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shibaraki · 1 year

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TO BUILD A HOME ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: todoroki shouto is the ideal roommate. he is tidy, quiet, considerate, and one of your dearest friends. you almost wished he were a tactless slob. it would certainly make navigating your feelings for him easier.

tags: GN reader, friends to lovers, pro hero shouto, quirk support engineer reader, living together (and they were roommates!), mutual pining, fluff, alcohol, other character interactions, domesticity, jealous shouto, a little angst, minor oc, love confessions, making out + frottage

wc: 14K+

a/n: I wrote a little bonus sequel for this au about their first date which you can read here !! [+4K]

Shouto’s home strikes a dissonant note with you.

You’re a statuesque centrepiece in his living room, staring out his tall standing windows, paneled wall to wall and making for a beautiful view of the city. There’s a soft shine to it, iridescent from corner to corner. A privacy film to block any view into the apartment from the outside, you’re guessing.

Despite your closeness you’ve never had reason to visit until now. There’s far too much space for one man, you think. Jarringly, it’s as if you’ve stepped into a studio display. A picture perfect bachelor pad— but really, what bachelor pad needed three family sized bedrooms?

It feels awfully lonely.

Shouto heaves the last of your boxes onto the kitchen island with ease. The muscles in his arms flex under his loose shirt, fabric briefly tightening. Unfair, you think. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Back straightening, you watch Shouto roll back his shoulder and rub at the joint. The movement causes the hem to lift and flash a pale swath of skin, his shorts hung low on his hips. The weight in your arms is somehow heavier with his eyes turned onto you.

“You can set it down,” he says, his tone full of warm mirth. The disbelief must be written plain on your face. Your fingers tighten on the corners as he walks over. Tilting his head, the red strands that have been haphazardly pushed back into white slip over his forehead. You watch his gaze dart over the label scribbled onto the card that reads ‘toiletries’.

“I know. I’m just…” your jaw shifts and you swallow, a frown etched into your brow. “I don’t know. Got a little lost in my thoughts”.

“Feel free to change whatever you like,” his mouth curls into a small smile, scar wrinkling by his eye. You are taken by just how happy he looks to have you here. Shouto seemed the type to appreciate his own space. “I want you to be comfortable”.

“Whatever I like?” you echo teasingly, shucking the box up in your embrace and bumping his shoulder. “Famous last words. Maybe I’ll decide to renovate your other guest room into a mini workshop”.

Shouto exhales a quiet laugh. The air around him is displaced by an ephemeral wave of heat that seeps through your sweater; it cools back to room temperature as quick as it came.

“I wouldn’t oppose it,” he says, and your breath catches. Reaching to poke at the box, he adds, “Do you want me to help you unpack?”

You begin to shake your head. “No, no. I can do all that, don’t worry,” you demurred nervously.

“It wouldn’t be a problem”.

Memories of all the things you managed to salvage in the wreck flicker across your mind's eye. Mugs and plates, a few clothes, oil stained tools and various other inappropriate things you’d rather die than have him accidentally discover.

But he’s staring at you like a restless puppy. You relent, “Maybe you can put away the kitchen stuff then”.

After Shouto retreats you are left adrift to navigate the narrow corridors. The room he directs you to has the biggest guest bed and it shares a wall with his own room. You shuffle in, processing your surroundings. Your linens are freshly washed, tucked in tight at the corners, and they smell like him.

You lower another box on top of the bed and sit by the headboard. The mattress yields. Admittedly it is much more comfortable than your old bed used to be. Soft, you sink into a foamy embrace, smoothing a hand over the matching pillowcases, then reaching up to the shared accent wall.

Reality has hardly set in for you yet. It’s been four days since you lost your home, most of your earthly possessions along with it, and the life you had spent years building. The villain that managed to frisbee a car through your living room had been apprehended but not before destroying half the city block.

Shouto immediately volunteered his own place. You have been close friends for years now, having met during your second year at UA as a support course student. You’d worked with Yaomomo on redesigning her costume for your portfolio and managed to worm your way into their quaint friend group.

Your initial crush on him all that time ago burgeoned into something you’re too anxious to put a name to. When he first suggested you live with him while the city fixed everything you’d wanted to refuse. So far lack of proximity has been your only saving grace.

But you really had nowhere else suitable to stay. A hotel would be too costly in the long run. Your other friends are scattered across different prefectures and those who are in the city are too far from work.

Shouto practically sparkled when you agreed, plucked right out of a shoujo manga.

You remember this as your fingers curled into a loose fist and gave the wall a quiet knock. All the tension accumulated in your shoulders relaxes at the dull sound. “Atleast it isn’t thin,” you mused.

There’s a large closet adjacent to the bed, deep enough that you could crawl inside comfortably. Windows that stretch above your head and overlook the busy streets. You notice that same iridescent sheen, alongside a large blind connected to the control pad fixed by your doorway. They roll down as you fiddle and remind you of those old school projectors from the pre quirk era.

The walls are almost entirely bare. Your imagination drifts to the countless books and photo albums you managed to bring, envisioning them taking up the empty space. It makes you wonder what Shouto’s room looks like. You squash that thought.

When you rejoin him he stands with his back to you, blades shifting under the material as he plays with a small round object held between his fingers. Closing the distance you realise it is one of your stress balls.

His expression is entirely relaxed, bright with a little child-like satisfaction. He pulls at the flexible rubber, rolling it under his thumbs, flattening in between his palms. Your novelty mugs are lined up in the open cupboard right beside his own, entirely forgotten.

As not to startle him you call out gently, “Hey”.

Your voice stalls his movement. Shouto pivots and meets your eyes; they widen as you laugh, amused by his forced nonchalance. He clears his throat, “Hi. Are you happy with the room?”

Humming an affirmative, you sidle up next to him and poke at the ball. “It’s fine, thank you. Nicer than my old place”.

Redirecting his attention to the ball, he squeezes it so hard the foamy rubber protrudes through the gaps in his fingers and lets go, smiling as it retains its original shape. “I liked your old apartment,” he murmurs. “It suited you”.

“Because I’m a mess, you mean?” drawn back into Shouto’s orbit, you lean against his left side. He mirrors your weight until you are like two pillars braced against one another, standing uselessly in the middle of his obviously unused kitchen. Your heart aches recalling all those nights he spent at the agency doing unnecessary overtime. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to come back here.

“No,” Shouto huffs lightly, passing the ball hand to hand. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead he bumps you with his hip, “Come with me. I’ll give you a tour so you know where everything is”.

You are guided back to the genkan; it’s gorgeous, modernised with a calligraphy feature wall that breaks up the light colours. There is a narrow door leading to a coat room and two white cabinets under a granite countertop housing a small decorative bowl painted in Deku’s colours. Inside are your keys and his, the chains entangled.

Very quickly you realise Shouto doesn’t even know where ‘everything’ is. He opens the cupboard doors hesitantly, in a way that suggests he had no idea what is in them. One filled by his shoes and slippers, the other left empty.

The coat closet holds a few jackets you only ever see him wear in winter. He pinches the waterproof puffy sleeve between finger and thumb with a curious sound. Quietly, “I forgot that I had this”.

“You wore it once and Bakugo said you looked like an ugly toasted marshmallow”.

“That’s right,” a smirk pulls at his lips, mouth thin to restrain his laughter. You dip your chin to hide how infectious it is. “He hated it. Maybe I should take it with me tomorrow and wear it around the agency”.

“Please don’t. He’s coming to see me later in the day and I need him in a good mood”.

Shouto glances at you from the corner of his eye, sunlight reflecting through the blue iris. You would recognise that air of mischief anywhere. “I mean it, Shouto!”

“The day after, then”.

“As long as I’m not in the line of fire,” you snort, itching absentmindedly at your forearm where the skin feels tender. Probably bruising after carrying everything up. “Antagonising Pro Heroes should be listed as a hobby on your wiki page”.

You fall in line with his footsteps once more and keep pace until he stops by another door. There’s a laundry room and a separate toilet by the genkan, first door to the right. Upon opening the door the white toilet lid lifts.

You gasp and clutch his bicep, far too excitable to register how firm it is. “You never told me you have a happy toilet. What the hell, Shouto?”

Still nestled in his palm, you notice Shouto squeezes the stress ball until the foam is straining under the stretchy skin but you say nothing of it. He swallows and echoes your words, “A happy toilet?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it's happy to see you! Isn’t it cute?”

He turns with his cheek between his teeth, exhaling a warm puff of air through his nose. “Yeah,” Shouto rasps. “It’s cute”.

The entrance leads to a hallway, opening at the end to an open plan living area and kitchen. A black and white palette, dark stained wood flooring from room to room. You stand by and watch fondly as he opens every half empty drawer. The sectional couch is a welcome splash of colour— deep royal blue, huge, L shaped and plush, facing a 60 inch TV held up by a cabinet with a few books and photographs inside.

You toe at the fluffy grey rug laid out under the coffee table. His place is spectacular, sure, but it isn’t Shouto. While left unspoken it seemed you both knew that. There’s an abashed pinch to his expression that’s endearing, yet sad; you thought he might be embarrassed by how threadbare his home life appeared to be.

“You ever use that thing?” you ask, pointing to the TV. Predictably, Shouto shakes his head.

“Not very much. These days it feels like I only come here to sleep,” he leans over to pick up the remote from between the cushions and balances it on the arm of the couch. “Every few months Uraraka and Midoriya will visit to order food and watch movies with me. You can use it whenever you want”.

The bathroom is opposite your bedroom doors. He taps his own in passing but does not open it. You step into a bright, white tiled room with a double vanity sink and murmur in awe. Above are ceiling lights that give a soft glow, giving it a warm toned hue. Behind a glass door is a bowl shaped bathtub, big enough to fit two.

“Damn…” you whisper, running your fingers over the control pad connected to the tub. There’s a big bath cover propped by the wall. “A sauna button, too?”

“Not that I need it,” he muses, standing by the doorway, hands loosely interlocked as he observes you navigating his space. Intuitively, you get the sense that this is the beginning of a true paradigm shift. His offer had been the fork in the road and your agreement took you down a path soon to be irreversible.

You could survive seeing him at work or out with the mutual friends you shared. You’re not sure how you’ll weather the domesticity that comes with living together.

The reflection in the mirror shifts awkwardly and you grimace at how hard you’re trying to act like a normal human being. This is just Shouto: your good friend and longtime supporter. Just the man you might possibly be in love with.

“We should probably talk about ground rules and stuff,” you begin, hoping it’ll wipe that gentle look off his face before you say something stupid.

“Ground rules?” Shouto pushes off from the door frame with his back straight. He tilts his head, sight following you closely as you scoot past him back into the hallway.

“Like a chore rota and stuff. Rules so we can live in harmony or something. And you still need to let me know how much I’m paying you”.

“But I don’t want you to”.

You pause mid step and turn to stare at him in soft incredulity. “Why not? It’s only right I contribute”.

Steadfast, he holds your gaze and bluntly says, “I have a higher income than you. There’s no need for you to pay me rent”.

“Way to rub it in”.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you laugh at the rare wobble to his voice and knock your hands together as a sign of forgiveness. His eyes squint into a smile. “It just feels unfair for me to ask that of you”.

The hallway falls dim as clouds gather, casting shadows that make the private bubble you’re in seem that much smaller. “But I want to,” you reassured him. “Come on— forty percent?”

“Thirty”.

You hold out three fingers up on the right and five on the left. You try again, “Thirty five?”

“Thirty,” he doubles down, covering the entirety of your left hand with his own. You feel his thumb skim your inner wrist and your resolve breaks.

“…Fine”.

Shouto grins boyishly and you do not acknowledge the flutter in your stomach.

The first few days are cautious despite your desire to behave as normal. At night you found yourself acutely aware of Shouto’s presence behind the bedroom wall. Your senses latched onto every muted bump and creak; the quiet drew thoughts you so valiantly avoided the surface and you could do nothing besides parse through them.

It made sleeping difficult.

You’d wondered if Shouto was having the same issue but the drowsy gait and hair plastered to one side of his head only ever spoke of a good night's rest. He wears loose silk pyjama pants to bed, low on his hips and an inch or so longer at the leg so they always caught under his heel as he walked.

Seeing him relaxed and fumbling like a fawn before his morning tea felt as if a big star was fizzing in your chest. It’s strange, in a tentative way, not an uncomfortable one.

The dust settles and a chore rota is scribbled out on a white board and pinned to the refrigerator with a worn All Might magnet. Your hours are less hectic so you offered to do the weekly shopping. Shouto volunteers for the laundry— his sister set the machines up for him when he first moved and he hasn’t moved the dials since— and taking out the garbage. Together you build a precariously clumsy peace, a mimicry of home.

Things started to change.

A kaleidoscope can take on an entirely new pattern with just the subtle turn of the lense. Weeks lapse. You stopped asking for permission and he no longer sought reassurance that you were happy. Existing parallel to one another, your lives fit seamlessly, though not without effort.

You’ve never known him to be a tactile type of guy— back when you rushed to hug him at graduation he’d brandished his diploma like a weapon before noticing it was you. Now, Shouto playfully hip checks you in the kitchen, he sits closer than he needs to on the couch and texts you at random throughout the day. He brings you a treat if his route overlaps your commute, keeping it hot in his left hand. He even greets you by the door on the rare occasion he finishes a shift first.

Your heart is fatter than ever and you aren’t quite sure what to do with it or where to put it down. After the city has rebuilt your apartment block and deemed it safe you’ll be returning to a normal you don’t recognise anymore.

You’re finalising the upgrade for Dynamite’s summer gauntlets when your phone buzzes on your bench. The vibration carries it closer to the edge and you scoop it up before the inevitable fall, cursing at the oil smeared around the case. The screen lights up.

shouto : 1 minute ago

There’s an image attached with no explanation. You are met with the open skyline, dense clouds of every shape and size dotted across a blue canvas. Shouto’s arm is in the shot, finger pointed towards one cloud in particular.

You squint at it. Zoom in on your phone, tilt it to the side, flip it in the editor and outline it— and nothing rings a bell. It’s a white blob.

Another notification drops down at the top of your screen. You wipe your hand against your overalls and open it.

shouto : just now

ヾ(=^・ｪ・^)

Your nose wrinkles as you glance back to the photo. Granted, it does have two pointed edges that could be interpreted as cat ears if you squinted. Maybe. This isn’t new — he burned his toast three days ago and took a picture simply because it looked vaguely feline.

you : delivered

aren’t u supposed to be on patrol?

The message turns to ‘read’ quicker than expected. You panic and click off the conversation, setting the phone face up on your workbench and reading from your locked screen. Lately, despite living together and seeing one another every day, Shouto seems to have more to say to you than ever.

shouto : just now

Divine intervention. We should get a cat.

The use of ‘we’ pings around your head like a pinball. Ever since the initial dubitation smoothed out he's become much more flippant about things— treating your situation as though it were permanent.

An intern shuffles into the workshop with a thick binder. Not one of yours, you realise. One of Mei’s. They blink curiously as your phone buzzes again, loud where it clatters on the hard surface, and you bite down on your inner cheek, hard, keeping your feelings at bay.

When handed the papers you breathe in recognition. They’ve been coordinated into two groups, and you’d know that logo anywhere. “The costume applications for the upcoming UA students! I wondered why they hadn’t come in yet”.

“Yes, for 1A and 1B. Hatsume-san said these ended up on her desk,” they said, gesticulating nervously, “and that I— I should give them to you?”

“Well If not for you I’m sure these would’ve ended up buried under all her discarded prototypes,” you demurred, offering what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thank you”.

Abruptly, your phone gives another violent jerk and disrupts the moment. The intern squeaks, rigidity returning to her posture, and scurries out with a rushed goodbye. You sink into your arms, forehead pressed to the cool metal. Surely you aren’t that scary.

Turning the screen, you read the texts and sigh fondly.

shouto : 4 minutes ago

An older cat would be nice.

shouto : just now

Should we order tonight?

My treat.

Your gaze lifts to find the time at the top of the screen. It blinks back at you, the hour changing. Not long until you can head out.

you : delivered

it isn’t a treat for me if it’s more cold soba. give me variety or give me death (งಠ_ಠ)ง

The cursor flickers. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, hesitating on the final letter. Something so minor that feels bigger than it has any right to be.

“Stop being ridiculous,” you mutter, sending it before your mind can change.

you : read

be safe ok? I’ll see you at home.

When he doesn’t reply you figure he’s returned to his job, thus you return to yours.

Dynamite was once again trusting you with his gear. Bakugo had been extraordinarily protective over his initial design in highschool. Great bulbous things strapped to each wrist, grenade-like appearance, so big that his arms became pendulous and swung away from his body as he walked. The shoulder strain was immense.

You fought tooth and nail to get him to accept your adjustments. Now every summer you remodelled the gauntlets to be lighter and ventilated, and in winter you added in insulation and flexibility.

Respectively, the gauntlets still weigh a lot without additional stored nitroglycerin. You lift, bending at the knees and groaning as you lower them both down into a protective case, slotting into foam padding for protection. No doubt they’d end up rough on the first day but you still wanted them to arrive without a scratch.

Evening draws near. Closing the lid, it gives a satisfying click. You fiddle with the lock pad and calibrate it to open only for Bakugo’s thumb print before lugging the case to the built-in vault in your workshop, where it’ll be kept over the weekend.

Mei’s lab is directly opposite your own. Despite the dense soundproofing and reinforced steel concrete the jarring screech of a saw echoes throughout the hallway. You press your hand to the towering door, muscle fibres wracked by vibrations. Bidding her goodbye would be futile— she’s been working on a new patent for months now. The rest of the world fell away when she got like this.

Heading through to the main lobby, you greet those passing by with a nod, exchanging hurried words. It was always as though time didn’t exist here. People worked all hours, any hours. Flexibility was a point of pride for your company, and seeing someone eat breakfast after midnight wasn’t uncommon.

You preferred a regular schedule. Routine keeps you moderately sane. A cool breeze gusts through the sliding doors as you duck into the street; you hiss at the immediate change in temperature. Patting down your coat pockets you dig out your phone, sending a one-handed text to Shouto while you slip in your earbuds.

Cacophonous bustling of the streets now muffled, you scroll through a playlist and click at random. An upbeat melody carries you to the station, scooting through the throngs of people and tapping your card at the barriers.

You pick up the pace, scurrying onto the train right before the doors close. A stranger glares, looking over your dishevelled state with judgement. You find a narrow corner, left standing on the far end of the carriage, squashed up against the window to make room for other passengers.

Conscious about the volume. you turned down your music a tad and sank into the confines of your coat. Shouto’s apartment is miraculously closer than your old one, meaning the commute is much shorter, and your time spent in bed is much longer. Three stops pass and the sky begins to bruise. Purple hues blend gently into red, the sun a fiery hearth on the seam of the horizon that blinks abruptly between the passing buildings.

When you reach home Shouto still hasn’t texted back. You bend to arrange your shoes, coat hung beside his terrible winter puffer. The floor is cold under socked feet, pottering through to the living room in search of the TV remote.

You flinch as the newscaster's voice blurts out of the speakers. Shouto must have left it on the news channel this morning. Watching the scene unfold on the screen you feel your heart climb your throat.

Shouto is a hero— a number of your friends are. Villain fights are not only inevitable, they’re a requirement. The truth of it doesn’t make reality any easier to swallow. Uravity is a welcome sight. She’s fighting diligently alongside Shouto, up against multiple villains seemingly working in tandem to destroy the area.

You always thought villains were a good example of how versatile and powerful even the most innocuous quirks can be. Topspin can morph their limbs into a whirling top, and with years of training has gained the ability to form small tornados using momentum. Another you recognise is Cryo, a woman capable of making her body intangible similarly to Lemillion— though she is able to freeze you temporarily if she phases through your body.

There are others, too. Criminals you don’t recognise. It’s been a long time since a big group tried to organise in this manner. You worry at your lip, bracing against the back of the couch for support. What you find most concerning is they don’t seem to have a goal. Just mass destruction, plain and simple.

“Come on,” you think anxiously, nails digging into the cushion as you watch Shouto brace a falling building with his ice, creating an emergency slide for those left inside to escape. You’ve always marvelled at his parallel processing skills— Deku, too. Their thoughts must be running a million miles a second.

The cameras switch to highlight the other heroes and you realise you’ve been holding your breath. You exhale, physically deflating, feeling the weight of your phone in your pants pocket. Clean up would take a while once the battle is won; curry night is off the table.

That’s fine. You could forgive it as long as he came back in one piece.

Evening sinks into night. Shouto comes home after you’ve retired to your bed, though you aren’t asleep yet; you took to staring at the ceiling, waiting for a call from the hospital that you hoped wouldn’t come.

The distant sound of his boots hitting the floor has relief flooding through your system. You strain to listen as he makes his way through the apartment, deliberately quiet. You hear him head straight to the bathroom. The echo of running water muffles after the door closes with a soft click.

You check your phone once more, scanning over the recent updates and not finding much. You consider leaving him alone. Villain fights are hard on the body and the heart. Shouto likes space to process things before he speaks on them, and so you don't want to overstep.

That sentiment dissipates steadily. Five minute intervals that feel like hours. Shouto is in the bathroom for a long, long time. You are seated on the edge of your bed with the covers pulled back when he finally comes out.

Warm light streams beneath your doorway. Muscles clenched, you daren’t move an inch as a stretch of shadow moves across. Shouto stands outside your room and you stare, silently urging him to knock and give you an excuse.

After a beat, Shouto turns away. He flicks off the bathroom light and shuffles down the hallway, away from his own bedroom. Your feet tentatively touch the floor and you slide off the bed with hands held out, careful not to knock into any furniture on the way.

Goose pimples raise across your forearms. You’re in sleep shorts and a ratty old shirt on a cool spring night. No wind and no clouds, the moon hung high and bright. You have never seen the city so eerily still at this hour.

The air always retains the warmth of his body for a while, and you feel it lingering when you step into the hallway.

Voice kept to a whisper, you softly called for him, “Shouto?”

You find him sitting in the middle of the couch. The blinds are up, moonlight flooding in. Shouto is a solid silhouette outlined in white.

“Did something happen?”

The fight ended up dragging on for a while, so you’re in the dark. Details about casualties were steadily being released to news outlets as the heroes dug through the remaining rubble. You’ve yet to hear of any deaths, civilian or otherwise, which is a relief.

He lifts his head, “I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you”.

“You didn’t,” Shouto’s gaze follows as you shuffle towards him, footfalls loud on the hardwood floor. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

The silence is suffocating. Your vision adjusts to the darkness, stuck on the downturn of his mouth and pallid eyes. “We’re friends right? Friends share their burdens,” you try again, awkwardness leaking out with every syllable. “I’m here for you”.

He looks away. There’s a dark, disquieting bruise blooming on his jaw. Subconsciously, Shouto presses a finger onto the bruise and the blood beneath it recedes, paling and returning like the tide.

You don’t sit too close— worried proximity might be suffocating. The couch arm is firm under you, feet propped on the seat cushion. Shouto wets his lips, as if to alleviate the gravity of his words.

“A group of school children were in the theatre when it collapsed,” he rasps. His hand curls into a tight fist, sparks of fire diminishing between his knuckles. “They were young. No older than ten”.

“You blame yourself”.

Turning to you, light casts softly across half of his face, pooling in his left eye. “I was a second too late and now—” he stops, the words caught in his throat.

“Because of my mistakes those children are stuck with the traumatic memory of being trapped under all that rubble. I... I could hear them screaming”.

You gulp and slide down onto the couch, guided by the urge to touch him, “Hey. But you got them out safely, yeah? They’re okay, Shouto”.

His eyes crinkle a bit, if only a trick of your own, and you take it as permission to reach over. One by one you unfurl each finger, massaging your thumbs into his palm to smooth away the crescent marks.

“We got them out,” he amends quietly, taking a brief pause to find the right words. You spend it appreciating the nicks in his skin, scars and rough edges, proof of his tenacity.

Shouto closes his hand around your own, staring dolefully at the point where your bodies meet. You see it for what it is— a request for comfort — and your palms kiss as you realign your fingers, holding on tight.

“You know what I think?”

He hums, curiously peering up through his damp bangs.

“Those kids? They won’t just remember the bad stuff,” you smile, as tender as you feel, “I think they’ll remember how at ease they felt when Hero Shouto opened the way with his ice to save them. And now they know a hero will always come”.

The strain bleeds from his bones and his expression opens up in quiet wonderment. “Really?” he asks, his voice small, mouth finally curling. Your heart gives a squeeze.

“Really,” you affirm, knocking your knees together. Shouto’s smile widens, chin tucking to hide it. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No. Just bruised up,” he says. An idea clicks into place.

“Good. I’ve got something we can do to make you feel better,” you scramble to your feet, weight shifting as Shouto’s stare lingers on your bare legs. It feels as though the moon is casting a spotlight, and you resist the urge to pull your shorts down.

“What is it?”

“Mug cake!” you exclaim happily, bringing your hands together. Adding an afterthought, “and a movie, too. One you haven’t seen yet”.

Shouto tilts his head, amused, but stands with you all the same. You notice then that he's changed into a pair of sweatpants, cuffed at the ankles. The t-shirt he’s wearing has a Pinky logo branded across his chest in bubble font.

“Mug cake?” he repeats.

“Cake in a mug,” you ribbed, poking at him. You start toward the kitchen. “Come on, it’ll only take like five minutes, tops!”

“Do we have cake ingredients?” he muses, following close behind. You flick on the recessed light over the stove and root through the cupboards, trying to ignore the natural warmth of his body beside yours.

“We have everything,” you insist. “I would know. I do the shopping, remember?”

Hovering unnecessarily close by, Shouto leans back against the counter and observes you with fondness as you list off the ingredients under your breath. It shouldn’t be so magnetising— you can feel something in your chest being drawn in, as though you were two unlike poles meant to come together.

Meeting his gaze, you look away and try to tame your giddiness. “Quit staring and find me two big mugs”.

You breathe a little easier when he does as you ask. Two large ceramic mugs are placed on the counter— a hideously priced vintage All Might mug gifted by Midoriya, another with cat ears on the rim and a tail curled into the handle.

“Will these do?” he murmurs. You startle at the closeness of his voice, nearly dropping the teaspoon in your hand.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Yep. Thank you”.

He nods, satisfied. “Tell me what else to do”.

You grab another teaspoon and hand it to him. The joy in his eyes gleams, so pleased at the opportunity to help. “First we need to put four teaspoons of flour and caster sugar in our mugs, then add two teaspoons of the cocoa powder. You follow?”

Shouto mirrors each action, always glancing back to your movements to check he was doing so correctly. It is unbearably endearing.

“Now we add an egg in each— one sec,” the fridge light bursts through the dimly lit kitchen, and you squint, grabbing two eggs from the tray. You give him an egg. “Now crack it into the mug and stir”.

You’ve ended up with the All Might mug. Using it is nerve wracking; all you can think of is how expensive it was, but the cat mug is Shouto’s clear favourite. Gently, you tap the egg on the counter. A hairline fracture forms on the shell. You push your thumbs in, prying it apart over the mix, letting the whites drizzle.

Shouto is… faring well enough. There’s clear viscous liquid all over his fingers, and his shell is broken in three, but the yolk made it in.

You laugh quietly at his sheepish expression as you pass him some tissue. He wipes his hands, leaning to observe while you add three teaspoons of milk and vegetable oil. “Where did you learn to make these?”

“During my apprenticeship,” you admit. Graduation hadn’t led to immediate incredible offers like it had for Shouto. You needed to get your foot in the door first, which meant working awful hours with shit pay and little recognition. “I was trying to save up back then, so I ate a lot of crap like this”.

“I’ve never tried it,” he says, repeating the steps as you had shown him. Your fingers brush with a pass of the milk. “I wasn’t allowed treats as a child so I guess I didn’t develop much of a sweet tooth”.

“That’s just like you,” you grin, tearing open the bag of chocolate chips and shaking them in his direction. “Always gotta drop depressing lore in the middle of a nice moment”.

The truth about the Todoroki family had been outed during your first year, right before the war. It’s a subject Shouto can joke about now that time has mostly healed over those wounds. Granted, his relationship with his father was cautious at best, and his older brother was locked away in a private facility for a good few decades, but things were better.

“Did you hear me?”

You blink, startled out of your reverie, “What?”

“I said I have plenty more material but you zoned out,” Shouto raised a brow, dipping into the bag of chocolate chips and sprinkling them over his cake mix, “Where did you go?”

“Ah…” you take his mug and set it beside yours inside the microwave, turning the dial to the two minute mark. “I was just thinking I kinda want to kick your dad’s ass”.

Your heart leaps. You will never be sick of Shouto’s laugh; it’s like hearing his soul. The sound is rich and warm over the loud hum, glass plate turning, mixture bubbling.

“Don’t worry about that,” the laughter tapers off into an affectionate murmur, body naturally leaning into you, “he’s been kicking himself for years now”.

“Good—!” the microwave pings, and your soul jumps out of your skin. “Jesus. Why is it always so much louder at night?”

The mugs are still hot. You press a kiss to your stinging fingertips and step aside; Shouto takes each cake out one at a time with this left hand wrapped around the mug. “Show off,” you pout.

A sweet aroma fills your senses. They’ve risen well. You lightly scratch the top with your spoon, pleased by the firmness. “We did pretty good,” you chirped.

“Smells good,” Shouto notes, cradling his mugcake to his chest as though something precious. “Are we watching a movie?”

“Yeah. Let’s pick while it’s still hot”.

You cast a fleeting look at the counter before you walk around the kitchen island, putting the minor mess to the back of your mind. Bouncing back onto the couch, you run your free hand down the cushions in search of the remote.

“Where’s the—” Shouto sits to your right and passes it to you. “Did you pull that out of thin air?”

“Yes. I have a third quirk called ‘remembering where I put things’,” he grins, dodging the half hearted swat you send his way.

“You’re a real comedian. Just for that I’m picking what I want to watch”.

Infuriatingly, Shouto looks happy about that, “You know what I’d like anyway”.

In the end you choose Ponyo because he had not yet watched it— a fact you deemed criminal. You watch his expressions soften at the vibrant scenery, idly pushing the tip of his spoon into the cake. He scoops out a piece and brings it to his lips.

You try not to beam when he visibly freezes, eyes widening with his spoon held in his mouth. Slowly, Shouto starts to chew. He makes a happy little hum. Three words crossed your mind, travelled down to your heart and diffused throughout your body. You feel them restless in the tips of your fingers. You don’t say them.

Only then do you let yourself eat yours. The spoon sinks into the sponge, a faint waft of heat bursting from the centre where the chocolate chips have melted. It’s just the right side of fluffy.

Comfortable silence hung over your heads, masked under the clinking of your spoons against the mugs.

After the soft thud of an empty mug meeting the table, breaking through the quiet, Shouto speaks.

“Bakugo mentioned you today,” he says. “Asked me to pass on a message”.

You hum to indicate that you’re listening. “He said ‘hurry the fuck up or kiss my sponsorship goodbye’, verbatim”.

“I’m not sure I like those words coming out of your mouth,” you laugh, shoulders shaking with it. Shouto tips his head back, lips twisted to hold laughter of his own. “What a bullshitter”.

Bakugo liked working with you too much to pull out. Even if he didn’t, the man was a hard nut to crack and refused to trust anyone else with his gear.

“Are you almost done? Working on his gauntlets, I mean”.

“They’re finished,” you responded, cheek resting on the heel of your hand. Shouto repositions his hips, turning his body to face you in your periphery while you watch Sousuke and Ponyo eat ramen. “Good and ready for the summer. Now he won’t level half the city when he sneezes”.

“Thank you for your hard work,” comes his mirthful reply. “Oh, and Uraraka says hello. She wants you to go to the get together tomorrow night”.

“You know I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, right?”

He huffed a laugh through his nose. A soft sound that has satisfaction singing through your veins. “I wasn’t planning on going so I forgot to mention it”.

You run your tongue along your molars. There’s still a lingering chocolate taste. “You aren’t going to go?” you ask, tone trended downwards, plainly implying your disappointment. It wouldn’t be so odd. While you’d befriended Momo and some of class B before ever meeting Shouto, you’re not sure you want to be there without him.

“I will go if you do,” he eyes the way your shoulders relax at that, attentive to a fault. “They can pick on you instead of me”.

You roll your eyes with exasperated affection and arms crossed over your middle. “Tomorrow?” mhm. “Is it at that place Denki likes?” mhm. “Thought it might be. Guess I can be your buffer for a few hours”.

“I’ll let them know,” Shouto murmurs. Colour dances across his skin, shadows moving with the picture on the screen. Ponyo dunks her head into the depths alongside Sosuke and the room is suddenly awash with vibrant blue, and you witness an unwelcome epiphany cross his mind.

Stated like a huffy accusation, he says, “You know, you’ve worked on most of my friends gear, but never mine”.

“You never asked,” you reminded him. “And you had connections in my industry already because of your… Endeavor. But I would’a jumped at the chance to get rid of that first costume you designed”.

Cheek pressed to the cushion, he smiles. “What, was the glacier too much?”

“It was so ugly Shouto,” you bemoan, leaning closer with your dramatic outburst. “The worst part was it covered up half of your pretty face. Now that’s just bad for branding”.

A soft intake of breath. Shouto’s lips part and you are caught in his awestruck stare. His voice deepens as he asks, “You think I’m… pretty?”

You swallow and muster up an easy grin, nudging his thigh with your foot. “Everyone thinks you’re pretty, you goof”.

His eyes lower, pensive for a moment, and then flicker back to the movie. Ponyo is sleepy, and the boat has shrunk, and Sousuke has big tears rolling down his cheeks.

You can’t help thinking it was the wrong thing to say.

Eventually the noise settles into static; the kind that makes the shadows seem a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. You burrow into your hoodie, pulling the collar up over the bridge of your nose as Sosuke and Ponyo are reunited with his mother in a vast underwater paradise.

The earlier exchange weighs on you. Stealing a quick glance at Shouto, you feel your anxiety chip at the expression on his face. Somewhere there, beneath the scar tissue and laughter lines and eye bags, is a small boy watching in awe.

Neither of you speak until the film comes to an end. Your head bobs along to the final song, drawn into a bubble of nostalgia. Through the thick of it, you hear a whisper. Shouto says your name and there’s barely any strength behind it, uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace, his left arm now outstretched, the intention clear.

Shouto looks right back. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the small smile on his face. You crawl across the couch cushions and curl under his arm, turning your cheek to watch the credits play out.

“You looked cold,” he belatedly adds. “Is this ok?”

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years Shouto is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position.

Swallowed by warmth, you guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm.

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as the faint tremors dwindle and your bones thaw. Fatigue creeps up, making your eyelids heavy.

Quietly, “Better”. Then you mumble, “And I do think you’re pretty, Shouto”.

“Hm?”

“Was bein’ a bit of a coward earlier,” you continue, a sleepy drawl to your words. A yawn pulls at your jaw, nose flaring with it. You think you could sink right into him, like a hot bath. “Shouto’s pretty… all… all the time…”

Your weary eyes gave in to the rhythmic stroke of his hand, consciousness drifting away. Soft dreams undulate, drawing you in, pushing you out. There’s a familiar face. They turn into your palms when you cradle them. Your stomach clenches at the sudden weightlessness and you grasp at their shirt, worried you might float away.

When you wake up you are in your own bed again. It returns to you in fragments— Shouto’s arms around you, his rumbling laugh, the tangible intimacy that had hung over your heads. Realising he must have carried you to bed you turn over to groan into your pillow.

Eventually, what draws you out into the open is the smell. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad out into the living room, searching for Shouto. Leggings, your mind whispers. He’s milling about the kitchen in his workout clothes; a little pair of shorts overtop and a green hoodie.

“Morning,” he says, placing a small plate onto a tray. You notice two bowls have already been prepared. “I made breakfast”.

The greeting dies in your throat when he looks up. A stream of dewy morning light illuminates the room, reflecting on the pale surfaces, creating an ethereal view. He combs his hair back with his fingers, tucking the longer strands behind his ears. Your gaze strays from the bruise on his jaw— now turning a sickly shade of green— to the food on his tray.

“Wow,” you mumble, feeling hunger twist in your stomach. “This actually looks edible. What’s the occasion?”

It’s a traditional breakfast. A bowl of rice, miso soup with some vegetables, a rolled egg and a plate of grilled fish. Shouto sets a pair of chopsticks down. “No special occasion. I just wanted to cook for you”.

“God. You are so…” you wave your hands at him, too overwhelmed by the sudden flush of tenderness.

He blinks, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “You just gestured to all of me”.

“I just woke up and there’s a prince using my shitty old rice cooker. Forgive me,” you remarked groggily. It feels as if your entire being is a soft spot that he won’t stop prodding at.

Gathering the tray in your grasp you avoid his stare and make way to the dining table, his quiet chuckle close behind. You sit, unnerved by his presence and fighting off dregs of sleep. The seat is cold under your thighs. “Thank you for the food,” you murmur.

Chopsticks tucked in the crook of your thumb and finger, you pick up a rolled omelette. The egg tastes sweeter than expected— mixed with more sugar than required, you think, but it’s good, and you finish in the next bite.

“Are you not leaving for work?”

Shouto hovers across from you; his hands rested on the back of another chair, and stood silently. “How is it?” he deflects.

Your teeth sink into a tofu cube, umami flavours bursting on your tongue. You hum your approval, making a show of it. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Shouto. Really”.

Over the years you’ve come to learn that Shouto reacts to praise in subtle ways, and often smiles without his mouth. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice and see it in his spirited stride. You watch as his shoulders straighten. He’s alight, peacocking his pride, and you’re not sure he realises it.

“There’s a secret ingredient”.

You pause mid chew, swallowing thickly. “If you say love I’m moving out”.

Shouto tempers his amusement with a shake of his head. Stray hair falls forward to frame his cheeks. The chair reclines back on two legs as he leans. “My mother told me that making a meal for someone is a simple way to show gratitude,” he continued. “Thank you for taking care of me last night”.

Heat simmers under your skin, all buzzing energy and jitters. The sincerity is disarming. Had this been a dream you would’ve kissed him.

Shoving another tofu cube in your mouth you chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “Don’t thank me for that,” your initial playfulness softened to reciprocate some of his vulnerability. “I know I’m not a hero but I’ll always be there for you in whatever way I can”.

Whatever his response is, you don’t hear it. Shouto murmurs inaudibly, eyes falling closed with a long exhale. Your only respite is the warmth in his gaze when he looks back at you. “I need to leave now if I don’t want to be late. But I’ll see you tonight?”

You hum an affirmative, nodding around the white rice pinched between your chopsticks. It falls apart gently on your tongue. Covering your mouth, you say, “I’ll be there”.

Shouto steps away with some finality, readjusting the hem of his shirt. The fabric hangs loose around his hips, emphasising how tight his shorts are. You mentally kick yourself.

“I’ll text you, then”.

The day passes frustratingly slowly after Shouto leaves. You technically could be sifting through the new student’s designs, but all you can think about is how charged the atmosphere had been this morning. Retiring back to your room to scream into a pillow or two, you eventually find yourself getting ready.

Shouto let you know he would be going straight from the agency. He had clothes in a locker here— casual, some jeans and a sweater, which at least allayed the fear of being underdressed.

You pull on one of your nicer jackets, holding the lapels close to your chest as you step out into the cold evening. Dark cumuli gather in sparse clumps across the darkening sky; as mercy has it, the wind is pushing them in the opposite direction.

The place isn’t far. You don’t frequent it very often but liked it well enough despite management being a bunch of rich guys playing dive-bar dress up. The low ceilings, vintage mismatched furniture and dim red lights created an intimate atmosphere.

People loved the idea of finding a hole in the wall that nobody else knew about. The catch was everybody knows, but not everybody can get in.

Flashing above the door in green neon lights is a sign grimly reading ‘The Love Shack’. The first thing you notice is the strong woodsy smell masking the faint scent of alcohol. There’s a floral tinge to it that you have trouble pinpointing.

You head inside and greet the bouncer standing by the entrance. He’s a big guy, standing around 6 feet 9, mutton chops swallowing a great deal of his face. Resting on his bald crown are a pair of comically small sunglasses.

Before he can ask for your name it is being hollered across the bar. A few heads turn and you dip your chin to shield from prying eyes. Uraraka is bounding over, Mina hot on her coattails. The pair topple into you with canorous laughter clear over the music.

“You’re here!” Uraraka effused, grabbing at your shoulders and shaking them. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Shouto has been keeping you all to himself”.

Mina slumps against you, echoing Ursraka’s words with a slurred whine. “Holy shit. Are you guys already tipsy?” unsteady on your feet you try to keep them upright.

“No,” Mina tittered, pink lips jutting into a pout. She pokes at your cheek. “You’re just too sober!”

You startle. Another hand, large and hot, splays at the small of your back. The bouncer grunts and encourages you in the direction which they came from. That appears to spur the girls on— you’re dragged to the far end of the bar, a wide booth nestled just around the corner, hidden from view.

You’re met with a chorus of cheers. Kirishima, Jirou and Shinsou beckon you forward. Bakugo is nursing a pint, offering you a wordless nod. Momo shakes her head as Denki attempts to climb out and greet you despite being trapped by the table, patting his back when the effort is fruitless.

“Alright, alright. I missed you too,” you grin, helplessly charmed by your friend's excitement. Uraraka ushers you into the booth. You scoot up beside Momo, the group packed in like sardines to make room.

Mina bends to press a wet kiss to your hairline. It leaves behind a sticky impression of her lips. “Let me go grab you a drink, babe!” she chirps, skipping off toward the bar and immediately draping her upper body over the black countertop to wave the bartender over.

The conversations resume, an easy atmosphere settling over your group. Though you aren’t entirely from their world they do well to involve you, asking for your thoughts, trying to make you laugh. Jirou blushes under the red lights when you bring up her latest album, sending you an appreciative grin. Mina returns holding an impressive amount of drinks, her fingers slipping dangerously on the condensation.

You are one strawberry daiquiri in. There’s a muted yet pleasant buzz under your skin, no doubt aided by the good company. Still, you cast an anxious glance around the room, curious about Shouto’s absence. A soft tap to the knee draws your attention.

Momo turns to whisper in your ear, “Shouto said he’ll be here on the hour,” answering that unspoken question. Your cheeks fill with an indignant breath, embarrassed by your own transparency.

“We aren’t attached at the hip, you know,” you rasp childishly. It’s a lie— you’ve lived with Shouto for only three weeks and you have already forgotten where he ends and you begin. Momo laughs, hiding it behind the back of her hand.

“Could’a had me fooled,” Bakugo interjects, scoffing behind his drink. The glass tips and he drains the last of it. “Your name is all I hear outta his mouth these days. Starting to think he doesn’t know any other words”.

You hold up an accusing finger, “Quit reading our lips, dickhead”.

The other bares his teeth, gums and all. He moves his hands in recognisable patterns at a deliberately slow pace, as if talking down to you. ‘Fuck you’ he signs.

“Oh!” Kirishima claps abruptly. You startle, almost knocking over your drink. He’s so big that it rocked the table. “Check this, Bakugo. I’ve been learning more signs, you gotta tell me if I’m doing ‘em right!”

“Fuck do I look like to you?”

“Like my handsome best bro,” is his smooth reply. Cheeks red as his hair, a cocksure grin flashing his sharp teeth; Bakugo softens, clicking his tongue in feigned annoyance, betrayed by the twitch by the corner of his mouth. You think Kirishima is like an overgrown stray that manipulated Bakugo into being his human.

Whatever he clumsily signs must have been obscene, because Bakugo roars with laughter.

“Who the hell taught you that, shitty hair?”

The hour comes and goes. Rings of water collect under the glasses. Shouto is five minutes late. You displace the group, accepting Uraraka’s loose lipped complaints as she is forced to scoot back out the booth. Pinching the fat of her pink cheek, she’s placated by the promise of another round on you.

“I’ll come with,” Shinsou offered with a lazy wave.

“Thanks,” waiting for him to get to his feet, you smile. You liked Shinsou well enough. Working as an underground hero meant you didn’t get to see him too often.

You approach the bar. The man working behind it has gossamer insectoid wings on his back, sprouting from two long slits in his fitted shirt. They glint in the light, colours refracting iridescent, reminding you somewhat of a church window.

He comes over as he catches your eye, wiping down the sticky surface. You’re honest enough to admit he’s handsome. Rugged with a baby face, hair falling over his forehead in loose curls. There’s an easy air about him, and when he flashes a crooked grin you feel the alcohol a little too thick in your veins.

Tattooed forearms brace against the bar and he leans into your magnetism, “What can I get ya?”

“They’ll have the same as last time,” you reply. “I think the tab should be under Kaminari’s name?”

He nods, eyes skimming over your form, “Won’t be long”.

You turn to find that Shinsou is staring, kissed by a reddish glow. His mouth downturns into a smirk. “I don’t think he even noticed I was here,” he drawls.

Defensiveness prickles over you. “Don’t think anyone has,” you lightly knock your arms together. “You’ve been quiet tonight”.

“Not my scene,” Shinsou sinks forward, propped up by his elbow, and rests his chin in the cradle of his hand. His heavy lidded eyes never stray. “But I can’t say no to free drinks”.

The barman works the taps in your periphery but you remain focused on Shinsou. There’s a new scar across his cheekbone, right where his persona mask ends. Another over his mouth, a thin line of rough tissue that cuts through his five o’clock shadow. The mass untameable hair on his head has been cut shorter, tapering around his neck.

“Leech”.

“Look who’s talking,” his smirk widens. You watch his gaze slide over your head and dread swirls in your stomach at the gleam in his eye. “I think your nepo baby boyfriend just got here”.

“Not my boyfriend,” you hiss under your breath. He holds his laughter between his teeth. “And don’t call him that!”

Shinsou laughs into his palm, low and rumbling. You hear the fond invocation of your name as the heat of another body appears at your back. Met with brilliant teal and stormy grey, Shouto greets you both apologetically.

Perking up self consciously, you say, “You made it!”

“Hi. Sorry, I got caught up and lost track of time”.

You’re happy to see him. He’s in fitted jeans and a dark button up shirt over an old black turtleneck. Heterochromatic eyes slide from your smiling face to Shinsou’s own disinterest, then drawn to the drinks that have steadily begun to accumulate on the bar counter.

“Ah, let me get you a drink—” you wave over the guy who served you, though it is hardly necessary when he’s already observing. He saunters over with a pint of lager, setting it beside Mina’s garish rainbow concoction.

“Everything alright?”

Squinting at the messy kanji on his name tag, you think you can make it out. Kei, it reads. “Would we be able to add another to the tab? Our friend just made it”.

For some reason Shouto crowds in closer, the cool press of his left side seeping through your shirt. Kei barely pays him any mind. “No problem,” a cold flush crawls across your back when he winks. “Anything for you. What’ll it be?”

“I’ll have a highball,” Shouto interjects. You frown at his sudden sharp demeanour, and lean your weight back in hopes of comforting him. The air warms up.

Kei’s enthusiasm fractures imperceptibly, “Alright. Let me get started on that for ya”. Shinsou snorted, his head dipped to his chest and shaking; you think you aren’t nearly drunk enough for whatever this is.

“Shit. You really are petty,” Shinsou speaks up after Kei departs to the other end of the bar. “I always thought Midoriya was exaggerating”.

“Petty?” you echo, squinting at your roommate with a soft pout. Shouto fixes his gaze to the bottles lined across the wall and looks as though he wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“Highballs are tedious to make,” Shinsou turns his back to the bar, leaning against it with his drink in hand. “You definitely chose that on purpose”.

“I didn’t,” Shouto monotoned. “I like whisky”.

“I’ve never seen you drink whisky,” your voice lilts into suspicion. Shouto narrows his eyes, pointedly avoiding yours. A terse beat passes, and you inhale with defeat. “Oh, whatever. Go say hi to the others while we bring the drinks”.

Shouto blanched. “I can help—”

“I’ve already got a big strong man here to help me,” Shinsou scoffed. There’s an umbrella resting on the lip and a purple straw in his mouth. You put a hand on Shouto’s bicep and squeeze, “You need to let Momo know you’re here before she sends out a search party”.

The contact visibly placates him. You watch after him as he makes his way to the booth. Slurred over the low music, he turns the short corner to be met with a cheer in much the same way you had.

“You two are ridiculous,” Shinsou murmurs, amused exasperation clear in his tone. Splitting the drinks into two groups to carry, you ignore his remark and the fondness swirling in your chest.

Kei appears and sets the highball down. A tall glass of liquid gold, three carved ice cubes fizzing at the bottom, a lemon garnish on the rim. “Thank you,” you tell him, pleased when he reciprocates your sheepish grin.

You let Shinsou take it— your hands are already full and slipping. The others have pulled Shouto into the booth and sandwiched him between Denki and Mina, whose distinct voices are overlapping as they try to get a word in.

Denki stops mid sentence as Shinsou slams the drinks onto the table. You do the same, albeit much more carefully. He lists them off one by one, sliding the glasses over to their persons. Shouto’s comes last.

“And in a surprising turn of events we have Todoroki with a japanese highball”.

Shouto accepts the drink with his right hand and a straight face, ignoring the harmonious ‘ooh’ that reverberates around the booth.

Bakugo points his pinky at him, “And since when do you drink whisky?”

Petulantly, Shouto mutters, “Since now”.

Ultimately deciding to pull up a chair, Shinsou sits at the head of the table while you are squeezed on the end beside Bakugo; he side glances, raising his brow in acknowledgement.

“Dude, now that we’re all here, let's have a toast!” Denki exclaims, literal sparks of joy bouncing from his crown. Everybody groans.

“I’ll hear your toast bro,” Kirishima lifts his pint, the wonderful enabler that he is. Shouto meets your gaze across the table and raises his own with a shrug.

“I, uh…” Denki shrinks under the pressure. “I dunno what I was gonna say”.

“To a quick death,” Shinsou proposed, halfheartedly holding his sake in the air.

“Hear hear,” muttered from beside you, Bakugo’s eyes fell closed. You snickered, alcohol weakening your inhibitions as you hook your chin over his shoulder. He allows it.

Momo voices her disapproval and tips her glass, “To good health”.

“To Chargebolt,” Jirou adds, a grin splitting her cheeks, laughter already bleeding into her words. “Seen him at his best, seen him at his worst, and still can’t tell the difference”.

“Oi!”

“To a livable minimum wage!” Uraraka hiccups. All the blood in her body seems to have rushed to her face; expression comically determined, betrayed by her spasming diaphragm. Everyone lifts a glass.

The night crawls on. Another round, then two. Kei refills your glass, never without a flirty comment. You feel thawed from the inside out, a silly smile fixed to your lips. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, from the too-forceful kisses given by Mina, the rough pinch of explosive fingers.

You might as well be engaged in a game of musical chairs; the only one refusing to surrender his spot is Bakugo. Jirou and Momo slink away somewhere private— ‘private’ being behind the vintage jukebox right by the bathrooms— and Kirishima scoots over to wrap you up in a side hug and pushes all the air from your lungs. Uraraka drapes herself across your front. Shinsou surrenders as Mina sits in his lap. Being with them is as innate as breathing.

Maybe you didn’t fight a war together but they still embraced you as their own. And Shouto watches with that terrible, awful, shoujo twinkle in his eyes; you flush hot whenever you catch him, inundated by the desire to reach across and kiss him.

Your pulse is quick and movements slowed. A pleasant buzz circulates around your body. After the third round Shouto begins insisting that you stay put. “Okay,” you conceded tipsily. “Tell Kei I said hi”.

Shouto leaves with a vaguely constipated frown.

Bakugo cackles and refuses to tell you what was so funny. Momo returns to the sight of you clinging to the stubborn hero’s arm, cursing his name. “What are we laughing at?” she muses. You notice a few things first: there’s a fresh bruise on her neck, a button on her dress undone, and a glass of water in her grasp.

Disheveled Momo is a rare treat. You’d tease her about it, if Bakugo did not immediately jump at the opportunity to tease you first. “Just gearhead and halfie being oblivious idiots,” he surmised. Another snort bursts from his nose. “‘Tell Kei I said hi’. Shit. Should’a seen his face”.

“Bakugo,” Momo chides, attempting to disguise her own amusement. “Go easy on them”.

He clicks his tongue, shaking you with a rough shrug of his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel and fuck already”.

Your mood tumbles, dampening as you sulk, “Shouto doesn’t want me like that”.

“Yeah, right. And vice prez didn’t just get fingered by the jukebox”.

“Bakugo!” Momo’s voice is stronger this time. She whips her head toward the other patrons and back, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I did not get… fingered,” she protested with a sharp whisper.

“What’s that?” you feign ignorance, drowsy and loose lipped. “Momo got fingered?!”

Making Bakugo laugh feels a little like winning the lottery; having him throw an arm around you as he does it leaves you dizzy with accomplishment. You curl into his side, shoulders shaking. You mouth an apology across the booth and Momo stretches to take your hand, stressing her forgiveness.

Shouto shatters the jovial atmosphere. He returns stiffly, his glare set in stone, and places a drink you did not order in front of you. After a quick sniff you realise that it’s water.

“Once you’ve drunk that we should head home,” he says. It’s posed as a suggestion but you hear the instruction. Not wanting to irritate him any further, you begin to sip.

Momo’s brow pinches with worry. “Is everything alright, Shouto?”

He breathes harshly through his nose, coming out in a puff of cold air. ”Yes, everything’s fine. I’m sorry to cut the night short, Momo,” his face softens. “It was good to see you”.

Astonishingly, Bakugo says nothing. His arm snakes from around your back. You finish the water with a big gulp, resurfacing for air. “Done,” you wipe the back of your hand across your lips.

Shouto steadies you while you awkwardly scoot around the booth. Momo gathers you both into a hug, her kind hand stroking the length of your spine. “Text us when you get home”.

“We will,” you promise, saluting as you’re gently pulled away. “See ya on Monday, great explosion murder god dynamite, sir!”

The others have dispersed amongst the small crowd. You mourn not being able to say goodbye to them all. Shouto cinches around your waist and guides you to the door. You can’t complain— instinctively sinking into the embrace, surrounded by his cologne— but you do wonder what the hurry is.

You waded through the mass of people until you both finally made your way out into the open air. The breeze encourages you closer to his front, cold and refreshing in your lungs. Already you feel as if some of your drunken enthusiasm is dissolving.

“Shouto?” his pace slows mercifully, coming to a stop underneath a streetlight. The bulb blinks in five second intervals, dousing him in sickly orange. “Are you mad?”

A warm hand hooks your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye only to avoid looking back. His lips part to speak, and when nothing comes they close. “I’m not mad,” he intoned quietly, thumb skimming over the line of your jaw. Your breath catches.

He seems so… guilty.

“I think you are,” you observe, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You bring his hand down and intertwine it with yours. The alcohol must be making you brave. “But if you’re not ready you don’t need to tell me”.

Some colour returns to his skin. Shouto huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You’re so—” cutting off that train of thought, he tugs you forward and wraps you into a hug. The crook of his neck shields you from the cold, and for a few short moments all you can hear is your heart beating in your ears.

“…Have you ever felt like there are things you want to say but there’s something that always stops you from expressing them?”

You take note of how his grip tightens, warm nose squished into your cheek as if he thought you might run. Shouto is nervous— rather, he’s making himself vulnerable to you. “I have,” you murmur.

He bows his head to burrow into your shoulder, “Then, would you give me the chance to say them?”

What you hear is: will you be patient with me?

“Now?” you ask gently. The light overhead flickers again and your vision swims. You’re realising now that his impulsivity might simply be because he’s drunk. “Don’t you want to talk at home?”

Shouto shakes his head. “If I say it now you can change your mind and go back”.

That’s worrying. You chew nervously on your bottom lip, “…Okay”.

You expect him to let go but he doesn’t, though he does loosen his hold, as if giving you the chance to leave. Following a deep inhale, Shouto solemnly admits, “That guy at the bar. Kei. He asked me to give you his phone number”.

“He did?”

“Yes,” he says.

“So where is it?”

Dread and fatigue curdled in your stomach. You hear the moment Shouto swallows his caution. The atmosphere sours as he admits, “I burned it”.

You step back, leaving his arms limp at his sides. He looks betrayed. Like you’re testing the strength of a promise you don’t recall making. This was not a good time nor place to talk about this.

“My feet hurt,” his eyes widened in confusion. “I’m cold and I’m drunk and my feet hurt, Shouto. I want to go home”.

The request registers slowly. You watch his face fall, gathering a facsimile of a smile. “Okay. Then let’s go home”.

Your chest aches. You want to cry. You scramble for his hand and squeeze it tight, hating the despondent tone in his voice. “We’re too drunk. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” and that seems to lessen the rigidity in his bones.

From then on, the walk is done in heavy silence. Your thoughts are muddied and loud, emotions bouncing back and forth between resentment and uncertainty.

Underneath all of it is a seedling of hope that you daren’t nurture.

The atmosphere clings, following you all the way home, suffocating as you stand a metre apart in front of your respective bedrooms. You bid him goodnight, hand lingering on the handle. Anticipation sits like a stone in your chest.

You lie in bed waiting for him to knock.

He doesn’t.

Next time you open your eyes you wince at the throb behind them; it pings around the inside of your skull and you groan into your pillow.

There’s movement in the apartment. Shouto had always been an early riser. Cold relief washes over you at the confirmation that he was here. Last night filters through your mind. One scene after another you try to make sense of it all.

Kei had been genuinely flirting— you didn’t really think to take it seriously at the time. It was harmless fun, and you figured he was just the type that enjoyed teasing.

Shouto must’ve realised it early on. That was the reason he stepped in and kept you away from the bar. But that didn’t line up right with the reality you knew, because the only reasonable explanation for his behaviour would be that—

You shoot upright, kicking off your covers, and immediately feel it rebound. Thumbs pressed to your temples, you massage firm circles into your skin until the pain dulled.

Holy shit. Shouto was jealous.

A strange blanket of exhaustion settles back over you, as though your muscles have atrophied. You slide down the headboard and stare up at the marks on the ceiling, all sprawled out like dropped skeins of yarn. Suddenly your bedroom was a refuge from an inevitable relationship altering conversation.

Shouto had been jealous of a man vying for your affection. Your Shouto: gentle, placid, considerate, patient, funny, beautiful Shouto.

“Fuck,” you whisper into the emptiness. You can hear the coffee machine brewing in the distance. You’re torn between screaming into your hands and jumping on the bed.

You settle on getting up. Slowly. It’s clear you had been drunker than you thought; your pyjamas are on back to front. You tremble as you slip your arms through the sleeves and right the collar, padding over to the door.

Shouto wanted to talk last night and you stopped him. Guilt gnaws away at you. All that courage was shot down. Pretending to forget about it isn’t an option— you had to do this.

The plan to be stealthy is squandered by the hinge on your door. A harsh squeak reverberates through the apartment. You huff, lowering from your tip toes, and walk towards the kitchen.

Another body enters the hallway. Shouto turns on his heel and nearly drops his mug as you almost collide. Reflexes hammered into him, he catches it in one hand and manoeuvres you away from the hot splash with the other.

“Shit. Did it burn you?” he breathes, bringing your hand up to his mouth. A chilly puff of air blows over your skin and you shiver.

You clear your throat and try to find your voice. “I think you got it. Thank you, Shouto”.

The sound of his name pulls him out of his reverie. You try not to feel hurt when he drops your hand like hot coal. “Sorry,” casting a forlorn look at the half empty mug and the small coffee puddle at his feet. Lips pressed into a thin line, he says, “I was bringing you some coffee. Thought you might need it”.

Delicate tendrils of steam dance and dissipate into the air. You gently cup your hands around his and receive the mug, a small smile pulling at your mouth. His eyes are keen and searching as you take a drink.

“I definitely needed it,” you tell him between sips. The coffee paves a hot path down your throat to your stomach— the warmth spreads, seeking to fill the spaces between. All the earlier fear is washed away.

The time you spend observing one another feels like a short eternity. You watch hope visibly thread into his features, brighter; the way he always should be.

Softly, you ask, “Do you think we could talk about last night?”

“Yeah,” the word comes in a whisper. Head inclining, Shouto nods in one slow motion. Then, louder, “I should clean up, first. Where do you want to…?”

“Where?” you repeat. The thoughts in his head are written plainly across his forehead and you longed to rid him of them. Tilting and raising your brows suggestively, you tease, “Bedroom?”

Shouto gives an amused huff and the remnants of caution are blown away like seeds in a dandelion clock. His steps are lighter, a subtle bounce to them. Light filters into the living room and your spirit is buoyed by giddiness and wonder.

What had you been so afraid of?

You wait in the crook of the L shaped couch, legs curled beneath your body, facing the tall standing windows that overlook the city. Your headache has lessened into a quiet echo.

While he mops up the coffee you finish off the last drops in your cup. You take a moment to appreciate your surroundings. The emptiness you once felt in this room no longer exists. Blankets strewn across the cushions, small crochet coasters, pictures put into frames, books left face down to save the page, things out of place— it felt so lived in.

It felt like home.

You sit up when footfalls approach. Shouto is pretty in the late morning light, under eye shadows and all. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“Not much,” he confesses. His weight shifts before he finally decides on sitting beside you, turning to mirror your posture. “I thought I might’ve messed things up”.

You stretch to put your mug on the coffee table and his eyes follow attentively. “Shouto, you didn’t mess anything up,” he wrings his hands together in his lap, searching your face for dishonesty and finding none. “Though you probably shouldn’t have burned up that guy's number”.

“Probably,” he affirmed. The hair on his left side is pressed flat to his head. You count the creases on his cheek, stopping at the healing bruise on his jaw. The movement of his full mouth draws you back, “I am sorry for that. It was childish of me and I took away your choice”.

You hum, shuffling closer on your knees. Shouto’s expression is beautifully open, and you understand it, because your heart beat is thrumming just the same. “Next time, give me the number so I can ask you to burn it myself”.

Shouto’s fiddling halts. It’s a relief. You thought if he pulled at that hangnail any more he might unravel in front of you. A crease forms between his brows, “What?”

“I don’t want anyone else’s number. I…” losing some of your strength, you close your eyes for a second. Inhale deeply, continuing on an exhale, “Last night, you were jealous”.

It’s not a question. Shouto nods, his hand making an aborted reach for your own but thinking better of it.

You slide your palm against his. Your fingers fill the spaces between his knuckles. Shouto holds on tight and you ask, “…Why?”

A nail traces random shapes into his skin. You watch him watching your finger, mouth curled into a small, wobbly smile. He steels his resolve, an internal monologue you aren’t privy to. With spine tingling cadence, he says, “Because I’m in love with you”.

You’re not sure what you anticipated. There isn’t much that could prepare you for such a long awaited admission— for something you’d only daydreamed about hearing. The hunger in your heart rears its head, seeing his words as permission to want. To take.

Shouto carries on, incognisant to your plight. “I made peace with my feelings a long time ago. It’s not something I wanted you to worry about”.

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him. “Deciding things for me”.

“I don’t want you to make peace with them. I want you to share them. With me,” Your eyes meet as he peers up. There’s a stray kiss curl by his temple, white and soaking up the sun. He shudders when you twist it gently around your finger. “I love you too, dummy”.

Heat prickles at the back of your neck, feeling the shift in atmosphere. “Oh,” is his eloquent reply. A slow blooming grin pulls at his mouth as the reality sets in.

“Yeah. Oh”. Giddiness bubbles in your chest like water in a wellspring and you let go to cup his face. Shouto leans into the cradle your hands form, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb skims over the scar tissue. His ears are warm.

Guided by fleeting impulses you press a quick kiss to his left eyelid, and he sucks in a shaky breath. You move lower, nose bumping his cheek, to press another to the corner of his mouth.

“Is this okay?” you whisper, feeling like you were on the delicate precipice of something incredible. His mouth turns to chase yours, bicoloured eyes peeking beneath his lashes.

“Kiss me,” he murmurs, and it comes like a puff of steam. “On the mouth this time”.

Your lips tremble as you try not to laugh, aligning with his. You kiss him, petal soft and gentle, and feel it when he smiles. Tentative, derived from uncertainty and unfamiliarity.

Shouto’s cool fingers slide around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. Don’t go anywhere. You answer in kind— hands sliding down to his chest to guide him back into the cushions and feel his heart racing as you settle your knees either side of his hips. You barely part for air, and Shouto follows your lead.

“Again,” he mumbles.

The intensity grows. Shouto kisses like it’s his last. Strong arms wrap around your waist, wandering hands mapping out the topography of your body. Somewhere between, your tongue dips into the seam, biting his bottom lip and plucking a whine right from his mouth. Heat flutters low in your abdomen; hips squirm between your thighs, his chest pressed to your own.

“Shouto,” you groan, pushing harder, needing to be closer, threading into the soft hair at the back of his head. Fingers curl into the fat by your hips, they pull, rocking you into his lap. Invigorated, Shouto nips at your lips. Arousal spikes through you at the cool exhale— his tongue slides over your own and along the grooves in your teeth, wet and cold.

“Fuck, is that—” you pant, head falling back as he begins to leave a trail of hot kisses down your throat. “S’that your quirk?”

He hums an affirmative. The sound is resonant, deep in his chest and satisfied. Smug. You feel the impression of his smile against your jugular. Static fills your brain. Your thighs clench, rutting forward to relieve the ache between your legs, imagining all the things his mouth could do.

At some point you part to catch your breath. Your foreheads come together, sharing awed laughter. Shouto cheeks are pink and there’s a soft smile on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips. His hand moves to cup your jaw, rubbing small circles into the cheekbone.

“We should… slow down…” his chest heaves, eyes swallowed by his pupils. They fall to his lap, right where you’re pressed to his cock. You file away the lazy slur in his voice and wonder if that’s where all his blood went. “…I want to do this properly”.

Figures that he would have more willpower than you; though you get the sense if you pushed, he’d give, and every surface in the apartment would see you laid out. Gathering your thoughts is made much more difficult as he kneads at your thigh, heedless to your struggle.

“Okay baby,” you murmur, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his brow bone. His ears turn red and you’re alight, “You like that?”

Shouto tucks his grin against your shoulder. Like before, he locks both arms around your back and holds you close. You comb your fingers through his hair, overlapping white and red, a long tender moment passing.

“You love me,” he whispered apprehensively. Then again, thick with wonderment. “You love me”.

It’s unbelievable to him— and that’s unbelievable to you. Shouto is easy to love, moreso than anyone you have ever met. All clandestine glances, soft spoken words and inside jokes; a book of every witty little thing you’ve said, keeping your words close, giving importance to the things you enjoy; he’s gag gifts and thoughtfulness and open arms, the reason all your hot drinks never go cold, he’s the cream that never melts. He’s home.

You cradle him to your chest with no intention of letting go. The sun crawls higher, casting a warm blanket over your shoulders.

“I do,” you reply. “How could I not?”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

3K notes · View notes

joonsmagicshop · 7 months

Text

Friend or Fuck

Summary: A drunken night leads to a good morning.

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader. Jungkook and reader are friends, All the boys are mentioned.

Word Count: 8k

Rating: M/18+ because smut

Tags: Drinking, mentions of throwing up, drunk talk, smut, fingering, dirty talk, someone is a cock blocker, cum eating, Namjoon's back

Author Note: um hi! It has been a while since I've written fanfiction but this idea would not leave me alone so here we are! If you enjoy let me know and there mayyyy be a part two

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The party was in full swing by the time Jungkook had pulled up to Jimin's house in his sleek black car. Of course, Jimin seemed to invite the whole neighborhood so Jungkook circled around the subdivision until he found a parking spot two blocks down from the giant house and loud music.

You let out a small sigh as Jungkook put the car into park and flipped his visor down to check his hair one more time, his tongue darting out to lick at his lip ring, something he did when he was excited...or nervous.

You looked out the window and wrapped your arms around yourself staring out into the dark October night. You certainly didn't dress to walk this many blocks, you instantly regretted the choice of a little black dress and heels.

“Y/N no getting cold feet now, you promised.” Your friend reminded you as he flipped the visor up and stared you down, his dark eyes gleaming in the glow of the overhead street lights and sending a small reassuring smile your way. He knew you didn't really want to go to this party but you had promised you'd go to the next one months ago and regretted it when Jungkook reminded you of that promise a couple nights prior.

The air was bitingly cold and Jungkook shucked off his leather jacket to give to you. You wrapped it around your body as you made your way up the street inhaling his spicy cologne.

“Come on it's going to be fun! We haven't been to a party in ages!” He said trying to hype you up as you rolled your eyes. He seemed to be skipping down the street in excitement and you shook your head.

“What do you mean we? Kook, you were partying with the guys last weekend. I would know, I got the call from Jin at one in the morning.” You teased with a smile as Jungkook flashed you an embarrassed grin

“Okay smarty pants well you haven't been to a party in a while, I miss hanging with you at these things and I know the boys miss you too.” He replied with a shy smile, shoving his hands in his pockets to ward off the cold.

Before you can argue he speaks again.

“You have been so stressed with work and life...I just want you to have a fun night that's all.”

You smiled. Jungkook was your best friend and knew you better than most people. Sure a party was not your way to unwind and relax but it would be nice to see everyone again, and it did feel nice to dress up. Your dress had been sitting in your closet for far too long without being worn, and even though you weren't wearing the most comfortable heels you did feel beautiful.

“Will I even see you with all your fan girls around?” You tease bumping into him playfully on the sidewalk as Jungkook blushes and shakes his head, bangs falling into his eyes.

Without fail, at almost every party a group of girls take him away from you. Jungkook is too polite to say no and usually will shake them off within an hour or so, sometimes he's less successful and you won't see him for most of the night.

“You know Taehyung is going to be there” He teases back as you roll your eyes.

“Kook.” You warn.

“Come on!”

“No. We aren't having this conversation.”

“He's a good guy”

“I know.”

“And it's been what? Two years.”

“Kook...drop it.”

“And we both heard the stories about him. His fingers. His mouth.”

“Jungkook!” You exclaim as you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment as he chuckles beside you. You reach out to smack his arm which only makes him laugh harder.

“Okay okay, so maybe not Taehyung but it has been two years. You can date whenever you are ready I just want you to be happy that's all! A party full of people, possibly single people. Might be good for you, you know?”

You pondered over his words as Jimin's house came into view.

“I am happy Jungkook. I have a good job and good friends. I'm all good. Super good.” You answer trying to avoid his gaze.

This wasn't the time or place for this conversation. Sure you were a good enough liar, telling everyone that you were too busy focusing on yourself and your job to date. Sure, most of the time you did love being single but there were those times when you were in a crowd or around coupled-up people and you realized how alone you truly were. It had been two years since you dated someone since you were intimate with someone. It was a messy breakup and you convinced yourself you were better off single.

Jungkook steps in front of you and lightly grabs your arms stopping you in your tracks.

“There were too many goods in that sentence for me to believe you. I'm going to drop it because we don't need sad faces before we go to this party I want you to have fun. Promise me you will have some fun tonight. Please.” He says staring you down.

You nod.

“And if you fuck someone please wear protection I'm not ready to be an honorary uncle.”

You smack his arm again as you both walk up the driveway and can already hear the music thumping from inside.

You hand him back his jacket at the door as he knocks and Jimin opens it with a big grin and open arms.

Your jaw drops as you take in Jimin's house. The entrance is huge with high ceilings and a large staircase leading upstairs. People are everywhere and the music is so loud you can feel the vibrations throughout your body

“Nice huh?” Jimin teases as a couple of girls come up, not even noticing you as they hug Jungkook and practically drag him away. He shoots you an apologetic look over his shoulder as he is dragged into the crowd and within an instant disappears among all the people.

You grit your teeth. Not only did you not want to go to this party you now lost Jungkook for who knows how long. Luckily Jimin was still hanging by your side.

“New record I think? What was that like three seconds?” You ask Jimin as he throws back his head and laughs.

He loops an arm around you and gives you the house tour. He shows you the massive kitchen where it seems like most of the alcohol is located, spread out on the kitchen table and counters. People are mulling about and a giant stack of red solo cups sits right in the center of the table which looks sticky with spilled drinks.

Jimin shows you the dining room and the living room where Jungkook is already seated on a squishy-looking couch surrounded by some girls who seem to look at him like he hung the stars. There are two girls on each side of him and one at his feet. You chuckle as he makes eye contact with you and mouths a “sorry” You just shake your head and wave him off. You knew this would happen away.

Jimin leads you to a corner where Jungkook's friends are hanging out. You knew them all fairly well and greeted them with a smile as Jimin brought you over and gave you a little twirl as an entrance.

“Y/N long time no see!” Jin exclaims as he wraps you in a tight hug with has you gasping for breath. His eyes are gleaming as he throws an arm around your shoulders and you take in the other guys in front of you.

Namjoon is standing there keeping an eye on everyone, as usual, Yoongi shoots you a small smile before going back to his phone. You lock eyes with Taehyung and feel yourself blush. He does look good tonight wearing all black and his dark hair is fluffy and falling in front of his eyes.

He shoots you a boxy grin and you smile back as you break eye contact and scan the crowd for familiar faces.

“Where's Jungkook?” Namjoon asks as he scans the crowd as well.

You start looking around for Jungkook through the crowd so you miss Namjoon's eyes on you, taking in your short black dress and heels.

“The girls got him three seconds!” Jimin teases as he shakes his head and the other boys laugh. You feel yourself lighten up with them around and join in on their laughter as you explain how the two of you hardly got through the door before he was dragged away.

“He dragged you to this party and didn't even get you a drink. We have to teach him manners.” Tae says catching your gaze as his eyes twinkle mischievously.

“Come on Y/N let's get you something.” Jimin offers as he takes your arm and Tae follows the both of you into the kitchen.

Before you know it you are handed a red cup, not even bothering to see what was in it, you take a drink. The alcohol burns your throat but there is a fruity aftertaste that makes it tolerable. You see some people you recognize and start to talk to them, just catching up on life. Jimin excuses himself as the doorbell rings but Taehyung stays by your side as you catch up with some old friends.

-------------------------

The night goes on and you start to feel better...a lot better. All the anxiety about the party has dissolved, instead, it is replaced with a soft fuzzy almost giddy feeling. Or maybe that was the booze.

Taehyung had made sure your cup was always filled and kept you close most of the night. He was your saving grace honestly because Jungkook had not reappeared after the girls had dragged him away and even though you had scanned the crowd multiple times you still couldn't spot him anywhere.

You were now seated at a tall bar stool in the kitchen talking to some girls you had just met tonight when you realized your cup was empty. You frowned. All night it had not been empty and now it was? You looked up and scanned the room for Taehyung, your bartender for the night but you couldn't find him. He was just gone? When did he leave? How long had you not noticed?

Everything felt blurry and kind of fuzzy as you continued to look through the crowd, which at this point was more a blur of color than real people. Since when did the kitchen get so crowded? And where was Tae?

You decided to walk around the party to see if you could find him or any of the guys. You put the cup down on the island next to you and tried to slide off the stool but in your drunken state, you stumbled and nearly hit the floor if it wasn't for a strong set of arms holding you steady.

At first, you thought it was Taehyung, who had finally come to find you but as you looked up you realized you were looking at Namjoon. He held you close and had an unwavering stare that made you nervous. His dark hair was falling into his eyes and he looped an arm around your waist to hold you steady, his hands hot on your side.

You fumbled and finally got your feet on the floor as he practically hoisted you up. You leaned on him for support and tried to thank him but you were having a hard time with words at the moment and you frowned, your cup was still empty.

“Y/N You okay.” He asked as you nodded, knowing if you spoke it would give away how not okay you were at the moment. God, how many drinks did Tae give you? You had lost count but then again after the second one you stopped counting anyway.

“Yeah, I just. Bathroom-need-the yeah. Bathroom.” You stammered as you felt hot under his piercing gaze. You broke from his grip and searched the house for a bathroom, stumbling along and bumping into people. You wondered if the amount of people doubled since the start of the party as it felt harder to navigate.

You vaguely remember Jimin showing you a bathroom that was right off the kitchen but as you opened the door it turned out to be a pantry.

God, how drunk were you?

You continued to navigate through the party eventually finding a bathroom up the stairs and down a hallway. Once inside you locked the door and placed your hands on the cold sink. You stared at your reflection in the mirror which was slightly swaying and you brought your face close to the mirror inspecting yourself.

You thought about the events of the night that led you here. How Jungkook still had not returned to your side, how Taehyung had stayed with you the whole night, told you you had looked pretty, kept your cup filled, how he took care of you.

You thought about what Jungkook had said on the walk to the house. His words rang in your ears louder than the music that was still blaring downstairs.

“Just promise me you will have some fun tonight”

And you did. You had a lot of fun tonight. You felt giddy and happy and slightly tipsy.

“I'm gonna fuck Tae.” You said to your reflection earning a giggle to spill from your lips as you stared at yourself.

It only made sense. Out of all the girls he could have talked to tonight, he chose you. You could trust him. Jungkook told you to have fun and that would be fun. Sure you never ever had sex with someone at a party but you also never partied and here you were in Jimin's bathroom feeling the happiest and lightest you had felt in weeks.

He could break your dry spell. He could be good for you. So good for you and good to you. Of course, you had heard the stories, even his friends had. Tae never denied it saying he didn't kiss and tell. You could be his secret.

Suddenly you couldn't stop thinking about him. His fluffy brown hair, his boxy smile. The way he laughed when Yoongi told a funny story. How he nearly took J-Hope down while giving him a hug when he finally showed up to the party, fashionably late of course. The best part was, he was as drunk as you were. So if the sex was bad it didn't matter. You doubted either of you would remember. It was perfect.

You ruffled your hair and tried to fix your mascara nearly poking yourself in the eye in the process. You pulled down your dress to go for more of a sultry look and as you opened the door you were met with a broad chest.

You almost ran right into it and when you looked up you were eye to eye with Namjoon, who had a worried look on his face. He must have followed you to the bathroom. Classic Namjoon looking out for everyone.

“Joonie!” You squealed as you pulled him in for a hug, taking in his spicy cologne and your head spun, the room spun, everything was kind of spinning at the moment.

He embraced you and held you still as you nearly tripped on your feet.

“Joonie Guess what!?” You said brightly as you watched his lips twitch into a smile at the cute nickname you gave him.

“Y/N how much have you had to drink? Are you okay?” He asked all serious and you threw back your head and laughed. Poor Namjoon always so serious. He needed to lighten up. You wanted him to feel how you felt. Light as a feather...or a nice pretty cloud. Besides all the spinning.

“Doesn't matter. Namjoon do you know where Taehyung is? I need him. It's so so important.” You slur, tilting your head and trying to look as cute as possible so he would help you. You had seen Jungkook try that with him many times and it always worked. You tried to imitate Jungkook's pouty smile.

Namjoon cocks an eyebrow and stares you down. His body is blocking the exit to the bathroom caging you in.

He didn't seem to want to help you.

Well,

Fine.

“Joonie move over I need to find Tae.” You whine as you place both hands on his chest and try to move him. His body is warm under your hands and he doesn't move at all as you push your force into him.

“What do you need him for?” Namjoon asks tilting his head.

“None of your business.” You tease. You didn't know why he had to be so serious all the time. It was ruining your plans.

“How about this? You tell me and I let you leave.” He says smiling at you, dimple poking out.

“For your information Joon. I'm going to fuck him.” You say crossing your arms and puffing out your chest to make yourself look bigger.

Namjoon puts his hands on either side of the bathroom threshold caging you in further.

“Y/N how much have you had to drink? Seriously. You aren't yourself right now.” He says staring you down as you look up at him with narrowed eyes.

“I don't know. I didn't bother counting because that's stupid! Taehyung gave me drinks and I drank them. It was polite! Jungkook told me to have fun and I was having fun till you showed up.” You shot back feeling annoyed.

Namjoon let out a low chuckle which only annoyed you further.

“I didn't want to come here in the first place but I guess I made a promise to Jungkook. I hate these parties but I sucked it up and came. Now I'm happy and having fun and you're trapping me in this bathroom. You are the worst Namjoon. Either help me find him or move over and I'll find him myself.” You bite out staring him down with the same hard stare he is giving you.

“I'm not letting you do something stupid because you are drunk Y/N,” Namjoon explains slowly as if he is talking to a child. It makes your blood boil even more.

“Fine! I won't have sex with Tae.”

“Good.”

“I'll fuck someone else. Jin sure is handsome.” You snap out trying to get under his skin some more. You weren't sure why you were pushing this issue so much. However, once you started you felt like you couldn't stop. Namjoon was going to ruin your fun so you were going to be a brat.

Namjoon's jaw goes slack before he composes himself.

“Y/N how about we get you some water? I think you need to sober up first. Then I will take you home before you do something stupid that you will regret.” He replies as you shoot him a death glare and are about to spit out some snarky response when you feel funny, and not the good giddy kind of funny you had been feeling.

In a split second, you are spinning around and throwing yourself at the toilet throwing up everything you drank. You hear the door close and your head spins thinking how badly you fucked up for Namjoon to see you get sick and just leave you there all by yourself.

You are surprised when you feel hands grab your hair and hold it back as another wave of nausea hits you and you throw up again.

-------------------------

The first thing you notice when you wake up is a water bottle sitting on a nightstand with a pill bottle next to it.

Pain killers

For your hangover

which you are definitely feeling right now.

You buried your face into the pillow and closed your eyes, smiling. Jungkook sure didn't know how to take care of you. This was why he was your best friend. He was always so good to you.

However

Something felt off

Because Jungkook didn't have that color of nightstand, and these sheets certainly didn't smell like the cologne you knew he always wore.

You slowly opened your eyes and looked around.

You were in someone's bedroom. A very unfamiliar bedroom.

Panic seized your body as you sat fully up and felt the room spin. You closed your eyes and counted backward from ten waiting for the spinning to stop.

Once it felt safe you cracked open your eyes and took in your surroundings.

The room was very spacious, with hardwood floors and white walls where random art pieces hung. Books were scattered on the floor in an organized kind of way. There were floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall and the curtains were drawn, you could see sunlight peaking out from the bottom of the curtains and you rubbed your eyes wondering what time it even was.

You tried to piece together the events of last night

Going to the party with Jungkook

Hanging out with his friends

Hanging out with Taehyung

Having drinks

Losing Taehyung in the crowd

Then...

Then?

You shook your head.

You couldn't remember the rest.

All you knew was you were in a stranger's bed and you needed to figure this out. NOW

Your hands shook as you peeled off the covers and looked down. You were most definitely not wearing the black dress you wore to the party. Instead, you were wearing an oversized men's shirt that was a soft gray and by the feeling of it, it was very well worn. The tee shirt was long enough to be a dress and you for sure weren't wearing pants but you still had underwear on.

You felt sick

Not because of the hangover but because you could not remember what the heck happened.

You spotted the bathroom door and stood on shaky legs to get yourself there.

Your reflection in the mirror was pretty rough, dark circles under your eyes and your skin was paler than normal and when you peered closer you realized all the makeup you wore last night was gone. Someone had taken it off and put you to bed.

Your stomach lurched

But who did this?

You had never been this confused in your life.

Suddenly a knock on the door shook you from your thoughts. You froze hands still on the sink and a shocked expression on your face, whoever it was, you were about to find out.

“Y/N... you okay?” came a soft deep voice that you recognized.

Namjoon.

Namjoon took you home and took care of you.

But why?

You didn't remember even talking to him last night except for when Jimin brought you over at the start of the party.

“Y/N?” He repeated.

“Yes, I'm! I'm okay.” You answer back cringing at how scratchy your voice sounds.

Namjoon didn't bother answering but you could hear his soft footsteps walk away from the door and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

You knew you couldn't hide in the bathroom forever so you splashed some water on your face and dried it off. You pulled his shirt down further and slowly ambled out of the bathroom. Your eyebrows shot up as he was sitting on the edge of the bed swiping through his phone. He looked cozy wearing black sweats and a dark green sweater.

You suddenly felt awkward and way too exposed as he looked up and shot you a shy smile.

“Um. Hey?” You mumbled as you made your way over to the bed and got back under the covers feeling like a little kid that was about to be scolded.

“Hey yourself. How are you feeling?” He asked as he pocketed his phone and stared you down.

“Good.. um...I mean... honestly confused.” You say with a small laugh trying to dispel the tension you were feeling. Why was this so awkward? Why were you so awkward?

“Okay, so how much of last night do you remember, or want to remember?” He asks with a grin as he adjusts his glasses and shifts so he's sitting at the end of the bed facing you.

“Oh god.” You reply covering your face with your hands feeling embarrassment seep through your entire body.

“How bad was it?” You ask needing the answer but also fearing it.

Namjoon let out a small chuckle as he motioned to the water and the medication sitting on the nightstand.

You took a drink and swallowed the pill under his watchful gaze.

“I mean it wasn't bad bad. You didn't do anything embarrassing in front of the whole party or anything. You just had a lot of drinks and had a hidden agenda that I didn't let you...um...accomplish? You threw up and finally let me convince you that I should take you home.”

He paused and you winced. There was more.

“Um, Jimin helped me get you into the car, don't worry we smuggled you down the back staircase so no one saw. You were... pretty drunk and saying...things.”

This was the moment you wished the bed and floor would swallow you whole. You burned red as Namjoon kept speaking.

“Then it was raining and I finally got you to Jimin's car. You thought-” He smiled and his dimple appeared “You thought it would be fun to run in the rain. Jimin had to chase you and got soaked.”

You covered your face with your hands and groaned.

“Want me to keep going?” Namjoon asked as you peeked through your fingers.

“How bad is the rest?” You asked feeling dread pool in your stomach.

“Jimin drove you and I stayed in the backseat with you in case you got sick again. Don't worry he told Yoongi to keep an eye on things and said he left to get more water for the party anyway. Um, you didn't want to go home. You wanted to...um... not be alone? So I told Jimin just to take you to my place, and uh. Here we are.” He said not making eye contact with you as you grabbed the nearest pillow to cover your face with.

How embarrassing.

“Then you kind of just walked in and found my bedroom on your own and you shucked off your clothes grabbed my shirt from the desk chair, put it on, and passed out. I took off your makeup because you were soaked from the rain and I didn't want you to sleep with it on.” He admitted looking up at you with a shy smile.

Shame burned through your body as you kept the pillow over your face and threw yourself back so you were lying down, white hot embarrassment coursing through you.

You still didn't know how many drinks Tae had given you and you wished you had been more responsible so you wouldn't be in this situation. Fricken Taehyung.

“Jungkook?” You asked suddenly alarmed that he wasn't a part of this. He didn't know you were taken from the party and he was going to flip.

“Jimin let him know you were staying with me. Everything was taken care of Y/N.” Namjoon said smoothly.

“I- Namjoon I'm so sorry I'm so embarrassed. This is, super embarrassing,” You admit as you remove the pillow from your face and sit up taking him in. He locks eyes with you and smiles softly.

“Y/N believe me... sure you said some stuff but this is not the most embarrassing drunk story I have been a part of. Remind me one time to tell you about Jin and the lawn decorations,” he says with a laugh that has you smiling

“Do I? Do I want to know what I said?” You ask timidly fearing the answer.

Namjoon broke your gaze and you saw a pink blush rise over his cheeks and ears.

Oh no.

“Um well remember when I said you had a hidden agenda. Do you... remember what that was.” He said suddenly very interested in the blue checkered duvet.

Your mouth went dry and you shook your head.

“Um, well you wanted to have sex with Taehyung. Something about him breaking your dry spell. You were very upset when I was blocking the door. Then you mentioned wanting to fuck Jin. Called him handsome. He'd love nothing more than to hear that.” Namjoon teased as you grit your teeth and once again hid your face.

Your heart was racing and you thought you would die from embarrassment. No way did you tell Namjoon that you wanted to fuck his best friend. I mean sure you had joked about it with Jungkook but that was different. So, so different.

“On the way down the stairs, you told Jimin about your...dry spell and how it didn't need to be one of Jungkook's friends, it could be anyone at the party. Then you started to mumble some random words and we eventually got you outside.” He said playing with his fingers and still not looking at you.

“I'm never going to live this down am I?” You ask with burning shame.

“Don't worry this whole thing is our secret. I don't think Jimin and I could survive if Jin knew you thought he was handsome and Tae knew drunk you wanted to have sex with him. They already have big enough egos, and having someone as beautiful as you want them? I'd never hear the end of it.” Namjoon teases which causes the tension to dispel and you let out an embarrassed laugh.

“I mean drunk me has good taste. Almost went after Mr World Wide Handsome himself” You tease back as Namjoon lets out a belly laugh and shakes his head smiling wide.

“Now, what about sober you?” He asks with a cock of an eyebrow which causes your laugh to be cut short as you stare him down, your mood changing from silly to serious with one sentence.

“Uh, I'm not sure. Sober me is a lot smarter than drunk me and would probably make better decisions.” You admit, your eyes not leaving his.

What was he getting at?

“Well, you went on and on about a dry spell and wouldn't let it go. I'm here for whatever you need. A friend, a fuck. Just saying. I mean, I do think you are beautiful and I'm so surprised someone hasn't made you theirs yet, two years can be a long time without a proper fuck.” Namjoon boldly states as your jaw drops and he pats your knee through the covers.

“I'm going to make some coffee, come join me if you like.” He says with a wink, leaving the bed and heading toward the door not bothering to look back.

What the fuck just happened?

Did he just offer to?

You weren't sure what was going on all you knew was Namjoon had offered to have sex with you and you felt like you got whiplash. Where did this even come from? Sure you had talked to him at parties and sure he was one of Jungkook's friends but this side of him you had never seen.

He was always so responsible, looking out for everyone, taking care of everyone sure he was a guy so he had needs but you never thought of him in this way. However, he planted the seed and now you can't stop thinking about it.

How tall he was and how he looked so good last night in his black silk shirt and dress pants. How he stood silently sipping a drink and staring everyone down. Tall, silent, sexy.

You felt heat pool in your stomach and felt your pussy throb at the thought of him under you, or on top of you. It had been two years, and Namjoon had offered, and it would be rude to reject him. Right. Right?

You slowly got out of bed and padded to the door to crack it open. Your eyes widened as you saw him in the kitchen, he had taken off his sweater and instead was wearing a white tank top which showed off his back muscles and his arm muscles. You internally groaned. He looked so good.

You timidly walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his body, pressing your face into his back. He stilled his movements and just let you stand there and hug him as the morning sun shone through the window and cast beams on the dark wood floors.

His scent filled your nose as your hands climbed up his firm chest. You felt a laugh rumble out of him as your hands ran along his chest and up to his collarbones before sliding down, down, down until you were at the hem of his sweatpants.

You could hear his breath hitch and he froze on the spot. For a moment you thought you had read the whole thing wrong and embarrassed yourself again when his big hands laced through yours and brought them down to wear you felt his cock, hard and straining against his sweatpants.

You let out an audible gasp as he turned around and stared you down, his eyes darkening and his tongue darting out to lick at his lips.

Your eyes were blown wide taking him in like this.

“Please tell me you want this?” He asked in a rough voice, eyes scanning yours.

“I just, I never thought, I didn't even think you noticed me.” You confessed softly, eyes not leaving his.

“God Y/N how could I not. You are so beautiful and I mean, I don't want to sound like a creep. I didn't take you back here just for this. I took you back as a friend because I was concerned about you. If you want this we can. If not we can go back to being friends. I don't want you to feel obligated. Or like you have to. That's not how I imagined this going down.” He admits with a shy blush.

“You imagined this?” You say softly with a teasing grin.

Before he can respond you wrap your arms around him and bring him in for a searing kiss. His arms immediately wrap around you as he lifts you up on the island and your legs part for him to stand in between. You wrap your legs around his hips bringing him closer as you deepen the kiss.

His kisses are strong and firm as his hands rub up and down your thighs. You are melting into him and feeling heat pool in your body and expand outwards to your fingers and toes.

His tongue darts out to lick at your lips and you moan which lets his tongue explore your mouth. Your hands are gripping the front of his shirt for dear life as he pushes into you harder, pouring out all the days and weeks of wanting you into this kiss.

Your hands travel down and you cup him through his sweatpants. He breaks the kiss and throws back his head with a grunt as you palm him, eyes sparking with mischief as you see how affected he is.

His hands continue to rub at your thighs as you rub him through his sweats, you can feel how hot and hard he is, his length impressive in the confines of his pants and you want nothing more than to suck him off and watch him fall apart under you.

Namjoon lets another groan leave his lips as in one swoop he lifts you off the counter and carries you to the bedroom, you throw your head back and laugh at his impatience as he finally gets you in the room and hastily throws you on the bed.

The giggles that were bubbling out of you had been cut off when you finally stared at him and you knew you are in for it.

His eyes are narrowed and dark as he takes you in. Lying in just his shirt, in his bed.

Oh. Right.

His eyes roam your body and settle between your legs which you are sure is slick with want. Namjoon grabs your ankles and drags you to the very edge of the bed which causes you to gasp and fist the sheets below.

He slowly teases your legs open and you cry out when he presses soft kisses to your ankle, then slowly, too slowly, moving his way up your leg.

You let out a frustrated noise which has him chuckling against your skin as you watch him continue his path of kisses.

Your calf, your knee, your thigh, your upper thigh.

You feel your core ache with need and wonder how you are even going to survive this. Namjoon hadn't even touched you yet and you felt positively soaked.

You grabbed the hem of his shirt and rucked it up so he could get a view of your underwear and he pressed his face into your upper thigh groaning as he took in your soaked core and how wide you spread your legs for him.

Namjoon's hands hooked into your underwear and pulled it down and watched as strings of arousal stuck to the fabric.

“Fuck that's so hot.” He groaned out as he tossed them somewhere in the room.

You suddenly felt shy and tried to close your legs to hide just how turned on you were but Namjoon's hands were strong and fast on your knees, prying your legs open and making you show him.

“Nuh uh, no hiding now baby girl. I've been waiting a long time for this. I'm going to savor it.” He promises with a wink, which has your stomach twisting and turning in anticipation.

One finger lightly drags up your folds which has you arching off the bed and moans spilling from your lips. You try desperately to keep them in but can't help it as Namjoon repeats the motion.

“Sensitive.” He teases with a grin as he places another kiss on your inner thigh which has you bucking your hips up. Desperate for him to touch you or taste you.

“If it's too much let me know.” He says with a serious tone which has your eyebrows raising in wonder.

He smirks at you and sucks a finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit and making you ache for him, your body a live wire needing to be touched before you lose your mind.

Namjoon keeps eye contact with you as he swirls the digit around his tongue. His hair is a mess and his eyes are blown wide and you want nothing more than to stare at him for a lifetime. He just looks so good between your legs.

You grow impatient at every pass of his tongue and you decide to move this along as your hand comes down to touch yourself if he isn't going to do it himself.

His free hand swats you away and he stares at you with a wicked grin.

“Impatient huh?” He asks as he finally pulls the digit out of his mouth and you whine and bring your hips up to him once more, desperate for him to do something. Anything.

“I mean I did say it was a dry spell of two years you know?” You snap as he chuckles and once again prods his finger at your entrance. Finally pushing it slowly, which has you arching off the bed and staring up at the ceiling, sweet moans spilling from your lips.

Sure you had fingered yourself before but Namjoon's fingers were large. It was a delicious stretch you had come to miss from someone else's hands and you ground down on it which caused another sweet laugh to fall from Namjoon's mouth.

“Namjoon, please, move.” You beg as his finger is still inside of you annoyingly unmoving.

“God baby you're tight gonna have to stretch you out good to take my cock.” He growls as he starts pumping his finger inside you slowly.

You can feel the easy glide of his finger against your walls and the movement alone had your eyes rolling in the back of your head as you grind down on them to get more pleasure.

“Yeah, baby you like fucking your pussy on my fingers? So dirty.” Namjoon praises as he adds another finger and you grip the sheets tighter as you chase your high.

You are embarrassingly close already and Namjoon must know because his other hand swipes at your wetness and brings it up to your clit circling the small bud which has you crying out in his name.

He continues to finger you and rub at your clit and you can feel your muscles grow taut and your stomach clench as you chase your high. You are so close you can feel Namjoon speed up his actions to bring you there.

His fingers begin to curl up against your G spot and you thrash on the bed as you are taken over by pleasure.

“Cum for me baby. Cum on my fingers so I can taste.” Namjoon pleads and those words alone are what set you off.

Your body arches off the bed as you chase your high and fall right over the precipice, your orgasm washing over you and walls throbbing around his fingers. You let Namjoon work you through it as you continue to moan and arch up, his fingers almost becoming too much as you whine and pull away from him, your heart racing and your whole body alight with post-orgasm bliss.

You let your heart rate slow down before you open your eyes and see him kneeling between your legs, his eyes locked on yours and his teeth biting into his lower lip.

You stare at him in absolute disbelief as his gaze breaks from yours and he looks down at his fingers which are drenched in your wetness.

He cocks an eyebrow and right as he is about to bring them to his mouth and hopefully fuck you into the mattress later, the doorbell rings.

You quickly sit up in bed as Namjoon whips his head around to stare at the closed bedroom door.

With his free hand, he takes out his phone and fumbles around before he frowns, checking the door camera.

“Jungkook.” He says, panicked eyes meeting yours.

“What do you mean? Jungkook? Here? Why?” You mutter scrambling to put yourself together after what you just went through.

The doorbell rings again and kicks Namjoon into gear. He slowly gets up from the floor and winces when he finally stands tall and stretches out. You're still on the bed half naked staring at him wondering what the fuck to do.

He locks eyes with you and puts his fingers in his mouth which causes a groan to slip from your lips. Even though your friend is waiting at the door Namjoon takes his time cleaning off his fingers keeping his dark gaze locked on yours.

This time there are impatient knocks at the door as Namjoon pops his fingers out of his mouth and wipes the rest of it on his sweats.

He heads towards the door without saying anything to you so you do the first thing you can think of and pretend to be asleep. You scramble up the bed and throw the covers over yourself closing your eyes tight and trying to forget the image of him licking your arousal off his long thick fingers.

You heard the door being answered, Namjoon was polite as always as if he didn't just give you the orgasm of your life. You wonder if he washed his hands or if Jungkook could smell your arousal on them and if Jungkook would even know what went down.

“She's okay Kook really. She's been sleeping all morning I was actually just about to make food then wake her.” You hear Namjoon say and you bite back a laugh. You could hardly sleep now after what he did to you. How hard he made you cum. How desperate you were for him to do it again.

Even though you already came you can still feel the thrumming need of desire coursing through you. If Jungkook didn't interrupt would you be taking his cock right now? Would he take his time with you or completely ravish you? Was he soft and sweet in bed or an absolute animal?

You tried to rid your mind of those ideas as you could still hear Jungkook and Namjoon talking in the kitchen.

“Kookie it's fine. She threw up so I took her here because she kept saying how she didn't want to be alone. She took the bed I took the couch.” Namjoon explained as you felt your cheeks burn. You never bothered to ask him where he slept as you drowned in the embarrassment of his retelling of your night.

“Namjoon you are a lifesaver, when Jimin told me, I mean, it could have been anyone. I'm glad she was with you. She's in good hands with you.” Jungkook explains as you hear a chair squeaking along the floor.

“She is in very good hands with me. She was taken care of.” He responds and you almost shake your head as you can imagine the look on his face and what that sentence suggested. Jungkook had no idea but you were very well taken care of.

“You said you were going to make food? How about I do that so we don't have an injury and you go wake her yeah? I owe her an apology for ditching and food makes everything better. Especially if you're hungover.” You hear Jungkook explain.

“Of course, you know where everything is,” Namjoon says as you hear footsteps approaching the bedroom door. You clench your legs together still feeling arousal pool as he opens the door and slowly slips inside.

“Wakey Wakey sleepy head,” Namjoon says loud enough for Jungkook to hear as you bite back a laugh and sit up.

Namjoon is staring at you eyes wide and smiling.

“God I love seeing you in my bed. It's every fantasy come true.” He mumbles low enough for only you to hear.

You bite your lip at his words and slowly remove the covers to get out of bed.

Namjoon comes around the bed quickly and stops you. His eyes scan your face and you feel small under his gaze.

He leans down and quickly kisses you. His body presses into yours and you can still feel his erection on your bare thigh.

“I do mean what I said before Y/N. I'm here if you need a friend or a fuck. We're already friends so I guess I owe you a rain check for a proper fuck and just so you know. I always keep my promises.” He whispers which causes goosebumps to appear on your skin and you shiver under him.

“Now come on, breakfast.” He says switching into the soft smiley Namjoon you know so well as he once again pops his fingers into his mouth which has your jaw-dropping, he shoots you a wink and leaves the bedroom leaving you speechless and once again wondering what the fuck just happened

Thank you for reading!!

#namjoon x reader #namjoon/reader #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #kim namjoon/reader #kim namjoon smut #bts fic

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reiderwriter · 12 days

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reiderwriter 5k writing challenge

hello, my lovelies, and thank you so much for 5k followers~♡ it's been just under a year since I started writing on here, and it's been so fun interacting with everyone and writing for Spencer and the other members of the BAU team! I was a bit unprepared for some of my other milestones and threw some stuff together last minute for them, but I've been thinking about a writing challenge for a while and I finally decided to do it!

Please note: This is a writing challenge! All the prompts below are meant to inspire you to write your own fics and not as prompt requests for me. I hope you can use them as a starting point to write~♡

The theme for the challenge is:

daydreams and shooting stars`☆

There are two sets of prompts to choose from! The daydreams' prompts are based on classic fanfiction tropes that we know and live, and the shooting stars prompts are based on the zodiac signs. There are 12 prompts in each list, and you're welcome to mix and match prompts as you like! Maybe you'd like to combine your star sign with your favourite trope, or two particularly match well, or if you like a single prompt, you can just write for that. I don't mind if the fic is only very loosely based on the prompt, too, do whatever you'd like!

The writing challenge will run up until my 1 year writing anniversary, July 27th, so you have plenty of time to get your fics in! I'll be reblogging all the entries, and at the end, I'll add them to a recommendation list! Be sure to tag @reiderwriter in your fic, or use the hashtag #reidersdaydreams or #reidersshootingstars in your tags! I'll be tracking both~♡ You can submit as many entries as you like!

Rules for submissions will be at the end. Please read them before submitting~♡

without further ado, here are the prompt lists~☆

DAYDREAMS

ONLY ONE BED - a true classic in the sense that I will be reading only one bed fics down to the second I take my last breath. Feel free to invert this to "too many beds," or even "no beds at all, but somehow we're still cuddling," either way, I will read it and likely enjoy it greatly.

GRUMPY X SUNSHINE - which character is grumpy, which character is sunshine? my favourite grumpy x sunshine dynamics are the gloomy character trying their best to become more sunny after a tough life 🫡

FAKE DATING - we, in the criminal minds fandom, have written possibly every undercover mission possible to make our characters make out, but I'm coming in as a simple woman to ask - please do it again 🫶

OH. OH. - the plot revelations! Give me them! The sudden moments of clarity! I'm a fan, goddammit.

IDIOTS IN LOVE - there is nothing better than two huge dumbasses falling head over heels in love with each other in an "aw shucks" kind of way. Also, I'm an idiot, representation matters.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE - coffee shop AU? Soulmate AU? HANAHAKI AU? If someone could please un- or re- traumatise my favourite characters I will be eternally grateful

SECRET IDENTITY - give the character their Emily Prentiss Lauren Reynolds moment, or just make them dress like a clown for like 30 minutes. Both count.

MUTUAL PINING - This harkens back to idiots in love, but it's about the LONGING, it's about the PITIFUL STARES, it's about the BURNING PASSION.

SECRET RELATIONSHIP - my love of gossip makes me a sucker for secret relationship stories because I truly want to be in everyone's business. Character A and B are dating? Brilliant. It's a secret? BRILLIANT.

SICK FIC - your poor little meow meow has a cold. Or your poor little meow meow has been poisoned with anthrax. Or your poor little meow meow is dealing with possible symptoms of schizophrenia. Or your poor little meow meow has been shot-

PSYCHO X PSYCHO - reidams fans, this one's for you 🥰

ENEMIES TO LOVERS - half of my requests are enemies to lovers requests! Feel free to include rivals to lovers, lovers to enemies, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, or any such dynamic that your heart desires.

SHOOTING STARS:

Aries - "I burn for you. I can't sleep at night for wanting you. It's the most maddening, beguiling, damnable thing, but there it is."

Taurus - "There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

Gemini - "There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne, it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half so interesting."

Cancer - "I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil."

Leo - "There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion."

Virgo - "They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered."

Libra - "Somehow, we'll find it. The balance between whom we wish to be and whom we need to be. But for now, we simply have to be satisfied with who we are."

Scorpio - "She didn't understand why, but faced with those decaying buildings and straggling grasses, she was nothing but a child who had never lived."

Sagittarius - "If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything."

Capricorn - "There's a low-level, specific pain and having to accept that putting up with you requires a certain generosity of spirit in your loved ones."

Aquarius - "An education was a bit like a communicable sexual disease. It made you unsuitable for a lot of jobs, and then you had the urge to pass it on."

Pisces - "I think it's perfectly acceptable and rather admirable to be moderately delusional."

Rules:

I'm accepting reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fics for this challenge. It can feature any Criminal Minds character or any character from any fandom you write for. I assume a lot of people will stick with CM, but feel free to write for whoever you choose!

Please tag me in your entries or send the link to me in a DM. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge. Again, the tags I'm tracking are #reidersdaydreams and #reidersshootingstars ♡

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I will not endorse, nor do I want to read smut written by minors. I will check the ages of accounts posting smut.

For smut or angst fics that could include triggers, please include a content warning above the fic so we can be aware before reading!!

Enjoy!!

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bucknastysbabe · 3 months

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Rating: Explicit

Tags: Let's play who's the sidepiece?, Aegon has half of King's Landing and his sister has one (1) man, humor, strong themes of sexism/patriarchy/gender roles, infidelity but casual?, jealous jealous jealous Aeg, who is also a self-absorbed idiot, Aemond just wants peace, pnv!sex, Incest need I say more, manipulation, degradation, rough sex, oral sex (m!receiving), a bit toxic at the end but they do love each other.

Taglist: @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk @fairysluna @valeskafics @dr-aegon @targaryen-madness @starogeorgina @lovelykhaleesiii @sugarpoppss2 @thought--bubble

Divider by @saradika

Aegon was suspicious. Sure, he fucked whenever and however he wanted. Regardless of outside activities, something was off in his meticulously planned life. Planned by others, of course, he couldn't give a rat's ass. The prince just had been wed to his sister, the less strange one. She was suspiciously…competent in bed. He could swear she was supposed to be a maiden. She was- bled during the bedding ceremony when he first fucked her.

But the way she rode his cock was good. Too good. Aegon knew he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Frankly, it was eating him up. She even gave fantastic head! Who the fuck had taught her that? He narrowed his eyes at her, the fellow blonde looking bored at supper.

Aegon took a swig of his wine, eyes dark as he studied her. Maybe if he looked long enough someone would jump up and act jealous. What if she was secret fuckmates with his nephew? Aegon had a vague memory of a sordid rumor regarding Jacaerys Velaryon's horse cock. He would kill himself, truly. He could imagine the letter, “Sorry mother, I couldn’t take that shame, yes I know I live in constant shame, but this was the final straw.”

His sister-wife was staring now. She raised a brow in question. “Why are you staring at me like that?” Aegon grumbled, “Nothing. Just looking. Can’t have a look, alright then.”

She scoffed, “You can look, but you’re looking as if you’re about to eat my face.”

Oh. Aegon blushed in embarrassment. He drank more wine, mumbling a ‘sorry’. He didn’t want to broach the subject at supper. The prince’s damn family was nosy enough as is, he didn’t need Aemond’s big ass nose in his ear. Or one of those frightful looks from Alicent. If Aegon got lectured by Otto or Criston he would consider stabbing himself.

Aegon mulled over what he should do next between bites of mutton. She obviously wasn’t going to the Street of Silk, because that was his domain. Someone would’ve peeped already. He reluctantly knew when Daemon was visiting. Every. Damn. Time. Why would Aegon want to hear about the fuckhead's potency issues?

Mayhaps he should get her on the cusp of orgasm and demand who her secret lover-teacher-whatever was. That seemed sound enough to Aegon. When he was about to nut? One could ask him anything, there would be an answer. The prince smiled enigmatically, laughing to himself.

To which his sister-wife said, “You’re acting strange tonight.”

Aegon cooed, “Sorry, just dreaming a bit.”

Under the table he put a lecherous hand on her thigh, squeezing over her soft dress. His sister blushed and squirmed, fork awkwardly clanking across the plate. The woman hissed, “Okay I get it!” She cleared her throat, ignoring any stares. Aegon smirked and squeezed a bit higher, plump lips splitting into a grin.

Aegon had immediately crowded her smaller frame in the bedroom, plush lips attacking her neck, impatient hands pulling at her dress. She moaned, walking backward into the bed, yelping when Aegon crawled atop. He murmured, “You looked ravishing tonight, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Uh, huh, the clasps you fool,” she groaned.

Aegon huffed, probably tearing the fabric as he separated the back of the dress. She began to shuck the dress off while he awkwardly pulled off his breeches. They giggled a bit making eye contact; Aegon unbuttoning his tunic and her unlacing the corset. Soon they were both naked, grinning and kissing, her soft skin rubbing against his.

Aegon grabbed her thighs, mouthing at a tit and playfully nipping at it. She squeaked, thighs tightening around his waist, throwing long blonde hair back. His wife cried out, “Aegon! Quit playing!” He pulled off her nipple, murmuring between little kisses, “Why, is the princess needy?”

He slipped a ringed finger between her folds, finding her wetter than expected. Aegon dipped into her cunt, laughing, “Ah she is, little whore.” The princess writhed a bit, leaning up to capture his lips, lapping into his mouth hungrily. The prince returned her eager movements, curling his fingers into her pussy, letting her ride his hand.

“Fuck, you’re a doll,” he swore, “Perfect.”

She whined and arched up into him, hips canting on his hand. Aegon used his other hand to play with her sensitive tits, thumb circling around a budded nipple. She shivered and cried his name again, a pretty blush diffusing across her pallid skin. The prince hummed “Are you going to come for me sweetling? So soon?”

“Ngh, please, yes Aegon!”

He sped up his movements, feeling her tighten and twitch, the princess on the precipice. Aegon moaned before gathering himself, his pulsing cock was scrambling relative coherency. As it did. He panted, “Gonna count down and I want you to let go okay? Then I’ll fuck your pretty cunt.”

She nodded with lidded eyes, mouth hung open. The picture of ecstasy. Aegon smirked as he spoke.

…10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

“Oh gods Aegon!”

“Who are you fucking!”

She writhed through the helpless orgasm, confusion evident on her twisting features. Aegon couldn’t help but throb AND be quite annoyed. He slurped the juices off his fingers, leaning back with a look. The prince was feeling sullen and not sure if he wanted to play anymore. His wife stared up at him and echoed “Who…am I fucking. What?”

Aegon pouted. This didn’t go to plan. He rolled his eyes and explained, “You excel, frighteningly so, at our bedroom activities. Yes, yes I know you were still a maiden at our wedding. But I am onto you, I don't know much but I do know about fucking, dearest."

“Are you kidding me? This is ludicrous Aegon!”

She had sat up now, crossing her arms, lips pouty. The prince stated as if it was obvious, “You know your way around a cock. Obviously, this comes with experience. I’ve bedded many a maiden and they usually just stare until you flip them over. So who’s the secret mentor?”

She scoffed in horror, cheeks reddening further, “I can’t believe this Aegon! You’re an idiot! I’m not fucking anyone else! Unlike you!”

“Lies you tell, no spring maiden has gargled my balls!” he accused, face growing equally red in frustration, ringed finger pointing at her.

His sister grew quiet, looking away. She mumbled “Fine. Do you want to know who it is so bad? This stays between us.”

Aegon nodded, impatiently gesturing for her to come out with it. She seemed to grow more uncomfortable. Then spit out a name so low and fast he couldn’t hear. Tonight might be the night he explodes. The prince groaned, “Oh my gods, just say it in a normal tone!”

“Larys Strong!”

What?

He burst into laughter. The prince guffawed, clutching his stomach, shaking with humor. She gaped “What? I’m not lying!” Aegon laughed some more thinking about the foot monger, he’s a bigger virgin than anyone in the keep. He breathlessly chuckled, “Good one, yeah right dear.”

She began to pull on her chemise, annoyed now. Aegon grasped at her thigh, pleading between fits of giggles, “I don’t know why you’re hiding this? I don’t care who you go and find pleasure with. Unless it’s truly Larys. C’monnnn love don’t leave.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter. You’re making up things. What if I’m just good at carnal activities hm Aegon? You're an ass!”

Aegon contemplated the possibility, “Sure, that could be true. Now stop being huffy and come here. I said I’d fuck your pretty pussy.”

She stared down at him before taking her chemise back off. The princess hissed, “You’re a right asshole you know that? You better fuck me good. Prick.”

Aegon laughed again, cheeks hurting from his fit of humor. He maneuvered her onto all fours, sliding his cock against her still-wet folds. He pressed kisses to her shoulder, nosing sweet-smelling hair. He placed a hand on her tight stomach, humming, “I’m sorry dear, I’ll make it better Hm?” He slid in, watching her pretty eyes roll up in her head.

Aegon still wanted to know who his sister was fornicating. She probably was still seeing this person. All he knew was that they resided in the Red Keep and certainly not Larys Strong. The prince had to open his mind to the possibilities of women too. There were many a pretty handmaiden who tended to his wife.

He frowned in thought, sipping his wine. Aegon sat next to his stiff bitch of a brother in the library of all places. Secretly, Aegon hoped the knowledge in the room would give him some magical foresight gift- but not that weird shit Helaena did sometimes.

His wife fucking a handmaiden- that felt too overt. He’d only seen his sister gag and moon over visiting knights and lordlings. Next to Aegon sat his irritated brother. Aemond was quiet, too quiet. He and their sister got along quite well? Aegon's eyes turned to his not-so-little brother.

“Aem.”

“Why are you speaking to me? I’m trying to read.”

“I have a question. That's why, you frozen-faced ass.”

Aemond picked his head up and glared, slamming his book closed. He huffed “What, oh, what, could your drunkenness possibly ask from me? No, I’m not covering your ass again.”

Aegon snorted. His brother was such a frigid quim. He acted like Criston Cole, peacocking around the place, chip on their shoulder. The elder asked “Look. I’ll just be blunt with you. Our sister, my wife. She is merely too good in the sack. Are you fucking her? Is she fucking you?”

Aemond’s jaw audibly clicked in annoyance. He struggled over his tongue, face red. The second son stood up, slamming his hands on the stone. He retreated with a swish of hair and growled, “Buffoon.”

Aegon called after him, “Your behavior has not marked you off my list!”

"Fuck you and your list! Drunkard!!"

Icy little prick. Aegon rolled his eyes, pondering on his next target. Perhaps Jason Lannister? He was wooing any Targaryen princess for his sons. Or possibly Ser Arryk, her sworn shield. Aegon would go to them next. Then maybe do a night check on Aemond’s quarters. His wife was busy with their mother all day anyway. How boring.

Safe to say the prince was still vexed. Jason Lannister laughed in his face and Ser Arryk was extremely confused. He replied in that dumb voice of his, “The princess and I? I’m not that simple your grace. Some of us Kingsguard do take our vows seriously, although I can’t say the same for others.”

He refused to elaborate afterward, Aegon throwing his hands up and moving to the next destination. While walking, he pondered Arryk’s words. Could it be another Kingsguard? Maybe Erryk? Criston had already used up his one allotted Princess fucking and it turned him sour. Erryk would stay on Aegon’s list, the other men too plain ugly or on Dragonstone.

Too annoyed to try any decorum, Aegon simply kicked Aemond’s door open. The younger prince squawked in shock, his hair flying around. Why was there a portrait of Daemon? Why was there another half-finished portrait of Aemond obviously in the same style? Aegon spluttered, “What the fuck? You’re so weird! Daemon? Blech brother!”

Aemond, hair tied back and wearing simple clothes smudged with paint— was positively furious. He hollered, “Get the hell out! I’m not fornicating with our sister! She’s your wife! Say a word of this and I’m making you a Eunuch!”

Aegon was booted out, literally, as in Aemond’s big fucking boot kicked him in the arse.

“Should’ve known. Weirdo,” Aegon grumbled.

He limped back to his quarters, dreadfully needing a sip of wine and someone’s lips around his cock. Today was dreadful. He actually tried to do something. Which trying was rare for him! The prince went to open his door, only to step back when Ser Criston exited.

He raised a brow. Criston looked at him blankly, dark eyes placid. Aegon asked, “What were you doing?” The Kingsguard scoffed, “Your sister was having a fit about a spider, I heard her yowling and killed said spider. Goodnight my prince.”

Aegon glared at the surly marcher, shaking his head and entering the chambers. He immediately went to the table and drank straight from the bottle, deep, deep pulls of relief. The blonde placed it down and sighed, turning towards his bed.

His wife sat there, eyes wide, wearing only her askew shift. Aegon bitched, “Oh. Nice to see you too. Maybe a ‘Hello lord husband, how are you?’ would suffice.”

The Princess’ cheeks were pink. He guessed from the embarrassment of having Ser Criston kill a small bug. Then explained again why Ser Criston had to kill a small bug. She mumbled, “Oh, sorry, I thought you were at the brothels.”

Aegon plopped down in a chair, grabbing the bottle. He whined, “Nope! Been trying to find out who your mystery lover is all day. No one wants to pipe up! I should’ve gone.”

She gazed downwards, biting on swollen lips. The princess stood up on shaky legs, making her way to Aegon and kneeling between his lax thighs. She hummed, tracing a finger up one, feeling the muscle twitch. His sister mused, “Can I take your mind off this mystery lover? You’re much more desirable to me. Don't they say the blood of the dragon reaches out to another?”

“Sure, definitely” he whined again. Aegon would pout this out, it was his specialty. He honestly was hurt, why couldn’t he know their identity? Sure he’d get jealous and probably ban her from seeing them but still! He was sad!

“Am I that unappealing to you?” he whimpered, tears pricking at violet eyes, frustration and self-pity leaking over.

She sighed heavily, wrapping her arms around his midsection. The princess laid her head upon his thigh and cooed, “No. You’re my husband, my blood, we are a union now. That partnership…started because I was afraid you would find me boring. So I wanted to know how to please a man.”

Aegon sulked and sniffled some more, taking another deep drink from his goblet. The familiar fuzz was coming along nicely, patching up his insecurities. But it was nice to hear her admit a smidgeon of truth. She kissed his leg and continued, “Aegon dear, have I not pleased you? It was a transaction between the person and me. They wished to make their identity a secret so as not to catch your wroth. I no longer see them like that. I hate that you’re upset, I did this for you.”

Aegon nodded, feeling a bit better. His sister was good. She easily melted his pouting protocol. The female Targaryen rubbed his thighs and moved her mouth to hover over his clothed cock, eyes looking up as she breathed, “Now baby, just relax and let me make this better, hm?”

He moaned softly as she mouthed over his swelling member, nimble fingers untying his breeches, other hand massaging the soft flesh and meat of his thigh. She eased Aegon’s cock and his sac out, groaning with a flutter of her long lashes. The prince squirmed a bit, breathing heavier, holding off a whine.

“Just you and me, sweet baby.”

She was increasingly convincing kitten licking the ruddy head of his prick like that. The girl’s dainty hand wrapped around his length, the other going to hold his balls, keeping them nice and compressed. Aegon’s back arched when she eased him into a silky wet mouth, tongue massaging the underside as his wife hollowed her mouth.

“Mmm,” she hummed.

Aegon responded with a noise he’d rather not dwell on. It was very…emasculating. Gods, she was so good at this. He needed to get over his qualms and just fuck her so good the princess wouldn't stray again. Good and obedient- all for Aegon. He eased her off gently, demanding, "Lay across the bed. Now."

Wide purple eyes stared at him. She murmured, "What? I- I don't need that, let me take care of you."

Aegon shook his head, grinning, the drink emboldening him. Something about Arbor Red made him impossibly aroused and giddy. He jerked his chin toward the plush bed and laughed. His sister got up, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. She padded and leaned her body over the bed, long legs spread, chemise discarded to display her swollen cunt to him.

Aegon pulled off his breeches as he stalked over, eyes drinking in her pussy. He smacked a hand across her ass and grabbed the stinging flesh. He asked roughly "Did your mystery lover sneak out the servant's exit when Ser Criston heard your yowling?"

"Yes, yes! Sorry, fucking yes!" she shouted.

Aegon's face darkened at her puffy and slick cunt, obvious signs of someone having a feast down there. He ran the blunt tip of his swollen cock across her folds, groaning as he smacked her clit. The prince snapped "You're a goddamn lying slut you know that? A match made in heaven with me huh? Did Ser Criston walk in when you were getting your cunt licked?" He wound a fist in her blonde tresses, pulling it tight.

She shivered and shook her head, whining, "N-ohh, he didn't see!"

"Hm, sure, probably took a peak, the weird bitch. Whatever, I guess I'll have to fuck this person out of your mind? Or you're coming with me to the brothels sister dearest."

He slid into her tight hole, gasping at the ridges and warmth. Aegon tightened the fist in her hair. Maybe he'd fuck a babe in her tonight, then she'd be stuck in his quarters surrounded by maesters and tittering handmaidens. Eugh. Aegon huffed and fucked her at a brisk pace, his other hand smacking her ass every other thrust.

His sister-wife moaned, taking his cock like she was made for it. She fucked back onto him, back arched, tits bouncing. Her cheeks were delightfully flushed as she panted Aegon's name, eyes wet and wide. Aegon leaned over her form and growled, "Don't know who this fucker is but I will find out. He better know whose cunt this is, eh? Shout it, tell the whole goddamn keep who you belong to, sister."

Aegon relished in her little whimper, his fingers pinching her clit as he forced her hips up to drive into her good spot harder. He bit and lapped at her neck, hissing, "C'mon and say it or I'll lock your ass up here with no visitors. Just me and I'll get my fill, fucking snake." She blubbered, seizing around his cock a hair.

"Oh gods, please don't make me howl like that, Aegon, please!"

He fucked the princess rougher, holding her gaze with a tight grip around her chin. She bit her lip, eyes mournful before shouting, "Only you Aegon, I belong to you, yes big brother! Yes! I belong to my husband!"

Aegon grinned like the cat that got the cream. He cooed, "Good little sister, knew you still had it in you." He gripped her throat and refocused on fucking her until she cried. Aegon pinched and licked, played with her tits, circled her clit until she came all over him- yet the prince was still fit to go. Sweet sister was a mess now- covered in bites and hickeys, sweaty hair plastered to her neck. The younger blonde whimpered, "Aeg- Aegon, I- I can't possibly do this again!"

Her eyes were frantic, her cute body shaking and coming apart wondrously. Aegon hummed, "You will come for me again sweetling. I know you can, just whining on my prick like you were paid for it? Does he fuck you like this huh? Make you see stars?"

"N-noooo, only you!"

"Good girl, come on now, wanna feel that sweet pussy of yours cream around me one more time. Then I'll fill you up deep- maybe he won't come around when you are all ripe with," he punctuated his next words with thrusts, "My. Goddamn. Child."

The princess wailed softly, overused and overstimulated. She felt the crest of another burning orgasm flaring up and forcing red hot tears down her blotchy cheeks. It was intense and she cried harder when Aegon's thick seed stuffed her twitching cunt and womb to the brim. He seemed to be satisfied now, cooing at her, "There we go, ffuck, that's my sweet girl. See, don't need anyone else around now hm?"

Aegon wiped her gorgeous tears, smiling victoriously. She cuddled into his arms, letting her husband soothe and stroke her trembling flesh. He even hollered for a servant to grab some water. The prince murmured, "You did so good, such a good wife, yes, maybe just a bit of punishment does sweet sister well." He grew quieter and pressed a kiss to her soft forehead, "I love you, truly, for tolerating a failure like me."

She smiled softly and pecked Aegon's full lips, her own swollen from tonight. Aegon wiped her tears as she sighed, "I love you too Aegon. Buffoon you may be. I hope the seed takes. No more about mystery lovers. The whole keep has heard now sweetheart."

Aegon smirked, hoping every single soul heard.

One soul in particular did, his black gloves tightening in annoyance. He was down the hall before turning back and having to hear the heir...rudely fuck his sister-wife. With a growl and swish of the cloak, the true mystery lover was gone. She'd be back in his arms sooner or later. Aegon couldn't fuck him out of her soft heart.

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x sister!reader #aegon ii imagine #the very obvious sidepiece lmfao

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pedroshotwifey · 1 month

Text

Without Words

This can be seen as a stand-alone but I count it as a part to two this fic

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Tags/Warnings: Oral (m), cock worship, piv sex, rough sex, choking, semi-public sex, sprinkles of feelings, age gap, face fucking, degrading names (affectionate), cum eating, stuff I'm forgetting

Summary: You want to show Joel how much he means to you...but maybe in a less classy way.

A/N: Hey, babes! I hope you enjoy this part! I know a lot of people wanted to see an update, so here we are <3

*****

It’s been another long ass day. You and Joel were able to pick up the same shift, but there was enough work for four people—which is not the norm for the job you’d picked today. It took you three hours too long, but you’d gotten it done. Now that you and Joel aren’t glaring daggers at each other anymore, you’re actually able to be productive.

You walk hand-in-hand with him now toward your shared apartment. It’s been about a year since the two of you had caved into each other, and things honestly couldn’t be better. You’d had your fair share of fights—which is only to be expected with the attitude you both possess—but things have been good.

You moved into his apartment a couple of months ago, since he kept having to sneak out of yours too close to curfew. He practically lived at your apartment, even though his was bigger, because he didn’t want to risk you walking home late at night. It was an effortless change for you.

There was the issue at first about your age difference, and about how people might react when they realize what the two of you had become, but neither of you wanted to let that affect you. It’s the end of the fucking world, as Joel had put it, you both deserve to spend it with whoever you want.

You look up at him, admiring the way he walks so confidently with you on his arm. Like it’s no big deal at all. It took a little while for people to stop giving the two of you strange looks, but even from the start, he had embraced your relationship with no shame.

You haven’t even told him you love him yet.

It’s more of an unspoken thing, you think. Something you show with gifts and actions and physical affection, because deep down, you’re both still broken people in the apocalypse, and you don’t want to admit that you have a weakness. That’s what love is, after all. Just another thing for you to lose.

“Joel?”

It’s only now that you finally lose your composure. All damn day, you’ve been distracted, and you can tell he knew that much, but maybe not exactly what the problem was. Maybe it’s that thought—that you haven’t told him how you feel. But you know that you won’t even now. So you’ve been caught up in other ways to show him, to tell him.

You’ve been thinking about it all night. Ever since the two of you got home from your shift and he shucked his pants off to change. It’s not your fault, really. Not your fault the man has a massive fucking cock that makes a sizable, mouthwatering—and extremely daydream-able—bulge in his boxers.

You’re not usually a weak woman, but. Shit. Nobody would be blaming you for what you’re about to do if they were in the position to do it.

“Let me suck your dick,” you whisper up at him, watching his eyes go wide as he snaps his head left and right to make sure nobody heard that.

The two of you had gone to the last dinner offered at the hall, so it’s pretty dark out, and it’s also been raining for the last hour or so. There are only a few people out other than you since it’s so close to curfew, but Joel’s face still goes a little red at your request. You can’t help but bite your lip to contain your smile.

It really is funny how flustered he gets about you saying something like that when he’s the one who loves to talk about railing you in public. There’s not a single person under the canopy that you stopped under, but he still lowers his voice as he speaks.

“Yes fuckin’ please,” he says through a scoff. “But you couldn’t wait to run that filthy little mouth until we got home?”

You shake your head, smirking at him. You swear you can feel your heart beating against your ribs as you wait for him to understand your request. Your body is going hot from the pure want coursing through your veins.

“I want it now,” you practically whine as you pull on his arm like a petulant child. His eyes go wide again.

“Now?” he asks, obviously a bit shocked at your sudden desperation.

You nod at him, licking your lips.

This time, you catch a small twitch from between his legs before you give him your best doe eyes. You glance at the dark, empty alley a few feet away from you, and his eyes harden. He glances around one more time, clutches your upper arm, and drags you into the concealed space.

“Shit, baby, just be fuckin’ quick about it,” he mutters as he shoves you down to your knees. You smile devilishly up at him as your hands immediately fly to his zipper.

You frantically pull them down, the zip getting stuck halfway due to the massive bulge pushing against the denim. Joel hisses and you whimper as you snag it down quickly, not caring if it breaks or not.

The first time you saw him, you’d had a hard time admitting to yourself that it was the most gorgeous cock you’ve ever laid eyes on. It took a minute for you to understand that he wasn’t a threat, and only then did you allow yourself to appreciate the appendage to the degree that you do now. Since then, you’ve been sure to let Joel know just how much you love it.

It makes your mouth water as you pull it out from his pants. Girthy and long enough to still almost scare you even at half-mast. You know how it fits inside you though, how good it makes you feel when he’s pummeling it into your sore, stretched cunt at full force.

You want it to feel as good as you do, to feel the way your wet, hot mouth can wrap around it and slobber on it until Joel’s thick thighs are shaking with need to spill his seed down your welcoming throat.

The feeling of one of Joel’s hands threading your hair between his fingers and pushing you toward his crotch pulls you out of your daze.

“You gonna suck it or fuckin’ stare at it?”

You shoot Joel an annoyed glance and squeeze him lightly in warning. You give in anyway, however. It really doesn’t take much.

He makes a grunting sound as you take the fat tip of him between your lips, suckling the head and tonguing at his slit as your hand pumps the rest of him. You love the taste of his salty pre-cum on your tongue as you eagerly lap him, trying to get more.

Joel pushes harder on the back of your head and bucks his hips forward—though you’re not sure if that part is voluntary. Your hand moves back to the root of him, holding tightly and pushing him so that he can’t shove himself into your mouth.

You pop your mouth off of him, ignoring the string of spit that keeps you connected to his soaked tip. With heavy lids, you glance up at him to find that he’s staring back at you with a look in his eyes that can only be described as fiery.

“Be patient, old man, I’m trying to enjoy myself.”

Joel scowls at you. “The fuck you mean enjoy yourself? You’re suckin’ my cock,” he snaps.

“Okay, well I happen to really fucking like sucking your cock, Joel, so be. patient.”

He rolls his eyes at you and leans his head back against the brick wall behind him. Satisfied that he’s stopped arguing, you go back to his dick, grabbing it so that the underside of it is facing you.

You lean forward to lick up the entirety of it, coming down to suck and kiss at his balls every couple of strokes. Your head is going a bit fuzzy and your core is throbbing almost painfully with need.

You can’t stop though, you love the feel of his silky skin on your tongue, the way it moves slightly with each pass of your mouth. You moan loudly against him, enough so that it reaches Joel’s ears through the sound of the heavy raindrops pelting the ground and buildings around you.

He pulls sharply on your hair, but is unable to pull you away with how tightly you latch on to his thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut and just about double your efforts to ensure he won’t make you stop.

“Gotta hush, baby. Sound like a fuckin’ whore, moanin’ on my cock like that,” Joel squeezes out at you through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, but you love it,” you pull away just enough to retort.

“Damn fuckin’ right,” Joel smirks back at you as you get back to work. “Little s-slut just for me.”

When you lean forward this time, you take him fully between your lips, swallowing as much as you can to get him as deep as possible. You know you’re drooling, but you can’t find it in you to care, you’re far too drunk on his taste, his scent, the feel of his cock inside your greedy mouth.

Joel groans as you suck harshly, resisting the urge to gag as you hold him in your hot mouth and fondle his balls. God, you can’t fucking get enough. You pull back again once you literally can’t breathe, but not before taking his balls into your mouth once a piece.

“Fucking love your cock, Joel,” you tell him as you stroke him lazily.

“I know you fuckin’ do, darlin’. Why don’t you show him how much? Make him feel good, hm?”

You nod eagerly at him and put your mouth back on him, bobbing your head and using your hand to tightly pump what you’re not able to reach. Joel makes a choked sound and grips your hair so tight that tears spring to your eyes.

The sounds reverberating through the alley are nasty, but it only turns you on more. Between Joel’s bitten-down moans and the sound coming from his dick being slammed down your throat, it’s a fucking symphony in your ears.

“Shit,” Joel breathes from above you. “Want to be inside you, baby.”

You shake your head as much as you’re able. You want his cum down your throat, that’s the whole point of this. Twin tears trail down your messed cheeks with the movement, but you keep going at a quick but steady pace.

He grunts and pulls on you again, and this time, you’re forced to let go.

“Joooel,” you whine, hands going out to grab at him, only for him to squeeze again and hold you firmly in place.

“You fuckin’ quit that, now,” he commands, and you do. Albeit reluctantly and with a furious pout. His cock bobs tauntingly in front of you, throbbing and glistening with your saliva.

“C’mon, princess. Up.”

You continue pouting but do as he says, letting him haul you up so he can pull your pants and underwear down. You yelp, not expecting that part so quickly. The cool, moist air hits your heated core and you clench your thighs, making it more difficult for Joel to spin you around and shove you against the wall.

He’s behind you again in a heartbeat, the tip of his cock breaching your tight hole as he presses his entire front to your back. You keen as he slides into you, the stretch making your toes curl in your boots.

“See?” Joel mutters into your ear. “Shut you up quick, didn’t it?”

You can only nod as he starts to move inside of you, your slick making it easy for him to build up a quick pace. Your fingers spread out on the brick wall as he grips your hips and thrusts harshly up into you, a sheen of sweat starting to cover your body at the force in which he’s using you with.

He hits your g-spot each time, making you huff out weak little moans to mingle with his grunts. His heavy balls slap against you with each thrust, making a lewd sound against your soaked seam and sending shocks atop your swollen clit.

You mewl as your orgasm starts to build, a warmth starting to spread throughout your entire body. And when Joel brings one hand to wrap around your throat, you just about lose it. He squeezes the sides, cutting off your airflow and making your head spin.

You close your eyes and your senses hone in only on the feeling of his cock spearing into you, the way his grip is so hard on your hip that there are sure to be bruises in the morning. Your head rolls back onto his shoulder and he uses the opportunity to nuzzle your jaw.

“So s-soft ‘n’ wet for me, ain't ya? Like soaked fuckin’ silk.”

You whimper as much as you’re able, your body starting to shake as you get closer to the edge. Joel lets his fingers ease up from the grip he has on your throat, allowing air to sweep back into your lungs, and you explode.

You moan obscenely as you cream on his cock, his hand moving to your clit to thumb tight circles and prolong your pleasure. Your hands move from the wall to grip hard onto his forearms.

“That’s a good girl,” he growls into your ear.

“M–Please, Joel,” you whine. “Let me swallow–I–”

Joel’s dark laugh startles you, but he moves to give you what you want. He pulls his cock out of you, and you suddenly feel empty. You whine despite yourself, but are quickly distracted again by the way he spins you around and shoves you back to your knees, your pants still pulled down around your ankles.

You watch him dazedly as he fists his drenched cock and then guides it back to your swollen lips. You taste yourself on him as he pumps his hips and glides onto your tongue. He places a hand on the back of your head again, helping you take him.

“There you go, you fuckin’ cum-hungry little slut.”

You moan, and you can tell that’s his undoing as the vibrations travel through his length. He shudders and groans into the empty alley as his balls tug up and he spills into your mouth. You greedily drink him down, gripping his thighs and closing your eyes as you focus on not spilling a single drop.

He pushes your head down until he hits the back of your throat, waiting for you to gag before he slowly pulls all the way back out. You’re both sweaty and panting but you still open your mouth and tilt your head up for approval that you swallowed every bit of his cum. Joel watches you with parted lips and nods.

“Good job, princess,” he tells you, and you smile.

“Alright, baby, I gotta get you home before curfew,” he says after a moment. “Let’s get you cleaned up so it doesn’t look like we just fucked in a damn alley.”

You grin at him and lift your arms for him to help you up again. You don’t tell him that it’s pointless to clean you up since you’ll just end up in the same state once you get home. If there’s one thing that will never dwindle in your relationship, it’s the insatiable hunger that the two of you harbor for one another—and all the messes and mischief that comes with it.

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shuckleberrysims · 1 year

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🎶✨when u get this u have to put 5 songs u actually listen to, and publish. then, send this ask/tag 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool) ✨🎶

@faeriefrolic has tagged me for this meme! Thank you much! I don’t listen to music that often, but this is what I usually listen to when I want to be in a mood! (Some of these songs are rp-related from @faeriefrolic and I’s rp)

I tag @theworstsimblr and @bool-prop !!

#shuck has been tagged!#tag meme #sorry for the repost i was wondering why the links would actually show the song lol #Spotify

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ichorai · 9 months

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reset me ; wade wilson.

track twelve of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; wade wilson (deadpool) x mutant!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; charles sends you to recruit deadpool into the x-men. expectedly, the bastard tries to weasel away from you—and when that doesn’t work, he resorts to his most lethal method: flirtation. that, and taping a kick me sign on your back.

words ; 1.3k

themes ; comedy, mild fluff and action, mutant au

warnings / includes ; mild injury/violence, sexual jokes and foul language, a lil bit of banter/terrible flirting, reader has the mutant ability to harness energy into ropes, wade steals blind al's crocs, reader's implied previous romantic relationship with wolverine, mentions of the rest of the x-men :)

Wade’s place smelled like greasy pizza, put-out cigarettes, and old socks. The door wasn’t locked—in fact, it was slightly ajar, and you could clearly hear Wade and Al bickering about missing Crocs.

“I swear I put them right here!” she vehemently exclaimed, gesturing to a potted plant.

Wade rolled his eyes. “Right—because you always hang your Crocs on our leafy greens.”

Al shuffled somewhere into the back of the house, complaining loudly to herself.

You took that as your cue to silently step in, standing just behind Wade, noting with mild amusement that he was wearing a pair of white Crocs. The very ones Al was searching for, you presumed.

In the blink of an eye, Wade whirled about on the heel of his squeaky, rubbery footwear and brandished a knife. Its strangely warm blade slotted against your throat just as you defensively raised your hands.

“Watch it, Wade,” you warned, though you were not at all worried. His knife lowered and flipped back into the depths of his fluffy bathrobe when he realized who you were.

“Oh. It’s you,” he said. The discolored flesh of his face twitched with a grin. “Did Mr. Metal Dick send you? The bullwhip substitute to watch over the class?” He snickered at his own joke, recalling your mutant ability to harness energy into the form of ropes.

“Piotr is off on vacation with Kitty,” you replied, propping your hands up on your hips.

Wade tipped his head back and guffawed. “Do you think he stays that way under the sheets?”

With a grimace, you pinched the space between your brows and sighed loudly. “Jesus, Wade—I don’t fucking know. Why don’t you ask him next time you see him?”

“Good idea.” He shuffled off to shuck open a box of day-old pizza on the table. “You want?”

“No thanks.”

“You sure? It’s pepperoni. You know how expensive it is to get pepperoni nowadays, in this economy? I’m offering you gold flakes on bread, here.”

“Mhm, I’ll pass.” After a considerable silence, only filled with Wade’s loud munching, you tested the waters by saying, “Charles actually sent me.”

Wade gestured at a chair and nudged for you to take a seat. “McAvoy or Stewart?”

“What? Charles Xavier, who’s McAvoy and Stewart?” You sank down onto the creaky wooden chair, frowning at the baby powder rimming the backboard. It was probably Al’s. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was Wade, though.

Ignoring your question, Wade tilted his head and asked, “How’s Yukio? And her emo-face Megasonic Nuclear Bomb-Head girlfriend?”

You smiled slightly, remembering how they were pestering Logan, who’d been working on fixing a motorcycle back at the mansion when you left.

“They’re fine. Wolvie, too.”

“No way!” exclaimed Wade. “Logie’s there, too? Jesus—whole damn gang’s there.”

“Except you,” you pointedly said.

Wade paused mid-chew. “Oh. Oh-ho-ho, I know what you’re doing here. Charles wants me to join his rag-tag team of circus freaks.”

“Wade—”

“The answer is no.”

“Come on—”

“And he wants me to be around all those kids? In a school? Has he met me?”

“Believe me, I don’t know what he’s thinking, either,” you told him, scoffing. “You’re the last person I’d expect to be on the team but… I trust Charles. If he wants you in, there must be a reason why.”

Holding his hands out, Wade shook his head. “Listen, I’m flattered, really, but Deadpool works solo. Except for that one time I formed the X-Force. But that was a team of people I hand-picked! The X-Men just doesn’t sound up my alley, y’know?”

You blew out a breath and fixed him with a serious expression. “Some day you’re gonna have to pull your head out of your ass and realize that there are people out there who are willing to be your friends. Your family. Don’t throw it away, Wade.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he studied you.

“You’re really bad with rejection, aren’t you?” he finally asked, quirking up a brow—or, at least where his eyebrow used to be—and crossed his arms. The Crocs he’d stolen from Al squeaked as he stood up and gestured to the door. “I’m surprised you didn’t go running back to Charles the moment I said no. I’m beginning to think you have a crush on me, or something. Not that I blame you. My face may be fucked but my dick works better than ever. Just ask Al. She’s blind as a bat, but she hears everything in this damn house.”

Immediately, you grimaced. “Ugh. Don’t be crass.”

“What? I thought you were into broken men. Like to pick up their pieces, don’cha? You and Wolvie had that fling once, no? He told me all about it.”

In truth, Logan had told him little to nothing about his brief relationship with you, but Wade had ruthlessly pestered him anyway.

You stiffened at his words, glowering. “You’re exasperating.”

“And you’re looking awfully lovely today. That frown really accentuates your eyes. Makes you look about a decade older.” Wade leaned his weight onto the table, leering over you, patting your back twice. “I find it very attractive.”

With a flick of your hand, a crimson coil of your harnessed energy shot out and thwacked him in his side, and he hissed out a string of curses, backing away from you. You’d burned right through his fluffy white robe, to his simultaneous dismay and astonishment.

“Jesus!” Wade glanced incredulously from you to the slight, shallow gash that formed by his ribs, already starting to heal itself. “That’s actually—that was so fucking cool. Do it again!”

Clearing your throat, you pushed yourself away and stood up. “Final time I’m asking. Yes or no?”

Wade pretended to give it a long, hard think. “Mmh…” He wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“Fine,” you said, rolling your eyes up to the ceiling. “When Piotr comes back from vacation, he’s going to find you and he’s not gonna go as easy on you as I have.”

“Ooh, ouch. Hope he brings some lube with him.” Wade grinned wolfishly.

Completely fed up with him, you ripped out a wad of paper and a pen from your jacket’s pocket, scribbling down your phone number. You folded it in half before shoving it against his chest.

“I’m not giving up on you. I’m a competitive person, Wade. If Piotr was the one to convince you to join, I just wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re literally obsessed with me, I get it,” he remarked, sparing you a lopsided beam. He made a show of pocketing your number on the side of his robe that wasn’t burnt. “You little minx, you.”

With a final flick of your hand, you lashed out another coil around his foot, and made your way to the door just as he fell back onto the couch with a muffled oomf!

Just as you left, you heard Wade cackling to himself through the door you left partially ajar, just as it was when you came in. You chalked it up to him finding it funny that you managed to trip him over with your powers, and strode away from the shoddy house with your lips twitching upwards.

Wade, however, was laughing because he’d successfully pulled off taping a kick me sign onto your back without you noticing. A low and childish blow, but would certainly make for some fun banter whenever he saw you again—which, he suspected, would be pretty soon.

Plus, Wade thought you were pretty cute when you were riled up.

#wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #deadpool fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #deadpool fanfic #deadpool imagines #deadpool drabbles #wade wilson imagines #wade wilson drabbles #wade wilson scenarios #deadpool scenarios #wade wilson fanfiction #marvel drabbles #wade wilson fluff #deadpool fluff #wade wilson x you #deadpool x you

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euphoricfilter · 6 months

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𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏𝟒

good thing we have extra sheets

tags/ warnings: game designer! jungkook, non-idol au, established relationship, fluff, smut in the forms of: minor handjob, multiple orgasms, fingering, squirting >:), the start of dom! jungkook, mild praise kink

word count: 1.1k

notes: no taglist

☆ collaboration with @bonny-kookoo 💞 ☆

☆ series masterlist

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

It couldn’t have been more than half an hour after you’d washed the dishes from the dinner Jungkook had helped you cook, that his hands are wandering over your body. Movie entirely forgotten as they dip under your shirt, teasing over supple skin, desperate to touch and savour every inch of your body as he hovers over you.

Your lips collide, his fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of your neck as he tries to pull you impossibly closer to him. Your legs are slung over his lap, hands equally as desperate as you grasp onto his shirt, whine bubbling up your throat, eager to have it off.

Jungkook catches his breath as you part briefly, shirt haphazardly thrown onto the floor as his fingers slip to the back of your neck once more. Utter desperation in his eyes as he pulls your face closer to his, lips pressing against yours. His tongue prods at your bottom lip as your hands slip down the length of his body, warm skin against yours.

The muscles in his stomach tense when your fingers dance across his body, greedy as they tug at the waistband on his pants. He hums, lips curling up into a hint of a smile at your eager yearning, his fingers fiddling with the button as you tug at the zipper.

“Want you” you murmur against his lips, slick soaking your panties as he shucks off his underwear too.

“You’ve already got me” he whispers, hand cupping your cheek, tender love reflected in his eyes as his gaze flickers across your face, brain working overtime to etch this very moment into his mind forever. The perfect image of you sat before him, cheeks flushed ever so pretty, lips a little swollen, spit shiny. Just everything he’s ever needed, everything that he’s ever wanted. Simply you. Some miracle that the world would gift him such a precious entity, forever his to keep and cherish.

And he can only hope that by the end of the trip you truly are his forever, finally taking that final leap of faith with him.

“Clothes off, pretty” his fingers tug at the hem of your shirt, arms lifting for him to take it off for you. Quick to pull your own pants and underwear off, left and forgotten on a pile with his clothes.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip at the sight of you, fingers itching to sink into your warm skin. Tug you closer and keep you hidden between his arms.

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen a pair of tits before” you scoot a little closer to him, hand wrapping around his straining cock, precum having already painted his stomach.

You feel his cock twitch between your fingers, groan vibrating from his chest.

“You’re just too pretty…” he starts, hips rutting up into your loose fist, “Can feel my heartbeat in my dick”

Your lips curl up into a smile, a lame attempt at hiding it when your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth.

“I missed this” you admit, thumb pressing under his cockhead. His hips jolt forward, flash of pleasure clawing up his spine.

“Missed this too” he moans, hands bracing against your hips. He leans the both of you down, cock slipping out of your hand as your back hits the mattress.

His hands slide up the length of your body, cock slipping over your sodden pussy, tip running through your folds before it’s nudging against your clit. A moan of his name slips past your lips, hips stuttering at the sudden jolt of pleasure, he continues to roll his hips forward, cock slicked up with your leaking arousal.

“Fuck—” you whine, “Jungkook, put it in already, you tease”

He laughs, the hearty kind that has something fluttering in your chest.

“Sorry, baby” he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, hand slipping between your bodies. He runs his fingers through your folds, teasing over your entrance before he’s pushing two fingers into you, curling them upwards deliciously.

“That’s it, baby, ride my fingers” he hums, watching down between the both of you where his fingers are pressed knuckle deep in your cunt.

Your walls squeeze around him, fingers digging into the meat of his arms as your hips jut upwards, as he presses over that little spot inside of you that has your orgasm slowly building, stomach tightening, mind slowly melting. Nothing but a mantra of his name spinning inside of your mind, the only word that seems to want to leave your mouth as he lets you chase your own high.

“Good girl” his thumb presses over your clit, added layer of pleasure making your toes curl as you near your orgasm.

“Gonna cum” you warn him, though you have no doubt he can feel it nearing with how much your pussy is clenching around him, slick leaking down his wrist, onto the bedsheets. And as much as you’d wanted to absolutely maul him for even thinking about mentioning your very extravagant sex life to the poor 60 year old owner of the Airbnb, you’re somewhat glad he’d thought ahead at least this much.

“That’s it, pretty. Cum for me” he urges, third finger slipping past your walls, stretch of it making your cunt ache, that wonderful border of not-really-there pain and all consuming pleasure that has you hurling towards your release.

You can feel it building in your stomach, “Shit— Jungkook hold on” you whine, mouth falling open as you moan. You can hear the wet squelch of your pussy every time his fingers thrust back inside of you, can feel your tacky arousal clinging to your thighs.

“Nuh uh, you’re so close, be a good girl”

You moan his name as you tip over the edge, flash of white glazing over your eyes at the all-consuming pleasure. It floods out of you, wetting his stomach as you squirt onto the sheets, his fingers still pressing over that little spot inside of you that has more cum spurting from your cunt. His fingers slip out of you, quick to thrum over your clit as you continue to cum over his hand, thighs shaking at the force of it.

“Well done” he murmurs, lips pressed against your cheek, fingers pressing back inside of you as you ride out your high, palm of his hand pressing over your throbbing clit, final spurt coating the both of you shiny.

Your chest stutters for breath as the world fazes back into view, Jungkook looking down at you, cum slicked fingers in his mouth as he tastes your release.

“Oh” you whisper, pussy clenching around nothing, orgasm ebbing away.

“Oh indeed. Thought I lost you for a moment” his nose scrunches up, grin pulling onto his lips, “Made a mess” he says, glancing between the both of you at the wet sheets.

“Maria’s already expecting a mess” you mumble, hands reaching out for him.

He flops over you, air punched out of your lungs at the weight of him as his arms slip around your waist.

“Wanna make you squirt again” he presses a kiss to your jaw, then to your cheek.

“You fiend, give me a minute, I can still feel your fingers inside of me” “Gonna feel something else inside of you in a minute”

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook #bts imagines #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook imagine #bts fic #bts jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #bts #jungkook scenario #bts jungkook

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 8 months

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"Daddy Please" Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 3 Stepdad!Dave York x Reader

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. This blog is a personal space and I write predominantly smut, with some dubcon and other Dead Dove Do Not Eat level content. I will always pre-warn for anything triggering and will always endeavour to include tw/cws in the tags, and warnings at the top of my fics. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. Specific Warnings: Daddy Kink, Sex Work, OnlyFans, Cam work, Infidelity, Step-Cest, Dave York(he always needs his own warning), Possessive!Dave, Men being sexist dicks on the internet, choking, degradation, rough sex, rough oral sex, exhibitionism. Let me know if I missed anything! Graphic made by me, does not convey shape, race, or hair colour of reader, the panties just looked so good, no use of Y/N.

Summary: Your hot stepdad Dave York catches you creating OnlyFans content. [Read on AO3] - [Ko-Fi]

Dave

“Honey? I’m home!”

Dave calls from the front door as he shucks off his dress shoes, hoping beyond hope that his wife was home and his stepdaughter – you – were not. But silence is all that greets him, neither of you it seems are home. He sighs to himself and heads straight for his basement, or his man cave as your mom calls it.

He descends the stairs slowly, fatigue making his body sag, frustration making his neck ache from strain. He’s been gone two weeks on a business trip in Hawaii, to you and your mom, it was some tax scandal for a congressional race in Arizona. In reality, it was a hit on some one-percenter who had fallen on the wrong side of a cartel.

Money can’t buy sense.

He thinks to himself as he throws his suit jacket and briefcase down on the tan, L-shaped sofa in the middle of the basement. He flicks on the TV to check the news and as expected, his hit was on every channel. He smiles morbidly to himself at his anonymous infamy. He groans and stretches as he looks around the bare, dark wood panelled walls, he really needs to remember to decorate this space someday.

The TV runs as background noise as Dave steps into the small office to the right of the basement. He strips bare, his clothes pooling at his feet as he locks the door behind him. This room is more his own, a double bed with crisp white sheets dominates the room. A desk and computer with multiple monitors squeezed into the right side of the room, and a door leading to his ensuite. A small dresser acts as a nightstand wedged between the wall and the bed.

The small space comforts him, one door in, one door out. No windows, no surprises. He lets out a long, heavy sigh of relief as he lets himself relax for the first time since he left two weeks ago. Dave pads into the bathroom and showers, brushes his teeth, and shaves the two weeks of stubble from his face.

Suitably refreshed he throws on a pair of sweatpants and flops down into his leather office chair. He wakes his computer from sleep and pulls up his VPN, scrambling his IP manually before logging into a private browser. Some of it is habit, some part of it is to make sure his wife never sees his browsing history. He doesn’t bother with headphones, no-one is home, and he probably won’t last long anyway.

He almost feels ashamed, sneaking around like a teenager, but when your mom refuses to so much as touch Dave when you’re around, he feels like he has no other choice. The video starts and the streamer is nowhere to be seen, her usual purple sheets are made neatly, her blackout curtains drawn as always. But there’s something new, something that Dave feels uneasy about.

A string of bumblebee fairy lights; hung over her headboard. Double layered in a rainbow of colours that pulse and fade like fireflies in the Summer. Something about it is too familiar, something he feels like he should recognise. He shakes himself out of it, turning to the comments to smirk at their desperation as the stream officially starts with her usual greeting.

“Hey there Daddies, you miss me?” The sweet lilt of his favourite OnlyFans streamer, Princess Luna, is like music to his ears as he feels his cock hardening before she’s even on screen. Comments flash up in the live chat straight away, and Dave chuckles to himself.

He never comments, he just subscribes on his private credit card, tips generously, and almost never misses a stream. Especially when it’s her. He feels superior to the others, never begging for attention, just admiring her in a way he feels no-one else can. He knows he’s being more than a little delusional, but he doesn’t care.

Moments like this, he can forget about how miserable his marriage is.

ImUrDaddy: Oh baby where’ve you been? Daddy’s cock has missed you.

StepDadz129: Fuck Princess, come on let us see you. Daddy needs you.

PDaddy1$: Stop teasing me Luna darlin’, show me that tight little cunt.

The messages keep on coming but Dave isn’t looking anymore, all he sees is Luna sliding into view. As always, Luna’s face is covered with an elaborate masquerade mask. This one is a deep burgundy with black lace forming a veil over her mouth, with gold filigree in swirling baroque floral patterns around her eyes giving her a mystical air.

Her dark red lace panties and bra compliment the mask as she settles on her knees in the middle of her bed. He slips his cock out of his sweatpants and takes himself in one hand, sliding over the soft foreskin languidly as he takes in her breasts. Salivating at the way they swell over her lacy cups, begging to be freed.

“I’ve missed you Daddy, been so tense these last few days, missing my step daddy so much.” She continues and Dave groans audibly at the taboo pet name, his cock already fully hard.

“He’s been away for two whole weeks, and all I want is him to stuff me full of his fat cock until he spills his load in me.”

Dave tries to push the nagging feeling in his mind away, something is off, but he grits his teeth as he focuses on the beautiful woman on screen, her hands already pulling her lacy bra down over her pert nipples. He slowly pumps his cock, desperate for release but he’s not going to let himself go. Not yet. The shows only just begun.

~*~

You

A knock at the front door startles you, your two fingers are deep inside you as the stream begins to heat up.

“Shit,” You curse to yourself and quickly spring up from the bed, “Sorry Daddy, I’ll be right back.”

You hear the comment notifications go wild in your wake and you silently bless whatever distraction has come up. Your viewers are going to be so thirsty for you once you get back. You shoulder on a black silk robe embroidered with white cranes and loosely tie it around you.

You hurry down the stairs, eyes glued to your phone where you watch the comments come in on the stream.

PDaddy1$: Baby! Come back you were doing so good for me!

ImUrDaddy: Aw baby don’t be a brat, I know there’s no-one there!

StepDadz129: Bitch!

You roll your eyes, clicking the mute button on the one comment before you hop down the bottom step. You check yourself out in the hall mirror for good measure, modest enough to answer the door but slutty enough to raise an eyebrow. You grin triumphantly and open the door wide, clinging to the edge of the door to greet them.

~*~

Dave

Rage courses through Dave’s veins as he sees the slew of abuse popping up on the chat the moment Luna disappears. He hates it when the entitled pricks come out to play.

His head snaps towards the basement stairs when he hears the sound of someone in the hall upstairs. Immediately Dave switches into work mode, ripping the desk drawer almost off the runners as he snatches up his pistol. He snaps in a mag and stuffs his achingly hard cock back into his pants.

He stalks back up the basement stairs, breathing slow, regulating his heartbeat as he prepares to face the intruder. He cracks the basement door open and sighs with relief as he quickly flicks the safety on his gun before stowing it in the back of his waistband.

It’s just you.

He thinks to himself as he eyes you from behind, the basement door has a perfect view to the front door, and more importantly your bare legs. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the silk robe hugging your curves so beautifully. He hears your flirtatious giggle and if he wasn’t already hard, he knows he would be just at the sound of it.

Get it together, that’s your stepdaughter.

He scolds himself internally, but thinking it only makes him ache more. Isn’t that exactly what he was just watching on OnlyFans? He shakes himself out of his dark thoughts just as you finish signing for the parcel.

“Thanks dude, have a great day!” You call to the delivery driver and Dave makes his exit hastily. He closes the door without a sound and creeps back down to the basement.

Only once he’s back in his chair, watching abusive comments piling up in the live chat does he let out the breath he’s been holding. He stows his gun once more and waits for Luna to return.

She steps back into view with her phone in hand, black robe with embroidered white cranes on the hem. She’s texting in earnest before throwing the phone back down on the bed. A notification comes through on Dave’s phone and if he wasn’t already joining the dots the confirmation makes him almost come in his pants. The text comes through, from you.

Hey Dave, package for you on the kitchen counter, can’t wait to see you later! Xx

His heart is in his throat, surely it has to be a coincidence, some fucked up twist of fate. That can’t be you? You can’t be Princess Luna, surely?

“Sorry Daddy, a parcel came for you, left it on the kitchen counter for you.”

Then he hears it clear as day, you alter your voice a little, maybe you use software, or are just that fucking good an actress. He honestly can’t tell.

But the moment the robe drops from Luna’s shoulders he just knows.

“It’s you.”

~*~

“So where were we Daddy?”

You ask to the webcam, mask secured, and panties pulled to the side, aimed directly at the professional camera you have mounted on your desk. You pull your phone back up to check the messages once more.

A litany of abuse for leaving too soon from your lowest tier supporters, typical. You have to have thick skin in this line of work, so you just mute a few before a familiar username pops up. Your eyebrows raise in surprise, it’s your favourite customer. The faceless, voiceless patron of your works that simply pays your highest tier, tips often, and not once has he given you abuse.

DukeSilver09: Hey there hon, don’t listen to these pricks, you’re doing a great job for me Princess.

Your cheeks heat up at his kindness and for the first time, you’re not just getting off to your own fantasies.

“What’s your story then Duke Silver? Fan of Parks and Rec?”

DukeSilver09: Yeah, my stepdaughter recommended it to me for when I’m travelling.

Your brows furrow for a second, trying to remember if you’d recommended it to Dave, or if it was just some crazy coincidence.

“Good taste, you fuck her yet Duke?”

You feel your orgasm building as you work a third finger inside you, rubbing your clit frantically as you imagine it’s Dave on the other end of this conversation. God, you wish. All you’ve wanted since they got married last year was to get him in your bed.

A girl can dream.

DukeSilver09: Not yet, but I think I’m about to get lucky.

“Good for you Duke, fuck her like the good little girl she is.”

You’re vaguely aware of the other men in the chat, some loving this interaction between you, some jealous, some angry, but you don’t care. All you care about is this stranger bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

~*~

Dave

Unbeknownst to you, Dave is leaning against the wall opposite your bedroom, waiting, phone in hand as he continues to watch you. He has headphones in to make sure he can still hear you without alerting suspicion. Dave types out a reply instantly.

DukeSilver09: She’s no angel, trust me, I know she’s filthy. I see the way she fucks me with her eyes at dinner.

Dave watches as you convulse on the bed, fingers working into your wet pussy, the squelching almost audible through the door. But maybe that was just his imagination running wild.

“Oh fuck, yeah? Well make sure to make her pay for being such a slut, sounds like she deserves to be punished.”

He groans aloud at that, and you freeze on the screen, Dave curses under his breath as he clamps his mouth shut.

This was stupid, fuck get out of there.

“Daddy?”

Dave looks down at the screen and sees that the livestream is muted, the sound hadn’t come from his headphones. He looks up and watches in disbelief as you open the door, robe on, mask off. Looking at him with a knowing look that would make even the toughest man flinch.

But Dave’s no ordinary man.

~*~

You

Dave stands there for a moment, frozen in place, but his face is anything but shocked. His one eyebrow is cocked, his plump lips curved up into a smirk, making his cheek dimple.

“Hey there Princess, what’re you doing in there? Got a guy over? You know how your mom feels about you having the door shut if you have visitors.”

“Nope, no-one here but me, Da- Dave.” You falter, already the taboo falling too easily from your lips.

It can’t have been him? Surely not, this is just some fucking weird coincidence, right?

“Then you won’t mind if I come in? Check on those fairy lights?”

“I don’t think-!” You start but Dave has already crowded past you, you suddenly realise he’s only got sweatpants on, his body heat rolls off onto you as you take in the painfully obvious erection straining against his pants.

“Well, well, this is what you’ve been up to.”

Dave purrs, picking up the mask you were just wearing, turning it around in his deft fingertips as he looks at the livestream. He’s just out of camera-shot as he grins at you wickedly.

“Dave please, don’t tell mom.”

“About which bit?”

You give Dave a confused look, breathing becoming laboured as panic sets in.

“What do you mean?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper at this point, and you feel compelled to shut the door behind you.

“What don’t you want me to tell her?” He asks, one long stride and he’s got you backed against the door, his free hand circles your neck, gently, a promise more than a threat, “That you’re whoring yourself out to dirty old men online?”

“Dave please, I can-!”

“Or that you’ve been waiting for me to stuff you full of my fat cock until I spill my load inside you?”

Your brain short circuits as you realise it is him, there’s no doubt now, he’s been watching you for months.

Did he know it was me?

“Dave please, it was all for show, I promise.”

Dave clicks his tongue in disappointment, but his hand tightens around your throat as he uses his thumb to nudge your jaw to the side. He leans in, pressing his rock hard, aching dick against your bare stomach as he rubs his cheek against yours.

“You sure honey? Because I’d be mighty disappointed if that was the truth.”

You moan, the sound escaping you before you can even think to stop it, you roll your hips up against him and wrap your arms around his neck before turning to face him. Your noses press against one another as you look up through your lashes into his hooded, lust-drunk eyes.

“You mean it Daddy?” You breathe as you brush your lips against his, your whole body vibrating with arousal as his breath fans against your skin, foreheads pressed together as you try your hardest to hold back.

“‘Course sweetheart, how could I not? You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“But what about-?” You begin to protest, and whatever you were about to say is lost as Dave’s lips crash into yours.

His free hand drops the mask before pinning your hip to the door. His broad hand sears against your skin as he grinds down into you. You moan into his mouth, giving him access before he even asks, letting him lick into your mouth with a hunger you’ve never known from a partner.

He dominates you, claims your mouth in a ravenous need that has you whimpering as you spread your legs for him, hitching an ankle around his leg, pulling him in closer as you run your fingers through his hair. You tug firmly and the growl he makes almost has you coming right there and then.

“Dave the stream.” You pant as you both come up for air, but a darkness falls over his vision. You already know what he’s going to ask before he says a word.

“You got another mask I can borrow?”

Your stomach flutters as you realise what he’s suggesting. You’re about to fuck Dave for the first time, on live stream for fucks sake. Your viewers are going to fucking love it.

“Stay here.” You breathe against his lips, taking control for a second and your heart flutters as Dave’s eyebrow raises in amusement. You’re filing that reaction away for later.

You bend over, making sure to brush up against Dave’s rock-hard bulge as you do, and pick up your mask, re-seating it before heading back into view of the livestream. The sound of comments firing in the background makes your stomach flutter in anticipation. You rifle under your bed for your box of props.

“Here you go Daddy.” You purr as you prance back to the doorway.

“Fuck.” Dave rasps as he twitches in his pants. He puts the black and gold mask on, smirking down at you as you bite your lip at him.

“Follow my lead, yeah?”

“Sure baby, it’s your show.”

You lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips. It’s an oddly intimate act and you almost regret doing it until you see the lazy smile spread across Dave’s lips.

You turn to go back to your stream and before you’re even back in shot you feel the sharp slap of Dave’s palm on your ass and you yelp. You look back with a playful look as you roll your eyes at him.

“Hey there Daddies,” You say with a soft, sing-song lilt to your voice, “Sorry about that, I almost got busted! Daddy came home and I had to pretend to be a good little girl.”

You chuckle giddily as you watch the comments flood back in, all positive, begging for you to continue.

The violent banging on your door startles you and you yelp.

“Luna what the fuck are you doing in there?” Dave roars, loud enough for your viewers to hear and the comments go absolutely wild.

“I’m not dressed please don’t come in!” You feign as much panic as you can, pretending to fumble with the computer controls.

“You got a boy in there? I’ll fucking kill him.” Dave roars as he rips the door open. You stand up and clutch your discarded robe against your chest.

“Please, it’s not what it looks like, please don’t tell mom.” You mimic your terrified tone from earlier but both of you now know it’s just an act.

“What the fuck?”

Dave steps into view and you all but whimper as you see the murderous look in his dark eyes. He looks from you to the computer, and back again. His chest heaves and you take a step back, you’re not sure if you planned to or not but the intensity is more than you expected.

“Please, let’s just talk about this.”

You plead as he crosses the short distance to grab you by the throat, harder than before and you audibly gasp as he takes off his mask. You watch as his eyes scan the stream, making sure he’s only visible from the neck down.

“You wear these fancy masks to hide your whoring from the world huh? Give me one, I’m not about to get caught fucking you on some sick little porno site.”

You make a show of turning to the camera, lace-covered breasts front and centre as you pretend to grab something from the shelf behind. You turn and tilt up onto your tiptoes to replace the mask on Dave’s face. You pout a little. As much as you know it’s necessary, you want to see him, all of him, when he fucks you.

“Good girl, now,” He growls, shoving past you to sit on the end of the bed, “Convince me not to tell your mom, show me if you’re good enough to keep a secret for.”

He’s a fucking natural, lined up perfectly in shot so that you can sink onto your knees in front of him. The notifications are going wild, the cheesy sound bite of a cash register opening and closing as your fans tip you firing faster than you’ve ever known.

“What if it’s too big, Daddy?”

“You’ll make it fit Princess, I know you will.”

You nod slowly and peel down the waistband of his pants and gasp at the sight of him. He’s uncut, thick, and a nice size. A Goldilocks dick, not too big, not too small. You salivate at the sight of him and look up to see his hungry gaze locked on you.

You pull his foreskin back gently and mewl at the sight of his pre-come smeared over his angry red tip. You lap gently at the mess and hum at the salty, bitter taste of his come.

“Good fucking girl, knew you’d be good at sucking dick, bet you’ve had hundreds of cocks stuffed down your throat.”

“Nuh-uh,” You say loud enough for the microphone to pick up, “Only you Daddy.” His dick twitches wildly at that and he looks down at you in shock, you see the real fear of this being your first-time flash behind his eyes and you subtly shake your head. He narrows his eyes and nods imperceptibly in understanding.

“Fuck, been saving yourself for me Princess?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

You punctuate it with a short, wet suck of his exposed tip and he groans, fisting one hand in your hair, shifting slightly on the bed angling it so that the stream can just see your profile as you suckle on his tip.

“See fellas, this is what you get when you’re nice to her.”

You whimper and feel the slick dripping down your legs as you sink lower onto Dave’s gorgeous cock. It’s so smooth, his foreskin making it a dream to sink down onto. He hisses as your lips and nose press into his pubic hair.

“Good fucking girl.” His voice is ragged, and you look up to see his plush lips parted, veins in his neck bulging. You bob your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks out as you flick your tongue against his head every time you come back up his shaft.

“She’s got such a fucking pretty little mouth, don’t you think?”

He shifts on the bed again until he’s standing, you have to sit up on your knees to keep him in your mouth. His face is out of shot, and he looks down at you with care in his eyes. He mouths down a “You ok?” At you and you smile, nodding as you take him deep.

“Shit, look at you.”

Dave’s Hand in your hair becomes possessive as he rolls his hips slowly into your mouth, you gag a little and tears spill from your eyes as you try your hardest to keep it together.

“Doing so well for me baby, making Daddy feel so good.”

You whine at the praise and his willingness to call himself daddy. He lets you take his cock for a little longer before he rips you off with a snarl.

“Need to fill that little pussy up, c’mere.”

Dave pulls you up into his arms and kisses you deeply, tongue licking into your mouth, tasting himself on you with a moan as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sits down on the edge of the bed once more before turning you in his lap, his cock sliding between your clothed folds as he holds your back flush against his chest. One hand is wrapped around your throat as his other trails down your body to your soaked panties.

“You been saving this for me too?”

He slowly peels them away to the side, exposing your wet heat. You arch your back as he glides two thick fingers through your folds. It feels so much better than you could have imagined. His calloused pads rake through you, teasing at your hole before gliding back up to your clit, rubbing slow, intense circles around your swollen bud.

“Yes Daddy, want you to be the only one, want you inside me. Daddy, please?”

You squirm in his lap, rocking your hips so you coat his length with your slick as it glides through your lips.

“Slow down baby, not going to last if you keep doing that.” He whispers in your ear, chuckling slightly as he nips a warning into your neck. You hum and slow down, but you don’t stop.

“Please Daddy, can’t wait any more, need you.”

It’s only half an act. You’ve dreamt of this for months, desperate to have him. You watch how your mother spurns him, how she hides her phone when he’s around. You know she’s not being good to him.

“As you asked so nicely.”

You’re caught off guard as he notches himself at your core and with one hand on your hip, the other tight around your throat, he drags you down onto his cock.

You cry out in ecstasy as you feel every inch of him pressing into you, every ridge and vein as he forces you down to the base. You’re grateful that you worked yourself open with three fingers earlier or this would have been way too much.

“Look at that baby,” Dave hums against your skin, looking into the camera over your shoulder as he tilts your head down to look at the screen, “Look at how pretty you look all stretched out on my cock.”

You pant heavily as you get used to his girth, it’s blinding. You’ve never had someone fill you just right like this, like you were made to be split open by him. You whine impatiently and a hard slap comes down on your right ass cheek. Dave’s cock twitches up into you as you yelp and mewl at the painful pleasure rocking through you.

“Naughty girl, so eager to get fucked, what would your mother say if she could see you like this?”

Dave taunts you as he moves both hands to your hips, pulling you further back into the bed so he can brace his feet on the sheets, holding you up for the camera to see you suspended above him. You know it’s for show, you know it’s all a fantasy, but in that moment, you lose yourself to Dave.

“Touch yourself baby, need you to milk this fat dick until you’re full of me, y’hear me?”

“Yes Daddy, want you to fill me up, fuck your cum deep into me.”

“Good fucking girl.”

Dave snaps up into you without warning, his pace brutal as he fucks you just right, kissing your g-spot with the head of his cock as you swirl your fingers aggressively around your clit. You feel your release building like a crescendo. The symphony of Dave’s hungry, aggressive grunting as he fucks you harder and harder with every thrust; and the staccato of desperate moans that escape your lips are all you can think about.

You’re about to come as Dave pushes you forward onto your hands and knees, he fuses his hips to yours, not letting you go for a single second as he pushes your head down onto the edge of the bed.

“Fuck yeah, let them see you, how fucking drunk you are on my cock, dirty little slut.”

“Fuck yes, Daddy, fuck me deep, fill me up with your come Daddy.”

The words fall from your lips without prompt or encouragement, you’re coming so hard you can’t keep your eyes open any more, your legs tremble and your arms feel like lead as pleasure rocks through you like no other orgasm you can remember.

Dave keeps fucking you as you whimper and shake from exertion and overstimulation. You let him use you, let him fuck down into you with such force you swear you’ll feel him for weeks. But you don’t care, pleasure ebbs through you like a heartbeat, stopping only as Dave’s hips snap into you one last time as you hear him groan in your ear. He falls against your back, holding you close to him as he releases inside you, pinning you to him as he pants and whines in your ear.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He rubs his nose along the column of your neck and suckles your earlobe into his mouth.

“All for you Daddy.”

You eventually ease off of his lap and turn the stream off without your usual sign-off. You don’t give a single shit about your viewers right now, all you can think about is Dave and the blissed-out look on his face as he watches you, propped up against your headboard.

“So, that was something else.”

You say with a giggle and the smile that spreads across his face has butterflies exploding in your chest. The love, the affection there is something more than just some kinky fantasy.

“Yeah,” He wheezes as he rocks up onto his feet and scoops you up into his arms, bridal style, “Let’s get you cleaned up yeah?”

His whole demeanour has changed, gone is the dominant Dave who just fucked you within an inch of your life, right here the Dave you know so well. Caring, soft, yet still so fucking hot.

“Ok.” You mumble into his chest as you flop against him.

~*~

Hours later and your mom still isn’t home, Dave still hasn’t left your bed.

“We don’t have to do this again y’know.”

You eventually say what you’ve been trying to bring up for hours. You’re snuggled into Dave’s chest, under your freshly made sheets, watching some shit on Netflix. He sits up immediately, pulling you up to sit next to him.

“Is that what you want?”

There’s a vulnerability on Dave’s face that makes your heart clench, a myriad of emotions floods through your system. You dip your head, avoiding those soft brown eyes that you adore.

“No, I just, you’re married to my mom.”

Dave’s calloused hand cups your cheek tilting your head up to look at him.

“And where do you think she is tonight? Where she’s been the last six weekends in a row?”

Dave’s eyes are deadly serious, there’s an edge to his tone that arouses you, it’s possessive, frustrated, but most of all passionate.

“Do you want to keep, uh, seeing each other?” You ask as your eyes drop to his lips and you can’t imagine not kissing them again, not feeling them on your skin.

“Yes.”

Dave’s answer shocks you, not for his admission but for how firmly he says it, how much passion and surety he can pack into a single syllable.

“Good.”

You respond in turn before pulling Dave down on top of you, crashing his lips into yours as his hips slot between yours like you were made for one another.

What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

Tags: @yvonneeeee @notsosecretspy @jadealicious06 @famouslyanonymous @harriedandharassed @casa-boiardi @pimosworld @brittmb115 @bitchwitch1981 @cool-iguana @beefrobeefcal @lucyeyelesbarrow @anoverwhelmingdin @beskarandblasters @wannab-urs @pastelnap @patti7dc @gasolinerainbowpuddles @jksprincess10

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kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

Whiskey Sour

chapter five: lemon drop

Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences. His best friend, for one.

series masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

series tags and warnings: dbf!joel being extremely criminally attractive, big ol' age gap (40s/early 20s), unprotected piv (do not follow the leader), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), dry humping, spitting, biting, joel miller is a MUNCH, very appropriate use of a showerhead, consensual somnophilia, yoga, heavy emphasis on payphones, daddy issues, family reunions, angst, dead mom, grief and mourning, father/daughter relationship, bartending, reader is a woman in STEM (author is not), being a student in university deserves a warning probably, attempted drugging (roofies), college boys suck, possessive sex, possessive joel, protective joel, obligatory warning for joel's salt-and-pepper hair, masturbation, wet dreams, no outbreak AU, hurt/comfort, healing, no sarah or ellie, stargazing, face-sitting, pining/yearning, happy ending

word count: ~ 8.9k

chapter 5: lemon drop

Being with him.

There are two small indentations in the wall behind the headboard.

You don't particularly want to inform Joel, since he'll have to fix them, but it does explain the ache between your legs. The soreness in your bones and the rawness of your skin.

The lightness in your chest when you roll your head to the side and see him asleep next to you.

He doesn't sleep well. You know that. But here he is, on his stomach, half of his face smushed into the pillow. His lips are parted and the lines around his eyes are softened, airbrushed, in the golden light of the morning. His arm is secured across your waist like a seatbelt, fixing you to him. You don't mind. He's so warm, so firm, and you could fall asleep all over again.

He looks peaceful. Content.

You’re decently cool with your lower half under his breathable quilt, your nipples stiff and exposed to the air. But it’s the warm, heavy weight of his arm that warms you from the inside. And it's the flex of his fingers against you, like he's trying to pull you closer in his sleep, that piques your interest.

You peer at him for awhile, shifting a piece of tousled silver hair away from his face. A low noise rumbles in his chest, his hand tightening on your body. You wonder what he dreams about.

He rolls suddenly, settling on his back and bringing you with him. You try not to rest all yourself on him, allowing yourself the sole gratification of listening to his heartbeat and feeling it throb against your cheek. But your leg gently brushes the stiff, hefty weight between his thighs and your breath hitches.

“Joel?” you try, but he's out cold. You can see all of his face like this, propping yourself up on your elbow to admire the planes of his face. You want to thread your fingers through his scruffy, patchy beard, chafe your mouth on his moustache, and whisper words you know he'll rebuff. You're so handsome. So good to me.

You're the tonic I’ve been waiting for.

You escape from the stronghold of his arm and shuffle down the bed, shucking back the sheets to reveal his cock, sitting proud and leaking against his belly. Every few seconds, his dick pulses, the deep red tip needy for attention, and you realise he's having a wet dream. Arousal coils inside you, and you gently grasp him at the base, giving the underside of his length an experimental lick. His breathing hollows, and it encourages you to take the head between your lips, your tongue swirling over his slit. A few drops of precum pool in your mouth.

Joel blinks his eyes open to a consistent pressure between his legs and an empty bed to his left side. He grasps for you blindly, squinting at the alarm clock. It’s too early for you to have left for class, and he doesn't even have a job today.

It's only when he lifts his head slightly to find you with his cock in your mouth, your hand gripping his thigh and the other jerking him at the base, that Joel realises he's awake.

His dream was a little different. He'd had your body on top of him, his tongue in your pretty cunt, licking and sucking at your little clit until you were trembling from the force of your orgasm. This is new. He doesn't mind it one bit.

“Jesus,” he mutters, head falling back, hand flying to the back of your head even though he has no intention of pressing you down. Still, you release a gurgling moan as you take him deeper, your cheeks hollowing, and the choking press of your hot throat around his length makes his vision white out. He's already halfway there from the dream, and now, barely lucid but hard as a rock, he isn't going to last much longer.

“Gonna… shit, gonna come,” he groans, his thighs flexing as he tries to stave off his orgasm. You peer coyly up at him, swallowing around his length. You’re fucking drooling around the tight seal of your lips and your eyes are brimming with tears as you suck him down to the coarse silver hairs at the base of his cock. His tip prods your throat and Joel fists his bedsheets. “Christ, baby. You gonna take it?”

Happily, you hum, the vibrations causing his balls to pull tight. Your cheeks inflate with the amount of cum he spills into your mouth, grunting your name and watching the tears spill from your face to his balls. He winds his hand around your hair and pulls your head backward until you gently let his softening cock slip out. It twitches when he realises you're waiting for his instructions, your mouth full of his cum. “Let me see,” he rasps.

You open, showing him the mess he's made on your tongue and the back of your throat. Joel’s refractory period is not what it was, but he still feels tremors of arousal snake down his spine at the sight. “Swallow.”

You do, showing him your empty mouth when you're finished. “Were you dreaming about me?” you ask, crawling up his body so you can lie down on his chest. You rest your chin on one of his pecs, looking up at him with a sated smile on your face.

Joel hugs you to him, yanking your thighs up around his hips. “Want me to show you?”

You grin at the way his eyes slip down to your lips, chasing them in his sleepy state. “Breakfast,” you whisper, pulling away so you're straddling his hips. “I’ll be late for class if you show me .”

He props himself upright to get closer to you, but you frown at the way he winces, a grunt of pain leaving his mouth. “Your back?”

“I’m fine,” he says, dropping his forehead to your collarbone. “Just tweaked it a bit.”

“Joel,” you coo, combing your nails through his hair. He huffs out little sighs across your skin. “Would you let me help you if I told you that you need your back for a living?”

He frowns. You shouldn't have to help him. He should've gotten attention for his back a long time ago. This should not be in your hands. “Probably not.”

You figured as much. “What if…” Your free hand trails down his spine. “… I told you that you need your back to fuck me properly?”

He bites down on your collarbone, making you laugh. “Real smart, baby.”

“That still sounds like a ‘no.’” You pretend to ponder, keeping his head fixed to your chest, hearing your heartbeat. “What if I told you that feeling better would make me so happy?”

Joel chuckles, peeling his head back to watch you flutter your lashes obnoxiously. “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

Victorious, you bite down on your smile. “Lie down on your stomach, please.”

He can get so pouty sometimes, his plush bottom lip jutting out and his warm eyes twinkling up at you. “You'll be late.”

Not that he wants you to go. Ever.

“And you have a day off,” you reply, giving him a kiss as you urge him into his stomach. “Do you have any lotion nearby?”

Joel shifts under you. “I, uh…”

You roll your eyes. “Of course. You're a man.” As you suspect, the lotion is in his bedside drawer. You squirt some into your palm and rub your hands together. “If it hurts too much, just tell me. Okay?”

“Baby, you don't have to—”

“Okay?”

Joel grunts, sinking into the mattress as you straddle his lower back. “Okay,” he says.

Your fingers dig into his shoulder blades first, your hands slick enough to slide over his tanned skin. “Where did you get these scars?” you ask softly, kneading his shoulder blades with your thumbs. The marks are white and scattered down his back, evidently scarred over but once having likely bled.

“Maybe it was you,” he grunts.

You laugh, tracing one of your own marks with your finger. “No, Joel. Those are still red as a fire truck.”

“That mean I can give you a hickey?” His voice is muffled by the pillow.

“Mmm.” You lean over and press a kiss to the spot you've just massaged loose. “Want everyone to know I’m not up for grabs?”

“Damn right,” he grumbles. If he can't hold your hand and parade you down the street, he'll take knowing you're marked up. His. “Fuckin’ idiot kids. Wouldn’t even know what to do with you. Wanna take my baseball bat and just—”

“That,” you interrupt, cascading your hands down to the next knot of tight muscles in the middle of his back, “is not sustainable. And you're avoiding my question.”

Joel chuckles. “They're from work,” he tells you. “Been a longtime enemy of two-by-fours.”

“Haven't we all.”

“Maybe in another life, I was in a firefight and got shot a dozen times.”

You shuffle downward so you can pay attention to his lower back. “Yeah, and in another life, I’m dating a frat boy and I don't live in Texas.”

His hand reaches up and smacks the side of your thigh. “Not fuckin’ funny.” The idea of another man’s hands on your body makes him sick with the need to stake his claim. He knows he doesn't have a claim to make, but shit, nobody else can have you like this. Nobody else will know the way you feel, not as long as he's got a say.

Your joy is something he covets. He wants to earn it in a way no one else can.

“Don’t worry,” you say, gently unwinding the knot between the dimples on his lower back with your palms. “I only want you, Joel Miller.”

He huffs like a grumpy old dog, feeling the pain dissipate beneath your fingers. “Yeah, that's right.”

You press a flurry of kisses down his spine, all the way to the dimples on his back. “So handsome,” you whisper. Your warm breath soothes all the remaining tension in his muscles. “Feel better?”

He turns onto his back and smiles up at you, cupping your face in his hands. “Better,” he replies.

“Good.” You grin back, trying to lean down and kiss him, but he holds your head in place.

“I need you to tell me somethin’.”

You lift your brows. “No, I don't like country music. And yes, I will be happy with you nonetheless.”

“That ain't what I’m asking.” He lets himself laugh a little, sobering just as quickly. “I need you to tell me if this is what you really want.”

You swing your leg back so you're no longer straddling his hips and lie next to him on the bed. Peering up at him, touched with the golden light of sunrise, you can't resist the urge to run your fingers through the patchy beard on his face. “I meant it, Joel,” you say. “I want you.”

“I can’t…” He swallows. “I can't give you a relationship, baby. Not one you deserve.”

He can't walk with you hand-in-hand on the street. He can't kiss you when others are around. He can't take you out on a date to a nice restaurant. People will talk. People will judge. They'll decide you're throwing your life away for someone too old, not fast enough, not good enough.

You pin him with a stern look. “You can't decide what I deserve, Joel. It's not your choice to make. I happen to feel very good when I’m with you. Isn't that enough?”

Nothing will be enough. No act of service or show of affection or pretty declaration can encapsulate the downward crush of gravity that is waking up next to you. It's heavy and strong and a little terrifying to be the man you've chosen: it’s shouldering your heart, Sisyphus on the hill, and trying not to fumble the precious organ on his way up.

Joel Miller is not a good man. He's a selfish man.

Which is why he does not press. He does not persist. He does not shrug off the delicious weight of your affection—he grabs onto it with greedy fingers and it tastes like the softness of your flesh.

He crowds you, nudging his nose against your cheek before he makes a path toward your mouth. Your body is warm and your eyes glimmer with a light he wants to steal. He'll be the only one to know that glimmer, to swallow it, to make you his even though this intimacy cannot leave his home.

“What you're sayin’ is”—his hand grips the nape of your neck, his mouth closing in over yours with that cocky little grin in his voice—“you're mine.”

The rough tone melts your will into molten gold. “I’m yours,” you whisper, opening up your mouth for him, letting him stake his claim.

It's not like you could ever resist, anyway.

Since you vastly prefer the quiet of Joel’s home to your own, you find yourself there most weeknights.

It’s mid-October. You’re in Warrior II in his living room, trying to centre yourself before your test in the morning. He's given you a set of keys to his house, and while you know it's partially because he doesn't trust Liam not to try anything, it feels good to know he wants you around this much. He isn't home yet, but you've started dinner: that is, you've turned on the burner to boil the water for pasta and abandoned the stovetop for yoga.

The radio croons Fleetwood Mac, and you shift to Child’s Pose. A key rustles in the front door, and you can hear Joel toss his jacket on the hook and kick off his shoes. He calls your name from the foyer.

“In here.” Joel rounds the corner to find you doing… something. You’re lying on a yoga mat, identical to his own, your arms stretched out above your downturned head and your legs folded underneath you.

He folds his arms over his chest and watches as you plant your feet and palms on the mat, lifting yourself up into an upside-down V, your ass up in the air. You're in those godforsaken yoga pants again. “I like that one,” says Joel.

“I’ll bet you do.” You keep your breathing steady as you arch your back some more. It isn't necessary, but you like turning your head and finding his eyes fixed on your ass. “Wanna come over here and do it with me?”

“Yeah, I fuckin' do,” says Joel. He disappears behind you for a moment, but when you feel two hands and a firm pressure on your backside, you gasp and jolt forward involuntarily.

You roll your eyes, adjusting your position. “I didn't mean it like that.”

Joel hums. It's how you know he isn't listening. Instead, his hands knead your ass, the denim of his jeans coarse through the thin material of your yoga pants. “Joel,” you sigh, “this is supposed to be relaxing.”

“I feel relaxed,” he mutters.

“I don't. Your phone is digging into my ass.”

“Can I put somethin’ else there?”

You laugh, grinding back against him. His cock is starting to harden in his jeans. “You’re such a man sometimes, Miller. Can’t even do yoga in peace.”

“Not with this ass.” He gives your left cheek a smack and steps away. “I might snap in half if I tried that, baby.”

“That’s why you’ve gotta work up to it.” You settle into a seated twist so you can finally look at him right-side-up. He takes the opportunity to bend over as best he can and kiss the tip of your nose. “Flexibility is—”

“Important. Yeah, I know.” Joel swipes his thumb over your bottom lip. “Came in handy last night, didn’t it?”

On your back. Ankles near your head. His hands firm around your calves as he bent you in half, spreading you open, fucking you hard. You bite your lip, indulging in the memory as you instinctively push your tits together in your bra, displaying yourself for him. You’ve kept his cum inside you all day, from school to home to now.

Joel’s eyes rake hungrily over your tits. You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re his. “All right,” he says softly. “Dinner, then I’ll do that yoga shit with you.”

Your beaming smile is reward enough for the pain he's about to put himself through. You wind your arms up around his neck and kiss him. “Can we get you a pair of tights?”

“Absolutely fuckin’ not.”

“But your ass would look so—”

He shuts you up with another kiss, smacking your ass in retribution. Behind you, the water begins to boil.

You dump the penne into the water and gather the ingredients for your sauce. Joel sidles up next to you, pressing his lips to your temple. “This one your mom’s, too?” he asks, indicating the cluster of seasonings and spices on the counter. Half of them you've had to buy for Joel because he never owned them: red pepper flakes, cayenne pepper. He isn't a particularly adventurous eater.

“Mhm. She and Dave made this one up together.” You indicate the ramekin next to the spices and give Joel your best pleading eyes. “A teaspoon of each? Please?”

If you haven't learned by now that he'll give you anything you want, he’ll have to rectify that. While you measure and pour the heavy cream and tomato paste into the pan on the stove, Joel obeys your instructions to a T. The garlic and onions go next, a pleasantly rich aroma filling the kitchen.

You turn your head to place a kiss on his shoulder, over the flannel you bought him last week. “How was work?”

“Framing went smoothly, and Tommy actually showed up on time.” Joel looks down at the ramekin filled with spices and shows it to you with a little frown on his face. “Is this okay?”

You nod on your way to kissing him, forgetting that you're supposed to be stirring the sauce. “Beautiful,” you whisper, squaring your body to his, lifting the hem of his shirt a little so you can trail your hand from his soft belly up to his chest. It's greedy and messy, your lips a bit feverish as you migrate from his mouth to his throat.

Joel groans, his cock filling out his jeans as he grips you tight, closing his eyes as he enjoys your ministrations. “Supposed to be makin’ dinner.”

“Mmmmm,” is all you say, pressing up against him, your hands warming against his skin, your lips sucking a dark spot at the crook of his neck. Joel grunts, kneading the flesh of your hips.

“Did you just give me a hickey?”

You pull down the straps of your sports bra and yank it down to expose the swell of your tits. There are at least three purple spots on them from his treatment of you last night. Joel unzips the bra and simply disposes of it, palming your tits with his rough hands. You moan when his mouth dips to yours, kissing you harshly, sucking and biting at your lips as you gasp for breath. “Keep it off,” he says into your mouth. You can feel his smug grin.

You try to speak between reaching for lungfuls of air. “You want me… to cook with… my tits out?”

“Yeah,” he says, tugging your swollen bottom lip with his teeth before he pulls away, pinching your ass. “I do.”

Something giddy and excitable settles in your chest. “You're a dirty old man, Mr. Miller.”

If there's one thing you can always count on, it's that Joel doesn't like being called old. He pushes you up against the stove, your hip bones digging into the steel, buries his face in the crook of your neck, and bites.

“Joel!” you gasp. Arousal warms your core at his manhandling.

“You can take it, baby,” he says into your ear, deceptively gentle. “You're young.”

Asshole.

He stays like this while you finish the sauce, turning off the burner. His lips tease your throat, his hands ghosting the shape of your ribs and your spine without truly touching you. His erection is insistent against your ass while you drain the pasta and finish the dish, portioning it between the two of you. When you finally set down the utensils and dishes next to the stove, Joel grasps your waist, turning you around.

“Go to the table,” he says, “and bend over.”

Your head spins with arousal. “The… the food,” you say weakly.

“Can wait.” Joel cocks his head at you. His dark eyes are hungry. “Go on.”

You obey, of course. Your feet feel unsteady as you make your way across the kitchen and brace your hands on the table. Behind you, there's the distinct noise of a zipper, and it echoes wildly in your ears. You rub your thighs together, trying to relieve the pressure building between them. But Joel’s hands are there, prying your legs apart so he can stand between them.

The finished wood of the table makes your tits slide against it as you desperately curl your fingers around the edge. Joel knows how to be gentle and sweet with you, but he also knows how to handle you roughly. When he yanks down your yoga pants along with your panties, finding your pussy slick and dripping down your thighs, he isn't surprised. You like when he demands. When he touches you like this.

Fully naked, you shiver as his hands knead your ass, spreading you wide for him. Joel slides two fingers through your slit and brings them to his mouth. Your tang makes him groan. “You ready for me, baby?”

“Please,” you say, your ribs expanding as you heave. It's like the air has been vacuumed from the room, sealing you tight in a second skin. You need him so badly your thighs tremble, trying to close him in somehow, keep him against you. “Please, Joel.”

He pulls out his cock, leaking at the tip, as his other hand slides up to your shoulder blades and pushes you down against the table. He gets a little primal, knowing your tits are smushed against his table, knowing you're so fucking wet for him. Some of his precum spurts out on your ass at the thought—the sight.

His cockhead disappears inside your tight hole, and he groans your name, his eyes torn between the way you suck him inside and the way your fingers flex against the edge of the table. The sound of your sweet, panting whines makes him bite down on his own teeth.

You choke on your moan as Joel feeds his cock into you, burying himself snugly at the hilt, the head prodding your cervix. “Fuck, fuck,” you cry out, the angle making him sit heavy against a delicious, mind-numbing spot along your front wall. You can feel your cunt gush out around him, lubricating his withdrawal and the next thrust as he begins to take you with his fat cock.

“I know, baby.” His hips are brutalising your ass as he fucks you, still clothed in denim that chafes your skin. Your curves and your softness are on display for him like this, presented for him like a fucking feast as you're pushed up onto your toes, trying to take him deeper. He snakes a strong arm around your front, pressing up on your lower belly to keep you from using up all your energy. “I’ve got you.”

The pressure makes you moan deep in your chest, and he feels so deep inside you that you can't even expand your lungs. “Ah, fuck—Joel, please… ah!”

It's fucking exquisite. You're so wet and hot around him, contracting like a tight fist, bearing down on his cock like you're trying to take him so deep he'll stay here forever. God, he wants to. He needs this.

Joel’s pushing your ass up and out, spreading you wider, and your cheeks burn hot at the way he opens you up, his eyes catching on your second hole. “You ever been fucked here?” he rasps, his thumb ghosting over your asshole, making you gasp and clench around him.

“I…” You press your cheek harder into the table, hiding your face from view with your arm. Joel strikes your ass, bending over you and soothing the welt as he continues to hump you like an animal.

“Answer me, baby.” His mouth leaves sloppy kisses from your shoulder blades down to your spine.

“No… oh, God, I haven’t. Never,” you babble, so close to your orgasm that you'll do anything to get it. “Please, Joel, I’m all yours, it’s all yours, please —”

“I know,” is all he says, grunting it out as he pulls himself upright once more, opening you up again and pressing his thumb against the puckered hole above your cunt.

Your moan is a weak gurgle of his name as you seize. You come relatively quietly, your whole body sagging with more relief than your fucking yoga could ever provide. Joel groans, fucking you hard through your orgasm as your pulsating rhythm gives him more leeway to push deep. “You're gonna give me another,” he demands, keeping his thumb against your other opening.

The pressure is delicious. You writhe under him, grinding out your orgasm as your clit brushes the edge of the table. “Joel, I can’t… can’t—oh, my God, you feel so good.”

It feels like electric currents coursing relentlessly through your body. You're in a constant state of pleasure, practically drooling as you lose sense of your own mind, dislodging your thoughts and worries and letting them hang high above the roof. They don't exist in this room. It's you and him. It’s the scrape of your hips against the rounded edge of the table. It’s his warm, work-worn hands smoothing over your skin like you're a marble statue.

Joel is getting close, but he won't come until you do. The hand supporting you under your belly shifts to your clit, rubbing in circles as his thrusts become sloppy. “C’mon, baby,” he urges, the pad of his thumb maintaining a persistent pressure against your asshole. It drives you insane, jerking underneath him as your second orgasm devastates your entire body.

“Oh, my… oh, fuck! Ohhhhh, God .” Your thighs shake uncontrollably as you leave behind a sweaty imprint of your body on his table, gripping it hard to keep from falling. You see white, ironclad pleasure gripping you in a tight embrace.

Oh, you're loud. You're a fucking screamer, and Joel loves it. He’s so pussy-drunk that he can barely see. He clenches his jaw as you clamp down around him, your juices dribbling down his balls. “Jesus,” he murmurs, grinding deep and hard inside you. Your pulsing inadvertently lets his thumb slip past the threshold of your puckered hole, and he feels your pussy soak him at the intrusion. A syrupy whine leaves your weary mouth, and Joel can't control himself anymore. “Gonna… gonna—”

He pushes deep, his tip prodding your womb, instinct telling him to fill you to the goddamn brim. And he does—his hot cum makes a mess of you, and there's so much he can see it spilling out past the tight seal where your bodies meet. “Fuckin’ Christ.”

He nearly growls it, his hand slipping out from under you and slamming down on the table next to your waist so he doesn't fall right over. The orgasm lasts so long that he's still feeling the pinching pleasure, still watching his length bob when he pulls halfway out. More cum drips out onto your seam and pools at your abused clit when he exits your body. Just because he can, he drags his cockhead through his own cum and smears it over your asshole.

“Joel,” you whimper, jolting at the unexpected feeling, warm and insistent against your tight hole. “Fuck.”

“Did so good, baby.” He leans over you, his length resting between your cheeks as he leaves gentle kisses up your spine.

The praise makes you outright gooey, a cock-drunk smile on your face and a faint line of sweat over your brow. He chuckles at the way your eyes flutter halfway shut, mere slits of black through your lashes. “I did good?” you mumble.

“So good. My pretty girl.” Truthfully, he gets off on it, too, the way he can make you feel. That you can put your trust in him like this. That he's the one who can force all those worries from your head. Joel pushes your hair away from your face and helps you stand, but your hand flies out to steady yourself.

“Oh, we need to wash this table,” you say with a woozy laugh.

Joel gives you a kiss, indulging with his tongue for a moment before he leads you to the bathroom. You're wobbly enough that he needs to help you up onto the vanity. “Shit, sweetheart.” He grimaces when he notices the chafing marks on your hips from his pummeling. He rubs his thumbs gently over the bones. “Didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay.” You lean in and kiss him on the nose. “I liked all of it. Everything.”

Joel wets a washcloth and, a little regretfully, wipes off his cum from your pussy and thighs. “You’ll bruise,” he says, like a scold toward himself.

You smile softly. “You couldn’t hurt me, Joel. Guys before you wouldn't have regretted it.”

His eye twitches. He doesn't particularly like hearing about guys before him. You appear to read his mind, levelling him with a playful glare. “I don't like knowing about all the pretty ladies you used to go out with, either, but I suck it up.”

Joel finishes cleaning you up. “Yeah, well, there’s only one pretty lady I give a shit about.”

“I’d say I’d love to meet her, but…”

“She’s all right.” Joel helps you down from the counter. “Smart girl. Hard-workin’. Likes to mouth off.”

“Mmm.” You rake your fingers through his greying locks. “Sounds like a real pain in your ass.”

“Just enough to keep me comin’ back.”

“So sweet of you.” You zip up his fly and pat his hip. “Let’s heat up dinner. You need your strength for yoga.”

“Shit,” he says. “Thought you'd forget.”

You give him that wicked smile, leading him out of the bathroom. “I’ve got the young brain,” you tease. “I remember everything.”

He’ll make you pay for that later. For now, he'll shut up and eat. He is hungry.

Steve makes a proposition as you both pack your things to leave the Chemistry classroom. “How does the word ‘club’ sound to you?”

You hum. “Monosyllabic. Like the opposite of studying.”

“Well, you can bring your Chem books if you want. A face like yours could get you in anywhere, even if you were carrying a Magnum.”

You sigh. “What’s it called?”

He looks and sounds a little too delighted for nine in the morning. “The Rite Way. That’s R-I-T-E.”

“That’s silly.”

“Them’s the brakes,” says Steve. “Next Friday night? After midterms?”

You blow out air through your nose. There’s a week until the Chemistry exam. You’ve been studying for a few now. You can afford one night off. “Can I invite my roommates?”

“It’s funny you didn’t say ‘friends.’”

You pin him with a glare. “You want to be an asshole, Steve? Fine, I’ll be one, too. I’m inviting my roommates, and you have no say.”

He laughs, waving you good-bye as he heads out the door. “That’s what I like to hear. Enjoy your studying.”

Said studying, you realise, is a lot harder when Joel Miller is around.

When you began to spend more weeknights at Joel’s, you would take the bus so nobody would see your car pull into his driveway. You can explain away a reason for being there to strangers and neighbours, but not to your father. He knows Joel. He'll know.

The library is much more conducive to your productivity, but your heart pulls you back to Joel’s whenever you need a quiet place. He's perfectly happy to provide his home to you. You deserve a safe space to spend your time in while you work. It isn't his fault you're so fucking beautiful, so cute when you're focused. Your mouth takes on a little pout and your brows scrunch together, and sometimes you wear a pair of glasses to read better when your eyes are strained. It's partially his fault that he’s so obsessed with your body.

Joel lounges sideways on the couch, and you're tucked between his legs, resting your head on his chest as you prop up your textbook on your lap. The television is off, as is the radio, and he's occupying himself by playing with your hair. It's endearing, the way he can't quite fanagle his fingers into the correct manoeuvres for a braid. But he's so aware of how gentle he must be, and you're close to purring with how intimate it feels. How normal.

You can feel his strong heartbeat through your back and to your own, matching his rhythm, calming you down. Problematic portions of your study guide seem to give you less trouble when you're tucked against him like this, a single thread tying both your pulses together.

You've been effectively studying for about an hour, Joel keeping dutifully silent, but he stirs slightly behind you and says your name.

In reply, you make a vague “Mmm?”

“Is that my sweatshirt?”

You nod, still trying to work through the section, not even bothering to glance at the Texas A&M sweatshirt you're wearing. “I may have taken it last time you made a mess of my clothes.”

He remembers. Last week, he made himself come while you sat on his face, and some of it stained the back of your little black dress. You couldn't very well leave his home with cum staining your clothing, so he gave you his sweatshirt and a pair of his boxer shorts. You’re wearing the former now. His cock is stirring in his sweats at the sight of you in his clothes.

But that's not the part he's trying to get at.

“You wore that out today?” he asks.

You had let yourself in when he was already home, draped in the same maroon you're wearing now. Your eyes widen and your body jolts with realisation, your pen making a panicky trail off the edge of the page. “Oh, shit,” you gasp. You've been so careful. You’ve made sure nobody suspects a thing, and a fucking shirt has you screwed. “Joel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t realise—”

“Hey, now.” Joel nudges his nose against your temple, making you turn to meet his eyes. He smooths over the crease in your brow. “It’s okay. You know how fuckin’ sexy you are, wearing my clothes, smelling like me? Jesus, it’s like you're tryin’ to send me to an early grave.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. “Well, at your age, that won’t be—”

“Careful,” he bites, lifting his hand to grasp your chin and teasing two fingers over your lips. “Might have to stuff that mouth.”

Joel may be selfish, but he can split his priorities. He knows you need to work, and he knows he needs to take care of the hard, thick problem in his pants. He can do both just fine.

“Keep readin’, baby,” he says softly, caressing your jaw before his hands begin to wander.

“Joel.” You sigh, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “You're a distraction.”

His fingers glide leisurely down your hips, tracing your shape, until he fits his hands around your thighs and urges you backward. “You’re a smart girl. Eyes on the page.”

You feel his fingers tug at the hem of the sweatshirt, pulling it up and over your head. Joel is greedy in the way he fondles your tits, bare beneath his clothes, the way he pinches your nipples, traces the shape of your curves, dips his hands teasingly into your waistband. And he's so goddamn smug, knowing you can't focus for shit, dipping his head to kiss his way across your bare shoulders.

“So pretty.” His voice melts you, his words easing you back into him. “Just focus, sweetheart.”

You don't realise what he's doing until you hear a faint rustling behind you. He fishes his hard cock out of his sweatpants and brings his hand around to your mouth.

“Spit,” he says plainly.

Shock and arousal crackle up and down your spine. You follow his command, spitting into his palm. Joel fists his cock at the tip, hissing at the pressure. He isn't lubing himself up to fit inside you, and he isn't bending you over to bury his face in your pussy. He's going to jerk himself off to you.

It's more erotic than you could imagine. The slick noises of his strokes have you dripping into your panties, your eyes scanning the same paragraph ten times over before you even recognise that you're not ingesting a single word. You're naked from your waist up while Joel uses the sight of you to get himself off. It's fucking filthy and you need more.

“Joel,” you plead, “let me taste you.”

“Eyes forward.” His breathing is laboured, his fist pumping faster over his shaft. You can feel beads of precum slide down your back. “I’m close, baby. Just… just keep on readin’.”

You try. You really try. But hearing his groans and hitched breaths in your ear have you desperate to watch him come. You toss aside your books and turn in his lap, pushing out your tits and giving him a good view. “I won't touch you,” you whisper, “but you can come on me. Just like this.”

Joel’s eyes are beatle-black as they take in your body: your eyes, your lips, your breasts. A muscle in his jaw feathers as he continues to tug at his cock. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Your clit aches for attention, but he looks so good, the veins in his neck protruding and his pouty lips parting around his gasps for air. He fists his cock at the tip, urging his orgasm out of him, faster and faster—

The long, low moan he lets out pitches up into a needy sort of whine when he comes, his hips bucking and his cock spurting hot cum all over his hand, your stomach, your tits. Marking you.

You dip your fingers between your breasts while he eases himself off the edge, putting his cum to your lips and tasting him. “Fuck,” says Joel, his voice breaking. “Baby, you're… Christ, that was…”

“Good?” you prompt.

“Good,” he replies, finally releasing his softening cock and reaching for the tissues beside the couch. “Couldn't resist, could you?”

“Of course not,” you say, grinning as he wipes his cum off you. “Can never resist you.”

His ego likes the sound of the words on your tongue. “C’mere,” he mumbles, cradling the back of your neck and kissing you deeply. “Thank you, baby.”

“Not like I could concentrate anyway,” you say playfully. “I thought I was loud.”

He chuckles, handing back the sweatshirt he yanked off your body. When you're sufficiently dry, you pull it back over your head, and Joel’s quick to pull you toward him, your thighs bracketing his hips. “We’re goin’ out,” he says with his lips against your jaw, nipping at you. “Tonight.”

You bolt upright, frowning down at him. “What? Where?” you ask, frantic. You still have studying to do. You still have two sections to cover before your study session with Steve tomorrow. “Why?”

Joel soothes you by running his palm over your spine beneath the sweatshirt. “I want to take you on a proper goddamn date.”

Even though it makes your whole body thrum with a need to express your affection for him, you still hesitate. “I don't have anything to wear.”

“Nobody’s gonna see us,” he says with a shake of his head, patient with your neurotics. “You trust me?”

“Of course.” You move a stray curl away from his face. His hair’s getting long. “Of course I do.”

He grins crookedly. “Get in the truck.”

He stops along the way to pick up burgers for the both of you. You split a large fry, and he buys you a shake despite your protests.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asks pointedly, setting the back of food between you.

You shrink back in your seat. “I’ve had class all day,” you say defensively.

Joel absentmindedly brings your knuckles to his lips as he backs out of his parking spot and turns toward Devil’s Cove.

It’s a Tuesday night, so the waterfront itself will be relatively deserted, but he takes you to your old spot, anyway: the place you first took him stargazing. Together, you set up a bundle of blankets in the bed of the truck and bring the food around. Still dressed in his old sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, you feel perfectly equipped to brave the faint bite of cold from the nearby water, if not less than sexy for the occasion.

“So,” you say as you settle in next to him, pulling a blanket over your legs, “a date, huh?”

Joel passes you one of the cheeseburgers, wrapped up in disposable paper. “It's when two people who like each other—”

“All right, Miller.” You kick your legs over his so you can share the blanket. “You’ll regret that attitude when I kiss you with bad breath after all this junk.”

“I’ll kiss you with any breath, baby.”

“Aww.” You roll your eyes. “You say that now.”

Joel squeezes your thigh. “Eat.”

You both dig in. And as much as you want to scold him for buying you a pile of shitty food, the burger is really fucking good. He picks out the tomato while you remove the pickles, and you trade. He likes mustard and relish, and you use ketchup. You prop up the fries and shake between the two of you so you can share. It's peaceful. The bugs are gone, there isn't another soul around, and the faint sounds of sloshing water down at the cove roll gently over your agitated nerves. That, and Joel’s hand on your thigh.

“Tommy and I used to do this,” he tells you, “when we were kids, and didn't feel like sleepin’. We’d find a spot to park Dad’s old truck and eat so much shit we felt like we'd explode. Difference is, he'd smoke while he did it.”

You smile fondly, taking a sip of the milkshake. It’s thick and rich and strawberry-flavoured. “Did your mom ever catch you?”

“She knew the whole time,” says Joel. “Figured it was the best outlet for two kids who didn't have anything better to do.”

“Why didn't Tommy work on the farm with you?”

“Because he couldn't sit still for two seconds, and decided to enlist,” says Joel with a derisive snort. “Quit before three months were up, but it got him out of dodge. Travelled all over the place before finally settling down back in Austin.”

“And helping you out on jobs,” you finish.

“When he likes to. Most times, he's too busy gettin’ himself arrested for fighting some other asshole who usually had it comin’.”

You hum, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “Never would've guessed your brother was the troublemaking type:”

“Funny.”

You laugh, kissing his shoulder a couple times before you tell him, “I think I would've liked to have a sibling.”

“Yeah?” Joel looks down at you. “Why’s that?”

“I think it would've been a lot less lonely.” You shrug your shoulders, swallowing the last bite of your burger. “I’m grateful for the time I got to spend with my mom, but sometimes I wonder how different things would be if I had someone else. It’s selfish, I know, but…”

You trail off, chewing on your bottom lip. As you reach for another French fry, Joel takes your chin in his hand and turns your head to look up at him.

“Remember what I said about bein’ selfish?”

You nod. “It’s okay sometimes.”

“You deserved another person to be there with you,” he says softly, tracing your jawline with his thumb. “You shouldn't have had to go it alone, baby.”

He watches your eyes melt into that warm, contented, submissive pool that fills the divots in the palm of his hand, leaning into his touch like he's a life raft. “I wish I’d met you a lot sooner,” you whisper.

“Me, too.” Joel smiles, leaning in so his lips barely brush yours. “Never knew how good I could have it.”

You split the difference by slanting your mouth over his. The kiss tastes like salt and sugar, and he smells like wood-fire, cologne, the bite of fresh air. His hand presses at your lower spine, urging you closer to him, his tongue licking at the seam of your mouth. You open up for him as you slide onto his lap, enjoying the slow caress of his hand along your thigh. “Joel,” you say, pulling back for just a moment. He’s boyish in the way he chases your lips. “Be honest with me. Do I taste like a milkshake?”

He chuckles, leaning in again under the guise of confirming your suspicions. “Way fuckin’ sweeter,” he grumbles, his tongue sliding against yours.

“Romeo, oh, Romeo,” you laugh into his mouth, bracing your hands on his strong shoulders.

“You got me now,” he says. “I’m in your corner, baby. Long as you want me there.”

Shit, he knows how to use his words. You press yourself up against him, kissing him harder, unsure how to show him how bone-deep your admiration courses. But he knows. He feels it in the heartbeat that pounds against his own chest, the pulse he takes when he slides his fingers up your spine and secures them at the back of your neck. “You’re so sexy,” you tell him when you can breathe for long enough to speak. “So… mmm, so good to me. Please… let me make you feel good.”

Joel’s hand squeezes your thigh. “Dirty girl. Out in the open like this?”

There’s mischief in his rich brown eyes as much as there is reverence. You grind your hips down against his hardening cock and smile at the way his jaw clenches. “Nobody’s around,” you whisper. “I’ll be good, Joel. I will. Please—show me I’m yours.”

He hums, pretending to ponder your words, letting you grind against him like the first night he let himself touch you. “Sit back,” he says plainly. You scramble backward off his lap, eager, biting down on your smile. Knowing what’s ahead, you’ve already tucked your thumbs in the waistband of your sweatpants. But you don’t make a move to pull them off until—

“Take ‘em off. Go on.”

You lift your hips as you slip the sweatpants down your ass, kicking them off your ankles. You’re wearing a lacy pair of blue panties, and Joel’s cock twitches in his pants. “Keep those on,” he says gruffly, “and come here.”

You crawl back onto his lap, winding your arms around his neck. But he doesn’t move to take out his cock and sink you down on it. He just kisses you hard and then lies down, grabbing your thighs and pulling you harshly toward him.

You’ve done this before. Just… never in public.

“Joel!” you gasp. “What are you…”

“Shhh.” He looks up at you while you sit on his chest, your panties soaked through at the thought of being so exposed. “Can you be quiet, baby?”

“Honestly?” Your laugh is a little dizzy. “I don't know.”

“Gonna have to try.” He shifts the wet spot on your panties aside and swipes his fingers through your slick folds. Your body shudders at the gentle touch, but to your credit, no sound slips past your parted lips. “Be quiet for me. That's it.”

You nod frantically, shuffling up until your pussy is hovering over his face. He keeps your panties shoved roughly to the side, his blunt nails digging into the softness of your thighs. You feel a sudden burst of hot, warm wetness on your cunt, but it didn’t come from you. Looking down your body at his black eyes, glittering up at you in the darkness, you can only weakly whisper his name.

He just spit. Right on your clit.

When he yanks you down onto his face and lathers his spit around your pussy with his tongue, you moan softly, earning a slap to your thigh. It’s not like there’s a huge risk of being overheard, but the knowledge that anyone could see him eating you out in the bed of his truck has your chest flushing with arousal.

Once he's finished spreading his saliva around your pussy, Joel doesn't go easy on you. He brings your clit between his lips and sucks, and you fist his hair, biting down on your lip to stay quiet. He feasts on you, sloppy and eager as he laps at your clit and licks broad stripes up your whole pussy, pulling obscene noises from the work his mouth does on you.

“Ohhhh, fuck.”

You can't help it. It’s barely a moan, but he just feels so fucking good, and you're grinding down on his nose in a drunken haze to build yourself up to your orgasm.

Joel doesn't like that.

His head pulls back, his hands bruising your thighs, and he sinks his teeth into your warm flesh as a punishment. “I say you could move? I say you could speak?”

You whimper, clapping your hand over your mouth. “Mmm-mmm.”

“You can be good, baby girl. Be quiet and let me help you.” His hand soothes the bite mark on your thigh. “Okay?”

You take a rattling breath and nod. “That’s it, sweetheart. No movin’,” he says, pulling you back down onto his face.

He's already worked you up enough that another pull of your clit into his hot mouth sends electric shocks down your spine. You taste like fucking heaven, sweet and tangy on his tongue, your arousal mingled with his own saliva, the heady smell of you infesting his nostrils and sticking to the pathways of his brain.

His tongue licks your clit in firm, slow strokes, making you gasp beneath your hand. He slides a hand up your belly, squeezing one of your breasts before he moves it to your ass. He can feel your breathing shift, your lungs pushing in and out erratically as he brings you closer and closer. He alternates between squeezing and smacking your ass whenever you let slip a little noise of pleasure. Christ, he’ll never get enough of you. Even with his face buried in your pussy, it isn't close enough.

He hears his name muffled behind your palm, and it's how he knows you're close. He hums against your clit, sucking and licking until you spasm above him, your body stiffening as you come.

He keeps his mouth fixed to you while you swallow down your cries. He kneads your thighs as they tremble around his head. He smooths his palms up and down your spine to ease the tension in your muscles as his tongue licks through your folds to bring you back down.

He helps you situate yourself back on his lap, sitting nice and pretty on the erection in his sweatpants. Your slick leaks out inside and around your panties as he puts them back in place. Your eyes have a pleased, happy glaze to them as you smile and lean in to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I was supposed to make you feel good,” you say into his mouth.

“You did.” He nudges his nose against yours. “You were so good for me, baby. Now we gotta get you back home.”

“Joel,” you mumble, your voice weak, “wait.”

He frowns up at you. “What?”

“Your hair.” You run your hands through his silver locks and try to tame their tousled state. “It looks like you've been fucked.”

“Good thing I don’t have anywhere to go,” he says, teasing your jaw with his mouth. “But you have class in the morning. Gotta sleep.”

“My friend Steve invited me to a club after midterms,” you tell him. “I think I’ll go. I’ll invite Leigh and Sonya. It could be fun.” Frowning, you trace his pec with your finger. “It’ll be fun, right?”

He buries his face in your neck and playfully nips at your pulse point. “You go have a good time with your friends. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

“How could I ever want to leave when you say things like that?”

You can feel him grinning into your throat, his hand soothing your ass before giving it a smack. “You won’t be leavin’,” he grumbles, “if I see you in a pretty little party dress.”

“And what if I let you help me out of it later tonight?”

He hums. “Gonna have to give me a show first.”

You like the sound of that. “I’ve got this one blue number,” you say teasingly, your mouth migrating down his throat to his chest, kissing him from heart to navel—opening him up and displaying his nerves just for you to map with your soft lips. “I think you’d really like it.”

Joel huffs, dropping his head back onto the blanket. “Jesus. Come back up here.”

“No,” you say, giving his soft belly a playful bite. “You have a problem I need to take care of.”

He doesn't drive you back. Not quite yet.

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