#today will be a semi-lazy day beyond that

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <3

[donaweasley]

A Home With You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Plot:

It had become a quiet routine for Bucky to crash at your place whenever he felt like he needed it. You didn't mind at all, of course! But eventually, you find yourself being pulled in the whirlpool of something stronger. And Bucky? Well, you wouldn't know until you ask him, right?

Genre: Fluff, domestic, friends-to-lovers

Warnings: None

Read time: ~16 mins

You tried to dedicate at least one weekend a month to rearranging your wardrobe. After many failed attempts at not missing these deadlines, you had finally accepted that organising wardrobes just wasn’t your thing. Most days you’d simply stand there, staring at the crumpled, slumping stacks of fabric inside, mentally organising them, before shutting the doors with a dramatic huff and a defeated acceptance of “That’s too much work! Next week!”

But today was not that day. Today you were determined to see neat stacks by sundown, no matter what came in the way!

Bucky had returned from a mission late last night and, though he insisted on being the cook for the day, you had managed to nudge him into tending the plants instead, if he really needed something to busy his hands.

Food was scheduled to be at your doorstep in around two hours, and an old album, playing from a Bluetooth speaker in the living room, filled the house with rhythm and nostalgia. Everything was sorted, except for your wardrobe.

As you pulled out the first two bundles of semi-neatly folded clothes, you paused. Around half of the occupants there were not even yours. They were Bucky’s. You took one shirt, unfolded it, and pressed it to your nose, inhaling the soft scent of fresh laundry, tinged with something distinctly him. The long sleeves draped over your shoulders loosely, as though hinting at a shadow of an embrace that its owner was yet to give you.

With a lazy smile now hanging on your lips, you carefully placed the garment alongside the rest of the clothes, and took out the next stack. This one revealed two of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts that he wore to bed when he stayed over. Well, on the makeshift bed in your apartment that had slowly, almost shyly, become his.

It suddenly dawned on you how every little piece in your apartment had his signature on it. Not loud, not overshadowing your essence, but seamlessly stitched into your space, like a second thread running alongside your own.

Your mind slowly drifted back to the first day that Bucky had crashed at your place.

It was past midnight. You remembered getting startled when the doorbell rang. The little peephole had revealed a worn-out Bucky in a hoodie. His long hair, drenched with the weight of the rain outside, shadowed his eyes as he hung his head and stared at your threshold. You had opened the door in panic, fearing the worst. What other reason would Bucky Barnes have to appear at your doorstep, in the middle of the night, wearing a fatigue that you had rarely seen on him ever since he had been friends with Sam!

“Can I …” A long exhale had punctuated his words. “Can I stay here for the night?”

That simple question - raw and pleading - had left you breathless. He had been your friend, alright, but never had you imagined him seeking you out for comfort when the weight of the world had become too much to bear alone.

And then, eventually, it became a routine. Every time he was upset beyond repair, every time he returned from a complex mission, every time he needed someone to lean on, Bucky would appear at your doorstep. And you? You would always welcome him with all the warmth and cosiness that you could offer as a friend, until your place had started feeling like a home to him.

Now, almost a year later, your place is painted with little strokes of Bucky. After three to four months of finding the large man trying to awkwardly fit into your couch, you had ultimately exchanged it for a sofa-bed. The furniture was well beyond its good days anyway, so why not replace it with something more useful? Just a practical choice, nothing else, you had reasoned.

With Bucky coming over to your place more often each week, some of his clothes had found their place in between your ones.

“It’s more convenient this way,” he had told you, avoiding your amused eyes.

Your sink needed fixing? Bucky was your man. You weren’t feeling strong enough to carry on through the day? Bucky would make you your favourite meal, and then be the shoulder to lean on as you distracted yourself with movies and shows.

His favourite brand of tea lived on your kitchen shelf, not far from a box of his favourite cookies. A seashell that he had once found on the beach sat on a side table in your living room.

“It looks better in your apartment,” he had argued. “Besides, I’m sort of careless with these things.”

Hell, he even had a spare toothbrush in your bathroom!

A smile crept up on your dazed face when you remembered the night you had run your fingers through the tousled hair of a sleeping Bucky, and had kissed his forehead while whispering, “You can stay here for as long as you like.” You had always wondered later if he had really been asleep at that moment.

Your mind even had the audacity to bring up the memory of the first time you had seen Bucky in your oversized t-shirt and a pair of really old shorts, freshly showered, hair sprinkled with droplets of water, smelling of your shower gel and shampoo, with your towel hanging around his neck. It was a thrilling sight to behold, to say the least, surprising as well but also calming and … intimate? Like there was something so beautifully domestic about it. You were busy fixing his bed on the old couch when your brain had stopped functioning. It was only when a cushion had slipped out of your numb fingers, drawing Bucky’s attention, that you realised the embarrassing situation you had put yourself in. Back then, you had dismissed the feeling as “a passing phase”. But now, thinking back, your cheeks burned when you realised that falling for James Buchanan Barnes wasn’t a recent event. You had started admiring the man long before you had realised it.

As the reel of memories slowly unfolded in your mind, you realised that Bucky had quietly built a home in your house. Quietly. Softly. Whether he realised it or not was a different chapter but the domestic life that you both shared - even though only twice or thrice a week - was actually the secret to your newfound happiness.

The super soldier smiled more, his nightmares had almost disappeared, his shoulders were more relaxed. Your loneliness had vanished, you were more active than ever, you were finally inspired to pursue your hobbies, and your place glowed with laughter, warmth and peace - those little feelings that suspiciously felt like love. And you realised that maybe - just maybe, because even though all signs were clearly screaming delightfully, you were still afraid to hope - that this entire unsaid, unofficial, semi-roommate arrangement that you had between yourselves was a lot more than what it looked like.

You screamed into his t-shirt in frustration because you knew absolutely well that you were already neck-deep in love with him, and it utterly terrified you - how quietly it had happened, how completely it had taken over! There was no single moment to point to, no grand confession, no accidental brush of hands that set your heart spinning. Just … the slow blooming of comfort. The way his laughter now lived in the walls of your apartment. The way he knew where you kept every little thing in your kitchen; in fact, he sometimes knew them better than you did. The way your name sounded different when he pronounced it - softer, like a prayer he liked to whisper. Indeed, you now recalled, you had once drunkenly confessed to him that your name sounded the best on his mouth. As though, he knew the perfect way to say it!

You pressed the t-shirt tighter to your face, as if the cotton fabric could muffle the rising storm in your chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was your friend - your safe place, your shared coffee, your companion on quiet Sunday afternoons. And yet, somehow, he had become the pulse of your home, and the echo of his footsteps down your living room now felt more like belonging than any words ever could.

Clutching his garment in hand, you quietly tiptoed to the balcony where Bucky had been working all morning. A new warmth bloomed in your chest at the sight of the freshly shined and trimmed monstera, the newly repotted line of succulents, and the peace lilies that flowered like they had just experienced the best Spring of their lives! Eventually, your line of sight led you to the man behind all these toil.

He sat with his back towards you, quietly humming the song currently reverberating through the house while carefully coaxing a stubborn vine of pothos into staying in its trellis. His hair was shorter now, cropped tight at the sides, giving you a better view of his beautiful face. Sunlight painted his shoulders and back in amber, and left the back of his head looking like a canvas woven out of gold.

You padded closer, your fingers closing around the t-shirt like a vice. Bucky was either too engrossed in his work to notice you - which you seriously doubted, given his enhanced reflexes - or he was too comfortable with being around you to find your presence startling.

“We need another wardrobe,” you announced in an almost confident and nonchalant manner. Almost. Because your nerves twisted your pitch into being higher than you had intended, making you flinch at your own voice.

“Yeah?” His eyes were still fixed on the vine that was on the verge of giving in to his attempts. “Okay, tell me when you’d like to-”

His movements stilled. You knew that he had realised. Your hands were almost wringing the t-shirt now.

“We”.

The word had echoed back to him a second later.

He turned halfway toward you, brows pinched slightly, lips pressed together tightly as if trying to make sure he had heard it right. His eyes flicked to yours, searching, reading, hesitating.

Your focus suddenly seemed to shift to the cloth in your hand. “There-there’s not enough room for our stuff.” You shifted awkwardly on your feet. “I mean, you know I’m a shopper and a keeper! So… And you do have some of your stuff in here as well, and I won’t really mind if you were to bring more of them. I mean, that would be … uhh … that would be great! Really, I … Would you?”

You were a rambling mess! But the anticipation bursting in your entire being finally made you look at him. You swallowed, heat rising to your cheeks.

Silence stretched between you - soft yet pulsating. The song from the speaker now seemed like background music floating from somewhere far away.

Bucky’s mouth parted slightly, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief and the beginnings of a smile, “Yeah, I’d love to. You … you sure?”

The t-shirt, now creased in your grip, seemed to call for your attention again. You were almost speaking to it instead of the man before you when you said, “Of course! You could bring all your stuff here.” You had just realised what you said, and your throat went dry. “If you want,” you added meekly.

Bucky stared at you for a few seconds. Slowly, he stood up, removed the gloves from his hands, and dusted off the remnants of soil from his palms and wrists. Had you been able to look at him, you’d have chuckled at his rather comical attempts at forbidding his lethal smirk from making its way to his face.

“What exactly are you suggesting, doll?”

“Doll”.

Just when you thought that you had become acquainted with the strange feeling that this word always seeped into you, it started sounding different. Heavier, this time, laced with an adoration that you had never noticed before.

“Well,” you cleared your throat and looked into his eyes, “this place already knows you. Won’t harm if it knows you better.”

Bucky pressed his lips tight again and shook his head as though not understanding your words, although his eyes clearly shone with mischief.

“Good God, Bucky!” The cocktail of emotions brewing within you finally burst. “Stop being an arse! You want to hear it aloud? Fine! Move in with me. I want you to move in with me.”

He laughed, quiet and stunned, like the sound had crept out of him without permission. “God, doll! Thought you’d never ask!”

A wave of relief washed over you at his words! Although you were jumping and screaming inside, on the outside, you could only manage a small, shy smile, like the onset of Spring - tentative yet hopeful. He looked at you like he didn’t dare blink, as though one wrong movement might shatter the spell.

“C’mere,” he said softly. His flesh hand stretched towards you, as though inviting you to a new adventure.

You stepped forward, heart stammering, and he took the t-shirt from your hands - his t-shirt - and set it gently over the back of the nearby chair like it was something he did everyday. His fingers, calloused and steady, brushed yours in the process, just briefly. Just enough to make your breath catch.

“I’ve been leaving pieces of myself here for months,” he murmured. “Thought - well, hoped - that one day you’d understand why. Had never planned on it but…this place now feels more like a home than any other place has ever felt to me.” His blue eyes shone with joy. His hands searched for yours, and you instinctively surrendered.

“I really like having these pieces around,” you responded quietly, afraid that speaking any louder might disrupt the moment. “And I want more of them around. Everyday. I had been wanting more of you around for a long time now … probably. … But never realised it … until now.”

“Took you pretty long to realise,” that familiar lop-sided smile played at his lips, and those hooded eyes traced your face reverently, like it was something sacred.

It stunned you breathless. Your words came out in whispers, “Well, I’m allowed to be stupid sometimes. But why didn’t you say anything?”

He sighed, his own voice dropping to a hushed note, thick with emotion, “I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“Scare me away?” You raised your brows, incredulous. “Do you really think that you could scare me away? You overestimate yourself, Sergeant!”

Bucky chuckled, “Well, yeah, I’m allowed to be stupid sometimes.” And his soft laughter echoed in your throat.

He stood there in front of you - the same old friend who had always been your second nature - but bathed in a new light. Your pulse raced when you became aware of the softness with which he looked at you, of the warm smile that was meant only for you, of the trust and love that he had for you.

A canopy of comfortable silence covered you both. Your fingers entwined with each other a little more, thumbs soothingly circled over the backs of your hands a little more, sparks flew around you more than you could care to hold back.

“Bucky?” Your voice was almost shy, and your face unveiled of all pretence. There was only an array of unbridled emotions. “I mean, this may be too sudden, and I do want to take it slow. Not rush into it. But I just… I can’t… I really want to… God!! Can I-”

“Yes! Please!” Bucky understood your question before you had to word it out.

His flesh hand delicately cupped your face while his metal fingers gently moved a strand of hair that had been clinging to the corner of your lips for a while now, They caressed your cheek with their back while descending your jawline. Bucky looked into your eyes one last time before surrendering himself to the ocean of your combined feelings.

His lips touched your softly, almost like a prayer. In response, he found yours caressing him with assurance, with purpose. That was all he needed. Bidding goodbye to his insecurities and doubts, he cradled your face in both hands, and kissed you like you were the last angel in the Universe, like you held the pitcher to the lips of his thirsty soul, like this was the first and the last time that he was allowed to love.

It gradually deepened - the kiss that had answers to every bit of longing you both had experienced all this time. Bucky took his time cherishing the feeling of your tongue on his. His arms had locked you in a tight embrace. His hands mapped your structure from the head to the waist. You gripped his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to this plane. Your other hand wove into his hair, and gently tugged on them, eliciting sweet sounds from the supersoldier.

Breaths mingling, panting, both of you finally pulled apart only to rest your foreheads against each other. Without warning, you wrapped yourself tightly around him, anchoring him home. And Bucky could not help but close his eyes at the pang of emotions that swelled in his chest.

“I was an idiot,” you mumbled into his neck, “to not see this sooner. But now I do, I love you. You know, not as friends but … I-want-to-make-a-home-with-you kind.”

A wide smile broke across Bucky’s face. “I know,” he replied softly while gently kissing your neck. “I love you, too. In that I-want-to-live-the-rest-of-my-life-permanently-crashing-at-your-place kind”.

The giggle that erupted from you as you pulled away just enough to look at him, sounded like Christmas bells in his ears.

“So, how do we begin our new journey?” Bucky asked, softly tracing your face with a warm hand.

“Right now. In my room.” Bucky’s brows arched at your words and his lips parted in disbelief. “By helping me clean up the mess called my wardrobe. I mean … our wardrobe,” you corrected with a smirk.

Laughter spilled into the apartment, bouncing off the walls like sunlight.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

The low baritone, the intensity in his eyes and something about the way he called you “ma’am” sent electricity shooting down your body. You tried to push the feeling down by shifting your visual focus from Bucky to the plants outside. Needless to say, it didn’t work.

“So, do I still have to sleep on that sofa-bed?” He asked as you both sauntered towards your room.

Heat rose to your cheeks. You knew he saw it. And yet, you had the audacity of feigning annoyance at his question. “One step at a time, Sergeant! One step at a time.”

Bucky laughed and picked you up like his bride, despite your shrieks, stealing another kiss from your squealing mouth as he did, before covering the short distance to your room in a few strides.

***

[woozivrsefactry]

l.jh — for the extra creds

pairing : student t.a.!lee jihoon x prof!reader synopsis : jihoon could use some extra college creds and he knows just the ay to get them from his favorite professor w.c. : 1.5 k tw : oral (f rec), power imbalance, unconventional relationships, semi-public, hair pulling, dirty talking

The university halls were quiet by the late afternoon, most students having already packed up and left for the day. Jihoon always stayed behind, though—he was the kind of assistant who went above and beyond, so when Professor (y/l/n) lingered to grade assignments after hours, he stayed to “help.” At least, that’s what he told himself.

Today, as usual, you’re sitting in your office, engrossed in the latest batch of midterms. The soft scratching of your pen against paper fills the silence until a quiet knock at your door pulls your attention up. Jihoon peeks in, eyes flicking down with an uncharacteristic shyness before he enters fully, closing the door behind him.

“Professor, you… need any help with grading today?” His voice is casual, but there’s something in his tone—a soft pleading you’ve grown to recognize. You look up over your glasses, raising a brow, your lips curving up at the corners as you notice his expectant expression.

“Jihoon, don’t you have a life outside these walls?” You tease, smirking as he draws closer, coming to stand beside your desk.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck. “But I like it here.”

The tension in the air is undeniable, and Jihoon’s eyes flick to yours as he leans a little closer, resting his palms on the edge of your desk. “I was hoping I might be able to earn some extra credit… outside of my usual duties,” he says, a shy smirk tugging at his lips.

“Extra credit?” You tilt your head, the edge of a laugh in your voice. “How desperate are we talking here, Mr. Lee?”

For a moment, he’s uncharacteristically quiet, almost contemplative, as he lets his gaze flick down. “Desperate enough,” he murmurs, a boldness creeping into his tone as he reaches for the edge of your chair, spinning it just slightly toward him.

You glance down, aware of the implicit invitation, and arch a brow as he sinks to his knees in front of you.

“You know, I usually expect my students to ask a little more nicely,” you whisper, crossing your legs as you lean back in your chair, watching his eyes follow the movement.

Jihoon’s cheeks flush, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Please… Professor,” he says, his voice low, hands hovering just over your knees.

There’s a thrill that comes with making him work for it, the power in hearing him say “please” even though you know he’s holding back a smirk.

With a quiet hum, you give him a small nod, spreading your legs just enough to let him move between them. He takes off his thick-rimmed black glasses as his fingers slide up the smooth material of your stockings, brushing over the edge of your skirt, and you can feel him exhale softly, his breath warm against your thigh.

Jihoon meets your gaze as he tugs the fabric of your skirt higher, fingers lingering over the soft skin of your thighs, and you can’t help but feel a shiver as his touch brushes upward. You reach down, curling your fingers through his hair, giving it a gentle tug.

“Don’t get lazy now, Jihoon,” you murmur with a smirk. “Let’s see how hard you’re willing to work for this grade.”

He shivers under your touch, a faint grin flashing across his face before he lowers his head, his eyes never leaving yours until he’s positioned between your legs. His fingers slip under the hem of your skirt, nudging it further up until it’s bunched around your hips. he continues to pull down your panties with the stockings till they pool at your ankle, exposing you to his gaze.

“Better?” he murmurs, voice low, though you can sense the mischief in his tone.

You smirk down at him, tightening your grip in his hair as you tilt his head up. “I’ll be the one asking the questions here, Mr. Lee,” you respond, watching his eyelids flutter as he reacts to the firm tug. “You think you’ve earned the right to speak yet?”

He shakes his head, though his lips quirk in the faintest hint of a smile. “No, Professor,” he replies, that eager, obedient glint in his eye flickering as he dips his head lower.

You hum in approval, adjusting in your chair to get more comfortable as he starts, his movements careful and intentional. He takes his time, his breath warm and steady against your skin, and each soft brush of his lips and tongue is a tease against your thighs like he’s savoring every moment he’s allowed between your legs.

But patience has never been Jihoon’s strong suit, and after a few quiet moments, he glances up, his eyes dark with anticipation, almost as if asking for permission.

"Are you that eager?" you ask, your voice a soft challenge.

He meets your gaze, his lips already parted, and nods without hesitation. “Only if it pleases you, Professor,” he says quietly, a touch of reverence in his voice.

You tilt your head back, letting out a soft sigh as his mouth begins to move with more intent, laping at your pussy, his touch bolder now as he leans in fully. Each stroke of his tongue is measured, like he’s set on learning exactly how to make you fall apart under him. Your fingers tighten in his hair, keeping him close, and you can feel the way he shudders at the touch, clearly enjoying the control you hold over him.

“That’s better,” you murmur, watching the way he reacts to every instruction, his eagerness palpable as he continues to work diligently, driven by that need to impress you, to be perfect for you.

Minutes pass in a heated blur, each soft sound from him sending jolts of pleasure through you, and you can feel yourself slipping further into the haze he’s creating, his focus and attention unwavering. Just when you feel yourself reaching the edge, you tug on his hair, pulling him back for a brief moment, and he looks up, eyes wide with surprise.

“Not too fast, Mr. Lee,” you say, catching your breath. “Didn’t anyone teach you that good things take time?”

He nods, breathless, swallowing hard as he catches your gaze. “Yes, Professor,” he murmurs, his voice low, but he can’t hide the eager look in his eyes.

“Good.” You offer a small, approving smile and release his hair, allowing him to return to his work, this time more measured and careful. you stroke his hair, pulling him closer. "suck on the clit, Jihoon, don't just be greedy for my cunt."

Jihoon shivers at your tone and explicit language but follows nonetheless. he latched his pretty pink lips around your clit, sucking on it while looking at you with his lust-filled dark eyes. Your back arches, your thighs squeezing his face as the knot in your abdomen builds

Finally, as the tension builds to an almost unbearable peak, you let out a sigh, fingers tightening in his hair once more as you hold him in place. He seems to understand, focusing his movements until the last wave crests, leaving you breathless and sated, the world momentarily hazy around you.

You exhale slowly, letting your grip on his hair loosen as he leans back, gazing up at you with that same quiet, slightly mischievous expression.

“So… extra credit?” he asks, a hint of his usual humor returning as he wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

You straighten up, adjusting your skirt back into place as you lean forward, giving him a playful look. “If you keep that level of focus up, Mr. Lee,” you say, reaching down to tap his chin lightly, “you might just make the top of the class.”

He grins, standing up as he straightens his shirt, his own cheeks flushed as he brushes off his knees.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor,” he murmurs, his voice filled with newfound confidence as he heads for the door, glancing back over his shoulder with a smile. And as you watch him leave, you can’t help but smile to yourself, looking forward to the next “lesson.”

[straycatboogie]

2023/07/09 English

BGM: George Harrison - All Things Must Pass

"It" came to me quite suddenly. It's just like an event Polnareff in "Jojo" experienced... It was a day off today so I spent my morning time lazily without any expectation of the event which will happen. I went to the library and rented the books by Paul Auster once again (I had to return them sooner). After that, I went to AEON and spent doing nothing. Really lazy... But suddenly I thought I wanted to go to the bookstore in that AEON. I went to there, and found the "fair" of paperbacks for our summer reading our country's bookstores are holding. I decided to buy Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea" because I have never read it (I am ashamed of this). And, by chance I met the book "Two Billion Light Years of Solitude" by Shuntaro Tanikawa, one of the books the bookstore has been selling specially/actively. Oh... Even though I have not been interested in his works a lot, but I thought "This is a good chance for me to enjoy". So I bought that book and left. At that time, "it" finally came. "Can I write any poems by myself?".

That "Two Billion Light Years of Solitude" (of course, I bought Japanese version) has an interesting content. It seems that book has been translated into English (so you might be able to enjoy the English version). Therefore it has bilingual content. "Japanese original poems" and "English poems which were translated completely". I have not read English version/poems deeply yet, but I confess that I started thinking "I wanna write like him" and "What kind of poems would flood from myself?" by reading Tanikawa's fresh, sensitive Japanese itself. Yes, it is too rude. I have to follow him diligently from my heart... But "it" gripped me. What could I do to solve that problem of passion? I couldn't stop moving so went to the library again, where I borrowed the books of collection of essays by Tanikawa as a trial. Going back to my group home, I started using Discord, and googled for the servers of poem creations. I joined a few of them, at one of where I created and showed a poem of mine. Yes, I made it quite instantly. Totally "readymade" 4 line poor poem... I should stay calm/modest. A female friend once said to me that "I guess you can write poems, so I wanna read them". But at that time, I just had tried to write my works in Japanese only. I actually had tried to write, but ended as a piece of trash.

I remember... Have I enjoyed poems like that? As seriously as the current reading of Tanikawa? Indeed, once I had bought Louise Gluck's poem collection as a paperback by hearing the news of the Nobel literature prize she had gotten (I had never heard her completely, even her name itself). At that time, we Japanese don't have any Japanese version of her books so I had bought English version... I can remember that I once had been interested in the poets as Allen Ginsberg, Charles Bukowski, and Richard Brautigan, and also I had "carried closely" the collections of poems by Morrissey or Lou Reed. But basically I had not marked/enjoyed poems as a pleasant reading because it has "no clue to understand/enjoy" for me. I need to find a way of enjoying poems like manga. Of course, I respect great poets as great manga artists, so I just "separated myself from them with respect". But, I started thinking that I would like to write poems as a way of enjoying my "50s" or "semi-retirement life". Why don't I write poems in English? Of course, if I did so, I would have to think obeying the traditional rules of poems (for example, to rhyme). And I need to increase my vocabulary. I have to concern my autism because it would disturb my vitality/will to keep on creating. It might end soon.

This evening I had an online meeting of learning English, where we learned English by watching an episode of "The Cosby Show". Although it would sound too banal, the English they speak was really "alive" and "real" so beyond my understanding. It sometimes left me alone so I often did misunderstanding completely, therefore I had to be ashamed... but the host cared me/us a lot with his charming smile so I enjoyed myself well (thank you so much!). I thought I wanted to show my honest will of commitment. I shouldn't make him uncomfortable by my idleness... so I showed my courage. Yes, I obeyed Antonio Inoki, a Japanese wrestlers. "Be foolish" or "Stay foolish" as he says. The poem I had shown/written on Discord got a warm comment (I want to say thank you too). If I started writing/collecting my poems, would they become a great collection? I want to make a poem collection of mine, a physical book. A doujin... No, I can't. I have to face how I lack that kind of ability to enable actual moving to achieve/realize my dream. It is totally impossible, but I can't stop dreaming. "There is never a person who died because of carrying too many/huge dreams"... Has someone said like this?

Hello, I'm disco cat from Japan. From a small haiku country So, in a way, I've been from oriental gadgets pantry, or a factory I can't see what kind of poetry. I just write like a diligent laundry I hope it would entertain you as a souvenir of a strange country

[dairogo]

Royai

"What we're you saying again? Nothing would make you deal with this stack of files before the end of the day, wasn’t it? I'll prove you wrong, Colonel..."

Colonel Bowman stood over Mustang’s desk, sneering as he surveyed the inch-thick report on the Aerugo situation, the pile of purchase orders waiting for confirmation, the packet of internal memos that hadn’t been opened since delivery that morning - all the things that Mustang had ample time to deal with but ignored on days like these. He thought he could get away with his laziness, but it was pure foolishness for a man in his position.

Bowman’s words made Mustang pay attention - at least, he took his feet off his desk and sat up like a semi-respectable officer, even if he didn’t hang up the personal phone call he’d been loudly engaged in when Bowman entered the office.

“Oh? And how will you do that?”

“In fact,” Bowman said, feeling more confident as he went on, “I’ll wager that you’ll start doing those immediately - the moment I leave the room, if not before.”

Mustang’s eyes narrowed.

“Because I just heard that today is the last day of Lieutenant Hawkeye’s leave,” Bowman crowed, revealing the ace in his sleeve that had him so certain of winning.

It was unbecoming of him, perhaps, a forty-eight year old military officer, to use a woman twenty years his junior as a threat to Mustang, but while the man dawdled on his paperwork and those purchase orders that Bowman needed a week ago, he somehow was still the darling of the military and was beyond reproach. It chafed him how they shared the same rank, and no-one higher in the organisational structure had done anything about it.

But Mustang was a known womaniser, and when he’d selected Riza Hawkeye as his adjutant he’d probably expected to spend the entire day flirting with her. Luckily the woman had more sense than he did. Everyone knew that she kept this office running - it was clearer with every day that she was on leave - and if part of that was threatening Colonel Mustang with bodily harm so that he would get things done, well, Bowman was happy to look the other way. Human Resources would deal with the situation if either got too out of hand with their mutual harrassments, and better that they be stuck together than on someone else’s team.

Mustang’s eyes flickered toward the calendar on his desk, the slack-jawed surprise on his face immensely gratifying.

“You’ll want to hang that up, now,” Bowman added, trying not to sound too gleeful. “And if you can get to the purchase orders first, I’d be much obliged.”

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I just-” Mustang said into the phone.

Bowman thought he heard the hapless recipient of Mustang’s flirting on the other end of the phone say something about “your scary Lieutenant?” and “no customers”.

“Alright, then I’ll see you tonight? In that little black number?”

Bowman’s finger itched towards the phone’s cradle, longing to press down the switch arms and cut off the call, but he was still counting on some measure of goodwill from Mustang to get those orders out.

“Looking forward to it,” Mustang said, and finally slammed the receiver down. He glared up at Bowman as he grabbed the envelope with the internal memos, ripping it open haphazardly. “You’ll get your POs by the end of the day.”

And that would have to be enough for him. Bowman cast a look around the office as he left, taking in the other officers at their desk, fighting against laughter. Yes, he thought as he strode out, it was good to see a fool beat at their own game.

[strawbearisamu]

for a day like this

timeskip! hanamaki takahiro x gn! reader

summary: a coincidence on a train ride home leads to a confession and kissing in the rain.

note: requested by anon :) here, semi long one guys

cw: light swearing, semi makeout scene

wc: 1.8k 

the sky shrouded by a dense fog, the blue of it completely concealed by a covering of wooly grey clouds. rain continuing to pour from the desolute atmosphere as you heard a disembodied female voice announce the departure of the train. you sighed, train starting to move as you look out your window only to see a strike of lightning, the muffled thundering of the storm only growing louder, reminding you of the impending consequences of today's events.

"miss..miss...excuse me miss?" shaken from your daze, you meet the face of a middle aged woman carrying an infant and a young child, "miss, would you mind switching seats with me? there just isn't enough space for my baby's breastfeeding equipment on the other side." she asked apologetically, "even though i specifically requested it," mumbling the last part under her breath.

you press your lips in to a small smile, grabbing your things as she thanked you in relief, your eyes light up at a familiar shade of strawberry brown, occupying the very seat next to the one you were supposed to replace, "makki?" you couldn’t help the grin as called out from behind.

he whipped his head towards you, eyes widened, mouth slightly agape as he eyed you a few times. as if making sure you weren't a fake, making sure the familiar resonance and tenor of your voice, the one he replays to himself some nights, making sure it wasn't just an auditory hallucination. "y/n."

eyes lighting up with excitement, you speed up towards him, engulfing his sitting form in a warm hug, arms wrapped around his neck as he breaths in your scent.

"missed me huh?" you don't miss the playful glint in his eyes as you finally let him go. "yeah," a beaming grin displacing the forlorn look on your face.

"what were you doing in the city?" you asked, squeezing past him into the window seat as he towered over to the side of the walkway to make room, you see his eyes glaze over for a split second before he says "just a reunion with the boys."

"how are they! you guys were always quite the gang."

"yeah," he paused, slight hesitation lingering in his voice, "they're good i mean, really good."

the thunder crackling, a shot of lightning briefly lighting the gloomy sky as the scenery beyond your cabin window blurred with the speeding train.

"you look awful," he says, words slipping out absentmindedly, his eyes widening in absolute horror as he spluttered an apology, rambling on, "not as in you're ugly but your clothes, your stuff, it just looks a little...disheveled."

you burst into laughter, the first time today, "my bag was stolen today, some guy on a motorbike snatched it and knocked me over, it was crazy! i tried chasing him too!" you recounted the story again, but for the first time today, in humour.

"pfft, sorry not the point, you tried chasing him?" his mouth curving into his signature lazy grin.

"what's your point strawberry head?" narrowing your eyes at him as he raised his hands, pleading innocence. "you okay though?"

"i'll survive, can't say the same for my job, had some really important work documents there, weren't supposed make copies, now they're gone."

"oh..."

"yeah, i'm so pissed but well the jury will be out after the weekend," you sighed, "but anyway should we be talking about how you look just as bad as me, makki?"

a boyish laugh resonates from him, it does something to you, the familiar scratchiness of it inscribed in your mind from long ago. the corner of his eyes crinkled, "shit i guess i do," he said. "mhmm," you hummed, nodded along in laughter.

"the reunion," he cleared his throat, "i mean first off, this is not even close to being as bad as your day," he precautioned.

"just get on with it," you rolled your eyes.

twisting and fiddling the ring on his pinky, "just saw everyone doing really well, what with oikawa and iwaizumi being on olympic teams, even mattsun has a steady career and plan you know? i think i'm second guessing myself? i thought i was living life, having fun, but sometimes everything feels like filler before death.”

you nodded along to him, listening intently. you had always known makki to be more of a free spirit so this was rare.

"we all have those days," you mumble under your breath.

you let a comfortable silence fall between you, rummaging your bag for the slightly squished convenience store sandwich and your earphones.

"it’s tough huh, trying to find our place now.” you said, handing him one side of your earphones.

“yeah, so much easier when you’re two dumbasses goofing around, playing with erasers and tic tac toe during class," he slotted in the bud, and you do the same, as the ambient music filled your ears.

“you and mattsun?" you probed.

“no you, you and me.” for second his playful facade falters. his eyes lingering on yours as you held each other captive, your stare burning through his enigmatic grey eyes, a raw emotional intensity that made it seem like time had slowed down, neither of you finding the courage to make a move in the moment of impenetrable tension.

"i guess the rain is quite fitting for a day like this." you finally dared to look away, taking in the storm weathering just beyond your window, "but somehow i feel a little better now makki. maybe it's your pink hair."

"you do love it," he said, "i feel a little better too," he whispered, and you barely catch it.

—

he took a deep breath in, releasing it in a heavy sigh. “miyagi air right? nothing like it.”

“can’t tell if you’re a free spirit or an old man now.” you stepped off the platform, bags in hand.

"let me walk you tonight. you don’t have an umbrella.”

“neither do you?” you pointed out, handing him one of your bags as the both of you walked towards the exit.

"don't worry, i've got a plan," he winked a cheeky smile playing on his lips.

—

the wind howls, your hair violently blowing into his face, "this was your genius plan makki? run a little faster will you!" you shout over the blaring pour of the rain, incredulous.

"easy for you to say, you're not the one hauling your heavy ass bag." one of your bags slung around his shoulder, arms stretched around the both of you as he holds his jacket up for cover. well, your cover, his exposed side completely drenched.

"we're close," you called out, awkwardly trudging across the puddle ridden road, his warmth emanating from beside you as your heart raced in your chest, though you couldn't decide if that was the rain or makki, more probably both you finally decided.

"we actually made it in one piece." you breathe a sigh of relief as you finally made it under the roof of your home, catching your breath a little as he twisted his rain soaked jacket.

"what are you waiting for? aren't you gonna open it?" he asked.

"okay what?"

"open the door?"

"i don't have the keys, they got stolen remember?" you said dubiously, now working the water out of your clothes as he gave you a baffled look.

"what? how are we gonna get in?

"well i assumed you had the keys?"

"how in the world would in have your keys?"

"in that confe-, letter i gave you? said you were here all the time you might as well have the key and gave you a key?"

"letter? what letter, y/n?"

"wait the letter...you didn't receive it?" the colour in your face drained, you took a sudden notice to his drenched figure.

"you're soaked dumbass." you say in an attempt to quickly move on, unzipping your bag to pull out a fresh t-shirt. he tries to stop you but you don't let him.

"shut up just let me do this makki." you pull on his forearm, tugging him down to meet your eye-level, his face inches from yours as you gently pat his face and neck dry.

"is this just an excuse to kiss me?" the same lazy smirk playing on his face again but his expression morphs into an unreadable one, eyes clouding, "the letter," he whispered looking down at you, his bangs skirting his lashes as you dabbed his cheek with a t-shirt.

"you wish you could kiss me," you joke.

"i do wish," he doesn't.

"was it a confession?" you didn't answer him, "can i kiss you makki?" the burning desire held off long enough as you somehow found the courage to ask.

makki broke into a smile, clumsily taking your hands in his, hurriedly dragging you back into the rain shower. hard rain hitting you, massaging your head, but even as you felt your senses become overwhelmed your attention was still singly engrossed by the man in front of you.

"what are you doing? i just patted you dry!" you reprimanded him, shouting over the pour of the rain, looking up at him, now 6'1, his soft gaze easily slipping past your faux stern one.

"it's more dramatic this way," he whispered, his hand gently caressing your face, thumb running circles on the now flushed apples of your cheek, his eyes becoming clearer to you as you finally begun to understand the liquid grey eyes that held you captive for so long. your heart speeding up again, butterflies fluttering aggressively in your stomach.

you tiptoed a little, eagerly reaching a hand into his now drenched strawberry pink hair that you were always so fixated on. he responded in kind, securing an arm around your waist, hoisting you up, you body colliding into his warmth, lower lip tingling a little as he traced it with his slightly calloused thumb. finally, he cups your jaw, taking your lips in his.

his lips warm, soft, impossibly plush against your own, the soft tickle of your hair on his cheek, your honeyed taste playing on his tongue, the shared warmth between you melding into one, your heartbeat synchronous, in perfect parallel with your harmonised movement. lips slightly parted, he bit your lower lip as you moaned a little.

"you think the neighbours can see us?" you pulled away, holding his cheeks in your hands, still in a slight daze.

"don't know, don't care."

"when did it become a drizzle?" you asked as he shrugged in response, desperate to capture your lips in his again.

and you guys stood there, in the light drizzle of the rain, soft rays of sunlight finally peaking through the glum clouds, making out for the audience of your entire neighbourhood, enjoying the petrichor of the rain. because yeah you were still locked out of your house, yeah you were probably getting fired and yeah he still didn't know shit about what he was gonna do, but everything seemed just a little bit better.

"i guess the rain was quite fitting for a day like this.”

sol's comments: can you tell i have no idea how to write a makeout scene? :")

m.list | each and every reblop is appreciated ☻ (+ free hugs)

[tsunonotarou]

LEONA, JADE, FLOYD, ROOK’s ↷

reaction when S/O gets jealous and protective

notes: I notice us writers mostly write about—usually the canon male/female—being dominant and the other party is timid and shy, while I love that concept and idea since I’m a submissive bitch myself, I feel like we should get more S/O or reader who gets protective and goes grr

: gender-neutral reader!

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

So there’s this crazy bitch who’s all over Leona ever since he was fucking born

They’re from a neighboring country and have been obsessed with Leona when they first saw him (honestly same) and as much as Leona didn’t want to admit it felt like heaven to attend Night Raven College because they’re AWAY from him

Magift is a nightmare because it’s open for everyone from everywhere to attend so he had already expected them

He planned to ignore them and steers clear of them as usual but they were extra persistent today

If they’re a guy Leona would have no problem scaring them away with a growl and possible threats

If they’re a girl though, it’s not going to be easy for Leona since he was raised to treat females with respect but then again, he knows that she does not deserve it

He also knows that you’re seething with anger

Your crossed arms while shifting your weight from side to side showed your frustration and impatience for them to get off

At this point he’d try harder and uses more of his energy to deal with them (he was a little lazy before) and tell them to go away but they just kept clinging and clinging

Leona’s eyes widened when you shoved them away, hard but not hard enough to make them fall on the ground and scrape their knee, just enough to keep them away

Your own arms wrapped around his and you stuck close, head resting on his shoulder, nuzzling your nose against his neck or trail your fingers a little lower on his waist than usual, anything to send the message across as you stare boredly at the ever persistent troublesome person

“Piss off.”

Normally people would get embarrassed/awkward after this and they’d leave but if they’re still on about it, pull Leona in for a kiss

A long, deep and passionate kiss from you sends him off the edge as he grabs you, smirking slightly at your behavior and also at the outsider staring at the both of you furiously

Will never let you forget this because he teases you almost everyday about this

If you're naturally a timid and shy person it's gonna be hell for you, because Leona is going to tease you ten times more

"Hey remember that time when you-" You smacked his head, hard.

"I don't regret it though, they were too close and I don't like it." Your adorable pout and red blush from his teasings only made his grin wider, and his heart racing faster

Proud of his herbivore, 100/10, would definitely want to see you getting protective again

JADE LEECH

They shamelessly flirted with him in Mostro Lounge, right in front of you

Constantly asking for Jade's assistance, ordering more and more just to have Jade serve them and if he's not available, they'll throw a tantrum

Of course Jade know about boundaries, he'd never want to make his lover upset, but then again, he's also curious as to what you'll do

Will you sit there and watch? Pout and wait for them to finally go away when Mostro Lounge closes? Be extra clingy with him afterwards? Silently cursing them? Or will you choose the popular trope of getting back at him by being physically close to another person?

Whatever you chose, he sure did not expect you to have a smile on your face as you call out to him, you are sitting just two seats away from them on the stool, so it is fairly easy to catch his attention without you trying to desperately cut off the one-sided conversation

You did what they couldn't. Holding his hand loosely as you talked about something semi-private (?)

"Hey, Jade. Where did I put my clothes again? That cream colored one. I know it's in your room but is it on the bed or bathroom? Have you seen it? Gotta go check it later..." To indicate that you've been to his room, countless of times

"Ah! I think you left your jacket in my room. Be sure to take it back before you go back to your dorm, okay?"

While Jade watches you and reply with an amused expression

This got them clenching fists and gritting teeth, and Jade can't exactly ignore them when they call for him since they're a customer, even if he's enjoying this a lot

You'd also pull on your clothes, kind of like flapping them when you're hot—even though it's quite chilly in Mostro Lounge—just to show them the bite marks Jade left the day before

*Thought I'd put this out just in case anyone misunderstands, y'all didn't have sex lmao because Jade is under 18, but he does leave bite marks every now and then ;)

When he does get away from their conversation and goes to you, like with Leona, you'd linger your hands a little lower on his waist than usual, or brush the bite marks you left that escaped the covers of his shirt collar

Nevertheless, expect Jade shaking his head when Mostro Lounge finally closes and them finally gone, though he can't hide the smile on his face

"My, my, I never knew you'd get to this point to drive them away."

He will forever remember this moment and the act you've pulled, truly memorable

FLOYD LEECH

The basketball team is having a friendly match with another school and the other school's team happen to have a manager

And man were they PERSISTENT

Offering to refill NRC's water bottles too when they went to refill for their own school's

Of course you're thankful for their help and thought it was out of pure kindness, but when their fingers brush over Floyd's for a little too long to hand him his water bottle and stays longer with Floyd than with other basketball players you knew something was wrong

Are they hitting on Floyd???

Ace and Jamil picked up on it and glances over you, with Ace shit talking about them and "If they're gonna do it, at least try to do it right." while criticizing their lame flirting skills and Jamil disapproving of their actions when Floyd clearly has a lover

Even if they're from another school, saying you didn't know is a lame excuse, not with how painfully different Floyd is with you than with others, it was obvious you two are together

Floyd, of course, is not dumb and oblivious and he is beyond annoyed at their constant touches and babblings he had no intention to listen to

Before Floyd could threaten to squeeze them to death, you're wrapping arms around his figure and called them out on their antics

"Don't you have your own team to attend to? Stop flirting with my boyfriend, he's not interested, take a sign."

Ace spit out his water and choked (yes he laughed)

Poor student scurried back to their own team's side and stayed there, as they should

Floyd would not care about attention as he picked you up in his arms, hugging you tightly and nuzzling close to you

"Shrimpyyy~! I love this side of you! Why haven't I seen it before?"

He probably already forgot about that student's existence as he only thinks of your jealous gazes and protective arms around him

Expect him to ask you to act like that again randomly, being all brave and calling people out, he loves this side of you!

ROOK HUNT

Rook is a social butterfly and will talk to anyone in anywhere

Much like Jade, he never intended to hurt his lover and upset them, but he's itching to know what you'll do. He has extremely good eyesight and knew you were close by, listening in to their conversation, possibly with a frown

Ah, a frown on your lips. That's not a sight he'd want to see! But the urge to reveal what kind of moves you'd make is stronger, so he refrained from walking away and chatted on

A smile played on his lips as he watches you stomp over, not sparing a glance to the other person as you locked your arms around his waist, tightly, then began to attempt to lift him up

...it didn't work

You didn't have enough strength so instead of lifting him over your shoulder (like what Rook usually do) you grabbed his gloves hand and dragged him away

Rook was certainly surprised, a big grin on his face as he laughed his heart out, bidding goodbye to the random student who had their mouth wide open

This only made you tug on his arm harder as an annoyed grunt and groan escaped you

When you looked back to them and sent a glare, that's when he lost it

He's sure he fell in love with you even more

When the two of you are alone he'd have your cheeks in his hands, staring at you lovingly, your squishy cheeks, furrowed brows and pouting lips are just too cute for him!

He will assure you that he will never do this again not telling you he was doing it on purpose to see what you'll do because you'll probably hate him his sweet words would surely calm you down

If you ever see Rook suddenly having a smile on his lips, you know that he's thinking about this incident again, and it freaks Vil out

[thosearentcrimes]

I always wonder to what degree journalists are complicit with police propaganda, to what extent they are lazy, and to what extent they are stupid. Today on TV I got to watch a masterclass in police fearmongering, as usual in this country about "migration" (by which they mean refugees who aren't white). The thing about our police is they suck, a lot, but ideologically the worst ones of them all are the police PR team. Rumor has it that there are straight up neo-nazis, like members of organized neo-nazi groups, on that team. Obviously you can't necessarily put stock in rumor, but given the extent of neo-nazi infiltration of the security state it's not much of a reach.

They did one of these fearmongering episodes in the middle of the parliamentary elections, a rather blatant bit of fascist agitation. Basically what happened there is they staged a high-speed chase of a van full of refugees through the center of Prague. I have no specific reason to believe the van itself was fake (beyond the absurdly suspicious nature of everything about the story), but chasing it into Prague in the early morning was obviously a deliberate political choice, and seems to have been planned in advance. During this bit of car chase theater they recklessly endangered both the occupants of the van and road traffic more broadly and it ended in a crash and foot chase. Within a couple hours of the incident, they had edited together the footage, put tense action movie music under it (I have literally never seen them do this before, none of their other videos I saw on their youtube channel had this), and started a massive PR push to get it into all media. The media, who had been conveniently offered footage they had edited themselves (for political effect), and who are not in the least bit in the business of questioning the cops, kept to the party line.

Today they did another one. The occasion was the reopening of the border with Austria and Slovakia. And wouldn't you know it, the media's good friends in the Police PR department had already filmed and edited all the footage they might need for their story, along with a press release with all the talking points they were supposed to use. Was there political pressure on the journalists in question to accept this story whole cloth? Who knows, the politics of our state TV station are bizarre these days, and they do have some unsavory people on the oversight committee. It seems likely there was, because I can't see any journalist, police-friendly or otherwise, signing off on this pile of shit. One of the cops claimed that the traffickers have firearms and are drugged up, this was not an attempt to craft a plausible narrative, this was scaremongering targeting the fact that the good people of this country think the velvet revolution means they never have to try to do critical thinking again, and will believe anything a moron in uniform tells them.

Speaking of which, the military got in on a bit of that good stuff, though because one of their boys has just been elected president, they're instead working the statesmanship angle. The military of our country has never done anything beyond sending useless nominal forces half-way across the globe to sit on their asses, and a small but incredibly well-publicized bit of flood relief. The previous military had never done anything more substantial than military exercises (well, there's also the year of systematic torture of young men in the form of the draft), and notably did absolutely nothing during the invasion and occupation of the country. The military before that had also done absolutely nothing during the invasion and occupation of the country, but had two semi-real conflicts under its belt. First, it sent the army to destroy communism in Hungary. Then, it sent the army to destroy Habsburgism in Hungary. Letting them try that would give us the amazing experience of getting to watch something even worse than Orban show up in his place, but I suppose the question is moot since we don't have a border anymore. So what's the military for? We're currently working for the Germans so they won't invade us this time, and if the Russians were capable of fighting their way through Ukraine and tried a reprise I don't see what our military could possibly be able to do against them. We've seen how this goes before! What on earth the point of these medal fetishists is supposed to be I have no idea.

[omegasmileyface]

Not in the Job Description

heres a silly lil Danny Phantom concept based entirely off a half-awake sleep-vision that made me laugh :) my subconscious brain is a genius at coming up with things that make just enough sense to be worth writing

summary: Danny's job at a local restaurant is surprisingly fulfilling, even after being crowned Ghost King. Speaking of that job, however, there are some intricacies to it that are hard to keep in mind during everyday life.

warnings: descriptions of nausea and mild sickness

words: 2180

AO3 link

===

Honestly, life was going pretty well at the moment for Danny Fenton. He wasn't even worried that it was a false security or a calm before a storm, because this kind of semi-serenity had been going on for more than a year. It was a long-term stability brought about by adaptation and putting in effort to get help and accommodation. Jazz would be proud!

Sometime at the beginning of Junior year, the Observants had chased him down and crowned him High Ghost King (much to the chagrin of both involved parties). It certainly added responsibility to Danny's plate, along with some new sensations and a series of crises (what didn't these days?), but a little political discussion with some of the more powerful ghosts ended with Danny deciding that, at least at the moment, the position didn't require him to do much more than he normally did. More ghosts would seek him out for help and he would do his best, and some "paperwork" (though there was very little paper involved and it was a lot of talking and oaths and rituals and such) happened about monthly. Otherwise, though, the Zone didn't need much more help than that, having survived off an absent King for centuries. Well, and the ambient purpose of the King as a sort of core for the Zone, but Danny didn't have to put in time or conscious effort for that.

Eventually that settled into normalcy, and Danny was back to worrying about the balance of schoolwork, self-care, and fighting. He still hadn't given up on the prospect of someday becoming an astronaut, and he was determined to have the grades for it. Don't get him wrong, he'd gotten way better about that! He'd formed a practiced, if not entirely stable, system that kept his grades at a solid B- / C+, while getting a solid 5-ish hours of sleep most nights and not bottling things up too much. It was about halfway through Junior year that he realized, with some help from his friends, that his ghosts fights were honestly pretty civil, at least against the regulars. Civil enough that he knew they had some respect for him, and was willing to risk asking for help. So a few weeks and awkward but not bad conversations later, and he had agreements with almost all his regular "foes" not to cause trouble within Amity from 11pm to 7am, 3pm on weekdays. It was more than half the day off-limits on school days, and plenty of ghosts made up for it to a degree by making themselves more common during the "permitted" hours, but it greatly increased Danny's well-being and school performance anyway. "Rivals" like Skulker and Technus had enough respect for Danny and his Lair to abide, and plenty even cared that he was taking care of himself, even between frequent sparring. Maybe a few were really just in fear of his new crown, but he chose to cautiously pretend that wasn't a possibility.

After graduation — he made Senior year with all As and Bs! — Danny's parents had encouraged him to get a part-time job over the summer. He had been interning at FentonWorks (paid! His parents might not be the most attentive but they certainly weren't unfair) since he had accidentally revealed himself a few years back, and they had been thrilled to hear that he still intended to go into NASA if possible, and had done whatever they could to help. They recommended the job because, as good as a paid scientific internship was on a resume, it would help to have a variety of activity and the opportunity to get recommendations from employers who weren't liable to nepotism. After searching local businesses, Danny found a small sandwich shop founded by a middle-aged couple who had moved in and set up shop just before the ghost attacks began. Being close to the school but not far from the commercial sector and offering small portable food (no one wants to sit down for a meal when a spirit could come crashing through the window at any moment), the place got good enough business to pay the employees a proper living wage. Better yet, they were allowed to take home unsold food! Not to mention the owners were both very kind women who held smiling conversation with employees and customers alike. Danny was more than lucky to land such a nice job, even if it meant he had to get up at 7 five days a week.

All this is to say that it wasn't as surprising as it could have been that he was having a slow and pleasant day at work.

Both the owners were out for the day on some sort of vacation, so today it was just Danny and a short teenager named Casey manning the place. Most of their orders recently had been online due to an explosion causing road work near the restaurant and it was mid-morning, leaving work slow enough that they could afford to just have the two until lunch shift started. Danny was on cashier duty today, but unless the door bell sounded, he was helping Casey in the kitchen.

"Aw, man, we're almost out of tomatoes."

"Really?" Casey looked up to the shelf Danny was inspecting and indeed saw only 3 tomatoes. "Huh, guess they didn't restock yesterday. Well, we probably shouldn't risk needing more before the day's out, do you want me to go get more?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah, I can go. I think I could use the fresh air." He said that a lot, especially as an excuse when his ghost sense went off, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. He never had liked being confined.

Casey checked the monitor to see if they'd gotten any new online orders. Since there was a grocery store just a block away, any time someone needed a quick restock they tended to just walk.

They looked up to see Danny already had his jacket on and was looking them in the eye. "Would you take over my position until I come back?"

"Of course. Ten minutes?"

With a nod and a smile, Danny was out the back door.

===

After a moment of habitually wiping down the counters, Casey went up to the register in case a customer appeared.

It was even quieter than before for a few minutes, so they busied themself with mini restocks and organization. They were in the middle of stacking some paper coffee cups when they started to feel dizzy. There had been this subtle pressure on their chest since Danny left, which they figured was anxiety for working the restaurant alone for the first time, and now it had solidified into a warm nausea that flared whenever they exhaled.

With the disinterested panic that came from having strange things happen for years, they wondered if they had missed their medication this morning. A quick glance at their phone, however, showed the notification for it checked off.

Putting the phone back away, Casey noticed the tips of their fingers were somewhat translucent. Alright then, it was definitely something to do with ghosts. Great! Just excellent. The panic was less disinterested this time.

They weren't familiar with any sort of ghost illness that made humans translucent, so they definitely needed to call someone to make sure nothing bad happened. It would be best to call the Fentons' public number so they could go over and get looked over by then. In the meantime, they should call Danny and ask him to hurry back. He shouldn't be much longer anyway.

Casey didn't even get the chance to act on their plan, however, before a short humanoid ghost appeared in the dining area. They didn't look to be up to anything, but Casey reached for the emergency ectoblaster beneath the register anyway. The nausea was getting worse, along with a new chill, and they couldn't be sure this new ghost wasn't somehow causing whatever they were going through.

The ghost looked at them with an expression that was almost desperate. "Ah! Kind human, thank you for your time." The ghost... bowed? "I am Eurusid, from the Spoken Channels. There has been a dispute which damaged public meeting grounds in the center of the Channels, and both groups refuse to allow the damage to be repaired except by the other group."

Casey's eyes narrowed. It was becoming difficult to stand with the dizziness, and if not the ghost himself, then whatever he was saying was probably a hallucination. They didn't even think about responding beyond a detached "what".

It was then that Danny re-entered the back door with the new tomatoes. Good thing, too. At least with another person there, Casey could confirm whether they were hallucinating.

===

Placing down the grocery bag and shrugging off his jacket in one motion, a skill only gained by years of laziness efficiency, Danny called toward the register. "Back!"

Once he caught sight of the teen, however, all casualness shed itself from his body and he rushed over to hold them. "Man, Casey, you feeling alright? You look really pale." The realization that their form was slightly translucent, despite the firm human heartbeat beneath, was drowned out by him finally noticing the ghost standing a few feet away. The reaction of his ghost sense had been so minor that he had ignored it.

He was surprised to see that he recognized the specter's face, marred as it may have been from worry and confusion aimed directly at Casey. "Eurusid? What's going on?"

As the ghost, still confused but unwilling to act impolitely, gathered his bearings and began to bow toward him, Danny's coworker shuddered under his hands, regaining his full attention. He thought back through the day's events for hints as to the situation, before swearing, cutting off whatever Eurusid was about to say.

Danny backed up and said, voice as clear as he could, "I recall my position."

Casey's reaction was immediate, a gasp of air like they had been kept from breathing and a return of their skin's human opacity. Danny rushed back over and put his hand on their back to steady them as their eyes narrowed and went slightly unfocused.

Figures, doesn't it? One of the many intricacies that had come up at his coronation Junior year that just hadn't come up enough to keep at the front of his mind. One of the defenses of the High Ghost Crown was the ability of the King to temporarily give their duty to someone else. As long as that person accepts, during a specified time they substitute for the King in dealing with political matters, as well as taking over as much as their ability allowed of the King's function to process the energy of the Realms.

Danny had no idea that this ability could be activated with words as vague as "take over my position", let alone that it could be used with a human. That potential had never come up during the ceremony, so for all he knew, a full ghost in his position couldn't substitute with a human. A human certainly shouldn't be able to take over any part of the energy processing, though maybe in Amity Park the average person processed enough environmental ectoplasmic energy to make it possible. Regardless of residence, though, it could not be good for Casey's body, which had no Core to properly process energy and had no human equivalent except perhaps a small emotional center in the brain, to even attempt to filter and manage some of the inherent energy of a dimension.

Their skin was still clammy and their coordination was shot. Ancients, if this is what an accidental substitution did to a human, Danny would have to word things very carefully when asking for help in the future.

"King Phantom?" Danny looked up to see that Eurusid was still floating there awkwardly. Right. He had two people here to help.

"Sorry, Eurusid. One moment, I'll be right with you." He turned back to his coworker, who looked confused and less lucid than ideal, but probably still lucid enough to realize this ghost had just called him "King Phantom". Well, he'd deal with that once it came to it. "Here, Casey, let's get you some water." He helped them walk back into the kitchen and sat them down on a bench by the back door. There was a chair in the register area, but they probably didn't want to feel exposed to the dining area like that, even with nobody but the ghost there.

Once handed the water, Casey sighed and eagerly drank from it, eyes closed. Danny rubbed his hand on their back a bit and promised to be back shortly before walking back out to meet Eurusid. Whatever he was here about was probably worth immediate attention but Danny was sure there'd be at least a solid minute of apologies on both sides before the matter was addressed. Hopefully both the Spoken Channels and Casey would be alright before the next shift came in.

[burnedbyshoto]

mine

— Dabi didn’t want you in the slightest, but he’d be damned if anyone touched you without knowing that you belonged to him

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pairing: yandere!dabi x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw, gorey (blood and puss), branding, yandere!dabi, semi-public sex, consented sex that turns into nonconish, spitting, heavy degradation, hardcore, sadist!dabi, mindbreak

word count: 5,588

a/n: im so terribly sorry for being so late with kinktober. my keyboard is super fucked up and I had a crazy busy weekend. please do not read this if you are easily offended it got a bit crazy lol ;-; well at least for what i typically write sorry

kinktober day 17 main kink: branding | kinktober masterlist

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Dabi didn’t care about you.

As you lay on the broken, dirty mattress (was this even a mattress?) that belonged to who knows who and was in this alleyway for who knows how long, there was no telling if you wouldn’t contract some form of an STD just by laying here in your filth. You wanted to sit up. You needed to get out of this sketchy alleyway just to continue the day. But your body hurts, everything hurts.

But the tears in your eyes had long dried out. The blood, cum, spit, puss, and drool on the bed making for an unpleasant, pitiful sight beneath and on you.

But I guess there was no reason for anyone to try and take you, even like that.

There was already a warning, a brand for anyone to fucking try and take you from the person who owned you. 

His name pulsed on every throbbing, bubbling white-hot pain on your body. His hands and name forever scarred and branded on your skin.

Dabi Dabi Dabi Dabi

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

But you couldn’t even cry as a black cat with piercing blue eyes landed on the mattress centimeters from your face. It was too much.

And in the middle of the alleyway, your eyes shut, and a painful unconscious slammed through you. Consciousness no longer your friend as you ended there, ass up, gaping, cum splattering hole available for everyone to see.

It didn’t matter, you clearly belonged to Dabi, and anyone who tried to take you would be consumed with a horrid fate.

.

..

.

Dabi’s mouth was pulled back into an angry, unamused snarl.

Typically speaking, the black-haired Frankenstein of a man could look more apathetic than the gods of apathy themselves, but if you bugged him just enough, things could sink under his skin faster than you could run. But today, he seemed to have every annoying thing happen to him event after event so that he was practically simmering with putrid anger.

It had started when you had left his room in the morning louder than he liked. You both had begun a sexual relationship of sorts. As much as the League was intent and focused on driving out the hero society, libidos and sexual needs could hardly be ignored. Especially as Dabi’s own libido grew with the more success he had, the closer he was to achieve his own goal. It made sense that he and you began this relationship. He wasn’t going to touch any of the guys in the group, not to mention the fact they were about as ugly as he was, so that meant he’d have to potentially stare down at a nasty face moaning and screaming. That wasn’t going to happen. Toga was a psycho bitch that Dabi could never understand, and with her stupid stabbing addiction, he wasn’t about to trust her near his genitals. 

You had been a late joiner in the group, some dumb, weak, quirkless little bitch. 

Dabi had no idea why Shigaraki had ever allowed you to join in the first place.

You added absolutely nothing to the group.

Being quirkless meant that you were a liability in any type of fight they got into because you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself. You threw a mean punch, and you had been training with Toga in the weird-ass fighting style of hers, but it was stupid, utterly pointless because as long as Dabi and others possessed the ability to kill you without needing you near, you were a walking target. 

You were also a terrible medic. Whenever the group would return with serious and not so serious injuries, you would scream, panic, and apply bandages terribly. It was so bad that Dabi would rather die of infection than have your blubbering form try to get anywhere near his cuts and burns. 

You were a horrible liar too. Couldn’t send you into any of the Pro Hero bases or UA in an attempt to gather more information to help the group's efforts. Toga had merely transformed into a random citizen without you knowing, and your ability to be suave was a joke.

But one day, Dabi figured out why exactly Shigaraki decided to let you in, why you were someone worth letting live. He had gone to the bar for a simple drink. His head throbbing due to the fight he had gotten into while recruiting for the League. But what he came to see in that bar was that you were in the bar with Shigaraki and Kurogiri.

He looked at you as you were on your knees on the barstool. Your breasts swelling over that stupid tanktop of yours, your dumb ass shaking like a damn dog as you talked excitedly to Shigaraki. That, for whatever reason, bugged Dabi.  The tinge of color on his stupid leader’s ears and cheeks also went noticed by Dabi, and suddenly as you grabbed onto Shigaraki’s shoulders, it all made perfect sense.

You were here to be made as a whore.

Dabi ended up leaving the bar without getting his drink after all that day.

But he had caught you skipping to your assigned room, and he blocked your way, his hand shoved into his pockets as you looked down at your wide eyes.

“So that’s the role you’ll play in the world of no heroes,” Dabi spoke, his lips pulling into a lazy smirk, warmth flooding his cold skin when your own face seemed twisted with confusion and worry.

“I’m not playing any role?” you speak slowly, obviously confused, but Dabi doesn’t dwell on the confusion in your eyes or the way you step backward away from him. He follows you, stalking your every move until you’re backed against the door of his room, your doe eyes large and practically screaming for help, which only seemed to excite Dabi. You wouldn’t be finding a hero in this organization. No, you either learned how to swim, drown, or take everyone down with you. 

“Oh, so you’re not playing any games here?” Dabi asks, his hand slamming against the door right by your head, his head tilting as he leans in close to your face. He can basically breathe the anxiety spilling from your veins, festering, and throbbing underneath your skin as you find yourself unable to speak. “You joined our little group knowing that Shigaraki wanted to fuck you? Use you as the willing whore that you are?”

The fear drained from your eyes, and anger blazed instead, and for some reason, that only made Dabi more excited. He pressed up closer to you, the hardness of his cock, unable to be ignored as he pressed his swelling length to your hip.

“I’m not here to be Shigaraki’s whore,” you growled, your lips pulled back into a fearsome growl, but to Dabi, knowing the stupid, weak quirkless bitch that you were, made you look like some angry dumb puppy. “I’ve been just as wronged by this world as you have. Just because I didn’t burn off all my skin to prove I don’t fit in doesn’t mean I don’t have scars too.”

Dabi laughed, the smell of heat rising from his skin as he couldn’t help but display his power, couldn’t help but to warn you just who was capable of the most immense damage.

“Burn me,” you snapped, your nose nearly brushing against his. “Prove my fucking point.”

Dabi let out a throaty hum, the feeling of your stomach shifting against his tented pants, only serving to arouse him more. 

“Trust me, pup, I don’t have all my skin burned off,” Dabi couldn’t help but ignore your own issues of being upset as his mouth crashed against yours.

That night, Dabi realized that maybe you did serve this group in two ways, albeit one was much, much more important than the other. 

One, the lesser important reason: you brought in a new demographic. A new viewpoint of people who had been hurt by heroes and civilians who looked to All Might like a god. Quirkless people, and people with quirks that practically made them worthless, were seen as inferior because they weren’t unique. They could never be like All Might. And for that, they were seen as less, a group that deserved to die and were discriminated against for reasons far beyond their control.

Two, the more important reason: you were Dabi’s fuckhole.

This sexually frustrated, anger-fueled sex the two of you had was more than ideal, really. Dabi loved to fuck you whenever he needed, whenever he wanted. He took you anywhere and everywhere he wanted. Each time he grew bolder and bolder until he was fucking you during a meeting, fucking you while you were in a car with everyone, making your way to the next destination. 

He could care less about your whining pleas to only fuck in a room where no one could see, couldn’t care if you thought the alleyway was dirty, and the scent of dead burning bodies made your head spin. You were a quirkless fuckhole, and you would do as he told.

But Dabi would never admit you were his.

No, he would not.

Not now, not ever.

But there was something stupidly irritating and annoying hearing barely useful members of the now Paranormal Liberation Front. Everyone was obsessed with you, the useless quirkless girl who was weak and needed protection. Everyone loved the way your tits bounced when you hopped around excitedly, loved the way your ass shook when you were sitting at a bar because, for whatever damn reason, you could never sit on your fucking ass.

So, that’s where we find Dabi. His mouth pulled back into an unamused, angry snarl as you talked with some nameless member that Dabi thought was better off dead than as some deadweight help. 

“You can’t expect y/l/n-chan to be so kind to you when you’re quite the asshole to her, Dabi,” Compress chided Dabi as he took a smooth, slow drink from his sake. “You pester her daily, and from what the rumors tell me, harass her often enough that I’m surprised she hasn’t taken your face off.”

“She’s too fucking weak for that shit,” Dabi snapped, his eyes narrowing when your hand placed itself on the nameless shits arm. “She can’t do shit; that’s why she’s acting like a shallow whore. She’ll let anyone fuck her as long as it means she gets protected.”

Compress raised his eyebrow, his face not letting anything on as he slowly placed his glass down.

“Y/l/n-chan sleeps around?”

Dabi actually felt the heat rising from his skin. He didn’t know if you were, and the thought of knowing that someone other than him was fucking your tight little pussy after he did irritates him much more than he’d like. 

“I don’t fucking know, you’re the one telling me about fucking rumors. You tell me.”

“From what I hear, she doesn’t give in to anyone, despite the obvious flirting,” Compress shrugged when Dabi’s eyes locked on him in bewildered disbelief. “Why do you care, Dabi? You’re typically so aloof and annoyingly stoic. What about y/l/n-chan makes you so temperamental?”

Dabi felt his spine stiffen at those words, the inquisitive yet entirely sharp words that gutted him from the inside out. Dabi didn’t care for you. He knew he didn’t. If you dropped dead in the middle of the floor in three seconds, he knew he wouldn’t panic. He wouldn’t mourn you. He might mourn the warm body he fucked whenever he needed, sure, but not you, never just you. 

He blinked.

He didn’t need to like you for you to be his.

Heroes were what was wrong with society, but relationships were also what was wrong with people. The twisting desire for equality and equity between two different people when it should never be as such, to begin with. Dabi was powerful. You were quirkless and weak. Dabi held power, he was the one who should be deciding what you should be able to do, what you can’t, and something in the depths of his mind finally clicked. 

You were his.

You belonged to Dabi.

You were nothing without Dabi.

The laugh that poured from your lips and the man next to you, that Dabi swore he could hear right now, suddenly made sense as to why it bothered him. You don’t entertain or try to use things that don’t belong to you. You use only what is yours, and anyone who tries to touch what belongs to you is allowed capital punishment.

But Dabi, against better judgment, wasn’t a trigger happy idiot.

No, he was aware of the things idiots needed to see in order to back off. To understand that some things were there for free, and other things were already taken. He laughed, grabbing the rest of Compress’s sake and downing it before slamming it onto the table and standing up, ignoring the angered curses from Compress as he stalked toward you.

There weren’t many things in life that made Dabi lose control of his emotions, but knowing that you were out in the open without a clear mark that you were his was slowly making its way on that list. 

“Let’s go,” Dabi says, his voice perfectly calm despite the heat blazing off his every muscle. His hand was wrapped around your wrist, gripping your skin tightly as he tugged you from the barstool.

It didn’t take much for you to fall off the stool, your stupid way of sitting on bar stools allowed significant imbalance, and Dabi knew that a sharp tug is all it took to have you stumbling off.

“I was talking with Trumpet!” you cried, unable to keep from stumbling after Dabi, your eyes focused on Trumpet.

“I was speaking with y/n, if you would allow us to finish our—” Trumpet also piped up, his hands reaching to button up his suit as he stood.

“Shut up,” Dabi spoke coldly, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he took in his gaze. 

With that, Dabi continued to walk away, dragging your protesting form behind him with every great stride he took. Dabi didn’t know where he was walking, only knowing that he was ignoring every question and angry demand that filtered out of your mouth like white noise. He took sharp turns, disappearing into the alleys that he knew all too well until he found the spot he was looking for.

You were panting heavily when you suddenly slammed into Dabi’s back, exhaustion already setting in your bones from the awkward run you had to maintain in order to keep up with Dabi. You weren’t an idiot; you knew that Dabi wanted to fuck the moment that he appeared behind you with a wave of hot air. But you hadn’t expected it to be while you were in the middle of a conversation with Trumpet; while he was an asshole, Dabi always let you finish your conversations before taking you to fuck. But not this time.

Which worried you. 

Both of you had fucked the entire night last night. Your body had been abused in a million exciting ways as Dabi unleashed his libido onto you, and you had kept up swimmingly. Typically, a fuckfest like that was enough to satisfy him for a few days, two days at least, so to have him back on you within twelve hours was a bit of a shock. 

The sun was still in the sky, after all.

“You really know how to piss me the fuck off, y/n,” Dabi spoke, his tone and words ice-cold despite the blazing heat of his body. “Why is it that you think you have the right to flounder yourself off like some common bitch?”

You freeze. Oh? Was he jealous?

You had no time to even open your mouth to ask, most likely having taken too long to answer his question because his hand flared with heat, and you couldn’t help the scream that ripped through your throat. Tearing your hand from Dabi, you looked down at your burnt, throbbing skin. Your eyes widened, pained tears in your eyes as Dabi turned around, his eyes blank, cold, lifeless. 

“I’m not sure if I ever made this clear before,” Dabi asked, stalking toward you, and you whimper, holding your tender wrist to your chest as you feel something make contact with the back of your calves. “I don’t care about you. If you were to disappear the next day and never return, I wouldn’t care. Maybe I’d miss your pretty little pussy, but other than that… nothing. But you need to understand something for as long as we’re together and for how long we’re apart: you’re mine, y/n, just mine.”

Your eyes are wide, terrified of the monster before you. This wasn’t the Dabi that fucked you every night before this, this was someone else, and sour acid hits the back of your throat. 

His lips are on you without hesitation. The biting coldness of his staples on his cheeks and chin burn against your skin, and his hot hands are against the cold skin of your waist, and you gasp loudly. His tongue invades your mouth immediately, and you whimper, feeling how much colder his tongue was in comparison to yours. But you know what it’s like to share a bed with Dabi, you know that he knows of your bodies every twitch and innate desires, and like a trained dog, you cave to him despite the painful tears dripping down your cheeks.

His kisses are much like his fire, hot, encompassing, all-consuming until there was nothing left except the smell and taste of ashes and smoke. You fell to his needs immediately, the hot, swollen throb in your wrist going ignored as you kissed him back, wanting to taste the smoke on his tongue. So as the heat of his body evaporated the tears off your cheeks, you caved into his kisses. 

Your wrist throbbed as your hands reached up and curled into his hair. 

But the biting possessiveness of his body was all too apparent to you as his teeth buried into your tongue and sucked on it harshly. You gasped, your body arching into his touch as you opened your closed eyes to peer into his piercing lifeless eyes. 

You moaned, body trembling with the wild desire to make him feel good, to make yourself feel good. But you fell, his teeth letting go of your tongue and his calloused, burnt hands pushing you onto the object beneath you. The mildewy mold scent of the mattress beneath you burned into your nose, somehow damp even though there had been no rain for weeks.

Dabi was on you immediately, his body between your legs, lips simmering against your mouth once more, and his hand on your throat. His staples scraped against your chin, the cold metal scratching into your skin until it hurt. You can’t recall the last time he put this horrible power on his grips, you felt your head beginning to spin with the slow, dizzying throb of losing all oxygen, but Dabi took no mind to your struggles; in fact, it seemed to be enjoying it.

“Come on, doll, kiss me back like you actually fucking mean it,” Dabi snapped, his hands burning even more against your throat, and the other made contact with your pants. Your clothes were burnt to singe, the smell of burning fabric had long been a scent you had been familiar with, but you couldn’t even gather the energy to cry about the clothes he just burnt off your body. “Stop acting like a little bitch,” he growls, obviously noticing your shift in character, “be a good doll, and do as you’re told.”

Despite the burning, stabbing feeling in your skin, and the way you couldn’t keep the silent tears from stopping you from doing as you were told. You kiss him back as you once had before, your jaw dropping and your tongue reaching to meet his. 

Dabi growled, clearly liking the suddenly positive response from you, and you trembled against his hold. But, soon, a new scent filled your nose, a unique scent that aligned with the painful burning of flesh.

“You see, I don’t like it when things that belong to me don’t do what I want. I especially hate having to share things that are mine. Don’t get cocky, sweet thing, you’re my precious doll, but I don’t give a single shit about you,” Dabi spat against your lips, his mouth speaking against yours, and his eyes staring straight into your eyes. 

Or they would have been should you not have been in such trifling, nauseating pain as Dabi’s hand burned against your skin. His quirk sizzled against your skin, creating a perfect brand of his hand on your throat, but the pain was immeasurable, horrifically painful as you wailed against his mouth.

“Let me go, let me go, let me go!” you screamed, your hands fisting and pathetically slamming against Dabi’s shoulders, pleading to be shown mercy.

But Dabi merely looked down at you with sadistic disinterest, relishing in the way the smell of your burning skin wafted into his nose until he let go. 

You tried to scream, tried to cry to whatever god may be looking down at you to come and save you, but you found you couldn’t. The burnt, pussing bubbles of infected flesh bubbling on your throat were tight on your sweat-slicked skin, and every small movement made it feel worse.

“There we go!” Dabi grins again, his eyes wild and almost demented as he flips you over so that your naked ass is hanging out in the air, able to be manipulated to his will. The tears in your eyes were still streaming down your face, intermixing with the blood and popped blisters on your skin as Dabi pressed you into a position that would make things easier for him to fuck you in. “I can’t fuck you when your cunt is buried in this box.”

You make a noise, a small noise that sends a powerful wave of nausea through you as Dabi separates your legs and curls his fingers within your slick cunt. 

“Glad to see that your little pussy is still wet as fuck,” Dabi groans, his fingers scissoring deep within you, stretching out your hole until you pathetically cries into the mildew scented mattress. Your body pulsated with a different stimulus; the pain in your throat still burned and was feeling itchy. The thud in your wrist hurt to move. But the pleasure of his fingers buried deep in your cunt made your eyes cross and your mouth pant in the overcoming sensation of your pussy being tended to.

“D-Dabi,” you manage to croak out, the tears running down your cheeks, once more intermixing with the thick blood and puss on the burn. Your voice was disgustingly hoarse, sounding akin to someone with smoker's lungs. “P-Please.”

“P-Please what?” Dabi mocked, his hips grinding against your exposed, pert ass. You could feel the hard cock in his pants, the shift in the fabric as he dropped his own pants and underwear to rut his piercing covered cock through your asscheeks. “Don’t think about me fucking your ass, you dirty fucking bitch, I’m not gonna do that weird shit.”

“N-No!” you whimper, your unburnt hand reaching behind you to grab onto the fabric of his coat that he refused to remove. Somehow, the movement made the throbbing flesh on your throat hurt more, and you swallowed the rising bile in your throat, gagging. “D-Dabi, f-fuck!”

“You want something better than my fingers?” he continued to question, uncaring that he knew exactly what you meant by those words. He was too focused on the way your walls were much tighter around his fingers right now, a vice trap that made him both eager and unwilling to shove his cock deep within your womb just yet. 

You mewl in frustration, your hips shifting against his intruding fingers, desperate to get the coldness of his pierced cock within you already. The pain was still very much alive, but the pleasurable build in your core was quickly outweighing your mood. 

“Oh, I get it,” Dabi sighs, his fingers exiting your throbbing, soaked cunt, both his hands slamming onto your ass, gripping the flesh with all the strength he had. “You want another fucking brand. You want the world to know who you fucking belong to, who fucking owns you until the day you die.”

The words send a panicked throb in your stomach, but before you could protest, before you could make note that this was not something you wanted, his fingers grew hot. Hotter and hotter, they grew until the blue of his flame felt like scorching white heat under your skin. Impossibly unbearable pain and branding scarred into your skin as you’re able to ignore the resulting pain in your throat to scream so loudly, your voice bounces off the alley walls multiple times. 

You can’t see what he did, but you can tell that his handprints are scarred to your ass; you can feel the puss-filled blisters rising from the skin as Dabi continues to massage the skin as if it was a bruise and not some second-degree burn. You sobbed into the mattress, your face buried into the ugly fabric, snot, and tears pooling onto the surface until you were choking on your spit and rising bile. 

Before you could even adjust to the pain, your mind pounding and reeling with the stinging, melting sensation on your ass, something thick, cold, and pierced rams into your throbbing cunt. Your body lurches forward with the initial thrust, your body, despite the pain, jumping from the shock of Dabi’s cock entering you.

It’s a familiar feeling, a feeling you loved, but you can’t focus on the sense of the many balled piercing gliding against your ruffled walls. The extra stimulus pointedly ignored because the pain in your ass was currently outweighing the pleasure he was giving you. But Dabi doesn't care. Why would he care? You’re his doll, and right now, he’s in heaven. Your cunt was blistering hot against his cock and oh so fucking tight. Dabi knew why he was so obsessed with you, and it started with that tight pussy of yours that could milk him dry without even trying. 

Dabi smiled, his hands raising off the branded handprints on your ass that were caked with already horribly forming scabs, blisters, pus, and blood. He felt giddy seeing your ass, covered with trembles and sweat, covered with his handprint. There was no denying you were his, no denying that you were here to serve the League as nothing except his fuck doll. No one would want you now that you had three of his handprints branded on you, and not even he could love someone with as ugly scars on your body.

So, with the stammering, choking cries that poured from your mouth for Dabi to stop because his rutting hips slamming against your newly branded ass was too much, Dabi let his head drop back, flooded with the sense of elation and euphoria. 

You were his.

Finally his.

Only his.

“It hurts!” you screamed, your hips shifting in your feeble attempt to escape his barbaric hold. “It hurts, Dabi!”

“If it hurts so much, why the fuck is your cunt so wet?” Dabi mocked, his hips slamming into you with deeper, faster strokes. “Why the fuck are you moving your hips like a desperate whore if it hurts?”

You howl in your pain crossed pleasure, the tears soaking your face, and the mattress seemingly flowing from you without end in sight. Much like the squelching slick in your cunt that grows louder and louder and the Jacob's ladder on his cock pressed further and further into your warm velvet walls. 

“Because it hurts!” you screech, your fingers tearing into the mattress, your body spasming from the overload of sensation. Your mind slips through the cracks of consciousness, and the pain begins to override your mind.

“Oi, oi, oi!” Dabi yells, his hand coming down to slap the blistering brand on your ass, completely waking you back up. “Don’t you dare knock out on me, doll. I might call you a doll, but I don’t want you to be some fucking dumbass ragdoll when you’re on my cock!”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your eyes crossing and your vision spinning with the onslaught of sharp, stinging pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Mm,” Dabi hums, clearly pleased with your apology. “Seems like after so long, you’ve finally accepted your useless, pathetic, quirkless ass can’t do shit.”

So, his hands shift from your ass and move onto your hips, enjoying the way your skin is so soft, so easily bruisable beneath his hold. Your body seems to block out the pain he brings to your body and only accept the lulling pleasure of it all. The noises of his drilling cock into your sobbing cunt is loud, the sopping noises loud and soft in both your ears. Dabi has half a mind to wonder if anyone would walk by the alleyway, hear your desperate, pathetic noises and call the cops. 

He smiles lazily as his cock brushes against the wall of your cervix. Would he kill you in front of them all and then them? Maybe he would make you beg for his cock more in front of the officers and kill them all should they be aroused. He laughed as his cock slammed into your cervix, the squealing pleasure ripping from your throat at the feeling, and Dabi felt light.

Oh, yes, yes, yes.

How pathetic would that be?! Heroes getting aroused as he fucked such a poor girl in front of them! Of course, they’d have to be killed because that would be immoral of them, and not to mention that once anyone got a lustful eye on, you deserved to die.

You were his.

Only his. 

“Who does this pussy belong to?!” Dabi snaps, his hand grabbing your hair by the roots. “Who?”

“Dabi!” you laugh giddily, your face still streaming with tears, your lips bloody and bitten raw. “Dabi! Dabi! Dabi!”

Dabi growls in his satisfying pleasure, his hand throwing your head back onto the mattress, and his hands press onto your shoulders as he begins to thrust faster, harder, more power into your clenching tight cunt. His fingers tear into your skin, breaking the skin and watching the ruby red liquid ooze from your skin. 

That causes you to scream, your face twisted in slight pain, but Dabi presses onward. 

He has one last thing to do.

“Such a good fuck doll, don’t you think you deserve to be rewarded for being such a good fuck? For having such a sweet, tight pussy?” Dabi asks, his teeth biting against the nape of your neck as he continued to fuck you until fluids were beginning to seep from your cunt. “I’m going to make sure that everyone in the fucking world knows you belong to me, that you are my precious fucking doll and no one else's, okay?”

You keen loudly, your body shivering underneath his, and your head nodding, your tongue unable to produce any more words.

Dabi raised his finger, the tip blazing with a small, concentrated blue flame, and he makes contact with the skin on your back.

Dabi Dabi Dabi Dabi

His name is written repetitively on your back. The layers of skin on your back wholly burned off so that the twitching pink of your skin muscles are shown. No blood comes from there.

Dabi laughs, delighted with how fucking perfect you look with his name on your back, and you seemed to have flipped out of your broken mindset and shoved back into the horrors of the pain your body was experiencing. You gagged loudly, screaming and twitching with immense pain, but Dabi continues.

“You don’t mean shit to me, though, doll; I hope you know that!” Dabi snickers, his cock throbbing when he felt the familiar milking sensation of your cunt as you finally came around him. He continued to ram his cock into you, savagely uncaring of how you begged from him to stop, pathetically asked for him to heed. “You’re nothing more than my cumslut, nothing more than some stupid sex doll for me to use. And now you’re completely ruined! No one will want you with my brand all over you! No one will, and I sure as hell don’t want you forever!”

Your body stills under him, not quite limp as though you might pass out, but cold, frozen.

Dabi doesn’t care; he never has as he countries to hammer his cock within you, his tongue sweeping over his front teeth before spitting onto his branded name on your skin. You flinch greatly at the burning sensation, your eyes trying not to close with unconsciousness as ropes of his cum and seed spill into your cunt.

You lay there, unable to move, as Dabi stands up, quickly dressing and leaving you with a mere chuckle.

You were ruined forever, you suddenly realized as we make our way back to the beginning scene.

Cold, used, quirkless.

You had no purpose in life except to be Dabi’s whore, and even he didn’t want you.

The darkness consumed you in the worst of ways right then.

[luvteez]

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong​ for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will 

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“ 

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder. 

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

[kitazura]

it’s the thought that counts, tendō satori

1.6k words of fluff; gn!reader

synopsis: tendō doesn’t understand the excitement surrounding valentine’s day until he decides to celebrate it with you.

notes: i haven’t finished the manga but i’m making timeskip content :D thank u rissie (@sugas-cookie) for beta-ing mwah <3

Tendō’s come to learn that Valentine’s day brings waves of purchases made by eager youth preparing to confess their affections, frantic lovers who’d completely forgotten about the occasion, and other last-minute shoppers looking for gifts to give their loved ones. This year is no different; the orders pile up so quickly he can barely keep up with them.

He’s not complaining—not when his bills are getting paid—he just doesn’t understand why everyone lets themselves get carried away by the Valentine rush. At the root of it all, it’s blatant commercialism, another scheme by society to run your bank account dry through obligatory benevolence, so why play into it? Well, as long as it keeps him in business, he supposes he’ll keep his critiques to himself.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little cynical?” you say when he shares his thoughts, the gentle smile on your lips showing you mean no harm. “I think the idea behind Valentine’s day is charming.”

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, humming in response. “Why’s that?”

“Isn’t it sweet when someone puts time and effort into something just for you?” you gush. Tendō watches your gaze turn dreamy as your mind wanders off into the clouds. “Like making chocolates for the person you like.”

“That’s what I do for a living, darling.”

“You like all of your customers?”

“Of course; they give me money, after all.”

You laugh, swatting his arm lightly. “I guess it’s hard to romanticize something you do as work.”

You’re not wrong. At some point, it’s expected for your job to lose its magic, no matter how passionate you are about it in the beginning. Chocolate has long lost its allure to Tendō, and now he spends day in and day out pouring it into molds and hurrying to shape it before it hardens beyond salvation. It’s become a chore for him, and even just catching a whiff of a candy bar sends his brain into the stress of work mode.

“What do you think about when you make chocolate, Satori?” you ask, interrupting his thoughts.

“What an odd question,” he remarks, clicking his tongue like a fussy mother hen. “I think about what I have to do to make it look presentable, of course. And then I count down the minutes until I come home to you.” He beams, proud of his response.

But pride turns to dismay when he catches a glint of disappointment in your eyes. His expression falls as he pulls you closer. “What’s the matter?”

You shake your head. “Nothing, nothing. Would you ever make me Valentine’s day chocolates?”

He tilts his head in surprise, then kisses your forehead. “I’d make you chocolate any day; all you have to do is ask.”

You seem to drop the matter, although he swears you sigh, “It’s not the same.”

He spends the next couple of days convincing himself he’d only imagined it, but something about your tone and attitude makes it stick in his brain. Whether you’d said it or not, there was clearly something behind your first question.

He asks you about it over dinner: “Is there a reason you want Valentine-themed chocolates in particular?”

“You’ve been thinking about that?” You laugh a little, surprised. “It’s not the Valentine theme I want; just the knowledge that you’re thinking of me on that day.”

He pesters you to elaborate—he’s always thinking of you, don’t you know that?—but you dodge his questions, leaving him in the dark once more.

Since you won’t give him any answers, he’ll just look for them on his own.

He texts Ushijima that night: “Why do you buy chocolate for the one you love?”

“Because they like it,” comes the reply. It’s simple, straightforward, but it’s not what he’s looking for.

He texts Semi the same question. The response is the length of a school essay, explaining the motivations of love in depths only a poet could reach, but it’s still not enough.

At work, your question echoes in his mind: What do you think about when you make chocolate, Satori?

What was he supposed to think about aside from the process? His customers?

He looks again at the order he’s making. It’s one he expects every year—it comes a week before Valentine’s, by a man whose wife adores chocolate covered strawberries. Tendō remembers it not only because of its consistency, but also because it’s always preceded by an order by the aforementioned wife, who asks for milk chocolate filled with raspberry créme that her husband is so fond of.

He wonders why they order the same thing at the same time every year. There’s no surprise in it, so what’s the point? Had he been in the husband’s place and you in the wife’s, he’d make sure to buy you something different every year, each present more extravagant than the last. He’d make sure that you’d always have something to look forward to in your married life.

A cheery little tune takes form beneath his breath as he pictures a life with you: silver bands around your fingers, lazy mornings on your days off, walks along the Seine.

He sweeps the excess chocolate off the molds in one clean stroke, sighing dreamily. You would buy a bigger, better apartment once you’d saved up enough, or even move to a quiet little cottage in the countryside.

His thoughts wander through the clouds as he mindlessly flits from one project to the next, forgetting to count the hours until his duty for today is through.

Lately, some of Tendō’s usual customers have been dropping by to say the same thing: there’s something different about his work these days. It’s not negative; on the contrary, actually, the quality’s spiked. But he can’t figure out what he’s been doing differently for the life of him.

It weighs on his mind from the time he clocks in to when he clocks out. He’s been using the same ingredients, the same equipment, so what was it?

His answer arrives in the form of the Chocolate Strawberry man, on the very eve of Valentine’s.

The man enthusiastically shakes Satori’s hand and thanks Him for his work, his hands warm and clammy from excitement despite the biting Parisian air.

“My wife would have liked to come along as well, but she’s preoccupied with the baby,” the man explains. “She wants you to know how much she enjoys your work, though. We look forward to it every year.”

“Then why not buy it off-season, when it’s cheaper?” Tendō asks. The man looks surprised, prompting him to continue. “With all due respect, you order the same thing every year, anyway, so why wait?”

The man laughs at the sincere look of curiosity in the chocolatier’s eyes, patting him on the shoulder, like a father to his son. “Why wait until birthdays to buy a cake? Why wait until Christmas to exchange gifts and set up the tree? It’s old advice, but it’s good: it’s always the thought that counts.” With one last pat on the back and an affectionate chuckle, the man wishes Tendō a good night—“Enjoy tomorrow with your loved ones.”

The stores are packed with the usual extremely last minute rush on Valentine’s morning, and for the first time, Tendō Satori is part of that crowd.

His arms are filled with the goodies he’d woken up early to buy: heavily discounted candies in tacky packages, a cheesy card, a bouquet, an offensively pink stuffed bear, crumpled foil balloons. (He’d made chocolates for you too; those were waiting in the fridge at home.) If it was an authentic Valentine’s experience you wanted, he decided, then it was an authentic Valentine’s experience you’d get.

He’d sent you out to pick up a cake across the city just before he’d left that morning, so the apartment is still empty when he returns. He checks his watch—only half an hour at most until you’d come back. Setting the bear on the counter, he gives it a determined grin.

“Think I can set everything up in fifteen?”

He’s just barely managed tying the balloons closed when he hears the knob on the front door jiggle as you unlock it.

“I’m home!” Your shoes thud to the floor, joined by Tendō’s footsteps as he hurries to help you with the cake. You thank him when he takes it out of your hands and leads you to the dining table while you chatter away. “Boy, did you see how many people are out there? It’s like all of Paris decided to run their errands this morning. It’s a miracle I got the cake here in one piece—what’s all this?”

Tendō grins, proudly motioning to his handiwork. The bouquet sits in the center of the table, surrounded by neatly arranged dishes of your favorite foods. The plush bear sits at the head, the card and candies tucked into its paws. Balloons reading “Happy Valentine’s” are tied to your chairs, gently swaying to and fro in greeting.

“Do you like it?” he asks. “I figured you wanted to do something for Valentine’s, but all the restaurants are booked so I had to improvise—”

You cut him off with a kiss, and another, then another. “I love it! I love you and I love”—you wave at the room—“all of this.” Another kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for thinking of me, Satori.”

He laughs as you hug him, squeezing as tight as you can. He thinks back to the strawberry man’s remark, “It’s the thought that counts.” And maybe, just a little, he’s starting to understand that there’s more to Valentine’s than business.

As you prepare the cake and gush over the bear, he pats the pocket of his jacket. The pretty little velvet box would have to wait until after lunch.

postscript: heyyy <3 i stopped writing for like three months srry LMAO but im back in business baby !! if i try hard enough and school stops kicking my ass maybe i’ll start posting twice a month ahaha ... unless?

[ushidoux]

What’s In a (Nick) Name? - Reon Ohira x Reader

Summary: Reon doesn’t take too kindly to a nickname, even if he pretends it doesn’t bother him. (~1.3k words)

Warnings: talk of insecurity, fluff, super brief implied racism (not what you think), sfw

A/N: I wish people paid more attention to Reon so now I will unload my headcanons about him.

---

“Reon, left!”

Moving fluidly and carefully, he kept the ball in play long enough for the star player of the team to spike and score yet another point against their opponents, undeniably assuring their victory.

Despite being drowned out by the roar of the crowd, Reon’s cheers were just as loud and heartfelt as the rest of his team when they immediately celebrated their win. He hadn’t scored the winning point, and in fact, the number of points he had individually scored was middling in comparison to the total they’d amassed as a team, but he was still elated beyond comparison as the team collapsed on each other in a huddle. 

Being a support character wasn’t all bad. Even if he wasn’t as obvious a team support as Shirabu who meticulously laid plans as the team’s setter, he was crucial in his own way.

---

“Oi, Benkei!”

Reon closed his locker only to reveal Tendou beside him, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he gathered his things up for home. 

“I’m not Benkei,” He said for the nth time, allowing a mild irritation to affect his tone as he bent down to change into his sneakers so he could walk home. He, of course, wasn’t upset (there are much worse nicknames to be had), but this particular nickname had stuck ever since a certain history class and he was maybe just a little tired of it.

He wasn’t sure exactly why this nickname bothered him more in particular. He’d run the gamut from lazy nicknames like Lion-kun, cute nicknames like Rin-chan from the small kids he volunteered with who couldn’t pronounce his name, and names frankly as offensive as Sambo* (luckily that had been just a one off), but for some reason, Benkei got under his skin.

Nevertheless, he knew Tendou didn’t mean to annoy and was more highlighting the fact that he was such a great assist to Ushijima, so it was fine.

He sighed, and Tendou continued.

“We’re still waiting on you outside though - you’re walking home with us, right?” 

Reon smiled.

“Of course.”

Tendou followed him out of the gym, talking animatedly about a horror movie he’d seen last weekend and highly recommended while Reon indulged him with a sympathetic listening ear before they met up with other team members.

He shifted his gym bag idly from one side to another, only to see something large and white flutter to the ground.

Tendou’s eyes grew wide as Reon bent to pick it up and revealed it to be a card of some sort.

Handmade and one-sided, in semi-neat but large, bubbly characters in a mix of English and Japanese was a note of some sort.

You did a GREAT JOB on the court today! I’m always cheering for you!

Fondly, your secret admirer~ ❤

Beneath the message was a small cartoon of a cheering girl drawn with clear attention to detail, and as Reon took a careful look at the picture as though it were possibly the sender’s self-portrait, he could feel his heart start to race.

It didn’t help that Tendou started to hoot and holler, which only drew more attention to the situation as the rest of the team approached.

“You seem very excited, Satori,” Shirabu quipped, immediately as he stopped before them. Ushijima, affect neutral as usual, raised an eyebrow at Tendou before looking at Reon who still was trying to come to the grips with the idea of someone noticing him. 

Maybe it wasn’t him. There wasn’t a specific name on it, and a locker was close enough to Ushijima’s or Semi’s, who seemed like better candidates… maybe they were mistaken? 

Yeah, that made much more sense.

“Someone’s obsessed with our very own Reon-kun~!” Tendou cheered.

Quickly backtracking, Reon laughed, stuffing the card into his backpack out of sheer embarrassment, and shaking his head.

“There’s no evidence it’s for me, so we can just forget it.”

Quickly changing the subject, he congratulated Ushijima on a good final point and suggested ramen on the way home.

—-

“What? Why wouldn’t it be for you, babe?”

The look of confusion on your face, still the prettiest he’d ever seen since the day you finally revealed yourself as the card sender, was so genuine that he was almost embarrassed to explain that back then in high school, much more than now, he’d never really thought of himself as noteworthy.

And somehow it had come up, more than two years after graduation, over a casual dessert date on a lovely spring afternoon.

Well, you’d brought it up, flicking the tiniest bit of vanilla ice cream onto his nose before leaning over to kiss it off, then telling him you couldn’t believe he was so shy when you’d first introduced yourself. 

“It should have been worse for me, I’d already made it clear I had a crush on you! You had complete control of the situation!” You’d exclaimed.

And then he’d replied with that he wasn’t sure you’d gotten the right locker.

You frowned.

Reon’s natural sweetness and peacemaking tendencies befitting a middle child were what had drawn you to him once you’d gotten to know him, but what you hadn’t anticipated were the small ripples of insecurity he hid with a calming smile and soft words.

It was hard for you to understand why. He had been part of a particularly intimidating group in high school, was following his dreams of playing volleyball, was gainfully employed, and loved by his family, friends and you alike. 

But still, you couldn’t ignore the worry lines that graced his features every once in a while when he was preoccupied with something, when he thought you weren’t looking. 

Or the very slight tenseness in his shoulders when you got too friendly with someone new - not that he was ever really jealous.

Just unsure if he was good enough. 

Your fingers intertwined with his as you left the ice cream bar for a walk in the park. 

“You know my nickname once was Benkei…,” he spoke up, suddenly. 

You slowed to a stop, again confused, then let out a giggle.

“What the hell does that mean?” 

Your grip on his hand remained loose but steady, and he ended up smiling because your face was so radiant in the sun as you cracked up in laughter, cheering him up.

“Something about a legendary sidekick to a samurai or something… at least in short,” Reon replied.

“Sidekick?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow. You took a couple paces forward, and shook your head.

“You’re not a sidekick,” you immediately said with a huff. “That’s a lame name.”

Your remark was mildly annoyed, and so he chuckled, pulling you closer to him so that he could wrap his arm around your shoulder.

“It was meant to be endearing, I think,” he mused, pressing his lips to the top of your head. The idea of you immediately rejecting the joke made his heart soar, but it was too silly to explain.

“But it bothered you!”

“A little,” he agreed. “But it wasn’t a big deal,” he added.

“Even so, next time they should be more creative,” you dug in. “You’re not Benkei, you’re Reon, and you’re the most wonderful man in the entire world, no competition,” you proclaimed without hesitation.

Despite considering for a split second that maybe it was just because it was you who had noticed him from the start, your words of reassurance compelled him into wrapping his arms around your neck affectionately.

“I love you.”

Even if you were the only one who saw him as more than a background character, it was truly enough for him.

[kodzukenscorner]

Semi, Kita, Kuroo, and Osamu with a psychology major S/O

anon asked: I hope this request is fine! Can I ask for hcs in which Semi, Kita, Kuroo and Osamu have a s/o who's majoring in/studying psychology, please? Thanks so much!

wc: 1,374

✶   ✶   ✶   ✶   ✶

Semi

Semi is the type of man who already has an interest in psychology

But to be fair, it’s an interesting topic, trying to figure out what’s going on in someone’s head and figuring out why

His interest was just a casual one until he met you

Once he found out you were studying psychology his interest in it immediately skyrocketed 

He starts questioning you more and more on the different topics you’re studying but he doesn’t want to make it obvious

But you can tell from the little gleam in his eye that he finds it really interesting

He always claims that he’s only interested in it because you’re studying it and he wants to support you

And yet he’s the one who volunteers to make you flashcards so you can study more

He even insists on having you teach him the different topics because “teaching someone else is the best way to study”

Yeah he’s a nerd, just don’t call him out on it okay

And once you go over a lot of touchy topics together he feels more comfortable opening up to you about whatever’s on his mind

He kind of has a bit of an imposter syndrome so he’s a little self conscious 

But after seeing you work so hard, studying and doing your best, he feels a lot more safe and secure with you

Definitely takes some of the things you taught him and brings it up in casual conversation with his friends

He likes to show off his newfound knowledge, and he’s more of a humble bragger 

He loves learning with you, but what he loves even more than that is seeing you work so diligently 

Sometimes when you’re doing flashcard practice with him, you catch him daydreaming while watching you

He falls for you a little more every time you teach him something new

Kita

Kita is such a king, and the best person to have by your side while you’re studying 

Like most people, he finds psychology fascinating

Whenever you’re studying something particularly interesting and want to talk to him about it, he is all ears

He’s also a great listener and retains all the knowledge you dump on him

He’ll sometimes even ask you how your paper on language acquisition is going or if you had moved on from studying phobias and paranoias yet

But to be completely honest, he’s not as passionate about the topic as you are

He mostly just swells with pride when he sees how much effort you put in

But he also turns on his Good Boyfriend Mode™ to make sure that you’re not overworking yourself

He greatly admires your drive and work ethic but the last thing he wants is for you to work yourself to the bone

He helps you set specific times for when you should work and study but he also implements break times for you as well

During those times he’ll insist that you just relax and watch some TV with him or read a book

Those are his favorite moments to be completely honest, he gets to cuddle up with you while he feels all the tension leave your body 

If he sees you attempting to pull an all nighter he will scold you for it and insist you get some sleep

Even if you only get a couple of hours napping, he will make sure you rest

His way of doing that is to wrap you up in his arms and not leave for a minimum of at least 2 hours

But when push comes to shove, he is there for you

If you need to pull an all nighter to finish a project or paper, he is right there with you

He’ll help you get your work done as quickly as possible so you also have some time to rest

He loves and cares about you, so he’ll never let you overwork yourself

Kuroo

Kuroo is a lot like Semi, but this man is a shameless nerd

He has always had a love for all sciences, including social sciences

But he’s really good at keeping that info to himself because he knows not everyone is a geek like him

But once he found out you were studying psychology, he unleashed the inner nerd with no restraints 

He is honestly so cute though, throughout the day he’ll send you emails with links to articles that he finds really interesting

Or he’ll send you a completely lame psych related meme

And he even goes so far as to come up with the actual worst pickup lines you’ve ever heard in your life

And yet all of this ridiculous stuff only makes you love him more

When you read an article he sent you, he’ll be asking for your opinion on it and the two of you could spend hours discussing different theories

He genuinely really loves it and it feels really good to have someone as passionate as you are by your side

And when it comes down to studying, he will happily be the one quizzing you and helping you memorize everything you need to know

If you’ve got a project or presentation to work on, he’ll help brainstorm some interesting topics with you

If you need to present in front of everyone he will happily be your test audience to help get rid of any nerves you have 

When it comes time for you to actually present in front of your class, you’re shocked to see Kuroo who had snuck in and is diligently listening to you in the back row

His cheeky grin and affirming nods helps melt away all the nerves you might have had before

He is there with you through thick and thin

He will spend hours helping you work or study but he still wants to make sure you’re getting a proper amount of rest

So when it’s time to put away the books and just sleep, he is pulling you into his arms and stroking your head gently, whispering sweet praises in your ear until you drift off

Osamu

You can fight me on this, Osamu is one of the best listeners

He will listen to you go on and on about something you love without once interrupting you

Sometimes it seems like he’s not really listening to you and is actually tuning you out

But I can assure you, he is paying very close attention to every word you say

Days after you mention you have a test coming up he’ll surprise you in the morning with breakfast

When you ask him why he went all out all of a sudden, he’ll explain that you need to have a good breakfast to ace your test today

Yes he definitely remembered you had a test coming up and put into his calendar so you wouldn’t forget

Unlike the rest, he doesn’t have much of an interest in the topic beyond a mild fascination

But he loves you and absolutely cannot get enough of that look in your eye you get when you ramble about a particular study you had been reading about

He’s also a great study partner and will sit with you for hours, helping you work on something, or just doing his own thing alongside you

He doesn’t like to distract you from your work so you always manage to get lots of work down and spend time with him all at once

But he can also tell when you’re stressed and really need to be alone

So he’ll let you hole up in your room, typing away on your laptop without bothering you much

He’ll come in from time to time and bring you a snack without so much as a word

He’ll just put a plate of food down in front of you, kiss your temple and be on his way

Other times when he knows you’re really strung out and not getting any work done, he’ll drag you into the kitchen with him so you can make some brownies together

Before you know it, you’re smiling again and laughing with him

Expect lots of back hugs and lazy kisses on your head and neck

He’ll do anything to help take off some of your stress

[twokinkybeans]

Company Chapter 5: Beltane - Epilogue

Moodboard made by Kim <3 Summary: All is well that ends well. Author’s note: Thank you soooooo much for joining me on this “art project!” I hope you enjoyed it! There might be some things that one could wonder are unresolved, but I have answers to all questions. They just didn't feel right to put in this chapter. If you're curious, feel free to ask! <3 Thanks again and til next time!!! <3 -Lien Warnings for this chapter: Smutty and fluffy. Magic sex. Yay! Go to the Masterpost Read Company - Chapter 5: Beltane - Epilogue on AO3

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Peter saunters through the woods, a goofy smile spread across his face. There’s no backpack filled with food resting on his shoulders this time. He doesn’t need it. In his hands, he casually clutches a bouquet he bought. It’s a colorful collection of wild flowers the florist carefully put together. He breathes in the early Summer air and skips once over the forest floor, making a twirl. “Oberon?” Peter asks quietly. Purposefully. A swift presence appears behind him and he turns with a smile. “Puck.” Tony and Peter come together in a tight embrace. The Fae unashamedly breathes Peter in and smiles a kiss into his hair. “Peter…” “Tony.” “Stars, my name sounds so heavenly from your lips.” The college student’s shoulders jolt through his laugh against Tony’s chest. “What am I supposed to reply to that?” Peter chuckles. Tony gently rubs his cheek on Peter’s hair. “Mmm… Just say my name once more.” “Only once?” “Maybe twice… Or three times. Or a thousand.” Peter smirks and pulls away to look the Fae in the eye. “Won’t you prefer kissing my lips?” An immediate grin plasters itself on Tony’s face. “Now that is a reply.”

It takes less than a second for them to cross the distance and share breaths. They connect and Peter shamelessly pushes forward, rubbing his crotch against Tony’s thigh. A brief growl escapes Oberon’s throat and he pulls back, lips wet with Peter’s love. “Needy,” he tuts. “Always,” Peter teases, wiggling his eyebrows. Against Peter’s wants, Tony pulls back further and eyes Peter’s hand as he takes it back in from behind Tony. “What do we have here?” “I brought you flowers!” Peter excitedly exclaims. The gears in his head turn and he looks at it for a second before sighing. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t realize this gift is kind of useless… You can literally make flowers with a wave of your hands.” His arm drops. “You don’t need more.” “I want them,” Tony deadpans. Peter looks up surprised. “You do?” He scoffs quietly. “Yes, these flowers may be dying soon now because they’ve been cut, but they’re a gift from you. You thought of me when you got these. You made the effort to get me this. Part of your day was spent caring for me by picking this. Every gift is an honor to receive- especially from you.” Peter grins with delight and offers Tony the flowers. The Fae gratefully takes them and closes his eyes as he brings them up to take in their fragrance. “Mmm…” Oberon sighs content. “Do they smell good?” Peter asks shyly. “Lovely…” Tony opens his eyes. There’s a mischievous sparkle in them that has Peter’s gut tingle with anticipation. “But I know something that smells even better.” Peter’s breath catches in the back of his throat, but he manages to push the next word out regardless. “W-what?” The Fae’s irises light up and with his magic he tightens the bond that was created by sharing their names. All Peter can focus on now is everything Tony; this blissful yet unexplainable floatiness that comes with being near the Fae. Oberon pushes in, casually tossing the flowers to the ground so he can push both his hands under Peter’s shirt. “You.” Tony invades Peter’s space and presses gentle kisses on the shell of the young man’s ear, ocassionally leaving some kitten licks. Peter can only smile and let it all happen. “Your smell, your taste, your presence…” The growl Oberon lets out sends a shiver through Peter’s entire body. Tony’s fingers find Peter’s nipples. “You, my sweet, are divine beyond imagining.” Right at the enunciation, Tony pinches his fingers together, causing Peter to gasp and buck against Tony’s body. “You are a deity and deserving of a world I will gladly give you.” The speed at which Peter completely loses his intelligence around Oberon still boggles his mind. Right now, however, Peter is perfectly content with where he is. “But, you-“ “Just because I am the one who can perform magic, does not mean I am not the one utterly entranced by you.” One of Tony’s hands lowers back down Peter’s chest, tickling his skin. “By your voice, your eyes, your…” Suddenly, Oberon’s fingers breach the hem of Peter’s pants and curl around the hardening shaft. “…shape.” A quiet moan falls from Peter’s lips. “T-Tony-“ As a reward, the Fae squeezes and tugs, causing Peter to lean into it even further. “Again.” “Tony-“ Another reward, another moan. “Again.” “Please-“ “Say it, Peter. Say my name.” “Tony!” … Puck and Oberon lay in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by blooming flowers and a pleasant warmth. The breeze gently washing over them is slightly chilly, but more than welcome under the sun. They’re bare, staring into each other’s eyes as their hands tease hair and skin. Their heads are crowned with flowers, an indication of their reign of their small and contained makeshift kingdom. The corners of their lips are curled up indefinitely, showing no sign of ever pointing down again. They bask in the sunlight and each other, enjoying their flushed bodies and entangled legs. “Would you stay with me?” Oberon whispers quietly, eyes searching. “Forever?” Peter sighs content and scoots a little closer until his head rests on Tony’s chest. “And rule Winter Court?” “By my side.” It’s quiet for a second too long for Tony’s taste. “You can say no.” “No, I-“ Peter sits up straight, breaking the tranquil scene. He stares at the flowers, away from the Fae. “I want to be with you.” “Just not at court?” Peter nods quickly. “I wouldn’t fit in.” Tony laughs at that and joins Peter in sitting up straight. “Beck will probably try to kill me after what happened last time.” “First, he would not. If he even so much as tries to touch one hair on your beautiful head, I will have him lose his. Secondly, do you think I fit in?” His hand finds Peter’s face and moves a stray curl before cupping his jaw. “Am I cold and evil?” Peter grins. “Occasionally.” Tony huffs faux-offended. “Name one time!” “Hmm,” Peter teases as he grabs his chin, thinking carefully. “About an hour ago when you considered not letting me cum after three hours of edging?” The Fae bursts out laughing and quickly moves in until they turn and Peter is caged on the ground between Oberon’s arms. “What is the alternative?” Peter wants to swear at his cock, already betraying him again. He decides to play along, though. “You could just let me cum whenever I want to.” Oberon pouts at that. “Oh, but what’s the fun in that.” His tongue swiftly finds Puck’s bare chest and swirls lazy circles before he leaves a wet kiss. “Would that not bore you?” “Why don’t we find out?” Tony lowers his abdomen until both of their semi-hard cocks brush past each other. Peter gasps at the fluttering sensation, but it quickly turns to a whine when Oberon simply keeps teasing. “Tony-“ ��You think you can go again already? Are you not tired?” Peter puffs his cheeks. The question is kind and considerate- Peter hadn’t even thought of whether or not he would actually be able to go again. It’s not soon and he does have the libido of a college student, but their three hour edging session did take a lot out of him. “Or do you need a hand?” Oberon smirks. A strangled moan escapes Puck’s throat when suddenly, Oberon grabs both of their cocks in his hand and starts stroking them while also lazily rolling his hips. The hand seems to glow slightly and Peter feels rejuvenated. Awake and present and… Fuck, he’s horny. “Evil,” Peter whimpers at Oberon's magic use, which causes Tony to slow down his movement. “I can stop if you want.” “No- fuck, no, keep going.” “As you wish.” Tony puts in a bit more effort now and seems to relish in the fact that Peter is already a mess again. His look darkens. “I’ll be as evil as you want me to be.” Even if that’s not what Peter meant – and they both know it – Peter doesn’t care anymore. “Our promise may be fulfilled after today, but I will make sure you keep coming back every time.” The student bucks into the Fae’s hand. “H-H… How?” Peter bares his teeth in a cheeky grin. As much as Tony teases Peter, Peter still likes to fight back. Puck moans unashamedly when Oberon’s magic envelopes and enters him, pulsating and caressing and simply straight up fucking him into oblivion. The edge nears dangerously fast and all Peter can do is take it. Oberon sucks a mark on Peter’s neck and growls. “By keeping you coming.” “Please-“ “Oh, what a beggar you are,” Oberon taunts. “How many times do you want to come, my flower?” His eyes sparkle with delight. “Once? Maybe twice? Three times? Or a thousand…” Peter grips some of the flowers next to him to ground himself. His chest heaves with his heavy breaths. “Answer me, Peter.” A scoff falls from Peter’s lips before he answers. The Fae certainly likes to use their newfound bond to make Peter do all kinds of things. “Until all I can say is your name.” Tony leans in, fully pressing himself against Peter now, rubbing their bodies together. He moves in to kiss Peter, but before he does, he whispers victoriously. “Now that is a reply.”

----------------------------------THE END ----------------------------------

[thekidultlife]

#6 Edging | 30 Nights with Lee Jihoon

30 Nights with Lee Jihoon

Words: 3.4k

Genre: SMUT +18

(A/N: This is for the horny side of tumblr. Minors please do not engage in this sort of content!!)

For a man like Lee Jihoon, the moment you uttered the words “Let’s try something new!”, he began to fear for the survival of his own dignity.

Not that he had a fragile sense of masculinity to the point of not allowing you to take the lead this time in the bedroom—it was far from that. It’s just that, he knew, after all the years you’ve been dating, that you were terrifyingly creative in your ideas, and he was sure that after this night with you, he would be a changed man.

“Oh, you’re done with work already?”

It was your voice from the doorway which had him perked up from his seat on the sofa. You had just finished work and was still wearing your tan business suit by the time you greeted him with a kiss as you swooped into the living room, humming the new song Seventeen had just released.

“I planned on finishing early today so we could have some time. After all, we’ll…”

Jihoon looked away from you who had wrapped your arms around his shoulders from the back. He ended up not finishing the sentence however, embarrassed that he was this eager to have sex with you.

“Oh? Did you follow what I told you? Aren’t you diligent, Jihoonie?” you teased him, your lips curving into a smirk as soon as you saw the irritated look on his face.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” he grumbled lowly, which simply made you giggle; sulky Jihoon wasn’t something you’d see every day.

“C’mon now, let’s have dinner first! I got jjajangmyeon and chicken,” you replied, placing a small kiss on his cheek before padding your way towards the kitchen.

Jihoon could only look at your retreating back with mixed feelings of dread and anticipation. Whatever you were planning, he was getting a bit antsy to know what it is.

To give a brief description, your sex life was pretty normal. You didn’t mind if Jihoon wants to be the dominant one, jackhammering into you like a thirsty animal or if he was just too lazy to move and have you on top of him. It has been fluid like that over the years, and there had been no serious problems.

Yet lately, an idea had caught your attention which you wanted to bring into the bedroom, and it had only been a few weeks ago when you finally got Jihoon to bend and agree to try out something new. Generally, he was the stubborn type but with just a bit of poking and prodding, he eventually gave up. It’s not like he could refuse you anyway.

As soon as dinner was done and everything was cleaned, the both of you took individual showers—anticipating what will happen to the night beyond.

Jihoon was clearly nervous even though he looked like he was about to kill someone as he sat on the bed in his standard black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. You immediately noticed his apprehension the moment you stepped out of the bathroom still in your fluffly bathrobe.

“Hey, Jihoon,” you began as you sat beside him, your hand over his large ones. “Are you okay?”

He was too wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized you were already there beside him until he felt your hand glide over his. Gazing into you, he could clearly see the concern in your eyes, which alarmed him.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry,” he replied, tucking a hair behind your ear; his fingertips caressing your cheek.

“Are you sure?” you asked, your fingers intertwining with the ones on your cheek. “We don’t have to do it if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I want to do it with you, YN. Whatever it is that you’re planning to do…I trust you,” he told you as he rubbed circles on your cheek; watching you kiss the palm of his hand as you gazed into his eyes.

“You have to tell me to stop if you can’t handle it anymore, ok? You must tell me, Jihoon, ok?” you insisted, squeezing his hand tight so he would understand that you were being serious. “You gotta tell me the safe word, ok?”

Jihoon scratched the nape of his neck. “I will, I will. But wait, why do we need a safe word?” He narrowed his eyes at you. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Yep,” you replied smirking as you continued to pepper kisses on the inside of his wrist. “So, your safe word is…?”

Jihoon groaned, now understanding where this was going, but for some reason, he felt like he was only assuming the surface of things. “Seventeen. Seventeen is my safe word.”

You gave him a jaded look. “So I guess it’s true that the only thing that could stop you from being horny is work?”

“What am I supposed to say? I’m not good at coming up with these things.” Jihoon retorted back which you only responded by squeezing his cheeks.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I was just teasing you,” you replied with a grin as you straddled him between your legs. “Jihoonie, from here on out, I’ll be the one in charge. If you want out, say so now.”

“I want you,” he replied back with a low voice as he gazed up to you who was kneeling before him.

“Good answer,” you praised him as you removed yourself from his lap and sat to the side of the bed. “Now I want you to take off your pants. Just your pants, leave the underwear on.”

For a moment, you saw Jihoon flash bright red at the sudden request.

“T-Take off…?”

“Yep, you heard me right,” you replied back with a smirk, which only made Jihoon frown.

He clearly wasn’t used to being the one stripping, but for some reason, it was weirdly erotic, especially when you were watching him so intently. Jihoon couldn’t fight back the heat slowly creeping into his cheeks, as he made work of his pants.

When he finally took them off, you ordered him to sit back on the bed, kneeling seiza-style with his hands placed neatly on his lap. It was truly an embarrassing position especially when he was only in his shirt and underwear, but he would rather die than give in.

“Feeling shy now?” you asked him, your eyes travelling to the slight tent on his underwear. “Who knew you’d get turned on just by stripping?”

“I-I’m not…it’s not that—!”

You raised a brow at him, making an easy smile. “The you down there says otherwise.”

“Please stop staring at me like that…you’re making me feel self-conscious.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, Jihoon.”

Jihoon could feel the weight of your stare as soon as he sat down, your eyes roaming his figure as if you were scrutinizing him. He had no idea what you were thinking but this situation was turning him on for whatever reason. But t you don’t have to know that.

Satisfied, you gave him a smile and moved out of the bed, heading straight to the cabinets. Jihoon couldn’t take a peek of what you took, but when he felt a cold smooth fabric come into contact with his eyes, he instantly knew what it was.

“What are you…”

“Be a good boy for me, okay Jihoonie?” you whispered to his ear as your hands tilted his head up, allowing you access to kiss down his jawline. Yet your assault to his neck didn’t last long, much to his dismay. The blindfold effectively heightened his senses and the loss of your warm wet lips on his skin had tripled his yearning for your touch.

“YN…what—"

“I’ll tell you a story while I’m busy prepping things up,” you began to talk again, cutting him off. “You know, I was scrolling through social media one night, and I came upon this concept I’ve never heard of before.”

Jihoon was wondering where you were going with this, especially now that you seized his wrists and pinned them to his back.

“It’s called Shibari. Ever heard of it, Jihoonie?” you asked him, but he knew better than to reply. “It’s artistic rope bondage, and I’d like to try it on you tonight.”

Jihoon could feel himself tense up, especially after he felt the rope around his wrists wrapped in intricate loops and knots. It wasn’t tight yet it wasn’t loose enough that it would be rendered pointless.

“Wait…YN…!” Jihoon hesitated. It was weird and restrictive—being deprived of movement like this was something Jihoon never really imagined he’d go through. But it did and he didn’t know whether he liked it or not.

“What do you think of being tied up like this?” you whispered, your lips nibbling his earlobe. “It feels good when you tie me up, so I’d imagine it’ll be the same for you.”

“I-I….I’m not sure…” he replied, his voice faltering. The temperature of the room was rising—the way the ropes bit to his skin, the way his sweat made his shirt and his underwear feel sticky, yet inexplicably good.

“Don’t worry. You’ll feel better in a few minutes,” you whispered, lips curving, hands tracing circles on his thigh.  “You did endure not ejaculating for a month after all.”

Jihoon felt ropes bind his legs, then around his torso. He could feel you securing them around his crotch and his semi-hard dick. He caught himself panting heavily, unable to hide his desire any longer. It was strange. He always thought of himself as someone who would never enjoy this kind of thing. Jihoon didn’t know what was worse—him being tied up in such a compromising position, or him getting more and more aroused because of it.

“YN…YN…I can’t…this feels weird…ahh…”

He couldn’t help but gasp and groan every time the ropes touch his dick as it became more and more sensitive. It was embarrassing to be aroused in such a way but whenever you would glide your hands on his bare thighs or when you teasingly caress the large bulge on his underwear, he just couldn’t help but let out tiny whimpers.

“Now, that’s more like it,” you remarked as soon as you were done, grinning the moment you saw Jihoon reduced into a blushing, squirming mess in all of his entirety. “What do you think, Jihoon? Are you feeling good?”

“…ahh…! I-I…I don’t know…”

You hummed playfully, totally expecting Jihoon to deny it, and you had perfect plan to coax it out of him.

“But this one here is being pretty honest,” you remarked, your feet pressing on the bulge on his underwear, making him scream a garbled noise of surprise and ecstasy.  

“S-Shit—!!”

He was panting hard the moment you stopped. Jihoon couldn’t help it anymore. It was both painful and mind-numbingly pleasurable at the same time. It was like the harder he got, the tighter the ropes were wrapping around him; not allowing him to cum.

“Did you realize?” you asked as you crawled towards him, your arms around his shoulders. “You can’t cum unless I take those off.”

Ahh…this was bad news.

Jihoon was slowly slipping into deliriousness. He only kept on thinking about how the ropes felt good on his skin, or how painful his throbbing erection was, or how lovely your lips felt as you kissed him; playing with his tongue.

“Does it feel good?” you asked as your hands travelled underneath his shirt and to his nipples. Without warning, you pinched them hard, making Jihoon moan loudly once again, his voice becoming hoarse.

“You like it if I play with your nipples, don’t you?” you questioned him again when he failed to answer you the first time, your hands rubbing circles on the hard nubs.

“N-no…that’s not…a-ahhh…YN…!”

“You’re still gonna say that when your underwear is pretty much soaked?” you teased him as you smirked. “Admit it, Jihoonie. You like being tied up like this. It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Too much…t-too much—ahh…ah!”

“Are you about to cum, Jihoonie? Does it feel good after all?” you taunted him as you relentlessly stimulated his nipples; pulling and pinching them to your heart’s content. “If you can admit that, I wouldn’t mind touching your poor dick, you know?”

Jihoon could feel continuous waves of electric shocks on his skin; too hot, too good to even deny anymore. The pleasure that has been building in his lower body was just too overwhelming that he was becoming desperate for any sort of friction. Even if he had to beg for it.

“P-Please…YN…aahh…ah! T-touch me…please! I-I—!”

Tilting his chin up, you could clearly see Jihoon’s desperate look despite the blindfold—his mouth ajar, panting heavily as sweat dripped down his cheeks, trying to control the painful throbbing on his cock.

“What a good boy,” you remarked, giggling amusingly as you pressed your lips on his once again, biting and nibbling until he realizes where your hand ultimately travelled to.

Jihoon made another low groan when you began to rub your hand against his bulge, becoming heady from too much stimulation. He never wanted to cum so bad in his entire life, yet he had no choice. He had no power over his body at that moment.

“I’ve only just touched you, yet you’re already so big down here, Jihoon.” you teased as you moved your hand up and down, much to his torment. “Wouldn’t it be embarrassing to cum through your underwear?”

“Haa….haa…I-if you touch there…nnnh—!”

“Since you’ve been good all this time, I’ll give you your reward.”

Carefully, Jihoon sensed that you were pulling down his underwear through the ropes, finally freeing his painfully hard cock from its constraints. It felt liberating in some sense but the ropes were still wrapping around his dick, thus he still couldn’t cum.

“Look at this, Jihoon,” you began, your finger poking his shaft’s head. “Your dick’s twitching and swelling so much. It must feel unbearable not being able to cum, huh?”

He can no longer utter any coherent words. Much of what’s coming from his lips were whimpers, heavy breaths and drool. He tried to bend forward but he could only do so much since his hands were tied to his back and his legs were bound to a kneeling position; his shaft sticking proudly between his legs.

It was a lovely sight to your eyes. You had so much power over him at that moment; the roles reversed. He was pretty much begging to be touched; screaming about how he was so close to cumming but just couldn’t.

“Now, if you can endure my attacks for a few minutes, I’ll release you, ok? Try enduring it some more.”

Not waiting for a reply, you began to jerk him off; your hand moving up and down his shaft. Jihoon was shaking at how fucking good it felt, his mind no longer thinking of anything other than the way your hand would press his head.

“F-fuck…! Aah…no, no….ughhh…!”

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked as you jerked him from the back. “You can always use the safe word.”

“W-wait…! No—! A-ah…! D-don’t…stop! Please…please…!”

Grinning, you continued to pump his dick, now in a much faster pace. “Who knew you’d be this much of a sub, Jihoonie? Hmm…you know what, I have a better idea.”

Jihoon was still busy chasing after the high he was looking for when you suddenly took off his blindfolds—the light of the rather dim room, almost blinding his eyes.

Yet he didn’t have time to look around and reorient himself with his surroundings. He felt the sudden surge of arousal when you continued to jerk him off; your hands already slippery from the precum dripping from the tip.

“Look, Jihoon. Your dick’s about to burst,” you remarked, drawing his attention to his member which you were jerking off. “Don’t you wanna cum?”

He couldn’t find a reason for it, yet when he saw himself bound by rope, getting a handjob from you; he felt himself getting harder, his face heating up that he couldn’t bear to look without feeling the urge to cum.

“Oh? Are you embarrassed? It looks good on you though,” your comment was followed by a chuckle as you left more hickeys on his shoulder.

“Nnh…! YN…m-more…please…I want…more….!”

With brows raised, you certainly didn’t expect him to beg for more, yet for you it was a welcome surprise.

You hummed and stopped moving your hand. At that moment, Jihoon was afraid he had stepped on a landmine, and he wouldn’t be able to find the release he was looking for. Much to his surprise though, you crawled in front of him and gazed into his half-lidded eyes with a glint of mischief.

“Y-YN…?” he asked, afraid and unsure of what you were about to do.

Without a word, you continued to stare into his eyes as you gripped his dick once again and slipped it slowly into your mouth.

Jihoon couldn’t believe his eyes that you were going to blow him as well; knowing that he’ll probably become a mess in a few seconds. The feeling of your tongue sucking and playing with the head as you touched his balls was enough to make him light-headed.

He tried to jerk his body upwards but you held on to his hip tightly that there wasn’t much he could do. You continued to bob your head up and down as Jihoon cried in sweet moans, too overstimulated and unable to cum.

“YN…! Aaah….mn—! I-I…want to come…please…please…!” he uttered, as he tried to pull at his restraints—only to make the ropes tighter around his shaft; only to make it more unbearable.

“Nope,” you replied, before going down on him again.

To make matters worse—or pleasurable, you slipped your unoccupied hand underneath his underwear and prodded his hole which was more or less sensitive. This made Jihoon jerk up in surprise, not expecting it to feel that good.

“F-Fuuuckk…!! ­A-ah…ahhh! W-wait…! No! That’s…nnnm—!!”

Rubbing your finger around it, you continued to stimulate Jihoon with both your hands and your mouth. Jihoon could only arch his back from all the sensations assaulting his body; it was too good that it was almost painful.

“I-I can’t…I can’t…a-ahh…mmmn…! P-Please let me come…YN…! It f-feels so good…!”

All his embarrassment was thrown out of the window a long time ago. He just wanted to orgasm so badly that he didn’t care if he begged for it. He couldn’t handle the throbbing of his dick as you continued to suck him off.

Smiling as you watched him beg, you decided that Jihoon had been obedient enough and carefully untied the knot behind his back, which eventually loosened the ropes around his dick.

“Y-YN…! YN…! F-Fuckk…! Aahhh….a-ahh….! C-coming—!!”

As soon as he felt the ropes loosen, Jihoon climaxed in an instant inside your mouth, unable to hold it for even a few seconds after all that stimulation. You dutifully swallowed all of it as you gazed into his unfocused eyes with glee; even cleaning up his dick of every bit of his cum.

Jihoon couldn’t believe he had his biggest orgasm after being tied up by you. He couldn’t believe he enjoyed it—too much, actually, and he wouldn’t mind doing it again if you asked for it. He was still panting when you unbound him altogether, tossing the ropes to the side and checking on his wrists and skin which was of course, studded with rope mark—making a mental note to place soothing balm on the red skin later.

Cupping his cheeks, you raised his head up and kissed him hard; tongues moving against each other. It was different from before. This was a kiss born out of yearning and concern for the other; a conversation to convey words unsaid. You wanted to tell him that it was all over and he had done so well, and you loved him for even agreeing to try it out.

Jihoon held on to you tightly, missing your warmth against his skin, loving the way you poured out to him after all of that. He could feel it, as you both kissed, how much you loved him, and he wanted to convey the same thing to you. He trusted you, no matter what you throw at him, even if it was every bit of embarassing.

 The moment you drew back, the both of you looked into each other’s eyes.

“Did it hurt…? Did…Did you like it?” you asked the same question you’ve asked earlier, but this time, it was much softer and gentler; worried that it might have made Jihoon uncomfortable.

Even though he flushed bright red once again as he remembered how aroused he was, he slowly nodded at you, averting his eyes to the side.

“…no, I’m fine,” he replied before embracing you tightly once more, nuzzling his head to your chest. “but...if you want to do it again...I don’t mind…”

With a small chuckle, you brushed your hand through his hair and kissed the top of his head. It was a relief that Jihoon wasn’t turned off by all of it. You were scared that maybe you had hurt him in some way or another. You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

“C’mon now, let’s take a shower,” you told him, pulling away with a small smile. “You can fuck me there if you’re still up to it.”

Jihoon gazed at you, grinning his signature smirk.

“Just so you know, I wouldn’t hold back either.”

 -Hyeri 

30 Nights with Lee Jihoon