when your boss spoke.

“He wants a private session with you,” the older man mumbled, and you’d be dumb to miss the fear and concern in his voice.

You internally cursed.

“You’re kidding…”

“…’fraid not. He was very clear in his…request,” he responded.

You both knew that it wasn’t a request. The Joker never requested anything, and you briefly closed your eyes, positive that this was going to be your last night on earth. Your boss placed his hand on your shoulder, gaze sympathetic…and pitying.

“Just do what he says, alright?”

He wasn’t just telling you that to make more money, but to keep you from becoming the clown’s next victim. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that your fate was already sealed. With a nod, you strutted past him and made your way to the other side of the room. The Joker’s expression didn’t change as you approached him, and you nervously swallowed. His cold green eyes seemed to follow the gesture, and you took a deep breath.

“Someone request a private room?”

Again, he said nothing, simply tilting his head to the side as his trailed his eyes over your scantily clad form. Some of his posse was still enamored with the dancer before them, but the rest had turned to not so discreetly eye you. They all looked away when the green-haired man stood, and your eyes fell to the sliver of skin that peeked through the top of his shirt, unable to hold his gaze.

“Right this way…”

You didn’t hear his footsteps, but you could feel his presence behind you as you led the way to the back where the private rooms were located. The walk was quiet, thick with tension, and you wondered if it was too late for you to start saying your prayers.

You went in first, blinking at the red glow of the room that came from the neon lights. You were shaking, stomach churning as the door clicked shut behind him. You turned to tell him to get it over with when his hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you to swallow your words. You let out a pained squeak, eyes watering, but his lips swallowed any other noise you threatened to make.

Your eyes were wide as he roughly kissed you, shock coursing through you while his mouth moved against yours. You stumbled back in your heels, but he quickly followed, teeth nipping at you so violently that you tasted blood. You wanted to tell him that this wasn’t that kind of club. This was not in your job description and was not allowed, but you remembered your boss’ words and wondered if he knew that this was what the man wanted?

Even still, you couldn’t go through with this, but his tattooed hands were ripping at your attire before you had the chance to voice what you wanted to say. Your lips were finally free to tell him off, but the only thing that came out was a yelp when his teeth sank into your shoulder. The pain you felt was quickly overshadowed by the pleasure that warmed your stomach when his fingers brushed over you.

You pushed against his chest, but his other hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around so that your back was pressed to his chest. It happened so quickly that you didn’t have time to ponder what was happening until he was already inside of you. One hand was tangled in your hair, face pressed into the seat of the sofa as broken moans escaped your trembling lips.

His free hand was pressed into the skin between your shoulder blades, holding you down while his hips snapped into you over and over again. He was far from gentle, but every harsh stroke only seemed to stroke that fire inside of you. Your lashes were fluttering as he thrust into you, eyes rolling while you tried to make sense of everything.

You could feel his nails pressing into your back as he pinned you down, and your own scraped against the fabric of the couch while choked moans climbed out of your throat. This was far from how you expected your day to go. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that this man was trying to kill you. You fluttered around his unrelenting cock and tried to remember why that was a bad thing.

He let out what sounded like a growl above you, the fabric of his pants pressing into your skin as he ground against you, and his hand in your hair moved to the back of your neck just as the tightening in your stomach snapped. You came around him with an embarrassing scream, going limp beneath him as he fucked you through your climax, diving headfirst into his own.

You collapsed the minute he let you go, vision blurry and throat sore as you heard him zip his pants. You were still shaking, and he was already gathering himself together like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just fucked you delirious. You moved to stand, ready to give him a piece of your mind, but you collapsed back onto the couch.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you heard a low chuckle in his throat. Either way, you didn’t get to ask him because the sound of the door slamming shut reached your ears seconds later.

The next time you ran into that stupid clown, you took great satisfaction in striking him square in the face. You didn’t care that he was surrounded by his band of hired muscle nor that you were currently standing in the middle of a jewelry store, alarm blaring in your ears almost painfully.

He gestured for the men around him to continue looting the place, seeing as they had paused to take in the scene. You knew they would have killed you without hesitation had he told them to. You glared at him as he grinned at you, bat perched on his shoulder.

“We’ve gotta stop running into each other like this,” he lowly said.

“That was for the last time we ‘ran into each other’,” you sneered. “I don’t care who you are, you don’t get to-.”

“Consider it my way of letting you get off easy.”

He chuckled at his play on words, but you weren’t amused in the slightest.

“Get off easy? Are you even crazier than everyone thinks?”

His grin was gone in a flash, and he stepped towards you, tapping his bat against his shoulder as he leaned in. His lips were parted as his eyes bore into your own, and you forced yourself to stand your ground as the scent of him invaded your nose.

“If you recall,” he slowly began. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

You swallowed, jaw clenching as he tapped his finger against your nose.

“The plan was to put a bullet in that pretty little mouth of yours. Does that…ring any bells?”

You pressed your lips together, glancing away as he let out a breathy chuckle.

“Fucking you brought me more satisfaction than killing you ever could,” he deeply said.

You felt heat rise to your face, and he tilted his head, lips brushing against your own as he spoke.

“So…I suggest you keep me satisfied…”

His coat flew behind him as he spun away, stomping towards one of his men to bark orders at them. Anger and humiliation coursed through you as you stomped outside, and you narrowed your eyes as the sound of police sirens drew nearer. With a sneer, you grabbed the knife in your holster before slashing the tires on his van.

That kept you satisfied throughout the rest of the night, but you paid for it dearly the next day at the club. This time, he hadn’t even waited until you were in the room. His hand had curled around the back of your neck as soon as you got to the door, forcing you inside as soon as he opened it.

You had stumbled in your heels, falling to your knees, and he was there before you could even rise. His hand was on your neck the entire time he slammed into you, the carpet scraping against your back. You could hardly breathe, let alone moan as he had his way with you, and you knew that he was genuinely angry this time, and you wondered how he managed to escape the police.

He was punishing you for your little stunt, but God did you love it. Your hands fisted into his bright red button down as he slid into your soaked walls, trying to pull him closer. You heard him hum every time you clenched around his throbbing member, the sound of your arousal reaching your ears. You should have been embarrassed at how wet you were, but the Joker seemed to enjoy it just fine, and besides. You saw no reason to pretend.

Like the last time, he was righting himself as soon as he was done while you lay on the floor, still trying to catch your breath. You let out a soft chuckle as he slammed the door behind him, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t even able to talk in the morning.

This little game between the two of you became something of a regular occurrence. You’d make your hits when and where he did his to avoid exposure, and sometimes things would go wrong on his end. Some mishaps were genuine accidents, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the way he’d take out his frustration on you.

He fucked you like an animal, and you loved it because sometimes you couldn’t even form words afterwards. And best of all, he wasn’t trying to kill you anymore…just your vagina.

One day, he didn’t leave as soon as he was done. He stood over you, watching as you fought to control your breathing. When you realized that he wasn’t making any moves to leave, you peeled your eyes open to look up at him from your place on the couch.

“…what?”

You nervously sat up as he dug into his pocket, eyes widening when he pulled out the shiniest bracelet you’d ever seen. He dangled it in front of your face, a low hum escaping him as you admired it.

“Saw this shiny little number in the display. It had my little thief written all over it…”

He jerked it away when you reached for it, so you reached higher, gasping when he closed his free hand around your wrist. You watched as he snapped the expensive piece of jewelry around your arm, and you brushed your fingers over it the minute he let you go.

You were forced to pull your eyes away from it though when he harshly gripped your chin, pulling your head up so that you were looking at him. His green eyes bore into your own, face unreadable as he pressed his red lips together.

“You like it, doll face?”

You couldn’t hold back your grin, and you nodded.

“I love it,” you told him, unaware of the implications behind the gesture.

You started showing up to work with all kinds of new things. A new pair of earrings, a necklace that wasn’t that before, even some new heels that didn’t hurt your feet as much. You figured it was just a perk of fucking the king of Gotham, of keeping him satisfied.

You didn’t know that it went beyond mere satisfaction and thankful gestures.

It was a late night, or early morning depending on how you looked at it. The club was almost at its peak, the early hours of the morning being your busiest. You hadn’t seen J in a few days, but it wasn’t unusual. The man was basically running an empire.

You were servicing a client, a regular who could never stick to one dancer. He had a habit of hopping between the ladies at the club, and it looked like this week, he’d chosen you. The loud music filled your ears as you slid your hands over his shoulder, thighs brushing his as you danced on him. The bass from the music made your body vibrate, and your eyes fell closed as you fisted one of your hands into your hair, chest pushed forwards.

The man had already given you a handsome sum of money, and you knew that if you put on your best show, there was plenty more where that came from. The loud music prevented you from hearing the rise in voices as a new patron entered the club. It also prevented you from taking note of the worried chatter that had only just started to emerge, but it didn’t drown out the sound of a gunshot that you flinching.

However, you didn’t open your eyes because of the gunshot. You opened your eyes at the feel of droplets landing all over your face, hair, and clothes. You faintly registered the sound of screams surrounding you as people fled from the club, tripping over one another. You stumbled back, frozen in place as you stood up straight, hands raised in front of you as you stared at your dead customer in shock.

He was dead.

That much was more than clear, but you were having a hard time wrapping your head around it. Heavy footsteps slowly made their way over to you, and you hesitantly looked over, terrified eyes connecting with familiar green ones. His eyes were wild and crazed, green hair pushed back away from his face, gun swinging back and forth on his finger. He looked good in his all white suit, not a spot of blood on him.

You wished you could say the same.

“Are you insane?” you screamed, legs trembling.

“Well, that’s what they tell me.”

You frowned at him as he threw his head back and cackled, and you shook your head, fighting to clear it.

“Why did you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

He abruptly stopped laughing, slowly lowering his head to gaze at you. His lips parted into a mocking grin.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? I leave town on business for a few days, and I come back to find my girl practically screwing some punk for the whole club to see,” he slowly said, voice low and threatening.

Your anger kicked you into gear, and you stomped towards him, a frown on your face.

“I am not your girl, and even if I was…this is my job! You know this is my job-!”

Your words were cut off, and you winced as he tightened his hold on your neck. Your feet were barely grazing the floor as he walked forwards, forcing you back. You dug your fingers into his arm, hitting at him with your free hand, but he acted as if you weren’t even fighting back.

“Those nice earrings you’re wearing says you’re my girl…”

Your stomach churned as you began to realize the serious meaning behind his gifts.

“…that pretty little bracelet on your arm says you’re my girl…”

You looked around in fear, realizing that the club was completely empty save for you, the Joker, and his thugs. You kicked at him as he forced your back onto the stage, his firm body pressing down on yours. His hold was still tight, and you felt tears spring forth as you fought to breathe.

“…and I say you’re my girl. Understand?”

You gave a shaky nod, but it wasn’t enough for him. He lifted you by the neck before slamming you back down, making you wince, and a slow grin spread along his face, revealing his shiny teeth.

“I’ve got a whole lotta toys, sweetheart. I earned those toys. I took those toys. Those toys are mine…”

You watched as he pointed his gun at the dead man still slumped in the chair.

“…and I don’t like people touching my toys.”

You didn’t get a chance to ponder on this turn of events before his lips were harshly pressing against yours. He slammed the gun down next to your head, hands pulling at your attire, and the tears finally spilled over as you fought against him. You weren’t alone, and this was a new level of humiliation that you weren’t okay with.

A man was dead. In fact, you were still covered in his blood, and the Joker’s men were just behind him, intently listening to everything, no doubt. His grip was harsh as he took hold of your wrists, slamming them down beside you. He let one go to grab his gun, pressing it into your lips as you shook.

“You gonna be a good girl? Or do I have to use this again?”

His voice was calm despite the violent implications behind his words, and you shakily shook your head.

He was rougher with you than he had ever been before. Biting you, choking you, and holding you far too tight. Part of you felt like it was done on purpose, not only so you’d get the idea, but so that the rest of his crew would get that you were his too. You cried as he pressed your cheek down onto the stage floor, hips snapping against your backside while harsh grunts left his lips.

You couldn’t handle staring at the Joker’s latest victim while he forced himself into you, so you squeezed your eyes shut. His other hand dug into your hip so harshly, you knew it was going to leave a bruise. As the minutes drew on, it seemed like his ministrations were becoming rougher, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say the sound of your sobs were egging him on.

His grip on your hair when he came had more tears springing to your eyes, and you flinched when his lips brushed your ear.

“Clean yourself up…”

Having only been half on the stage, you collapsed to the floor when he let you go. Your hair and makeup were a mess, and you miserably stared up at him through tear-filled eyes as he tucked his shirt back into his pants, swiftly pulling on his white suit jacket.

“…the cops will be here soon, and you gotta pull yourself together. Huh, doll face?”

He forced your head back as he gripped your chin, and you reluctantly nodded. He roughly dragged his thumb over your lips, smearing what was left of your lipstick before taking his leave, leaving you alone with one dead body, and one bruised one.

You shuffled upstairs, arms aching and eyes tight as you made your way to your apartment. It had been weeks since you’d been back to the club. Your boss, someone you were ever grateful for, told you to come back when you were ready. After all, you’d had someone’s brains blown out right in front of you…on you.

You were fortunate that no one stuck around to see J’s possessive display of ownership, so no one knew what his impromptu murder was really about. Everyone speculated that the customer had crossed the Joker in some way, a business deal gone wrong, but only you knew the truth. Only you knew that the man’s only crime had been paying for your time.

You took a break from stealing from the wealthy too. Not only did you lack the energy, but you couldn’t chance running into the Joker. Had you known what all of those gifts had meant, you never would have accepted them. You didn’t want to be the Joker’s. The last girl who got seriously tangled up with him had ended up almost crazier than he was.

Granted, you heard Harley Quinn was doing better these days, but God. Look how long it took her to get there? The thought of telling him to his face that it was over was a scary one, so you settled for just hiding away in your apartment. He was the Joker, a man who had a lot on his plate, and like he’d said, you were a toy to him. There were plenty of toys out there, and he could easily find another.

You dropped the groceries to the floor as soon as you made it inside, and you groaned as you straightened. Your shoes clicked along the floor as you made your way through your dark apartment. You turned on the kitchen light so that it would be on when you returned, and you made your way through your living room, looking forward to getting out of these clothes.

However, when you turned on the light in the living room, you were startled by the sight of a familiar green-haired villain standing in the corner like some statue. You barely swallowed down the scream that bubbled in your throat, and your eyes were wide as you took him in.

He was wearing a tux, a nice one with a white bowtie and a matching boutonniere. His hair was slicked back, and you weren’t sure where he came from, but you wanted him to go right back.

“I was enjoying a night out on the town…taunting Batsy as I like to do…”

He walked away from the wall as he slowly begun, cold eyes roaming over your apartment.

“…when I realized that I hadn’t seen my little thief for days. Weeks even.”

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t respond, instead opting to make his way around the living room, running his gloved hands over your furniture. You didn’t realize that he was gradually closing the circle, nearing you.

“You haven’t been at work. You haven’t been in my face while you ruin my plans. You’re not hiding from me…are ya, doll face?”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing down your fear as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I’m not hiding from you. We’re just through,” you told him.

He froze, glancing over his shoulder at you before continuing to look around.

“Did you hear me? You and I are done. Take your jewelry back, take everything you gave me and leave,” you continued.

He continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, and you stomped towards him.

“I’m serious, J! Do I need to call the police?”

That made him turn, and he wagged his finger at you like you were a misbehaving child.

“Careful,” he purred. “…because I personally know a certain thief they’d love to be informed about.”

You frowned, swallowing before pushing past him.

“I don’t care. At least in jail, I’ll be away from you-.”

You were cut off by your own scream, reaching for his hand as he pulled on your hair, forcing you away from the phone. He pulled you against him, and your eyes widened when he pressed a knife against your cheek, a hair’s width away from your lips.

“You have no agency in this arrangement.”

He threw you to the floor, and you scrambled away from him, nails scraping along the wood as he pulled you back. He cut your clothes away with ease, the torn shreds falling to the floor to leave you bear before him. The knife that grazed along your skin kept you from screaming as he undressed, but you did wince when he pressed it into your thigh, like a warning of what could come.

He took you behind the couch first, holding your thighs so tightly that the skin burned when he finally let go. Your table was next, but unfortunately, it didn’t withstand his rough treatment. The wall shook as he fucked you against it, every thrust rattling the pictures you had hung up to make this place a tad cozier.

Broken glass and broken pieces of wood littered the floor by the time he forced you into your bedroom. His knife remained in between his fingers the whole time he fucked you against your sheets. Your scalp burned from his harsh hold, and your throat hurt every time you swallowed, and you just knew that you’d wake up with finger shaped bruises in the morning. His deep voice was a constant in your ear, calling you ‘his little thief’, tsking at you like you were a confused child, telling you how much he was going to straighten you out.

When you clenched around him for a final time, your legs were thrown over his shoulder while your hands were pinned above your head by one of his. His free hand had fun cutting little nicks into your skin, greedily licking up the blood as tears continued to dampen your cheeks. He continued to push himself into you even after he came, and when he finally pulled out, your legs fell to the bed, chest heaving with shallow sobs.

“Now, wasn’t that a whole lotta fun?”

You glared at him as he sat up, a thin layer of sweat clinging to his fair skin, and your eyes traced the ink that decorated him. His green hair was in disarray, a smug grin on his lips as he pushed the strange colored locks away from his face. You could hardly even move, and you feared that attempting to would hurt worse.

You watched as he leaned over to his discarded pants, pulling out some sparkly piece of jewelry that you couldn’t care less about. You swallowed as he held it up, nearing you.

“…and here I was out shopping for something to compliment those new earrings, and you’re talking about leaving me. That’s a bit rude, but I’m willing to look past it.”

More tears spill over as he slides it around your neck, and it feels more like a noose than a necklace.

“You look like a work of art,” he says, lips brushing your cheek. “…all pretty and marked up by yours truly.”

His hair tickles your face, and he slowly leans away, dragging his fingers over your lips. You wince when he roughly grabs your jaw, pressing his fingers into a tender spot that you know is already forming a bruise.

“Now, I’ll be back in a couple of hours, so don’t do anything stupid.”

He tightened his grip at the end of his sentence, and you flinched. He grinned at you as he lightly patted his other hand against your cheek, grin widening when you recoiled.

“Let’s not do anything like that again, alright, sweetheart?” he purrs. “I’d hate to have to really hurt ya.”

tags: @harryspet @sherrybaby14 @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @opheliadawnwalker3 @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @readermia @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @buckybarnesplumwhore @quaksonhehe @nerdygirl8203 @mandiiblanche @cocoamoonmalfoy

#joker x reader #dark fic #dc fanfic #dc #dark joker #dark!joker #suicide squad

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awesomerextyphoon · 3 years

Text

Speculum Cupido

Summary: You’ve been Dr. Strange’s apprentice for some time now and you wanted to prove your best friend wrong. It goes awry and both of you find yourselves in a ‘dark mirror’ universe where the Captain, the Asset, the Kraken, and the Fallen Angel want to make both of you theirs.

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Female Reader x Dark!Ransom, minor Dark!Bucky x OFC x Dark!Sam

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Word Count: 3,072

Warning: Dub/Non-Con Smut, Oral (m & f receiving), Daddy Kink, MMF Threesome, Double Penetration, Spit Roasting, Non-Con Drugging, Breeding Kink, and Artistic License w/Biology

A/N: This is my gift to @labella420 for @drabblewithfrannybarnes, @chrissquares , and @amythedvdhoarder’s Happy Hoelentine’s Day Challenge. Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Shout out to @saiyanprincessswanie for letting me borrow an idea of hers for this fic. Thanks to @the-soulofdevil for the beta.

Back to Masterlist

Another Valentine’s Day, another day for the world to mock me being single.

You were having enough of a ‘meh’ week as it is. Dr. Strange had to return to Kamar-Taj for an in-person meeting and Wong was who knows where. They had instructed you to work on your portal and transfiguration spells while they were away which was fair since you’ve been lacking in that department.

It’s just that you longed for some excitement.

Luckily you wouldn’t be spending Valentine’s completely alone; Isabeau, your best friend, was coming over due to as she put it, ‘no one cares about a day where all one gets is somewhat good sex’.

Fast Forward two hours and you’re getting your room ready for Galentine’s Day Movie Night. You had decked out your room with homemade baked goods, drinks, best friend movies, all the good shit.

“I have wonderful news!” Isabeau burst in with gusto yet again.

You shot her a bemused smile, “What is it this time?”

“I have a new crush! It’s Eric from IT!”

“Are you sure this won’t end up like last time?” you queried in reference to the time when Isabeau’s crush turned out to be a complete asshole.

“Oh hush! This won’t be like that at all,” Isabeau retorted, “Now how about you? Have you had any luck with a hot sorcerer?”

“If only I’d be so lucky,” you muttered as Isabeau started on the Toffee Crunch Cookies you made.

A few minutes later, Isabeau’s eyes narrowed and her full lips curved upward in a mischievous smirk.

She had one of her ideas again.

“Hey, why don’t you try an ambiance spell. They’re harmless and you always feel better afterward.”

You didn’t like casting them due to something always going awry, but you relented once Isabeau broke out her puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, alright, I give,” you submitted, “I’ll try a simple floating star spell. Let me find the book.”

Both of you went to the library for the book but it was nowhere to be found. All of the ambiance and illusion books were blank.

“Is this a sorcerer thing? I’m not seeing any words or illustrations,” puzzled Isabeau as you went through book after book in the library only to find them blank.

“No. Maybe we should just go back to my room,” you suggested as you made your way to the exit.

“Wait! There’s one book left. You could try that one.” Isabeau pointed to the last book on the shelf. It was a little worn like many of the books that resided in the library, but the inscriptions seemed odd; like it wasn’t supposed to be there.

Yet it was the only book that had anything in it.

“Fine,” you relented as you took the book back to your room.

The spells in the book weren’t anything out of the ordinary, but one spell seemed to stand out to both of you.

“Speculum Mundus?” Isabeau wondered.

“It means Mirror World in Latin.”

“Oh,” her eyes got a mischievous glint to them again, “I bet you can’t cast the spell.”

“Not this again.”

“Oh come on,” Isabeau goaded, “It’s a simple mirror world spell. You’ve done it before. What’s the worse that can happen?”

“I don’t know…”

“Are you gonna chicken out again?”

“No! Just give me a minute,” you mumbled as your hands got into the starting position and recited the incantation.

The room changed instantly.

It was filled with prism-like structures and kaleidoscope imagery giving the space a surreal ambiance.

It wasn’t unlike the last time you went into the Quantum Realm with Dr. Strange and Wong, and yet the hair on the back of your neck stood straight, and a chill shot through your spine.

You heard a gasp and turned around to see Isabeau with her protruding eyes opened wide and her mouth gaping. Following her line of sight, you saw four of the hottest men you’ve ever seen.

Though something was amiss.

For one thing, there were two Steve Rogers; one with a beard and one clean-shaven. Bucky Barnes’ arm was silver and not dark gray with gold highlights. All of them were in black uniforms with sections of vermillion and/or maroon. Clean-shaven Steve had a black tactical suit with a vermillion Kraken on his chest. Bearded Steve had a skull with tentacles on it. Sam had three vermillion stripes and one maroon stripe across his chest and shoulders with a falcon’s head in red surrounded by a black circle between his pecs.

But the thing that set off all your alarms was the fact that Bucky’s outfit was a dead ringer of his Winter Soldier days.

Instinctively, you grabbed Isabeau’s hand and made a mad dash for the hallway. You needed to get some distance so you could ground yourself.

You tried breaking the spell but to no avail. Not only did the spell not break, but your hands also burned at each attempt.

“We won’t lose you again!” one of the Steves yelled as you and Isabeau turned a corner.

“Come here, mici prințese!” another voice, probably Bucky’s shouted as the two of you made your way into a closet.

“I think we’re okay for now,” you breathed telepathically as the four Adonises crept past your hiding place.

“What’s the plan now?” Isabeau asked fearfully as her heartbeat started to rise in terror.

“I don’t know but-” you were cut off by a strike to the back of your head and your vision rapidly fading to black.

Muffled voices and the beeping of medical equipment brought you from the void.

“Nothing is wrong….they’re…good, sir.”

“Be sure that they are. We can’t leave anything up to chance.”

Groggily, you open your eyes to find yourself in a sleek hospital room lightly chained to a bed. Several other people were monitoring your vitals. One of them is Dr. Bruce Banner, or what seems to be Dr. Banner.

Bruce turned to see you looking around with a slightly confused expression, “Ah, you’re awake,” he turned to one of his aides, “Contact the Captain and Lieutenant. Tell them to come to get their bride.”

You blinked. Bride?

“Where is Isabeau, my friend?” you inquired as one of the aides brought you some water.

Bruce scowled, “Don’t think about her. You might be able to see her if the Captain and/or Lieutenant wills it.” he remarked while eyeing you up and down in a condescending almost lecherous manner, “Hmm, looks great for breeding,” Bruce noted as he fondled and prodded your curves.

You’ve always been proud of how you looked, but at that moment you wanted to shrink in the corner after giving this Bruce a roundhouse kick to the groin.

You were about to tell Dark!Bruce to fuck off when Tony Stark, fuck it, Dark!Tony entered the room. This Tony looked a lot more sinister with his silver, gray, light, and steel navy blue armor. His face and hair were mostly uncovered with his facial expression positively predatory.

“Cap’s one lucky bastard. He gets a sexy bunny along with Lieutenant Smart Ass.”

Recalling how some megalomaniacs liked shows of submissiveness, you lowered your head and asked where you were.

Whether it be out of pity, spite, or malice, Tony answered your question, “You’re in another earth, another universe.”

You nearly swiveled to look outside the window. NYC’s skyline was radically different. There were fewer buildings and HYDRA insignias everywhere.

“HYDRA took over this world.” You deadpanned. FUUUUCK!

“Sexy and smart.” Tony praised sardonically.

It didn’t take time for HYDRA to regroup after WWII. Zola and his associates were able to convince Howard Stark to give them the Tesseract with the promise of great renown, riches, and no longer being bound by the laws of weaker men. They were able to create a superweapon with the help of Dr. Whitney Frost and have been ruling the planet ever since.

It could be worse. HYDRA knew they had to offer the people comforts in exchange for their obedience. They eradicated all diseases, created a good standard of living, and ended all petty conflicts under the new world order.

Though Tony didn’t feel the need to tell you. You’ll figure it out on your own.

The doors opened to reveal Steve Rogers and his younger, clean-shaven counterpart in all their masculine glory.

“Good, you’re here.” Bruce welcomed smirking at your silent pleas.

Both soldiers walked over and inspected you.

“Hello, kitten. Name’s Ransom.” The clean-shaven soldier drawled as he moaned from your scent, “Nice set of lips you’ve got there.”

“We’ll definitely have some fun with her,” Steve noted as licked his lips ogling your curves.

You had to use all of your restraint not to spit in their faces.

“We’ll take her.” Ransom decided while Steve nodded.

Several of the aides breathed a sigh of relief as Steve broke the chains on your bed like they were nothing.

“Don’t have too much fun now!” Tony called as Steve picked you up bridal style.

“Who am I kidding? they’ll breed her like a Catholic rabbit!”

“Um, where are you taking me?” you queried, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You will address us as ‘Sir’ in public unless instructed otherwise. Is that understood?” It took all that Steve had not to push against the wall and pound your pussy with his cock he was so enraged.

No, he needed to wait. No one was to see what’s theirs.

Ransom, for his part, chuckled and shook his head, “Best not to anger this one, kitten. He hasn’t been in the best of moods.”

You gasped once the doors to their living quarters opened.

The place was huge!

It had a modern yet retro design; it should’ve been confusing, but it worked. Grand windows showcased the skyline with a balcony in the middle with a huge kitchen next to what looked to be a restaurant-style fridge and a huge living room with a TV and a fireplace.

Yet there seemed to be something missing.

“Place needs a woman’s touch,” Ransom commented sending a smirk your way.

“I’ll see you in the guest quarters Ransom” Steve deadpanned as he led you down a hall.

The bedroom was enormous yet sparse like they didn’t know what to do with it.

You were about to say something when Steve dropped you onto the incredibly soft mattress. His eyes darkened with lust and you knew what he wanted. You couldn’t think of a way out of this, not with the magic inhibitors Bruce placed on your wrists.

Maybe you could give escape one last try; you just had to wait for the right opening.

Steve smirked upon seeing you removing your clothes. He liked that you knew your place, his pretty little princess.

You could only gasp when Steve removed his uniform top. He had an incredibly defined musculature: broad shoulders, beefy biceps, chiseled pecs and abs, and a seriously drool-worthy Adonis Belt. The light shining behind him made his body appear even more glorious.

Steve looked like an ancient god brought to modern times.

With a predatory smirk, Steve slowly crawled to you loving the smell of your arousal. “Let me lay out a few rules, sweetheart. You will make our meals, clean our rooms, bear our children, and be our good little whore. You must earn the right to wear a bra; panties are out of the question.”

Each rule was emphasized by a kiss or a love bite to your jaw, neck, collarbone, and shoulders.

Finally, you are to address us as Sir in public and Daddy in private. Say it.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you muttered with your eyes downcast.

Steve lifted your chin up with his forefinger, “That’s a good girl,” and brought you in for a kiss on the lips.

The kiss was demanding yet soft. You were surprised he was capable of such gentleness.

Steve was about to push his tongue into his mouth when Ransom strolled into the room.

“Does she know the drill?”

Steve broke the kiss with a smirk,” Just finished explaining it.”

Ransom shot you a sardonic smirk, “You got the rules, kitten? Good. Now if you misbehave, I’m gonna send you to the dungeons for a few days.”

Steve started up again, “But...if you’re good-”

“A good little wifey,” Ransom interjected caressing your right cheek and leaning in for a kiss.

This kiss started off soft then intensified (really know how to lure a girl) into one filled with passion and dominance. Ransom forced his tongue into and moaned at your taste. A few seconds later he was pushing what felt like a small tablet past your tongue forcing you to swallow.

“Did you do it yet?”

“Cool it, grandpa! I did, don’t you worry. She’s gonna feel it. Aren’t ya, kitten.”

You started to feel strange. Your body temperature skyrocketed, your mind was in a deep haze, your thighs were clenching on overtime you were so turned on. You needed relief and fast.

“Please Daddies!” you begged as you tried your best not to touch yourself.

“See grandpa? She’s ready.” Ransom purred as he grabbed your thighs and placed them over his shoulders. He planted a few kisses near your entrance and groaned at the smell of your arousal.

It only took one long, slow lick to your slit to turn you into a moaning mess. You couldn’t believe the pleasure you were feeling. It was like a bolt of lightning shot through you.

Ransom groaned at the taste of your juices. Not even Stark’s overpriced chefs could compare. “Fuck, she tastes divine,” he groaned and dove in for more. Ransom attacked your folds and swollen clit with insane intensity and precision alternating between his tongue and fingers.

You were on cloud nine. Each motion took you further to the precipice of an orgasm. Ransom kept bringing you back from the edge only thrust you back into his level of tumultuous.

Steve got in on the action by covering your moans with a kiss of all-consuming passion and started playing with your breasts.

“Fuck, these tits are amazing! Can’t wait until these are filled with milk” Steve purred as he took one of your nipples into his mouth and the other between his big and forefingers.

After twenty minutes of teasing, Ransom finally let you come. A volcanic eruption of ecstasy erupted from your core and Ransom lapped up all of your juices.

“Rogers, you’re in for a treat!” Ransom exclaimed as he hopped off the edge of the mattress.

“I get her pussy first since you got to eat her out,” Steve uttered as grinned at your blissed-out state.

With a tsk, both of them got you into position with Steve’s thick, muscular thighs on either side of your hips and Ransom standing in front of you taking off his pants.

He was huge! His cock was long, thick, and veiny. It wobbled against his masterfully sculpted abs with each step he took. You wondered how that was going to fit in your mouth. Turns out Steve’s was no smaller if his tip being coated with your slick is any indication.

“This won’t hurt, kitten. You were made for us.” Ransom cooed.

You didn’t know how right he was.

Steve made his move by pushing into you inch by delicious inch and moaned at the sensation. “Fuck, she fits like a dream.”

“Don’t take forever, grandpa.” Ransom chided.

“Shut up, ya punk!” Steve retorted as he began thrusting into you loving the way your pussy clenched around him like a vice’s grip.

“Open wide, kitten,” Ransom started to push his throbbing cock into your mouth.

It took a bit of time and effort to loosen your jaw enough for him to fully enter you. He started fucking your mouth before you were ready. You tried not to gag he was so rough.

What happened to the man from earlier?

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Ransom breathed as he was approaching his climax.

Steve came with a primal roar that reverberated throughout the room after making you come two more times.

“Swallow it, kitten” Ransom ordered.

Funny thing is, you didn’t need the order. You delighted in the salty, tangy, and slightly sweet flavor.

Two minutes after you swallowed all of Ransom’s spent, both men decided it was time to move. Ransom got onto the mattress and pulled you on top of him with his tip nudging your entrance. Steve got behind you and placed kisses along the juncture between your neck and shoulders while positioning himself at your ass.

“Please...please don’t do this!” you pleaded, the pill’s effect slipping for the tiniest of moments.

Steve grabbed your neck with just enough force to pause, not hurt.” Best be a good girl now, sweetheart,” he warned.

Ransom slid in first, “Holy fucking shit!” he moaned, “Sam owes me $40.

“That depends on how well their bride is taking to them,” Steve pointed out.

“Eh, we’ll say ours is better.”

Ransom moaned again once he bottomed out and grabbed the globes of your blessed backside. He couldn’t wait to grab and smack it around in their quarters.

Steve moved slowly causing both of your breathing to hitch, his from pleasure and yours from slight pain.

With a grin and smirk, they started moving in tandem. Your body almost couldn’t take the immense pleasure you were feeling.

“I could get used to this,” Ransom remarked.

“Well, we have the week,” Steve breathed past your ear.

Both kept at it until they came in you twice. You nearly passed out after your twelfth orgasm.

“Rest kitten,” Ransom purred as you finally gave in to your exhaustion.

“The bride took to our seed,” Steve reported to Director Pierce.

“Good. We found their parents along with the rest of the resistance.” Pierce imparted.

Steve scowled at the information.

You and your friend, Isabeau, were the only ones to survive the Eve Project. HYDRA wanted to genetically groom compatible brides for their top soldiers. You were promised to Steve and Ransom and your friend to Bucky and Sam. Both of you were whisked away to another Earth by the resistance and your treacherous parents.

Now you were back where you belong.

“When do we leave?” Ransom growled.

“Once Strange and Wanda crack the protection spell. In the meantime, enjoy your bride.” Pierce turned to leave, but stopped before turning off the screen,” I want to see some little ones soon.”

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byunbaekby · 4 years

Text

title: haven’t been caught pairing: badboy!haechan x goodgirl!reader word count: 1.7k genres: fluff, established relationship au, high school au, secret relationship warnings: mentions of weed, suggestiveness, one cuss word, not proofread additional: based on the song “good girls” by 5 seconds of summer. also, big thanks to @florence-cvrt for all their help <3

She's good at school, she's never truant She can speak French, I think she's fluent.

“Lee Donghyuck, if you don’t get your hand off my thigh right this instant, I will tell Mr. Qian to fail you.”

You bring a light slap down on his hand, which is threatening to slide up your skirt. Your boyfriend’s hand immediately leaves your leg, innocently tucking it back into his lap. When you turn to him, his pretty lips are spread into a fake virtuous smile and his long hair barely covers his entertained sparkling eyes. Still, he complains, “Wait until I tell the student body that their vice president is actually violent and manipulative.”

He tsk’s as you show no reaction, instead flipping through the pages of the French textbook. “What would you tell them?”

Donghyuck leans back in his desk chair where the two of you reside in an empty classroom, adjusting the collar of his leather jacket before running a hand through his hair. “That even though you walk around school smiling at everyone and kissing teachers’ asses, you love hitting your boyfriend and threatening him.”

“You, my boyfriend?” You laugh at him, eyes never leaving the book. “They’d never believe you.”

You’re right, because the school has no idea that you, the It Girl and vice president of the student body council, are dating Lee Donghyuck, the guy who smokes weed behind the school and always skips class for no important reason other than to entertain himself. How you even started dating is another story, but now your relationship is on the infinite downlow.

“You’re right,” he relents, but he’s obviously not given up yet as he leans closer to you. You try not to get swayed by the sudden infiltration of his scent, and continue scanning the pages of the French book. “They won’t. But it wouldn’t be a surprise. I mean, we’d be the hottest couple ever. So, maybe I should put a nice big hickey, right there on your pretty neck. Maybe then they’ll believe you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be,” teases your boyfriend, his voice dipping lower into dangerous territory.

You roll your eyes. “Sure,” you respond sarcastically.

“If you say so.”

Before you know it, your boyfriend has leaned in to kiss you, lips inches away from yours. When you realize what he’s up to you put a hand up, so his lips meet your palm instead of their intended destination. “No.”

A whine leaves him, a stark juxtaposition from his dark appearance. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not appropriate.”

“Not appropriate?” he questions, crossing his leather covered arms across his chest. “You’re my girlfriend.”

A shake of your head tells him no, along with a teasing smirk upon your lips. “Not right now. Right now, I’m your French tutor. Now pay attention,” you tell him, gaze skimming the textbook page.

“Fine,” he scoffs, leaning back in his chair.

“Je suis allé au café et j'ai pris une tasse de café. Translate that for me.”

“That means,” he starts, rolling his neck back to stretch it out, looking less than interested in the lesson. “My boyfriend is so sexy and I wish he would kiss me right now.”

Your eyes narrow, and you shake your head. He speaks up again. “I was kidding, actually it means, Donghyuck, I love when you wear your leather jacket, it makes you look so sexy.”

You lean forward, capturing your head in your hands in frustration. He just laughs. “Tu es une telle honte, pourquoi je sors avec toi,” you sigh out, exasperated.

“Oh,” he hums, leaning forward to hold your hands instead. “Maybe that one means, My girlfriend is so beautiful and smart?” You look up at him, raising an eyebrow at his sudden attempt to appeal to you. “Because you are.”

You roll your eyes, a smile spreading over your lips. “Actually I was calling you a disgrace and wondering why I’m even dating you.”

“Not surprised,” he chuckles softly, but immediately closes the French textbook on the desk before the two of you. “Come on, you know I’m not good at this school thing. Mr. Qian already knew that when he asked you to tutor me. How about,” he tilts his head at you, about to put up an offer. “We ditch this tutoring session and go get some ice cream? On me.”

A purse of your lips tells him you’re considering it, and he adds, “If anything, I’m just studying more by being with a beautiful lady who speaks fluent French.”

You chuckle, leaning forward with pursed lips. “Je t'aime.”

“That one I know,” he smiles as he presses a sweet kiss to your lips. “Love you too. Now let’s go,” he says, standing and pulling you along by the hand.

'Cause every night she studies hard in her room At least that's what her parents assume But she sneaks out the window to meet with her boyfriend.

Carefully you climb down the side of the house, trying your best not to make any noise against the wall but also trying not to fall to your death. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as both your feet touch the solid ground.

“Going somewhere?”

Immediately you jump, eyes widened as you turn to meet the owner of the voice. “Donghyuck!” You hiss, voice still low. “I thought you were my dad!”

“Well, you can call me daddy too,” your boyfriend says as he approaches you to press a kiss on your cheek. The tip of his light chin stubble brushes on your skin as he does so.

“Don’t even joke about that,” you roll your eyes, allowing him to slide an arm over your shoulder and walk you down the street to where he parked his car out of view from your house. “So, where are we going?” “A friend’s party. His name is Mark.”

A cautious eyebrow is raised by you. “Will anyone from school be there?”

He shakes his head in response, knowing you can’t be spotted together especially with you under his arm at a college party of course. You’ve got to protect your precious reputation. “Nah, he’s in college. There’s no way he’d let high schoolers in.”

“We’re high schoolers, silly.”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs before turning and grinning sinfully at you. “But we’re cool.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” you tease as he releases you and unlocks his car.

She may be clever but she just acts too square 'Cause in the back of the room where nobody looks She'll be with her boyfriend, she's not reading books.

As you slide up onto your tiptoes, the feeling of your boyfriend pressing against you is much too present and you scoff. “Can you stop being a horndog and get this book for me?”

“Darling,” he chastises, reaching up to grab it easily above you. “That’s what I was doing.”

As he hands the book to you, you roll your eyes. “Sure, like you weren’t trying to rub up on me.”

“Not at all,” responds Donghyuck, dark eyes glinting with mischief. You leave him behind as you turn into the next aisle, searching carefully for the next book you were looking for. As you get deeper into the library shelves, the light gets further away and the tall shelves begin to cast a shadow upon your hidden figures. “Why do you even wear your uniform, anyways? You know it’s not required by the school.”

“Yeah,” you respond matter-of-factly. “But as the vice president I should adhere to the suggestions set by the administration. Clearly you don’t care,” you say, glancing over his usual outfit of ripped jeans (which definitely didn’t fit normal dress code anyways) and his trademark leather jacket over a white Adidas shirt.

“Okay, but your president Huang Renjun is a lame virgin with a stick up his ass and even he doesn’t wear his uniform everyday,” retorts your boyfriend.

“More reason why I should have been president instead,” you respond, scanning over the back of a book sounding not at all petty.

“That’s because at the time, you were more focused on becoming my girlfriend than campaigning, you minx,” Donghyuck teases as you slide the book back into its place, unsatisfied with its synopsis. When you don’t respond, instead turning into yet another aisle, he follows you, fingers tugging slightly at your skirt. “That’s okay, I like the skirt anyways,” he says, his famous smirk over his lips as your mouth gapes and a flustered warmth slides up to your cheeks. “S’cute.”

She said to me, forget what you thought 'Cause good girls are bad girls that haven't been caught

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Donghyuck already starts as he approaches you in the front of the school, already losing his bad boy personality in the fear that you’d be upset at him. “I’m so sorry.”

The two of you had been caught making out in the bleachers by a few members of the football team after school yesterday. Okay, perhaps it wasn’t the most discreet of places but you swore they’d announced over the intercom that football practice was cancelled for the day! Unluckily, it seemed a few players still wanted to get some practice in.

Surely, rumors flew in less than twenty-four hours. Y/N, with Donghyuck? No way. Impossible.

Yeah, that was what you thought too, until it happened. You fell for him, for all his rough edges and playful teasing. He doesn’t deserve to be hidden.

The smile you give him must throw him off, because he blinks. He’s probably forgotten his pre-made apology; he knows how important your reputation is to him. In his silence, you speak up.

“I don’t want to hide anymore. Let’s,” you propose as you interlace your hands, surely feeling eyes on you already. “Show them what a hot couple looks like.”

He blinks, eyes flying to your hands and it’s probably the first time you’ve seen the snarky Donghyuck speechless. He recovers smoothly, smirking and nodding. “Okay. Let’s blow them away.”

“But if you fail your French test in third period, I will break up with you.”

A boisterous laugh leaves his lips as he kicks open the doors to the school hallway. “Noted.”

Before the two of you enter the hallway to expose your unlikely clandestine romance to everyone, you lean up and whisper in his ear. “Je t'aime.”

“I know what that means,” he smirks as he presses a proud kiss onto your temple, and takes a step inside.

#neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #nct-writers #mlznet #haechan fluff #haechan angst #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #haechan fanfic #nct dream jaemin #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct drabbles

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slytherweasley · 3 years

Text

Try something new (Hermione Granger x reader)

Warnings: Smut and swearing

Summary- Hermione misses Y/n after she goes away for the summer and her feelings towards her become stronger but different.

You and Hermione weren’t able to see each other over the summer because you went on holidays to France. The whole time you were there you couldn’t help but wish you were with your girlfriend. You bought Hermione so many French books and little gifts.

On the Hogwarts express you walk through looking for the trio and you finally find them. Hermione gets up and gives you a hug “Y/n!” “I missed you so much.” She lets go of the hug and cups your face with her hands kissing you. Harry looks away blushing “Tell me all about France! I bet it was so beautiful.” You sit beside her and tell her all about it. “I got something for everyone” you give Ron and Harry a small Eiffel Tower.

You show her some photos “Here’s me in front of the Eiffel Tower” she places her hand on your upper thigh without a second thought. It sent jolts through your body, she was just leaning over but it made you tingly. “You look gorgeous” “Uh yeah, thanks” it was hard to concentrate when she always seemed to be touching you.

Small things she would do would turn you on so much sometimes you had to handle it yourself when you got the chance to be alone. It seemed like you both always wanted to be touching each other in some way. Even Harry and Ron noticed “Since you got back Hermione hasn’t been able to have a conversation without your name coming up.” “Oh give me a break, I haven’t seen Y/n all summer” “Summer was ages ago” “You don’t understand, you don’t have a girlfriend.” Hermione kisses your cheek.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts class you sit beside Hermione “Find a partner to work on this assignment, this is a big assignment” Snape announces. You quickly turn your head to Hermione putting your hand on her thigh out of habit. “Do you want to work together?” “Umm yeah” she looks down and then back at you “Sorry” you take your hand off her thigh “It’s okay, I kind of want class to be over” she mumbles. “What? That’s not like you. What’s wrong?” “Today hasn’t been good I just want a kiss from my girlfriend.” You look at Snape who’s back is turned you peck Hermione’s lips “I’ll give you a proper kiss after class.”

You take Hermione to a quiet hallway away from people. She pushes you against the wall and kisses you. Your hand travels from her back to underneath her skirt squeezing her bum. She stops kissing you “Merlin Y/n!” “You want me to stop?” “N-no just be careful” “Do you like it when I touch you in that way?” “Y-yes, I want to try something” “Go ahead.” Hermione has always been quite scared of anything more than making out, she doesn’t like making out in her underwear. You’ve always told her it was alright and when she’s ready, so now she wants to try something you welcome it.

She unbuttons your shirt far enough to see your bra “Oh wow” her face goes red and looks away “It’s okay Mione do what you want” she grabs them giving it a squeeze. You move your hand up and down her underwear, before you could do anything the bell rings for the next class. She buttons up your shirt and you take your hand out from under her skirt. “That was scary” she says “Do you regret it?” “Not really but that can’t happen again.” Hermione couldn’t get the feeling of you feeling her up out of her head even though it was over her underwear she was so turned on.

You and Hermione talked to some friends before dinner then you did a bit of studying in the library while Hermione hung out in your dorm. You got some studying done so you left and came back a bit early. You open the door to Hermione naked from the waist down, her legs spread out on her bed and rubbing her clit. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Mione I didn’t know- I didn’t mean to- I mean-” you shut the door and turn around, millions of thoughts running through your head. Should you leave or go in there and help or just forget everything and you saw her almost naked for the first time.

The door swings open and Hermione grabs you by the arm pulling you in. “I thought you were reading or something” You explain sitting down on her bed opposite her “Please don’t tell anyone” “Bubs, you’re my girlfriend. I’m not telling anyone, why would I?” “It’s embarrassing. I don’t do it a lot” “When did you start?” “This year, I’ve been so horny lately, I’ve read lots of books on it.” You laugh “Of course you did” “Do you do it?” “All the time. Mione you’ve been making me horny without realising it.” “I’m sorry” “Don’t be, you aren’t ready” “I want to be ready for you but I don’t want to go all the way, just slow steps” “It’s okay, princess. We can be as slow as you want.”

“I am throbbing really bad, do you mind if I finish?” Hermione asks “Go ahead finish yourself off.” “In front or you?” “I can leave if you want” “No! I mean- I want you to stay” “Okay I’ll stay.” She lifts up her skirt exposing her bare cunt “I knew you’d have a pretty pussy” she blushes. “This feels weird” she says “Do you want me to help? I’ll use my fingers” “Yes please.” You kiss the inside of her thighs she moans. “Holy shit Hermione” she blushes “Sorry” “No please, I want to hear you.”

You use your fingers to rub her clit at a slow pace, Hermione moans. “You’re so desperate, aren’t you princess?” “Please faster, I’m sensitive!” She yells. “Tell me how good it feels first” “Ahh so good” she tries to move your hand to rub her faster. “You want to rub your clit, princess?” “Yes!” You take your fingers off her clit. She rubs herself faster moaning, you kiss her neck and jaw. “Oh shit” she moans “Did you finish?” “Yeah, holy shit that was so good” “That was the hottest thing I’ve experienced.”

You get Hermione some pyjamas to change into, you get into your pyjamas to get rid of the wet feeling between your legs “Wow Y/n, your underwear is soaked” “I told you your moans are hot” “Do you want to go relieve yourself?” “No I’ll just deal with it, they will probably be back soon.” Hermione turns back around to continue getting changed.

Things were different after that, Hermione became much more confident. In the last class of the day Hermione decided she was in the mood to tease you. She slides her hand up your skirt “Hermione what are you doing?” “I’m so bored of Snapes talking.” She moves a finger up and down your slit over your underwear instantly making you wet. She presses a finger on your clit over your underwear “I’m going to moan if you keep going” “No, you have to keep quiet.” You did what she said and put your hand over your mouth.

You take Hermione’s hand and go straight to your shared dorm. You get on her bed and kiss her. She leaves hickeys on your neck and collar bones. You start to grind your hips on hers trying to relieve yourself of the throbbing. You take your lips off hers “I’m sorry Princess I can’t do this I’m so wet” “It’s okay, I can help you if you want” “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You start to take off your clothes and Hermione watches, neither of you have ever seen each other naked. She watches carefully as you unclip your bra and pull down your underwear. Hermione lets out a small quiet moan you smile “What d’you think?” “You’re perfect” she smiles.

You lay on your bed and she tries to distract herself with a book as you finger yourself. Your moans came louder “Oh fuck, so good Mione” you moan, Hermione shifts on her bed uncomfortably and watches you. Your moans become louder, you screw your eyes shut and imagine Hermione and you can’t stop moaning her name.

Hermione gets up and starts to get undressed, you feel her get on the bed beside you then you feel her small fingers rubbing your clit as you pound your fingers into yourself. You open your eyes and see her sitting in the edge of the bed naked.

“Oh fuck” you moan and grab one of her tits massaging her nipple “You going to cum?” She asks “Y-yeah!” You feel yourself pulse around your fingers as you finish. “Thanks Mione” you kiss her lips “I’m so ready Y/n” “Are you sure?” “One hundred percent sure.”

She climbs on top of you and kisses you, you feel her hot wet cunt on your lower stomach. She kisses down your stomach and kisses your clit, she puts two fingers inside of you slowly. “Mione I just came” “I know I want to see you do it again” “Ah shit, use your tongue on my clit” you moan “How?” “You can flick it or suck it whatever you want, it will feel amazing.” She ficks it with her tongue then licks a stripe up your pussy continuing to finger you. “That tastes really good” Hermione says then starts to suck on your clit. You finish in a matter of minutes of her sucking on your clit.

“It’s your turn, I’ll give you the best orgasm ever” you flip her over and she starts laughing “I’m so nervous that I’m laughing so much.” You smile and kiss her cheek “We can wait until you’re ready, I promise I’ll take care of you.” “Just do it, I’m ready” you kiss her cheek “I want to make sure you’re comfortable” “I’m comfortable just nervous.”

You kiss down her stomach sucking hickeys as you go down you kiss the inside of her thighs, you notice she’s stopped laughing as much and she’s relaxing. “You ready?” You ask her “Yes” you open up her legs wider and lick up her cunt she lets out a loud moan “Does that feel good?” “Please keep going” you smile and go down on her again. She grabs a hold of your hair and pulls on it a bit. “So good Y/n” she moans.

You move your fingers faster inside her until her legs start to shake. She can barely form a sentence but I hear her try to talk “You close?” You ask looking up at her and she nods her head and finishes around your fingers. You let her calm down from her high comforting her with a kiss on the cheek and your arms wrapped around her. “Thank you” she finally says “How do you feel now that we had sex together?” “I wouldn’t want it with anyone else. You’re so good at getting me wet and your body is quite attractive.” Her face goes bright red “Well I’m not surprised at how pretty your body is” you flick her nipple.

We take a shower together then fall asleep cuddled up in bed. The next morning Hermione has vanished from the bed. You get up and get dressed going down to breakfast. It’s a Friday morning she probably got up early to study. You were correct she was studying but not magic.

She hurries into the great hall making sure she’s not late. She kisses your lips and grabs some food “Early morning studying?” Harry asks “Yes! Love, I have so much to tell you” “Tell me then.” “Apparently having sex at least twice a week relieves tension” Ron and Harry look in other directions “Do you need to be talking about this now?” “Yes! Our sex shouldn’t be different to anyone else who talks about it.” Ron blushes “It’s true” “So I read this book about different ways” she starts whispering different positions and how to do them.

“Maybe we should start on some of those tonight?” “Perfect” she smiles.

#hermione granger x fem!reader #hermione granger smut #hermione x reader #hermione imagine #hermione granger imagine #hermione granger x you #wlw smut #wlw

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whumperooni · 4 years

Text

for shame

Pairing(s): Natsuo Todoroki x Sister!Reader, Enji Todoroki x Daughter!Reader

Tags/Warnings: incest, feelings of shame and humiliation, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, breeding/pregnancy talk

Word count: 2k

A/N: This was brought on by a big brained nonny. I had a lot of fun daydreaming this/writing this ♡

It’s been a long day for Natsuo- a hard test, coffee spilled on his favorite jeans, his phone charger stolen, his essay given a poor grade; all of that added up to a long day for him.

A shit day if he’s being honest- one that he thinks can’t get much worse.

He’s proven wrong, of course, whenever he gets home and opens the front door only to be met by loud moans. His mind first jumps to “fucking Touya brought home another girl and is banging her on the couch again” and his nose wrinkles along with the thought, an aggravated huff leaves him.

It’s only when he hears the squeal of “Daddy! Daddy!” that he realizes that those loud cries sound very familiar.

Natsuo gulps, frozen in the middle of toeing off his shoes, and stares down the hallway with wide eyes.

There’s...there’s no way. You aren’t- he’s not- no. No. If you were going to fall into something so horrible and ruining it wouldn’t be with him, it would be with-

Natsuo slams the breaks on that thought before it can finish and shakes his head, desperately tells himself that he’s mistaken.

It’s not happening. It can’t be happening.

Another loud whine and Natsuo gulps, finds his feet taking him to the living room despite his mind screaming at him to just turn around and leave the house for another good three or four hours.

There’s a gasp and a whimper that sounds right before Natsuo peeks inside the living room and it’s something that Natsuo thinks is horrible simply because it sounds so hot.

Please don’t let this be what I think it is, Natsuo pleads to whatever gods may be listening to him. Please don’t let it really be happening. Please don’t let it be with him.

The gods don’t listen- that or they’re just being cruel, spiteful.

Natsuo peeks into the living room to find his sweet, beloved sister in their father’s lap- your hips arched into big hands, your small ones gripping onto broad shoulders as Enji Todoroki thrusts his cock into his daughter’s soaked little cunny.

All at once, Natsuo’s heart breaks, his temper boils, his fists clench, his face flushes with rage and horror and shame.

Rage because how could his father do this to his daughter, to Natsuo’s most treasured and adored sister. Rage because how could his sweet little sister let their father do this- how could you let him fuck your wet, wet pussy? How could you let yourself moan and mewl like a perfect little whore while Enji spears your cunt with a cock that should be much too big for anyone to take?

How could you do this with “daddy! daddy! daddy!” instead of your beloved Natsuo-nii?

Horror and shame rushes in after his rage and a sick, hot pulse of mortification has Natsuo slapping a hand to his mouth, has his guts twisting with the sudden impulse to throw up.

How could he think that?

...probably for the same reasons you could be in Enji's lap.

Natsuo swallows down his sickness and he curls in on himself as self-disgust hits him harder than one of his father’s punches. He’s horribly aware that he’s half-hard and he hates himself for that- hates how hot he finds it whenever you throw your head back with a loud whine whenever Enji brings you down and makes you take him fully, whenever Enji moves your hips in a stir and lets out a growl of, “So needy, little one. You take my cock so well.”

Blood rushes to Natsuo’s head- to both heads, actually. He goes from half-hard to achingly, fully hard as you whimper and try to move to ride Enji, as you whine out a soft little “daddy, please, more” whenever you’re forced to stay seated on his cock instead.

A choked noise claws its way up and out of Natsuo’s throat- he can’t believe you’re so needy; he can’t believe you can take such a big dick; he can’t believe that he’s so into the way his little sister begs so prettily to be fucked.

God, how many time have you done this? How many times have you fucked your father?

Natsuo’s heart pounds hard, but it pounds harder still whenever turquoise eyes flick up and meet his own.

He recoils in an instant- fear and shame and embarrassment racing through him- but he doesn’t run away even with his instincts screaming at him to bolt and hide and not come home for a long, long time. He’s frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Enji grips your hips tighter and makes you shudder and arch your back.

He should run. He needs to run- who knows what Enji will do now that he’s been found out?

Natsuo’s fingers twitch along with his cock and he swallows hard, stares down his scowling father.

Rage is sneaking its way back into him- rage over being embarrassed and ashamed and fearful when it’s his father that’s gotten caught fucking his daughter, fucking Natsuo’s baby sister. Why should Natsuo run and cower when it’s Enji doing something so obscene?

Natsuo holds his ground despite his wide eyes and the jackhammer thumping of his heart.

Enji narrows his eyes and then he lifts his head- haughty with a look of authority, challenge as his eyes move from Natsuo and back to your pretty face.

“So impatient, little one,” Enji rumbles out. “You need to be fucked that badly?”

A whine from you and a nod. Natsuo can’t see your face, but he’s sure you have a trembling little pout, flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. You probably look so fucking good. God, he- he wants to see you all needy and pouting to be fucked. He shouldn’t want to see that. He absolutely should not want to see that. You’re his little sister- he can’t want this. He can’t.

Natsuo’s cock throbs in his sweatpants and he almost draws blood from digging his nails into his palms to keep from touching himself.

“Daddy, please! I wanna- I wanna be-”

You cut yourself off with another whine- hips trying to arch up and move along your daddy’s cock. There’s a low chuckle from Enji and Natsuo hates the smirk playing on his father’s face, the smug way he slowly slides you up his dick and forces you to take his slow, slow pace.

Enji stops when you’re half-way up his cock and Natsuo has to slap a hand over his mouth whenever Enji makes you lean forward, arch your hips. Natsuo can see how his father’s dick is parting your swollen, dripping lips with the new position- can see it even better when big hands grip your soft cheeks and spread you open even more.

It’s the hottest thing Natsuo has ever seen- lewd and disgusting and so filthy that he almost whimpers in need.

You probably feel so good inside.

He’s such a horrible older brother to want to know how slick and warm and honeyed your little cunny is.

Bile rises in his throat in contrast to how pre-cum spills in his boxers and Natsuo grips the door frame tight with his free hand whenever you let out a needy, sweet sob.

“D-Daddy, please! Please! I want- wanna be fucked! Daddy fill me! I need it!”

The smirk grows on Enji��s face and Natsuo’s fury roars among the dizzying swirl of emotions clouding his senses and judgement.

Why the hell are you begging Enji for that? He doesn’t deserve it- he doesn’t. If you’re going to do this with anyone in the family it should be the one who takes care of you the most, the one who has always been there for you.

Natsuo deserves to have you begging for his dick.

(God, he wants you begging for his dick- he wants to hear you cry out “nii-chan! please! please!” so fucking bad.)

“Shh, little one,” Enji says- voice almost soothing but not quite making it with a growl reverberating in the words. He kisses your cheek and he cants his hips up slowly to sheath himself in you once again- locking his eyes again with Natsuo as you whimper and mewl.

“Daddy is going to fuck you, little one,” Enji rumbles out- loud and so fucking pleased with himself. “I’m going to fuck you. Fill you. Give you what you need.”

You sob, the sound pitching close to a wail as you’re stretched open again. Natsuo’s vision is almost going spotted from everything now- he’s so overwhelmed and everything is so much and he is so fucking hard and all he can think now is fill you fill you fill you- i want to fill you as he watches Enji thrust languidly up into your needy pussy.

Enji kisses your cheek again and his eyes go half-shut as you tremble, as he watches his son struggle with his desires in the doorway.

“Daddy is going to fill you,” Enji continues- not looking away from Natsuo for one second. “Daddy is going to make you a momma, sweetheart. I’m going to give you a little one.”

You cry out a “please!” and Natsuo breaks.

He bolts from the doorway before he can process the action- runs to his bedroom and closes the door behind him, sinks to the floor and sticks a hand down his pants. A moan leaves him- loud and shameful, perverted as he frantically jerks off to the image of his little sister getting fucked by their father and the desire to know how you would feel on his cock, how horrible and wonderful it would be to cream your sweet little cunny and stuff you full with him instead of Enji.

Natsuo grates out a rough breath and he jerks as he starts to come- hips battering against his fist and the world rushing and roaring around him as he cries out your name.

He comes harder than he has all year and he falls to the floor after- panting and curling up into a little ball as shame tries to devour pleasure and greed, hunger, and want boil through his blood.

He wants you. He needs you. He’s so fucking awful but he needs you- needs your soft hands on him and your lips pressed to his, his cock filling your pussy and his seed spilling inside you, out and down your soft thighs.

Natsuo hears you cry out in the distance and he squeezes his eyes shut, hates himself as his dick throbs and envy washes over the mortification that should be taking over him.

He feels disgusting. Horrible. Hungry.

He wants to be the one fucking you and he hates that, but it’s not enough to stop him from reaching a hand down to jerk off to the thought. It’s not enough for him to replay the image of Enji spreading you apart over and over again in his mind. It’s not enough to keep him from moaning and rutting into his fist like some needy pervert. It’s not enough to keep him from coming to the thought of you begging for his cock.

It’s not enough to keep him from laying on the floor- a flushed cheek pressed to cool wood and his mind racing with a million schemes to get you into his bed.

...if you’re going to do it with Enji, then why not with Natsuo? Why not with your big brother?

If the number one hero can fuck his little girl, then why can’t Natsuo fuck his baby sister?

(It’s so wrong and he knows it. Is disgusted by it. By himself.

But, god, he wants it and after seeing you with Enji- with his father, your father- he knows that you probably want it just the same. He knows that you’d be happy to crawl into your nii-san’s lap like a good little girl and ride his dick like you ride daddy’s.

...if you’re okay with it, is it really that bad?)

Natsuo swallows hard and he squeezes his eyes shut, curls up tighter on the floor.

He’s a horrible big brother.

In the distance, you moan and mewl as your father fills you with his seed. Natsuo quietly, regretfully wishes that was him filling you instead and he sinks into a murky pit of pleasure and hopelessness, frustration and desire.

Natsuo had been wrong- his day actually managed to get a lot worse.

(Or maybe this is better?)

Natsuo grimaces and he forces himself to stand, wipes his dirtied hand on his sweatpants and heads to the bathroom so he can try to wash away his sins.

#natsuo todoroki x reader #natsuo x reader #enji todoroki x reader #endeavor x reader #tw incest #rooni's shit #todoroki degens #tw breeding kink

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ssscentral · 3 years

Text

Devil like you

Summary: Your boyfriend has a revelation about who - or what - he really is as he invites over a friend to have some earth-shattering, toe-curling, out of this world fun with you.

Pairing : Demon!Namjoon x Reader x Demon! Jimin

Genre : Smut. Pure filth. It be dirty.

Warnings : Threesome, Demon summoning, Overstimulation, Swearing, Restraints, Surprise your boyfriend is a demon, Dom!Namjoon, Dom!Jimin, Sub!Reader, Light Edging, Dirty Talking, Oral Sex (f and m), Fingering

WC : 5.5k

Member : Duda || @biaswreckme

A/N : Hope you enjoy reading this, i’m quite proud of it :v It’s my first AU for BTS, so be gentle T.T This fic is the second part of the group prompt “Hell of a Ride”, each part with our own interpretation, so stay tuned because there is more to come! Any similarities with Supernatural are not coincidental, thank you Spn wikis for the words in Latin and the inspiration for some of the abilities of these demons. And thanks so much @fluffy-fluffu for being the beta ♥

taglist: @sugasbabiie

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You thought you should have known. You thought you should have seen the signs – and there were quite a few, thinking back on your relationship. It should not have surprised you like this. It should not have affected you like this. It should not make you wish for more, waiting for the next time it would happen. It should not… you should not… you should not want this as much as you did, right?

You should have seen it coming. It should not have caught you off guard like that, after all, who teaches this language with this much ease and what seems like almost natural and native knowledge? That should have been the first sign to strike your attention. He was not the first Latin professor in the language department at this university, but he was the best. But this department has a lot of languages, and Latin is part of the curriculum for some of the other languages. It was not weird to have a Latin professor. It was weird to have someone as hot as Namjoon teaching Latin. Hot, gods, you sound like a teenager again talking about boys and crushes. But yes, Kim Namjoon, one of the hottest teachers in the university – and it is a big one – teaches a dead language.

So when he asked you, the English teacher – not the only one in the department and you did not consider yourself to be one of the best-looking teachers there – out on a date, you said yes. It had been a while for you, issues with an ex left you being cautious about entering new relationships. It made you pay more attention to certain red flags, but there were none with Namjoon, at least not like those from before.

Kim Namjoon was considerate. Kim Namjoon was creative with his dates. Kim Namjoon was a romantic man, one that had you indeed feeling like a teenager dating for the first time, sneaking around the empty halls and classrooms, the butterflies in your stomach wild and making you giggle at the mere thought of him. Kim Namjoon paid attention to you and your problems. Kim Namjoon listened. And Kim Namjoon was great when it came to sex. Great actually did not really translate how incredible and mind-blowing sex with him was. He knew how to do things to your body like no one ever could before. He suggested some things – some kinky, oh, very kinky things indeed – to spice up the sex that you had only fantasized about but never had the courage to ask for, and he did not judge anything. It was almost as if his mission in bed was to give you utmost pleasure, even if it hurt sometimes – but it always hurt so good. Kim Namjoon was the perfect boyfriend. Maybe too perfect, so you think to yourself that you had ought to know better. No one could be this perfect. There had to be an explanation. And there was. You just never would have imagined that it would be this explanation.

The day had started just like any other, there was nothing special about it, at least to your knowledge. So why, oh, why did it have to be on this day? (Maybe you could ask them later.) You woke up to your alarm, as usual. You love your job, but you always found it difficult to get up this early in the mornings, so you always made sure to set more than one alarm. You got up, had breakfast – “breakfast” is a very general word, but you do eat a piece of toast while the coffee machine warms up. You had a shower, just a quick one to truly wake you up and get you going before getting dressed in your usual teaching outfit. Namjoon would be coming over later, so you would have time to shower again and get dressed up for date night after getting back from the university. You grab a travel mug on the way out, pouring the hot coffee in it, the smell invading your apartment just as you like it.

The classes go on without any issue; a slight problem with the projector in the beginning but nothing out of the ordinary and that would strike one’s attention, especially if one was used to dealing with the projectors in that older building the languages and literature department was stuck with. You crossed paths with Namjoon once the entire day, walking down the hallways of the old building; you were getting out of an English literature class, Joon going to teach his Latin II group. As your bodies got closer, both of you nodded in acknowledgment as if you were any other professor, but your hands discreetly touched in passing, just a small sign you had agreed on to let the other know everything is okay, have a good class, I love you, I will be waiting for you later. You knew he was going out on a field trip with an advanced class and he would have to leave during lunch, so you ate a sandwich in your office, watching some comedy series to relax and get energized for the rest of the day – of course, the hot and new cup of coffee helps -, every once in a while, pausing to chat with the other professor who chose to do something similar. The afternoon is not really that different from other Friday afternoons; no one usually comes during office hours, so no one came on this day. You spent your time alternating between counting the minutes on the ticking clock to be able to go home and get ready for the date and responding to some emails, starting the term report, and downloading some articles to read. You were alone in the office, so you have some music going to help distract you and try to make the time go by faster.

When you finally got home the first thing you did was hop on the shower again, but now taking some time for yourself, phone blasting your favorite songs as you washed the day away from your body, cleaning, shaving what you wanted, moisturizing with some shower oils Namjoon gave you and that you know he loved the scent of. You spent some time choosing your outfit for the evening, knowing it had to be good. You opted for a white lace and silk playsuit, the new lingerie that Namjoon had recently given you, and you knew it had to be expensive from the brand – expensive and fancy lingerie was a guilty pleasure you had that somehow Namjoon was able to indulge, and you had no complaints about it. It gave you an almost innocent look under the black dress, and you were curious to see Namjoon’s reaction. You did not do much for hair and makeup, choosing instead to keep it quite simple and natural – it was only going to be ruined later on anyways.

Soon you heard the bell ring and you looked at the small monitor near the door, letting him in. His hair was slicked back, giving him an edge that was not present in day-to-day life at university. He had his earrings on and paired up with his silver-rimmed glasses and that black blazer made him look unbelievably hot and so different from the pristine almost clumsy-like image of Professor Kim. He kissed you, murmuring a hi in the kiss, letting his hands roam over your dress. He paused and stepped back enough to look at you.

“Are you wearing the new gift?”

It only took a nod from you to have him pressing you against the wall, hitching your leg up and around his waist. His hands took advantage of the position and touched your skin, going up your thighs and bunching up your dress in the way, giving him access to feel the lace and silk on your body.

“Fuck,” he paused, almost breathless, “fuck the reservation, right? I need you now.”

You nodded in affirmation, almost as out of breath as him, “Fuck the reservation, fuck me instead.”

He didn’t need anything else to press you even harder against the wall, hoisting both of your legs; you wrapped them around his body, and he pushed his hips into yours, you could feel how hard he already was. You moaned into the kiss, his hardness was right against where you needed it the most, and when he started slightly moving his hips into yours, it made his length deliciously drag against your clit. The feeling was also enhanced by the lingerie; every time Namjoon canted his hips up, it made the lingerie move up together and tug on your skin, and it did not take long until it was snugged between your nether lips and you were certain you were staining the front of Namjoon’s pants with your wetness as he started nibbling on your earlobe, sucking and kissing your neck, the skin caught between his teeth to make sure it would leave bruises. And then he let you go, dropping your legs from around his body.

“Do you trust me?” He looked into your eyes, seeming unsure, which was unlike him. You could swear that his eyes got darker for a brief moment – and not in the way writers usually describe, with eyes darkening with pleasure or something akin to that. No, it seemed that they physically turned darker, almost black, but you thought you must be imagining things. It could not be humanly possible.

“I trust you, Joon.” You said without any hesitation, fingers entangling with his and taking him in the direction of your bedroom.

He started by taking off his glasses and carefully putting them on the wooden nightstand, taking a minute to take off his blazer and carefully drape it over the piece of furniture. He then turned to you and you felt nervous, his walk almost predatory towards you. He gripped your shoulders, taking the straps of your dress into his hands, and it felt like he was considering just ripping the piece out of your body and your breath faltered. So this was the mood today. But he must have thought better and let his hands caress the front of your body, squeezing your breasts, his fingers then gliding over your clothed nipples, feeling them harder under his touch. His hands moved down, grabbing the edge of your dress in his fists and then lifted it up and off your body, and then you were there, standing in front of him, the white lace and silk that covered your skin seemed almost virginal when contrasted with the current mood. You bit your lip, looking at Namjoon, gaging his reaction, and you saw his eyes widen, a smirk crossing his lips, his tongue unconsciously poking out to lick his top lip. There was a different look in his eyes, one that you did not recognize at all, and you were getting slightly more nervous now. What did he have in store for you this time? You tried to think back to conversations you had, discussing ideas in between cuddles and kisses on the bed, after one of the times you had some passionate lovemaking, his eyes glued to yours the entire time, his body encompassing yours, protecting you. Not every time was kinky, but there was no doubt tonight was going to be. You took a deep breath and stepped forward, your fingers going to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, slowly, your fingers shaking in anticipation.

“Remember when we were talking about maybe having another person in the bedroom with us?”

His question took you by surprise, your fingers stopping mid-action, and you looked at him. “Yes?”

“You are going to learn some things about me tonight, Y/n, but you don’t need to be scared.” He grabbed your hands, intertwining your fingers and kissing them while looking into your eyes. “I promise everything will be okay, and I’ll answer all your questions later. Now I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

And ok, now you were worried, and he could see that in your face, so he brought you closer to his body, hugging you, and your arms tightened around his body.

“You don’t have to be scared, love. It can be scary, but have I ever hurt you?”

“Well…” you started, giggling at the double possibilities to answer his question.

“I’m talking about real harm, Y/n. And might I remind you, who asked to be spanked again?” He chuckled, shaking his head, the mood getting a little lighter. “I can’t promise it’s not going to frighten you at first but keep an open mind. You have your safeword, you can stop this at any time, no matter what.”

“Ok. I can’t promise I won’t fear whatever it is… because you are scaring me a little bit, Joon. But I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me like that.” You raised your head from where it was resting on his chest, looking into his eyes again, and this time you could not be mistaken. They were black. Like black black; you could not see any of the previous colors in his irises, even the sclera was taken over by the color, and it hit you. You took a quick step back, letting go of his body, shocked. Was… was this real?

“I’m still me,” his voice was soft and his hands raised by his sides in that universal sign of I’m not going to hurt you. “It’s always been me.”

“So you’re not… possessed?” you laughed in disbelief.

“No. It’s always been me,” he repeated, taking one step closer to you with one of his hands reaching out, and hesitantly you grabbed it. “Let me show you. I promise you will have a good time.”

Your body was still shaking with fear when you let yourself get closer to him, but his words were starting to reassure you, calm you. If he had always been like this and never harmed you, you would be okay, right? The fear and worry were slowly starting to give way to curiosity and some slight confusion when he started muttering some words under his breath. Now, you did not understand Latin – it was a dead language, come on –, but you were able to pick up that he was almost chanting in it, words like te invoco, spiritus, infernalis, and daemon being spoken with more intensity. He finished saying it and kissed you deeply, his arms encircling your body and pulling you to him, when you suddenly felt another presence behind you, a second body pressing against you, feeling a hard chest pressing you into Namjoon even more. You stopped the kiss, looking over your shoulder, and your eyes stumbled upon another black-eyed figure. This man, this demon, was shorter than Namjoon, but with the way the front of his body was glued to your back, you could feel he was just as muscular, maybe even more, from what you were feeling from his thighs. There were no words for his face. You thought Namjoon was handsome, but this man’s face was on a whole other level of beauty, with those rounded full lips that would give Namjoon’s a run for their money. If it were not for his black eyes you would dare say his face was angelic even, with his light-colored hair parted in the middle. But something about the smirk and raised eyebrows let you know that there was nothing angelic about him.

“Damn, Namjoon. You’ve been hiding her this entire time?” He almost growled, shifting his hips, and you felt the hardness in his pants. “If I’d known, I’d have come sooner.”

“And this is Jimin, Y/n,” he started, scoffing at his… friend? “Now close your eyes and let us take care of you.”

He did not wait for an answer from you, and at the same time his lips found yours, you felt Jimin’s lips on your neck and his hands on your waist, and you could only sigh, close your eyes, and give into these new sensations. The two pairs of hands were roaming your body; the contrast of their clothed bodies against yours, almost naked, was heightening the sensation of your powerlessness, and you had to press your thighs together in an attempt to bring some pressure to your center and relieve some of the aching. You could feel their smirks when you did it, and then Jimin’s hand traveled downwards and on the front of your body, his fingers sneaking under the lingerie to feel your wetness.

“Fuck,” his voice was almost strained, “she’s dripping, Namjoon.” His fingers went all over your mound spreading your wetness around, careful to not touch you for too long to tease you.

“Is this right, Y/n?” Namjoon asked against your lips, then tilted his head back to look at you, his hand joining Jimin’s. “I know you get wet for me, but if I had known you would be dripping like this, I would have brought Jimin much sooner.” He stated as his fingers toyed with the straps of your playsuit, slowly lowering them. “And you are wearing this, today of all days… all in white…”

Namjoon’s fingers teased your nipples lightly at first, just caressing them while Jimin slowly lowered the lingerie down your body, giving open-mouthed kisses to your back and lower and he went down on his knees behind you. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back and grabbing Namjoon’s biceps for balance when Jimin lifted your left feet first then the right, letting the playsuit fall to the ground off your body. You felt a pinch to your nipples, and you sighed, and shortly after you felt his tongue circling it, then his mouth sucking on it, tugging lightly with his teeth. You clenched your legs again, only for Jimin to spread them. You felt Jimin’s breath on your backside, and his hands made you arch your back so he could see you better from behind, but you felt nothing else but his warm breath very close to your center, his hands gripping your thighs from the inside to stop you from closing them. When Namjoon used the fatal combination of pinching down on a nipple harder and biting the other and sucking on it, Jimin chuckled.

“Do that again, Namjoon. She liked it, she just clenched down on nothing so hard.” His mouth was so close to you yet doing nothing, and to worsen the situation, he used his hands to help you spread your legs more. “Tilt your ass towards me, Y/n, I want to see you clench like that again.”

You did so without hesitation, arching your back more so he could see you better, and when Namjoon did it again, inverting touch and bite to the other nipple, you clenched again, needing their touch, needing something. And he combined pulling your nipple with his teeth with his other hand entangling in your hair and pulling it down hard, increasing your arch. You heard Jimin chuckle softly again and then his mouth was pressed to your inner thigh, licking upwards as he moaned, probably tasting the wetness that had started dripping. Namjoon was not being gentle anymore, using the amount of pressure and strength he knew you loved, much rougher than when you were making love, your nipples becoming more sensitive and abused under his ministrations. This moment, with his lips around your nipples, his teeth worrying them, while Jimin licked your thighs, was pure and unadulterated passion and desire. You let one of your hands fall to grab Jimin’s hair to try and direct him, but he let one of your thighs go to wrap his fingers around your wrist while he bit down on your thigh. You moaned in pain, but you loved it.

Your other hand moved from Namjoon’s biceps to the front of his shirt to undo the few buttons that were left, and he paused what he was doing to help you. When you went to unbutton his pants, you felt your arm being pinned to your back by the demon between your legs. You looked back and down, seeing Jimin licking his lips again while he got up. He pulled you against his body, murmuring that tonight was about you and not to worry about them. As he said these words, Namjoon’s long fingers undid his own pants, hooking them under his underwear to take them off at the same time. His erection slapped softly against his stomach, his cock long and thick, the bulbous head already a little wet with precum. He stepped out of his pants, his strong thighs flexing, and he came closer to kiss you again, letting you feel his hardness against your belly. He started to pull you towards the bed, turning your bodies so you could fall against the mattress with him on top, but he did not stay long. He got up, looking at Jimin, and raised his eyebrows.

“You look so innocent like this, wide-eyed looking at us about to devour you,” Jimin started, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, putting on a show for you.

The dark shirt Jimin was wearing opened to reveal toned muscles beneath, ones you had already felt against your back. His light purple hair was slightly messy from your attempt to grab it; his lips were turned up into a corner smile observing the way you were watching him. He let his hands caress down his body, feeling his own muscles, his luscious lips open now. One of his hands went to the button of his pants and the other grabbed his crotch, showing you the outline of his erection, and then he took the black garment off, and he was wearing no underwear. His hand went to his erection again, stroking himself up and down slowly, showing you his body and how proud he seemed of it. His cock was just as beautiful as the rest of him, the head a light pink color, and while he was thinner than Namjoon, he was just as long and curved upwards, and it made you wonder if he could hit that spot without much effort.

“We are going to destroy you, and you will take it all. You will be lying there on the bed, ruined, a sinner, and in the end, you will be begging for me to come back again and wreck you.” Jimin’s voice was deeper, his black eyes shining under the lights and the promise. And then he looked at Namjoon. “Have you done it yet?”

You looked confused for a moment, especially when Namjoon answered a no and Jimin chuckled. And then you understood. Jimin snapped his fingers and your arms were suddenly above your head, pressed on the pillow. You tried moving them but to no avail. Oh. Your chest went up and down quickly, your breath faster, but you smiled.

“Oh, this is new. Can you do it too, Joon?” You needed to know. Had he been hiding this from you this whole time? He licked his lips and snapped his fingers, and then your legs were up, an invisible force holding them up and wide open, spread apart for them. You bit your lip and clenched down on nothing, moaning softly, your head thrown back into the pillow. “This is fun.”

You smiled at them and saw them looking at each other smiling as well, but you could not even imagine what was going through their minds. Could they communicate like that? You had so many questions to ask Joon later, but before your mind could wander any further, your body was being dragged to the edge of the bed by Jimin, who was kneeling on the floor in front of it. You had never felt so exposed before and so without control, although you knew all you had to say was that one word and everything would end.

“She tastes delicious, Jimin. You’re going to love it.” Namjoon sat by you on the bed, looking down at the other man, and lowered his head to whisper in your ear, “you want to know another thing I’ve been hiding? We don’t get tired.”

Namjoon bit your earlobe at the same time that Jimin licked you where you needed the most, from bottom to top. You could only moan loudly and arch your back, your fingers closing into tight a fist and your thighs clenching, but you could not move them. You thought he would make you beg for it, considering all the teasing from before, but he wasted no time and started applying pressure to your clit with his soft tongue, short circular movements alternated with longer licks while his fingers kept your lower lips spread open for him. Unable to move, all you could do was take it, the pleasure intensified by your inability to move your legs; there was no escape from Jimin’s tongue on the underside of your clit, its hood up, leaving it exposed and so sensitive to his probing. While Jimin was doing this, Namjoon began playing with your nipples again. They were already hard and a little red from before, more sensitive, so when he started pinching them again the pain seemed to go straight down to your clit, enhancing your pleasure, and he seemed to know this. He became relentless in teasing them, pinching harder, lowering his body beside you to bite at them, tugging on your nipples and pulling them, letting his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. Jimin’s tongue was also relentless on your clit, and the first time he felt you getting close to your orgasm, he stopped and looked at you.

“Please, please…” you sobbed and moaned; the desperation clear in your voice as Namjoon did not stop.

“Should we see if she can cum only by teasing her nipples?” Jimin’s voice was playful.

“No, please, please, no, please,” you begged.

“Oh, Namjoon, she begs so beautifully. But is it a no or is it a please, do it?” His tongue was between his teeth, his smile wider now, the look on his face pure teasing. You shook your head negatively, a sob caught in your throat, but he continued, “You’re clenching again, Y/n. I think you can do this. But maybe another day,” you let out a sigh in relief, “another day, when we will tease you for hours, edge you until even our breath will make you cum, how about that?”

Jimin wasted no more time and got back to licking you, making out with your pussy, encompassing it entirely with his mouth, and the moment his lips closed around your clit to suck it, you lost it. It took you by surprise; the sensation usually begins with a slight tingle on your belly, and then it spreads to your fingers, but this time your whole body clenched as pleasure overtook you, his tongue continuing to press on your clit while he sucked to prolong your orgasm. You did not know what sounds came out of your mouth, as your ears seemed to be ringing, numb to sounds. You could barely murmur out a weak stop, but he ignored it – which also relieved you, you did not really want to stop–, choosing to insert a finger and then two into you, moving them in and out at first and then pressing them upwards, looking for the spot inside you that made you see stars. You were about to say you were too sensitive for him to continue when he found it, and as you moaned loudly you heard Namjoon say something to him, but you couldn’t understand what it was, but Jimin’s response was to increase the pressure of his fingers and let your clit go. You were confused for a second but you soon understood when you felt one of Namjoon’s hands moving down, his fingers then making quick movements on your clit, knowing it was what you needed to get you there fast again. This time you felt the sensation growing, a tingling on the tips of your fingers, your toes, as it grew and permeated your entire body again. You thought they would relent, and then you remembered what Namjoon had said. They did not get tired.

You lost count after the fifth orgasm, or so you thought it was the fifth; your voice was hoarse from moaning and your clit was so sensitive from all of the overstimulation, and they did not seem like they wanted to stop anytime soon. You could feel the tears that had escaped your eyes wetting your cheeks, and every once in a while, one of them would lick them away while the other continued his assault on your clit, the pleasure relentlessly taking over you again and again. You did not know anymore when one orgasm ended and the other began, the tingling sensation a constant on your entire body. And then, finally, they snapped their fingers again, releasing your body from the invisible restraints.

You could barely move, but they helped shift and turn your body until you were on your hands and knees, Namjoon’s body behind you. You heard the sound of a small foil packet being opened, and then he was pressing inside you, his cock stretching you even though they had used their fingers before. It was always a stretch, Namjoon going in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size before starting to thrust his hips into you. On his first thrust forward, you opened your mouth on a moan and Jimin took advantage of the opportunity to press his cock into your lips, holding your hair with one of his hands while the other was at the base of his cock, holding and moving it to go over your lips. You licked around his engorged head and then opened your mouth wider, taking him inside and sucking. You could barely keep your body upright, so soon your hands faltered, and you fell to your elbows, the dip in your spine changing the angle slightly and it had Namjoon pressing into that one spot that had you almost screaming. Jimin lowered his body, sitting down with his legs open to fit you between them, inclining his body backward, bending his elbows to have a good view of you, and it made it easier for you to suck him. His view was nice, your body bent forward, your ass being held by Namjoon’s hands while he pounded into you, but your view was not bad at all.

Jimin’s muscly thighs flexed each time he pressed his hips up, fucking into your mouth, his abs clenching, and his face… his face, dark black eyes half-closed, mouth open in a sly smile, licking his full lips still wet with your taste. You maintained eye contact while you sucked him, bobbing your head up and down, sucking hard when his head was about to leave your mouth, and when you went down, you let your tongue lick the underside. It was sloppy, saliva leaving your mouth, making him wetter and easier for your hand to help whatever did not fit your mouth. You were moaning around him, figuring he would like it as much as Namjoon did, and you were rewarded with high pitched moans from Jimin, his head now thrown back. On a hard suck downwards you felt his thighs clench and his release spill on your mouth at the same time Namjoon played with your clit, and you screamed and soon saw nothing else.

You did not know how long you were out, but when you came to your senses again you were lying on your front, covered by your blanket, and Jimin was nowhere in sight. You heard footsteps entering the room just when you raised your head and saw Namjoon with a cold bottle of water and pants on. He smiled tentatively at you, sitting by your side on the bed. He helped you sit, propped up against him, and you took the bottle from his hands, feeling thirsty.

“Hey,” his voice was almost shy, so different from before and from the usual Namjoon. Well, the Namjoon you thought you knew. “Are you ok?”

You nodded, smiling softly at him between sips. You looked around and then looked at him, the question clear in your eyes.

“Hm, Jimin’s gone now. He helped clean you up and left, we… we did not know if you wanted him here for the after. Or if at all. Or… if you still wanted me.”

It was strange, seeing this difference in him. Namjoon was so confident, especially in the bedroom, and after finding out the truth about him, you could not imagine he would ever be this timid.

“I still want you, Joon,” you could barely speak, but you wanted to reassure him, hugging him tightly. He needed you at this moment as much as you needed him. “I just have some questions, but I still love you.”

“I love you too, Y/n. And I’ll answer whatever you want.” He was eager to respond, his relief apparent in his voice.

“The first question is… can we have fun with Jimin again another time?”

398 notes · View notes

evolmaze · 3 years

Text

bts hyung line find/hear your confession

summary - hyung line finds or hears your confession

pairing - jin x reader, young x reader, hoseok x reader, namjoon x reader

genre - fluff, angst, comfort

word count - 3.1k words

warnings - some angst, otherwise pretty harmless!

a/n: parts for the maknae line will be out soon!

masterlist

JIN

You had spent weeks racking your brain for some sort of answer, for an explanation why you suddenly thought your friend and neighbor from down the hall was the only person for you. It had happened so quickly, you didn’t even realize. One night you’re watching a movie together, something you’ve done at least once a month, and the next thing you know your heart is racing at the idea of him being in the same room as you. You had no idea why you started to feel this way, but the instant you realized, you couldn’t stop yourself from constantly watching him, thinking of him, wondering what in the world you were gonna do.

You were currently on the phone with your best friend, complaining to her for the hundredth time about how rude it was that Jin thought it was perfectly normal to walk around the laundry room shirtless, “I mean come on f/n, he’s so hot it should be illegal. The man has the body of a god, and I as an innocent bystander should at least be given a warning before walking into it!”

“What do you mean ‘walked into it’?” she asked, amusement in her voice, and you groaned.

“I was doing laundry the other day, and I ran right into him as he was leaving the room, I dropped my clothes everywhere, and he totally saw my underwear and bras, but that’s not the point, the point is that he was shirtless, he was laughing at his clumsiness, and it was the hottest thing I had ever seen.”

It was at that moment that Jin had walked up to your door, preparing to ask you to borrow your hammer, when he heard your voice faintly through the wall.

“F/n, I don’t know what to do, I’ve literally never felt this way about someone before, and it’s not like I can even say anything, we barely know each other--yes I know we’ve hung out before, but everything feels different now, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll probably pass out the next time I see him, and if he’s not wearing a shirt again, oh my fucking god, plan my funeral please.”

Jin laughed quietly, deciding he could ask for the hammer later, he had other plans to attend to, like making sure to ask you about this supposed incident the next time he was in the laundry room; shirt conveniently off for your viewing pleasure.

YOONGI

“Hey I have a question,” Yoongi mused, turning down the radio. You and Yoongi were on your way to a cabin up north, planning to meet some friends there for a fun weekend getaway. You’d been on the road for almost two hours now, and he had decided that it was time to break the silence that had settled between the two of you.

“Yeah what’s up?” you asked, closing your book, and setting it in your bag. You waited as he beat his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel.

“Who’s Voldemort?” you froze in your seat, and turned to him slowly, gauging his expression. How the hell did he know about that?

“Why do you ask?” you said slowly, thankful for your sunglasses that hid your panicked expression.

“When you asked me to grab your bag from your room, there was an envelope addressed to ‘Voldemort’sitting on it. Do you have a pen pal or something?”

No, no you did not have a pen pal. Stupidly, you had written your feelings to Yoongi out on paper, an ode to all the boys i’ve loved before. You planned to store it away forever, never to be read again, in hopes of riding this stupid crush from your heart. All you wanted was peace, and the ability to hang with him without the looming cloud of love stalling over your head, but you must have forgotten to put it away before you left.

“Uh, no, no it’s not that,” you muttered, trying you best to sound nonchalant. “Just a letter I was writing to someone, probably won’t send it though.”

“Their name isn’t actually Voldemort, is it?”

You laughed, “No it’s not. It’s a pseudonym, my friends and I used it all the time to talk about boys we liked in middle school.”

Yoongi sat in silence for a second, and you hoped that that was the end of the conversation. “Do you like this Voldemort?”

You paled, and cleared your throat. “Uh, I don’t know, it’s complicated. I’m trying to get over them, so it’s probably best to not talk about it.”

Yoongi nodded, and didn’t say much for a while, and you assumed that was the end of it, thank god. The drive went on in silence, and you calmed down a bit, mentally cheering for evading a disastrous situation. You even talked with Yoongi about other topics like the weekends upcoming events, and how excited you were to try this new soju flavor. It was nice, peaceful, and definitely less stressful then the previous conversation. That was until you both started talking about college and first impressions. You had been explaining your thoughts on your other friends Namjoon and Lia when he stopped you.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, “Didn’t you and Lia have nicknames for everyone?”

“Yeah, we made up nicknames for everyone based on Harry Potter characters...” you said, trailing off on the end as you connected the dots.

“Yeah!” Yoongi exclaimed, oblivious. “Like yours was Ginny, Joon’s was Lupin, mine was..” he paused, looking over at you suspiciously. “Mine was Voldemordt, right?”

You shook your head, “Noooo, yours was something else I think.”

“Hmm, no I’m pretty sure it was Voldemordt,” he said. “Cause you and Lia always joked about how I was pale just like him,” You didn’t say anything in response, instead finding the dirt under your nails way more interesting.

“Y/n...” he called, pulling you from your thoughts. You didn’t look at him, too embarrassed to talk about it. “Hey, it’s fine, seriously.”

“Ah, can we please not talk about it,” you whined, putting your head in your hands. This was so awkward. You had written a middle school crush letter to the man sitting right next to you, and you still had to spend the whole weekend and ride back with him, great.

“Okay,” he said simply, tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel again. “I guess I’ll just have to wait to read it.”

“Oh no way, you’re not reading it!” you yelled, facing him as adrenaline raced through your veins. “I’m burning it the second we get back.”

“But why? I wanna hear all the nice things you said about me, you never compliment me in person.”

“Shut up,” you said, a blush blossoming on your cheeks. He laughed, lightly swatting your knee.

“So mean,” he teased. He lifted his hand to pull your hand from your face. You looked up, surprised by his action. He was never one for skinship, especially with you. “You know I’m joking, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah, no, I do, no worries, it’s fine”

“Good,” he said simply, bringing his hand back down the arm rest, except he hadn’t let go of your hand, so yours followed suit, held in his grasp. You stared intently at your intertwined hands, and then looked at him, confused. He was staring straight ahead, but you could see the smile forming on his face, and the red hue on his cheeks as well. Looks like you weren’t the only one with a secret.

HOSEOK

Hey y/n! Do you have a copy of the notes from last class that I can borrow?

You smiled at your phone, Hoseok had definitely slept through class again this week, and as always, you were more than willing to share notes, any excuse to talk to him, right?

Yeah for sure! Give me one sec and I’ll send you a link to my notes

You had always preferred to take notes on your computer, you could type way faster than you could write, so in fast-paced lectures it just made sense. You found the document within a folder the two of you shared information. With Hoseok consistently sleeping through one class every other week, and you having such detailed notes, it made much more sense to just put all your notes in a folder he could access. You found the latest document with your notes, and quickly shared it with him.

Just sent it now, it’s in the folder with all the other ones in case you need them too! Let me know if you have any questions!

Sounds great, thank youuuuu!!!

You grinned at his response before going back to your studying. He usually had questions, so you were a little surprised when he never texted you back. You figured maybe he understood it better than you, and made a mental note to ask him some questions next time you saw him. You went about the rest of your day, finishing up your homework, getting your laundry washed and put away, and four hours later, still no word from Hoseok.

“So weird,” you mumbled to yourself as you grabbed your keys. You had talked about meeting him for dinner tonight, so you wondered if he was still up for it.

Hey are you still up for dinner tonight? Hope studying is going well!

After 10 minutes, and no response, you grew worried and annoyed, so you decided to just walk over to his place yourself. The walk was short, you jammed the whole way, wondering what you’d get tonight, and hoping that your professor would put out grades soon. Walking into the dorm, you passed a number of doors before standing outside Hoseok’s.

You knocked three times, and waited patiently for him to answer. The door creaked open slowly, and you watched as his head appeared in the crack. He stared at you and said nothing.

You cleared your throat, “Uh, hey. I texted, but you didn’t answer, are you still down for dinner tonight?” He said nothing still, and you sighed. “It’s fine if you’re busy, I can go. Text me next time you’re free to hang.” You didn’t mean to sound annoyed, but you were hurt, confused why he was acting this way all of the sudden, especially with no explanation. Waving goodbye, you turned on your heel and walked down the hallway. You made it about three steps before he called out your name.

“Y/n, wait, I’m sorry.” turning around, confused, you saw him open the door. “Please come in.” He gave you a half smile, and you sighed, ignoring the smile that sat on your face as you entered his dorm. It was dark, his blinds were drawn, and it looked like a hurricane had come through here, which was odd since he was usually so clean.

“Hey what happened here? Everything okay?” you asked, worried, when you turned to face him he was standing by his desk, computer in hand.

“I--I, um, need you to read this,” he said, handing you his computer. You raised an eyebrow, and turned the computer around. As your eyes adjusted to the bright screen in the otherwise dark room, your heart dropped into your stomach.

It was about a week ago when you wrote a letter to Hoseok. It was 2 in the morning, you were so tired, but you couldn’t sleep, the whirlwind of thoughts running through your mind were too much to handle, so you wrote them all down. Wrote down everything you wanted to say, and closed your computer, never intending to read it again. What you had failed to notice that night was that you created the document inside a folder, the very folder you shared with the man in front of you. You had carelessly titled the document to hoseok so it’s no surprise that he clicked on it, he probably thought it was a funny message to him, but instead he got a look right inside your heart.

You looked up to see him already watching you closely. He looked pained, confused, and most of all angry. “Why would you say those things?”

“I, I, uh--” you paused, you knew at the time it was wrong to write them. He had a girlfriend, they’ve been together for almost a year, and they were so happy together, and you had no problem with that. You loved Julia, and had even introduced the two, but you also couldn’t help how you felt, you had no intention of him ever reading this, you felt awful. “I swear, I didn't realize this was in here, Hoseok I’m so sorry.”

“But you wrote it, and put it in this folder, you must have known I would have seen it at some point.” he protested, coming closer to you.

“I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose, I opened it in the wrong folder, I, oh my god, Hoseok I swear to god I never wanted you to read that.” you said, tears filling your eyes. You had jeopardized everything with your carelessness. He took the computer from your hands and set it on the desk. You couldn’t look him in the eyes as he sat next to you on his bed.

“I believe you,” he said quietly, and you nodded. “I’m sorry there’s not more I can say.”

You shook your head, “Why are you apologizing, it’s not your fault. I was the one who put it in the wrong folder. At least the worst part is over though,” you laughed weakly at the statement, the worst was far from over, but at least you could stop staying up at night wondering what he thought about you. “I’m sorry that you’re in such a weird position, I promise that I’m working on it, I’ve been trying to get over it.”

“You don’t have to apologize for what you feel, y/n.” he said, standing up in front of you. “This is nobody’s fault, let’s go get dinner and talk it out, yeah?”

You smiled at his attempt to smooth things over, you agreed, but a part of you wondered as you walked out the door how long it would last before you grew distant and never spoke again. For now, you’d cherish these last few memories with him, and always remember the times before it.

NAMJOON

“Just say it,”

“No!”

“Why not?!”

“Cause I already told you no!” you sighed in annoyance, flipping through another page in the magazine you were currently reading, or trying to read at least, until Namjoon showed up and rudely interrupted you.

“Come on, y’n, I need to practice!” you laughed at him, practice? What in the world was he thinking?

“You’re not seriously saying you want to practice this,” you said, setting down the magazine and facing him. He looked at you, and you realized he was serious. “Ugh, fine.”

He grinned, happy that he had finally convinced you to help him out. All of this started about a week ago when Namjoon caught wind that a girl in his bio class had a crush on him, the man absolutely lost it, so flustered and confused, he didn’t know what to do. You felt like you were watching a cheesy romantic comedy with the way he came to you, pacing back and forth in your living room. He was totally clueless, had no idea what to do, and came to you for help. You had been around the block a time or two when it came to dealing with situations like this, so it was no surprise that he wanted your expertise on how to politely reject someone.

It wasn’t that the girl in Namjoon’s bio class was awful or anything like that, it was the fact that Namjoon barely had time to live his own life, let alone make room for someone else. You were lucky if you spoke to him once a week, you practically had a heart attack when he showed up today. He explained to you the rumor he had heard, and how he had also heard that she was going to confess after their next class together. All of that combined was enough to stress the man into oblivion, so he desperately asked for your help.

“y/n thank you so much, I just don’t want to hurt her feelings, you know?”

“You’re literally the nicest person I know, there’s no way she would leave feeling anything but mildly sad, knowing you, you'd probably offer to pay for her bus fare home.” The look on his face had you laughing as it looked as though he was seriously considering it. “I’m kidding, Joon. Don’t do that.”

“What?” he said, “I definitely wasn’t gonna do that.”

You smirked at his obvious lie, “Whatever, let’s get this over with.” Taking a breath, you tried to get into character: a biology girl who likes Namjoon. “Hey Namjoon,” you said, trying to sound flirty and leaned casually on the side of the couch.

“Hey, y/n-”

“Don’t use my name,” you laughed, “use her name.”

“Oh okay,” he said, and he took a breath before looking into your eyes, “Hey, Emily. What’s up?”

“Nothing much, I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about,” you said, getting up from the couch, and walking over to where he stood by the kitchen island.

“Oh what’s that?” he asked, moving away from you just a bit. Your act must have been spot on, you smirked.

“I have feelings for you, Joon.” you said, trying to sound nervous and excited, however the hell someone sounded when they admitted their feelings. You were never one to discuss such personal topics, probably the reason why you were single at 23, but whatever, you liked it that way. Poor Namjoon looked terrified, and you’d take being single over being the cause of a situation like this any day.

“Oh,” he said simply, and you raised your eyebrows at him. “I-oh, I’m sorry, y/n--Emily, I’m way too busy for a relationship right now, I’m sorry.”

You grinned at his attempt, it was weak, but you’d work on it. By the end of the night, he’d be confident and sound sure of his feelings, you could feel it.

“Okay,” you said, patting his shoulder. “That was good, but next time sound more sure of yourself, your reasons are perfectly valid, and if she’s as nice as you say she is, I’m sure she’ll understand. Again.”

#bts imagines #bts fluff friends to lovers #bts fluff imagines #bts #bts hyung line #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #jhope #jin #yoongi #namjoon #jin imagines #yoongi imagines #rm #namjoon imagines #jhope imagines

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hopespeak-hs-hostclub · 3 years

Text

Dirty Little Secret- NSFW Yasuhiro Hagakure One Shot

TW:// NSFW! 18+ ONLY.

Word Count: 1,510

One shot and request below cut!

Can you write a oneshot featuring Yasuhiro Hagakure practicing self bondage please? you can decide how he'd tie himself and what toys he'd use. But I'd like it if he was butt naked, his mouth covered by a multilayered cloth gag, was orgasming non stop, and he was unable to escape his bonds. I guess I'd like this to take place before the Tragedy when everyone was living normally. What if he did this in a closet in an empty classroom at Hope's Peak. He do it thinking that no one would be there. So he gets stuck in bondage and hears some of his classmates of your choosing enter the room. They wouldn't discover him but it does put him in a panic as he tries desperately to stay quiet and not orgasm.

Hopes Peak. A school that traditionally doesn’t care if the students actually attend class, or even learn for that matter, but actually encourage the students to “practice their talent” rather than get an education. Yasuhiro Hagakure is no exception that that by any means. His favorite times of the day are the classes he skips. He loves just sitting in the dining hall, goofing off, scamming reading his friend’s fortunes. But today was a little different. Hiro skipped his first class, like always. He just couldn’t be bothered, because why learn when you can just hang, right? But Hiro, although older than most of his classmates, is still a young guy. He has hormones and gets horny. And every once in a while it happens at school. Could be because of a girl he saw, or, like today, a video he watched in an empty class room. But Hiro kind of planned for this. He typically gets himself off at home- before class. It’s why he’s late so often. But another thing about Yasuhiro is that he loves his mom. So of course, when his mom tells him she wants to have breakfast with him, and drive him to school, he eagerly agreed. Which means he didn’t have any time to himself in the morning, which in turn meant he knew he’d have to take care of it during one of his skipped classes. So he grabbed what he knew he’d need and shoved it in his pockets and backpack as he headed out the door this morning. And that’s where Hiro’s at now. He sat in an empty classroom by himself, in the back. He just watched the hottest video he’s ever seen, and he had to do something about it now. Luckily, the classroom he was in wasn’t an active one. Nobody’s taught, or participated in a class in that room in years, and Hiro knew he would be alone completely… but just to be safe he decided Hiro had to lock himself in the classrooms supply closet. You never know who might wander in or why, and Hiro had to be sure.

Once Hiro had made his way into the closet and locked the door up, he knew he was completely safe from being caught, so he made a risky choice. Hiro quickly dumped the contents of his pockets and bag revealing a rope, some handcuffs, a new toy he’d just purchased over the weekend that he’s been eager to play with, and a handful of cloth gags that he layered over one another, inside and covering his mouth completely, leaving him biting a few, and a few others to muffle himself out. Yasuhiro knew he couldn’t risk getting caught, even though he knew the chances of somebody coming into that classroom were incredibly unlikely, and let’s face it he’s right at least 30% of the time, he knew he has to be careful. Hiro decided to start with, since he planned on tying his hands up somehow, he needed to start by putting the new toy into action. Hiro had recently purchased a two in one toy. It’s a vibrating cock ring, that has a butt plug on the backside. So, as Hiro gently slides the cock ring part over his already hard dick, the other half of the toy goes right up his ass. “Mm.. fck..” he mumbled through the layers of mask, very muffled and quiet. The next step was to remove the rest of his clothing, leaving him totally exposed. He had decided the best position to put himself in was with his wrist tied around the legs of the tall shelf in the closet. He brought the cuffs as well, but was incredibly nervous about not being able to undo those, so he just placed those above his head on the shelf for now.

Now with everything in place and ready, Hiro was ready.

He had positioned the remote to the vibrating ring in a way that he could easily press it behind his back with his hands tied, and once he did he was ready to go.

Hiro quickly gets incredibly hard, with the cock ring buzzing around the base of his now fully erect cock, and the plug part shoved straight up his ass, hitting his prostate perfectly. He decided to leave one hand completely free, so he could play with himself, and he did just that. Hiro immediately started pumping his dick, with such force that he’s lucky he had the gags, or he’d have been screaming otherwise. “Hmmm… fffuck…” hiro muttered under the mask, barely audible. He lifted himself off the floor just a little, before slamming back down onto it, making the plug ram into his prostrate with a lot of force and power. “NNNNNG!” Hiro cried out, in pleasure. With just a few more tugs to his dick, he thrust up into his hands one more time and immediately started cumming, even though it’s only been 5 minutes. The pleasure just became too much, and he’d came all over his chest and hands. He started panting heavily. “Hnmmm…” he whimpered in bliss. But he didn’t have any time to recover, as his dick was still rock hard, and the plug on his prostrate was making him feel like he could orgasm again at any given moment. Hiro had began to lightly play with himself, making him orgasm and cum all over himself once again. “Ahh! Hnnng!!” He cried out as he came everywhere. This repeated a few more times. He couldn’t stop himself from cumming, he felt so amazing.

In total, Hiro came 5 times by now. He was so sensitive, over stimulated, and almost sore but he couldn’t stop. It felt so good. He decided to stop touching himself for a second and just let the vibrator and butt plug do their thing, but as he did that he heard a noise. A click? Then he heard his greatest fear.

“Makoto, thank you for helping me with the homework today. Are you sure this class room isn’t being used?” Asahina asked, assumingely Makoto.

“Well of course! I don’t mind at all Asahina! And no, there haven’t been any classes held in here all year!”

“God this is a nightmare” Hiro whimpered in his head. He felt so fucking good right now, but he should’ve known better. Not only is he totally naked and can’t stop cumming, but his friends are literally right outside the door. He knows he can’t get caught, but he can’t stop. Without even meaning to he cums again and has to literally bite the gag and his tongue to keep himself from screaming out. He wants to stop but it feels too good.

20 more minutes pass, and Hiro’s sweaty, absolutely covered in his cum, with tears running down his face from trying so hard not to make a single noise, when he hears the best thing he’s ever heard.

“Okay! Thanks Makoto! You’re really the best!” Hina said joyfully.

“Don’t even worry about it Hina! That’s what I’m here for!” Makoto responded.

“Ffnk god..” hiro mumbled to himself as he heard their voices get further away. At this point he was so worn out he had to stop, but couldn’t risk getting caught so he had to wait a little while longer.

Exhausted and overwhelmed Hiro took everything off, quickly put his clothes back onto his filthy body, shoved all his toys and Ropes back into his bag and pockets, and ran to the shower room to clean up. As he was leaving the room and walking down the hallway, he passed Makoto who was headed back to the empty room. “Oh, hey Hiro! Where have you been today?” Makoto asked innocently.

“Oh.. uh.. just, catching up on some school work.. I just.. I gotta go though, sorry,” he said in a panic, still out of breathe as he ran the opposite direction.

After Yasuhiro had showered and cleaned himself off to the best of his ability he decided it was best to try and join his classmates for the remainder of the day to attempt to blend in. The whole day went normal and fine, until Makoto walked up to Hiro and pulled him to the side.

“Hey, uh, Hiro, after I saw you in the hallway before? I had to run to an empty classroom to grab a spare notebook for a project. And I .. found this,” Makoto said awkwardly not looking Hiro in the eyes. “You don’t have to say anything, but I’m almost certain they’re yours..” he dropped a pair of handcuffs into Hiro’s hands. “They were just sitting on the shelf..”

A panicked Hiro just laughed and said “okay Makoto! I understand. I’ll use my powers to find the owner and return them as soon as I can!” But on the inside he was dying.

He quickly turned away from Makoto shoved the cuffs in his pocket, and ran out of the room heading home. At least he never officially got caught though.. right?

#danganronpa #danganronpa smut #thh smut #trigger happy havoc smut #trigger happy havoc #Yasuhiro hagakure #hagakure #Yasuhiro #hiro hagakure #hiro smut #Yasuhiro smut #danganronpa hiro #danganronpa Yasuhiro #danganronpa hagakure #hagakure smut #hiro lemon #danganronpa lemon #thh lemon

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muertawrites · 3 years

Text

Fireside (Zuko x Reader)

Word Count: 1,775

Author’s Note: I am so deeply sorry this took so long to post. I don’t know what happened but after Thanksgiving the creative part of my brain completely shut down and all I could do was lay in bed and play video games. But it’s back now so 🎉🎉🎉 happy new year to all of us!

I got this request a WHILE ago and had written something else for it but after reconsidering, I totally hated it, so this is the rewrite for some cozy, wintery goodness. I also love this idea because I’m constantly cold - my feet and hands are always freezing and even in summer I’ll wear sweaters and hoodies because aircon can get pretty chilly when you have the body temp of your average vampire.

Now for a little update: in the new year, I’ll be focusing more on original works than fanfiction. I’m still going to finish Two Halves, and I’ll still write fanfiction (because it’s still super fun) but I have so many ideas for original works that are taking over my brain that it seems only fitting to shift that direction. If you’re on my subscriber list and would like to only receive alerts for fanfic, let me know and I’ll add you to a separate list.

I hope you’re all having a wonderful holiday, taking time to relax and spend time with loved ones, and generally just glad to have survived this shithole of a year. Here’s hoping that 2021 goes better - 2020 set the bar pretty low so it shouldn’t be too hard. 🥂

Snow was a rare occurrence in the Fire Nation. Summers typically scorched, followed by peaceful autumns and mild winters; a little rainfall was all one typically expected during the colder months in the Imperial City.

This year, however, was much different. The mountains that bordered the villages and towns throughout the island were white capped under gray skies; streets were slickened by thick layers of ice that settled between cobblestones and creased the panes of windows; bracing breezes swept through landscapes unaccustomed to such unforgiving weather, carrying flurries of snow that bit at cheeks and cloaked the world in a dull ivory veil. Winter came to the Fire Nation seeking a cruel, unwarranted vengeance.

You woke in the middle of the night to find the fire beside your bed had died, leaving your borrowed room in a state of bitter, slicing cold. It wasn't the first time the Firelord’s palace had left you uncomfortably chilled since your arrival for his New Year’s celebrations, as the building was never meant to withstand this type of climate - sweeping ceilings, open breezeways, and tall windows with thin shutters ensured that the cold had its way. Being from the Northern Earth Kingdom, used to sturdy wooden lodges with massive fire pits that could burn an entire tree trunk with one lighting, this strange change of the typical season made you ache for home.

Knowing there were no matches beside the hearth (given the sheer amount of fire benders that resided in the palace), you gathered up your courage and begrudgingly rolled from your mattress, taking the blankets with and wrapping them tightly around yourself. The walls around you creaked, shifting under the push of moaning winds, as you slipped into the hallway in search of your host.

You were thankful that Zuko decided to keep his personal wing of the palace confined to a space that was mostly enclosed; the only breezeways in this part of the sprawling estate surrounded its courtyards and gardens, and were blocked by sets of heavy wood doors that shielded the inner parts of the building from being overcome by the elements. As you walked, traipsing through the corridor under your mound of blankets like some sort of shadowy, death-bringing phantom, you passed one of the windows that overlooked the gardens, and found it frosted under heavy white tufts of snow; puffy, clumped flakes whirled down from the sky, falling haphazardly as they escaped the grip of the whipping wind. Even in the relative warmth of the palace, your body shivered thinking of how frigid the air outside must be.

Because of the abnormal cold, Zuko moved his mattress out of his bedroom and into his sitting room, where a large, decorative fireplace stood nestled into the far wall. You approached his sleeping form with gentle, quiet steps, being careful not to startle him; you lay a hand on his shoulder and he jolted awake, drawing a sharp breath in as he twisted to face you, blinking blearily to make out your features in the dark.

“What are you doing?” he muttered.

“I'm cold,” you whispered in response. “My fire went out.”

Zuko sighed, fixing you with an irked, exhausted expression.

“Seriously?” he groaned. “This is the third time this week.”

“It's not my fault nobody has any friggin matches in this place,” you quipped. “And besides, why bring a servant all the way up here when I have one of the world’s greatest fire benders down the hall?”

Zuko huffed, then rolled back over in an attempt to shove you off.

“There should be more blankets in your closet,” he grumbled.

“I'm wearing all of them,” you retorted.

You stood above him, waiting, but got no response. Shivering, and with an exasperated sigh, you pulled back the blankets around him, shuffling between them and nestling into his back; he snapped his head around once more, eyeing you suspiciously.

“... Isn’t this a little uncomfortable?” he wondered.

“Not really,” you replied. “We used to do this all the time when we were teenagers.”

“We haven't done this since we were teenagers.”

You hummed, recalling your time together during the war. Even on the hottest days, your body was cold, your fingers always reasonably corpselike to anyone who happened to touch them - Zuko was one of those unfortunate people, and the lack of circulation in your limbs came as quite a worry to him. Throughout the day, he would take one of your hands in his, heating his palm until your skin took on a more lively temperature. When he noticed how much you layered at night when the air became cooler, he started sleeping nearer to you, eventually curling up around you to keep you warm. After the war, when he got into the habit of visiting you around the winter holidays, you still found yourself seeking him for warmth, tucking your hands into the sleeves of his robes or curling his palm around your icy fingers, finding sanctuary in the way he heated his skin to appease you. While it was true you hadn't slept together since you were younger, you hadn't ever needed to - desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I should have remembered that you get so grumpy when you're tired,” you teased him, rubbing your feet against his; he hissed, but didn't pull away.

“You're freezing,” he commented. “I should have remembered you're dead on the inside.”

You giggled, sighing happily as the familiar heat of his skin warming like a furnace chased the chill from your toes. You slid your feet up along his ankles, causing him to shiver; his body tensed for a moment, then eased into your touch, quickly finding comfort in its familiarity.

“Aang used to assume we were a couple because of this,” Zuko mumbled. “He still does.”

“You're just a good friend,” you replied. You nuzzled your face into the broad, solid expanse of his back, breathing in his scent of scorched wood and sea salt. He felt like home. “Good friends don't let their friends freeze to death.”

Zuko chuckled, taking hold of your hands that lay on his waist and cupping them within his own; he held your knuckles up to his mouth and huffed warm, smokey air onto them, heating them until they no longer felt cold. He tucked them beneath the fabric of his tunic, keeping them tepid between the fabric of his undershirt.

“Uncle says the same thing,” he mused. “He says we treat each other like lovers, whether we realize it or not.”

“My neighbors have asked me what my husband does that takes him away for so long out of the year...” you commented, eliciting another breathy laugh from your companion. “But I think I'd know if you were in love with me.”

Zuko rolled over, turning to face you; his arm latched at your waist, his chest almost pressed to you and your noses grazing each other in the small space of his mattress. You blushed, the color blending with the soft, balmy glow of the low hearth behind him.

“What makes you think I'm not in love with you?” he wondered.

You paused, watching the flames flicker over the angular features of his face. Though he was silhouetted, and so close he seemed to envelop all of you, you could make out a tender gleam in his eye; could feel the flutter in his chest as he split it open, tentatively revealing his heart to you.

“... I'd like to think you would have mentioned it,” you answered after a moment, “but I know you better than that.”

Zuko grinned; you watched the curve of his cheek as it swelled with the action.

“I might have mentioned it,” he murmured, his voice lilting with a gentle mirth. “Just not to you.”

“Of course not,” you teased. You mirrored his smile, easing into him as his foot began to stroke against your ankle once more. “Either way, I know you don't love me.”

“And why is that?” Zuko whispered.

“Well… you never write to me about anything exciting,” you replied. “You always seem so content to write to me about your thoughts, or what plays you've seen recently, or your conversations with Iroh. You never tell me about the impressive, world-altering Firelord stuff or your incredible exploits as a warrior.”

Zuko smirked, raising a hand to brush some hair away from your face. His fingers were calloused and lukewarm, tracing over your temple with consideration and care.

“Why else?”

“You've never tried to kiss me,” you noted, “or touch me like a lover. You never try to push our boundaries past anything that's comfortable for us. Even right now - I'm laying in your bed, but you refuse to touch me in a way you're unsure of.”

“Then you don't love me, either,” Zuko added. His body had gravitated flush to yours, your legs braided together under the pile of blankets you'd buried him in. “You only want to sleep with me when you're cold. You could just as easily call a servant for help.”

“And you only want to keep me warm out of obligation,” you agreed. “It wouldn’t make you look very good if I died of hypothermia on your watch.”

For a long moment, Zuko gazed at you. You basked in his silence, the easiness of his form so close to yours, the native feeling of his arm around your waist and his breath tickling your cheeks. The fire snapped quietly in its hearth, its flames rising and falling in time with his inhales and exhales.

“I’ve missed this,” Zuko admitted in a whisper. “Laying with you. I wish we could do it more often.”

“I’ve missed it, too,” you affirm. “I always used to sleep better with you.”

“And that’s it?” Zuko teased.

“That’s it,” you giggled back.

He chanced a kiss to your forehead, pressing his lips between your brows and letting them linger there, savoring the coolness of your skin. You shut your eyes, giving yourself entirely to his touch.

“In the new year… do you think we could be lovers?” he asked as he pulled away.

“... I think your uncle is right,” you murmured. “I think we already are.”

With a faint, bashful smile, Zuko pulled you closer (if the act were even possible), hugging you tightly to him; you held him close, pressing the whole of your body to his and soaking in his steady, comforting warmth. As the wind howled outside, shaking the flimsy wooden eaves of the feeble shelter around you, you fell asleep in the heat of his fireside, safe in the knowledge that his arms held you.

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himaboroshi736 · 3 years

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IronDad fic recs

Here. I’m a french reader, but I’ve read A LOT (like...a lot) of IronDad, so, eventually, here my fic rec. (I tried to class it by categories, but well...) (it’s gonna be very long, guys)

Peter Parker has anxiety

Don’t let me get me, by hopeless_hope

He picks up his phone and sends a quick text. "hey, happy! i’m not feeling too hot today, so i think i’m gonna have to cancel. tell mr. stark i’m sorry!"

He stares at his phone, waiting for a response. It never comes, and Peter sighs sadly. There was a part of him, a small part, that really hoped he was wrong. His insides burn, and he curls up tighter into a ball and turns off his phone.

(No one’s going to try to contact him anyway.)

Anxiety has a way of convincing Peter that everyone hates him. Tony has a way of proving him wrong.

Midnight Oil, by @jolinarjackson

After everything that has happened to Peter over the last year - or five, really - he shouldn’t be worried about something as mundane as the ACT. When he fails it, though it sends him into a spiral of self-doubt, which only gets worse when Peter realizes that he doesn’t seem to be able to fix whatever is broken.

Tony Stark has anxiety

do you even remember what the world looks like ?, by @iron--spider

Tony’s heart has been working on overdrive since this whole thing started. Friday has a countdown clock plastered on the heads up display, but it feels like hieroglyphics to him at this point, like some ancient language he could never master.

Because when Peter Parker is missing, things start losing their meaning real quick.

“Should be around here,” Rhodey says on the com. May is still on the other line, listening in, because once a certain amount of time goes by without word from Peter, things move into Extremely Worried Aunt territory. They’re already in Tony Is Panicking territory, and when both of those territories overlap it’s never a good time for anybody.

Time? What the hell is time? His mind is blanking numbers out entirely. Minutes are seconds are hours are years.

not like megatron, by @iron--spider

“Hi! This is Peter Parker, I can’t get to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll call you back later! Hopefully not too much later, but don’t get your hopes up!”

Tony knows that message by heart. He’s heard it hundreds of times, in a greyer world, and it sends shivers down his spine as he climbs into the car.

He doesn’t think about that place. That half-world. No way, that’s done, that’s over, that’s history.

“Hey, kid, don’t you know it’s bad etiquette to go and disappear on your birthday? Not allowed, really, really bad vibes from the universe. What’s going on with your suit? I wasn’t watching. Nope. Just got an alert. What’s going on? Uh, call me back.” He clears his throat and hangs up like a moron, driving out into the street.

Hypothermia trope (i really like it so if you have any suggestions...)

i knock the ice from my bones, by hopeless_hope

Peter tries to move his legs through the water, dread filling him when they don’t move, and he just hangs there, doing anything and everything he can not to focus on the feeling of ice clinging to his bones. He feels sluggish, the world blurring around him, and he rests his head on the ice, not even registering the cold anymore.

He’s just so damn tired.

“PETER!” he hears someone yell, but it’s all muffled, and he lazily drags his eyes up to see a figure descending towards him.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thinks, This is not how my vacation was supposed to go.

While on what's supposed to be a relaxing vacation with the Starks, things for Peter quickly go south, and he finds himself on thin ice. Literally.

Ice Ice Baby, by @wolfypuppypiles

If Tony, Bucky or pretty much anybody that knew Peter had seen him that morning they would have smacked him upside the head. Helping people was great, everyone should give it a go, but when helping people puts you in danger it’s not so smart anymore.

AKA Peter can't get from Avenger tower to the subway without giving his winter clothes to homeless people and ends up with a severe case of hypothermia

Candle in the Window, by @madasthesea

Finals are over and Peter just wants to go home. The weather has other ideas.

Burn This Out, by @ephemeralstark

It's summer and Peter is free to be Spider-Man all day which is great, but it's summer and Peter is out as Spider-Man on the hottest day of the year which is not great.

Or, Peter gets heat stroke because he can't thermoregulate and things could not go worse for him.

(yeah, it’s not an hypothermia, but it’s linked to the fact that Peter can’t actually thermoregulate)

Post-Endgame (really like this trope too lmao)

the first birthday after, by iron_spider

(Endgame spoilers. But The Thing doesn't happen.)

The rain falls harder and Tony turns, his neck creaking and cracking, and he sees Peter asleep over by the window. He’s holding a small, flat box, and he’s slowly slipping to the right side of the easy chair he’s in.

Tony thinks about letting him sleep, but he finds himself speaking anyway. “Pete,” he says, his voice rough and raspy.

Peter immediately startles awake. “Happy Birthday,” he says, almost like he’d fallen asleep practicing it, planning to say it as soon as he woke up. He blinks at Tony, shivering a little bit, and then he smiles. “Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday.”

Tony snorts, smiling back. “Thanks, bud,” he says.

Second Best, by Rowan_M

Tony had adjusted to parenthood quickly when Morgan came along, and was always conscious of making sure Peter isn't left out ... Almost always. When Peter gets hurt while taking care of Morgan, Tony obsess over his daughter and takes his anger out on Peter, without even checking to see if he was okay. Steve finds Peter later that night in serious pain and in need of immediate medical attention.

Or, Peter gets hurt while taking care of Morgan and Tony basically ignores him.

when you’re feeling empty keep me in your memory, by JkWriter

after everything with thanos he forgets it's his birthday. he just assumed everyone else did too.

All For You, by @ironxprince

Three weeks after the snap that saved the world, Peter learns he was the reason behind it. He learns that Tony risked death, and now has to live with the ramifications, both physical and mental, all because of him.

This doesn't sit right with him.

you save everybody, but who saves you ?, by @iron--spider

Tony doesn’t sleep, because he can’t, because too many things are plaguing him, most of all where Peter is and what he’s doing. Tony has a good view of the hallway through the windows to his room, and he stares and stares until his eyes cross, until he hallucinates, until he knows he’s going insane.

He sees Peter sneaking into the med bay at about four in the morning.

The kid’s mask is off and he’s got two short, harsh slashes across his cheek, and he’s bleeding from a slice across his neck. His suit is ripped in a few places and he’s holding onto his middle, and Tony can see his hands are shaking.

It’s like something splinters in Tony’s already broken brain, like his world narrows and there are hazy edges, both weakness and strength entwining in his veins when he sees Peter struggle up onto one of the beds in the main atrium, starting to tend his wounds without calling anybody to help.

BAMF Peter Parker

Pizza, a Movie, and... an Attempted Kidnapping ?, by Pogokitten

“Tony. We’ll be fine,” Peter tells the man for what must be the tenth time in the last half hour.

Peter’s sitting on the couch of his and May’s apartment and building Legos with Morgan as they both watch their father’s methodical, yet anxious, pacing. He’s dressed to impress, as is Pepper who is watching the scene slightly exasperated.

“Are you sure? We can ditch the gala, kid. Just say the word,” Tony offers, halting in front of his kids.

Or: Tony and Pepper leave Peter in charge of Morgan while they go to their first gala since the third snap. Peter is expecting a calm night in with his adopted sister, but some thugs throw a wrench in his plans.

he’s good like that, by @iron--spider

“Get the hell outta here, boy,” the man says. “Or you’re gonna watch your boss die in front of you.” Then he grabs Tony by the shoulders hard, and shoves him down to his knees. The gun is louder now, like it’s filled with words that are eager to be shouted, and Tony winces when he feels the barrel press against the back of his neck. His knees weren’t ready to hit the ground that hard, and he tries to keep the pain from reaching his face.

He must fail, because Peter looks pissed.

“You’re not gonna shoot him, mister,” Peter says, somehow still trying to maintain a respectful tone, despite the clear anger written all over him.

stark robotics and technology conference, by @iron--spider

Peter leans against the wall while Tony chooses their floor, and the doors close. “Do you, uh, want me to do some interning stuff? Like go and get you coffee? Make sure the, uh—programs are all ready? Make sure the paintings are straight in the ballroom? Make sure the chairs are—”

Tony snorts. “Kid, I just thought you’d enjoy this. May told me about when it came through Queens but you two couldn’t make it because she was working and didn’t want you to go alone, and I thought, after all the shit you’ve been through lately, that you deserved something fun. No interning for you. That’s just an excuse.”

Peter remembers that. It was six months after Ben died, and he wasn’t gonna bother May too much about the conference. He didn’t know how much tickets cost anyways, or if kids his age could even go.

He really hung onto the idea of Iron Man after Ben died. Peter held him closer than ever.

Peter and Tony fighting

dinner and a jailbreak, by killerqueenwrites

“I’m not your kid!” Peter shouts.

“Don’t walk away from me, I’m not done–“

“You’re not my dad!”

Peter fitting in after the Blip isn't as easy as Tony hoped it would be. He wants his kid back, but they can't seem to stop fighting.

and then Peter goes missing.

my old man, by parkrstark

"I just want to help you. I want to help you understand what's wrong here and how to stop it. I used to be the same way until my father showed me how to be a man." He glanced back at Peter to sneer. "He's old enough to know better by now, but it's not your fault you didn't know how to teach him." "Teach him what?" Tony asked even though he didn't want to know the answer.

"Discipline, of course," Junior said with a wink.

Tony takes Peter on a weekend trip to try and change his mind about college and things go wrong. Then, they go even more wrong.

Between how it is and how it should be, by @frostysunflowers

''Doesn’t Captain Rogers ever…wonder,'' Peter winced as he fumbled for the right word, ''where you are?''

Bucky smirked. ''Steve’s a regular mother hen. Used to be me that worried about him.'' He gave Peter a pointed look. ''Better question is, isn’t Stark wondering where you are?''

Soulmates trope

presumed dead, by killerqueenwrites

Tony gets his first soulmark when he’s fifteen, his second when he's thirty. He's forty-six when his third appears, and forty-eight when it fades to grey.

did you see the flares in the sky ?, by justt-ppeachy

‘hi’

One simple word was displayed proudly on the inside of his right wrist. Tony wasn’t sure when this word showed up or how long it had been there.

A line formed underneath the word and Tony could almost feel the pressure on his arm from the marker his soulmate was using to push one phrase from their skin into his.

‘i loev yu’

The letters were written slowly and messily as they showed up upon his wrist while he watched in disbelief. Not sure if he was hallucinating or just going insane, Tony rubbed at the writing, wondering if they would disappear once he looked again.

The words were barely recognizable, but they were still the best thing Tony had ever seen.

IronDad Fluff (yeah)

peter wearing tony’s hoodie, by killerqueenwrites

Tony’s used to his clothes going missing. His MIT hoodie doesn’t often leave his closet, though, which is why he notices its absence straight away. There’s a lifetime of safety and comfort in this old hoodie, for both of them, and that’s all Tony could ever wish to give Peter.

Career Day, by @superhusbands4ever

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Peter’s enhanced senses picked up the familiar voice from outside the door. “I had a meeting this morning and then I got lost looking for the class… anyway, I’m here for Peter? Peter Parker?”

He frowned at hearing his name, still unsure what exactly was going on. He watched as his teacher continued to stand and stare out the door for a minute before seemingly remembering herself and taking a step back.

“Of course! If you could just go sit next to him until your turn, he’s in the back on the right side.”

The man stepped through the door and Peter gaped with the rest of the class as Tony Stark, in his signature suit and goatee, sporting a pair of red sunglasses and carrying a suitcase walked through the door.

Kryptonite, by forensicleaf

The kid is acting weird.

Tony tries to figure it out.

father’s day, by @iron--spider

It’s Father’s Day, and Tony never really had a father. Not in the real sense of the word, not in the way that counts.

Peter Parker doesn’t have a father, either. Not anymore, anyway, not since he was little, and the amount of years that have passed since then outweigh the amount of time he got with Richard Parker.

Tony wouldn’t call himself Peter’s dad. He wouldn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t think of himself that way, no way, no way.

He stares at himself in the mirror. He pulls down on his cheeks, makes his eyes water. He runs his hands over the roughness of his jaw and sorta hates everything about himself right now, because he’s acting like a goddamn idiot. It’s Father’s Day and he’s not a father. He doesn’t know why the hell he’s pining for something that isn’t his, shouldn’t be his, can never be his. He isn’t a father, he isn’t Peter’s father, so there’s no reason on God’s green earth for Peter and him to do something for Father’s Day.

ain’t no valley low enough, by @iron--spider (yes, again, ‘cuz she’s the best)

Peter snorts. “You know I didn’t apply anywhere in Florida.”

“Please, kid, you know all you have to do is write a beautiful essay with my recommendation attached to it and you’re in. You’ve got the scores.”

Peter has a list. Of all the places he applied to, all the places he got into. A lot of it was encouraged by the adult role models in his life, some of it by Ned daydreaming about places like California and Colorado. Mostly, Peter just applied everywhere he could think of, because he’s known for a long time that Tony was gonna help May pay for it, and he didn’t wanna limit his options. Thinking about college has been strange for him, strange to the extent that he had a full blown panic attack about it in the middle of Avengers taco night last month. He can’t really understand it, doesn’t get why it feels like the end of the world—because he’s experienced the end of the world, and it’s not which campus has a bowling alley and which school has circus classes. But he nearly blacked out all the same, sobbed in Tony’s arms on the balcony until Tony proposed this. The road trip.

and when it’s hard, i’ll place your head into my hands, by hopeless_hope

“Tony,” Pepper sing-songs to get his attention. “Your mother hen is showing.”

“What?” he snaps indignantly. “I am not a mother hen. This is just... concern. Of the average kind. Perfectly normal.”

“Of course,” Pepper humors him, and he shoots her a dirty look as he types out a quick text to Peter.

It's been five days since Tony's heard from Peter, who's away at college, and Tony is not coping well. (Neither is Peter.)

Peter likes cuddles (and Tony too, but he always denies it... until he can’t)

my arms will hold you (keep you safe and warm), by parkrstark

“So, you’re telling me your body...is going through Oxytocin withdrawals?” Tony asked slowly.

“Cuddle withdrawals,” Peter corrected him. “Mr. Stark cuddles.”

TW : Rape/non-cons

make me strong, by parkrstark

It all started when Tony introduced Peter to Skip Westcott. He just didn't know until it was too late.

(There is a lot more, but I can’t find it rn ;-;)

5+1

5 times peter clung to tony, by parkrstark

... and the one time tony clung to him.

You are my Dad, you’re my dad, boogiewoogiewoogie, by Hittinmiss

“Peter? What’s going on kid?” Tony asked, him popping up on the phone’s screen.

“Hey da-” Peter started automatically before immediately noticing his mistake, the look on Ned’s face proved that yes, he almost called Tony Stark dad. He needed to try recover quickly because the look on Tony’s face seemed confused, especially with his slight pause. “-aaaaaamn Mr. Stark I really like your shirt. Where’d you get it?”

Smooth.

---

5 times Peter called Tony Dad and the 1 time Tony called himself Dad

5 Times Tony Took Care of Peter..., by As_Clear_As_Crystal

“Think if I coded a sign into your suit that says ‘Baby on Board,’ maybe criminals wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about murdering you?” Tony asks airily, poking at the bottom of Peter’s foot.

Peter halfheartedly kicks at Tony with his toe. (“That’s offensive, Mr. Stark.” )

- - -

aka: Five times Tony took care of Peter, and one time Peter took care of Tony.

5 times Peter is stuck with Tony, by @iron--spider

(...and one time he’s stuck alone.)

“I wonder if Pepper’s reported me missing yet,” Tony says, with an exaggerated sigh. “I wonder if this is some kind of scheme to kidnap me or something.”

“I think the ride’s just broken,” Peter says.

“Today of all goddamn days,” Tony says, exasperation clear in his voice and in his eyes. “Ruining our trip—”

“It’s not ruined,” Peter says. “Look, we’re hanging out."

“Real quality time,” Tony huffs. “Us, a few other trapped members of the general public, and a handful of animatronic pirates. Drunk pirates. Repeating themselves.”

5 times tony forgot peter was just a kid, by @parkrstark

...and the 1 time he didn't.

Or the one where it was hard for Tony to remember that the kid fighting next to him was still just a kid.

can i get a good night’s sleep ? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep ?, by peterstank

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is completely fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

or: five times peter doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

Five Times Peter and Tony Had Each Other’s Back, by Sahiya

... and One Time They Needed Help.

Peter is Tony’s Biological Child

I Had the Dream Again, by Skeeter_110

Peter calls Tony in the middle of the night crying.

Congratulations, it’s a Boy, by capiocapi

"Sir, I have the results.”

“Okay, Jarvis. Hit me.”

“It’s a match. 99.9% chance that he is your biological son, which is the percentage needed to be recognized by law as a biological parent.”

Tony’s stomach did a funny swooping dance. “Great. Congratulations to me then, eh? It’s a boy.”

You Are My Sunshine, by @iamconstantine

Tony Stark had always been a man of science and he always would be. It was his personal and fundamental belief that everything had an explanation. His eventual encounters with Norse gods, alien life, and sorcerers did kind of quake this a little bit, but still.

One thing that had always confounded him as the one thing that had no scientific explanation was fate. Murphy’s law, Finagle’s law, the butterfly effect, the domino effect, the snowball effect, and the wisest of all: “Shit happens.”

So how peculiar was it that one of the greatest things to ever happen to him began with a tray of champagne?

Serie i love you more than anything, by @iron--spider

The highs and lows of Tony unexpectedly becoming a single dad at 31– from Peter’s early baby years, all the way past the defeat of Thanos

May’s abusive boyfriend trope

A Peter Parker Problem, by @spagbol99

Peter Parker was back from the dead. At least that is what everybody told him. He'd been snapped out of existence until some sort of time travel and an active death wish by his mentor had saved him and the universe. Just your average sort of life for a 16 year old from Queens.

Peter comes back to find May has a husband and a kid. A new family he has to fit into. But he has done it before, he can do it again.

The only thing that feels solid is Tony: the Blip and fatherhood have mellowed him and Peter loves the bond they have now. He knows Tony would be there for him through anything. But Tony needs to focus on his own recovery - not small time Peter Parker problems. When things at home take a turn for the worse, Peter decides that he'll handle it himself. He is Spider-man. He's been to space and fought aliens. He can get through anything. After all, if May is happy, he is happy, right? Right?

(again, I’ve read a lot more but can’t find it...)

Peter Parker Whump (everyone’s favorite trope)

Danger Pizza, by alice_in_ink

The window was pushed open, and Iron Man’s head popped into his bedroom. “Here’s where I’m confused—why lock the front door but leave the fire-escape-accessible windows unlocked?” He clambered through said window. “Seems like a safety hazard.”

Peter eyed the metal suit as it straightened to a standing position. “Did you break into my window to kill me?”

The face plate lifted, and Tony’s eyes quickly looked over the teen. “Christ, kid. It looks like you’re halfway there.”

...

A wild night on patrol leaves Peter with a broken back, and boy, does he want to be able to move without dying. (So he calls Anthony Stark, obviously.)

If You Can’t Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest), by @losingmymindtonight

"And I would hurry. Little Peter is about to be under quite a lot of pressure, and it might get a little hard to breathe.”

I’ve Got You, by @thedumbestavenger

Peter runs into a Copycat Vulture out on patrol, from there, everything escalates.

Meetings and Migraines, by AllThingsGeeky

Peter has another migraine at an unfortunate time and despite his best efforts he can’t ignore it forever.

The Most Important Thing In The World, by S0lstice

Peter’s door creaked and began to bend under the force of the crowbar and for the first time since regaining consciousness, fear began to press into him. Something very bad was happening and it was happening fast - too fast for his sluggish mind to keep up.

He went with his instincts instead, the first one always being, Help Mr. Stark.

Friendly Fire, by @jolinarjackson

Finding a careful truce with the government, the “rogue Avengers” are allowed to return to the Compound where they are put under house arrest. Peter coming to spend one week at the Compound during his summer break couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time as the opportunity to bond a little more with his mentor is overshadowed by a conflict he doesn’t quite understand. When he starts to develop a mysterious medical condition, however, the former team is forced to work together – not just to protect Peter’s identity from the DODC, but also to find the cause for his illness before it’s too late.

“He’s my kid,” Tony said, his voice hoarse. “He’s my kid and I failed him.” He covered his eyes and took a few deep, shuddering breaths. “All I ever do is fail him.” Natasha knelt down in front of him and cupped his face in her hands, waiting for him to meet her eyes before she said, “Right now, he doesn’t need you to fix this. He doesn’t need you down here. He needs you over there, in the medbay, by his side.” She thumbed tears from the corners of his eyes and ignored the ones running down her own face. “You haven’t failed him yet.”

alarm bells and panic levels, by @iron--spider

Tony lands heavy on the dock, the wood splintering hard under the metal suit. He’s having trouble breathing, his nose is bleeding, he most definitely has more than the recommended amount of broken ribs. But none of that fucking matters. The sky is clear, the assholes are down, but there’s one thing missing.

He looks over his shoulder when Rhodey lands too. His suit is dented in a few places but other than that he looks alright. His face mask flips up and Tony lets his mask retract.

“Where’s Peter?” Tony asks, his voice rough with the amount of yelling he’s been doing. Fuck these stupid assholes. They were supposed to go mini-golfing today. The kid had been looking forward to it for weeks.

Rhodey looks around, breathing hard through his mouth. “I thought you knew.”

there’s something wrong, by @iron--spider

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony whispers. “We should have checked you for something like this when we were resetting your arm and checking on the concussion. Goddamnit. We didn’t think.”

“He poisoned us both?” Peter asks, trying to open one eye to look at him.

“Yeah,” Tony says, brushing Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “He’s dying. He got the brunt of it, a nice fucking cocktail of bullshit, including mercury and a bunch of other toxic shit—”

“Am I dying?” Peter whispers, voice breaking.

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces), by aloneintherain

Peter's trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

“Spidey, they’ve got reinforcements. We’ve hit a bit of a snag here, and I don’t think anyone will be able to help you for a while. Think you can sit tight while we deal with this?”

The pressure on his lower back and legs was becoming too much. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting down panic. He could handle this.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I can do that.”

Collections/Series (’cause I could make an inventory of all @iron--spider stories, you know, but you have to read all of her work, if you haven’t yet) (God she doesn’t even know who I am)

iron dad bingo, by @iron--spider

stay at home, by @iron--spider

whumptober, by @iron--spider

Whumptober 2019, by @marvelous-writer

Day in the life of the Iron Family, by @marvelous-writer

The Tumblr Archives, by @losingmymindtonight

Everything comes back to you, by @losingmymindtonight

Nice work, kid, by @madasthesea

Irondad Bingo 2019, by sahiya

The Adventures of Spidy-son and Iron-dad, by eva7673

Tony adopts Peter (why everyone kills May, btw ?)

Accepting the Tides, by @emma--anacortes

Tony had dragged Peter from the depths of despair after May's death. It was normal that he'd grown to care a little about him, right?

Yeah, okay. He freaking loved the kid.

So naturally he would feel a little weird when Richard Parker randomly shows up in Peter's life. Naturally he'd feel protective, nervous, and confused because where has Richard been all this time? And why does Tony feel sick every time he sees him around Peter?

All he knows is if Richard hurts his kid, Tony's gonna give him hell.

Series Out of Darkness, by @starryknight09

“Is this Peter Parker?”

“Yes…”

“This is Dr. Nguyen. I’m sorry but your aunt’s been in an accident and we’re going to need you to come to Queens Memorial as soon as you can.”

Peter's life shatters with a phone call. The last person he expects helps him pick up the pieces.

#irondad #irondad spiderson #irondad fic #fic recs

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