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thesummerpetrichor · 2 months

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𝓖𝓸𝓭’𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓬𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷

Dark!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: What you assumed would be a routine sale to a regular customer turns into a drug deal gone wrong when you realise it's not her, but her uncle, that has showed up to bury the hatchet

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT DDDNE, NONCON/R*PE, mentions of DEA, age gap [reader is in her early 20s Javi is in his 40s], reader sells drugs, reader wears a skirt, rough sex, semi public sex, knife and threats with blades, reader is actively experiencing Stockholm syndrome, degradation, dumbification, humiliation, victim blaming and punishment [he is teaching her a lesson], size difference [Javi is bigger than reader and can lift her], using panties as a gag, crying, very mean!Javi, domineering!Javi, slight praise, petnames, choking, creampie, unprotected P in V [don't do it!!] this is much darker than my other work. I may not have included something that could potentially trigger you, so please proceed with caution. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

Word count: 3.8k

A/N: Surprise dark Javi Peña for you lovelies. Please heed the warnings, this may not be for you, it gets pretty dark. If it isn't, scroll past. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Big thanks to @toxicanonymity for brainstorming with me about this like a year ago (when it was meant to be about Joel) lmao! I finally finished it!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!! Mwah!!

Masterlist

You can run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Go tell that long tongue liar

Go and tell that midnight rider

Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

What you did was a little side job, a way to make a quick buck after long school hours had tired you out beyond measure. Frankly, that was all you had to say about it.

Business in the wealthy part of town was far from rough- kids in picket fence houses were your prime demographic, after all. They had the time, and they sure as hell had the money. If you weren’t going to supply it, someone else would. Of course, if their parents got a whiff of how their children scrambled to you like a pack of dogs you wouldn’t hear the last of it.

It's not like anyone would have suspected anything to begin with– not from the neighbourhood’s golden child. But you had to thank your parents for that reputation. No one would expect something like that from a sweet thing like Sarah either- which is why you were surprised when she rang you up on your second phone shortly after her 18th birthday.

It had been a couple of months since she’d been coming to you– before parties and such. You didn't ask many questions. She was only a senior, but who were you to play moral policeman? You were barely two years ahead.

Besides, she wasn’t really a resident of your neighbourhood– just came to hang at her uncle’s every weekend.

It probably felt a lot more dirty considering you knew him quite well. Well, knew was a strong word. Your parents were acquaintances and he’d helped fix the fence of your house a few years prior. You’d see him every now and then and even tried the batch of cookies Sarah had roped him into baking and sent over.

He’d often see you around and ask about college and the like. He had quite a good impression of you and you just couldn’t stomach telling him you sold his niece drugs on the weekend. Especially because, when he wasn’t getting roped into baking cookies, in his day to day life, Javi P was your neighbourhood’s most beloved narc.

You wondered how Sarah didn't let the fact that her uncle was the head of the DEA and its most notorious, cartel busting agent, deter her from calling upon your services. You couldn't deny, you felt quite bad. You usually wouldn't. His job be damned, something felt a little dirty about lying to a sweet, kind man like Javier.

But that was not your problem.

Everytime Sara showed up no qualms- with the money, and her backpack, in the exact location you instructed her to.

Spring came and went. So did summer. And before you knew it she had become a regular.

Which is why you weren’t irked at all when on a drizzly autumn Friday Sara had asked to meet you around 5pm in your usual spot– near the fence behind the Willson’s orchids– in between those brutalist brick sheds you’d sneak off to with boys you liked.

She was punctual, in fact she was always there a good ten minutes before you showed up just to be sure– which is why you continued forward when you caught a shadow and a rustle of the leaves emerge from the shed’s side.

You brushed a stay raindrop from the side of your cheek as you looked up at the grey, drab sky. Thank god for the leaves– they painted the brown of the path and all that stood in your way fiery reds, yellows and oranges.

As you approached you heard the wet ground crinkle under your feet– the leaves and the mud swallowing your shoes with every step forward. You felt them stick to the soles, and you made a mental note to leave Sarah as quickly as possible as to not be late to family dinner. There was no way you could walk fast- or even briskly, considering the state of the ground.

When you neared the shed and rounded the corner however, you noticed Sarah's shadow seemed to have caught the light a different way– looking a lot taller, a lot more elongated under the last of the autumn sun before the clouds completely eclipsed it.

She looked a lot taller, a lot more imposing, with broader shoulders and a cut jaw, with short, curly, dishevelled hair. A crack of thunder sounded in the distance. At a moment you knew that shadow, and you scrambled back on your feet to get up and out the Wilson’s orchid.

But the mud in the ground was damp from the rain, and your shoes were stuck to it like toffee, and before you could realise it was pouring rain. You stumbled on the garden rake that had been leant against the shed.

A voice called your name from behind it.

You might as well have thrown up seeing simple, warm eyed, cookie baking Javier Peña leaning up against the wall instead of his niece – looking neither simple nor warm eyed, and sporting the scent of a hard day’s work out on the field rather than the scent of baked goods.

You desperately tried to suppress the lump in your throat as he came into full view. His white button up shirt was damp from the water the trees had been steadily dripping onto it, his hair dishevelled, curls haphazardly sticking to his forehead. Another crack of thunder sounded, closer this time, and you felt your sweater become all the more wet every passing second.

For a moment you contemplated playing coy, but you knew that he knew exactly what you were doing there. If he had a problem with his niece ’s purchasing habits he ought to take it up with her, you were merely supplying a demand. And that was exactly what you told him– albeit a lot less courageously than you would have liked. You could barely recognise your own voice- monotonous and flat, but importantly shaky and scared.

And he noticed.

He scoffed, shaking his head and giving you a slow once over– in your tattered socks and sneakers. “Disturbing the peace of this neighbourhood, corrupting the kids with your behaviour. You’re ruining it.”

“I-” a leaf drifted through the wind and landed on your wet hand, cutting you off as you squeaked, dusting it off yourself.

He stepped to the side, then took another menacing step in front of you. By the time he’d met you chest to chest you were backed up against the wall without realising it– unable to escape, trapped. He smiled at you- tight, and sickly sweet. He reached for the damp hem of your skirt. You felt your skin crawl under his touch.

“Goddamn. To think I thought ya were a good one” he shook his head, a humourless laugh ringing in your ears. “Should’ve known…” You shivered when he lifted his hand to your cheek, stroking your face with his thumb and a false sense of gentleness.

“Those whorey little skirts- tight lil tops” the lump in your throat grew as he continued, mind blank and racing simultaneously. It was nothing short of appalling. His words were harsh and cruel. His hands dropped to the waistband of your skirt, fingers slipping in to curl it. He didn't care that you recoiled at the touch, and attempted to shake off his prying gestures. He laughed again. “‘S the only way remembered ya played tennis”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching horrified as he grabbed your shoulders and shoved you backwards. Your back hit the shed once again, more violently than the time before thanks to his push, his voice had picked up that aggressive tone that had simmered down since he first started talking once again, and you felt your heart jump at the change.

“Y’a poor dad thought I was so invested in your lil family…” his fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, toying with your sweater to expose your soft flesh to the harsh cold of the autumn rain. Each swipe of them leaving a trail of fire behind.

You didn't dare meet his eyes, nauseous at the very thought. You caught a bolt of lightning strike behind his back, the grey sky complimenting the tone of the entire situation. The fingers that had been drawing shapes on your hip had slid up your chest to find home around the column of your throat, and as they squeezed– gently but threateningly, you felt your legs finally begin to give way under you. “Shame ya ain’t a good girl huh..”

“Real fuckin shame.” he shook you lightly, and your hands flew to grip his wrist. Unsurprisingly, your efforts were to no avail. His hand maintained the unrelenting grip on your throat, his eyes trained on yours like a predator. You screwed your own shut, unwilling to meet the fury in his.

The sound of the swish of a blade barely registered in your head. Before you could look down to catch a glimpse of the utility knife Javi had clicked into place, it was being pressed gently against your jugular. “To think ya had the nerve baby…”

The blade grazed your skin, a hair away from piercing your skin and slicing it open. “Couldn’t even keep yourself away from the girl with a DEA agent for an uncle?” The tear that streaked its way down your cheek almost burned a hole in your skin. Followed by what seemed like a thousand more, your watery eyes set you a harsh reminder of the mess you’d fallen into. And yet you couldn’t seem to muster up the courage to actually respond to him.

Javier seemed to like those tears though. “Oh baby, babygirl…” the hand that wasn't holding the blade against your skin came to gently cup your cheek. “Shhh, shhh, my babydoll.” With his thumb Javi wiped the tracks off your face, leaning down and kissing the dampness lightly on each side. The touch of his lips made you wince. “Don't wanna cause a ruckus..” That sweetness of his voice made you shiver, made your chin wobble.

“Please, Mr-”

You yelped, feeling that blade press just a little harder against your neck, then drag itself to lift up the hem of your sweater and move under to shift between your breasts. “I said shut that whore mouth.” There it was, that harsh, cruel tone once again. You felt the blade drag up and down your skin, then hook at the collar of your warm sweater to slice through that cable knit pattern you so loved.

The sound of the wool fraying and splitting apart rang in your ears, distracting you momentarily as Javi bunched up the fabric of your skirt, grabbing you by the thighs and hoisting you up against the rough wall of the shed. You had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist to keep yourself stable, and away from the knife that was so close to your throat.

The rain thundered and came down against you, its sounds drawing out your weeping and whimpering. A sheet of mist and water engulfed the both of you in a horrid blanket of union. You felt Javier’s hard length press against your clothed core and you shivered. Despite it all you felt your panties dampen at the contact.

He chuckled against your skin, knowingly, mockingly, and slid his fingers between you to rub your now wet cunt through your panties. “Cant even help yourself can you?” you felt the arousal pool in your panties, but shook your head nonetheless. Your eyes rolled back at the feel of his fingertips drawing slow circles on your clit. “Look at that, sluts gettin’ all wet and achy, huh?”

The thunder and lightning only picked up pace as his calloused fingers pulled your panties aside roughly, fingertips grazing your swollen, sensitive flesh. “Fuck, such a pretty pussy” The elastic of your waistband tugged against your soft skin, rubbing against you– leaving you sore, tender. You were dripping, and the feeling made you turn your head away from Javier in disgust.

He notched his tip at your drooling entrance and you whined, wiggling your hips to shake off the desire that stirred in your tummy. “Don’t ya worry baby, gonna take care of this tight little snatch.” You shook your head no, and he only responded with a laugh.

In a sharp, single thrust you felt his throbbing, hard length stretch you open. There was no mercy, no grace period, just a snap of his hips towards yours and his cock parting your insides in that cruel, uncaring manner. “Y’a gonna shut your ass up take what I give to ya because it looks like you’ve got no choice.”

“Excited for family dinner? Gonna be a lot more fun when you’ve got my cum leaking out of ya.” The length of him stretched you open, no time to adjust with his sharp, quick thrusts. The pain came in sharp just the same way, made you wince and squirm at the burn.

You had never felt so full, every sensitive spot inside you being nudged just the right way by his cock. He continued to thrust inside your wet heat, fast and deep. A tightness began to build in your tummy.

His thumb brushed your lip and the urge to part your lips to take it into your mouth for a sense of comfort overtook you. Had you not been as frozen as you were, you would have acted on it. But that thumb pressed itself against your lips, a silent order to hush yourself as Javi’s thrusts became all the more gruelling, faster, harder, harsher.

“Ya’ might be an adult- but y’a sure as hell act like a dumb little girl” The drag of his cock against your throbbing walls had an unwelcome moan tumbling from your lips–the pleasure more horrifying than the pain. His words had your stomach flip flopping.

His fingers wrapped firmly around your throat, palm placing enough pressure against your skin to stutter your breathing. “Listen baby, I know words are really fuckin hard… they’re so big, and confusing. Too much for your pretty little head.” He heard you heave a loud, stuttery breath, but left his hand where it was for a few more agonising seconds. “So I had’ta’ tell you a way ya understand”

You felt the blade that had momentarily lost contact with your flesh drag slowly against your waist and under your skirt. Yet again the sound of fabric ripping rang in your ears, the elastic of your panties snapping against your hips only marginally less painful than the feel of Javier's thick cock splitting you open. When you turned your head to catch Javier’s gaze, his own eyes were inspecting the tattered white cotton that had once had a place on your hips between his fingers.

“Goddamn. Pretty even underneath it all? Expected something more…” He laughed maliciously, then turned his head like he was searching for the right words. “Slutty…..? whorish?” His relentless thrusts didn’t cease. “But goddamn, like keepin’ it holy dont ya?” His hips snapped towards yours again, and he groaned in pleasure. “You ain't foolin’ me.”

“No-” you were promptly cut off, face unable to dodge his hand. Javier rolled his eyes, annoyed by how animated you were being– too much for his liking. He forced the fabric into your mouth, and you had no choice to let him.

“Goddamn, that college degree don't count for much huh? That oughta shut you up, bitch.” Soon enough, and to your horror the wetness between your legs began to spread, each movement of his prompting more sounds of pleasure than pain to embarrassingly get muffled against the fabric of your own panties.

The way his brow furrowed, the vein on the side of his neck bulged from the strain, from how good you felt around him, from the way your pussy was milking his cock, it was all a lot more appealing of a sight than you were willing to acknowledge at the moment. “Fuck, should try whoring out this pussy for some extra cash too.”

“Next time ya wanna make a buck, walk that pretty little ass down the block” Splinters from the wooden shed wall grazed your skin, poking through the cable knit ever so slightly, an uncomfortable little pinch that palled in comparison to the delicious stretch of his cock splitting you open.

“Would be nice. Won’t have to drive on down to the whore house.” His cock thrust achingly out of your wet heat, building a tension inside you so strong it set your skin on fire. “Would fuck this pretty little cunt in my bed.” Your hips felt heavy, the spot between your thighs tense, aching with a desperate need to feel a release that had unwillingly been building inside you.

“Fuck ya till you’re a mess.” He growled in your ear, lips ghosting your skin. “That’d be nice, huh? Might let ya scream that time..” The image of Javier shoving you on his bed and taking care of you flashed in your mind– perhaps a soft, gentle, deep lovemaking that you were horrified to find appealing at the moment.

At some point the expanse of his chest became a security, his broad, looming shoulders a sickening comfort. “Look at you- fuckin liking it. Tight little snatch squeezin’ my cock.” If perhaps that gentleness had come to you some other way you would’ve died for it, but now you were crooning for it, silently begging for it, for some respite, for a sick sort of comfort that gave you butterflies.

What you had thought to be the unbelievable, the merciful, law abiding, law enforcing protector of the innocent and the weak, was ripping you apart piece by piece, watching you crumble around his cock, your eyes roll back with that pleasure you couldn’t ignore, your hands reach for him because you pined for the gentleness he had given you a taste off.

Your sweater caught the wood of the shed, you were sure it was full of holes at that point, the knit pattern ruined forever, something to remind you of the way your pussy quivered around his cock. “Look at that… fuck… bein’ a good girl now arent ya? Learning how to behave.” The obscene sound of your wetness, the squelch of his cock pumping in and out your swollen, abused cunt had you cringing, had your heart pounding desperately against your chest. “Never too late to change your ways.. Feels so good you can't help yourself huh? Just wanna cum..” He closed the blade that he had previously had a close grip on and shoved it into his pocket.

Your mouth loosened around the damp fabric of your panties, pleasure shooting up your spine and making your toes curl. “That's it, learnin’ well now, aren't we?” You felt hot and cold simultaneously– a chill of terror so strong you began to sweat. He pulled your hips against his, chuckling at your desperate squirming in an attempt to put off your release.

Javier caught your face between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing your cheeks and relishing in the sight of you drooling around your panties. Showing some mercy, he pulled the fabric from between your lips, tossing it onto the dirty ground. “Wonder why a slut like you would even bother with these?” He chuckled in your ear, then pressed a sloppy kiss against your neck.

His tip brushed that sweet spot inside you, made you tighten your thighs around his waist. “Feel so fucking good.” You felt your chest burn, your pussy bare down on his cock. The tension inside you finally snapped, a ragged moan escaping from your throat and slipping past your lips. You felt yourself gush and quiver around his cock, whole body on fire with the intensity of your release.

“That's a good girl– fuck” His voice was strained and low, a gravely sound dripping like honey from his lips as he neared his release. The praise made your heart flutter. With a few final, sloppy thrusts Javier’s hips stilled, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you– painting your still fluttering walls with his spend.

You felt your pussy clench around nothing when he pulled out.

He pressed his head on the shed wall beside your cheek, catching his breath. The smell of cigarettes off his hair finally registering in your mind– something you were perhaps too preoccupied to notice prior. Another stray tear slid down your cheek, along with an ice cold raindrop that fell from the sky.

Javier’s hand reached for your face and you flinched. He stroked your face and took it in with his eyes once again. You dared to meet his cold, unwavering gaze– so detached you wondered if he even registered life in anyone else's. Their browns drew you in despite this, and called you to make a home in them.

He sighed, dropping your thighs from his hold and pressing you against the shed with his body.You felt his spend leak out of you and drip onto your thighs obscenely. Your hands flew to grip his shirt to maintain your balance, but Javier was quick to step back.

Your knees shook violently as he finally retreated from the side of the shed. The damp soil and crackly leaves clung to your wet thighs as gravity forced you to the dirty ground. Instinctively you pressed your back against the shed, bracing yourself for another one of Agent Peña’s cruel jabs. You caught a glimpse of your white panties– dirty, torn and unusable, discarded on the ground.

Worse however, you watched him fix his shirt and jeans as you trembled and caught your breath, paying you no mind whatsoever. With his body no longer shielding you from the rain you felt the gentle thud of the raindrops against your cold skin, drenching you even more than before.

When you sank your fingers into the mud to find your bearings you felt a tickle on the inside of your ring finger. You looked down momentarily to catch a stay earthworm wriggle out from beside your hand and attempt to scurry away.

You yelped, bringing your hand to your chest, and tucking your knees further into your front– too exhausted to pick yourself up off the ground.

Javier's soft snicker rang in your ears like a merciless, menacing bell. When you finally looked back at him it felt even more dirty than the first time. His face scrunched in displeasure at the sight of you huddled on the ground, your clothes and overall appearance dishevelled. “Got fuckin lucky today, dirty bitch.” His words made you shiver.

He stalked over to your hunched form once again, towering over you. His shadow covered your entire body in its shade as the evening sun peaked out from under the clouds, the final drops of the shower cascading down the sloped roof of the shed and onto your damp shoulders.

“I better not see ya around Sarah again.”

Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand

Workin' in the dark against your fellow man

But as sure as God made black and white

What's down in the dark will be brought to the light

You can run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

You can run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

This one was much on the darker side, but I hope you enjoyed! Thank you to everyone who reblogs and engages with my work- you keep me writing!! 💗🐝

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dropsofpluto-writes · 2 months

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If Only In Dreams (Hotch x Reader oneshot)

Summary: You've been Jack Hotchner's babysitter for quite some time now, but his dad is what keeps you coming back, even if it's only in your dreams. Until now, that is. 18+, minors dni

Warnings: smut, piv sex, oral sex (f receiving), voice kink, plot if you squint

Grad school was kicking your ass. Fully and completely. Classes and coursework was stressing you to the max, but you remained strong. Still, money was important, so you found yourself in the kitchen of SSA Aaron Hotchner’s home, making a simple meal for Jack to eat before he went to bed. It didn’t hurt that you loved Jack, or that your boss was amazing.

You supposed that you were a woman of simple pleasures. Sure, Mr. Hotchner was generous and kind, always overpaying you for the services you provided. But, by God he was one hell of a man.

Neat, black hair that you were begging to feel, rugged features that even Michaelangelo couldn’t carve, and his voice. Surely he could recite the first 100 digits of pi and you would go weak in the knees. To your credit, it had also been far too long since you had cum.

But alas, you were just making boxed mac-n-cheese for his young son. Plus, there’s now way in hell he would ever hold you in the same light. You knew that he never spent his free time touching himself to the thought of your moans, your breath on his skin, the way you must taste, the way only your voice could scream his name. But, you imagined all that and more of him. Maybe that was okay. Maybe you shouldn’t violate the one good constant in your life.

“Jack, honey! Dinner will be ready in 5. Could you wash your hands and grab yourself a drink, please?” giggling to yourself, watching the young boy finally walk away from the biggest Lego tower that you’d ever seen him make.

“Yep!”

The two of you ate dinner at the kitchen table, mostly talking about Jack’s newest friend from school, but soon enough he was in bed, and you were cleaning up from the meal.

As you scrubbed the pot, silently cursing yourself for not putting it to soak before they sat down to eat, you found your thoughts were consumed by your employer. On more than one occasion, he had told you to call him Aaron, but you remained in your ways of calling him Mr. Hotchner. you had told him that you liked the formality of the moniker, but you were also terrified that if you were to call him Aaron, it would come out as a choked moan, as it had so many times in the confines of your own bedroom.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your reverie. The lock screen displayed a message from the man occupying your mind.

Is there any possible way you could stay a bit longer tonight? Got held up with paperwork at the office. I would ask Jessica, but she can’t tonight -H.

While you had never spent the night at the Hotchner residence before, you had nothing else of importance that evening, so you agreed without an ounce of hesitation.

Sure thing! Sorry you got held up, but I’m always happy to help. <3

Thanks a million, y/n. -H

You began to make yourself comfortable on the couch and continue with your homework, knowing you would likely fall asleep within the hour. Still, getting some of the work done was better than getting none of it done.

“Goddamn it!” Halfway through the last assignment, your computer decided to die, and of course, you forgot that damn charger at home. After all, you hadn’t planned on staying the night. You instead occupied yourself with mindless scrolling on social media, eventually drifting to sleep.

If your thoughts of Aaron during the day were criminal, your dreams at night would surely guarantee eternal damnation.

“Oh sweet Jesus, Aaron, just like that!” you dreamt of the man with his head buried in between your thighs, a rather common theme in your fantasies. The vision of the man you worked for was truly a sight to behold. Tendrils of his raven hair falling over his forehead, pupils blown in ecstasy as he devoured your pussy. He licked through your folds like a starved man. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders, allowing the man full access. His tongue gently circled your clit, engorged with pleasure. As he wrapped his lips around the bud, the all-too-familiar coil in your stomach began to make itself known, signaling your impending orgasm.

“Holy shit, p-please! You’re so fucking good, Aaron. M-make me feel so, so good.” Dream Aaron kept the pace, alternating between thrusting his tongue inside your and sucking your aching clit into his mouth, sending you rocketing toward the edge.

“Yeah, you like that baby? Want me to make you feel good?” you groaned at the loss of his mouth on your pussy, but as quickly as it left, he was back at it, devouring your aching cunt like a starved man.

Your orgasm began to build, feeling yourself reaching the peak, when the dam finally gave way, filling you with white-hot pleasure as you moaned his name.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

Fuck.

You slowly opened your eyes to the dimly lit living room, and was faced by the gracious image of your boss. There he stood, suit jacket in hand, tie loosened, the top buttons of his tailored shirt undone.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” you asked, hoping that the dull light of the lamp in the room wasn’t calling attention to the fiery blush creeping across your cheeks. Looking at the watch on your wrist, you noted the time. 2:45 AM.

“You were writhing around, and you called my name a few times.”

Were you imagining the knowing glint in his eye? His eyes had always been a point of interest for you, their inescapable depth equal parts comforting and chilling. No, surely he couldn’t know that you were dreaming of his face between your thighs just mere seconds ago.

“Huh. I’m not one to remember dreams too often.”

“Y/n, I am a profiler, and one of my duties is to know when a suspect is lying. Why don’t you tell me the truth?”. He walked toward the side of the couch where you were sitting, his presence both suffocating and bringing you to life.

There was a long pause before you replied, scrambling to think of anything that didn't make you look helpless and desperate.

“I think it was a -um- nightmare? Your tone was utterly unconvincing.

“It didn’t sound like a nightmare to me, Y/n,” the timbre of his voice sent waves of heat between your thighs. “It sounded like you were having a great time. Like we were having a great time.”

You had been caught. Like a deer in headlights, you froze entirely, not wanting to confirm or deny the truth laid before you. Somehow, a small part of your brain chose honesty.

“Yes. You’re right. I’m so sorry. If you need to find another babysitter for Jack I completely understand.” You sat up, hoping to look a little less helpless

“Now that would just make me a hypocrite, Y/n,” his voice was softer now, but just as lustful as you'd dreamt. “You were in my dreams, too. I dream about what lies beneath your clothes, what you’d look like in my bed.”

This couldn’t be real. Surely he was just embarrassing you to make a point. Still, you held out hope that he was being true to his word.

“Oh, God” was the only thing to escape your lips, just above a whisper.

“We can continue, or you can tell me to stop and we’ll never discuss it again. Either way, I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, please. God, yes Mr. Hotchner.”

“How many times have I told you to call me Aaron?” he questioned you, a devilish grin across his lips.

“Please, Aaron”

He was on you in an instant, lips crashing to yours. This was not gentle, nor did you want it to be. This was long-awaited passion. Your arms circled his neck, and his found your waist, picking you up as if you were weightless. He moved his head away from you barely, trying to read your face. All he saw was a hunger for himself, deep in your eyes.

He began to carry you in the direction of his bedroom, the one place in his home you’d never been in. As you entered the hallway, you made sure to be as quiet as you could, not wanting to wake the sleeping boy just a few rooms away.

Aaron tossed you onto his bed, a place you never thought you would actually see. You took him in, his looks, his sound, his smell- clean but still uniquely Hotch. He toyed with the hem of your shirt and brought it up to your navel, gazing deep into your eyes again to gauge your response. You removed the thin garment, exposing your bare breasts, flinging it somewhere near his nightstand. The cool air of his bedroom quickly spread gooseflesh across your skin, nipples puckering in response.

He removed his own shirt and you pulled him closer to you with a foot behind his knee. You sat up to get a better view of his rolling muscles, a bit padded by age, not that you minded. As you admired his body, you couldn’t help but skate your hands across his skin, up his arms, over his shoulders, down his pecs, toward his abdomen. He had quite a few scars here, and you decided not to ask about their origin.

He leaned in toward you, kissing you again fervently. You responded in kind, aching to be one with him. You sighed into his mouth as your hand found his length, shocked by the size.

“Not just yet, my love. Tell me more about your dreams of me”

You were near naked in front of the man, but you somehow felt a pang of shame again.

He hooked a hand under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You eat my pussy,” you said, craving the real thing over the imagined scenario.

A low groan erupted from his mouth as he knelt down at the edge of the bed, gently pushing you onto your back. He parted your knees, kissing gently up your thighs, teasing you.

His hands snaked into the waistband of your shorts, removing them and your underwear at once. You were completely bare to him, and you decided that this was easily the best moment of your college experience thus far.

He looked up at you from between your legs, and asked you once more, “Is this really what you want?”

“Yes, please. I need your mouth on me”

That was all the affirmation he needed. Quickly, he dipped his tongue between your labia, relishing in your taste. He hummed in approval as you moaned softly.

“So wet just for me?” He chuckled gently.

“Just for you, only for you, Mr. Hotchner”

He landed a soft smack to the outside of your thigh, just enough to sting.

“Call. Me. Aaron.”, he said, punctuating each word with a strong lick across your clit.

“Only for you, Aaron”

He made quick work of you, eventually inserting one finger, then two, feeling your walls pulse as you were brought closer and closer to the edge. His free hand reached up to your breast, cupping and kneading the flesh, then pinching your nipple. Your hands flew into his hair, eliciting a deep moan from the man ravishing you. Gently pulling, you let out a breathy gasp.

“Oh, Aaron, I think I’m g-gonna cum”

Aaron sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue swiping a circular motion on its surface. You felt yourself hurtling toward oblivion, mind encapsulated by your boss. His fingers curled within you, keeping pace as you rode out your orgasm.

Once you came down, you stared into his eyes, marveling at the man who was now leaning over your body. His cock was visibly straining against the tight cotton of his slacks, and you gawked at his size.

“Need you inside me, Aaron. Need all of you so so bad.”

That was all the confirmation that he needed to release his dick. He was quick, unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down his strong muscular thighs. You made a mental note to tell him just how hot he was.

You saw his enormous length, red and weeping at the tip. It must be painfully hard, but all you could think about was how to get him inside you.

He quickly gathered the evidence of your release with a gentle swipe of his cock through your folds, then aligned himself with your aching cunt. With a gentle thrust and a gorgeous moan, he pushed himself inside you, taking his sweet time to bottom out. You were overcome by a sense of fullness. The small thatch of hair at the base of him rubbed softly at your clit, adding to your euphoria.

He started to fuck into you, ravenous look upon his face. God, this man knew some things. With every thrust into you, he hit the sweet spot inside you, brushing against it with a fervor.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, willing him to destroy you. You would sell your soul to stay in this moment forever, but memories would suffice.

“G-gonna cum, sweetheart. Where do you want me?”

“Oh fuck, Aaron! I’m on the pill, I don’t care, just please make me cum”

Instead of replying, he opted to press his thumb into your clit, making quick work of your orgasm.

You were surrounded by a white hot pleasure, the best you’d felt in eons. You look over to the man at your side, also coming down from his own orgasm.

“Has anyone ever told you just how beautiful you are, Aaron?” you say, gazing at him with adoration.

“Only you.” His reply was brief, but he had a gorgeous grin spread on his face. You laughed softly, just happy to be where you were with the man you were sure you loved.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #ssa aaron hotchner

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 8 days

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weren't we the stars in heaven? | m. murdock

a/n: hi guys. so sorry i haven't posted a full length fic about matt in a while so as a sorry here's a BEAST of a fic. i have nothing much to say about this, but i will say that i am not thrilled with the ending but oh well. enjoy! i'm gonna go take a nap but i am really proud of this so if you guys like it, let me know! warnings: oh boy. so many things. cursing, use of weed, drinking, matt is married but it's an open marriage, lots of religious imagery, sex, rough fucking, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, lowkey some mean matt smut, his kid is autistic but its not mentioned a ton, reader is hard of hearing but its only mentioned once, female reader with female anatomy, age gap, nicknames, ANGST, dirty talk, hella flirting and pining, just. it's a lot. word count: 9.2k (holy moly) summary: you develop a crush on a friend of your dad's from work. the only problem is that he's married, twice your age, and you babysit his son. pairing: dbf!matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: anything - adrianne lenker "lay on your lap when i'm crying/weren't we the stars in heaven?/weren't we the salt in the sea?/dragon in the new warm mountain/didn't you believe me?"

Spring

A week at home is too long. You think about how torturous a whole summer here will be. It’s almost enough to make you sign up to be a summer orientation leader or even a tour leader. Almost. The pay isn’t that good to stay in the dorms without AC all summer.

Of course, your mother asks you to go to church on Easter Sunday and because she did your laundry and cooked you your first home-cooked meal in months, you oblige her.

And as you’re sitting there, on your knees with your hands folded, your eyes peek open, beginning to wander around the church. It’s way too hot in this church, and you are bored out of your mind.

You realize you are the only one who is bored out of your mind. Well.. Almost.

Your gaze catches onto a man who looks just as bored as you do, only, you can’t really tell if he’s looking at you. You lean your head back and roll your eyes, trying to signal how god damn bored you are to him. He just smirks, and your heart flutters.

It almost looks like his smirk widens at that.

Your face flushes and you just put your head back down, closing your eyes as if you’ve been caught doing something you’re not supposed to.

Eventually when the service is over, you’re still thinking about the strange man on the other side of the church as you sip church lemonade that is way too sweet—But you’ve been up for hours and this is the first thing you’ve had since you woke up.

Your parents are making pleasant conversations with various friends they know, and you smile awkwardly at friends from high school. You almost choke on your lemonade when you see the man make his way out of the church, his arm hooked to a woman’s as he taps a cane against the pavement, a young boy next to them as well.

And before you know it, the family of three is approaching your family and your ears are burning red.

Your dad happily shakes his hand and pulls him in for one of those weird man hugs that you don’t really understand, as your mother does one of those weird moves where she presses her cheek against his wives.

Your father gestures over to you and says, “This is our daughter,” And he gives them your name, “She’s home for spring break from school.”

You wave to the kid, before shaking the wife’s hand, and then his— His hand is warm. Your heart is racing and you just shake his hand, trying to ignore the soft squeeze that accompanies the shake.

“Matthew,” He introduces himself like your insides aren’t discombobulated, “Matthew Murdock.” You just look at him, blinking for a second, and your mind begins to wander. How did he know you were rolling your eyes in the church if he’s blind? And how is he so hot?

You think you might die—Your face is flushed, and you think for sure that you’ve been caught, and that his wife will see right through this little charade and knows that you have a huge crush on her husband, whom you just met. He must know what he’s doing because he just smirks at you and opens his mouth to say something, but your mom just looks at you with a look of concern.

“Honey, are you alright?” she asks, “You look warm,” You shake your head with a soft smile.

“No, I’m uh.. Well, I think I’m gonna take a quick walk, find some shade—Excuse me.” You say politely, but before you can leave the conversation, Matt smiles,

“I’ll come with you. I could use the fresh air.” He offers, and you almost say no, but your mom smiles like she’s trying to fucking kill you—

“What a wonderful idea, You can tell Mr. Murdock all about your studies.” She offers, and something in your stomach twists with embarrassment—the way she phrases it makes you sound so.. young. So, you just offer Matt your arm, and he hooks his hand onto it like it’s casual.

And so, the pair of you walk through the courtyard of the church, eventually finding a bench where the sun barely creeps through the leaves of the willow tree that hangs over it, and the pair of you sit down, silence overwhelming you.

“So, what’s your major?”

“Oh, uh—English. I’m an English major.” You say, almost ashamed at how boring you sound, “And.. what do you do?”

“I’m a Lawyer,” he smiles. Your dad is a security guard at the court you have in town, so there’s no question of how they know each other.

“Your wife seems nice,” you blurt out, wanting to say something nicer to convince him—maybe yourself, that you really truly are not jealous of a woman you just met.

“She is,” he answers politely, as if that’s.. the kindest thing he can say about her.

“What’s your son’s name?” You ask curiously.

“Lucas.” He smiles fondly now, and your heart melts at the thought that this man truly feels nothing but pure, burning affection for his son. “When do you go back to school?” He asks curiously.

“Oh, tomorrow.” You smile, “Thank god.”

Then, he catches you off guard.

“That’s the most genuine thing you’ve said since we sat down.” He smirks, “Not a fan of your hometown?”

You don’t know how to explain it, not really—When you were applying to college, your mom asked you if you wanted to apply to any local colleges. And while you’re persistent that there’s nothing wrong with community college, you were sure that you needed to get out of here, or else you think you would’ve died.

But, you owe Matt an explanation.. Well, maybe you don’t, but you think you do.

“It’s not that,” You promise, “There’s just something about being here that brings out the worst in people.” You sigh.

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and while it’s subtle, you notice the way that his thumb rubs against your skin, and you might melt right into him.

“Don’t let anyone ever shame you for leaving.” He offers gently, and you think you just about fall in love with him. Then, his head picks up as the screechy tone of his wife calling for him interrupts your conversation. He just sighs, and makes a bold move—his hand goes to your thigh and gently, just barely, rubs his fingers against the fabric of your sundress, the tips of his fingers teasing your skin. “Well, I’ll.. see you in the summer then?” he ponders.

“Uh-huh..” You say, your eyes soft with want. Then, he walks right out of your life.

Summer

As spring melted into summer, and as you finished the rest of your finals, your dad picks you up from your dorm, packing everything you hold near and dear into his truck, and then starting the drive home.

For the past month and a half, you have heard nothing about Matt or his family. Sometimes, you ask your parents, ‘How’s your job, how’s the church’, begging for any crumbs of information about Matt. And you aren’t even sure why, because in your mind, he is very happily married.

It takes about a week. You sit, day after day, summer job hunting, waiting to be doomed to minimum wage and exhausting hours. Then, your mom comes home with groceries and a smile that you know can only mean bad news.

“I found you a job!” She declares happily, as you put the milk in the fridge.

“In the dairy aisle of the grocery store?” You question, and she laughs.

“No, no, I found you a babysitting job for the summer.” She smiles. “For the Murdocks!”

You squeeze the orange in your hand so hard that your thumbnails pierce it as orange juice drips down your hands, blinking before throwing out the orange, your hand reeking of the tangerine, fingers sticky with sugar.

“I’m sorry?” You manage to squeak out.

“You’re going to be babysitting their son, Lucas. They both work from nine to five, sometimes later. You’d get paid to just hangout with the kid,” She shrugged with a soft smile.

Oh, great. You’re gonna be trapped in the man’s house, looking after his kid. Fucking amazing.

But, you really don’t even see Matt, especially not the first day. Well, really, you barely see him over the course of the first week, but you get whispers of him, and it’s almost worse. You see his graduation photos, his wedding photos, a photo of him holding Lucas in the hospital.

You see his office door cracked open, you see a mug with his name on it, you see his wedding ring on the table—

You see his wedding ring on the table?

He’s elusive. But, from the fragmented sentences you get from Lucas, he tells you how his parents aren’t quite like other couples. Your mind is caught on the fact that Matt and his wife might not be 100 percent happy together, and then you feel guilty that you want to take it as an opportunity to comfort him, in the least Godly way possible.

Matt and Lucas’ mother will be working late tonight, she tells you in the morning, there’s money for dinner on the counter, and you can just relax until they get home.

Lucas drags you all over town that day. The park, the comic bookstore, and then you spend two hours in target, trying to find anything related to Bluey or Cars 2, the only two things he wants to talk about. Your body is sore from looking after him. He’s a very nice kid, but you recognize that he’s.. different.

Nobody in your town has a diagnosis, but you can tell that Lucas is on the spectrum, and you have every intention of telling Matt to get him a diagnosis, so he has the resources he needs to succeed in school.

But, tonight, you’re tired. Very very tired.

So, after putting Lucas to bed and enjoying a slice of semi cold pizza, along with flat diet soda, you find yourself in the backyard. Lucas’ window is open, and you can see the downstairs steps from where you’re sitting, so you’ll be able to see Lucas if he needs anything.

You’re sitting in a patio swing, letting your feet rock you back and forth. Maybe it’s unprofessional of you.. but you scrounge through your bag, finding your pen and turning it on, taking a long hit. You walk to and from work, so it’s not like you won’t be able to drive yourself home.

Then, you see Matt come in, and you freeze. Fuck.

You watch as he sets his bag down, slipping his suit jacket off after. Then, he tucks his cane somewhere safe, before his fingers begin to work at folding his sleeves up to his elbows. His fingers rub his temple for a minute, obviously exhausted from a long time. Then, he takes off his glasses and your heart skips a beat.

He pauses as soon as your heartbeats and he smirks when he turns towards the backyard door. Oh fuck.

He slides the patio door open and approaches you,

“Why are you outside?” he asks, sitting next to you.

“Uh.. Just, enjoying the weather.” And he laughs like you’re the funniest person he knows as he sits down next to you, groaning as he does, and your heart can barely take it.

“You’re a horrible lair, sweetheart.” He tells you. Does he know how desperately you want him? “What are you really—” Then he pauses, his nose twitching. “Are you smoking weed?” He questions.

“No.” You say, but as you breath out, smoke blows out of your mouth as you cough a bit.

“Oh my god—”

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t fire me—”

“Hand it over.” He says, hand outstretched, waiting for the pen. And not even for a second does your brain imagine denying him. It doesn’t cross your mind that maybe he doesn’t have that authority over you and you’re a grown adult.

In fact, you’re foolish if you ever thought he has no authority over you.

You hand over the pen sheepishly, but.. you’re caught way off guard when is fingers study the pen, finding the button and taking a hit for himself. You just watch him, mesmerized as he exhales through his nose.

“Sorry,” he starts, taking another hit before passing it back to you, “I’ll make it up to you.” he promises.

“It’s okay,” You giggle, a little bit from how comical it was, but a little bit from how fucking hot that was. Then, you take another hit, as he just rocks the porch swing back and forth, like he’s rocking you to sleep. The night is cool enough that the smoke barely rattles your lungs, and the intensity of summer has gone to sleep. Silence fills the air, as you just pass your pen back and forth, love in your eyes.

“Why is your wedding ring on the table?” You finally ask. You expect Matt to tense up, to scoff and tell you to mind your fucking business, but he just blows out more smoke before responding,

“My wife and I don’t have the most.. conventional of relationships.” He responds, “We’re in an open relationship.” He adds.

“Oh.” You breath out.

“Yeah. Oh. It’s more like.. She goes out and dates and fucks and I flirt occasionally, but that’s sort of a long title.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He takes a hit, “Oh.”

You don’t have anything to offer to that.

“Are you from here?” you ask, and he just smiles.

“No.” He says, and now there is true yearning in his voice. “Hell’s Kitchen, New York.” He responds.

“Do you at least like it here?” You ponder, as if his far away voice didn’t give him away.

“At first it’s fine. You try to fit in, just, make your way through, settle down. Then, you begin to hate it. You feel like if it sunk into the ground right at this very second, you’d die happy. Then, you become.. indifferent. You don’t mind the numbness of it all, you just stay perfectly complacent. Then, you wake up and are desperate to escape, like your own personal Truman show. The Matthew Show. Wouldn’t that be something to see?” He muses.

And again, you have nothing to offer but another piece of your soul, just throwing it out there,

“Would you date anyone?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like, if you had someone you were really into, would you date her—Them, whoever?” You ask. “Whomever?” You ask, quieter now, mostly to yourself.

He smiles.

“If someone came along, someone say, who smoked weed, got along very well with my son, and was a horrible liar? Bonus points if she—they,” You suspect he’s making fun of you, “were an English Major?”

You tilt your head with a doe eyed smile.

“You remember I’m an English major?” He coos at you like you’re stupid,

“I remember everything about you, sweetheart.” What is wrong with him? What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you saying anything more to him?

“You know, sometimes, I remember the feeling of your fingers on my thigh when I touch myself,” And he grins like he knows he’s won.

“I bet you do,” He whispers, leaning forward so that his breath was hot against your skin, “Bad, Bad girl..” he ticks, and you can’t help but blush.

“Sorry,” You giggle out as your hand comes up to his face, just to move the pads of your fingers over his scruff.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” he purrs, his hand finding your thigh again, the twitch of your legs not lost on him. “I don’t mind,” he hums. The weed you smoked is starting to kick in, and with it, your inhibitions start to slip away, your hand reaching so that you can barely touch his hair with the tips of your fingers. He takes another quick hit of your pen before taking your face in his hands, squeezing just a bit so he can lean in and blow smoke into your mouth, and as if it’s communion wine, you inhale, wanting every part of him you can have. Maybe it’s greedy, but you’ll atone for your sins later.

When he pulls away, you think you might just die and go up to heaven.

“I think..” You think so many things. You think that maybe he’s fucking with you. You think that this is a nice little dream that you’ll think back on when you’re old and wrinkly. The deepest, darkest, most insignificant piece of you that you pretend isn’t there, says—

What if he leaves his wife for you?

And you completely understand that you’ve barely kissed the man, but you never claimed that the deep dark part of you was smart, chill or even a little bit in touch with reality, only that it exists.

Besides, the deepest, darkest, most insignificant piece of you that you pretend isn’t there isn’t something you can ignore. Ignoring it is like trying to hold a beachball underwater—Eventually it’ll pop back up and hit you in the face.

“I think that maybe I should head home.” You finally answer, and maybe it’s the weed, but you see a flash of.. disappointment cross over his features. But that couldn’t be it, you’re much more pathetic than he is, he wouldn’t be so upset over you having to leave..

Would he?

But as quickly as the disappointment was there.. It was gone. Poof. As if it had never even existed.

“That’s okay,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and handing your pen back to you so you can tuck it into your bag, until the next time you need another hit. His head picks up as you glance over to door, where his wife walks in, putting her things down. He glances over to you, “Let me walk you home.” He offers.

You smile gently, standing up with him. You don’t say much as you make your way to gather your things from the front door, making pleasant conversations with his wife as he waited for you to get your shoes on. Soon enough, you’re making the quiet walk back to your house, and you’re accepting the swirling mess that is your emotions—Sure, he’s married, technically your boss, way older than you, and most definitely able to read you like a book, but there’s something about him that makes you forget all of that.

Maybe it’s just the general look of him—the salt and pepper hair, the stubble that’s just a bit too long, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, the way his hands have just a few wrinkles and are covered in scars (from what, you do not know), the feeling of his hand on your thigh or the way his pink lips blew smoke into yours, the way his pants hug the curve of his ass, or maybe, you pathetic college student, maybe it’s the shine of his shoes, professional but just begging you to ride them.

Jesus, you’re too high for this.

But you’re almost certain that what did you in, the roots of your delusion, is the way he squeezed your hand the first time you met. You think, with the upmost affection, that your handshake was the most intimate two strangers could get on a Sunday in the blazing sun, the hypnotic daze of the light shining through the stained-glass windows of the church finally wearing off.

You want to tell him as much, to tell him that you haven’t gone a day without thinking about him since that day, that no amount of college students who ask you out for coffee have been able to drown out the sound of his voice in the back of your head, that the deepest, darkest, most insignificant part of you thinks that he might leave his wife for you.

But the walk home is silent.

You say nothing, but you listen to his breathing, calm, steady. You’re envious. Sure, he’s blind, but there is quite literally no part of you that doesn’t betray you, that doesn’t give you away.

He stops at the end of your driveway, and you hold your breath, waiting for him to speak. You can tell he has something to say, by the way he inhales, lips just barely parted. Sure, you’ve been an English major for years, but you’ve quickly picked up a minor in Matt Murdock studies.

“If I made you uncomfortable tonight, I’m sorry.” He starts, and your brows furrow in confusion.

“I’m—You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you promise. If anything, even though you were the one who said it was time to go, there’s a twinge of disappointment in your throat.

“Still—I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you or anything..” He starts, “Just.. Have a goodnight.” He smiles gently, his hand slowly, all too slowly, sliding off your arm as he steps away, but in a moment of, possibly THC induced, boldness, you grab his hand as he stands, arm outstretched to you. His sightless eyes hold onto you.

“You aren’t even gonna kiss me goodnight?” You ask, your voice vulnerably hopeful.

His lips twitch up in a smirk, pausing for a second, his head tilted in the most curious way. Like he’s waiting for the perfect moment. Then, he pulls your hand towards him so now you’re the one with the extended arm, like the two of you are dancing, pulling each other back and forth with an intensity birthed from desperation.

He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it, something straight out of a fairytale. But just as quickly, he gently drops your hand, his eyes blazing with affection.

“We’re okay?”

“We’re okay.” You confirm with a soft smile, not wanting to dwell on any uncertainty that’s between the two of you. To accept that there is any uncertainty at all would be to accept the chance that this is as far as you two will get—lingering crushes and the ghost of a pair of lips on your hand.

He waits until you get back into your house, then walks down the sidewalk back towards his house, putting the idea of you in the trunk that sits in his armoire, only in the back of his mind, next to his old suit, his old friends, and his old life.

On Monday, you get to the Murdock’s house after Matt and his wife have gone to work, but before Lucas has woken up.

On the counter, a tiny envelope sits, your name typed onto the envelope. You tear it open, finding a freshly bought cartridge for your pen. A note falls out of the envelope, and it’s.. in braille.

You sneak into Matt’s office, pulling out a braille dictionary, and you quickly figure out that the note says, ‘We’re okay?’

In the middle of his work day, Matt gets a text.

‘We’re okay.’

When you tell your mom you got invited to go out with some friends from high school, she nearly jumps with excitement. You weren’t exactly popular in High School—that’s not really something you hide, since you’re now going into your senior year of college and you can admit that you were something of a loser in high school..

And in college. But, at your college, that’s more normal and even encouraged, so you run with it.

But your stomach churns at the idea of hanging out with the girls that you hung out with in high school—Wasn’t one of them married?

You knew from your mom, mostly, that the three girls from high school stayed very much in touch throughout their time in college. They were always closer to each other than you were with them, but you know that wasn’t really their fault. They were dumb teenagers just like you.

Maybe not inviting you to hangout outside of school was a side effect of being a seventeen-year-old, as so many things were.

You tell her that you have no interest in going out with them, but she tells you that you should have some friends at home! You want to tell her that having no friends was one reason why you went away to school, but instead, you text them back, asking what they had in mind.

So that’s how you end up in a bar two towns over, liquor burning the back of your throat, your head pounding and your ears aching. Your face twists into despair as you swallow the shot, not feeling as good as your ‘friends’. You’ve never been a fan of drinking, even feeling guilty when you took your first shot of communion wine when you were 8.

Your friends start giggling and laughing as you try to keep up with the conversation, a little lost, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you poke at the ice in your empty glass with a straw.

Then, the bartender comes over to you, placing your drink of choice in front of you, your friends pausing their conversation as she does.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t order that,” You say politely, smiling awkwardly to her. You wish you were underage, you wish you were anywhere but here, you wish—

“Actually, the gentleman at the bar got it for you,” she smiles, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, glancing at the bar and—

Warmth explodes in your chest, your heart beginning to thump loudly in your ears.

Your friends laugh a bit, shoving your shoulders gently, teasing you.

“You have to go talk to him,” One starts, and another picks up,

“He’s hot!” You smile shyly down to the drink in front of you and nod,

“Fine.” You hum, picking up the drink and walking over to where Matt sits at the bar, sipping a whiskey on ice. You sit next to him, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, and then his head turns to you.

“Why are you here with people you don’t like?” he asks, and you just blink in surprise.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your friends. You don’t like them.” He says, and you just blush, embarrassed.

“How do you know that?” You ask, and he shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

“You’re just.. quieter than usual.” He says honestly, sending you a sympathetic smile. You feel seen in the worst way possible. It’s like you’ve spent your entire life hiding, and Matt can see you for exactly what you are. Your face burns with embarrassment, taking another sip of your drink.

“Can we just flirt and almost fuck like we usually do?” You wonder.

“That makes it sound so much more.. casual than it is.” He pouts, and you just laugh, already feeling more relaxed than you had been before. And it isn’t even because of the alcohol, or so you suspect.

“What are you doing in a bar two towns over?” You ask, unsure how to respond to his comment about the casualness of your.. relationship, although that’s a rather strong word for what you two have.

“I was meeting with a client in town,” he responds, “Thought I’d stop for a drink before going home.” He says, and all you can find to respond is,

“Won’t your wife be mad at you for getting a drink when you could be home?” And he laughs, like you said something funny or cute.

“No, when she says she’s working late, she’s probably getting a drink and hooking up with someone. I thought I’d try it.” He smirks, and your face flushes. This is not a man who has any pure or holy intentions, and that absolutely turns you on. You have so little inhibition at this point that you simply lean forward, grab his tie, and pull him in for a long kiss.

Your nose twitches at the smell of vanilla, mixed with a bit of the whiskey, but quickly followed by just a hint of lemon. His hand quickly finds your waist, causing your posture to straighten as he kisses you deeper, his other hand trailing up your thigh, just like that first day outside the church.

The bar is dingy, so no one cares when he pulls away to finish his drink, then, straightens out his tie (which might kill you), and then he stands up, taking your hand in his.

“Let’s go,” he says quickly, pulling you along to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. On the way there, your friends whistle and hoot, and while your face flushes, Matt does not seem to even notice. He opens the bathroom door without hesitation, like he knows it will be empty.

And the bathroom is.. disgusting. It’s dingy, dirty, but the sink looks.. clean enough. As soon as the door is closed behind you, Matt has you against it, his hands exploring your body as he kisses you, your hands instinctively going to his hair, as if you’ve done this a million times before.

His kisses are gentle, but invasive, like he wants to taste every single inch of your mouth with his tongue, and you happily let him. His fingers slip beneath your skirt, creeping up, finally finding the waistband of your panties, and he hums against your lips as if to shush you when you whine at the contact, his fingers slipping right under them to touch your throbbing cunt—It’s the type of warmth he’ll chase during cold, snowy days come winter.

His lips begin to attack your skin, kissing your jaw and your neck as he rubs circles into your clit, sucking up the breathy moans that escape your lips as he touches you. You’re soaking wet, and he wonders if you’ve ever been with anyone who knows where your clit is.

His fingers don’t even slip inside you, they just rub your clit with the attention it deserves, Matt taking your moans and how your hands grip his shirt as payment. But the movement of his fingers are too much for you, and before you know it, you’re squeezing your eyes tight, hands tangled in his clothes and hair, as you reach your first orgasm of many brought to you by the man.

He continues to rub your clit as you come down from that high, your breath getting more even, despite the way your skin burns and cum drips down your thighs. Then, he kisses you, jarringly soft—

“All that over some attention from my fingers?” He teases, that shit eating grin on his face. Part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, defend yourself, but you recognize, as does he, that he holds all the power in this dynamic.

“If I say yes, will you fuck me properly?” Because ‘make love’, despite what your mother and aunts always said, doesn’t seem proper. You two aren’t in love.. you’re in lust for this man—Or at least, you’re telling yourself that because of how desperately you want his cock inside you.

“I guess you’ll have to try it and find out.” He says, as if he’s not hard, his cock twitching in his pants at every little whiff he gets of you.

“Yes.” You hum, “All that over your fingers,” And he just smirks before asking,

“Anything else?”

“…Please?” And it seems to be the magic word, because he leans forward and kisses your cheek before adding,

“Good girl.” And at how excited that makes you, Matt finds himself practically fumbling for the condom he had put in his wallet the day he met you, but as soon as you realize it, you’re grabbing at his hands, trying to take it out of his hands, and his free hand finds your chin, gripping it just tightly enough to make your brain feel fuzzy, “What? What is it, baby?” he asks, and you have to take a moment before you respond,

“I’m on the pill, we don’t need a condom,” And a part of Matt’s brain that never quite grew out of the Catholic upbringing in which he was raised wants to remind you of all of the complications that could come with that, but another, stronger and more tempting part of his brain, the devil part of his brain thinks about the feeling of being buried deep inside of you, in the middle of this dingy fucking bathroom, with your ‘friends’ waiting outside, and he literally tosses the condom on the floor.

No words are spoken as he kisses you again, his hand that was holding the condom now working on unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, his free hand simply holding yours—perhaps the most romantic thing a man has ever done for you.

Eventually, your panties are rolled down to your ankles, and he pulls you just to the edge of the sink so you’re hanging onto him for dear life, and he just kisses you, and in between kisses he says, “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, just like that,”, and you trust him.

He pulls away from kissing you, to take your chin in his hand one more time and demand your attention.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he starts, “And it might hurt at first, but we’re gonna go slow, okay?”

“Okay,” and he kisses your forehead, strikingly loving compared to the situation that you have found yourself in. You wait, anticipation dripping down your thighs, before Matt slowly pushes himself inside of you, and as he fills you up, you moan into his skin.

There’s a part of Matt that starts shaking at the feeling of how tight you are around him. He lets out a low groan, his breath hot against your neck, as he bottoms out inside of you, his finger twitching a bit, aching to fuck you so intensely you’ll forget your own name..

But he resists, waiting for your grip on him to loosen softly,

“We’re okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“We’re okay,” You breath out, ready for him to move.

“Yeah, I know, baby, we’re okay,” he purrs, before slowly, agonizingly slowly, beginning to thrust in and out of you, only encouraged by your moans as they begin to pick up, thrusting into you faster, unable to resist the way you clench around him.

Your fingers barely scrape over his skin as he thrusts into you, his lips kissing your skin. He wants to tease you, he wants to tell you that you’re so dirty, letting a grown man fuck you in a dingy bathroom, but he finds himself lost in your warmth, unable to provide you with the dirty talk that he has dreamt of giving you for months.

But.. this is better. This is a well put together man, who falls apart at the feeling of your cunt, who shudders at the feeling of your hands on his, who tears apart at the seams of his being when your lips touch his. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to being an artist, mending and molding him with your hands.

It’s mesmerizing, and if you could, you’d stay here forever, letting him fuck into you like it’s his god damn job, slowly becoming faster, harder, more intense, never letting up, so you decide to push him—

“Need you to come inside me,” You pant out, and Matt won’t ever admit it to you, but he almost comes right then and there, not even bothering to give you a warning. Almost.

“I will, baby,” He hums, kissing your neck as sweat glistens his forehead, trying to push himself, trying to fuck you like you deserve, like he knows you deserve, his thrusts unrelenting.

Your thighs begin to shake as you claw at him, your breath catching in your throat.

“Matt- Please, oh my god—” You whine, “I’m gon—”

“Yeah, I know, baby, You’re squeezing around me so well,” He purrs, “C’mon, you can cum, you just gotta let go for me,” He advises, “C’mon, show me how good I’m making you feel,” And as you creep closer to the edge, your heart thumps loudly in his ears- You can’t help yourself. You’re sort of taken by the fact that when he’s breathless like this, you can hear his New York accent twinge out of him..

And that might just be what pushes you over the edge.

You cum with a moan, shuddered into his ear, panting as he keeps thrusting into you. The only time your mind wanders is rather briefly, as the way the stained glass windows looked in your church on the day you met him.

He lets out a soft whimper as he bathes in the feeling of you coming around his cock, the feeling of your hands in his hair, the feeling of your breath against his neck—he’s actually falling apart, and his thrusts only stutter as he comes inside you, deep deep within you.

Neither of you say anything as your hips pathetically roll, and he leads you down from your high as he slows his thrusts. For a moment, you both need to sit in the silence of your breathing..

And then, you start to laugh.

He laughs with you.

“What’s so funny?” He asks through laughs, tracing the side of your face with his hand, and you just laugh harder.

“You’re just..” You find the words, “You just exceeded my expectations is all,” and it’s so funny to him, that that’s where your mind goes after he fucked you so well. You’re adorable, he thinks, and he needs to keep you like this forever, stuck in time with his cum dripping down your legs.

When you both come down to earth, finally, he kisses you and says gently, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” And you happily oblige him.

He helps you off the sink, steadying you with his arms as your legs shake, holding onto him like a newborn deer, unsure of your movements.

But soon enough, you’re stable enough to stand on your own and the dawning realization hits you— you just ran away from your friends to go fuck a married man. And.. there’s so little regret—really, there’s nothing much at all that you feel besides an aching in your core for more.

He squeezes your arm gently, before asking,

“Feeling okay, honey?” he asks gently. And you just grin at him.

“Never better.”

So, funny enough..

You get grounded after your night out.

“Grounded?” Matt laughs as you tell him that, not at all caring that he has you sitting on his office desk, hands wandering your thighs, “You’re twenty one, how’d they ground you?” He ponders, and you huff.

“Well, my fuckin’ friends were telling their parents about this hookup I had in the bar, and their parents told mine, and they got mad at me—So now I’m only allowed to go to work, and then go home.” You huff.

Matt smirks against your skin, kissing your neck. He pulls back and grips your chin, tilting your head up to look to him, his thumb slipping into your mouth, pressing your tongue down.

“What’re you gonna do all summer, stuck in your big bad bosses house?” he asks, and you just roll your eyes as your face reddens. “Don’t worry, pretty thing,” he says gently, planting a long kiss to your jaw, “Your old man is gonna take good care of you.”

And you know he means it, too.

One weekend, your parents go away. They trust you won’t have any boys over, not even considering the idea that you’d have Mr. Murdock over.

He has his arm wrapped around you as you lay in bed, mumbling something soft in your ear. You roll over, admiring him for a minute, the way his eyes look.. he’s so pretty. You reach out and gently touch the skin around his eyes, noticing the scarring around his eyes.

“Hm?” You question, tilting your head. You didn’t quite hear him. He looks at you for a long time before responding,

“I think you’re hard of hearing,” And you can tell by the tone of his voice that he means it. “I’ve noticed it a lot, you always miss things when you aren’t looking right at people, and you’re always asking people to repeat themselves. There’s nothing wrong with that, I just.. You should be able to get the resources you need to help with that.” He shrugs, like it isn’t the most observant anyone’s ever been of you.

You lean in and kiss him, for a long time, your hand on his cheek. When you pull away, you take a second to breath before kissing him again.

“What was that for?” He eventually asks, a smile on his face.

“I just..” You shrug, “No one’s ever really noticed anything like that about me.” You feel seen, in a way that pulls at your heart. He smiles gently to you, kissing your forehead before responding,

“All I’ll ever want is for you to feel seen.”

The end of the summer comes a lot faster than you would’ve liked. You had a great summer, you tell yourself, you spent a lot of time at work with Lucas, smoking weed, sitting under the stars, and being with Matt.

But, as your move in date for your senior year approaches, and you begin to start packing, an anxiety starts to creep into you.

How will you say goodbye to him?

Neither of you have discussed what will happen when that day comes, but it looms over you like doomsday. Each day that passes, you get hit harder and harder with the realization that summer will end, and nothing will be the same.

And eventually, though you will and pray it does not, the day comes.

It’s hot. Blaring hot, hotter than you would’ve liked. Even as the sun begins to set, there’s a brutality to the air that does not provide any relief.

You’ve already said goodbye to Lucas and Matt’s wife, so now, you just sit on your front porch, staring at the house down the street. When the door to the house opens, you advert your eyes like you’ve been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Soon after, you pick your head up to see Matt approaching you. He smiles to you, and you try to smile back, but your heart aches with the knowledge that this will be the last time you see him until.. well, you aren’t sure when. You stand up to meet him at the end of your driveway.

“All packed?” he asks. You scoff softly.

“Something like that.” You shrug, and he smiles.

“What’re you still missing?” You answer before you can stop yourself.

“You.” You say, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. Immediately, his arms are around you, overheating you in the late August weather, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. He holds you gently, as if you’ll break when he lets go, crying into your shoulder. His hand rubs your back as he gently shushes you.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, “I’ll be here when you get back.” He promises, and you know he’s right. But for the first time, leaving your home will be hard, and you do not know what to do about it, other than buy a candle that might smell like him.

You stay like that for a long time, longer than you care to admit, before he slowly pulls away. You look to him for a few minutes, before he kisses your forehead. He hands you an old Columbia tee shirt of his, one that smells just like him, and you clutch it like your life depends on it.

“We’re okay?” He asks gently, and even if it’s a lie, you nod, and respond,

“We’re okay.”

Fall

Adjusting to dorm life comes back to you quicker than you would’ve thought, despite your heartbreak that came with living. You and your friends fill your time with studying, smoking, and doing anything you can to distract yourself from the aching in your chest.

But, you can’t deny, that on nights where it’s too hot to sleep, you scroll through Facebook—yes, Facebook of all things, looking at photos of Matt, getting just small glances into his life from two hundred miles away.

And as the time melts away, you become more and more.. numb to the pain that stung so intensely.. But you also spend a lot of time looking for the cologne that he wore, and you won’t deny that when your roommate leaves for the weekend, you spend hours in the memories of the summer, with your hand between your legs, aching for just a bit of the pleasure he gave you.

You almost have a heart attack when your mom asks you to come to church with her while you’re home for fall break. Of course you’ll go, of course it’ll be your pleasure, mainly because you’re hoping—maybe even praying for him to be there.

When that Sunday comes, you spend an hour getting ready. You know that Matt is blind and won’t care, but maybe a part of you believes you need to dress all pretty for him. You even wear the sundress you wore for Easter Sunday.

Your thighs are already slick with heat when you get there, and your eyes scan the crowd for Matt.. and when you eventually find him, your breath hitches in your throat, just like the first night you felt him inside you.

You grin as you see him, all by himself, at the back of the church. You excuse yourself from your parents, making your way back to him like it’s your god damn birthday you’re so excited.

But as soon as you approach him, someone calls his name behind you—an old friend or maybe a coworker, and Matt walks toward you, and you open your mouth to say something your eyes following him, and then—

He walks right past you, avoiding you completely. Your face falls with disappointment, your heart sinking. Maybe.. he just didn’t realize it was you. Maybe. You don’t know, but it messes with your head throughout all of the service.

You and your family are sitting more towards the back, while Matt and his family sits in front of you—You watch him like it’s your damn job, waiting, waiting, Until—

He gets up, quietly making his way towards a door to the side, one that will lead downstairs and to a restroom. You begin to count to sixty, waiting so very patiently, before quietly excusing yourself, and following him down the stairs.

As soon as you open the basement door, Matt is pulling you further into the basement, to a deep dark corner, and immediately, you’re pressed against the wall, his mouth on your neck. You moan softly as your hands find his hair, tugging on it, as his hands begin to explore your thighs like a starving man.

“Matt—” You go to say, but his hand clamps over your mouth as his free hand tugs off your panties, his hand cupping your cunt as you roll your hips, desperate for more contact than that.

“You gonna behave for me, pretty thing?” He grumbles, and you nod against his hand, so he bites down on your shoulder, “There we go,” He mumbles, his hand coming off your mouth to pull your panties down, before working on his belt and his zipper.

Your hands work at his hair, trying to cope with the fact that he is not being gentle, in fact, he seems to be purposefully mean, like he’s trying to see if you can even take it. This is nothing like when he first fucked you—this is a fucking that is making you see stars, and will leave you in tears.

Two of his fingers spread you open, making sure that you’re ready for him to fuck you. When he decides he is, still kissing your neck, he thrusts into you quickly—unapologetically. He doesn’t care about much else besides chasing that feeling of you clenched around him. He bottoms out inside you and moans against your neck.

Then, his thrusts start. He doesn’t even pretend to start slow, immediately he is thrusting into you, harder than he had in months, relishing in the feeling and the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

“Missed your tight cunt,” He mumbles into your ear, “Missed how well you take me,” he hummed, his pace relentless. He’s trying to satisfy his cravings for you, but his attempt is messy and he’s losing his mind over the idea of not being able to fuck you for another few months.

“I’m—” You whine, your hair falling into your face, your brain fuzzy, “I’m gonna—” He coos softly as he grips your chin with his free hand.

“C’mon, pretty thing, cum for me—” And just like that, you do. You absolutely do. You don’t hold back, and as soon as he feels you clenching around him, he’s coming too. You don’t know what else to do other than let him ride his high. When he pulls out, his hand comes back to your thighs, beginning to gently massage the mess the two of you had made into your thighs, pulling your panties back up so that for the rest of the service, you kind of just.. have to sit with that.

Your hands stay in his hair as he cleans the pair of you up, and you lean in to kiss him, and he lets you, but.. he doesn’t really kiss you back. And it breaks your heart. Your eyebrows furrow, as you reach for him like a child, and he just grabs your hands, “Just.. relax, okay?” He sighs.

“Why are you being like this?” You ask, “You’re..” You struggle to find the words as he buckles his pants, ignoring your gaze. There’s something inside him that’s stopping him from being affectionate towards you, that reminds him that you’ll be heading back off to school in a day or two and his heart will break all over again.

“Go back upstairs, Honey,” he says, but you shake your head.

“No, stop ignoring me—”

“Now.” He says firmly, ignoring the nauseating feeling as the saltiness of your tears fill his senses.

“Fuck. You.” you spit out, and he’s not angry with you for your reaction. It’s valid, of course. He knows why you’re angry, he just fucked you lovelessly, in the basement of the church where you first met.

He doesn’t say anything.

But he listens to the angry sniffles and foot stomps as you make your way back upstairs.

Matt’s neglect made you turn a new corner, and as soon as you get back to school, you find yourself constantly working and studying. You can’t possibly think about the intensity of his thrusts, the sternness of his voice.

You can’t talk about it, you can’t talk to any of your friends about the way you fell in love with a married man, you can’t talk to your parents about how you developed such intense feelings for the man who lives down the street..

So, you study.

On Halloween, you get a little too fucked up.

You drink an intense amount, needing to wash away the anger you have for Matt. At some point, you’re sitting in your bathroom floor, leaning against your wall.

Matt does not answer your call.

But you listen to his voicemail like it’s a sermon.

Winter

After Halloween, you begin to drink water every day, you eat more balanced meals, and you cut back on your substances. Truly, you know you need to make a change. And you do—school work becomes less of a coping mechanism and more of your job again. You mostly focus on enjoying your senior year.

But as the winter creeps in, you shop around for a gift for Lucas, fondly remembering your time with the young boy, despite your interaction with his father back in October. You store the gift away and focus on your finals. By the time you make it home, you’re exhausted.

You sleep most of the day on the 22nd, and then on the 23rd, you spend your day unpacking and helping your mom get ready for Christmas. Before you go to bed, you wrap Lucas’ present, and store it away, not caring much to deliver it any time soon.

You tell yourself you’ll drop it off tomorrow, and you aren’t sure if you’d rather come face to face with Matt, or his wife. The walk takes seemingly forever, and you feel anxious the whole way there.

You knock on the door, and wait with baited breath.. When Matt opens the door, your breath catches. He looks really good—A grey button up and dark jeans. You just smile at him.

“Hey,” You breath, “Uhm, I was just.. I wanted to give this to Lucas.. Is he here?” You question, not knowing where else he’d be on Christmas Eve.

“Oh, he’s actually staying at his moms today,” And your head darts up.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Matt says somewhat sheepishly, “We’re.. Separated. In the process of getting divorced.” He confesses.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” He chuckles, “I guess It was inevitable.”

“Well.. Then I guess you’re not doing anything tonight, huh?” You wonder, and he nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll probably just have a drink and listen to Christmas music.” He chuckles. You ache for him to invite you over. But you don’t get to tell him that before he says, “I’m so sorry about.. October.” He sighs gently, rubbing his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You say gently,

“No. It’s not. I was a dick, and you didn’t deserve that. I really am sorry.”

“I got over it,” You shrug.

“So.. We’re okay?” He offers.

You smile.

“Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Good. Because I’d really like to take you out sometime. Like, a real date.” He offers, and your face flushes.

“Yeah, that would be really nice..” You grin.

“No more sneaking around?”

“Well.. Maybe from my parents.. And it is kind of sexy,” You grin, taking a step up further onto his porch.

“Yeah?” He laughs, his hand coming down to rest on his waist. “Maybe that could be arranged.” He hums.

“Good,” You hum, and then you open your mouth to add, but he cuts you off.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? Tell your parents you’re keeping your old man company?” He hums, and your face flushes.

“I’d really like that.”

“That’s my baby,” He hums, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock #daredevil fanfiction #danny speaks to the void #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x fem!reader

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mediumgayitalian · 7 months

Note

Hiiiiii

Okay so I am absolutely obsessed with your writing .

Every day I check Tumblr to see if you've uploaded anything

When they move in together how do you think they will spilt the chores ?

And do you think their aesthetic would change as they grow older ?

Thank youuu

Love youuu

OH i love this. okay.

when they move in together, how do you think they will split the chores?

they do not.

they are in an interesting situation: nico has never had to do chores in his life. as a kid, he was the son of Literal Hades and an aristocrat, he for sure had people doing that shit for him. in the lotus, they presumably had room service. he may have had to do a few chores at the military school, but a) they weren't there for long and b) as an older sister with a younger brother, bianca was doing that shit for him. she ordered him to make his bed, he did a horrible job, she huffed and did it herself because it's more of a pain in the ass to make your brother do it again than it is to do it yourself. bianca i get you. after that he was homeless, so there was obviously no cleaning there, and then he lived in his father's palace. he has never so much as done a load of laundry except maybe hastily with a public washroom sink and a bar of soap. he barely knows what a mop is.

will, on the other hand, has been in charge of both a cabin and a literal infirmary since he was 13 years old. on top of that, if i am not mistaken (i'm so sorry i still havent read toa and tsats im getting there i swear), he grew up on a farm. his ass knows how chores work, in fact i would bet money that he gets a little obsessive when it comes to cleaning. he is acutely aware of how many germs are on every single surface ever. he cleans and he does it a lot.

this could go really badly, because habit would indicate that will would be doing all of the housework and nico none, which is Bad For Relationships.

however:

nico really likes will.

will is a massive hypocrite who overworks himself. he also is a bit of a control freak.

nico is also very, very observant.

i think, in the beginning of their friendship, even, nico noticed that will, like bianca, would let the onus of cleaning and tidying fall to him because 'no one else does it right', and also, maybe, it's just easier not to fight people about it. i think this would bother him. i think he would, in his inability to, like, be normal, impulsively challenge will to a cleaning contest.

and. like. will is a competitive person, okay. maybe not about things he knows he can't win, but when he knows he's good at something? he is not letting that shit slide. look at how fast he was to dunk on octavian, how prickly he got when nico doubted his ability to outrun the romans. if nico, who will knows damn well has done like four chores in his life, tries to challenge will, mr. antiseptic is my closest friend solace, to a cleaning contest?

he is going to sweep the floor with him.

pun absolutely intended.

from there things kind of spiral. at first it's a dorky ass learning curve, because nico loses every cleaning competition so so badly and quit fucking laughing, solace, you dickead, the windows are not that streaked and also watch me spray you in the goddamn eyes, huh, how do you like that and it's just kind of...fun. for the first time in a long time cleaning up doesn't make will quietly bitter.

plus, as an added bonus, nico helping will clean up makes it less invisible when he does it. now people are starting to notice that, no, the infirmary does not magically clean and organise itself, someone does that. and maybe a few more people pitch in to help. and maybe will realises, and maybe he smiles gratefully at nico when, for the first time in years, he has two entire days off, back to back, in the summer, for the first time in years. and maybe nico thinks he is going to collapse into dust because gods will has a nice smile. not that he cares or notices or anything.

do they need to keep having competitive chores forever?

no.

but does it make both of them kind of shyly pleased and happy to remember how they started? to remember how much their friendship means to them, first and foremost, and not just their relationship?

yes.

(also, by the gods, nico is going to beat will at laundry one day. he is. as soon as he learns to fold without creasing the whole stupid shirt it's over.)

how do you think their aesthetic would change as they get older?

not much tbh.

will is pretty happy in his cargo shorts, which, mood. and nico is very committed to his Prince of Darkness look.

they are gonna have to get used to like...regular weather when they leave camp tho. i think will might begrudgingly have to get used to pants. he hates jeans with a fiery passion and any kind of slacks, but he will accept track pants.

he is also into shirts with horrible horrible puns on them. especially medical puns. he and nico frequently fight over who gets to buy shirts with bone puns on them, because they both find it funny. their closet (lol) is quickly morphing into one monster.

will complains about wearing shoes every single time he has to wear something that isn't flip-flops (again, understandable). he likes buying off-brand white converse and customizing them, though, so those are acceptable.

he refuses to wear boots under literally any circumstances. there could be three feet of snow on the ground and dumbass will be wearing chucks.

while their t-shirt situation is pretty similar, nico literally doesn't wear pants that aren't jeans. sometimes he sleeps in jeans. (not to make will's eye twitch, noooo, of course not, sometimes he just Reasonably Forgets or is Reasonably Too Lazy to get changed)

nico does also, on occasion, wear button ups, sleeves folded to just above the elbow.

will likes these very much.

especially the green one.

the green one is Very Very nice.

as for hair, nico grows his out to shoulder length so he can tie it back. he doesnt keep it much longer than that, because too long and he looks like bianca -- he always looks like her, and he never forgets that, but its important to him to remember her while still being able to think of himself as a separate person. he cuts it when it goes past his shoulders.

wills hair is literally untamable. it grows where it pleases. he hasnt had a haircut since he was six years old and somehow his hair doesnt grow down to his waist. he has no idea how long it actually is. they tried to measure it once but it changed every two minutes. the literal only time it resembles anything close to maintained is when he wears it in two french braid pigtails :) nico likes to buy him elastics with little charms on them. he wears them to suit his mood, he has a whole collection.

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ch3rry-wink · 8 months

Text

Snitches get Stiches (AU)

Pairing: sheriff!Miguel x f!reader

Summary: Sheriff Miguel made your life and your friends' lives a living hell.

CW: power imbalance, smut, mentions of drugs, semi public sex, oral, mentions of coercion, roleplay

Author's note: I need a better title

The story began in high school; your brother angered a young cadet from the police academy, and the guy took it out on you, following you everywhere, waiting for you to make a mistake and catch you.

In a small town, fun evenings included smoking in the forest and vandalizing abandoned properties – not the most legal activities, but you always managed to evade him.

After many years, things remained the same. Your friends wanted to celebrate your return, and you agreed. A night with a bonfire, alcohol, and drugs started off fun until he appeared.

"Damn, it's O'Hara!" Your friends scattered, and you tried to do the same but stumbled over someone's backpack.

Branches and leaves crunched under his feet when he lifted you, forcing your hands behind your head, checking the backpack.

He looked different, no longer with the perfect abs from his academy days. He had a little belly that matched his new badge and uniform – now, he was the sheriff.

Miguel kept pulling out plastic bags with all sorts of shapes and colors. This would be more than community service or a fine.

"I swear, that's not mine." You lowered your hands in a plea.

"Hands on your head." You returned to your initial position as he disposed of the backpack in the back seat. "Hands behind your back." He took out handcuffs, placing them, gently grazing your wrists.

"Miguel, this will ruin me." He compelled you into the passenger seat.

"You should have thought about it; you could have stayed home." He circled the car until he was in his seat.

"I know I messed up, but please help me."

"Tell me whose backpack it is." You bit your lip and shook your head. "I thought so. Well, princess, you'll look pretty in your mugshots."

You knew once you stepped into the station, you were in trouble – processed and sent to trial.

"Let's settle this like the old times." Miguel looked at you with interest, and you knew you had a chance.

"This isn't loitering; it's drug trafficking, and I'm no longer a cadet; I'm the sheriff. Do you know how many asses I had to kiss to achieve this?" Miguel was playing tough, but deep down, he wanted this. "So, not this time."

The trip to the station was long and uncomfortable. When they arrived, there was only the receptionist and a drunk sleeping in a cell.

"God, you've grown so much." The lady adjusted her glasses; you gave an awkward smile.

"You should go home, Dolores." The lady nodded, and Miguel led you to his office.

"Uh, special treatment, I'm a VIP member." He removed the handcuffs, and you rubbed your wrists to ease the discomfort. "Will you accept my deal?" You approached him, played with his tie, your arm around his neck pulling him towards you, giving him a hungry, passionate kiss.

"I missed you." He loosened his tie.

"And I missed you." You unbuttoned his shirt and belt, unzipped his pants, and knelt in front of him like in the old times.

He held your chin and you gave him a smile as you pulled his cock out of his pants, you moved your hand up and down until it stiffened, you stuck out your tongue and licked the tip, a moan escaped his mouth and you knew it was time to start, you took the tip in your mouth and began to slide slowly, your jaw ached and gag reflex was setting in from lack of practice and your eyes filled with tears.

Miguel had a hand on your head encouraging you to go deeper until your forehead collided with his belly, you pulled back and continued to slide your mouth and hands down his length.

"Stop please!" his breathing was forced and you smiled at him still with tears in your eyes. He helped you stand up and gave you a kiss. You missed Miguel's lips.

His hands reached the edge of your shirt, he pulled it up and you helped him pull it off your body, he unbuttoned your bra and caressed your nipples with his thumbs.

He slid your jeans to the floor, helped you remove them, caressed your legs until he reached the edge of your panties; but he didn't remove them, he caressed your folds over them.

"Look how wet you are, you sure missed me" you nodded eagerly. "Do you want me inside you?"

"Yes, yes, yes" you said between moans.

"Alright, today I'm feeling generous, I'll give you what you ask for" he turned you around and leaned you on the desk, your panties were mid thigh and he started rubbing the head against your folds, until he finally entered a little at a time, you bit your lip and closed your eyes tightly, with Miguel it always felt like the first time.

He started to move with a slow rhythm in and out, giving you a chance to get used to it and then it was brutal, he started to ram with that force that characterized him while you stayed there leaning on the desk trying to follow the rhythm and not faint from the pleasure he was provoking.

Your nails dug into the wood, your toes curled into the carpet. One of Miguel's hands was on your shoulder and the other clung to your hip, you would have marks in the morning.

His pace was brutal, your spongy walls clung to him, they wanted and needed everything he could give you and you began to feel them clench, you were so close to that moment and you just needed his cock to hit the exact spot and his fingers to make little circles on your clit to make you come.

You were deaf and blinded with pleasure, when he lifted you off the desk and kissed you.

"I missed you so much" Miguel sank into your neck.

"I missed you too" you admired the gold and diamond ring on your finger, a gift from Miguel "You are the only reason I came back to this town".

In your last year of high school, you came to hate everything – your parents, your teachers, your friends who abandoned you in the forest to face punishment. Fortunately, that never happened because Miguel had a special fondness for you. Every time, you returned home with rearranged guts and a clean record. Despite despising everything about your small town, you loved Miguel. You cherished sneaking away from home to see him, appreciating how he traveled many kilometers just to spend a weekend with you. That's why when he proposed, you said yes. It might have been a high school sweetheart cliché, but you loved Miguel and the emotions he stirred in you.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman

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threepandas · 1 month

Text

Bad End: Stolen

I was furious.

Terrified. Completely enraged. Sick to my stomach. Overwhelmed and yet expected to function. To keep my shaking hands smooth and screaming thoughts orderly. All I wanted to do want scream. Cry. Destroy and destroy, weep and RAGE.

Then hide in a closet under blankets until the monsters went away.

But... but he wasn't going too, was he?

"Ah, my honored Sister, how good of you to join me." Greets the murderer before me, voice cool and smooth like the scales of a snake. There is a gleefully victorious lilt to that voice. A curling possessiveness to the title.

I am not his sister. We are not ever REMOTELY related. It is not even a matter of me disowning him for what he's down. It is simple truth. We are not, by blood, related. We were not RAISED together. Our relation? A farce. A legal machination by my... my Father, oh gods... No! Don't get swallowed by the memories! T-The blood. Focus!!

Fafnir is... WAS just one of many promising, talented, ambitious young men with no father's that DEFINITELY were my Father's bastard sons, no really. He most certainly wasn't COLLECTING meritorious youth into our house, under his name, and training them up with his wealth and influence. To bypass the bullshit class system and give them a chance at better lives!

Maybe suggest they pay it forward.

My father would never be so duplicitous. No, no, he was just a very lustful man... that no one ever saw going out to have sex. Who's wife had never been the least bit upset with him. And to whom he was fiercely loyal. Yes. Very, very lustful my father... w-was.

It was just while the family continued it's work on opening up opportunities for the lower classes. Jobs and better quality of life. Hospitals and schools. Fighting against those who benefited from nothing changing. It was slow. Like pulling teeth. The work of lifetimes, he'd said. I... I was expected to help continue it.

I'd been GLAD too. So utterly RELIEVED I was reborn into a house with some fucking sense of RESPONSIBILITY. Duty and honor and taking care of people! Building up social services! I had grand plans. Even after recognizing, a little alarmed, that I was on the fringe of a god damned OTOME game of all things.

One I barely remembered. Had played, loved most likely, as a preteen. A literal lifetime ago.

It didn't effect me, right? I wasn't here for boys or parties. Politics or fanciful dreams. Let someone else have their lace filled, flower coated, high drama adventures of love. I had late night paperwork and community research. Surprise to orphanages and hospitals to insure their was no corruption or mischief going on.

That one health clinic in Oakworth that took forever to get going.

Except...

Except??

Fafnir was a capture target! Which is why it took me forever to realize. As he had been so very small and filthy at first. Then merely small and in poor health. Short hair because his poor hair had been beyond saving. We passed by each other. Nodded, maybe exchanged pleasantries, but did not truely interact.

He lived in the dorms. I lived in the main house. He was basicly a student my father was paying to have taught, using our name. I was my father's actual daughter. We may have LEGALLY been related. LEGALLY brother and sister. But in actuality? We were no such thing.

Honestly, most of the "Sons"? Kept their original last names in day to day life.

Or at least... they did.

I.. I think I had shit taste, as a preteen. That or my luck has finally run out. Maybe it was my family's fortune, that finally could no longer best the odds. After all, there is always one. That ONE soul. Who sees something good and doesn't care about anything or anyone but themselves. Ruins things for everyone.

As long as they get their's, right?

A sea of motivated and ambitious young men. Trying to change their station in life. Have Better and MORE. Change the world around them. Leave their marks. Is... ha! Is it any wonder, in hindsight, that our luck eventually gave out? It was always going too. I guess Fafnir just wanted MORE.

He was supposed to go to the Royal Academy, fall in love. Compete against prince's and duke's, knights and heirs to merchant companies. All for the heart of the only daughter of a Ducal house, that had been (of course) raised by peasants. A carriage accident and presumed death cliché.

I honestly couldn't even remember his route. I might have read about it. But had never PLAYED it. He had had short hair, all but two had. So I played the foriegn prince route, even though he was kind of an ass. He was a handsome one at least. At least to me. It was just, I had never... still never...

I liked men with long hair.

Something which I had never told anyone.

Yet? As Fafnir grew? He did not transition into the character I remembered, like the others had. He grew his hair out. Became not only fiercely protective of it, but invested in higher quality products to care for it. Discovered my favorite perfume maker and commissioned a cologne for himself, that would mix well with the scent I always wore. Systematically tracked down each and everything I've ever liked, behind my back, to consume and memorize every facet of them.

I was blind to it.

My Father was not.

And... a-and... it cost him his life.

Father was not pleased with want he saw. But assumed it was a crush at first. We were young after all. Young people do weird, awkward, over the line things. Are learning about boundaries even as they grapple with sudden floods of hormonal shifts. A terrible time, really. It could be excused. As long as it didn't go TOO far. So long as someone sat Fafnir down for a talk.

They did.

He got more subtle.

A cycle developed. One my Father was not pleased to see. Fafnir would cross boundaries, be caught, get scolded, and contritely apologize... then get more subtle in his approach. Be more clever. As though all he had learned was "don't get caught". and "if you want to get, what you want to have, you need to have the skills to get passed us."

He grew concerned. Eventually, alarmed. I had thought nothing of it, back then, because "of COURSE he was supposed to go" to the Royal Academy? But... we honestly, really, Truely? HADN'T sent anyone there before. And there HAD been far more skilled boy then him. Prodigies.

But... my favorite ribbon necklace had gone missing.

From the room where I slept.

Overnight.

My Father took one look at Fafnir's pleased expression amongst the chaos and needed no further proof. He would not kick him out. Far too dangerous, he thought. But he WOULD send him away. Now?

Now I wish he'd risked it. Because... because everyone was dead. Struck down by the monster we let into our home. And by ancient law, which we both KNEW he was planning to exploit? This was a... a "family matter". Because, after all, we WERE legally family. Members of the same House.

"Such hesitation, Sister. You'd think I was a threat." He muses into his cup of tea, swirling it lightly. His eyes flit back to me, lips curling just slightly. "Don't worry, though. I understand completely. I would never hurt you."

But he would hurt others. He already has. Most of them didn't survive it. Ha ha... like a brutal yank on some unseen leash. I want to cry. Not sure if this is what shock feels like. But yes, thank you, for the lovely remind, Fafnir. That you have filled my home with bodies. The corpses of those I loved.

I use what little dignity I have left to walk forward and sit down.

Oh look, he has utterly ruined all my favorite things in one blow. There, my favorite tea. That, my favorite flower. Across the table my favorite snacks. Even a few favorite fruits. A dish or two. My favorite cup. And now? N..NOW? All I will every be able to associate with them is death. The stench of copper and the horror of this moment.

The joy of them is gone.

"See? Isn't that better? No more standing awkwardly to the side. Now we can sit, face to magnificent face. I've brought you a few things I know you'll enjoy. Isn't that nice? I've wanted to do this for the longest time." He sighs in contentment, as though this were no more then a matter of busy schedules and social anxiety. "And now? Now we are finally together. Siblings for now, but I am working to fix that. And if i can't, well..."

His smirk was a thing of nightmares.

"I'm head of the house now. You're finally Mine."

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hazelsmirrorball · 1 year

Text

Spiderman’s Biggest Fan | Jaime Reyes part 4

summary: Jaime Reyes is the biggest spiderman fan. His girlfriend on the other hand is Spiderman's biggest hater.

pairings: Jaime Reyes x Spiderman! FemReader

a/n: Part 4 baby! Hope you guys are enjoying this little series. I know I said this was going to be the last part but I’m going to do one last part because 5 is my lucky number. Sorry in advance

warning: English isn’t my main language. Angsty and kinda sad. Not edited

[MASTERLIST]

part one. part two part three part five

Aunt Marisol was dead.

The last ounce of family she had was dead and she left like a coward. Her mom and dad were gone before she had consciousness. Her uncle Ben died before she could even graduate high school and now Aunt Marisol, the only person she had left was gone. She had left her to root under piles of blocks. The person that raised her and took care of her most of her life was treated like shit.

Y/n was a murderer. Even though she didn’t throw the bomb after her, she knew that the cause of it was her own fault. She felt guilty for her aunt's death, if she weren't bitten by that damn radioactive spider she would be with her aunt right now, chatting about God knows what. If she would’ve organized herself and her life better she wouldn’t be dragging other people into her problems. There was no time to regret her actions, because that for sure wasn’t going to bring Marisol back. All she had of her were two things, the fight two hours prior to her death and her words stuck in the back of her head.

With great power comes great responsibility.

Aunt Marisol didn’t recognize the person she had become but in all honesty. She couldn’t recognize the person she had become either. The real her would’ve stayed with Aunt Marisol. She would’ve, scratch that, She should be with The Reyes family, she should be showing her face at Marisol funeral, she should be mourning her aunt's death but there she was, avoiding everything and everyone. She hadn’t heard a thing from The Reyes family, not because they weren’t communicating with her, her phone had been blown up with text messages she decided to ignore, not ready to face anyone, specifically Jaime.

Y/n in the past three weeks was houseless, her secret was out for Milagro to spill at any second, villains were on the loose making Palmera a big threat to civilians. She was on the verge of dropping out of grad school. She also assumed she was fired from her job and she didn’t have a clue if the Reyes family was okay since she didn’t want to anything, she didn’t want their pity or the mutual sadness, she couldn’t deal with that right now.

With great power comes great responsibility, yet right now Y/n couldn’t even deal with the responsibility of keeping herself afloat , let alone save a whole city. She finally accepted that she had lost it.

It was clear that her priorities weren’t straight, she was aware of that. But all she wanted to do was stay in a corner while the funeral service started. Y/n had no intention of talking to anyone. She didn’t feel like hearing people's pity stories. She was used to it already growing up without parents made her get used to peoples sad eyes and pity glances. It didn’t help, so why even pay attention to them. Half way through the services Y/n managed to take her phone out distracting herself from the cries she could hear all over the room.

As she scrolled around her eyes locked with a pair of yellow eyes glowing towards her. Her eyes focused on the report that was glowing from her phone as she felt shivers down her spine remembering what Karen said. She should’ve called for backup when Karen suggested it. He could’ve helped her and maybe there could have been a chance she survived. Seeing him made her feel more guilty than before. A constant reminder that Marisol was dead and it was all her fault.

Blue Beetle.

The rising super hero that had shown up out of nowhere to save the day. Y/n never really trusted the Kord legacy and weirdly enough, Blue Beetle was associated with them. Which in her head meant that Blue Beetle wasn’t one to trust. But who could blame her? Ever since he showed up nothing but chaos came to the Palmera citizens. Something that Kord enterprises was known for doing so it wouldn’t surprise Y/n if he was associated with them and their evil origins.

Her eyes glared at the screen in front of her not noticing how Jaime sat next to her quietly waiting for her to notice. Her thoughts snapback to reality as she felt Jaime rest his hand on her thigh. Her eyes wandered towards his face, noticing the tear filled eyes. Y/n looked at him with a sourlook. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him. She couldn’t break right now. She was going to keep Jaime safe.

Jaime had a family to take care of. He was already dealing with grad school, work and his family. Having her in the mix made things worse, he had recently lost his dad, his house and now Aunt Marisol. Y/n couldn’t risk someone else being added to the dead list.

“Can we please talk?” Jaime managed to get out as he extended his hand towards her. Y/n softly nodded holding his hand while heading to the exit noticing how the Reyes family eyes followed her. She shocked her head as she looked at the exit avoiding their eyes.

As Jaime and Y/n headed outside both of them sat on a small bench outside, none of them daring to break the silence surrounding them. Y/n played with her hands as Jaime heard Khaji Da telling about Y/n's off demeanor.

“How is everything going? Where are you guys staying?” Y/n asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence surrounding them.

“I guess we are as good as it can get. Jenny actually helped us with a place to stay while we fix the house” Jaime replied softly as Y/n grimace as the name of Jenny Kord got brought up.

“Well, I’m glad”She replied as she played with her lips softly not knowing what to say.

“You know, I know this is a lot for you but I really want to help you, Y/n. But I can’t help you if you continue to push me away. I know this is all of a sudden but you can’t keep pushing me away. I was really worried about you. I thought you died too!” Jaime exclaimed as his voice broke.

"I just..." before Y/n could even continue talking Jaime stopped her words.

"I know this may sound dumb but I think you need to hear this right now. I know for a fact Spiderman will find those people that got aunt Marisol and he will do the right thing."

"Jaime, for fuck's sakes! The only thing you talk about is that damn Spiderman. Fuck him all he does is fuck peoples lives off. If he were actually good, if any hero was actually good, there wouldn't be any crime, but Palmera is getting fucked by the second and your little Spiderman or that damn beetle haven't done a thing. Open your eyes Jaime. The only moment where heroes have actually done anything is in the damn comics your read, beside from that they are not to be trust"

Jaime stared at her agape not knowing what to say. He never intended for this conversation to take the route it was currently in. He wanted to tell Y/n to stay with them. He wanted to help her, not fight with her outside of a funeral home.

Y/n closed her eyes in pain knowing what she had to do. As much as it was going to hurt the both of them she knew it had to be done now, for their safety and relationship. Y/n stayed quiet for a few minutes much to Jaimes dismay.

“I think it’s best if we broke up” Y/n replied nonchalantly as she looked him dead in the eyes. She watched as Jaimes face dropped and more tears threatened to spill as she stayed with a neutral look on her face making Jaime even more hurt.

“What?” Jaime's voice broke as his eyes widened, not believing what was going on. Y/n took a deep breath and turned to the side not wanting to see his broken face, knowing that she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m glad that you came here to show support and everything. I’m grateful for everything we have done as a couple but right I think it’s best for us to take a break Jaime. There’s a lot of things going on and I need time”

“Are you hearing yourself right now? I just told you about opening up to me and not pushing me away. That’s what you are doing right now. I can’t help you if you are constantly pushing me away. I’m all that you have left. What the hell happened to forever” Jaime exclaimed angrily, getting up. Y/n focused her eyesight towards the sidewalk in front of her not wanting to face Jaime.

“I’m not asking for your help Jaime. I’m telling now that maybe us, this, wasn’t meant to be forever. That’s something you need to get through your head. Now, as I said, thank you for showing up. I’m sure that Aunt Marisol appreciates it, but I need to go back inside to talk to people. Goodnight Jaime” Y/n replied calmly, giving her back towards Jaime as tears fell from her cheeks hearing the cries escaping Jaime’s lips.

With great power comes great responsibility.

Jaime was right. Spiderman will find those assholes that killed aunt Marisol and she was going to do the right thing. Even if it took to kill them in the process.

That was Y/n's new purpose in life.

[MASTERLIST]

part five.

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zukosdualdao · 5 months

Text

through all of the shadowy corners of me

zutara month, day three: (re)meet ugly/meet cute. @zutaramonth

summary: as katara's plans on the anniversay of her mother's murder fall apart, she ducks into a teashop to wait out the storm and finds herself familiar with the rude tea server she comes face to face with and promptly bursts into tears. because of-fucking-course.

warnings: grief, nightmares, references to kya's murder (and ursa's disappearance, though that is less explicit), and references to ableism wrt facial differences. also, just, some lightly gratuitous swearing, on behalf of katara's no good very bad day. she deserves it.

other notes: title taken from landon piggs’ falling in love at a coffeeteashop. because i am basic in that way.

Katara’s pretty sure the universe is conspiring against her.

First, it was the fucking felt-tip markers being all dried up—damn it Sokka—she needed for the posters for the protest she was supposed to head.

(She tries not to think about how really, first, it was the dream she woke up from, that she wakes up from often, but especially on this day, the dream with fearful eyes and the ominous drip of blood and the feeling of too late too late too late. The dream that is also a memory.)

Someone had to make the posters—because seriously, why was the school shutting down the campus food bank when a third of the student population was food-insecure?— so she missed her first class of the day to get new ones from the closest craft store, over half an hour way with traffic. There was supposed to be a quiz, too, and the professor is notoriously stubborn about absences and make-ups.

And then there was this huge storm, so they couldn’t even have the protest today like they’d planned.

Now, as Katara ducks out of the rain and into the tiny little hole-in-the-wall ambient tea shop—The Jasmine Dragon, the sign had said—which is all warm lighting and soft ringing laughter from the bare few patrons inside, she figures she can at least get a cup of something hot to drink. It’s been a truly horrible day, and she can’t wait to get back home, sleep for ten hours straight, and wipe it from the record of her memory, but right now, this is her one saving grace.

So, when she gets to the second place in line, very patiently waiting as the server at the front snipes at the man in front of her, part of her wants to reel up to confront him. Sure, she knows customer service can be a day-in, day-out nightmare—she didn’t spend her first two semesters waiting tables because it was fun—but really, he could at least try to be a little nicer. The man wasn’t doing anything wrong, as far as she could see.

When she gets to the front, Katara opens her mouth to say—something, she doesn’t know what—and is caught off-guard to find that she recognizes him faintly. With his eyes the color of amber, swoopy, dark hair, and a shiny, painful-looking burn scar set against the left side of his face, on her right—yes, he was a boy who was in Sokka’s class back in high school. And he was a total jerk, barely speaking a word to anyone except to get into arguments, whether with teachers or other kids. She didn’t know him all that well herself, but she’d never liked him from the stories Sokka told or for the way he seemed to bristle at everyone and everything as she watched from a morbidly curious distance.

Zuko. Yes, she remembers him.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice almost a snarl when she spends a beat too long taking in his features, though he’s not looking at her, instead glancing down at his scratchpad. “I’m supposed to tell all of the customers we’re out of the oolong,” he adds in a rough voice, without looking up.

Katara wants to rage, wants to scream, why does he think he gets to treat people like that, god, at least have the decency to look me in the eye and treat me like a person when you’re being a dick—but instead, she bursts into tears.

Very loud, messy tears. It’s been a long day.

And, well. He certainly looks up then.

“Um,” Zuko says in lieu of an actual reaction, his right eye wide. His expression has softened considerably, his mouth shaped in surprise, his browline furrowed. “We have jasmine?” he tries.

Well, she thinks as he stands there stiffly, the perfect image of a deer in headlights, before reaching over the counter to push the napkin dispenser toward her, this is humiliating.

At least it’s not terribly busy in here. There’s no one standing beside her, and she only feels one or two worried glances from the tables, the shop mostly empty.

“Sorry,” Katara says through her tears. “God, I’m sorry. I just—I’m having awful day,” she says, motioning to her face as a way of explanation before yanking a napkin out from the dispenser to dry her face.

Zuko’s lip curls in what she thinks might be sympathy.

“Me, too,” he admits on a sigh. “Sorry. What can I get for you?”

“Um,” she says, shaking her head and smiling through still teary eyes. God. “A cup of jasmine tea would actually be nice.”

“Sure.”

She pays quickly and tries to ignore his eyes as they follow her over to the tiny round table she chooses in the corner. One cup, she thinks. She’ll drink one cup of tea and be out of here quicker than even the lightning flaring outside, before anyone can say anything about it, and then head back to her apartment and think through every turn in life that got her there, sobbing in line at a tea shop as a mean boy she knew from high school tried not to call her on it.

But he has other plans, because when he brings her order to her, he doesn’t just leave like he’s supposed to, standing there for several awkward moments that feel as though they’re spanning lifetimes.

Yeah. The universe is definitely conspiring against her.

“So… you’re… good now?”

Katara stares at him blankly for a moment, feeling her jaw grow a little slack.

“Are you… checking on me?”

A beat. “I’m just very committed to customer service,” Zuko deadpans, and Katara can’t help but laugh.

“Right,” she says. “Yeah. I’m… good. Thank you.” He nods—just once, a rigid jerk of his head—and starts to turn on his heel to leave.

But for some reason, she suddenly doesn’t want that. He’s being… almost kind of sweet, and it’s so incongruous with the memory she has of him that it kindles a new kind of curiosity. “We went to school together, you know,” she says quickly, before he can fully turn around. He pauses in his tracks. “You probably don’t remember, but—”

“I remember you,” Zuko says before she can even finish. She frowns, intrigued. “You always wore your hair up in a braid and those loops. And once, even though we barely knew each other,” he adds with the faint traces of a smile, “you told off that kid when he was… uh…” The smile fades.

Katara remembers suddenly. It was an overcast day, not unlike the way this one had started, and Zuko had been sitting alone in the courtyard, not bothering anyone (for once) as Katara made her way to lunch when she saw some other kid go up to him to start needling him, saying horrible things about his scar. Very loudly.

Katara hadn’t liked that, so she’d marched right over and told the kid so. Also very loudly.

She’s pretty sure that’s the only time she and Zuko even tangentially interacted, and even then, they hadn’t spoken any actual words to each other. Everything else she knew about him came from stories and distant observation.

“When he was being a dick,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. Peering through his eyelashes, he adds more quietly, “I’ve always remembered that.”

“Really?”

A shrug of his shoulders. “You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway.”

“I don’t like cruel people.” He nods, hands in his pockets, eyes suddenly downcast and looking almost a little ashamed. It makes her sort of sad. “Do you have time to sit?” Katara asks suddenly.

He looks surprised as he glances back at up her. “What?”

“I mean, I know you’re working, so don’t worry about it if not,” she adds in a hurry, tripping over he words. “I just thought maybe…”

“My shift’s actually over,” he answers, and suddenly, there’s a soft, sort-of-shy smile playing on his lips. “I—I could sit.”

He pulls the chair out and sits while Katara sips at her tea. It really is quite good.

“This is almost making up for the rest of my day,” she laughs, and his face scrunches up, maybe almost amused.

But then, the expression morphs. “Why was your day so bad, Katara?”

She’s surprised to find he ever knew her name, let alone remembers it now. He really is full of surprises.

She could tell him the simple version, the actual events without the why she was taking it so hard, without divulging what it was really about… but, well…

He seems sincere enough in asking, at any rate.

“I just… I lost my mother when I was really young,” she begins to explain, feeling sort of choked-up and tight in her chest again, but no tears threaten to fall right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and she looks up to meet his gaze, swimming with undeniable sympathy. “That’s something we have in common.”

She looks at him for a long moment, surprised. This is something they share, then. Something they can understand about each other. “I’m sorry, too. It’s awful. And… today is the anniversary. I usually just try to keep busy, but…”

“But everything went wrong?”

Katara hums.

“That’s the fucking worst,” he says bluntly, and Katara laughs then. He has very little tact, it seems, but also, yeah. It is. And it’s nice for someone to be able to… just say it. To feel it with her.

“It is the fucking worst,” she agrees. “But… I really am doing better now.”

“I’m glad,” he says, but he frowns, staring down at his hands, which are splayed on the table. “I really shouldn’t keep you from your day."

“I mean… the rest of my plans for the day have sort of fallen apart, and I should probably wait out the rain anyway, so I might, uh,” she says, feeling suddenly shy and hesitant. “I might stick around for a while. Get one more of these,” she nods down to her cup, warm and solid in her hands. “You know.” She takes another sip.

His smile glints, but it’s soft, too, definitely as shy as she feels. “I could do with a cup.”

Katara’s own smile grows wider.

The kindly older man who runs the shop—Zuko's uncle, Katara learns quickly—brings them out another round of jasmine, two cups this time, and Zuko slowly raises his in a cheers motions motion, a little awkward and a lot funny.

“To awful days?” he says with a raise of his brow.

“And to perfect storms,” she adds in agreement, laughter bubbling in her chest.

They clink their teacups together.

#zutaramonth2024 #zutara #zutara month #my fic #me internally: idk how i feel about writing a modern au i don't feel like i can get into their headspaces the right way #also me: writes almost 2000 words about it #atla #zuko #katara #trigger: grief.#trigger: nightmares.#trigger: murder.#jic #trigger: ableism.

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lovetaroandtaemin · 25 days

Text

Take Me to Church

Kim Dongyoung x Reader

Word count: 5,197

THIS FIC IS NSFW! MINORS DNI!

Content warnings: Smut (unprotected sex, some dirty talk, riding, a little bit of dry humping, car sex, a little bit of biting, mention of blowjobs), suggestive dialogue, religious themes, infidelity, excessive alcohol consumption, pregnancy, reader and Doyoung are both toxic as fuck. I am so sorry about the angst (no I'm not).

If I missed any warnings please let me know!

Fic is under the cut.

The only thing that made going to church bearable as a teenager was seeing your boyfriend, Dongyoung. The clothes that you wore to church were uncomfortable. The services themselves were way too long and almost made you fall asleep. Plus, everyone there really only cared about you because your parents were well-liked. Well, everyone there except Dongyoung, that is.

Your families had been close for generations, so the two of you grew up seeing each other frequently. He was always kind to you when you saw him, no matter what. His kindness is what made you love him almost immediately, even when you were a kid that didn’t really know what that meant. He was your best friend throughout your childhood, and it was only a matter of time before you two started dating as teenagers.

Everyone that knew you and Dongyoung thought that you were an odd match. You had completely different circles of friends and completely different hobbies. He was the student leader of your high school’s Bible club. You stole alcohol from your friends’ parents and got drunk at the lake every Friday night. He was a good Christian boy. You were a stereotypical rebellious teenager. Even your parents worried that you would be a bad influence on Dongyoung, but what other people thought didn’t matter to him. He loved you, and he was certain that he always would.

Leading your school’s Bible club is how Dongyoung realized that he wanted to be a pastor. It was obvious to anyone that saw him that he loved God dearly from an early age, so when he told you that he wanted to go into ministry it just made sense.

Since you didn’t want to hinder his chances at achieving his dream, you cleaned up your act. You dropped your friends that had encouraged your unruly behavior. You stopped drinking alcohol. You made a real effort to pay attention in church. Everyone around you noticed and was amazed by the change in your personality. While you still weren’t truly sure if you believed in God, you made damn sure that you were good at playing the part for your boyfriend’s sake.

When you started college, you were a bit concerned about your relationship. Dongyoung was going to a Bible college on the other side of the country, while you stayed in your hometown to pursue an education degree at your local community college. When you told him about your concerns, especially the distance, your boyfriend was quick to reassure you that everything would be ok. You both loved each other, and that was what mattered. When the conversation ended you were both sure that your relationship would last through college.

The distance between you was harder to adjust to than you were willing to admit. You were willing to try, of course, but it was jarring going from seeing someone nearly every day to once every few weeks. Dongyoung was struggling to adjust as well, but he was a bit more optimistic about it since he was excited to be following his dream.

What made maintaining your relationship through college difficult for Dongyoung was his parents. They had never approved of you, but they were “willing to let it slide because they thought it was just a silly high school relationship,” according to his mother. Now that he was seriously planning to become a pastor, they felt that he should find a good Christian woman, something that they did not believe you were.

Dongyoung tried to reason with his parents, he really did. He reminded them that you had changed a lot since the two of you first started seeing each other. They had to have noticed it, he reasoned. His parents confirmed that they saw how drastically you had changed over the years, but they still were suspicious of you and your behavior. Telling him that they only wanted what was best for him, they gave him an ultimatum. Dongyoung either had to break up with you, or they would stop helping him pay for college.

To say that it broke you when he ended your relationship was an understatement. You had just finished your second year of college, and Dongyoung was home for the summer. That was supposed to mean that you would get to spend more time with your boyfriend, but instead it just meant that the man you loved was now your ex. He didn’t tell you what his parents had said about you, instead he told you that long distance was too much for him when he was already stressed about school, and that he wanted to focus on school because of how important his degree was to him.

“Am I not important to you?” you asked.

“That’s not what I meant. You know that you are.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

“I have to.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Dongyoung refused to answer. He knew that he was hurting you by leaving, but he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay in school if his parents stopped helping him pay for it. What he had told you was partially true, as well. It killed him not being able to see you every day anymore. The part about focusing on school, however, was bullshit. School was stressful, sure, but knowing that you had his back made that stress easier to deal with. After he broke up with you he still had to deal with the stress from school, but he also had to deal with losing the woman he loved. He lost count of how many times he considered dropping out after you broke up.

It took you a long time to heal after Dongyoung left, but you still managed. You decided that if Dongyoung was going to focus on school, then so were you. You dedicated as much of your time as possible to your degree, and it paid off. You graduated with a Bachelor of Education, and you were excited to finally find work as a teacher.

After breaking up with you, Dongyoung started to regret every decision that he had ever made. He knew that losing you would be the greatest regret of his life, but he didn’t really have a choice. Now he wondered if ministry was really the right path for him, and if going to a college across the country that he struggled to afford had even been worth it.

Years went by, and you felt like your life was perfect. You had the job of your dreams, and you lived in a new city that was far from the heartbreak and tedium of your hometown. You even had better friends now, like your roommates Nayeon and Jisoo. You hadn’t really dated anyone since you broke up with Dongyoung, but you were ok with that. Sure, you had hooked up with people from time to time, but you didn’t really want anything serious. Your friends and your career were all you needed.

It was the end of another taxing school year when you got a call from your parents. They asked the typical questions, like how your day went and if you were relieved that the year was over. They also asked you if you would come back to your hometown and visit now that you had an extended break from work. They asked this every summer in the hopes that they could see you more than a few times a year. Usually you said no, but this time you figured that it couldn’t hurt. You had missed your family dearly, and you were dying to know what had been going on in your hometown since you moved away.

You arrived in your hometown just over a week later, and the first place you went after seeing your parents (and agreeing to go to church with them while you were in town) was the nearest bar to their house. In the years since college had ended you had started occasionally drinking again, and with the end of another school year you really wanted to celebrate.

When you walked into the bar the last person you expected to see was Dongyoung. You knew that you would probably run into him eventually, but you never thought it would be here. In a single moment, all of the feelings you had once harbored for him came rushing back. He had grown up a lot in the years since you had seen him, and he looked good. You wondered if he would be as happy to see you as you were to see him.

“Surprised” is not a strong enough word for what Dongyoung felt when he saw you walk into his favorite bar. It was something that he had wished for a thousand times since your relationship ended, but he never thought it would actually happen. He wondered for a moment if he should talk to you, but he didn’t have to wonder for long because you approached him first.

“Hi, Dongyoung.”

“Hi, (Y/N). How have you been?”

“I’m doing well. How are you?”

Dongyoung had a decision to make. He could either be truthful and admit that he had missed you dearly, or he could lie and say that he was ok. He chose the latter, desperately hoping that you wouldn’t catch on.

“I’m well, thanks. What are you doing here?” he asked, hoping you didn’t notice his hesitation.

“Oh, I just wanted a celebratory drink.”

“No, I mean I thought you moved away.”

“I did. I’m just back visiting since I have some time off.”

“I see.”

The two of you spent what felt like an eternity chatting about whatever came to mind as you drank. You noticed that Dongyoung was quiet whenever you asked him about what his life had been like since you split up, so you mostly chose to reminisce about old times. He had always been a private person, so you assumed he was just anxious because he hadn’t seen you in so long.

Dongyoung wasn’t sure if it was just the alcohol talking or if you had gotten even more beautiful since the last time he saw you, but either way he wanted you. He could only hope that you wanted him the same way when he asked, “Would you like to get out of here?” He was taken aback, to say the least, when you said yes. Dongyoung quickly paid for your drinks and got you two an Uber to a nearby motel. It was just outside of your hometown, and it was perfect. There would be no familiar faces.

When you both got into the car, you could barely keep your hands off of each other. Whether it was the alcohol or the desperation of missing each other, neither of you could say for sure. Either way, waiting for Dongyoung to check you two into a room for the night was torture.

Dongyoung practically dragged you to the room once you were checked in. As soon as the door was shut, you were pinned against it and he was kissing you. You hated to admit it, but you had missed the feeling of his lips on yours. If the way he held onto you like you were gonna disappear any second was any indication, he had missed it too.

He pulled away, and before anything else could happen he asked, “Are you sure that you want to do this?”

“I’m sure. I want you.”

That was all Dongyoung needed to hear before he pulled you over to the bed and sat you on his lap. You kissed him again as you started to slowly move your hips against his. He groaned at the feeling, and it only made you want him more. You had always loved his voice but hearing it as he moaned your name made you feel like you were in heaven. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“I need you inside me,” you begged.

His only response was, “Please?”

You quickly stood up and removed your clothes, and he did the same before you got back on his lap. As he guided you onto his cock, you let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. After taking a moment to adjust to his size, you slowly started to move up and down. Dongyoung would never admit this aloud, but he had fantasized about this for a long time. You never slept together when you dated, both overly concerned about staying “pure” at the time. Clearly, neither of you cared about that anymore.

“Fuck, feels so good,” you moaned.

“I know, baby, you take me so well. Should have done this years ago.”

As you continued to ride him, you started to struggle to hold yourself up. He noticed and wrapped his arms around your waist, bouncing you on his cock himself. You leaned your head on his shoulder and let him fuck up into you as you lost yourself in pleasure.

After a while, you could feel his thrusts start to get more erratic and it made you desperate to cum. So, you started to rub your clit, moaning louder at the feeling. Your moans were like music to Dongyoung’s ears, and he mentally scolded himself for not letting himself hear them sooner.

You tried to warn him that you were close, you really did. But before the words could come out of your mouth, you were coming undone around him. Your orgasm triggered his own, and you loved the whimpers that left his mouth as he came inside you.

You sat together on the bed as you came down from your highs, struggling to catch your breath. You never expected your first time with Dongyoung to be a drunk one-night stand, but truthfully you didn’t regret it. Once you felt like you could move, you tried to get up to find your clothes. He didn’t let you, however, wanting to hold you just a little bit longer.

After you were both cleaned up and dressed again, you laid down together. There wasn’t really any conversation since both of you were more concerned with enjoying each other’s presence than filling the silence. Just before you fell asleep, however, he whispered something that you never expected to hear, “You know I never wanted to leave, right?” You tried to ask him what he meant, but he didn’t respond, too busy pretending to sleep to answer.

When you woke up the next morning, Dongyoung was gone. There was no trace of him in the hotel room except for his scent on the pillow next to you. You still wanted to ask him about what he said the night before, but you had no way to contact him. You decided that you would ask your parents if they had his number after church.

When you got to the church, you quickly found a seat next to your parents. You started to look around, taking in the scenery of the building that you once spent most of your time in. The last thing that you expected to see was Dongyoung enter with a woman on his arm. She was gorgeous, and she was smiling at him like nothing else in the world mattered as he greeted people. She was also pushing a sleeping baby in a stroller. As you watched the way he held onto her, you understood why he didn’t open up much about his life when you were at the bar.

You considered saying hi, but before you could he was approaching the pulpit to begin the service. That was the moment that you realized he had achieved the dream that he talked to you about so often. Your parents had told you that church leadership had changed, but they didn’t tell you that your ex was now the lead pastor.

Just like when you were a kid, service went by painstakingly slowly. Ironically, the sermon was about sexual morality. When Dongyoung started speaking about the importance of remaining loyal to your spouse, it took every ounce of willpower you had to avoid bursting into laughter. As you tried to stay calm, you wondered if anyone else had noticed the way Dongyoung’s hands shook or the tears in his eyes when he spoke about how rewarding it had been to stay faithful to his wife.

As service ended and everyone made their way out of the sanctuary, you decided to say hello to your former church’s new pastor. When he saw you approach him he looked terrified, and you had to admit you found joy in that.

You said hello, and he took the opportunity to introduce you to his wife, Joy. You learned that they had been married for 3 years, that she was the niece of the church’s former pastor, and that their son Jaehyun was 6 months old.

“Who is this, honey?” Joy asked, concerned by your familiarity with her husband.

“This is (Y/N), she’s just an old friend,” Dongyoung replied, hoping his voice didn’t give away how nervous he was.

“Right, friend,” you mumbled.

“What was that?” Joy asked.

“Oh, nothing. Would you like to get dinner tonight to catch up, Pastor Kim? It’s been so long since the last time we saw each other.” you said, your voice dripping with false sweetness.

“That sounds lovely,” Dongyoung replied with a smile. “Do you mind, honey?”

“Not at all, dear,” Joy said.

You and Dongyoung exchanged numbers to discuss your plans for dinner, and Joy watched as you two interacted. She could tell what your intentions with Dongyoung were immediately, but she stayed calm because she still trusted her husband. He hoped that she didn’t know how wrong she had been to do that.

Now that you knew that Dongyoung was married, your hopes of getting back together should have stopped, but they didn’t. After all, he had willingly left his wife at home to fuck you. The fact should have filled you with disgust, but it only gave you an ego boost as you drove home and thought about when you would be able to fuck him again.

When you got home, you texted Dongyoung to talk about where to go for dinner. He suggested a small restaurant out of town, and you agreed, understanding that he couldn’t risk his congregation seeing him out with a woman that wasn’t Joy. Just in case someone you knew did see you, however, you each brought a Bible and came up with an excuse that he was giving you spiritual guidance on a personal matter.

You knew that it was probably wrong, but you decided to dress up a little bit for dinner. You chose a bright red dress that you knew showed off your curves, some gold jewelry, and your favorite heels. Your outfit was so decidedly sexy that you could only hope that no one saw you out with your now-married ex.

Once you were at the restaurant, you waited patiently for Dongyoung. When he showed up a few minutes later in a dress shirt and black slacks, you almost wanted to take him right there. You decided to be patient, however. When he saw you he complimented your appearance, and you did the same. Before you could say much more, however, the restaurant’s host showed you to your table and you sat down.

After you ordered your drinks, the first question you asked was, “What did you say last night?”

“I never wanted to leave,” he mumbled in response.

“Then why did you?”

He was silent for a few minutes before he admitted, “My parents threatened to stop helping me pay for school if I stayed. Without their help I would have had to drop out, and I really didn’t want to do that.”

You were silent as you processed his words. A part of you was relieved that he hadn’t stopped loving you, but you were also hurt that he never told you the truth. If he had told you what was going on, you would have been there for him just like you had always been, and you could have helped him figure something else out. You knew that there was no point dwelling on what had happened, though, so you just said, “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want to tell you because of the things that they said about you.”

“What did they say?”

“Let’s not talk about that, I just want to enjoy the time I have with you now.”

You and Dongyoung talked about what your lives had been like since splitting up, this time with more honesty now that you knew about his family situation. You told him about your new friends, your teaching job, and how you were fairly sure your parents still wanted the two of you to get back together. He told you that his parents had introduced him to Joy because they thought she was the kind of “godly woman” that he should marry as a future pastor, that he had named his son after his best friend from college, and that he had only married Joy to keep up appearances.

“Do you love her?” you asked.

His only reply was, “I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

At the end of the meal, he explained that he couldn’t book another hotel room for the night, since he had told Joy he would be home at a certain time. You were disappointed until he quietly added that he still had about an hour until that time and invited you to sit in his car with him for a little while before he had to go home.

As soon as you were both in his car he kissed you. As you reveled in the feeling of his lips on yours again, you were grateful that the restaurant hadn’t been crowded and that he had parked in a secluded area. The kiss got more heated as small moans left your mouth, and before you knew it Dongyoung was instructing you to move to the backseat.

You did as you were told, and within seconds he was on top of you. He kissed you like he never would again, desperate to feel you for as long as he could. When he finally pulled away to breathe, you said, “Please?”

“Please what, baby?”

“Please fuck me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. God damn it, please!”

When Dongyoung heard you beg, something snapped. He needed to be inside of you, and he needed to be inside of you now. He moved just long enough to pull his slacks and boxers down as you moved your skirt and pulled your panties down. In an instant he was on top of you again, lining the tip of his cock up with your pussy. He slowly started to push his hips forward, groaning as he did. You threw your head back with a moan, loving how he felt.

The back seat of his car was cramped, but neither of you cared. The only thing that mattered in the moment was that you had each other. You knew that what you were doing was wrong, but you still never wanted it to end. As Dongyoung thrusted in and out, all you could think about was how good it felt and how badly you wanted him to be yours forever.

“Fuck, baby, you take me so well,” he said with a moan. You didn’t respond, too lost in pleasure to speak.

It didn’t take long before Dongyoung’s thrusts grew sloppier. He had tried to make this encounter last as long as he could, but he knew that there was only so much that he could take. He loved the way you clenched around him too much to last much longer.

“Shit, I’m close, where do you want it?” he asked.

“I want you to cum inside me. Please, please, please,” you begged, desperate to feel his release again.

That was all it took for a loud moan to fall from Dongyoung’s lips as he stilled inside you. As you felt his release, you started to rub your clit in a desperate attempt to reach your own. Dongyoung noticed what you were doing and moved your hand away, replacing it with his as he started to gently bite your neck. His mouth back on you was all you needed to reach your own high, moaning his name as you did.

Once Dongyoung made sure that you were ok, he slowly moved off of you and helped you to sit up. He held you while you caught your breath, whispering sweet nothings as the two of you calmed down. His words gave you a sense of peace that you hadn’t had in a long time.

That peace was short lived, however, because he had to leave. You knew Dongyoung would have to go home to his wife at some point, but you still dreaded it. Before you got out of his car he kissed you again, promising to see you soon. You slowly made your way back to your car and drove to your parents’ house, hoping they wouldn’t ask you any questions.

When you got home, you thought about whether you would be ok with staying in your hometown if it meant that you could be with Dongyoung again. Since you had come back, you had started to fall in love with him all over again. Of course, you were hesitant to leave your job and your friends, but the thought of losing him again killed you inside. So, you seriously considered asking him to leave Joy for you. You knew that this was a big thing to ask of someone, though, so decided to wait until you were more certain and see what happened next before you asked.

You continued to see Dongyoung a few times a week the entire time you were in your hometown. The week before you were supposed to go home was no different at first. You went out to the same restaurant as usual, except this time since Joy had taken Jaehyun to visit her parents for the weekend, Dongyoung had booked a hotel room for the two of you. You were ecstatic to be able to spend a full night with him again instead of the usual quickie in his car or the occasional blowjob in the church’s bathroom.

Dinner went like it always did. You talked about what you did through the week and how much you enjoyed seeing each other. Then, you went back to the hotel. Just like the previous times you went out with Dongyoung, he fucked you like he would never see you again. Afterwards, when you were cleaned up and in bed, you decided that now was the time. You gently asked if you could talk to him about something, and he said, “Of course, baby. What’s up?”

“What would you say if I told you I was thinking about staying here?”

Dongyoung was shocked to say the least, but he thought about it for a moment and asked, “Why?”

“I want to be with you again. And I mean seriously be with you, not just sneak around when you have free time.”

“You know we can’t do that, (Y/N).”

“Why not? You told me yourself that you don’t want to be married to her anyway.”

“And if it was just me and Joy I would consider it, but I have Jaehyun to think about now. I can’t just leave him without a father.”

“You wouldn’t be leaving him without a father, Dongyoung. You’d still be his father, just with me.”

“I can’t leave him, (Y/N), and I can’t risk my job by divorcing Joy.”

“Like you haven’t been risking your job anyway to go out a few times a week and fuck your ex while your wife is home caring for your son?”

Dongyoung was silent as what he had been doing really hit him. You decided that you were done, packing your bag to leave. Before you left, you said, “Listen, Dongyoung. I love you. I have loved you for most of my life, and a small part of me probably will always love you, but I cannot do this anymore. The entire time we’ve been doing this I have been holding out hope that we could actually be together again, and now that I know that isn’t going to happen I’m not going to keep sneaking around with you. I appreciate the extra time that we had, but it ends here.”

You walked out the door of the hotel room, leaving Dongyoung to think about the choices that he had made. He wondered about what could have been if he hadn’t given in to what his parents wanted for him. Would he be married to you instead of Joy? Would you two have kids? Would he still be a pastor even? He knew that he no longer deserved to be one, so he spent the rest of the night sobbing into the hotel pillows, begging God to forgive him for going astray.

You got out of going to church the next day by telling your parents you were sick, and you got ready to go back home. How you managed to avoid Dongyoung for the entire last week of your trip, you had no idea, but you were grateful for it. It was funny, really. You spent most of your time in your hometown desperate to see him, but now you were spending the remainder of it desperate to avoid him.

It had been 2 weeks since you got home, and you felt like a dumpster fire. On top of being upset that you lost Dongyoung again, you had been feeling sick for weeks. You told your roommates, and they asked you about your symptoms and how long you had been feeling sick.

“(Y/N), do you think you could be pregnant?” Nayeon asked.

You thought about it, and you realized that it was a strong possibility. Unable to speak, you just nodded. Nayeon offered to go buy you a test while Jisoo offered to stay with you and help you stay calm. You told her everything about what had happened while you were away, and she held you as you properly cried over Dongyoung for the first time since your arrangement ended.

When Nayeon got back, you took the test. While you waited for the results, you told Nayeon about what happened too. You knew that what you had done was wrong, but at the time you were only thinking about how badly you wanted Dongyoung back. Now that you didn’t want him back, he might be a part of your life forever.

When the test was ready, you couldn’t look at it yourself at first. Jisoo was the first to see the results of the test, but her initial silence told you everything that you needed to know. When she finally showed you the test, you broke down in sobs again. You were pregnant, and you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dongyoung was your baby’s father.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed this one, I think it's my favorite one shot I've ever written. If you did enjoy reading, please like and reblog! If you want to read more of my work, here's my masterlist. If you want to see anything specific, feel free to send a request via asks or dms! Once again, thank you for reading!

#kpop fanfic #non idol au #kpop imagines #nct x reader #nct fanfic #nct smut #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 smut #nct 127 angst #kim dongyoung x reader #doyoung x reader #doyoung smut

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queerfortress2 · 6 months

Note

Medic x reader headcannons????

MINE MINE MINE MINE — mod medic

READER X MEDIC

if you were looking for a extremely romantic and sappy lover, than you are in the WRONG CATEGORY BUDDY, BECAUSE WOOO HES IS NOT.

he does try, really, but in a very unorthodox fashion. like yeah it has a romantic intention when he gave you a beating heart of the enemy soldier saying it’s for you, but you did react quite badly to it.

definitely had to be coached on how to be Normal in a relationship because otherwise he would NOT get it. turns out!! people don’t like organs and guts and murder like he does. it’s just a him thing.

he does delve deeper into your interests but more importantly— your health! dating an ex-doctor has its benefits! he still remember going to medical school and residency so he can still (illegally) perform on you. of course, you deny this advance, assuming you are sane my dear friends, but it’s the thought that counts.

slowly but surely the organs and medication are replaced with flowers and chocolates, it just took awhile to get there. he really is struggling but with a— albeit creepy— smile like that, how could you be mad at him?

his love language is most likely acts of service, which means he does the little things for you. said little things being anaesthesia but details details… you’re doing better off than his subjects teammates, so can you really complain?

and let’s be honest, being a mercenary pays well, you will NOT be going hungry bestie. with this advantage no matter who you are and what your stance is on paying for dinner, he is PAYING FOR DINNER, you cannot take that away from him. good luck trying

i think he uses you as an excuse to get out of things as well. new project coming up in 2fort? that’s too damn bad he actually needs to teach you the complicated anatomy of your central nervous system. it’s a very important thing, engineer! he has to waste.

also heavy hears about you so often he probably knows more about you than you do by the time he finally meets you face to face. i mean the whole shebang, full name, likes, dislikes, little fidgets, that thing you did last week to mess with medic, social security number…/j

he can’t help it, in his eyes you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread! maybe even the greatest thing since hemlock leaves in surgery prep!

…if you even knew what that meant when he said it to you.

all in all, god speed to you medic lovers because you will not get a DAY of rest with this man, he’s either working, causing something extraordinary or reeking havoc in teufort without many precautionary measures. we all saw expiration date. beware and tread carefully you fools (me included).

#mod medic #tf2 x reader #tf2 medic x reader #medic x reader #don’t get caught writing fanfiction by director challenge #(failed)/j

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imnotsimpingyouare · 1 year

Text

ENAMORED (II)

Modern Hantengu clones X Reader

Featuring:

"Pissed Cubicle Worker" Sekido

"Depressed Programmer" Aizetsu

"That Guy in the Alley" Karaku

"Unfunny YouTube Prankster" Urogi

"Disappointed Grandpa" Hantengu

"Delinquent Middle Schooler" Zohakuten

"Possibly a Criminal" Akaza

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

You will NOT be shipped with Zohakuten or Hantengu because:

A.) One is an old man

B.) One is a young boy

Ty for your time 😌

fem!Y/N goes for her last job with Murata's Service Emporium 😢 but gets an interesting offer due to her *OUTSTANDING* work.

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Hantengu.

You've heard of that household. They order some sort of cleaning service every month or so. Only, it's never been you that has gone before, so how exactly do you know about their service requests?

BECAUSE APPARENTLY THEY'RE FUCKING INSANE.

Some of the other employees have literally returned from the job crying.

WHICH INCLUDES, BUT IS NOT LIMITED TO TERRY THE GARDENER! A TALL, BUFF MAN!

WHAT DEMON IN THAT HOUSE IS MAKING A GROWN MAN CRY LIKE THAT? WHY DOES YOUR BOSS HATE YOU? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST CURL UP IN A BALL AND FOSSILIZE.

You sigh. A big sigh. A really, really long sigh.

If you had the heart to, you would've quit the moment your boss revealed he was going to fire you, only.. you knew it was like him to try and withhold your paycheck for the week if you did. Obviously, he can't do that if you've done your job on schedule for any amount of time, but you're not gonna jump through flaming hoops just to stick it to the guy.

Easier to just get this over with.

You grab your supplies and load your car.

Yes, they make you use your own transport for this job. No, they don't pay for gas.

Maybe losing this job won't be so bad after all.

Starting up the map on your phone, you type in the adress of this demon house and get ready to be very fucking miserable for however long you spend there.

The clouds are grey this morning, as they are every morning, but this morning is different. Maybe it's because you fell down two flights of stairs. Maybe it's because you held some handsome guy's hand this morning when he helped you up. Maybe it's because you literally just got fired like 10 minutes ago. But something is different.

○○○○○

Unbeknownst to you, in the opposite lane of traffic, Sekido is screaming at the cars infront of him.

Nevermind, it's not just Sekido. In some strange sort of... brotherly bonding ritual, both Sekido and Zohakuten are screaming at the car infront of them (which is going the speed limit).

"WHY WON'T YOU PRESS YOUR DAMN GAS? THERE ARE PEOPLE OUT HERE WITH JOBS AND SHITHEADS WITH SCHOOL! 20 ABOVE THE LIMIT NEVER KILLED ANYBODY!"

"...Sekido, I think 20 above the limit has killed people. BUT THOSE PEOPLE WERE GOING TOO DAMN SLOW!"

Sekido's grey minivan pulled up to the school. Zohakuten grabbed his bag and opened the door, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"...Zohakuten."

Red eyes met his, and he felt slightly uncomfortable at how calm Sekido was managing to be.

"....what."

"....one day."

"wha–"

"One day without doing some stupid shit to get sent home or to the principal's office. If you do, I'll... I don't fucking know, have the gods come down and kiss you on the nose one by one. Just be good. Ok?" He said, almost in a... defeated tone.

Zohakuten, for a moment, was dumbfounded. Had Aizetsu taken over Sekido's body? Was this some sort or trick? Who did he think he was? It's not his fault he'll never use this crap again. Nor is it his fault that some of the kids are little shitheads.

Instead of saying all this, out of respect for Sekido's effort to be *nice*

(Literally, beads of sweat were beginning to form on Sekido's face, and he looked constipated)

....he nodded.

"Okay. I want ice cream after school."

And shut the car door.

Sekido was left by himself, face immediately breaking back into that scowl he wore so well.

"Fucking ice cream. I might as well get him a horse and a spaceship while I'm servicing His Majesty. Seriously, how hard is it not to throw desks?"

○○○○○

Your car stopped infront of a mansion.

Maybe not a mansion, but.. it was something.

A three story house with 2 vehicles in front (AND A MOTORCYCLE?). However, the only decorations in front were a little knome and a set of windchimes. You could also faintly hear "Barbie Girl" playing from somewhere in the home.

At the very least, it was... a flattering home. The outside didn't look too bad, but you were at least slightly concerned about the inside.

You knocked on the door, cleaning supplies in hand.

"Murata's Service Emporium!"

The door creaked open slightly, before opening to reveal a rather handsome, dark-skinned man in nothing but a towel and.... a face mask and hair curlers.

His eyes were a deep emerald green, a complete contrast from his skin that you were HERE FOR.

He looked you up and down, before turning his attention back into the house. "Aizetsu! Your escort is here!"

Immediately your face turned red. "Wha- did you not hear what I said when I knocked!?"

He raised a brow at you.

"Service Emporium?"

Oh.

That actually sounds pretty bad when taken out of context.

"...okay, but why would I be holding all of these cleaning supplies?"

He looked down at you again.

"I don't know what freaky stuff Aizetsu's into, okay? Are you coming in or not?" He huffed.

You reluctantly waddled in and set your things down.

Oh my.

It was a disaster.

The dishes were piled sky-high, the floor SEVERELY UN-VACUUMED... you had work to do.

Another man, almost identical to the one who opened the door, approached you in a rush. His eyes, though, were blue, and significantly more lifeless than the guy before him.

"I'm sorry.. I am Aizetsu. As you can see, our house is a disaster... sorry."

And he walked away.

THAT WAS ALL HE HAD TO SAY?

WAS HE EVEN GOING TO PAY YOU?

HE'S JUST GONNA LEAVE?

You were starting to understand the struggle.

○○○○○

The camera lens was clean. The audio was crisp. In his browser "solt jasz musuc backgriund" was playing.

Everything was perfect.

And now, out of his room once again, was the legendary, the one and only, greatest failed theater kid of all time..

Urogi!

And he was ready. Ready to bamboozle this busy, strangely attractive woman that wandered her way into his home. Ready. But she wasn't.

Which is what made it good content.

And good content -> motorcycle upgrades.

Which he wanted.

Very badly.

So there he was, creeping up behind you, four cans of silly string in one hand, a camera in the other.

You, on the other hand, were almost finished up here. You cleaned in and out, over and under, anywhere you could. The dishes were dried and put away, and everything was soon to be in order. The only task you had left was to sweep the kitchen. A relatively easy job. After that, you could get out of here, and... you didn't have a job to go to.

Hadn't thought of that in a while.

But there wasn't any time to think about it when you heard something being set on the counter behind you. You turned around, only to be met with a man leaping at you.

Naturally, you dodged out of the way, dropping the broom and hooking your attacker around the neck, locking him in a chokehold. All was well until a flurry of colors came flying toward you into your hair and eyes.

Immediately you were overpowered, your key sense being obstructed. You were pushed over near the sofa, being sprayed relentlessly with some sort of squishy string-like material.

You were quick to recover, and reached up to what you assumed to be the sofa, taking off one of the pillows and swinging wildly at your attacker. Terrifying laughter was heard from above you, and you overturned them until you had them in prime suffocating position. Moments into your retaliation, you pulled some of the strange material off of your face, only to see the face of both people you met earlier. Except this one had yellow eyes.

You paused in your struggle with him, both of you huffing and puffing like you were about to blow someone's house away.

He stared up at you, and you stared down at him, before your gaze flickered up to the counter, only to see a camera placed there and aimed directly at the two of you.

Footsteps distracted you from this realization.

"Aizetsu? Your escort got loose. I think she got confused. Did you not tell her about being a quad?" It was the green-eyed man, back with his bunny slippers and some actual clothes, but no hair curlers or face masks.

"IM NOT A PROSTITUTE!" You snapped at him, smacking the man under you again with the pillow for good measure.

"Why the hell is there a woman on top of Urogi? Why are you just watching, Karaku? You sick fuck.."

Another voice was heard, deeper and more gruff than the rest. You looked up, and saw another man identical to all three of the others! Unlike his counterparts, this one had blood-red eyes.

"What's going on? Are you all siblings?" You said, before mentally face-pamling. Of course they're all siblings. What else would they be?

"Of course we're siblings. What else would we be? Idiot." The red-eyed man growled, before hanging his keys and stomping off to who knows where.

The man under you tapped on your forehead.

"...can I get up?"

You rolled your eyes at him, delivering another smack with the pillow before getting off of him. "You don't just sneak up on some unsuspecting person like that!" You scolded, but he didn't listen. He was already busy fiddling with his camera.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, mumbling a slew of curses before going to pick up the broom.

"So clean, so clean! It looks like this house is brand new! Where are they? The cleaner? Where are they?" A labored, weak voice sounded from the hallway. An old man appeared, and hobbled toward you. You tried backing away, but it was no use, as he grabbed your face to examine you.

"Lovely girl, lovely girl! Cleaned up everything perfectly! You're the angel who cleans up my grandsons' mess every month, are you? Lovely girl!" His voice was trembling, as were his hands.

He must be talking about the company. But before you have time to explain, he cuts you off.

"I wish to hire you, lovely girl! Lovely girl! You can live in my home, in the spare room! You can clean up and teach my grandsons how to behave! Will you? Don't leave an old man like me helpless. Their mother isn't around to teach them to behave, will you? Lovely girl?"

Your eyes widened at the offer. "..hire? Like, for money?"

The old man laughed. Well, he tried, but it came out as a cough. "For housing? Food? Anything you'd like?"

"....and for money?"

"...yes, I'll pay you weekly."

You needed time to recollect your thoughts! Living here, with unknown people? Cleaning! More cleaning!

But at least you'd have a roof over your head, and food, and 'whatever you'd like' whatever that was. And you'd even have your own money on the side. Maybe you could save for a house? To go back to school?

At that point, only Karaku and the old man were left in the room, eyes trained on you. Karaku's lips broke into a smile. He knew what your answer was going to be.

"..I'll do it."

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eashn · 2 months

Text

Hunger | Kuroo Tetsuro Chapter 2

Part 2 of The Train's Coming (masterlist)

Pairing: businessman!Kuroo x fem!reader

Summary: you're colleagues and you're screwin'. Now, it's finally time for you and Kuroo to present your big business proposal to the board.

Ao3 Link | Word count: ~1.8k

Tags/Warnings: Smutty near the end, heated makeout, Kuroo's hard-on, FWB, Timeskip!Kuroo, sexual tension, humor, Ikkei and Keishin Ukai make an appearance, so does Bokuto

“Now that is gutsy, Miss L/N,” Director Nekomata said. You cringed slightly, not sure yet how to take that.

“Gusty!” Washijo bellowed. “They’re trying to poach my job—”

“Tanji,” Director Ukai said, rubbing his wrinkled forehead. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t want to do it like this.” He sighed. “You’re fired.”

You thought that after almost thirty years as the Head of Sports Promotion at one of the largest companies in the nation, Tanji Washijo would be a bit more well-versed in the art of diplomacy. “Excuse me?!” the man shrieked. You had been wrong.

“This is outrageous!” he cried. “It’s—it’s egregious!”

“Alright, old man, pack it up,” Ukai the younger snarled. Seated beside his uncle at the Board of Directors’ table, his only real job at these meetings was to take notes—but you always liked it when he spoke up. He was funny. “What, do you read a damn thesaurus every morning before walking in here?”

You made the mistake of glancing over at Kuroo. The eye contact almost sent you both cracking up, but you averted your gaze frantically, reigning it in. He clasped a hand tightly over his mouth, furrowing his brows like he was observing the situation in front of him with dire concern.

“Decades!” Washijo hollered. “Three decades I’ve been a diligent employee at this company, and now this—” he pointed accusingly at Ukai Junior “—delinquent! Thinks he can talk back to me?!”

“What did you call me?” Keishin leapt to his feet, banging a fist on the table.

“Oh, for God’s sake—security!” Ukai Senior roared. He grabbed his nephew by the collar, yanking him down to his seat. Two burly-looking security guards walked in, and Ikkei turned tiredly to them. “Please. Help Tanji back to his desk,” he said. “And get him, I dunno, a box or something for his belongings.”

“A box or something—!”

“Right away, sir,” interjected one of the guards, a broad man with spiky gray-and-black hair. The dude glanced at Kuroo for a second, and suddenly you remembered: that was Kotarou Bokuto, Kuroo’s friend from high school.

“Preposterous!” Washijo cried. “I thought we were friends, Ikkei! This—this is asinine!”

“Jesus,” Keishin muttered.

“I won’t forget this! After years of service for this company—!”

“Alright, big guy,” Kotarou said, placing a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. He and the other guard began walking him to the door. Right before he left, he turned furtively to Kuroo, and you caught him whisper, “Good luck with all this, man.”

“Thanks, Ko,” Kuroo mumbled, utterly in shock.

And so, security marched Tanji Washijo, the former Head of Promotion—kicking and screaming—out the conference room door. For a few moments, the rest of the Board looked on with unease. Someone fiddled with his collar, another tapped his pen nervously against the table. Then, they turned their attention onto you two. The presumptive new Heads of Promotion. They appraised you carefully, sizing you up in that condescending, corporate way. Only Nekomata smiled at you.

“Excellent work on your proposal, once again!” he said serenely.

You smiled nervously at the tranquil old man. “Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you,” Kuroo echoed, and when you glanced over you saw his matching smile—that blinding, charismatic smile. In classic fashion, he’d shaken off his stupor in record speed. Kuroo always lands on his feet, you thought, grinning a little wider as you snuck another look at him. Dear God, he looked good in that jacket.

“Agreed,” Ukai Senior said. “Mr. Kuroo, Miss L/N, you’ve both shown promising work in all your time here. I’m truly pleased.” Your heart warmed at that—it meant so much coming from him. Ukai was undoubtedly tougher than Nekomata, ten times harder to impress. You thought of all the sleepless nights you and Kuroo had put into this project, and you simmered with pride. It finally felt like it’d all been worth it.

“We need young blood like you leading this company,” he continued.

Your breath caught. You felt Kuroo’s eyes shift to yours for a second, but you didn’t dare return the look. Not now.

“I’m completely in favor of instating you both as the next co-Heads of Promotion,” Ukai said. You thought you might die right there on the conference room floor.

“I’ll second that!” Nekomata announced.

“I’ll third it,” Ukai Junior agreed. He winked good-naturedly at the two of you.

“Shut up, Keishin,” said Ikkei.

“Oh, fuck you, old man.”

And before you even knew what was happening, the meeting was over. The Board members were all on their feet and milling about the room, buzzing with arbitrary conversation—none of which really registered in your mind. A few people came over to shake your hand or to clap Kuroo on the shoulder, and you let it all happen by default. Your brain was as good as boiled cabbage right now. You were the Head of Promotion. You felt like throwing up. In a good way, though. Definitely in a good way.

You didn’t know how you wound up back at your old shared cubicle with Kuroo. Nekomata was having you both gather your things to shift them into a shiny new office, so, in a daze, you collected your belongings, unstuck your dozens of post-it notes from around your desk, and were just about to leave the cramped old place behind. Kuroo, however, hesitated by the window. A ghost of a smile flickered on his face as he gazed out that shitty, tiny window, out toward the skyline beyond. The day was almost over, and the city lights were beginning to come alive.

“I know it’s cliché,” he said, “but I’m really gonna miss this view.”

“Yeah? Wait till you see the view from our new office.”

“Sure, but…just c’mere for a sec.” Some unidentifiable emotion rippled across his face as he beckoned you over. You complied, puzzled. “Look,” he said, pointing down onto the street. “Over on that side. That’s—”

“Miya’s Noodle Shop!” you realized, laughing. “I never knew you could see it from here. Do you remember—”

“The first time we went to lunch together?” Kuroo said. “‘Course I do.” You looked up at him, catching the way he gazed down at the shop fondly. “Those first few months, I thought I’d never make a friend in this city. Then you came along.”

Oh, man. After everything that’d already happened today, Kuroo had to go ahead and do this—make you all sappy and emotional in a way that was definitely unbecoming of a brand-new manager. You gazed at his peaceful expression, noticing the glazed look behind his eyes: his only indication that he was reeling, too. He, too, was in utter disbelief that you’d finally, finally made it here. And then he went ahead and got all mushy on you, somehow echoing the exact sentiment you’d thought this morning on the train. Life was so lonely before you.

“You haven’t stopped taking the train since.” You smirked at him, letting an edge of teasing into your voice. “Am I your only friend, Kuroo?”

He whirled. Jaw tense, brows drawn tight, he leveled you with a piercing stare. His face was dead serious when he replied, “You’re the only one that counts.”

About two years ago, you threw caution to the wind and accepted a job offer in a new city. Thus began almost two years of a breakneck routine: waking up at ungodly hours, primping yourself up for the day, and dragging yourself to the station, only to wait in silence by the tracks as the train took its sweet time to arrive. Like everything else about your life, the mornings had become all about hustle. You were running to catch the train, running to finish all your assignments, running on precious little to keep yourself awake and alive. It was the nature of the job, unfortunately. You got used to it.

But after all this time, you had finally realized an integral thing: the work could only satisfy you so much. This promotion was everything you had wanted—you were nothing short of thrilled. Yet you knew that, like any drug, success has a shelf-life. Your body metabolizes that thrill, over and over and over again, until it doesn’t quite hit you the same way anymore. In other words, you had long since realized that there needed to be more to your life than the job. You had to find other ways to make yourself happy, or else risk the danger of burning out once and for all.

Kuroo made you happy. Really happy.

He stood there, neat and polished, in his ironed tie and white button-up. His hair was fighting the product he’d put in it this morning, trying to stick out in that characteristic, bedhead way. It was a gorgeously endearing sight. And the way he was looking at you now, earnest and vulnerable, made you want to abandon all common sense. Screw “unbecoming.” You wanted to jump right into his arms.

“That…means a lot,” you finally said. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For everything. For being here, and being…you.” You swallowed hard, finding it increasingly difficult to keep the emotion out of your voice. “My turn to be cliché. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Kuroo’s eyes crinkled in a grin—and then, he scanned up and down the hallway. Abruptly, he backed you against the wall, barricading your line of sight with his broad shoulders, and before you could even protest, he cradled your jaw in one palm.

“Me neither,” he whispered. And Kuroo kissed you.

It was voltaic.

Charged with hours worth of pent-up longing, it was slow and deep and devastatingly warm. Heat rushed like liquid lightning through your veins as he worked his lips against you, his other hand coming up to pull your waist into his. You gasped into his mouth, and felt him smile against your own.

“Fuck,” you whispered, parting from him. He giggled like you’d said something funny. “We shouldn’t do this here,” you said.

“Says who? We’re their bosses now.”

“That doesn’t mean—” Kuroo didn’t let you finish; he slammed his lips back against yours, and immediately this kiss felt different. Messily, desperately, Kuroo slid his tongue into your mouth, gliding it against yours. One of his hands was fisting in your hair, tugging you ever closer. The other was gripping your hip, and you could feel the throbbing heat of him pulsing to life against your thigh. Images from your exchange this morning bubbled back into mind, and you remembered the night you’d promised him—the culmination to all the teasing you’d put him through.

Not that he was teasing you any less. He began kissing slowly down the side of your neck, and you couldn’t hold back the embarrassing sound that tumbled out of you. Again, Kuroo huffed a laugh into your skin, like all of this was hilarious to him. “Shut up,” you whispered, weaving your fingers into his hair. He didn’t even say anything in response. But he pulled away from you—you fought down the disappointed whine that almost left you at the loss of contact—and his eyes met yours. They smoldered with want. With longing.

With that all-too-familiar hunger.

You breathed heavily. “Wanna get out of here?” you murmured.

And the rest was history.

Part 3 (which will be plotless smut lmao) is coming soon!

Thanks so much for reading! Requests are open, and follow @eashn for more!

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #hq kuroo #kuroo tetsuro x reader #bokuto koutaro #smut

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