#Soppi's brain is blown

[voicesknewmyghosts]

Take A Piece Of Me With You

MINORS DNI  18+ ONLY

Synopsis: Tara finally has you alone.

TW: rough sex, Top Tara, Bottom Reader. 

They are consenting adults in a kinky relationship, they both have safewords and have discussed scenes previously. 

Finally. The apartment is empty. No Sam, no Chad, no Mindy. The silence is almost…deafening, considering how loud this place has been over the months with everyone living together and having game nights and dinners together. Tara places her bag down on the table and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and basking in the silence that has fallen over the apartment. 

It’s been a crazy few months evading Ghostface once again and trying to settle into a somewhat normal life as a college student. You had been her constant throughout it all; her beautiful girlfriend, someone who stood by her even when her anger seemed to get the best of her; someone who served as the buffer between her and her sister Sam; someone who made her feel safe, calm and like the world might still have good people left in it. 

Tara wasn’t one to be the soppy person in a relationship; especially after Amber and the betrayal she experienced; but when you walked into her life? It felt like something had slotted back into place. The anger that had been bubbling at the surface ready to explode dissipated any time you smiled at her. The lonely nights spent shaking after nightmares of being attacked became non-existent with you being there every single time to hold her through any bad night she had. 

You had become her rock, and she wanted to repay you with something only she could give you. 

Looking at her watch, Tara estimated she had around 30 minutes before you got home, so she quickly got to work, getting everything ready for when you walked in the door. She wanted this night to be perfect, and she was going to do everything in her power to ensure it was. 

You’ve had a long day. Your eyes feel heavy, your body feels like you’re dragging it through mud, and all you want to do is collapse into the arms of your girlfriend and let her take it all away. Except, when you walk into your apartment, she’s nowhere to be found. This strikes you as odd, and after the last couple months of being stalked by a killer; you’re high on edge. You quietly put your bag down on the floor and call out for Tara, reaching for the knife on the counter top only to breathe a sigh of relief when she replies. 

You head to the bedroom, heart rate only just returning to normal until you see your Tara; your beautiful, stunning, sexy Tara sat on the bed in the most wonderful set of red lingerie you’ve ever set your eyes on. She looks at you with hooded eyes, and does something that causes your entire brain to short circuit.

She licks her lips. 

Tara outstretches her hand, crooking her pointing finger and beckons you forward. You feel as if you’re on the end of the leash and she’s pulling you to her; all bodily autonomy is forgotten as your legs start moving before your brain even knows what’s happening. 

“There’s my pretty girl.” She mumbles, hands already feeling their way down your arms, squeezing the muscles she feels there. She’s staring into your soul, her dark eyes are blown with lust and the way she’s sitting on the side of the bed with her legs wrapped around yours keeping you pinned in is singlehandedly going to end you, you’re sure of it. And that’s not even including the way her voice has dropped a few octaves. 

Tara Carpenter is going to be the death of you. You just hope it happens after what she has planned. 

“I know we haven’t had time to ourselves lately.” She says, hands still feeling their way around you, electrifying every cell in your body. “I want to make it up to you, my princess. Do you think you can let me do that?” 

No words are capable of being formed in your already hazy mind. A quick, frantic nod makes the girl in front of you chuckle before she stands, hands either side of your face, pulling you down to meet her. 

She places the softest of kisses to your lips, taking her time exploring how you taste, how your lips feel against hers. You place your hands on her hips, gently squeezing and rubbing your thumbs in circles over her skin. 

You could spend forever like this; lost in the feel of Tara’s lips against yours, her hands caressing your face, the soft skin of her hips underneath your fingertips. You completely forget everything that’s happened the last few months; you forget the hard day you had and just let yourself get lost in Tara. 

You don’t even notice she’s started turning you around until you’re pushed onto the bed, tripping over your own feet as you fall backwards onto the soft covers. You don’t even have time to ask Tara what she’s doing before she’s on top of you, using what little body weight she has to pin you under her, keeping you from being able to move. 

Her hands pin yours above your head, her legs pin yours down. You try wriggling only to be met with no movement at all. Tara has you completely at her mercy, and you’re certainly not complaining. 

“There. Don’t you look so perfect like that? Completely at my mercy?” 

Her voice is teasing as she peers down at you. Her eyes are boring holes into your soul, her gaze is so intense it makes you try to squirm away from the attention. Except, she doesn’t allow that. She tsks at you when you try to wriggle away from her penetrating gaze while pushing you further into the bed. 

“Come on now my pretty girl, no need to get shy. I just want to make you feel good.” 

Tara leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss so ferocious your breath is knocked out of your lungs and the heat between your legs becomes unbearable. You whine into her mouth, trying to push your hips up into hers, desperately searching for some kind of friction. 

Tara allows it for a moment; a fleeting moment where you’re able to grind against her leg filling you with the pleasure you’re so desperate for. And then she pulls away, and you have never groaned so loud in your life, whining like a pathetic puppy waiting for their owner's attention. 

The devil above you chuckles as she drags her tongue down your neck, sucking your skin in between her teeth as she leaves marks as dark as the night sky so everyone can see just who the needy mess beneath her belongs to. 

If you were in any kind of right mind you might have told her not to mark you so hard, wanting to save the humiliation of attempting and - ultimately - failing to hide the bruises she leaves all over your neck from the other people in your life. But your mind feels empty; like you’re floating away to another dimension the more Tara sucks and nibbles and bites you. 

You feel her hands caressing your ribs under your shirt, her nimble fingers drawing gasps from you with every gentle pattern she draws on your sensitive skin. Within seconds Tara has sat up above you and ripped off your shirt and bra, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to her ministrations.  Without a pause for breath her mouth is on your chest; her teeth nibbling, her tongue dancing and leaving wet, warm trails all over your skin. Your hands are still pinned; something you’re desperately beginning to fight so that you can feel the devil above you’s skin against yours; so you can scratch marks as red as blood down her back as she tears you apart and builds you back together. You want her to feel how good she makes you feel; you want her to have marks that remind her of what she can do to you. 

Your whining and pathetic attempts to fight the girl’s grip on your arms must have finally gotten through to Tara because she smirks while letting your skin go with a pop from its prison in her mouth. 

“You want to feel me too, hm?” Her eyes are so dark you can’t see the beautiful brown you normally get lost in, and all you can do to answer her is a frantic nod. 

You realise - even though your mind is so lost in the depths of subspace and being at the mercy of someone who has the ability to simultaneously destroy you completely and build you back stronger than you’ve ever been - that you must look like a pathetic, trembling, whining mess of somebody who prides themselves on being an independent, strong woman. You realise that you should probably try to save yourself the humiliation of being Tara’s little play toy, and yet, at the same time, you realise that giving Tara this control over you is just as powerful as being the one in control. You feel safe with this woman, but you are giving her the freedom to do whatever she wants to you; anything at all, and you would be powerless to stop her. And that, in itself, is freeing. 

And then Tara takes her bra off and all thoughts - however fleeting, disappear into the void as she finally lets your hands go. 

Jolts of electricity hit your wet cunt as she takes your nipple into her mouth and gently sucks, swirling her tongue around the sensitive bud. You use your newfound freedom to scratch deep marks into her naked back, making her groan and tremble beneath your touch. You wrap your still clothed legs around her back, drawing her ever closer to you, not wanting to risk her trying to move away from you. 

“Tara, please baby.” You are fully aware of how pathetic you sound, but right now, you couldn’t care less. “Please baby touch me.” 

Your voice is breathy and high pitched, but you’re only greeted with a smirk wrapped around your nipple.

“Patience my pet.” Tara practically purrs as she takes her sweet time trailing her tongue down your chest and to your stomach. “Good girls get rewarded, but you have to be patient.” 

You almost cum on the spot as her fingers hook into your pants and finally, finally expose your dripping pussy to the cold air. 

Your head suddenly feels so heavy as you watch Tara lick her lips as she lowers her mouth level with your cunt. 

“Oh my babygirl you are so wet for me.” She purrs, slipping a finger easily through your soaked folds. You can’t help the choked moan that is ripped from your throat the moment you feel Tara’s hot breath against your clit, and you can’t help reaching your hands down to hold her head where you need her most. 

She obliges, nipping her tongue out to draw soft, gentle circles around your clit. Her nails dig crescent shaped holes into your thighs as she holds your legs down, still wanting you to feel restrained even if she’s allowing you the mercy of holding onto her hair. You can’t keep your head up to look at her any longer so you drop it down to the pillow and allow your girl to take care of you.

You’re certain Tara was a torturer in a past life. Her ability to tease you until you’re crying and sobbing for her to finally push you over the edge is unnerving to say the least. Her tongue against your clit and her practiced movements are carefully planned to keep you just slowly coming towards the edge at a pace so leisurely it’s agonising.

“Tara, please-” 

A sharp stinging pain against your bare thigh silences whatever begging you were about to do, and when you risk a glance down at the devil between your legs you’re greeted with a stern look that soaks the sheets beneath you with your wetness. 

You decide that trying to get Tara to listen to you is a losing battle, and so you do the only thing you can think of:

You grab her head and grind.

Big mistake.

It’s shocking to you; just how much strength this five foot nothing girl holds in her tiny body. You always find yourself enamoured by it; whether it’s watching her play soccer with friends, or going to the gym together, or play fighting at home.

But you don’t think you’ve ever been this shocked at her hidden strength.

She has you bent over her lap in a split second; all wriggling legs and frantic hands desperately trying to find a grip on the unwaivering rock holding you down. 

Sharp stinging pains begin to erupt from your upturned bottom; every hit is measured and placed perfectly to produce the maximum amount of pain. Blood rushes to your head; you don’t even hear the loud thwack of Tara’s palm colliding with your exposed skin that echoes around the otherwise silent room. You don’t even realise you’re crying out with every spank until Tara is shoving your underwear into your mouth with a promise to make you regret it if you were to dare to spit it out. 

“I told you,” she punctuates every word with a hard spank, making the stinging pain in your bottom become near unbearable, “patient, good girls get rewarded. It appears you are neither a patient nor a good girl.” 

She lays ten more hard, powerful spanks to your behind before placing your numb, lifeless body on the bed then disappearing somewhere out of sight. You would call out for her if your mind wasn’t as fuzzy as it is, if you didn’t feel like you were floating through clouds on your way to a different heavenly dimension. Instead you lie still, basking in the weightless feeling coursing through your body, content to just take whatever Tara has planned for you. 

You can feel her eyes on your exposed body. You can feel her rake her stare over the skin that’s glistening with sweat in front of her, admiring the state she’s managed to put you in. You feel the bed dip as she climbs on top of you, and when you look up you’re face to face with the person who managed to tear you apart and leave you a trembling, uncomfortably wet mess with no ability to form thoughts. 

The smirk she gives you leaves a sticky mess between your legs.

“How do you feel, pretty girl?” She asks you with concern as she leans down to pepper kisses on your forehead.

“Good.” You manage to croak out, trying to convey through eye contact alone just how much you need Tara inside of you and how much you need her now.

“Oh? Is someone a little desperate, hm?” She teases, beginning the torturous trail of her tongue slowly down your body once again. You try to reach for her; beg her to touch you but your limbs feel like they're encased in concrete and so, deciding (for once) to be her good girl, you lie your head down and relax, much to the delight of the woman currently swirling her tongue through your wet folds.

“That’s my good girl.” She cooes. “Now, I’m going to fuck you like you’ve begging me for, and you are going to take it like my good girl, or I will spank you until you physically can’t take it anymore. Understand?” 

The frantic nodding of your head makes the little devil chuckle, and she doesn’t give you any time to change your mind before she takes your clit into her mouth, sucking it and licking it like her life depends on it. 

The moans that are escaping your mouth are grotesque to say the least; but you can’t stop them, not when Tara is spreading you open and plunging two fingers deep into your heat, fucking you with such abandon that you think she’s going to split you apart from the inside out. Her lips are still wrapped around your clit, her tongue moving at a steady pace and you feel yourself tumble over the edge with a scream, the pleasure coursing through your body already feeling like it's too much to handle. 

You want to catch your breath, let the orgasm ride its way out of your body, but you’re not given that privilege. Instead, your legs are thrown over Tara’s shoulders and she’s entering you with your favourite strap, stretching your tight walls around its length, not letting you adjust before she’s ramming into you hard, using your hips as leverage to get herself as deep as possible. 

You’re certain if she manages she to keep this up for much longer you’re going to pass out, and you do try to tell her you don’t think you can handle the pace but the dark look she gives you is enough to make you keep your mouth, knowing the consequences if you can’t take what she gives you. 

And so you lie there, legs spread lewdly apart, your pussy squelching with every rough movement of your girlfriend’s hips. You fall over the cliff much less graciously than before when she reaches down to play with your clit, gasps and groans being ripped from your throat as dark spots begin to appear at the edges of your vision.

Your body is so numb you can’t even tell when Tara flips you on your front, pulling at your hips to put you onto all fours, and then she’s pushing inside of you once more and slamming her hips into yours. She grabs onto your ponytail, wrapping the roots of your hair around her fingers and pulls. 

Two things happen at once: first, your walls constrict almost painfully once more as the nimble fingers circling your very sensitive clit push you over the cliff into yet another climax, second; Tara pushes your head down into the mattress and ruts into you like a bitch in heat, slamming her hips as hard and as fast as she can.

You can’t take it. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body goes completely limp, the ache in your cunt from the rough fucking is pushed so far to the back of your mind you can almost forget its there. You can hear Tara grunting next to your ear - a tell tale sign she’s about to cum - but it sounds like she’s 100 miles away, your senses have numbed, the world around you has become distant and far away, lost to your hazy mind.

“One more babygirl, one more for me.” Tara grunts into your ear. You can tell she’s close by the way her hips are losing their rhythm and she’s getting rougher with every stroke. You focus on the sensation of her expertly hitting that spongy spot inside of you, focus on the dominating weight of her lying on your back as she ruts into you, nails scratching angry red marks into your back as she uses your skin for leverage. 

And then you’re screaming; the constriction of your already battered cunt so painful your head goes foggy, and you let yourself get lost into the haziness as your heavy eyes close and the world goes dark.

You wake to the feeling of warmth surrounding every muscle of your body. Gentle hands are carefully running a soft cloth down your legs, cleaning up the mess she made. You’re so sore, so stiff, and the feeling of even the gentlest of touches down there makes you groan and shift away. 

“Hello sleepy head.” The devil in disguise greets you, leaning down to place a soft kiss to your forehead. You can only groan in response, but you reach out for her, desperate to have something to hold onto as you begin to crash back down to Earth.

“I’m sorry I went so rough, are you okay?” You can hear the concern in her voice and do everything you can to reassure her you’re okay without words, looking up at her with big soft eyes trying to convey every emotion you’re feeling right now. She seems to understand and thanks you with a sleepy smile and a kiss to your lips. 

“I’m going to finish cleaning you up, then I’ll get you out of the bath and we can put a movie on?” You nod in response, letting your eyes close as your girl takes care of you, letting her do what she needs to after a rough scene to make sure you’re okay.

You drift off as the warm water lulls you into a peaceful sleep, and Tara can’t help but admire your sleeping form. 

She picks you up carefully so as not to wake you, dries you off as best she can, gently places you onto the fresh sheets on your bed and grabs water and snacks before joining you back in the bed. She sits there for a while holding you close to her, admiring the marks she left all over you and the way you look so peaceful curled up in her arms.

Tara doesn’t know what she did in life to deserve you, but if she’s sure of one thing; she’ll do everything she can to earn the right to call you hers.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #dom tara carpenter #top tara carpenter #bottom reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega fanfic

[island-in-the-shadows]

God help me, my overly soppy self here thinking about how Oliver's brain is lowkey like this after Felix died:

The stars, the moon They have all been blown out You've left me in the dark No dawn, no day I'm always in this twilight In the shadow of your heart

#saltburn #keep it together girl #Oliver quick #cattonquick #cosmic love by Florence + the machine #and yes he knows what he did but that doesn't diminish the hurt #and the delulu let's be real

[soursoppi]

Daddy long legs tucks rocket princess into bed :)

#Cid Highwind #Vincent Valentine #Final Fantasy #FF7 #Cloud Strife #Aerith Gainsborough #Tifa Lockhart #Barret Wallace #Red XIII #Yuffie Kisaragi #Cait Sith #ValenWind #CAN YOU BELIEVE CID IS 32 YEARS YOUNG #REEVE IS OLDER THAN CID #and Vincent is actually 57 #Soppi's brain is blown #I shipped them for years without realizing the real sugar daddy is the WEREWOLF TWINK ALL ALONG #well between the two Vince probably has more money #despite being a dead man walking #Rockets ain't cheap to upkeep man #I now understand why so many old fics feature Cid getting plowed #moral of the story kids don't smoke #also listening to the OST on repeat #the Valkyrie battle theme sounds very Cid #kinda hoping they'd reshuffle events enough so Cid gets to join in part 2 #since they pretty much have his base moveset prepped already #if you haven't noticed... the Sahagins are basically reskinned Dragoons with Touchy Me buffs #ahhhh also I WANNA PLAY AS CLERIC BEAST VINCENT

[hoe-doroki]

On the Job pt. 2

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, fuck or die sex pollen (which means there are noncon/dubcon elements), reader is a sex worker, masturbation, face fucking, temperature play, (light) pain play, biting

pairing: todoroki x fem!reader

wc: 3.4k

summary: Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just the things of porn and fantasy–they’re actually quite common and too often fall into the wrong hands. Heroes, of course, do the best that they can, but when they get hit, they must be taken off the line of duty and someone needs to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be? Obviously, you.

a/n: Half of me didn’t actually think that I would follow up part one, but I feel a heavy obligation towards my fanfic promises so...this is a weight off my shoulders, lol.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

You’d gotten the call early today.

Not early in the day—truth be told, you’d hardly known what time it was before picking up the phone. No, you got the call early. As in not last minute. The call saying that your client would have to be transported to the agency from on site and they could tell you the details in the meantime.

The call saying you’d better drive to the agency, because you had to service a hero in an hour.

Now, patience wasn’t usually your virtue of choice—actually you didn’t often tend towards virtues in general. Save perhaps for kindness, which you preferred to deal out on your knees or your back, augmented by praise and the generosity of offering all three of your holes for your clients’ needs. But you were happy to cultivate it today, because an early call meant one thing.

You knew who was coming today.

Your pants were already off and you shirt was pushed up over your breasts as you leisurely played with yourself. You’d licked the tips of your fingers and gotten them started with slow passes over your clit, the other hand pinching your nipple, just a little too hard in prep for a hero who’d probably give it to you rough.

Maybe your reaction wasn’t right. Maybe it wasn’t kind of you to be so relaxed—relaxed and eager, actually—over the news that it was possible that Pro Hero Shouto would die. That he’d been hit with the particularly high stakes brand of aphrodisiac quirk and that if you didn’t trigger the release condition—that was: hot and heavy sex—his heart may very well stop or whatever happened on the other side of these troublesome quirks.

You wouldn’t know. After all, you hadn’t lost a single client yet.

So perhaps that was cold of you. Perhaps it would be more virtuous for you to be worried about him, fretting on the other side of the door with the guards over his ETA.

Then again, as stated: you’d never been one for virtue. Sin was much more fun. And surely it was better to make sure that whenever Shouto did show up, you had a wet pussy that he could waste none of his precious time sinking his cock into.

You groaned at the thought, dipping two fingers from your clit into your cunt and scissoring them. Your head lolled back against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed as you pressed against that front wall the flats of your fingertips, feeling that soppy wetness covering you and beginning to drip down your knuckles.

Yeah, you were ready for him.

In fact, you’d been waiting for Shouto longer than just today. After nabbing the number two pro hero, Dynamight, a few months back, you’d gone ahead and debased yourself  further—how much further was there to go, though, really?—by creating a list of your dream clients. You’d written Dynamight just to check him off, the memory of him cumming in you raw and licking you clean still hot between your thighs.

Your near encyclopedic knowledge of heroes—naturally, you took a healthy interest in your job—had then led you to daydream about Dynamight’s whole hero cohort. You added Red Riot to the list, dreaming of his abs, imagining riding them, teasing sweet whines out of him before backing up and dropping yourself on his cock. You thought of Deku, what it would mean for your ego to nab the number one hero, the flash of jealousy that would rise on his face when you let it slip that you’d already fucked his biggest rival, fucked his goddamn brains out and yours to boot.

Of course, you couldn’t do that. NDAs, after all. You’d already signed away your rights to mentioning anything about what happened to or with Shouto today. Still, you could dream.

Then, of course, your thinking had truly devolved, and you’d thought about the boys being paired up, fighting a villain with an unknown quirk only to be hit by the ever common, ever unknown—thanks to you and your prudence; oops, there was another virtue—aphrodisiac quirk and having to take care of both of them. Spit-roassting, Eiffel Tower, a goddamn daisy chain—anything. Long story short, you’d ended up cumming twice more on your hands before the evening was done.

But also on that list, was Shouto Todoroki.

Who, if you weren’t mistaken, was now on the other side of the door.

After all, these walls weren’t soundproof. It provided quite the show for the lucky guards on the other side, but hey, if you needed to scream for help, they had to be there. By the same coin, you could hear the shuffling on the other side, the footsteps approaching, and the telltale sound of the lock on the door being activated. You pressed your legs together, resting them to the side, hiding your glistening pussy artfully with your legs for the sake of modesty. Everyone knew what was happening here, but you didn’t need to send Shouto’s poor handler back blushing to their colleagues.

Shouto was ushered into the room and, without eye contact, someone yelled to you, “Ready, ma’am?”

“Ready!” you called back, and the door was closed, leaving you alone with the number three hero.

Without modesty, your legs fell open, revealing the mess you’d already made of yourself to Shouto. You dipped the fingers you’d been using into your mouth, and cleaned them dutifully. After all Shouto was still wearing his costume, and you did so hate the agency having to send those to the cleaners with your fluids all over them.

“Hey, bud,” you purred, running a hand slowly up one thigh. “I heard you have a problem.”

Pro Hero Shouto was known for his stoic personality. News conferences and interviews he participated in always consisted of a slow, even tone, and little beyond cold facts. There was something pleasantly mysterious about that, sure, but it didn’t exactly hint that he’d be quick to jump into bed. Sexy voice, though.

But whatever quirk he’d been hit with must have been strong, because the next thing you knew, the index finger from his left hand was tracing down the front of his uniform, cleanly burning a line straight to his already tented crotch. His accessories had already been taken off—his belt, gloves, shoes, even the clasp at his neck had been undone earlier. So there was nothing in his way as he pulled either side of his scorched uniform to the side and off his arms as he approached the bed.

“All business, huh?” you asked, pushing yourself up off your pillows by your forearms, watching as Shouto climbed onto the bed on his knees, finally pulling his jumpsuit down past his crotch.

You’d taken a bet with yourself on the color of his pubes—it’s not like you’d be losing either way if you got to see them. They turned out to be dual-colored, but not the stark red and white of his hair. No, they were more neutral in tone, like yours. Unlike yours, they were nested above a heavy cock, already shining with precum—or actual cum, you didn’t know—at the head.

Shouto didn’t reply to your comment, and you weren’t surprised. Some people went totally nonverbal when hit by sex pollen quirks, and that was fine. You’d rather someone button their lip than ruin the mood by saying something off, after all. All business was fine by you—this was your job, after all. And no matter the size of his mouth, his cock was just fucking right.

You naturally lowered your legs as Shouto began kneeing over you, cock in hand. Your brain only just managed to catch up to what was going on when his legs stopped on either side of your ribs, his leaking cockhead crossing your eyes before you. Automatically, your jaw dropped open, and Shouto’s cock smeared pre against your cheek and the corner of your mouth before sinking deep into your mouth, drawing a first obscene moan out of him.

A humming moan fell out of you too, barely able to take in the taste of Shouto’s cock before it was pressing against the back of your throat, springing tears to your eyes automatically. Something about aphrodisiac quirks so often seemed to play with the taste of these heroes’ cum. No longer was it bitter, but just heady, salty, and more pleasant than it should have been as it coated your tongue and throat. You adored it, and purposefully relaxed your muscles so that you could take more of him in.

Shouto didn’t hold back. With barely half a breath in your lungs, Shouto was thrusting deep in the back of your throat so that your spit dripped from your mouth and smacked wetly between his balls and your chin. You blinked tears out of your eyes and looked up at him to find blown pupils staring back at you, gaze hot and pointed.

There was light behind those eyes. Whatever Shouto was right now, it wasn’t unthinking, not pure instinct. No, the way he was fucking your throat, the way his eyes had you pinned—it was intentional.

Abruptly, Shouto pulled out, a think strand of spit snapping from his dick, cold on your tongue as you panted from the rough treatment. You held your mouth open, expecting him to shove back in once you’d caught your breath, but Shouto seemed to have other plans. He moved down your body, soaked cock again in his palm, and his eyes now set on your pussy. You reached for one of the condoms you’d set out next to you, and held it in front of him.

“Hate to sound like an after-school special, but no glove…”

Shouto paused, eyeing you for just a moment before taking the square and making quick work of it, rolling it over himself.

Then, abruptly, he put a hand on your cheek, drawing your eyes back up to his. “Thank you for your hard work. It does not go unappreciated.”

“What the—”

You were left agog at his statement, wholly unprepared as he swiftly took each of your thighs in one hand, spread them, and plunged in you to the hilt. You gasped high in your chest, your throat still tender from being rawed by Shouto’s dick. He leaned over you, sighing with a relief that doubled then halved the size of his chest. His forehead touched yours in a strange moment of intimacy, and, for a moment, you wondered if that was it. Was that all the release condition took? Penetration? Or had he cum and you just hadn’t noticed?

Were you going to be left to tend to yourself with the bullet vibrator in your glove compartment yet again?

Then Shouto leaned back, looked at you again with those sharp eyes, and began smacking into you with abandon.

“Fuck,” you let out as Shouto’s balls, still wet with your spit, left their mark on your ass with every deep thrust he gave you.

Shouto manhandled your thighs, grabbing them firmly in each hand as he reared back fully on his knees again, taking the lower half of your body with him. You reflexively braced with your arms, and soon they were the only part of you still in contact with the bed, along with your upper back and head still resting on the comfortable stack of pillows.

As was often the case, you’d lost control of the situation. You could barely match Shouto’s thrusts on your own as he repeatedly used his upper body strength to bring you to him, and his lower body strength to send his hips right back in return. If you tried to reach him, your fingertips would barely brush his thighs, much less any other part of him. You were totally at his mercy.

You couldn’t help but eyeball his broad biceps, flexed by holding up the weight of most of your body. And aside from the sweat dripping from his forehead—probably quirk-induced—he was showing little to no strain.

He hadn’t always had muscles like this, you were sure. You couldn’t help but remember pundits sounding off on Shouto’s overreliance on his quirk over physical strength, or the difference between his body and the massive tank that was his father, Endeavor. They’d shown clips of his body—handsome, always handsome—but either Shouto had done a lot of bulking in the last few years or those newscasters had been particularly unkind. Likely both. Because now, drops of sweat were trickling from his body in rivulets; there were no straight paths to go down. A bulging muscle here to dip around, the crease from a flexed ab there to pool in. You were hypnotized by his form, even the thighs straining under the part of his uniform that he hadn’t bothered to burn off.

Your mind was so enraptured by thoughts of Shouto’s body that the sensations happening to yours crept up on you. All at once, you realized that your thighs were burning. Actually, one was burning, and the other was freezing cold, both just under his palms and branching up the fingers currently painting five bruises into each muscle.

A gasp flew out of your mouth and your eyes rolled back as your thighs suddenly began quaking unbidden. Shouto looked down at you, his expression easy save for those passionate eyes, little huffs escaping his slack jaw. “Too much?” he asked.

Your head shook side to side, a vehement no as Shouto dug his fingers even deeper into your flesh, bringing dull throbs of pain so close to where every thrust brought about sharp flashes of pleasure. It felt like a betrayal when he just then loosened his grip to slide his hands up to your knees and hook them over his shoulder. Then those hands, right at the brink of freezing and searing pressed into the meat of your ass as he brought your hips to his with redoubled force.

That first new thrust sent Shouto’s head turning to the side, digging a painful bite into the fleshy part of your calf, making you cry out. A moment later, he let go, his tongue passing over the teeth marks like a salve over a wound.

All the dueling sensations had you close. You’d been teasing yourself for so long before Shouto had even shown up and now he was fucking into you like…well, like his life depended on it.

God, was it wrong to love fuck or die quirks?

You were quick to take a hand and put it back on your aching clit, despite the strain it put on your neck and upper back to lose one arm of support. Part of a good fucking was being folded like a pretzel, and you’d just book a massage appointment tomorrow to deal with it. Surely saving the life of the number three hero was worth a reward.

Shouto’s eyes honed in on your fingers moving rapidly over your clit, and you bet he could feel the twitches of your cunt approaching climax. A hand left your ass and went behind his head to pat your ankles. “Cross them,” he instructed.

Obediently, you crossed your ankles, making your position a bit sturdier as Shouto continued to drive you back onto him with one hand. Then that second hand went to yours, brushing it away with the backs of his knuckles. A surprisingly gentle gesture for the man who was kneading bruises into your ass and biting your leg. Then, with his thumb, he painted one slow, hard, blazing stripe up your clit, and you came instantly.

“Fuck!” you shouted as your back arched in midair, the crown of your head digging into the pillows as your neatly crossed ankles came undone, your thighs shaking and falling from Shouto’s grip. His cock slid out of you as your lower half bounced once on the bed. Before the springs could vault you back, Shouto was on top of you, pressing himself back in your still convulsing cunt.

His thrusts were long, desperate as he breathed into your neck. He mouthed the base of your neck with light bites and suckles—never quite kissing. Your thighs came back up around his hips and his left hand went back to squeezing your thigh. Meanwhile, the right came between your thighs, surprising you as two fingers began prodding at your entrance.

Almost immediately, you could feel the heat of the stretch. Or rather, you would have felt the heat of the stretch, had his fingers not been ice cold against you. You cried out as he curled his fingers forward while his cock kept thrusting straight through you, the hot and cold contrast nearly too much. You wondered how much more intense it would feel if Shouto were unbound by the condom, and you able to bear its full heat.

“Please,” you whimpered as your orgasm began to rise again, too quickly, nearly as sudden as the first one had been, but without all the build up. This one felt like it was going to tear out of you.

Just then, the nips that Shouto had been teasing over your neck went away, and he planted one more good bite on your shoulder as his thrusts became insistent, the fingers petting inside you matched with a cold thumb over your clit. And neither of you could hold on a moment longer.

Shouto groaned low and bone deep in your ear while your voice, still raspy from early, keened in his. Your thighs went tight around his waist and his hand was trapped between you as you both rode out your highs. It took a full minute for your muscles to unwind, and your feet to fall flat to the bed. At that point, Shouto pulled out and rolled over next to you, both of you panting as the sweat dried on your skin.

Shouto pulled the condom off of himself and found a trashcan to toss it into before falling flat on his back again. After a few moments of nothing but heavy breathing, he opened his mouth. “Thank you for your professionalism.”

You snorted. “You’re welcome,” you managed, keeping your laughter at bay. “That’s not what people usually thank me for.”

“Thank you for saving my life?” Shouto tried again, his gaze shifting over to you.

His eyes were still bright, but his gaze less sharp, obscured by dual-colored bangs falling over it. Suddenly, Shouto looked a great deal more innocent than the man who’d been fucking the life out of you just minutes ago. Perhaps an effect of the quirk wearing off, perhaps the effect of unfettered pleasure meeting relief.

“More common, yes,” you replied, unable to keep the smile off your face.

“You’re very good at what you do,” Shouto said, his eyes going to the spot where he’d bitten your shoulder. He circled it with one finger, brows furrowing. “You’re like a hero.”

“Hah,” you returned, looking up at the ceiling. You weren’t going to let this be the moment in your career that made you blush. “Vixen, the orgasm hero. I don’t think it would meet the commission’s guidelines.”

“Perhaps not,” Shouto said, sitting up and pulling up what remained of his costume, frowning at the spot where he’d torn it. You supposed you needn’t have worried about this costume going to the cleaners; the support team would likely toss it and make a replacement.

“There are clothes you can change into in the closet,” you said, pointing to the near invisible door in the back wall.

Shouto waved you away as he stood up. “This will be fine to make it to the locker room with.”

“Suit yourself,” you said as you pushed yourself up, trying to remember where you’d thrown your leggings before you’d started jerking of, grunting as your spine cracked.

Shouto plucked the leggings from near the foot of the bed and tossed them to you before heading towards the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back and made eye contact with you one last time, the ghost of a smile you’d never seen before on his lips. “Thanks again…Vixen.”

As he closed the door, you could only blame your own impropriety, that utter lack of virtue that you first thought was:

Number two pro hero, Shouto: check.

#todoroki smut #bnha smut #mha smut #shouto todoroki smut #shoto todoroki smut #tw: sex work #tw: sex pollen #tw: masochism #tw: pain play #tw: dubcon #tw: biting #tw: temperature play

[beaflower77]

An Atmosphere Of Sorrow

“I’ll be back soon. I promise,” he insisted, “I have to investigate the fit and finish issue they stuck me with at the Assembly Plant. These damn build issues are a nuisance.” And he walked out, forgetting behind the black tattered briefcase he always carried. He kissed her lightly. She frowned. She had no choice but to let him go to work, and her back to that house. She sulked. 

Her mood being dark and uneasy, Dove crossed her arms, huddled herself further into her thick blue sweater and began dubiously walking back toward the front door. The harvest air was getting increasingly crisper each day, and her faculties more scattered. As he backed the old ‘72 Pinto down the gravel drive, the muffler backfired. Black smoke puffed behind. She hoped it wouldn’t burst into flames as old cars did, it seemed to be an impressively sturdy old car. For its age. 

“I wish you wouldn’t keep pouring money into that old crapper of a car,” she said against the chilly air. “One day Franklin,” she threatened the wind, “You’re going to find all those parts fallen off that rust bucket and lay scattered on the drive come morning. And no car for us to drive. Or blown up and burnt to a crisp.” Slowly Dove procrastinated walking back, stopping to smell the remaining magnolia on her way. Outside it was crisp, but still pleasant. Outside. 

Furnace had gone off. Again. She was lightly bundled in a tee, another shirt and sweater on top of that. House was still cold. Squinting at the out of date thermostat in the hall, Dove suspiciously tapped several times hoping to make the little red arrow move in a more positive direction toward 72. Today, maybe 82. No such luck. The thermostat still registered 58, and it wasn’t gonna budge. Sighing against nothing and feeling downcast Dove decided to check her luck with the furnace downstairs. It was the third time this week the power had gone out.

Tossing her slippers aside, pulling on last years christmas combat boots which Franklin had gifted her, Dove tromped loudly down, pulling against the chain attached to a bulb for some illumination. “Oh, that’s right. How quickly I forget. There’s nothing,” she said annoyingly. Forgetting the power outage, she fumbled through the dark, fiddling round to locate the flashlight. Her fingers finally found it. Clicking it on, looking around, she saw nothing out of place. However, sensing a shadow from her peripheral vision, Dove froze. She felt a fluttering of tight sensations inside her chest. Her skin prickled. With chest pounding, throat tightening, Dove’s psyche shrank. It was so much colder down here she noticed. Slowly turning her head, staring long into the dim, was a figure. A slim male figure standing against the bricked basement wall and dirt packed floor. Battered old brown hat on his head, waistcoat buttoned nicely, tan suit, hands by his side never moving. But his eyes, his eyes were sharp. And they stared directly back at Dove. Opening her mouth, Dove could taste the staleness of the basement’s air, she also knew she was breathing it in, and just knowing that made her chest constrict more rise and fall in rapid silence. The man continued to stare, she continued to stare. Too frightened to move, Dove almost forgot to breathe, and parts of her reasoning went out the window. 

Coming to terms there was truly something there, or rather someone, Dove’s gut clenched, and trying very hard not to embrace this realistic idea, Dove tried concentrating only on her breathing and forced her legs to move past his image, the scattered boxes, the washer, and look for the correct heating pipes on the ceiling. Making light of a squeamish situation, Dove insisted, “I don’t think you’re there.” And she exhaled just a bit while trying to calm down. Perhaps this was just a trick of the eye to convince herself it was from lack of sleep. A very large lack of sleep. Her breathing didn’t get any better, but her eyes felt so horribly heavy and tired and sore. She rubbed them. It didn’t help. “I really don’t like this house. I hate this house. I hate it here,” Dove grumbled. “Where is the stupid furnace?” She sense the apparition still there watching, “Don’t look at me!”, she forced out, not too convincingly. A headache began. And a frightening, horrid idea came to her mind. What if it were actually real? 

As Dove walked past, she considered was she just visualizing something that really wasn’t there, or was it actually real? Perhaps it was time for her annual eye exam. No, she had one just last year. Truly it was not easy to tell the difference anymore Dove thought, as her stomach lurched and her throat’s saliva dried. Feeling queasy and nauseous she put her hand to her abdomen. The smell was thick and swollen, it was enormous and it lingered. It smelt putrid, like rotted eggs broken and left sitting too long on a stove overnight, or maybe even a year. “Oh, my god,” Dove whined. “It stinks down here.” And lifting her tee, Dove covered her mouth and nose. “I’m going to tell Franklin there are dead rats down here. It’s his family’s house, he can look for their dead bodies. Not me.” 

Next she looked, which Dove had claimed she wouldn’t, the old man was still there. He watched. This time his mouth turned a slight smile. She turned quickly away, “I’m not talking to you,” Dove mumbled lowly, “I’m not looking at you either. You don’t exist. Just don’t be there, go away,” and she refused to look in the spectre’s direct path again. Just thinking this was all too real made Dove sick. Going about her business, finding the furnace, rattling the large overhead pipes into life or heat, nothing happened. Avoiding looking at the back wall, tromping back upstairs, Dove decided on a different tactic. Sleep. That usually solved all the world’s problems. 

Still his eyes followed. Still his smile remained. And Dove’s feelings of the macabre and fear increased and doubled with each creak the basement steps made against her weight. She turned her flashlight off. She wanted to heave. 

Heading back into the kitchen, Dove tossed aside her boots in lieu of warm slippers and checked the electricity again. Instead of flipping the light switch, she stuck the power cord of the toaster into the socket. All she received back was a phfist and a puff of black smoke. “Eww”, Dove said sourly. “Wonderful. Thanks a bunch. All I wanted was a piece of toast. Dumb toaster.” She pulled on the cord and a little blue zip of lightning came from the socket. “Ouch!” as she yanked her fingers back wrapping them protectively with her other hand. She grabbed a bag of chips and a half eaten donut left on the counter instead. Taking out the last of the juice from the warm fridge, Dove could now confirm the electricity was definitely out. Fridge warm, no light inside either. Complaining as she walked towards the bedroom, “Yeah thanks electric company for turning everything off. Again.” Yet for all her whining, Dove felt enormously better up here, than down there. 

Still things continued to plague her senses. But at least, the smell had lessoned. 

That blue electric zip should not have been there without electricity, Dove thought, but she didn’t let this fact invade her brain, for to do so was admitting defeat, admitting something screwy was happening in the house. Or with her sense of normality. This house, for all its newer additions and older rooms, with the old pully windows and creaky floor boards was unsettling, sad and distressful at best. Each time Dove walked into the foyer the sadness, the gloom hit her like a pile of bricks. Each room entertaining its own depth of sorrow, its own magnitude of heartache and woe, made such a dent in her emotional heartache sometimes causing her to tear and cry for no particular reason anymore. 

She sensed shadows of loss, of tears, tossed away dreams of love. And the regret, despair and gloominess enveloped her more each day. “Such a horrific combination. So dismal, so mournful,” Dove caressed the void and a sorrow unlike any she had known enclosed around her. “I feel so, so dreary and miserable, yet there’s nothing truly wrong or empty in my life, I just..” However during the lonely, desolate days she would roam, roam the halls, the half dusted, half empty rooms, feeling abandoned, nostalgic and soppy. “I wondered who lived here before. Or what they did, what words they used. How they lived, how they .. died. It’s just .. creepy here sometimes. It’s too overwhelming and disappointing.” Such despair and anguish was almost completely unbearable for Dove to fathom each day. 

Looking around, wandering each room, touching a doorframe here, stair banister there, looking over the intricate cornucopia of ceiling designs and motifs above, she tried not letting her emotions pool around her as her sweater did. Returning down to the kitchen sink, sticking her burnt fingers again under a cool stream of faucet water, “At least the water is still on.” When looking out the kitchen window, Dove couldn’t see any other house across the gravel drive. Was it just this house, this area? Did any other house have power outages as well, and as often? She decided it was too cold to walk down the drive and look. But then looking twice, Dove thought she saw a flicker. A flicker of something, or someone moved past the kitchen window. Pulling quickly back, eyes wide, a panic intruded her mind. Dove escaped to her upstairs bedroom and decided to isolate herself. Her mind which often played tricks here went with her, and stayed there till late afternoon.

When Franklin returned with a large order of take out, thoughts of a basement man, flickering images and her sad, despondent lingering thoughts had long left. Having her mouth load up on Chinese lobster with rice had not only filled her stomach but her heart as well with a well stocked amount of peace she hadn’t realized she had missed since morning. A steamy conversation took the place of uncomfortable feelings that night. 

But the next day arrived too soon.

By the morning the heat was back. “Hey, furnace is back,” Franklin sang out from a too hot shower. 

Dove was still under the heated mess of covers. “Hmm,” she sighed. She breathed in deeply, stretched, and rolled right back over. Hopefully they could go out tonight, at least that was her anticipated plan. Today she was not going to let any shadows intrude. Dove had work to do, and she had no plans to plunge into that basement again. But as she rolled over, she wondered, could Franklin sense these feelings, these shadows and imaginings, or was it just her? Probably not. Maybe she imagined. No, not. And fearing to ask, Dove would only hear in return, “It’s just your imagination”, or “You’re just tired, You’re working too hard.” “Perhaps it is just too real,” she might say back. Her eyes closed and sleep drew her back for more dreams. 

“I should be back early tonight,” Franklin whispered, kissing her lightly before walking out the door. “We’ll go out tonight, if you’d like,” came his suggestion. Dove smiled. The car backfired. And nothing was what Dove heard, deep in Rem sleep for once. Fragrant, slow steamy coffee with hot toast and jam filled her dreams. All reminders of the ethereal were long forgotten. For now. 

A solo steamy shower over, Dove vigorously rubbed her body, and proceeded with launching her wet hair down in front of her curled body and frisked it back and forth saying to no one in particular, “I’ve got lots to do today. No time for nonsense or nothing. Today we’re going to crack those eggs and get moving!” And a frisky, happy tone toward work began. She hummed along to her playlist. 

Straightening back up, flipping her damp hair over, something stood out from the corner of her eye. She spun! She started! Dove froze! Someone was standing there! Dove saw someone standing right there, in front of her! Right next to her, and she could see it clearly reflecting back in the mirror. “Ahh!,” backing up too suddenly, clinching, grabbing at her towel. Dove’s heart lurched, she felt it double thump loudly and even stop. Her breathe came rapidly, and a tiny dribble of urine escape down her leg. Dove almost fell into the toilet. The vision was gone rapidly.

The electricity had gone out again. The electric clocks blinked on and off. The sky outside cloudy, revealing hardly any sun made the bathroom gray and dismal. This was the third time in a week. And more than enough times to be caught off guard.

As Dove started freaking out, she went about gathering her clothes, flinging them on and called Franklin on her cell. As he stated answering her call, “Davenport here”,  heavy machinery noise collided with delicate cell coverage. He put a finger in his ear. 

“I can’t!” she claimed. “I can’t do this anymore! Franklin! Franklin, please come home! I want to go home! I don’t want to be here anymore!” Dove was emphatically blunt and direct. 

“Do what?!” he questioned, not hearing her clear enough. “Dove? What’s the matter? Where are you? What’s going on?!” As too much noise drowned Dove’s pleas and pain out, “Wait! Let me move out of here. Hang on!” And he walked away from the noise. “Turn off those cylinders! Make sure you leave those plugs on,” Franklin announced as he backed out of the plants’ all too clamorous building. “Ok Dove, what’s the problem?” He sincerely wanted to understand, for he too had noticed eerie things happening. He needed clarity, a definition of understanding, and of course she was there all day alone. 

As she waited for him to move, Dove rammed herself onto their bed and stuffed her body on top of the covers while trying to keep her head together. Her heart raced as she looked around, promising no more frightening shadows were in sight. Or listening to her conversation. “Franklin,” she tried first appealing to his intellect, “I don’t want to be in this house any longer. It’s uncomfortable.” When that approach didn’t get an immediate response, “Franklin,” Dove continued more forcefully, “It’s looking at me. The house is looking at me. It’s watching me,” she pleaded. “There are shadows, things, noises! I can’t stand it! I see them everywhere, I don’t like it, I don’t like it here.” 

“Dove,” was all he could strangle out. 

“No. No Franklin. If I stay another minute in this house, I will go mad.” She let that tidbit sink in. The phone connection was silent. “Franklin? Frank?”

Franklin went silent. “Dove, it’s just a house,” he tried convincing her. But he knew, he knew she also knew. He had sensed something creepy as well, just didn’t think he’d noticed it, maybe didn’t want to acknowledge it, but yeah, something wrong was going on. Something was wrong with that blasted house. He had promised his Uncle they would fix up. That was the plan. Fix it up as a favor, sell it, split the proceeds 80/20 for a better place. That made Dove happy originally knowing then they could afford the little place they had dreamed of last year. That was the plan. It was a good plan. It was.

“No!” Dove repeated firmly. “It’s not just a house! It’s, it’s everything, it’s everywhere! Franklin! This house, it watches me, everywhere! In the basement, in the kitchen! Franklin, in the god damn shower!” That got his attention. That was as close to creepy as it would get for Franklin. As much as Dove was concentrating on the phone, she also scanned the room. “No more. I can’t do this anymore. It’s creepy here, something’s wrong here. This place is not right.  It’s beginning to get like a shi  .“

“I’ll come home. It’s okay,” he cut her off. “Give me a couple hours to sort things out here. I’ll be home. We’ll talk. It’ll be okay.” Promising and calming Dove, getting her to subside a bit, Franklin ended the call, closed his eyes, breathed in heavily, finally admitting the house, that house was indeed a problem. A huge freaking problem. A problem he had to deal with, just like everything else right now he had to deal with. Making more calls, signing off on orders, rearranging and arguing with production managers, Franklin made it clear he was going home for the day. Early. To deal with that house. Maybe not. He would check Dove’s current mood, talk with her, then make a decision. Filled with fear of making a dreadful mistake, Franklin waffled. Still he had to go home, to that blasted mess of a house.

Dealings of that day dealt with, Franklin and Dove settled into a calmer, steadier albeit slightly downcast mood. Franklin took the rest of the week off, and both arranged themselves into a swift routine of mutual breakfasts, restoring and refinishing older sections of the house, and carry out for dinners. Still with menacing and threatening shadows lurking around corners, a much needed quieter unity now settled over the place, and both Dove and Franklin as well. 

It didn’t last long enough. The electricity went out again. Too often it seemed.

“Franklin, turn the heat up! It’s freezing in here!” Dove yelled from the kitchen.

“Heat’s off again!” he yelled back. “Grab a sweater! Get one for me too, would ‘ya!”

Hammering away on loose boards against a tight stairway, Franklin reached behind him for the remaining nails. Should he use the flooring nails, or the cut nails? Instead, he just reached for whatever was behind him, and as he did, so too did the icy hand which reached out to touch his. Feeling the instant frostiness, instinctively knowing it couldn’t be Dove’s, Franklin yanked his hand away, while alarmingly pivoting his head. As he did so, his balance was so severely lost and Franklin spiraled and tumbled down the cracked stairs to land with a thud! The crash was heard five miles away. His hip, elbow and side leg was going to pain him for an entire week or three. And he tried to right himself  while unclenching his jaw. “Oh, what the hell, for crap’s sake was that about?” he groaned. His movements slowed, and his vision spun and blurred.

“Franklin?!” yelled Dove from the kitchen. She ran, spilling the coffee off the counter. And slipped. Or rather was pushed. Gently of course. “Ugh. Son of a ...,” Dove began. Then remembering, “Franklin?!” Slowly she turned, picking herself up and wiped her wet coffee stained palms down her jeans.

“I’m okay,” he guessed dazed, simply too stunned to think of anything else to say, and looked up the stairs. A shadow drifted off. He thought he saw a shadow drift off. Between witnessing himself move off the ground, cradling his hands, and gazing toward the top of the stairs, “I guess I’m ok,” he reiterated. Looking at her soiled, wet pants, “What happened to you?” he asked

“I fell.” 

Franklin could only look on in befuddlement, with a slight dawning of dread.

Looking him over, “Now do you believe me?” Dove asked for confirmation. She wrapped her wet blue sweater closer. “Franklin?” He continued to look up the stairs. “It’s this house Franklin. It’s something here. Here. I feel so, so..” Dove could not continue her strange thought, only to relay to the cool, dispassionate air, “So much sorrow. So much loss and regret. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow.” Franklin stopped his upward gaze and simply stared at her aghast. An atmosphere of sorrow? He tried fathoming what she was talking about. Dove continued to stand and stare into nothingness. Franklin continued to stare at Dove. 

He felt somewhat, perhaps all was already lost. His thoughts now had turned into a confirmation of sorts. This was not the Dove he knew and loved. His Dove was strong, bold and independent. This Dove was becoming frail, skittish and scared. Her thoughts were turning inward lately, while trying to retain some control over her life, her mind. But her sorrow, yes her sorrow was akin to breathing in an atmosphere of sorrow. Franklin tried rescuing her. 

Making light of the situation, “Yeah, yeah,” Franklin admitted explaining. “Something touched me.” His speaking aloud made Dove to suddenly turn toward him snapping out of her own dismal thoughts. He continued, “It was something icy cold but I knew it wasn’t you. I guess I just freaked and moved too fast, and fell. I, I don’t know.” He rubbed his neck and back of his head for soreness. His leg hurt the most, a lump was forming. But he knew otherwise. It was definitely the house or whatever remained of its’ previously previous owners. Or something to that effect. He couldn’t sort it out. Didn’t want to. A feeling of direness overcame him, and again Franklin changed the subject, grabbing Dove’s hand. “Let’s eat. Indian? Italian? What do you feel like? You like sushi right? Let’s get that. I’ll order your favs, you get changed. It’ll be here in no time.” 

He was too afraid to ask how she fell.

Another day, another night. More shadows, More noises, more of the same upsetting, unsettling feelings passed between them and the house. They both had thought this night or that night would be their last night here. Neither made any attempt to move. Until one particular night late in the evening.

“Franklin?” whispered Dove. They had just settled in bed for an hour or so. “Franklin?” and she gave his arm a little nudge. Nothing. She waited. Dove cuddled down further in bed, squeezing herself closer to the heat of Franklin’s sleeping body. Try at she may, sleep wouldn’t come. Hearing noises, ticks, rattlings and other sounds she couldn’t place, Dove tried in vain to reconcile her restlessness with something other than the obvious. The house was unhappy. Rather quite unhappy. The emotional feeling was solid and freely roaming throughout.

As Dove nervously lay there listening to the unpleasant noise of unhappiness, of sorrow and dread, she twisted her body in such a way to look behind herself. A foreboding darkness surrounded her. And again she pleaded whispering, “Franklin?” while bumping him squarely on the arm. “Franklin.” Slowly his eyes opened. “I feel like there’s a big ball of badness coming.”

Upon seeing Dove awake and in a half crouching position, “What?” Franklin was half asleep and confused, however sensing her direness, her grief, pain and doom. “Dove?” again her asked. Turning, twisting and sitting up to touch her face, her arm, Franklin noticed what she was looking at. “What the..” He had to twist around in bed to look up and behind. 

Franklin always had the witless idea to place the head of any bed nearest the door. It was a dumb idea, a dumb thing to do. They always say never place your back toward the entrance of a door, you can’t see what’s coming. Well, again he had placed the foot of the bed facing the opposite wall and the head toward the door. Brainless. Dorky she would call it. He would admit for a long time the idea was dumb. 

Looking behind and up, Franklin could swear a pitch solid black silhouette of a man stood by the head of the bed. Only about three feet away. And stared down. There were no eyes this time, but they knew a stare even when it couldn’t be seen. Dove stared back parting her mouth just a little, letting her frosty breath come and go of its own volition. In, out, in, out. She dragged the covers closer forward, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the silhouette. 

“Close your eyes,” Franklin ordered. “Dove, close your eyes.” She couldn’t. Franklin felt her emotional dread, heartache and sorrow accost him all at once. He suddenly what it was to breathe an atmosphere of sorrow.

Grabbing Dove by both arms, “Look at me,” Franklin sternly directed. “Only look at me. Dove!” She did. “Don’t look at it,” commanded Franklin. “Keep your eyes on me. Only on me.” And Dove did. She never looked again in front of her. Continuing to stare only at Franklin however, Dove would never let go of the panic, the fright, the pain of the apparition. She also would never see the shadow blink, the unseen eyes glow, fading in and out of the dark, and never would see the shadow emit such loss, such wretchedness and torment of remorse. She never saw when it dissipated and left. But she did see Franklin, she saw his eyes, the bright gray light reflecting back everything which was good, kind and connected to her own. And she stayed that way for a very long time. 

After what seemed like a perpetual eternity, Dove’s eyes closed. And when they opened again, she was cradled against Franklin’s body, wrapped up warm in a multitude of blankets. And Franklin, still awake and alert. 

Smiling up at him, the phantom boogieman of last night long from her mind, Dove had the mindset to get up and make them both fresh coffees. “How about some coffee? I”ll make so .. “

“Pack your things,” Franklin earnestly stated. Dove’s look of surprise began a panic anew which was long forgotten again. Again he reiterated, “We’re leaving. Now. No coffee, no nothing. Pack your things, and whatever you want. We’re going.” Dove’s slow apprehension turned quickly to a fluster.

“But,” she stammered. “Raphael? What about Raphael?”

Flinging back heated covers, “I’ll tell my Uncle we don’t have the funds anymore to fix this place up. It’s no big deal. It’ll be fine.” Franklin leaned forward pressing his palms into the mattress, “Look Dove, I’ve been thinking. I thought all night. There’s something up with this place. Shadows, cold spots, unexplained noises. Actual spectres now? It’s getting to both of us. It’s weird. This place is too weird. I don’t want to say haunted, but. We need to leave.”

So he could tell, he could feel it too, he could. It was a welcome confirmation to Dove. A little elation, a little excitement, both permitting her mood to swing in a more positive direction, her cheeks heated, face and neck seeming to flush. With renewed spark of energy, Dove almost fell off the bed while detangling her feet from the mess of covers. “Ok,” she settled on. Just, “Ok!” And her mood rejoiced. Dove sprang into action.

No noise from downstairs that morning, no shadows popping round corners, no visions of strange basement men in beige suits smiling after her, Dove set about dumping clothing into duffle bags, folding towels and bagging up toiletries. Sifting through unknown drawers. Franklin boxed up books, kitchenware and car paraphernalia. The day jubilantly went by. Dove was even more blithe and enchanted while setting aside little trinkets and jewelry from the house she had found which agreed with her clothing choices and suited her mood. But the day also dragged on ‘till almost dusk.

The car packed full, bottles of water settled in cup holders, Franklin shut the trunk of the Pinto with a slam. Dove being almost elated, had just one last look behind her as Franklin encased himself within his seat belt, shutting the car door and turned over the engine. “Franklin,” she stated. He didn’t want to hear it. He knew what she would say. He himself had felt the pull from the house behind him. The pull and weight of anguish and distress the house sent off. He felt it come hurtling towards him, towards them. He wanted to get away now.

“Franklin,” Dove mentioned merely as a fact, “The house, there’s a something in the window. Franklin? Do you see it? Should we stay?” And as Franklin refused to look back, “Maybe we should stay,” Dove mildly suggested. It wasn’t a question. 

“No.” was the firm statement Dove was handed. “Buckle up. Let’s go. Don’t look back.” She didn’t. But still she was frightened not too. The car’s motor sputtered and sparked then finally thundered to life. It sped off. The road underneath tires crunched and battered noisily.

The driveway wasn’t long, just filled with dust and gravel. Their hearts weren’t breaking, just tired filled with regret, but also the need to escape and break free. The dusk encased them, twilight loomed, the house beckoned. The dusk, twilight and all encompassing night turned into ...

“Franklin look out!” screeched Dove, “Ahh!” as the vision swiftly bolted in front. “Franklin! It’s!, Its! No, Franklin!” as she shrieked over and over and over. She desperately tried to free herself from the strangling belt buckle. By now Dove was lost in her own screams and howls as night, cloud, dust and mist enveloped her. Those beautiful screams mingled and mixed with the beautiful vintage jewelry she carelessly stole and packed away.

Gritting his teeth, Franklin forcefully cranked the wheel to the left, while slamming on the brakes careening the front end into a pile of thickly placed trees. The sound and squash of the hood was solid and deafening. A flash blinded him. Hands grabbed for him. The smell of densely packed dirt and night and sulfur and decay splayed around them.

“Dove!” Franklin shouted, “Dove! Where are you?! Dove!” He was blinded for eons. “No!, No!, Dove!” he screamed over and over till there were no more of his own screams left to hear. 

When calls were left unanswered, when the ringing of the doorbell issued no response, when their car was later found, there were no answers to a multitude of questions. The sturdy little Pinto smashed against trees, woods extensively searched, unfinished house remodeling left abandoned, Franklin’s Uncle had no choice but to give up, and let the two young starlights go. 

No one would ever find the result of their screams. Ever.

#darkficsyouneverimagined #rooshalloweenficfest #Writing Challenge #Original Characters #Original Creepy Fiction #Quote 12 I Breathed An Atmosphere Of Sorrow #Prompt 20 Power Outage #Haunted Sydenham Manor #Hope You Enjoy A Long Creepy Fiction

[you-andthebottlemen]

52. Request - Van is lovesick but you think he’s just being friendly.

Based off this request:

hiii, love your blog so much!!! you're crazy talented, could you write something about van liking reader like waaay more than she likes him? maybe they're friends and he has a crush on her and writes songs about her and acts "lovesick" but reader just acts like it's just him being friendly lol and doesn't really mind it? i havent thought about the ending at all so it can be fluffly or whatever you want it to be! thank you xxxx

Thank you sooo much to whoever sent this! I am SO sorry it has taken over a year for me to write this as I received it just after I officially closed my requests. But now that I am back....here it is! Hope you love it. <3

Please send me any requests if you have them! 

E x 

*********************************

The window was open which meant the warm springtime air flooded in and filled your small flat with the smell of freshly cut grass and blossoms. It was your favourite time of year. Van lay casually draped across your couch with only his boots hanging lazily off the end, guitar in hand and strumming away slowly trying to piece together new chords into a song. You were sat on the floor by his feet reading and Larry was clattering about in the kitchen making a fresh pot of tea. Being Larry’s roommate meant the three of you spent almost all your down time together since Van and Larry were practically attached at the hip. You and Van were pretty close too. You all existed in a perfect harmony.

When Larry walked back out, both you and Van dropped what you were doing instantly. You moved the vase full of flowers Van had bought you that morning over so there was space and Larry placed the pot on the table. He filled all your mugs before settling down beside the now upright Van. The three of you slurped in silence for a little while until Larry began to talk.

“So what you workin’ on Van?” he asked, throwing you a small smirk.

“New song,” Van replied after swallowing a mouthful of tea.

“Duh. About what?” Larry questioned.

“Y/n,” he grinned bashfully and picked up his guitar again.

“As per usual…” you said quietly, not looking up from your book. “What is it this time? My enchanting wittiness or my stunning smile?” you teased, over exaggerating.

“Not my fault you’re a dead perfect muse y/n.”

You rolled your eyes and Van gave you a gentle nudge in the rubs with his boot.

“You need to get a girlfriend Van.”

“Yeah Van, get a girlfriend,” Larry provoked and leant over to give his best friend a small punch in the arm.

You and Larry laughed in amusement, but Van just stayed quiet and returned to strumming his guitar and humming softly. Everyone always teased you, saying Van was practically in love with you. All the songs he wrote about you, how he followed you around like a puppy, his general behaviour around you. But you always passed this off as friendliness; Van was the kindest most loveable person you knew, and he treated everyone as if they were special. This was just how your friendship was and you didn’t mind.

The three of you continued to exist easily in the same space for the remainder of the afternoon, occasionally floating in and out of the room. There was some casual conversation, but mostly a comfortable silence only interrupted by Van singing smoothly under his breath. It was the most relaxed you’d felt in months; you loved having them back from tour. As the sun went down, Larry went out, you retired to your room and Van eventually went home after a solitary smoke out the window.

………………….

The smell of alcohol rose off Van like a horrid perfume. He dragged along behind you slurring words to a half-written song only he knew and swayed around trying to move his feet both in the direction you were walking and as if he were trying to dance a waltz.

The others had piled into a taxi but Van in his drunken state, had insisted on walking and you couldn’t leave him alone. You’d sobered up by now, so the walk wasn’t pleasant. You were cold and not dressed properly for a 3am adventure through the city.

“Come on…” you whined, looking back at Van who was now swinging slowly around a street lamp. “I want to go home.”

Van’s face melted into a pout and he came up behind you and held both your shoulders as if he were about to start a conga line. Then he let one hand fall and used the empty space to pull you into him with his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, so he could share his body heat. You put yours around his waist and held onto his velvet blazer gratefully.

“You’re like...nothin’ else y/n,” he slurred, a soppy smile on his face as he looked down at you.

“You too, McCann, you too.”

Van’s drunken weight made you stagger slightly but you soon fell into rhythm as you led him all the way home.

Once you arrived back at your flat, you found that all the boys had stayed. Benji and Bob were crashing on the couch, Bondy was top and tailing with Larry. This meant Van had to share with you.

Larry helped you drag Van’s body to your room and pulled off his boots for him. Meanwhile, Van was still singing in slurs and trying to serenade you, seemingly unaware or at least, very unbothered by what was going on around him.

“Crushing on you, that one is,” Larry laughed. Your cheeks burned.

“Shut up he’s not.”

“Totally lovesick,” Larry asserted, too drunk to be wary of what he was letting slip.

Once Van was successfully in your bed, you bid Larry goodnight and made sure he was okay too. Then, you showered and washed away the grime of a boy’s night out. When you came back to your room, Van was fast asleep in your bed and snoring lightly. His face looked soft and peaceful, kind of angelic really. You climbed under the sheets and curled up beside him then tried your best to fall asleep too. But Larry’s words echoed in your brain. Van was not into you. No way. Yeah, he was a little obsessed with you. But you were sure it was because he didn’t really have many other female friends. You were different and he treated you differently because of it. All innocent.

You let these thoughts carry you off into a deep sleep and didn’t notice when Van’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

…………………………

Unsure of how it all came to be, Catfish were doing a bar show. Unheard of at this point in their career. You weren’t missing it. They may be some of your best mates and you weren’t a fangirl, but their band was fucking good. You’d only seen them live for the first time just before The Ride came out, so mostly larger venues. This was special.

The room buzzed with a vibe you couldn’t describe but wanted to bottle up and keep forever. Everyone was excited, happy and in awe of the guys. You felt a different energy from the guys too, one you’d not felt before. One that confirmed to every single person there, that they belonged in arenas, that they were going to be the biggest band in the world someday. Van’s stage presence was a lot usually, in a small venue such as this, it was something else entirely. He effortlessly captured the attention of every single pair of eyes in the room. No wonder they’d made it so big already. Their talent was plain as day. You felt lucky to be there and couldn’t help but smile.

“Hope you don’t mind if we play a new tune for ya?” Van asked the crowd. He was met by loud whistles and cheers. “This one’s for you, y/n.”

Van used the neck of his guitar to point you out in the crowd and you felt everyone turn to face you curiously, some whispering to each other and other’s throwing you expressions you didn’t understand. His hair was sweaty and stuck to his face and you could hear the excitement in his voice, accompanied by his huge grin. Your cheeks turned a bright red and you awkwardly held you glass up to him. After a small chuckle into the microphone, Van launched into the song.

“You’re so lucky to be his girlfriend!” a random girl beside you squeaked.

“Oh, no. I’m not his girlfriend,” you replied with a bit of a laugh.

She looked confused. You gazed back over to Van, who was just visible over raised arms, from where you were stood at the back of the packed room. He was throwing himself around stage and singing about you. Your eyebrows furrowed and you got lost in your thoughts, not listening to the lyrics of the new song at all.

That was the first time you’d properly thought about what it would be like to be Van’s girlfriend.

…………………….

You and Larry were holding a small party at your flat to celebrate one whole year of living together. Somehow, the place hadn’t blown up and you were still sane, just. Your job was to take care of the space; cleaning and decoration. You’d spent most of the morning on the kitchen and much to your displeasure, the bathroom. Now onto the living area.

“Van, can you like not do that right now? I’m trying to vacuum?”

Van was laying on the floor propped up on his elbows, vinyls spread all around him.

“I’m on music duty,” he replied bluntly. He continued to slowly flip through all the records he’d gathered from around your flat and from his own, as if you weren’t there.

“I know.”

You prodded his leg with the end of the vacuum. He ignored this and began to whistle as he fiddled with the record player. Your record player.

“God you’re so annoying,” you groaned in defeat.

“Yeah but you love it,” Van replied, sounding smug. He looked at you over his shoulder and gave a cheeky smile with his tongue between his teeth. You rolled your eyes.

“Can you leave that for literally two minutes? I won’t take long,” you argued. “Or, hey. Go get food and alcohol with Larry, he will need the extra set of hands.”

Van huffed and gathered his limbs together, so he was now sat cross-legged and looking up at you. He looked like a child in kindergarten when the teacher had roused on them.

“Why’re you trying to get rid of me,” he whined.

“Fuck Van, I just want to vacuum the floor!” you laughed in disbelief.

Finally, he stood up and you pushed him out the door with Larry who was on food and beverage duty. After you cleared the vinyls and record player Van had left off the floor, you went around and finished your tasks undisturbed. They took about half the time they would have if the boys were still around. Once you were satisfied with the cleanliness of everything, you moved onto the aesthetics.

You strung up some colourful bunting and golden fairy lights on the ceilings and empty walls. When the sun would finally go down and you would turn the big lights off, the room would have a glow. You were excited. All the tables and surfaces were clear, ready for Larry to put out a spread of drinks and snacks.

Van and Larry took longer than expected so you used the peace and quiet to get ready. Your phone occasionally chimed; people texting questions about what to bring, confirming their attendance or bailing, sometimes the odd text from Larry double checking what you’d written on his list.

Once you’d slipped on your party dress and done both your hair and makeup, you felt ready.

Van and Larry finally came crashing back through the door, arms piled high with groceries. You rushed over to help, envisioning one of them dropping and breaking a wine bottle all over the cream coloured carpet.

“Fuck, y/n…the place looks amazin’!” Larry beamed at you as he gazed around the room.

“Forget the place, look at you! Dead gorgeous.”

Van was staring you up and down from behind the boxes of beer stacked in his arms, his eyes twinkling. You knew if he had his hands free, he would have come up and twirled you around.

“Er, thanks!” you swayed side to side awkwardly and smiled.

The boys disappeared to get ready; which probably meant reapplying deodorant and maybe changing their shirts. But not without Van sneaking one last glance at you around the corner, which you didn’t see. You got to work on the drinks, even though that wasn’t your job. You only had an hour until everyone was meant to start arriving and knowing the rest of the Catfish boys, they’d be early to get dibs on the best food and drink.

You looked up from the kitchen sink where you were mixing up a punch and saw Van leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed and eyes on you. You were unsure how long he’d been there. He’d changed into the burgundy button up you loved on him and kept his trademark black jeans and brown boots. You could smell his cologne and slight tobacco scent from where you were stood.

“Can I help you?” you chuckled.

“Nah. Well…maybe.”

Van came and stood across from you on the other side of the counter. He ran a hand through his hair and made a small noise, almost like a sigh.

“I think- I think I’ve gotta tell you something y/n,” he said nervously, his voice dipping up at the end of the sentence. He placed both hands down on the counter.

“What did you break?” you said seriously, trying to joke and lighten the mood. But he didn’t react.

“I know I’m just your mate and stuff. But I like you y/n. I really fuckin’ like you.”

Your eyes widened and you dropped the bottle you were holding, luckily into the sink.

“Careful,” Van laughed and reached over to pick it up just as you did. Your hands collided together and you snatched yours back instantly.

“No, you don’t Van. You only think that because I’m the only girl who hasn’t fallen at your feet.”

You refused to believe that everyone had been right about him this entire time. Why hadn’t Larry just said something for god’s sake? But then you remembered he had when he was wasted that time. Fuck.

“Maybe. Guess that’s part of it. But no! For real, I was proper taken with you ever since we first met. You completely blew me out my mind.”

“Oi don’t go ripping off more Oasis lyrics on my account,” you teased in a faux tone of disapproval.

“I’m being serious, y/n. I have feelings for you.”

Van’s voice reached a level of sincerity you’d never heard before. You sighed and weren’t really sure how to react. You couldn’t say you were shocked? But it was also the last thing you expected.

“I probably should have been able to tell, right?”

“Yeah, I’m no good at subtle,” Van laughed.

Your mind flipped through memories of the last few months. The songs. The flowers. The compliments. The unnecessary intimacy. All of it.

“Always thought you were just like, really nice to me. That it was normal?”

You gave Van a small shrug and chuckle as you put the punch bowl aside on the bench. When you were done, he came over to be beside you. Your hip touched his leg and neither of you moved apart. You looked down nervously, avoiding his eyes.

“I won’t lie, I hadn’t really thought about us in that way before,” you said quietly, feeling embarrassed and worried about hurting his feelings with your honesty.

“Would you want to?” he asked innocently.

Then, you spoke words you never thought you’d be saying.

“Yeah, I think maybe I would…”

With that, Van lazily rolled his head down and planted a slow kiss on your cheek, testing the waters. You let him. He raised a gentle hand to your chin and moved your face to be looking up at him. You thought he was going to kiss you on the lips and your heartbeat rose – you weren’t sure you were ready for that.

“Well okay then,” he replied simply.

His voice was low and quiet, but it was also hopeful and smug; you could hear the tiny grin in it. You smiled at his tone and wrapped your arms around his middle, giving a small embarrassed groan.

“I’m so stupid!”

Van just chuckled, pulled you into him and swayed you side to side, your forehead pressed to his chest.

This was going to be new and different. Van definitely liked you way more than you liked him and clearly had for a long time, in a romantic way at least. But somewhere, you knew that it wouldn’t be long before you were going to be head over heels in love with him. He was just that sort of a person. Magnetic.

Soon, people began to arrive. You and Van sat with your friends, chatting away and socialising but keeping yourselves a secret for now. You’d not necessarily agreed you were a ‘thing’, but you’d acknowledged something further than a friendship. You’d work it out together with time.

The evening was spent swapping stolen glances, arm touches and shared drinks. Both of you smug in the awareness that you were something no one else could see. As the night went on and you both became progressively more drunk, Van stole you away to an empty room, pushed you up against the wall and kissed you for the first time. One kiss and that was it. You knew you were made for Van McCann and he was made for you.

#van #van mccann #van mccann fanfiction #catfish #catb #Catfish and the Bottlemen

[soft-sarcasm]

kwon soonyoung: snooze.

8. “You’re seriously like a man-child.” + 62. “If you can’t sleep…we could have sex?”

Pairing: kwon soonyoung (hoshi) x reader.

Request: Hi! Can I request number 8 and 62 for Hoshi?

Genre: fluff, mild refrences of sex.

Word count: 1+k.

a/n: i know i've been mia from posting but i hope you enjoy.

request a drabble.

You couldn't help the frustrated whine that squealed past your lips as you yet again adjusted your position, your left side proving to be just as uncomfortable as your right. It was infuriating really, that the pillow you currently had smashed over your face was doing nothing more than making you feel claustrophobic; it didn't even have the decency to suffocate you.

At least death would grant you some sort of rest.

But no, it seemed that you were officially stranded in your painfully excruciating situation and not even death was on your side to aid you in your torture. An hour ago, when you were still optimistic and not bordering on murder, you had still hoped that maybe you would be able to fall back to sleep. However, as the clock kept ticking off points of your sanity, you had fully resigned yourself to the fact that you were up for good and there was nothing you could do about it.

What made your situation truly aggravating was that while you blinked away minute after minute of paralyzed awakeness, the lump next to you snoozed away hours.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say snored away hours.

Because no Hoshi didn't just snooze; he snored. Especially as he was suffering through a Summer to Autumn nose cold that had contorted his usually perfectly manageable soft exhales into full-blown trumpets that played the endless tune of your madness. His illness was the only keeping him safe from the arm thwack you had been restraining yourself from committing, that and the fact that he was still severely sleep-deprived and you weren't that much of a monster.

So instead of shaking the volcano next to you so you might be saved for its rumblings, you committed yourself to the agony of waiting. You would get up and do something but that would be giving in and you never gave in. Instead, you whined quietly to yourself in frustration everytime a particularly loud snore shuddered your eardrums and curled further in on yourself.

There were a few moments where silenced would be threatened and you would literally hold your breath, only for it to be let out in the form of a disappointed sigh everytime the ruckus started up again.

The pillow was beginning to get a bit too stuffy and finally, you pushed it away, taking a defeated gulp of air before glancing over in Soonyoung's direction. His expression was absolutely heartwarming, a picture of peace and content with his eyes fastened shut and his mouth innocently gaped open.

No, there was no way you could disturb that.

As quietly as possible, you pulled yourself into a sitting position before officially standing up from the bed. With discretely placed footsteps you padded over to where your phone quietly charged, swiping the device on your way out of your shared bedroom. The living room seemed a good enough place to wait out the rest of the night and maybe you could finally catch up on those research links your Professor kept sending you.

You were half-way through your third article when there was a subtle rustling and the creak of floorboards that had your head instantly snapping up. A rumbled Soonyoung now stood in the doorway, shirt and sleeping shorts askew as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"What are you doing up?" You asked tentatively while locking your phone.

Soonyoung's response took a good moment to form and it came out slurred in between a yawn, "Weren't in bed."

"Yeah I know," You chuckled, patting the space on the couch next to you as Soonyoung stumbled forward. "Couldn't sleep."

Soonyoung all but fell into the plush next to you, instantly nestling into your side as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. His face found the crook of your neck as he nuzzled the skin there, his general body heat and softness warming your heart in a way that made you squirm.

"Come back," He mumbled against your jugular, "Can't sleep without you."

You would have usually goaded him for his lack of grammar and syntax but your heart was currently at your boyfriend's feet in a soppy puddle. But you had an image to uphold and gave his head a condescending pat, “You’re seriously like a man-child.”

"But I'm your man-child." He murmured, eyes not even bothering to stay open as he settled into his position of ensnarement.

"That sounds wrong," You stated, nose wrinkling in disgust at the unwanted image that floated through your brain.

Soonyoung simply hummed against your skin, hands slipping to reach the flesh of your waist that had become exposed by your shirt riding up due to movement. The application of his fingers was somewhere in between a caress and a subtle jab for attention but while you were all too aware what his wandering digits translated to, he continued to speak his language of feigned innocence, "You know, there's this physical activity between two people that's been proven to do a pretty good job of tiring out the human body."

"Oh," You sounded though your imaginary subtitle read 'I know where you're going you little piece of shit,' "Please enlighten me on this scientifically proven pass time."

"It goes by quite the catchy name actually," Soonyoung mused, "It's called sex."

"That does have a certain ring to," You agreed as a tug was suddenly applied to your waistband.

“If you can’t sleep…we could have sex?”

You made a sound that must have been miscommunicated as something along the lines of contemplation because Soonyoung peaked an eye open in interest. But instead your hands suddenly clasped around those that were attempting to slither past the barrier of your clothes, "Sorry love, I don't think sex can solve this problem."

"And why not?" Soonyoung pouted, clinging back to the grasp that was currently in the process of removing his own grip.

"Because we've been having sex since we got together and you still snore."

#seventeen scenarios #hoshi scenarios #hoshi #seventeen #soonyoung scenarios #writing #kpop scenarios #kpop drabble

[wanna1things]

Undercover Agent!Yoon Jisung

i LOVE jisung SO MUCH and gjhdgfhgsjf he looks so gOOD in his teaser pics lmao gtg byeee

Genre;; uhh undercover agent!au,, fluff,, sorry if the stuff about the police and stuff is wrong lmao am not a cia agent

Warnings;; theres mention of a contract killing & hits and a bar and like,, gang stuff??

Pairing;; Yoon Jisung x reader

Requested;; nope

Summary;; You are undercover for the organised crime unit. Yoon Jisung is your prime suspect for the contract killing of a rival gang member. Little do you know, he’s thinking the exact same thing about you...

Style;; bullet point + stuff

Word Count;; 1801

im SUPER sorry;; if you’ve requested something im super busy w family stuff and work but next week im free so ill get the requests done,, this was just something i’ve had written for a while lol its basically the plot of an episode of a tv show i watched when i was in spain in august idek what it was called but it was super cute and i thought it fit jisung because?? idk i feel like his personality fits this sort of thing lol anyway hope u enjoy

you joined the organised crime unit straight out of police training and tbh you were a prodigy

you were known for solving cases in record speed and you were always effective in undercover work

you knew of someone else on the force who was just as good at solving cases/being undercover as you were

but you had no idea who they were, just that they were in the homicide unit

anyway

your unit had been following a gang for quite a while

and you’d come to know all of their members quite well

when suddenly, the guy you were preparing to arrest was killed by a contract killer

your unit managed to catch the killer and he confessed that he was paid to kill the guy by a guy within the main gang in the city

and so your unit decided,, you should go undercover

you studied up on the members of this second gang and you focused all of your efforts on who appeared to be pulling the strings even though he wasn’t the leader

this guy called yoon jisung

luckily someone else in your unit was already undercover in the gang and so when you joined he introduced you as his half-sister

and straight away you spotted jisung looking at you up and down

you knew he was a bad guy, his files said left the police force a year ago and joined the gang straight away

he was very close to the leader already and was almost like his right hand man

little did you know, jisung was also an undercover agent

THE undercover agent from the homicide unit

he kept his real name in the gang to make his story more believable,, also because he can’t deal with fake names because he’d never adjust to being called something else lol

but boy did he think it was fishy that straight after this guy from another gang was killed that you were introduced

he immediately suspected you were in some way connected to the contract killing,, probably because you had close ties to a contract killer or something

anyway

after the gang meeting where you were introduced he approaches you straight away

and you're just like wow okay that was easy lol already my suspect is talking to me try to find info;;

that's literally exactly what he's trying to do with you as well

ahhh when he starts speaking to you you realise ;; oh my god;; he’s actually super good looking lmao no don't fall in love with a criminal

he holds out his hand for you to shake it and he smiles wide and tilts his head to the side slightly

‘Hello, y/n!! I’m Yoon Jisung!!’

you take his hand hesitantly because how is someone in a gang this bright lmao

he immediately starts asking you where you’re from and stuff which is really cute because he’s listening so intently to everything you say and he seems really interested

he’s interested for a different reason lol

so you recite what your,, fake,, life history is

it’s got bits of truth in there too but your undercover identity is that you do really have “ties” to a contract killer organisation

lmao bad idea jisung is even more suspicious

but

he also thinks you’re really cute and sweet?? Like??

and he's mentally kicking himself like lmao they’re a cold hearted killer don't fall in love

and over the next few weeks you’re always put on jobs together

when you both had to go to a meeting with the head of a supplier chain he claimed that ‘the boss told him that you needed to accompany him’

your coworker later revealed to you that no… jisung requested that you went with him to the meeting

this all was a bit,, suspicious but

you accepted it because it meant you could get close to your suspect even if it was in a weird way

one day, after you attend another meeting together he invites you out to a bar for a drink

and the gang you two are in basically controls that bar lol

so you decide you’ll try to get him drunk and get some information out of him so you can arrest him

but when you get there turns out he had the same idea and you both order virgin drinks lol

anyway

you swallow your pride and ask him about the case and you find that he oddly knows a lot??

like he knows who did it ok suspicious much jisung

and he’s realising that you know who did it too,, which is also really making you look suspicious lol

but you’re also realising that under this soft light god damn is he beautiful?? Oh my god??

lmao he's thinking the same about you like god they’re so?? Evil?? But so?? Good looking??

of course its jisung so he makes lots of terrible jokes along the way when will he stop

out of nowhere he starts to talk to you about the story of his friend in the gang being killed in a hit by the gang the guy who died was from

and he was telling the whole truth, his friend was undercover with him (which he didn't mention obviously lol) and he was killed

and jisung didn't know why he was opening up to you but you just seemed so easy to talk to lol

and you could tell this thing with his friend was really eating at him like he was truly upset wow gangsters have feelings??

in the back of your mind you were thinking ok motive found but you pushed it aside because he was really opening his heart to you and he was genuinely upset and no decent human being is about to ignore someone in distress

so as it seemed like he was about to cry you took hold of his hands and held them

he squeezed your hands back and looked up

and oh my god

he was crying but it was like a hiccupy cry (you know the one)

and it was so cute because he was smiling at you as well as like;; a thank you for being so comforting

and seriously this guy is damn cute for a gangster like wow how??

but really your feelings for each other are just getting deeper and deeper and you know it's so wrong because you’re meant to be arresting each other but you know love you can't help it

soon enough you guys are pretty much partners (in crime, literally)

like you always attend meetings together and stuff,, and y'all are both close to the boss

and you can full on admit you’ve totally fallen for this weird soppy cute gangster and don't tell anyone but he's fallen for you too UH

when suddenly there's an attempt on your colleague's life, the guy who you’re undercover with

and almost immediately there's a retaliation from what seems to be your gang

something clicks inside your brain and you realise

jisung put the hit out for that retaliation

nobody died but he did it because well you’re his partner, and your colleague is supposed to be your brother so it's like the done thing in a gang lol

little do you know, he's thinking the same about you, that you put the hit out yourself because well… it's your brother of course you’re going to get one back

so that night he decides to invite you out for a drink and then he’ll arrest you because well clear motive??

and when he invites you, you also decide that tonight's the night you’ll arrest him because DAMN the evidence is overwhelming

when you both arrive at the same bar as you went to before, you both order virgin cocktails and sit next to each other at the bar

reminiscing about the past few months of knowing each other and stuff, and laughing about how dumb jisung looked when he cried (sorry jisung youre cute i love you really??)

after a while theres a break of silence

and you both reach into your pockets/bags and pick out the handcuffs inside

you breathe in and out slowly and turn to fake jisung right as he turns to face you with his hands in his pockets

‘y/n, you’re under arrest-’

‘jisung, you’re under arrest-’

‘wait, what??’

Jisung stands up straight away and hes completely taken aback like whats going on

And theres a total ruckus going on in the bar now because ok theres two policemen here?? what

Jisung quickly grabs your hand and pulls you out of the bar and down into an alley beside it

as you’re trying to recover from that shock he fires questions at you like;;; quick fire

‘What was that?? You’re police too? What unit? Why didnt you tell me? Were you going to arrest me? What for? Oh my god, my boss is going to kill me…’

somehow you find the humour in all this

like you were just about to arrest each other for the exact same crime at the exact same time but you’re both undercover agents

(pls @ police units improve communication look what you’ve done)

when he hears your soft giggles he stops worrying and just joins in laughing because

admit it

its pretty funny yall were both the best undercover agents and you just tried to arrest each other

then he realises this cute little gang member he has a crush on isn't a gang member at all and there is no reason that he can’t kiss them right now

so he does

right then and there

and of course you’re shooketh because oh yeah;; he’s not a gangster i can totally do this and not feel bad lol

and then you realise your cover is completely and utterly blown and you can’t stay undercover anymore because BASICALLY the whole gang knows you’re policemen… either that or they think you’re into really kinky stuff oo ;)

and you can see the look on jisungs face when he realises it too but

‘Cover is blown but… got to admit it was worth it’

and he leans in to kiss you again uh BLESS

after that mess of a case you join the same unit as jisung and you two become the famous undercover couple

you always go undercover together, always as a couple because a) its easy and b) you don’t even have to act

every time someone new joins the unit you take your roles as the official parents™ of the unit and you train everyone who wants to go undercover as though they’re like your child uhh cute

your picture is up in the hall of fame for agents and sgadjfg the picture is so cute because you LOOK like parents

basically you two are like the cutest and the BIGGEST undercover agent power couple

ahhhh i hope this was enjoyable to read,, i wrote it on the train when i was on holiday so yknow not the best quality of writing but i thought it was cute so!!

#yoon jisung #jisung #yoon jiseong #wannaone #wanna one #wannaone imagines #wanna one imagines #wannable #undercover agent #undercover agent!au #au #crime!au #Produce 101 #produce 101 imagines