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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

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look down on me like that - 6 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 6.2k

contains: ~explicit sexual content~ !! alcohol mention, some mildly twisty conversations about consent/regretting sex (everything in this series is very consensual tho just wanna reiterate), teasing, dirty talk, VERY semi-public sex with risk of being heard/caught, fingering, lowkey fingerwarming, hold the moan, light choking, finger sucking, dumbification if you rly squint, protected sex (in the office... oop 👀), fucking against a door lmao 🙌🏻

A/N: sooooo excited to post this hehe 💜 i know this chap is a lil bit of a shorty but they can't all be 11k, and i'm trying to give y'all a mild refractory period before we launch into even more chaos 💀 AND SORRY NOT SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER ENDING..... i promise i won't keep you hanging for long 😘

read on AO3!

chapter five | masterlist | chapter seven

~*~

“So… it’s been nearly a week,” Jimin prompts just as you tip your head back to take a long swig of your beer. The bratty tone in your best friend’s voice only encourages you to chug another swallow before you set the glass back down. He doesn’t even have to say the since you fucked your coworker part out loud.

Using the provided scissors and tongs, he starts to cut up the strips of pork belly laid flat on the grill between you. “When’s the wedding? Have you named your kids yet?”

“I can’t stand you,” you whine, torn between wanting to kick him under the table and wanting him to share the meat he’s been so carefully preparing. The aroma is making your mouth water as it sizzles on the hot surface.

You settle for fixing him with your best death glare.

Jimin shrugs, unbothered. “That’s fine. I just wanna know how you’re handling the fact that you are now officially sleeping with the enemy.”

“Aht aht. Slept with.” You raise a finger to correct him, using your other hand to maneuver your chopsticks to pick up a marinated cucumber and pop it into your mouth. “Past tense.”

Jimin purses his lips, looking unconvinced. “Is that so?”

“Are you kidding me?” You make a face. “It was a moment of weakness, and now it’s done. What would be the point in letting him have it again? In letting him win like that?” You wave a hand dismissively. “Absolutely not.”

“You are so dumb,” Jimin laughs as he starts to extoll pork onto your plate. “I cannot believe you found good dick and now you’re actively declining it. After how insane you nearly went? You think that won’t happen again?”

“I got it out of my system,” you say with a proud shake of your head, popping a piece of meat into your mouth. It’s so hot it nearly burns your tongue off, but the flavor is well worth it, and you continue with your mouth full. “And I’m good. Moving on with my life.”

Jimin hums like he doesn’t believe a damn word. “And how’s that gonna work out for you in a couple weeks, when you and Suga are in Los Angeles together, breathing that sweet American air? And sharing a hotel room that just so happens to only have one bed?”

With the pork belly successfully secured on your plate, you have no reason to hold back from kicking him this time. “You watch too much TV.”

“Speaking of!” He pauses with food halfway to his mouth, dropping it back onto his plate as he digs into his pocket for his phone. “My comps finally came in for the show I’m dancing in this weekend. I’m not even going to ask if you have plans because I already know the answer, so you better fucking be there.”

You pick up your phone to see his text come in, face scrunching up as you chew. “Two questions,” you prompt. “One, I fail to see what this has to do with watching TV. And two, why did you send me two tickets?”

Jimin rests his elbows on the table, fingers laced together under his chin, somewhere in between posing cutely and looking like he’s about to read you for filth.

“Out of the kindness of my heart, because I am such a good fucking friend, I am giving you a chance for a little Business Proposal moment. Bring your Suga, see what happens.” He shrugs a shoulder. “One concert could change everything, you know?”

You grind your teeth together and reach for your drink as he uses your favorite show against you, humming the theme tune under his breath. “I really hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately. But I am not bringing Suga to your fucking concert,” you clarify, glass halfway to your mouth. “There is a world of difference between wanting to fuck someone and wanting to spend an evening with them.”

“So you do still want to fuck him,” Jimin presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows. “Very interesting.”

“Don’t make me leave you with the bill.” You roll your eyes and down the rest of your beer in one swig.

An hour later, you’ve eaten your body weight in grilled meats and have thrown back enough beers that the world blurs gently at the edges, vignetted, as you slip out onto the sidewalk and say goodnight to your best friend.

You’d managed to convince Jimin to meet at the place that’s just a few blocks from your apartment, and it’s not a terribly cold evening, all things considered. The alcohol certainly helps keep you warm as you make the short walk back home, the still-busy streets humming and blinking soft around you.

It takes a concentrated effort to use your phone without tripping in your current state, and you thumb slowly through your texts until you land on the concert tickets from Jimin. When his words echo again in your brain, you do your best to chase them off with a frustrated sigh.

It will be a cold day in hell before you voluntarily spend an evening with Yoongi, you tell yourself. But it’d be nice to go with someone.

You’re scrolling down your contact list and lifting the ringing phone to your ear before you can decide whether or not it’s a good idea.

After two rings, the line connects, and a voice answers. “Hello?”

“Hi, Jungkook.” You giggle a little despite yourself. You’ve never spoken to your coworker in any state of inebriation before, and once his name leaves your mouth, you realize you’re a little more fucked up than you bargained for. But it’s fine, you tell yourself. You’re fine.

“Hi— is everything okay?”

You double-blink, not expecting the check-in. “Yeah, no, everything’s great.” It only occurs to you now that maybe you’ve interrupted whatever his post-work plans might be. “Sorry, I— were you in the middle of something?”

He lets out a sheepish laugh, and you imagine that his cheeks are flushed pink, the way they sometimes get after boxing class. “Nothing important. I was brushing my dog’s teeth, actually. You just, uh, usually text—”

“Wait,” you fully interrupt him. “You have a dog?”

“I have three dogs,” he corrects, with another light laugh that’s almost musical. “My sons.”

“Jungkook!” You exclaim in mock-anger. “I am hurt and betrayed that you have kept this information from me!”

“I’m sorry!” He giggles back, clearly flustered. “It didn’t come up! I’ll send you some pictures, I promise. They’re very cute.”

“You better,” you huff. “And here I was getting ready to be nice to you.”

“Oh?” Jungkook sounds intrigued. There’s a soft shifting sound on the line, and you find yourself wondering if he’s laying down in bed, phone pressed to his cheek. The image makes your heart sink a little, and you shove the feeling away to process when you’re less tipsy. “How were you going to be nice?”

You pause for a moment to cross the street, letting your fake-hurt charade drop. “Well, my best friend is a dancer, and he was booked to perform in this concert that’s happening tomorrow night. He gave me a free ticket and an extra, and I was wondering, if you’re not doing anything… if you want to go with me?”

“Yeah, for sure!” You swear you can hear Jungkook’s smile light up the phone. “That sounds awesome.”

You linger at the front of your apartment building, phone tucked to your ear, watching cars and bicyclists roll by in the neon smear of the city at night. “Awesome,” you repeat back. “I’ll text you my address if you want to come pick me up after work?” A little bubble of excitement floats up and pops in your chest.

“I can definitely do that.”

~*~

“You need to fill all this out for the Grammy’s trip.”

The large stack of registration paperwork lands on Yoongi’s desk with a resounding thud, but he doesn’t so much as bat an eye. Though you’ve put on a brave face and moved back to your desk in the lobby after the happy hour incident, you’ve still avoided any alone time with the genius in his lab, as much as you can help it.

Today, it could not be helped. Especially given your need for a change in schedule.

“And I’m leaving early tonight.” You add, trying to feign confidence, just be direct and to the point. “I need you out of here at five, Yoongi.”

He grunts a noncommittal response, but doesn’t look up from the screen of his computer. His eyes are squinting slightly at the tracks on his mixing software. You wonder for a moment if maybe he needs glasses.

You furrow your brow as soon as you process the thought—what the fuck do you care about this man’s eyesight? You give your head a subtle shake in hopes of dislodging the idea.

Yoongi waves a hand silently, as if to imply you’re dismissed.

You really don’t know what makes you say it. “Jungkook and I are going to a concert.”

At this, Yoongi’s concentration seems to falter. He glances away from the screen, head tilting slightly to one side as he eyes you. “A date with Kookie, huh? Cute. I knew you two would get there eventually.”

You’re not sure what other conclusion you expected him to draw from the information, but suddenly your face is hot. You have to suppress the physical urge to squirm in frustration, to literally stomp your feet like a toddler.

“Can you just be normal?” You snap. “It’s not like that. Not everyone wants to fuck their coworkers all the time.”

He spins a quarter-circle in his chair to fully face you with an eyebrow raised. “Does Jungkook know it’s not like that?”

You stammer at being put on the spot. “I-I’m sure he does.”

Yoongi blinks lazily at you. “Uh huh.”

Rage flares up in your gut before you can stop it. “Jungkook is a nice guy. He’s not a boundary-crossing creep like you.” The words sting like acid as they leave your mouth.

Yoongi gets to his feet so quickly you barely have time to process it.

For every step he takes towards you, you take one towards the door of his lab, walking backwards. “You know,” he mutters darkly, “I liked your mouth a lot better when it was on my cock.”

Your back finds purchase against the closed door, and you swallow hard, refusing to show fear. “Well, remember it fondly, because I’m not making that mistake twice.”

Yoongi falls quiet for a moment, eyes searching yours. You’re a little surprised when he takes a step back. “Do you really feel like I violated a boundary?” His voice is flat, nearly monotone, when he asks the question.

You fumble for your words, for the truth; both are hard to find. “I-I don’t know.”

He surveys you with an expression you can’t decipher. “I gave you plenty of opportunity to say no. Do you feel like you were too drunk?”

“No. I mean, I consented. I’m not saying I didn’t. I just… we’re coworkers.”

“I’m aware. You called it a mistake. Do you regret it?”

“Do you?”

He huffs a dry laugh. “You keep acting like I’m not stating it plainly here. I would love to fuck you senseless again any time, sweetheart.” The pet name is biting. “I’d take you right up against this door, if you wanted. But not if you’re going to regret it.”

Your mind swims as you try to make sense of this conversation. “What if I don’t?”

Yoongi takes a single step closer to you. “Well, then I’d ask you when you want it again.”

The expression on his face, as if he’s won some smug game, is endlessly infuriating. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “And what makes you think I’ll just give it up again?”

He just keeps smirking, eyes locked on you. “You tell me. I’m the one asking permission here.”

You tilt your chin up towards Yoongi, suddenly very aware of how close he is to you. Something in you pulls taught as you recall your conversation in the bathroom after he nearly came in your mouth.

“If you want it so bad, then beg for it.” The words spark between your teeth as you say them.

There’s a glint in Yoongi’s eyes, and a muscle in his jaw jumps, as if he wasn’t expecting that response. Then he slowly starts to nod. “Is that what you want?”

You refuse to look away. “Did I stutter?”

His tongue darts out briefly to wet his lips, and then he laughs an exhale, a single indignant breath. Eye contact never faltering, you watch as he drops to his knees in front of you.

“Can I touch you?” He asks. The silence of the room hangs heavy between you, roaring in your ears like white noise. Yoongi blinks once, dark lashes fluttering. “Please?”

You feel some last mechanism of inner restraint shatter as you nod.

Yoongi’s touch is deliberate but, surprisingly, not rough. His palms meet the backs of your thighs and begin to slide up, encouraging you to pull your hips off the door and allow him room, your shoulders still pressed flush against the wood behind you.

His hands keep moving, slipping under the back of your dress with no hesitation, only stopping when he finds what he’s looking for: the band of your panties, which he hooks his thumbs under and swiftly pulls down your legs, leaving the lacy fabric to pool around your ankles. You shift to kick them off and suddenly realize your mouth has gone dry.

“Do I have to use my words?” Yoongi asks, voice low. His hands retrace their path back up your thighs, but he takes his time with it now. You hate the way your breath is starting to go shaky from his touch.

“What else would you use?”

“My tongue.”

Yoongi has pushed the hem of your dress up, his mouth devastatingly close to your center and his hands cupping your ass. He stares up at you, waiting patiently for a response, dark eyes brimming with want.

You’re still not even sure of your answer as you start to say it, but then a firm knock at the door cuts you off, loud enough to rattle your brain inside your skull. Ice floods your veins as your eyes go wide.

“Min Suga?” Jungkook’s voice calls from the other side.

Your breath hitches in your chest. This can’t be happening.

“Hey, JK,” Yoongi calls, not moving from where he’s knelt on the floor in front of you, both hands still firmly grabbing your ass. “Sorry, I’ve–” he glances pointedly up at you, and it takes everything you have not to slap him when he continues, “I’ve kinda got my hands full right now. What’s up?”

“No worries, you gave me the code, remember?” Your stomach twists violently as you hear the distinct beeping of Jungkook starting to type into the number pad.

You tear your gaze away from Yoongi to your lacy underwear, in plain sight, too far away that you can’t possibly retrieve them in the mere seconds you have to react.

Adrenaline surges through you, enough to make you lightheaded, to make your limbs go numb. There’s no time to do anything. You flatten yourself against the door as the handle starts to turn and the overwhelming urge to cry rushes up into your chest.

Yoongi seems to finally take the situation seriously, because in a flash, he’s on his feet, arms caging you in on either side to push firmly back against the door. His forearms peek out from under the short sleeves of his black t-shirt— you can see the defined muscles there flex and work, the way his veins bulge under his pale skin as he presses all his weight into the door with a look of real, concentrated effort.

Fuck. You’re not sure you’ve ever been simultaneously aroused and on the verge of tears before.

“Sorry, Jungkook,” Yoongi tries again, and you can hear him attempting to keep the strain out of his voice. “I’m, uh– redecorating a bit in here. I’ve got some stuff blocking the door right now. Can we just talk like this?”

“Oh yeah, sure, okay!” Jungkook answers brightly. You squeeze your eyes shut, desperately willing this nightmare to be over. While you’re pretty sure Jungkook won’t try the door again, an animalistic part of you is still too terrified to do anything, frozen in fear at what nearly just happened.

You’re only distantly aware of Jungkook babbling on about work. “I’ve got a few questions about upcoming release scheduling, so I can know what content we need to get ready. Can you talk me through the rest of Q1 real quick? Just so I know what’s coming when.”

A shiver runs through you at the feeling of a touch, so barely-there that at first you think you might be imagining it.

Your eyes flutter open to find one of Yoongi’s large hands pressed to your throat, delicate fingers splayed over the column of your neck.

It could be aggressive, but it’s not. Decidedly not. His touch is featherlight, and he applies no pressure to your windpipe. If anything, the gentle weight of his hand is oddly… comforting. A word you would never have thought to associate with Min fucking Yoongi before this moment.

The silver chain bracelet on his wrist winks in the soft purple glow of his studio lights, and you stare at it in a daze, entranced. You can feel your adrenaline high beginning to crash: the world feels muted, faded, far away.

“Go ahead, Jungkook,” Yoongi prompts, and you wonder if you’re imagining that his voice has softened just the slightest bit.

You drag your gaze up to him as he starts to talk through scheduling with Jungkook, his tone all business. He’s not looking at you, eyes instead fixed firmly on the door in front of him, occasionally rolling up to glance at the ceiling when he’s trying to recall something.

As your heart rate starts to settle, you take a moment to drink in Yoongi’s features unobserved. The line of his jaw. The slight furrow of his brow. His full, pink lips.

Your throat jumps when you swallow under his touch, and he doesn’t look down, but his hand begins to move. His palm stays heavy over the slope of your throat, but his fingers and thumb move smoothly, tracing faint patterns over your skin, stroking along the muscles of your neck and setting every last one of your nerve endings alight.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded with lust now, and your head tips back against the door, all thoughts blotted out at his touch. Fuck, it feels good.

A gasp slips past your lips when you feel Yoongi’s other hand brush over your leg, and you pray the door is thick enough that the sound doesn’t carry. He’s still talking through scheduling with Jungkook, answering questions as calmly as ever, as his whole palm comes to rest on one of your thighs below the hem of your dress, fingers just barely teasing under the fabric.

When Yoongi finally meets your gaze, his dark eyes pierce straight through you, as if to pin you to the door. He raises one eyebrow in a silent question, and the meaning is unmistakable: another request for permission.

Arousal rolls through you like a riptide, and you’re dragged under before you can even think to fight it. The dramatics of the previous close call linger— it feels like you’ll die if he doesn’t touch you right now. The fact that you shouldn’t be doing this only makes you want it more.

You don’t look away as you nod your consent.

You spread your legs to allow him room, hips tilting up, and Yoongi slips his hand under your dress to snake between your parted thighs. Fresh desire mixes with the cotton-numb fuzz of dwindling panic in your brain, the knowledge that Jungkook is still inches away from you and talking as Yoongi’s hand approaches your center. You have to bite down on your bottom lip at the first brush of contact.

Their conversation continues on, but you don’t process a word of it.

Yoongi traces two fingers gently over the lips of your cunt, teasing devastatingly close to your clit before moving down to circle at your entrance, where he slicks them in the wetness that has already started to pool there.

He keeps his movements so slow, his touch so light; your mind belatedly catches up to realize that anything more will surely start to elicit an audible sound.

You wonder if maybe this is it, if he’s just going to torture you, his fingers running through your folds in long strokes that have your core throbbing until you can’t take it anymore. And then he laughs a little at a comment Jungkook makes and uses the moment of sound coverage to deftly press those two fingers into you.

You bite down even harder on your lower lip in an attempt to stay quiet. Yoongi’s fingers push in to the hilt, long and thick enough to fill you up entirely. It’s all you can do to keep your breathing steady— the feeling of him inside of you jolts through you with every inhale.

Desperate for movement and nearly shaking with hypersensitivity, you clench your pussy around his fingers in a silent plea for more.

As if in response, the hand around your throat just barely tightens. You don’t know whether to read it as encouragement or a warning, but it makes your eyes flutter closed all the same.

His fingers begin to curl at a truly torturous pace, and then they press so firmly into your g-spot that your knees nearly buckle.

You’re hardly cognizant of the room around you anymore, or the wood of the door digging into your back; nothing else seems to matter in this moment except the weight of Yoongi’s fingers and the way your walls grip tightly around them.

Your eyes snap open again when his other hand suddenly leaves your throat. You feel exposed without it, but you shiver all over as the warmth of his palm trails along your collarbone before traveling down the slope of your body to settle at your waist.

As soon as that hand stills, the other pulls back from the heat of your cunt, and he brings his fingers up to brush over your bottom lip. His eyes roam hungrily over your face as he asks another silent question.

You open your mouth like a reflex, and you willingly let Yoongi pet the taste of you over your tongue. Your lips close around his fingers, and your gaze stays locked with his as you hollow your cheeks to suck diligently, swallowing down your own slickness.

With a heady groan, he withdraws, leaning forward to brace the same hand against the door just next to your head.

It occurs to you now that he’s no longer speaking, no longer afraid of making noise. Jungkook must have left– you can’t say when that happened.

The returning silence of the room pulses like a heartbeat. Yoongi is hovering over you, lips slightly parted, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath, and you swear the distance between you is narrowing by the second.

“Nervous?” He murmurs, so quiet you easily could’ve imagined it.

“Fuck me.” Your voice comes out a little hoarse.

“Hmm?” Yoongi freezes where he is, sounding almost dazed when he hums the question. Just shy of your mouth but invitingly, dangerously close.

Your hands are already fumbling to undo the buckle of his belt. “I said fuck me, Yoongi,” you snap. “Up against this door. Before I change my mind.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up. “God, you’re bossy,” he murmurs, but then his arm is no longer caging you against the door, and he makes quick work of getting his pants and boxers pushed down.

When he backs off, you draw in a breath that’s like coming up for air.

Your head reels a little when you see that he’s fully hard and starting to drip precum: you’re not sure when that happened, either. He retrieves a condom from his wallet and makes short work of tearing it open with his teeth.

The thought of his mouth so close to yours again is terrifying in a way you don’t have words for. Before he can step back towards you, you turn and press both hands flush with the door. You reach down briefly to hike the hem of your dress up over your hips.

It’s mildly humiliating to present yourself like this for him, exposed, back arched, your pussy aroused enough to slick your thighs and just waiting to be filled again. And yet, not unlike the risk of getting caught, the shame only makes it hotter, in some twisted way.

Yoongi braces one hand against the door, gripping your hip tightly with the other. You breathe in shallow gasps as his cock teases your entrance, and then he slowly starts to press into you.

“Shit, Yoongi,” you whine softly, overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you open. The stretch of him makes your eyes roll back in your head, just as perfect as you remember, and all you can do is take it. When he bottoms out, you do your best to bite back a moan, wiggling your ass to fully sheathe him inside of you, wanting every inch.

“Fuck,” he hisses. You whimper again in response.

“We still have to be pretty quiet— these walls aren’t that thick. Guess you can’t scream my name this time.” His voice is dark, sardonic, and you grit your teeth as you look at him over your shoulder.

“Will you shut up and fuck me?”

“Didn’t realize you were my manager,” he huffs, but then he starts to thrust, hard and fast, and you choke on a barely-suppressed noise. You arch up higher to push back on him, your body begging silently for it, your walls fluttering as the thick head of his cock drags over your g-spot again and again.

Yoongi’s hand on your hip shifts, fingers splaying over the soft flesh of your ass, digging in hard enough to bruise. You inhale sharply at the sweet sparks of pleasure-pain, already edged close and losing the fight to stay quiet.

“How does it feel?”

You’re surprised by the question, and even more so at the sincerity with which Yoongi seems to ask it, voice low in his throat and a little raw. You have to scramble to find words through the haze of your impending climax.

“I-it’s good,” you manage. His hips snap into you even harder and you gasp again. “Fuck, really good.”

He exhales a dark laugh. “Yeah, I can tell. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, shit.”

Your head nearly smacks against the door from how forcefully his cock is now pounding into your tight heat. You roll your eyes– of course he wasn’t sincerely asking. You want to kick yourself for even entertaining the idea that Min Yoongi could be anything other than a selfish asshole.

Despite that fact, his rough, relentless thrusts are enough to leave you breathless, and the pleasure builds hot and fast in your core. Your head is spinning, and a shiver rips through you when you suddenly feel his breath over your neck, hear his voice in your ear.

“Gonna think about getting fucked like this on your date tonight?”

The stifled whine you let out and the way your pussy throbs around him betray any denial you could’ve tried to make. You look back over your shoulder at him, attempting to say something, anything, and then Yoongi’s hand slips down to circle your clit and you lose the ability to think coherently at all.

“Wanna feel you come on my cock,” Yoongi murmurs, and you swear your legs almost give out.

It’s just white-hot pleasure now, and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth and sob into it as your orgasm crests, your thighs shaking violently under his touch.

“Fuuuck,” Yoongi groans hoarsely as you start to pulse around him, over and over. His breathing comes in ragged gasps that match the pace of his hips as he keeps rutting into you, until he pushes all the way in with a last grunt of effort and you milk his release out with yours.

You slump forward, heart racing, and brace your forearms on the door to let your head loll between them. Yoongi stays stationary for a moment too, the hand on your hip absent-mindedly kneading into your skin, before he finally shifts and withdraws from your still-quivering cunt.

With a steadying exhale, you slowly right yourself on shaking legs while he steps away to deal with the condom.

Once your path is clear, you don’t wait around to suffer any small talk. You move to retrieve your panties off the floor and pull them back on with the last scrap of dignity you can manage. Then you shove your dress down over your hips and cross back to the door.

You leave without a second glance back at Yoongi.

When you emerge from the Genius Lab, you make an immediate beeline for the bathroom, which is thankfully empty. It’s only once you press your palms flat against the cool marble countertop of the sink that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to make a conscious effort not to hyperventilate.

Your mind is racing as you take in your reflection in the mirror and attempt to put yourself back together, trying your best to look like you didn’t just get fucked against a door.

A door in the office. Because you are at work. Where you just had sex with a coworker you hate.

The realization of what you just did, how stupid you just were, hits you like a train. Fuck. You’re met with the overwhelming urge to scream at yourself. What is wrong with you? Your eyes roam over your own face, as if you might find the answer hidden there somewhere; your bottom lip is slightly swollen from how hard you were biting down on it.

Can you call something a mistake if you’ve voluntarily made it twice now– and while stone cold sober the second time, no less? And what if it’s a mistake you want to make again?

That can’t happen, you firmly tell your reflection. You won’t let Yoongi get a third strike on you, and you certainly won’t let him fuck up this job for you any more than he already has. He is now officially out of your system.

You gently smooth out your hair, and then you pause, fingertips lingering over the skin of your neck. You tilt your chin up slightly to get a good look in the mirror. There aren’t any visible marks, but you can’t quite shake the memory of Yoongi’s hand closed over your throat— the way everything in the world seemed to blink out of existence under his touch, if only for a moment.

It’s over, you tell yourself again. It has to be.

With a resigned sigh, you run your hands down over the front of your dress, then check the back to confirm there aren’t any weird stains. As much as you want to hide away in the bathroom for the rest of the day, you force yourself back out the door and down the hallway towards the lobby.

Your heart creeps into your throat as your footsteps bring you closer to the Genius Lab, and you forcefully tell yourself that it’s not a big deal. You’re just going to walk right by and head to your desk to proceed with the rest of your work day, thoroughly unbothered.

At this point you wonder why you’re even surprised when the door swings open and Yoongi practically runs into you. You jump out of his way, startled— and you are surprised to see that he has his bag slung over his shoulder and his dark sunglasses on.

“Just heading out,” Yoongi mutters, and your only answer is to keep your gaze fixed on your shoes when you brush past him and continue down the hall.

You’re sure he must be following after you, and you have to swallow the urge to interrogate him— ask why he’s leaving so early, where he’s going. You don’t care, you remind yourself. Not having him around is a good thing.

As you approach the office lobby, you glance up to see Jungkook walking towards you from the other direction. He holds up a hand in a lazy wave, and you come to a dead stop.

It’s the first time you’ve ever felt anything other than happy to see your coworker. Now panic rises in your chest, a wonder if maybe, somehow, he knows what happened on the other side of the Genius Lab door.

“I was just coming to find you,” he says as he crosses to meet you where the two hallways join and spill into the lobby.

You can tell from the look on his face that he means it. There’s no hidden agenda. Nothing to hold over your head. It’s enough to make you exhale a small laugh of relief.

“Well, you found me,” you say.

“Leaving already, Min Suga?” Jungkook’s gaze jumps to look behind you, and dread pools in your stomach. You couldn’t imagine a more mortifying exchange right now if you tried.

Yoongi doesn’t dignify Jungkook with a response, only hums noncommittally as he slips past the two of you and heads for the exit. Your stomach clenches as you wait to hear the doors open and close, praying there’s no sarcastic remark coming, praying he’ll just leave.

His hand presses flat against the glass, and then he turns over his shoulder, as if he’s just thought of something. “You kids have fun tonight,” he quips dryly. Then he pushes the door open and slips out into the hallway.

Jungkook looks a little lost. “Oh, uh, did you tell Suga that we–”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, it sort of came up. When I said he needed to leave early.” Jungkook nods, and you’re eager to change the subject. “What did you want to ask me?”

“I realized we didn’t agree on a time for me to pick you up tonight. I was thinking seven, if that works?”

Your heart sinks a little in your chest as you take in Jungkook’s sweet smile, the expectant but patient look on his face, Baby-Star-Candy eyes blinking. Your earlier conversation with Yoongi echoes in your mind like a knife to the gut.

“Actually, JK, can I talk to you? About tonight?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yeah, I, uh– I just wanted to make sure you knew that…” You tense up as you prepare to deliver the blow. “This… isn’t a date. I was asking you as friends. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says simply. His face betrays no hurt feelings.

You’re rambling, unable to believe it could be this easy. “I mean, I-I just… don’t think it’s a good idea, you know? For coworkers to date.” Or fuck, a snide voice in your head adds.

Jungkook nods. “No, I totally get it, but seriously, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I really like being your friend.” He shrugs, as if that’s all there is to it. “So, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Relief floods through you like a balm. “Seven sounds great.”

“Cool.” He’s already reaching into his back pocket for his phone. “Can I show you pictures of my dogs now?”

~*~

At 6:55, there’s a firm knock on your door, and you squeak as you dig through the bottom of your closet in search for the right pair of shoes.

You spent most of the last hour on FaceTime with Jimin, who did what a good best friend is meant to do: viciously tear apart nearly everything in your closet while bent forward in a straddle split, warming up for his performance.

The two of you had eventually (more or less) compromised on a black t-shirt dress with a denim jacket thrown over top. Though Jimin had derided the look as “basic”, you’ve decided you’re just fine with that.

You finally find what you're looking for, retrieving your white Air Force Ones and stumbling to pull them on your socked feet as you trip out of your room and towards the front door.

You lean down to tie the laces as quickly as you can, then flip back upright, blood rushing to your head so fast you feel a little faint. You’re not sure why your heart has started to pick up speed, but you let out an exhale as you reach for the door handle, hoping it might help offset these strange sudden nerves.

You turn the handle and swing the door open to greet Jungkook with a smile– and your jaw drops at the sight waiting for you on the other side.

chapter five | masterlist | chapter seven

#yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #look down on me like that

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satoruyes · 2 years

Text

fuck your favs

summary: what it would probably be like fucking your favs from haikyuu (kuroo, kenma, oikawa, bokuto) x lowkey gender neutral but fem lean

warnings: nsfw (duh 🙄), dacryphilia, overstimulation (kuroo), creampie, slight cockwarming (kenma), edging (oikawa), huge dick and aftercare bc we love bokuto over here!!

-> kuroo tetsuro

“you feel so good around me,” he says while mercilessly rutting inside of you. You can only moan in response feeling too stimulated after round and rounds of steady fucking. when does this man get tired? “be loud for me baby, you know i like it when you moan for me” he says while grabbing your face so you’re looking him in his eyes, he sees the glossiness in your eyes. “aw is my baby feeling overstimulated? don’t cry, it might turn me on even more,” he whispers in your ear while thrusting even harder into your precious little hole. “fuck— kuroo,” you manage to whimper out whilst trying to wrap your legs around him. “you’ll be fine baby, just hold on for me,’ kay? ” he says in a sultry and seductive voice, planting chaste kisses on your now flushed face.

-> kenma kozume

“keep going,” kenma says as he guides your hips up and down his cock. “kenma im gonna fucking cum,” you moan out, bracing yourself by finding refuge on kenmas’ shoulders. “cum for me then angel,” kenma says, getting more and more adamant on making you cum as he feels himself reaching his high. He was a bit of a lightweight, but it wasn’t his fault you felt so good around him. “fuck baby i’m cumming’,” he moans out, you feel his nails digging deeper into your sides as he rides out his high. You can only try to sputter out words as you cream all over him. “fuck kenma.” is all you can muster out. “that felt so good angel, let’s just stay like this for a bit,” he says, his afterglow very apparent. You nod and plant a kiss on his forehead.

-> toru oikawa

“oh you wanna make me cum, hm? you’re gonna have to try harder than that,” oikawa says, he was just trying to egg you on while in reality bro was holding on by a thread trying not to let your constant edging get the best of him. “if you’re gonna fuck— if you’re gonna fuck me do it already you little shit,” oikawa whines out, he was starting to grow tired and impatient of your constant slowing down and stopping while you were mounted on his cock. “shut up and let me do my thing,” you pant out, you knew exactly what you were doing, something about breaking a condescending little shit made you feel great. “you’ll cum when i’m ready,” you say speeding up your pace all while holding on to your headboard. “you little devil.”

-> bokuto kotaro

“is it okay for you, are you feelin’ good mama?” bokuto says while he’s mid thrust, constantly checking in on you, he could feel you squeeze and flutter around him as you took him deeper. He was well aware that he was big, not to be cocky or anything (pun intended) but he wanted to make sure you felt as good as he did, and you did of course. “yes, baby i feel good,” you say barely above a whisper. he starts to speed up but he’s always making sure you’re okay. and it turned you on so much, he was always able to make you cum easily. “was it ok..” you nod “yea? okay stay here i’ll go get some cold water and a damp towel” he says while planting kisses all over you and your body. just prepare for the best cuddles ever.

probably gonna do this with mha and jjk characters, cause i want to write but don’t feel like typing ifykwim but i have a shit ton of drafts and future ideas (50 drafts) my fingers just tired fr (likes and reblogs are appreciated and motivating!!) +requests are open mls <;33

#kuroo tetsuro x reader #kenma kozume x reader #bokuto x reader #oikawa toru x reader #lulawrites

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bittybeanie · 2 years

Note

Could you do nsfw headcanons with Serizawa? 👀 or a scenario whatever you’re feeling :) I wanna kiss him thank youuu

yes absolutely anon thank you for reminding me i hadn't done spicy ones for seri yet bc... i have many thoughts. he's literally so handsome it makes me angry enough to just kiss the living daylights out of him.

hovers like he wants to touch you but doesn't actually touch until you guide his hands where they need to be. once the seal is broken he's all over you but it's always very sweet the way his hands linger just beside your cheeks during the first few kisses. even once he gets comfy with you it becomes a tradition that he leaves his hands there as an easy way for you to give consent by taking his hands without him having to ask every time.

SO many kisses like- he kisses you absolutely constantly until he can't breathe and then some. sometimes he pulls away just to take a big breath in and go back to kissing you because breathing through his nose can only do so much. doesn't get offended if you have to shove him away for a break but it won't stop him from kissing wherever else he can reach. the gasping is a little silly but the way he literally can't keep his mouth off you is very endearing (and also very flustering)

honestly you know what fuck it serizawa can have a little oral fixation. as a treat. his favorite is having you lay on your back bc he can put his hands on your thighs to hold them open and it's just such a visual thing for him?? like- he loves seeing the way his fingers dig into your skin to hold you steady and feeling your legs shake and knowing that he gets to hold you like that and make you feel good? there's nothing quite like it

other favorite parts include when you lock your ankles over his shoulders and roll your hips up toward his face as you get close. and also… he can literally hold you in the air with his powers?? against the wall so that you can basically sit on his shoulders?? it's like face sitting with more steps but he thinks it's very worth it especially since he reserves it for Special Occasions

basically he's like… lowkey possessive but in a "wow i feel special and i want to cherish this in every way possible" way rather than a "nobody else can have you" way if that makes sense

no matter how many times you try to get him to go faster he always starts out by fucking into you so. slowly. it's honestly a little infuriating how he doesn't realize how much he's teasing you but you wouldn't have it any other way. (and the way he grabs onto your hips once he decides you're warmed up and slams in all at once more than makes up for it.)

very much a switch in that he's down for most anything. if it's an idea he brought up, it takes a little bit of reassurance that you're just as into it as he is, and he's a little nervous if it's something new for him, but he settles into everything pretty quickly. he never brings anything up on his own but he answers your questions pretty bluntly and doesn't think to be embarrassed until after so. it usually works out.

likes having his hair grabbed at, especially when he's bottoming. not exactly pulling per se but like… balling up your fist in his hair so there's just a little bit of pressure throughout and you can yank him around if you need to

pretty quiet until the very end. it's all raspy, low moans and almost growls until he gets super close to coming and then- then?? you better cover his mouth or kiss him silly bc he can and WILL wake up the neighbors. he once bit your shoulder in an attempt to muffle himself but he felt really bad about the bruise it left and it didn't even work that well.

(you mostly just shove his face into a pillow now. he doesn't mind. he likes when you put your hand over his mouth no matter what but it doesn't do anything for the sound at that point. he used to have a much better handle on his volume but you kept telling him you loved hearing him and now… well.)

likes cockwarming more than he'd like to admit. basically anything that has you really close to him is nice but there's something special about getting to be inside you with you on his lap while he keeps playing games. he likes being distracted some times more than others but he's always down for a couple kisses on his neck. if you end up squirming too much he absolutely refuses to bring it up but uh… it's pretty obvious when he starts getting hard again.

#serizawa katsuya x reader #serizawa x reader #my writing #sorry bestie i'm back on my bullshit so maybe avert your eyes for this one #i'm always torn between nervous and assured seri #but he IS confident and it IS hot #so i wanted to give that part of him a chance to shine here #also not quite featuring my thing for his Voice and Hands #bc there was already quite a bit here

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omegahime · 2 years

Text

random aew sex headcanons pt.2

warnings: smut (minors dni), more filthy things. i tried to be as neutral as possible so, gn!reader. mentions of breeding kink, brat taming, daddy kink, marking, exhibitionism, and size kink.

adam page

still on the boat of adam being a bit vanilla but the greatest thing abt him is how he can be so sweet while pummeling you to pieces

stroking your hair, rubbing his thumb over your cheeks, smiling and telling you how gorgeous you look like this all while balls deep in you

it’s like he doesn’t know his own strength sometimes bc the way he just slams into you like he’ll have the bed rattling against the wall

i also get major brat tamer vibes from him as well though

you almost cant even commit to being too much of a brat bc god it’s the way his voice kind of gets rlly deep and he stares right through your soul, “watch your tone, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

but yeah major praise kink likes his hair pulled too

not super loud but the occasional grunt or moan of “good god, you feel amazing.”

big big breeding kink but also loves the sight of your face covered in his cum

is wall sex a kink? idk he likes fucking you up against walls

like there’s a lot of times where you don’t make it to the bed so you’re pressed up against a wall or leaning over a counter

ricky starks

he’s cocky but not in an asshole way

he just knows ur body so well he knows exactly what to do to get you off, ur every little tick

and it makes sex incredible bc he always does it right

also .. obligatory stroke daddy reference bc duh stroke game go dummy

loves some hair pulling, loves it when you scratch his back or dig ur nails into his his thighs in particular

ricky gives you the kind of sex that puts you right to sleep fr and then u wake up to him cooking breakfast he’s husband material truly

but god does he love it it makes him feel great that he can just tire you out like that he lowkey has a couple pictures of you just slumped drooling on ur pillow

haha daddy kink go brr

“you like how daddy fucks you, baby? tell me how much you love it.”

likes you in doggy so he can grab your waist. knows he’s in really deep and finds it amusing when you naturally start to scoot away but can’t you guys just imagine him in your ear like “stop running.”

jungle boy

listen don’t kill me but .. very very vanilla

at the most i could see him liking outdoors sex (there was this fic i read, it was rlly good but i can’t remember who wrote it so if you know feel free to rb with the link!!)

but he’s kind of shy, lowkey, doesn’t like to do a lot of the crazy shit when it comes to sex

i have this theory he’s loud af in bed though

like that’s one of the places he feels most comfortable, in bed with you, so he doesn’t censor himself in the slightest. you’ll know he’s enjoying himself

big dick energy like a mf he loves it when you ride him but it feels like sitting on a spear

when you two first had sex it took a lot to get used to his length

loves to give head, just loves putting his mouth on you

likes to kiss you right as you’re hitting your climax, loves the way you moan into his mouth

really likes it when you’re all dressed up, takes a lot for him not to just rip your clothes off and fuck you

god the amount of times you’ve had to choose a different outfit or redo your hair bc he couldn’t keep his hands off you before an event

danhausen

call me a clown fucker if u want but 2018 danhausen lives rent free in my head

(i have an idea for a fic i wanna write but ANYWAYS)

so very loving 🥺

also very talkative likes to hear that he’s doing well wants to tell you that you’re doing well

praise kink vibes whew

also lowkey a massive pervert in the best way like he just is so attracted to you

not above some back of the arena sex, or car sex, or bathroom sex

he would love like surprise blowjobs like u just drop to ur knees as he’s getting ready for a match or you wake him up with one

god he’s so loud though that’s the crazy thing about him liking the exhibitionist stuff he’ll just rat y’all out 💀

there’s been many a time you’re riding him in the backseat of a car and you have to put your hand over his mouth bc he will not shut up

but it makes your heart bloom to know he’s enjoying himself so much

#{ : hangman }#{ : starks }#{ : jungle boy }#{ : danhausen }#aew smut #aew imagine #aew headcanons #adam page imagine #adam page headcanons #adam page smut #ricky starks imagine #ricky starks headcanons #ricky starks smut #jungle boy imagine #jungle boy headcanons #jungle boy smut #danhausen imagine #danhausen headcanons #danhausen smut

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feelingdeath · 1 year

Text

The last one (for a while)

I have zero drafts now, fewish followers, and this is going to be my 385th post.

I am logging off of tumblr, for a good bit. I did think about deleting my account, but i have people on here that i care about and who care about me (also i remember when @doritosaftersex deactivated his account and i felt bad). So instead ill come back in maybe a few months or years, or maybe never depends on well lol if i actually kms. Although don't worry i really doubt i have the time or energy for that. Before i go though i lowkey realised that i haven't ever spoken about like the well other side of me. The parts that i don't tumblr about. So here's this post- an Introduction and a Good-Bye.

My name's Piki, and that's me in the pfp { One of the good days}.

i like cats. (I think most people would start off like that).

M a living cliche and also a hypocrite cos i hate cliches and i literally wanna do something different, but oops =).

I have been in two relationships, second one going on right now, been over six months (and i think this is the last one because i might marry him [ totally will] and i couldn't ask for anyone more better).

I think I am an extrovert ? I don't really know. Making tumble mutuals was so hard for me i literally have only one ( @mqstermindswift ).

i like cyanide, the color and the song and the vibe. (My favourite artists are The Chainsmokers, Linkin Park, MGK, OH AND JAKEHILL [i love jake hill])

I like Italian food and will. eat. anything. that has cheese. I am kinda vegetarian though, i don't like the idea of eating an animal who probably had a family but i absolutely HATE animals as a whole (ref to point 3 about me being a hypocrite)

I hate everyone and everything, the first thing that i said to morphi and it also got me my nickname piki - which means m picky about everything.

i also love doing everything (fk m confusing). i dance, and love to cook, and i draw really well, and i can play the guitar, i learnt the violin nd the piano too a bit, i like debating a lot, and volunteering for things.

On the surface my life seems great, but then comes the well the stuff- i mean clearly it would take you a few scrolls across my blog to see how er bad it really gets but well-

I might have bpd? i am not sure.

i feel terribly lonely sometimes and also inferior to everyone around me.

my parents are not the greatest people out there. they both have done stuff that well i wont type it out here of course, but its bad.

the above thing dig this really deep pit of trust issues and well now i believe in tragedies more than hope ( morphi hates that but he'll get it once he knows)

i have tried to km, when i was younger. And if i had a penny for everytime i thought about killing myself elon musk and i would be homies.

i am really gorey, and i like horror movies and the gore and CNC and stuff.

i cant open up. too many expectations.

i get really low sometimes and i end up saying stuff or doing stuff and i don't particularly remember why or what i did, and so i poof (another thing morphi hates).

i hurt myself a lot which probably comes from point 6.

Sounds like two different people now. There is SO MUCH i haven't told about me, but if you have even like read this at all. M lowkey impressed. I am not going to go in and fix my spelling mistakes and capitalisation so go figure.

OKAY GOODBYE.

#goodbye

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tears-of-boredom · 9 months

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oh my god this fucking tumblr dash i frogort aobut it already and my figner are fucking freezing so i cant tyoe for shit

anyways so i was browsing like you know one of those websites that streams a bunch of shit for free, and i saw a show called BEEF, just BEEF, it wasnt an acronym or anything. so fo course i had to see what was up duh?? so i finished the first episode. and i fucking love it. i mean the whole time i was lowkey chanting "kill someones kill someone kill someone" but you know how good media does that to you right. but yeah so when the episode finished, i noticed that my heart was beating really fast, like as if id drunk coffee. like lowkey i wouldnt have been surprised if i had passed out onto my desk. but so if my bodys reaction to the show is anything, i enjoyed it. im going to watch the next episode when i either A: feel like i can handle my pulse rising like that again without freaking out or B: i wanna get an adrenaline rush because im really depressed and need to feel something. but yeah this is totally just like that time i watches thor ragnarok, and it took like multiple weeks for me to get through it because i just couldnt handle tom hiddleston. but thsi time i refuse to believe that its any of the actors. i am trying to convince myself that im not that shallow. tbh i just loved the last scene where uhh,,, hold on whats her name okay its Amy. so i loved that scene where she got to fuel all her anger into running after Danny and yelling shit at him. like i know its not for a good reason but i feel like my girl really needed just some way to let some steam out. anyways yeah i am going to go read something that i give zero shits about now because my body is still on alert from that. it feels like im planning on having a voluntary social interaction with someone, which i am not. aka i am anxious as fuck but in this way where i kinda dont want to be, but my body just reacts so strongly that i really cant fight it. ya know social anxiety. except sometimes its triggered by just a good tv series.

honestly its probably just that im excited, because that episode was good,, but because this jittery and kind of stressed feeling isnt really like, often present in my life in a positive way, i just can't tell excitement apart from anxiousness. ya know. normal " i have awful social anxiety" things. or more like "i am severely mentally ill and am not getting the treatment i need" kind of things. pick one. or both. tbh the adults suggested uhh like occupational therapy, and i got a list of therapists from my doctor. but my trust in any kind of help the adults try to give me is so fucking deteriorated that i cant imagine it ever actually helpoing me. and if i told that to an adult i know they would say some shit like " well i f you go in all negative of course its notgonna work!! you gotta want to heal for it to work" and oh my god im drviing myself into abreakdown here so haha i wish that the adults would fucking understand that i fucking have severe anxietyy and trust issues. and that not believing a form of therapy is going to help me, isnt the same thing as not wanting to be helped. do you fucking know how badly i jsut want someone to finally give me some type of actual support or aid or help oh my god. okay my fingers are getting really aggressive on the keyboard. im gonna go fr now. i fucking hate adults. and im tired. and i have trust issues. and i ahve anxiety. and while my medication does help me to go about my day a bit easier, because i dont find myself digging mental holes for myself. it doesnt help for shit when im in a situation that in and of itself is anxiety inducing for me. and i dont fucking like how i cant tell the difference in my mood between the lighter and stronger dose. because i cant fucking say that its not heloing. because i dont know that. oh my god i am so horrible at stopping myself from venting. going now. okay. bye.

#tearful stuff

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graffiti-spelt-right · 18 days

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2 3 8 9 11 17 18 21 🔥🔥 (-🧱)

HOLY SHIT 🧱 MOD!

I have questions for you!!! Do you have a grumblr blog? Is 🧱 anyone around???? Thabk you for taking an interest in my guy i love your asks!

Now to your questions

2. What's your oc's orientation? (Romantic/sexual/platonic alterous ect) Do they have opinions about it?

Human GT would label himself as bi, troll GT would say pan if he knew what that means, he really doesnt care about other peoples genders at all

3. How did your oc discover themself? Did something cause them to question, or did they always know?

I dont have a whole lot to say about his sexuality so i might answer most or all of these for gender instead cause GT is very trans

If he didn't "always know" he sure did figure it out young, he spent the first few (very few, like 2) sweeps hanging out with only girl(s), so clocked it as soon as he met a guy

8. Have they had struggles with their identity, be it due to internal or external reasons?

YES, both internal and external, internal out of fear of how others would react and he was right to be scared, i cant give a lot of info on the external part cause thats lore relevant, so if you wanna know youre gonna go digging into his life and dig deep

(yes im shamelessly trying to get you curious, go dig!)

9. Are there cultural or lore specific aspects to their identity? If applicable, does their species affect it

Absolutely! The whole concept of identity is extremely important to his character/lore actually, him being a troll affects only in so far as his genuine love for troll kind, and ,of course, in all the ways living in murder planet affects a person

11. Is your oc open about their identity? Are they more lowkey or more blunt about it? Why or why not?

Hes not HIDING it, hes even told 1 or 2 people, but he doesnt actively talk about it much, if you ask hell tell you, but he wont usually start the conversation

NOW ONTO THE ASKS ABOUT YOUR WONDERFUL MOD! ME!

17. Do you share identity with any of your ocs? Which ones?

We both transmasc but hes way more of a guy then i am, outside of that we share nothing, hes very pan im very aroace

(he may be a tiny bit a-spec but thats cause all my characters end up a tiny bit a-spec)

18. Do you prefer to give your ocs specific labels, or keep it unspecified? Why? If applicable, do you change their labels depending on circumstance?

Depends on the character, most stay unlabeled tho, unless its plot relevant i dont see the point in labeling them, i did change/add a label ir 2 but those were special circumstances

21. Free ramble card wee

About me? Theres not a whole lot to say

Im aroace, dont-ask-me-about-my-gender, and Brazilian, thats not related to pride or anything its just true, AMA? I dont have much to say

About him? HOLY MOLLY

Hes so trans guys, its so relevant thats hes trans someone go poke at him about it! Hes a little weirdo of a guy, there are so many levers are details and contradictions in him hows he not exploded yet

I wanna say so much cause i dont know how much yall are gonna figure out but also i cant cause spoilers! !!!!!!!!!

The more you know about him the more confusing he gets (thats what i get for rping, gotta keep thinking about him)

If i had to resume him into one question it would be

"what would it take (how much comfort, fear, pain, friendship) to make you willingly give up your identity?"

This is such an unfocused rant but i have so many thooooooughts

Thanks for the ask!!!! TELL ME ABOUT 🧱

#graffitied #ask #ask game #🧱

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oneletterelliot · 2 years

Text

2 Baddies (NCT 127) - liveblog reaction

I haven't heard any of the songs or teasers for this album. This is my first time listening through to any of it.

Faster - Bird call intro. This opening makes me think of "New Axis" a bit. Didn't love that "My wayyyy," but this instrumental is interesting. Mark my favorite NCT 127 rapper. 0:47 Jaehyun rapper? (Edit: yes!) Who is this at the one-minute mark? (Edit: It's Yuta.) A very fitting song for the concept of the comeback. Is this Johnny rapping at 1:53 after Taeyong? (Edit: Yes, it is.) Who is this at 2:06? Yuta? Ah, I just remembered how Sticker had Jungwoo rapping, maybe him? (Edit: IT WAS DOYOUNG?!?!?!?!?!?!!? WHOA!) I'm vaguely enjoying this song, but I don't think it's interesting enough for 2:50s of it.

2 Baddies - Ok, title track, let's go. Car go vroom. "TWO BADDIES TWO BADDIES ONE PORSCHE?" Uhhhhhhh. Wait omg, is this Jaehyun rapping after Mark at 0:36? He's fast. (Edit: Yes, its' Jaehyun.) "Blue's clues." Thank you, Johnny. Is this Jungwoo at 0:53 after Haechan? 0:59 Doyoung? (Edit: Yes, and yes.) Is the chorus going to be shouting every time? I do like the old timey car horn in the background. Ok, I'm kind of digging this rap at 1:32, which I think might be Jaehyun again? (Edit: Sure is.) 1:57 finally some singing. (Edit: Hello, Yuta!) These first two songs have both been very rap-heavy. I hope the choreography is interesting. This song didn't do it for me. It felt like it should've been a rap unit song, rather than the title track, despite the obligatory Taeil high note in the background of the bridge. I do like the the "na-na-na-na-na" at 3:25 but it's kind too little, too late for me.

Time Lapse - More very techy instrumental. INCOMING! (That's got to be a producer tag, right?) I wish the instrumental, especially the bass, was mixed a little louder compared to the voices. The harmonies on this "Can we fix it?" section do sound very NCT 127. I feel like this style showed up a lot on the NEO ZONE b-sides. Jaehyun at 1:20? I'm kind of digging his tone here. 1:35 Yuta? I like this lower register. (Edit: Yes and yes.) Who is this at 1:42? I think a quick series of voices maybe? I do like. (Edit: Johnny followed Jungwoo.) 1:57 high tone was nice. (Edit: still Jungwoo.) "And now, the weather." Omg. I like this harmony at 2:39, Haechan and uh, Doyoung maybe? (Edit: Haechan and Jaehyun actually!) This is such a classic Taeil bridge high note lol. Okay, I can vibe with this song. I quite like the outro instrumental.

Crash Landing - Ok, this is kind of funky (positive). Stop giving Johnny spoken word parts, SM, I am begging you. This Haechan to Doyoung opener is nice. Is this Jungwoo (maybe??) at 0:30? (Edit: No, it's Taeyong! Wow!) 0:41 sounds really nice. I wanna say Yuta? Oh, who is this at 1:06? Really nice. (Edit: Taeil, of course. Always so strong.) "All up, all up into my love." Wow, Mark is branching out his rap style at 1:21. I'm not sure I like it, but I do love the experimentation. 1:44 Taeil? Really strong sounding. (Edit: Yuta actually! I definitely have a history of occasionally mistaking his voice for Taeil's.) This song sounds like (I hope) the album transitioning into more vocal-focused songs. The bridge is doing it for me, I think, especially with the instrumental. Oh, the ending felt so abrupt?

Designer - This beat is very promising. Wow, this harmonized vocals were not what I was expecting off this opener. But I think I like it. Digging the steel drum sound. 0:40 Mark rapping in his low tone is nice, followed by Jaehyun rap? Both sound good. Is this Johnny next? (Edit: It sure is.) Taeyong's "classic" at 1:08, I did like it. This song is pretty lowkey, so far, but I'm enjoying it. Is 1:40 Yuta? Doyoung? (Edit: It's actually Jungwoo!) Is this Jaehyun doing call-and-answer with Mark at 2:09? (Edit: yes.) If my ear has been right, Jaehyun is doing a lot of rap this album. Haechan is sounding good. The feeling of this song changes a lot, but I'm not mad about it. High note closeout on the bridge, classic and strong. Is Doyoung the one doing the ad libs in this closing section? (Edit: Absolutely, yes, it's Doyoung.) I do like it.

Gold Dust - This sounds like Doyoung's breathy tone. I bet this is going to be a slow, smooth song, if not a ballad. Yo, who is this at 0:22? (Edit: it's Taeil!) Ahhhh, Jaehyun's low singing voice, I love youuuuuu. 0:41 really nice harmony. (Edit: Taeil and Johnny, ah, I like this combo a lot!) Is 1:09 Yuta? (Edit: yes, it is.) This song feels like being underwater. I like it. Interesting distortion on the backing vocals. Mark's rap is nice. Is this Jungwoo singing after him? (Edit: yeah, it's Jungwoo.) I know I've said this a lot in my recent NCT liveblogs, but I'm really enjoying how Haechan's voice has matured this past year. These main vocal ad libs over top of this soft harmony is very pleasing to my ear. Was this final line Jungwoo? (Edit: Yes, it was.)

Black Clouds - Another soft song? I vibe with this acoustic guitar. Oh, hello, this beat with Jaehyun's vocals? I really like this! Then Yuta? (Edit: yes! He sounds so good!) Something about this instrumental makes me feel nostalgic for the music I was into in, like, 10th grade. Mark's voice at 1:10 with Haechan's ad libs? Really nice. Jungwoo at 1:26? (Edit: yes.) The bit at 1:49 in to the high note, I like it a lot. (Edit: Taeil of course.) This instrumental feels so sentimental but I do like it! Jaehyun's, Mark's, and Haechan's voices suit it very well. Whoa, who is this at 3:24? I wanted to say Taeyong, but I'm not sure? (Edit: It was Taeyong.)

Playback - This instrumental is giving me "Elevator (127F)" vibes. The first three songs on this album were so committed to the concept of the comeback, and then a slew of softer, smoother songs? I'm not complaining, but I am surprised. 1:15-ish that "ooh!" was very fun. (Edit: Maybe Taeyong? It comes right before his lines/) Whoever is leading the chorus at 1:51 really like the tone. My guess is Mark maybe? This bridge is vocally really interesting and I like it as a bridge, though I'm not sure if I like it as the bridge of this song. I don't hate any of the songs so far, but I've also yet to hear a song that really really made me go, "Oh hell yeah, I love this!"

Tasty - Are we getting back to the 2 Baddies vibe? "We're savage, outlaws / Rock solid, no flaws" – is this Johnny and Mark overlapped? (Edit: just Johnny, I guess.) I'm strangely into it. Whose voice is this at 0:28? (Edit: Taeil? Wow!) Whisper rap, I can dig it. This... might be my favorite song so far? Wild. Now why is this song titled "Tasty?" I just really liked this beat, wow. Taeyong's rap tone suits this song. Was this Jungwoo after Haechan during the bridge? (Edit: yes, it was.) This laser tag sounding instrumental after the bridge, I'm weirdly into it! This shouty bit reminds me of a lot of NCT Dream's recent music actually. I liked this one.

Vitamin - Bring the funk back! What the hell is this cringy English line for Johnny? "I'll be the therapist for the day?" I'm in tears. Stop that. Doyoung at 0:37, nice. Oh, I do like this chorus. I'm jamming out in my chair. "A-woo." Yeah, a lot of Jaehyun rap this album. The voice at 1:30 caught my attention. I really want to say it's Yuta, but maybe Taeil? Sometimes I mix their voices up, I know. (Edit: Nah, I was right. it was Yuta!) Are the lyrics "vitamin me" because lol. This Haechan to Doyoung bridge HELLO I like it a lot. Great ad libs. I can hear Doyoung and Jaehyun for sure. Okay, this is definitely my favorite song so far. I love the "a-woos."

LOL (Laugh-Out-Loud) - What a title, first of all. I hope the lyrics are funny. I like the way this sounds so far. Voice following Doyoung at 0:41 catches my attention; I like the tone. (Edit: It's Yuta!) This chorus feels a little cheesy, but I do like it. Gosh, this instrumental with Jaehyun's voice following the first chorus? Really nice. Okay, the beat and chord progression at 1:44 was so pleasing to my ear. 1:59 Jungwoo maybe? (Edit: yes.) This song sits at the same table as WayV's "Dream Launch" and "Stand By Me." The lyrics sound like they're singing "laugh it off" rather than "laugh out loud" tbh. "Laugh it off" is a sentiment I can get behind. (Edit: Apparently, it's "laugh it up" actually haha.)

1, 2, 7 (Time Stops) - I love counting: 1, 2, 7. Voice at 0:30 is light and pretty. I wanna say Jungwoo? (Edit: yep!) But, like, in the style of Doyoung. Funky instrumental. This is pretty easy listening. I'm vibing. Vocals are shining. Haechan at 2:35, then Taeil at 2:45? Have they ever considered doing a musical? (Edit: I had Haechan right, but 2:45 was actually Doyoung, not Taeil, and he has done a musical, so.) Oh hello key change. "Girl, you..." is always such a choice for lyrics lol. Interesting ending for the album! I think I liked this song.

Final thoughts: Given the title track and concept of the comeback, this album contained a lot more soft / slow songs than I had anticipated. The flow from song to song was strangely cohesive though. Jaehyun really shone in this album, then Haechan, Yuta, and Jungwoo. (Mark is consistently good, so it feels silly to call him out specifically.) I don't think I was really feeling this album until the last third, though I did like "Designer" and "Gold Dust" well enough. My favorite song is definitely "Vitamin." A-woo!

#e has thoughts #nct #nct 127 #2 baddies #e liveblogs nct

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snarkwrites · 4 years

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FFT: villainesses want heroes; ray palmer

Notes:

Okay look. It was fun to attempt writing a kind of morally gray / bad girl type. And it’s something I do wanna do again at some point.

Summary:

Ginger did all the wrong things for all the right reasons. And it nearly cost her family, a love and her actual life. Thanks to her sister Sara, she’s back on the Waverider and she’s recovering. When her memory returns, can she recover what she had with Ray? or is it too late?

Pairing:

Ray Palmer x Lance!OFC, Ginger

Warnings:

morally gray character, innuendo, mentions of temporary amnesia..

“You’ll do as I ask, Ginger.. Or your father and your sister Laurel? The real one? Well, they stay dead.”

The phone went dead and Ginger threw it, swearing as she practically paced a hole through the floor. From the doorway, her sister Sara spoke up.

“You’re the leak? You’re the reason Damien’s been a few steps ahead?”

That look of disappointment in her sister’s eyes had Ginger biting her lip and looking down, instantly ashamed of herself, despite Sara not really having any room to talk. “You don’t…”

“Don’t you dare tell me I won’t understand.” Sara was angry and hurt and stepping closer to the younger sister she thought she’d been bonding with.

Apparently, her baby sister was just using her as a means to an end. Sara stepped closer, glaring down at her and her sister swallowed hard, taking a few shaky breaths.

“Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? I mean, color me curious. What’s so damn important that you’d throw all the good we’ve done.. That you’d throw your own sister.. Under the bus?”

“Damien promised me he’d bring back our dad and Laurel, okay? Look, you got years with them both. Mom, she… she whisked me away to Nebraska when I was still a baby. Do you think I liked growing up away from you guys? Do you think I wanted to deal with Mom always putting her teaching career over me and refusing to let me see our father or either of you?” Ginger snapped at her sister, pacing, winding her fingers through long blonde locks as she punched at the wall next to the door.

She was in over her head, she knew that now. Thing of it was, she was too little, too late. She clearly saw now that Damien had been using her from the start. Manipulating events that at any time could’ve gotten the team hurt or even killed. The only way out of the situation she’d gotten herself into was through it. And given the anger she saw in her sister’s eyes right now, asking for any kind of assistance to pull off what she had in mind was probably going to result in a brawl.

A throat cleared from the door and Ray stood there, staring at her in confusion. “You’re the leak? I thought..”

“Ray…”

Ray didn’t even bother sticking around, he turned and walked away, vanishing from Ginger’s sight and Ginger sank back into the chair, lightly beating her head against the back of it.

Yeah.. She was definitely going to have to go this one alone, it seemed. It’s what you deserve, Gin… her mind echoed as she stood and smoothed her shaking hands over the front of her favorite pair of jeans.

It dawned on her.. She had a particular advantage. Maybe if she acted quick.. She sprang up from the chair and made her way off the WaveRider….

And that was the absolute last thing she remembered, prior to waking up in the medic bay on the ship.

XXX

Everything fucking hurt. From the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t ache. The steady hum of the machines alerted her to the fact that something was.. Horribly wrong.

The platinum blond man stepped out, rubbed his hands together as he shook his head and chuckled. “I swear, I wish I knew what was so gosh darned enchanting about that idiot Palmer.. Not only did he manage to bewitch my own flesh and blood… But he got under the skin of one of my best assets.” the man tutted and shook his head, checking her vitals as he asked her calmly, “Do you still think shooting the serum directly into your neck was a good idea, Ginny? You’re such a smart girl, I’m almost disappointed to see you do something so foolish.”

“Look… I dunno who you are or what the fuck you’re talking about but… If you’re gonna kill me, make it quick, alright? It’s not like I got anything to live for.”

Damien eyed her, a brow raised at first. Then the look of confusion transformed into one of sheer joy. The memory erasing serum he’d been testing -and that she’d mistakenly grabbed when she was trying to steal the mock up of Mirakuru he had, it worked!

And it worked quite well.

Ginger felt that the guy was just dragging things out on purpose. She’d never really been a fan of someone who didn’t have the balls to get straight down to their intentions. Her mother always told her she got her mile wide stubborn streak and her strong sense of right and wrong from her father and that at times, it could be infuriating.

She managed to pry her wrists free and when the guy was puttering around his lab, she snuck up behind him, raising the only weapon she’d been able to find high above her head, every intention of braining him to death with it if it meant her making it out of this situation alive.

Her jaw dropped when he cleared his throat, lifted a finger and the object she held in her grasp fell to the floor with a noisy clank. He turned, staring her down. “If you’ll have a seat, I’m more than willing to explain everything… Including how you sought me out, desperate for dear old daddy to get one more chance at life… To have your whole family together again.. How you sold out your own sister for a chance to bring your dead one back.”

“You lying piece of shit!”

“Oh, but I’m telling the truth, darling.”

Ginger’s mouth opened and closed. While every fiber in her being wanted to believe the man was full of bullshit, there was this feeling deep down inside that insisted that no, he wasn’t.

And that thought blew her mind.

She went for the blunt object she’d been intending to use as a weapon again and Damien waved his hand, sending her crashing back into the room, a table toppling over on top of her. The table pinned her down, although by her own math, she should’ve easily been able to lift it.

The door burst open just as she started to black out all over again. She didn’t start coming to until she felt herself being scooped up.. The cologne.. Something about it was… familiar in a way.

She definitely knew whoever it was who was behind her rescue. She gripped hold of them, muttering the first name that came to her mind torn between consciousness and just giving in to the void again.

Ray sighed as he hurried down the hall, trying to locate Mick Rory to pass Ginger off for safety.

“Shh.. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m kinda like a cat. I tend to land on my…” she was starting to slip out again. Everything faded out and the next time she opened her eyes, she was somewhere entirely different. She almost wanted to say it was a hospital room… But something felt off about the whole thing.

The blonde woman who resembled her mother stepped towards her, a hand out and she tried to scoot as far away from her reach as possible. She was fighting against the drips and IV’s, hell bent on getting away and lucky she didn’t injure herself further. She stopped shy of ripping anything out because she’d always heard that doing that was never a good idea and she wasn’t keen on dying.

“Who the hell are all of you? Where the fuck am I?”

Sara caught her just as she managed to get a hand down to where her thick soled boots would’ve been normally and she spoke up. “Do you remember anything?”

“No… Wait… I remember a fight with a biker in an alley. Because he caught onto me hustling him in a game of pool..” Something about the memory didn’t feel right, but she wasn’t.. Sure about anything enough to know.

Sara glanced at Ray, tears stinging at her eyes. This was similar to the way her sister acted before they reconnected. Had her father lived -and been the one to raise Ginger, he would’ve definitely had his hands full, given some of their intel on her prior to choosing her to become a Legend.

Sara sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m Sara. Your sister.”

Ginger eyed her, wary. “I haven’t seen her since I was 4. How do I know you’re not lying? Mom told me Sara died…” Ginger trailed off, fidgeting.

“Mom believes that too. Nothin Dad tried tellin her would convince her otherwise.” Sara reached out and tilted her sister’s chin to make her meet her gaze. “Do you remember anything?” Sara tried again, hoping that maybe jogging her sister’s memory would free anything.

“Coming to Star City and visiting Dad’s grave..”

Ginger’s eyes settled on the lanky brunette male standing in the doorway and she nodded to him. “Getting shitfaced and waking up in a bed with that guy… Have you two… ya know? Because that tongue…” Ginger fanned herself, giving a giggle of delight at the way the guy blushed when every set of eyes in the room with him turned to fix on him at once. “In all seriousness.. He will totally rock your world.”

Ray’s face darkened and he cleared his throat.

Mick was quick to step between Ray and Sara, reminding her that the important thing here was to find out what Dahrk did to her kid sister while the guy had her. Ginger rubbed her head and grimaced as she felt dried blood and what felt to be a clumsy attempt at stitches.

“Well this is just peachy.” she mumbled as the others stepped out into the hallway. Sara immediately slapped Ray in the back of the head and Ray gave her a sheepish look.

“You… I can’t even right now.”

“Try being me.. She remembers our first night together.. But doesn’t remember anything else.. I get the feeling she might not take it well when she realizes just how serious we’d gotten before that night she left to go stupidly offer herself up to Damien.” Ray shook his head, swinging at a wall. “I still can’t believe she fucking did it.”

“She thought if she went and stole the device and serum herself, she’d be giving us an edge. She had all the passcodes to his compound, Ray. She’s never been afraid of anything. We both know this. Did you really think she’d sit back and just.. Let things go?”

“I wish she had.” Ray grumbled, taking a few deep breaths, staring intently into the room Ginger was currently recovering in. He’d spent months thinking he lost her too, that she’d died when they faced off against Damien a third or fourth time. And then they started to hear rumors about some badass new assassin. Apparently, she’d gotten on Damien’s bad side somehow, because the next thing they knew, Gideon was picking up a ping on Ginger.

Given that Sara had way more than enough time to calm down, to figure out the motive behind Ginger playing double agent, - a talk with her mother helped, and that in the months following Sara cooling down, she had ample amounts of time to settle into a pattern of blaming herself for her baby sister possibly dying, them going to try and rescue her and face Damien one final time was inevitable.

Ray hadn’t worried about anything beyond getting Ginger the fuck out of the compound. In fact, he’d kind of stepped up and really taken on leadership of the whole attempt.

Sara hadn’t been in the mindset to think clearly. To be honest, he hadn’t either, but he knew he wasn’t going to lose another woman he loved.

His hand rested against the glass as he watched Ginger like a hawk through the window. He couldn’t stay away, so while the others were talking, he made his way in quietly. Ginger’s eyes lit up at seeing him and she teased quietly, “Come to give me sweet dreams again, Dr. Feelgood?”

Ray stared at his hands. There was so much he wanted to say to her. Things he needed to say. But it all got trumped by the fact that he was just glad she was there and alive and able to say things to drive him crazy and make him blush.

“How’d you know?”

“Know what?” Ginger asked, moving to sit up, sort of snuggling against his side and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“I’m technically a doctor.. And that’s what you called me….”

“After that night when I woke up in your penthouse. I remember that much.” Ginger nodded, giving a frustrated sigh. The light bounced off of something on a chain around her neck, and curious, Ginger pulled the chain out of it’s hiding place beneath her favorite tee shirt. As soon as she saw the dog tags and read the name on them… And the simple engagement ring that was also on the chain, everything rushed back to her at once and she sighed, going quiet.

“Oh.”

Ray eyed her, eyed the necklace he knew she never took off. He swallowed hard at the sight of the engagement ring he’d gotten her as a ‘joke’ when they were stranded in 1975 together on her first mission with the team.

“You were more than just a one night stand to me and true to form, I completely fucked that up.. My sister, she… Why would any of you even bother coming for me after what I did?”

“Maybe sometimes, princess.. Maybe sometimes the good guys fall for the bad girls. Did you really think I was going to just leave you there?”

“Ray, I would’ve left me there, okay? I can’t believe I was so fuckin stupid. Damien was never gonna bring either of them back.. And I betrayed the only sister I have left.. And you, I-…” she trailed off, looking down at her lap. She was about to do something she hated doing and tried to av oid at all costs.

Something she hadn’t done since the night she came to Star City and spent an entire night sitting at her father’s graveside doing it. The fat tear made it’s trek down her face just as Ray tilted her chin to make her look at him.

“I get it. I didn’t at first. I wanted to hate you. I really wanted to hate myself… Especially after we thought.. Ginger, you’ve been gone almost a year now. We thought you died… I spent almost a year thinking that you died. Knowing I could’ve stopped you from leaving that night, but I was too disgusted by what you were doing to bother.”

He leaned in, cradling her cheek against his hand, wiping at her eyes with a tissue. “Everything is going to be okay. You’re back and I’m not… Nothing like that is ever going to happen to us again.”

Ginger swallowed hard. “It’s not too late?”

“When you really love someone, Ginger, it’s never too late to try and fix things. If that’s what you want.”

Ginger glanced down at the dog tags and the ring he’d given her in joking. She slipped the necklace from it’s place around her neck, unfastening it. Ray raised a brow, biting his lip as she slipped the ring off the ball chain and onto her finger.

“Does that answer your question, Dr. Palmer?”

He pulled her onto his lap and as they started to kiss, throats cleared from the doorway.

“For fucks sake, you two! Jesus, get a room.” Sara turned until they’d both finally caught on to not being in the room alone and could be bothered to pry themselves apart in the sense of public decency.

“You both done now?”

“Actually, as soon as I can get these stupid fucking drips out of me…”

“Don’t… Don’t you dare finish that, Ginger Louise Lance.” Sara groaned, laughing as she moved closer, making an attempt to hug her sister.

#ray palmer fanfiction #ray palmer fanfic #ray palmer fic #ray palmer oneshot #ray palmer imagine #// I do lowkey wanna go there with this and do a bit more digging but idk idk..#// maybe at some point.

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1111jenx · 2 years

Text

Hey wifeys its Jenx,

It's been a while since I last dig deep into some random placements😌 Today is the day. Let's get right into it:

— Taurus Moon: seductive without even trying too much. capable of turning their vulnerability into a weapon against others in the most unexpected way. and they RARELY open up. curious but mind their own business, enjoy it A LOT when they're able to bring people together but can be as prideful as Leo Moon.

— Sun in the first: The type to post a tiktok and go viral. Literally. Attention comes EFFORTLESSLY

— Venus in the first: I'm surrounded by y'all so I can say this. Stop gossiping you gorgeous mfs.

— Leo Mercury: funny. very funny but also can be a bit too much sometimes. capable of analyzing SO MUCH but would only tell a little. seems so blunt but they hold back A LOT more than you think

— Mercury conjunct Venus: heightened sense of smell. If in the fixed sign they're charmingly blunt. So blunt. Too blunt sometimes but do it very charmingly?? I'm repeating myself here but they know what to say always. Also bonus points if you know how to hold their attention by your intelligence. They're into that🙃

— Scorpio Venus: always be texting people as if there's a random third-party reading the text like gurl why you acting cautious as hell no one is gonna see this😭 super careful with what they say. very calculated with others in general but literally too optimistic with people they love

— Leo Venus: spoiled af. most likely to throw a fist. (i'm one and i'm proud to be one). genuinely enjoy chasing after people we thought was worthy tbh whether or not we admit to this

— Moon aspecting Uranus: I'm convinced y'all are big bundle of love like how can someone be so emotional but also so rational. Put yourself first ok.

— Libra Moon: always mirroring their partner. I can elaborate more if y'all want but I think it is self-explanatory. Also 7th house Moon do this too!!!

— Venus 2nd house/8th house: they associate BIG TIME with their resources and money🤣 Venus 8th house lowkey wanna be a sugar daddy tbh don't lie y'all. Venus 2nd house if combined with more Venus energy in the chart makes amazing partners y'all are so giving🥺

— Mars aspecting Jupiter: everytime you yell I giggle. your anger is like a toddler throwing a tantrum. expected but also unexpected LOL y'all be doing the most its so cute

— Libra Mars: ?are you guys okay? like genuinely LOL I have never seen someone so ambitious but also so randomly indecisive

— Aries Moon: you guys are so emotionally direct it's fascinating. If mix with Venus energy in the chart can be a bit of a passive aggressive charmer but still, charming🙂 Can come off as big time loner just cause yall are so independent 😍

— Jupiter in the 3rd house: smart asses😩 its giving Barney from How I met your mother though. Air of effortless intellects but also so detached??

I'mma keep reblogging this to add more throughout the day as I think of some more, leave in the comments what you guys wanna read more about babes😘

Watch out for my reblogs lovers<3

love,

saint jenx 🪐

#astrojenx #astrology #astro notes #astrology observations #astrology notes #astrotips #leo venus #libra rising #moon in scorpio #libra sun #leo #astrology lessons

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soulwillower · 3 years

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semi-charming • bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x reader smut)

requested: Do you have any bill denbrough x reader’s that you have finished that can be posted? I really love your work I re read it like everyday lol :) + AKANSHAKAKMA U SHOULD POST THE BILL DENBROUGH HATE SMUT AHHHH + don’t be shy post the b.d hate smut 😀🔫🥰🌝

i haven’t posted a fic in well over several months but i hope u guys like it :) im here and around still so send me something if u wanna chat <3 i also have re opened my requests lkajsdlkaj

also - i gained a lot of new followers while i was gone and im sure some ppl want to be removed from my taglist SO: i am gonna start a new taglist!!! pls send me a message and let me know if you want to be on it bc after this post im starting fresh !!!!!!!!!

warnings: drinking, mentions of weed, dorm living, almost-strangers hooking up, smut, choking (light), light spitting, a tiny bit of dirty talk, switch!bill, its kinda fluffy smut tbh, enemies-to-lovers but its so lowkey, kinda cute guys, neighbor-ish au,

(losers + reader are 19+.)

4.1k words

♡

the first time it happened, you wrote it off as unintentional.

it's happened to everyone: you're joking around with your roommate, or reaching over to grab your laptop, and you fall off your bed to the floor. you knock over your lamp or someone knocks over the handle that was sitting half-empty on the mini-fridge. the tile on the ground of the dorm rooms are hard and cold and don't do much to quiet the noise of anything, so you get that.

but whatever the hell was going on in the room above you was not that. it was three in the morning, and your head was spinning in that sickening way that only happens when you take too many drinks in a short time and find your way to bed for a few hours before being startled awake.

a loud thump made you jump in your bed, heart racing as you woke in surprise.

it was around twenty more loud thuds from your ceiling (in a span of barely two minutes) that you gathered the energy to slide out of your bed, sliding on your dorm slides and throwing on a shirt to cover your near naked body before storming into the hallway to climb the most challenging single story of stairs in your life, right to your upstairs neighbors' door.

your hand was banging on the door for a mere five seconds before the door swung open and a terribly confusing sight fell onto your eyes.

three boys who you've only ever seen in passing before in your dorm, all shirtless and heaving breaths. the one who answered the door, possibly bill or mike (judging by the stupid name tags on their door), has bright eyes and dark auburn hair that reflects in the dim light of the hall, backlit by the neon purple from inside the room. his sweaty bare abdomen made your eyes twitch as you glared at him, suddenly more irritated because he's kind of really hot and stupid and annoying, and you needed to sleep.

"hi.” he said casually, and you could tell he wasn’t entirely sober, either.

“so what is your fucking problem?" you said in lieu of a greeting, half-asleep and pissed beyond belief (also still drunk). the boy who answered the door raised his brows, head turning with a brow raised, as if to ask his buddies 'are they for real?' before turning back with a large, cocky smile, "pardon you? we already turned down the music."

you blinked, knowing you must have seemed so rude and looked insane but it was a weeknight and you had class in the morning, "wh- what, no- i'm not here about music. it's like three, you're slamming on the floor and i can hear it like i'm in a fucking tornado in my room below you so you need to knock it off."

then the other boy, further back with foggy glasses, started laughing. the other one laughed too, rubbing his neck sheepishly, still breathing heavy. "what the hell are you guys even doing in there?" you added, running a hand through your hair in exasperation.

"they were trying to bench press me. but then bill decided to start doing squat jumps onto his bed." the boy with glasses explained as he rubbed his chest, still concealed by the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the stupid LED neon lights that every single person in the dorms had lining their rooms. that explained the thudding.

"why." you'd deadpanned. you were too tired for this, but you'd wanted them to understand that it was keeping people up. "richie got us kicked out of Pike for stealing their doorknobs and pledge class photos." the third boy says, elbowing the boy, richie. "we felt like working out, but then richie said we couldnt press him, so..." he trails off at the look you give.

"you want my workout routine or something?" richie asks you. you sharply inhale and bill smiles, "well, if that's all, we'll be going. i've got one more rep to get in."

your eyes widened, jaw dropping at his words. he'd laughed, then, and your eyes couldn't stop as you stared at his sculpted abs flex in the light. god damn it.

"chill out, neighbor. sorry to wake you from your beauty sleep." he said as he noticed your look, and you wanted to fucking hit him.

you rolled your eyes, picking up on his facetious tone. "whatever. just knock it off. thanks," you'd griped, sarcastically smiling at them before trudging away towards the stairwell. and you'd caught it when bill muttered, "is now a bad time to assemble my ikea desk with my drill?"

you'd run into bill once again a few days after when you'd gone to use the bathroom on the floor above you where your friend lived, washing out the bowl you'd used for lunch. a 'shh!' had made your brows furrow as you'd walked in, not paying attention as you'd heard a shower stop and a girl laugh from the other side of the bathrooms.

but a deep voice grunting 'ow, fuck' made you freeze and then feel hot, wondering what kind of luck you have to be in the bathroom when some people were hooking up in the shower. but you're reminded that you had the worst luck when you go to leave the bathroom and two figures round the corner, hair soaking wet and hoods pulled over their heads. making eye contact with him, he must've seen how flustered and irritated you were, because he cracked a grin, "good to see you again, neighbor. you sleeping well these days?"

that was only a few days ago. you'd seen him in passing at a party at one of the frats, but had avoided any interaction with him after you saw him and his friend with the glasses snickering to themselves after sneaking looks to you. god, you didn't want to face them again - they were so mocking, so cocky.... so rude, and they made you feel like you were being insane just for wanting to have peaceful sleep. bill was not your favorite person.

but as bad as the first two experiences were, the third time you had the misfortune of interacting with bill, it was the worst.

your roommate was out for the weekend, and you'd found yourself stuck with your leg and ankle pinned between your heavy file cabinet under your bed and your bedframe, unable to scoot it over on your own to free your leg.

you were planning on relaxing tonight, after being stood up from a booty call hook up. you’re mad, frustrated, horny, and close to tears now that you’ve gotten yourself stuck pinned to your bed.

it’s nearly one in the morning, and nobody’s in the hall.

but then, bill walked past your open door as you struggled, and desperately you called, "hey!"

his double-take into your room, his head poking in, would have been charming if the face was anybody but him.

"what?" he asks, suddenly noticing it’s you. his voice is not charming and calm as you've seen him be with other peers, but in your stubborn mind, you convince yourself it’s fine; you don’t like him, either.

"i'm stuck, can you help?" you say despite your thoughts.

he sighs, dropping his backpack next to your bed and then tugging to try and move the cabinet.

"how did you do this?" he mutters as he pulls as hard as he can to pull it, but your shoe is too wedged diagonally against the floor, cabinet and frame. you sigh, "thought i could nudge it to the side with my toes, i dropped my dab through the crack."

he chuckles, trying to instead shove it backwards instead; to no avail. "smart girl." he says sarcastically, and you roll your eyes, trying to help him shove it. "what was the point of you keeping me up all fucking night if you aren't strong enough to move this shit?" you say, exasperated because it's starting to dig into your calf.

he stops, rolling his eyes at you. "has anyone ever told you that you can be a bit rude?" he asks, moving closer to you to try and push it away. you look down at him from where you stand, elbows on your mattress. "no. you're just a dick. fight fire with fire, or whatever." you mutter, face feeling hot.

you can't stop staring at his shoulders, his arms - they're so hot, the veins popping out of his hands and forearms, the smell of his aftershave wafting into your nose from where he kneels next to you.

he just hums. "i'm going to try to push your leg forward and then push the cabinet away." he states, and you nod, just wanted this nightmare to be over. you're still terribly embarrassed and the proximity to such a hot and confusingly irritating boy is making you lose your grip.

it takes a lot in you to not jolt when his warm hand wraps around your bare leg and starts to pull you, his strong hold on you making you tingle. "what's your name?" he asks, and you almost laugh as his grip on your thigh tightens, the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your skin making you hot. this is insane. "y/n." you struggle out, throat feeling dry - there's no reason his hand needs to be so high up on your leg, but some part of you really wants it. "it says that on my door." you say breathlessly.

whatever he was going to reply with is cut off as he tries to readjust his grip on you and the cabinet, but his hand slides up and grazes the skin near the apex of your thigh, coaxing a sharp gasp to fall from your mouth.

he turns red, looking up at you, "god, sorry." he mutters, and you bite your lip, unable to look away.

you kind of forget to say anything, stuck staring at him, heart thumping as wetness pools between your legs just from this boy's touch. god, you've got to get laid.

his arm is wrapped around the onside of your leg, thumb reaching higher on your thigh than his other fingers, and for a moment you hesitate before deciding to go for it: you drop your hand hand to his hair, pulling lightly as you 'steady yourself,' smirking as you feel his shaky breath against your thigh.

you don't even care about getting unstuck now, all you can think about is being fucked into the mattress by this asshole boy from the fourth floor. you’re not sure where this feeling came from.

when he finally pushes the cabinet away, causing you to stumble to catch your ground. he helps you get the cart and then push the cabinet back, awkward small talk making you want to die. "why were you down here anyways?" you ask, rubbing your leg. "mike kicked me out to be with a girl and all my friends are out for tonight." he sighs, rubbing his neck. "i have to do homework tonight, just going to find somewhere quiet to get it done."

"that's surprisingly responsible." you say, looking at him wearily. he gives you an annoyed look, "what's that supposed to mean?" you roll your eyes, "you don't seem particularly academically motivated." you state, unsure if you're coming across as flirtatious or just a dick. he gives you a look as he moves to grab his things from next to your bed. "you seem more pleasure motivated."

you catch your mistake immediately - and he does, too, smirking. you stutter to fix it, "don't be gross." you defend weakly.

he's biting his lip and something rumbles in your chest, flames in your abdomen. it's hard to gauge if you don't like him or if you do. maybe you're just horny.

"i thought you were cute, you know, until you showed up at three in the morning to chew me out." he mutters, eyebrows raised, "i get that that was annoying, but it was a saturday. everyone was drunk, i don't get why you are still being a bitch." his face drops when he says that, as if he didn't mean to say it at all, but he doesn't take it back. you shrug, not too offended. he kind of has a point, "i don't get why you have to make everything so much harder than it has to be. doesn't matter how hot you are, i don't have to like you, you know." you say, crossing your arms with a smirk.

"believe me, i'd rather you not like me." he says, smile on his face troubling. you look at him, trying to gauge why you're feeling so flustered, why you want to jump his bones right now no matter how annoying he is. "then why haven't you left yet?" you challenge. you figure if you're reading his actions wrong, this gives him an out.

"because i kind of want to fuck you now." he says boldly. you just smirk, walking towards where he sits on your desk chair, lowering yourself to straddle him. he looks up at you, eyes large and mischievous as he pulls you down on him all the way, your hips grinding lightly. "i think you want to fuck me always." you whisper, lips hovering above his, teasing. you're eating up all his attention, soaking it up and savoring the way he watches you.

you boldly snake your hand down between the two of you, lips still refusing to touch his, your hand starting to tease his clothed cock as it hardens under your palm. you stroke him as you lean, almost kissing him before pulling away. he glares at you.

then you move your hips, the tension in your room killing you. he lets out a half-moan, causing you to buck your hips again, relishing in the pleasure it gives you. he leans forward, trying to catch your lips, but your hand catches his chest, your lips just centimeters from his own. "fuck you, y/n." he says, fed up with your teasing as his hands squeeze your ass, moving to the bottom of your thighs and then rising with surprising ease, holding you against him and making your heart thump in shock. he takes four long strides towards your bed, tossing you on it. you grin, expecting for him to climb onto you, but instead he's walking towards your door, making your heart quicken. is he leaving?

he slams your door shut, though, and it makes you smirk as he clicks the lock. you're on your back, the sight of him upside down making you bite your lip, eyes nearly even with the bulge in his sweatpants.

he walks up to you, and you eye him as he bends forward, hand catching your chin, holding your head forward with a strength you didn't expect. "look at me." he says suddenly. you blink, feeling hot as you stare into his eyes.

"don't tease me." he says, and you swallow, heart racing in excitement. "okay." you croak, and it seems to satisfy him because he tilts your neck from here he holds your neck and chin, kissing you soundly on your lips. you feel on fire at his touch, squirming as you slip your hands into his hair - it's making you so needy that he's holding you, almost trapped on the mattress, kissing him upside down.

he pulls away and you flip around, allowing for him to climb onto the bed, barely enough time before you pull him in for another kiss, this one heated and desperate.

he bites marks on your neck as your hands palm him, pushing your own thighs together in need. slowly, you push him down against your mattress and sling a leg over his hip, moving to straddle him. his hands find your hips easily, looking at you like you're the only thing ever worth looking at; your breath leaves your lungs and you steady yourself, the reality of how fucking beautiful bill is hitting you at once.

you pull his shirt off, yours coming off, leaving you in just your shorts and underwear. he palms your tits, pinching your nipple as you grind down against his cock, whimpering at the feeling of his pants against your clothed clit. "if only you'd come up to my room like this." he says, and you snap your eyes to his, seeing the teasing grin but glaring at him. "maybe you would've been nicer to me if you knew how good i'd make you feel." he whispers as you resume your hip's movement, "shut up, bill." you hiss. he laughs, his thumb making contact with your clit takes you by surprise and you jump a bit, moaning quietly as your eyes close in pleasure.

"take these off." he mutters into your mouth as you bite his bottom lip. you take off your shorts, quickly resuming your spot straddling him, his lips trailing from your breasts to your throat and then your mouth again, grinding against him in need. he toys with your slit over your panties before he pulls them slowly to the side, spreading your juices on his long fingers, humming as he brings his fingers to his lips, watching you as he licks his fingers. you nearly moan, impatient enough that you kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips faintly; "do you want me?" you whisper against his lips.

"i wish i didn't," he says, "but yes. do you want to do this?"

you're breathless, beside yourself with need, "yes." you say quickly, tugging his sweats off and tossing them to the floor. "fuck you, by the way." you spit, flipping him off. he grins and it's fucking beautiful, his smirk, his red cheeks, heaving chest. budding hickeys bloom over his neck and chest as he catches your hand, tugging you forward over him, whispering, "you're about to."

you roll your eyes, ignoring the butterflies in your chest, hand falling over his as he pumps himself. your thumb swipes over his tip, spreading his precum before opening the condom he'd pulled out of his pocket (you don't even want to know why he brought one with him to study) and roll it onto his cock.

and then you’re pushing aside your panties and stabilizing yourself on bill’s chest. you line yourself up on him and look to him for one last confirmation. he nods, “quick fucking around, babe.” he says, but his voice sounds desperate and his cheeks are flushed and you let out a strangled moan as you sink onto him, the nickname making your stomach flutter. you have to stay and give yourself time to adjust to his size, his moans swallowed by your own mouth as your tongue swipes his. his hands roam your body, squeezing your hips, your ass, your breasts and then rising to cup your neck and back.

“shit, bill.” you whimper as you slowly start to move up and down. his eyes fall shut in pleasure and his head tilts back, exposing the entire expanse of his throat for you to claim, his hands falling to your hips. your eyes watch his thin necklace shine in the faint light from your lamp and he's filling you up perfectly.

he looks like fucking heaven.

you kiss his neck lightly as you pick up the pace, bouncing on him steadily as his fingers grip the sides of your thighs.

“fuck, y/n.” he whispers, staring at you with his lips caught between his teeth. the feeling of him stretching inside you and hitting the perfect spot has your legs shaking already, breathing heavily. he’s soon surging up, kissing you deeply as groans fall from his lips, his arms rising to your waist to hold you as you move.

"you're much better when you're not talking." you mutter as you fuck yourself on him, moving your hips as you bounce. he rolls his eyes, "i'd fuck you every day if it meant you wouldn't come ruin my fun every night." he quips back, eyes challenging. and your hand rises to squeeze around his throat, at first as a joke, but then he smiles brightly, a smirk that stirs something in you and you squeeze ever so slightly, the feeling of his pulse making you moan.

his smirk sends butterflies through your stomach, pleasure swirling in your core. but then his own hand rises to your own throat, squeezing lightly.

you moan, unable to keep it together. "you think two can't play this game, y/n? it's like you don't know me." he tuts, seemingly pleased as you're flushing, gasping as your legs stutter, his hips moving up to meet yours, strokes hitting you deep. “i don’t,” you whisper, and he hums.

your legs stutter after one particularly satisfying thrust and he grabs your hips, lifting slightly and biting his lip as he starts to thrust up into you. “oh, my god,” you moan as he hits your g spot and he curses under his breath.

your hand comes up to rest on the wall behind him as you meet each other half way, hitting a spot deep inside you that has you moaning his name loud enough for anyone to hear. you hope to god your next door neighbors are out.

he presses his lips to yours and you know its to get you to stop being so loud - it makes your toes curl in pleasure. then his thumb snakes its way to your lips, his grin widening when your lips immediately part and suck on the finger, humming around it as your hand rests on his neck, the other over his abs as you bounce.

"so pretty like this, y/n." he leans up, then, sitting up more and changing the angle, making you gasp with a moan as his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to his face with the hand on your face. he pulls his thumb from your mouth with a light pop, your legs barely riding him at your proximity, instead steady on his hips, his cock warm and stretching you. "do you think you'd look pretty under me?" he asks. you swallow, moving your hips again and sliding on his cock, movements making you stare at him, pleasure building.

"i think you would." he whispers, hand still on your neck. you whimper a bit, sliding off of him, allowing him to climb over you, kissing you soundly before pulling you to the edge of your bed, legs hanging off as he stands in front of you. lifting one leg, he kisses your knee and holds it up as he teases your slit with his cock before sliding into you again, causing you to let out a loud moan, his own melding with yours.

your eyes roll back at the new angle, legs shaking as his fingers dig into your thigh. “wanna see your f-face when i make you cum.“ he mutters, hand rising to thumb your lip, dragging your bottom lip down.

"you think you're gonna make me cum?" you bite, knowing no man you've been with has been able to.

you watch as his eyes admire the half-lids of your eyes, the blissed, fucked-out look on your face. your chest is littered in blossoming hickes, varying from pink to dark red and slightly purple already.

he says nothing in response to you, but pulls your leg further open, spitting down onto your cunt, making you moan lightly, the action being terribly sexy. his thumb finds your clit and starts to rub perfectly in counteraction to his thrusts, his lips finding your nipple.

you gasp in pleasure, panting as you start to wonder if he really is going to make you cum. then his thumb rubs circles on your clit and as he presses lightly, you can’t hold off any longer. “fuck,” you hiss as you hit your peak, your orgasm making your legs shake. you can’t help it, gasping and bucking your hips as you clench against his cock in bliss, your orgasm causing you to tug his hair in ecstasy. “so pretty.” he mutters against your neck, pressing kisses to it as you’re moaning and arching your back. "so good, cumming for me." he says cockily. you're panting as you whisper, "shut up," his hips still pounding into yours.

“god, you're such a sweet talker.” he mutters sarcastically as you look at him desperately, his eyes fall shut in bliss, a deep groan leaving his lips, you can tell he's close.

"and you're such a gentleman." you jest back, pulling him closer by his shoulders, eyes shutting in bliss. he hums, strokes getting sloppier, "i let you cum first, didn't i?" he counters.

you huff a laugh, something in your heart twinging in affection. you kiss him so you don't say something stupid, moving your hips with his. a few strokes and he's pulling you closer to him by your back, whimpering into your mouth, “y/n, fuck.” beautiful moans fall from his cherry colored lips as he cums, and you just stare at him in awe, surprised by how hot it is as he says your name. he rides his high and then falls off of you, onto the mattress between you and the wall.

"hey," he says after a few moments of you both catching your breaths, your hands overlapping on your stomach but not nearly holding hands. it makes you feel warm in a weird way. excited, nervous.

"what?" you ask, turning to stare into his eyes. he smirks, "you think we woke up the downstairs neighbors?" he whispers, eyes alight with tease.

you shove him, smothering him with a pillow while he laughs, pulling you onto him.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @sft-core @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @groovybimbo @deepestofwaters @unfortu-nate-ly @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie @decafcoffeew

#bill denbrough #bill denbrough smut #losers club x reader #losers club smut

681 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: okay FINALLY!! very loosely inspired by tag you’re it by melanie martinez!! uhh dabi’s a drug dealer, keigo’s in his third year of university and a track star, reader’s in her first year of university. please, please pay attention to the warnings below! if keigo’s your comfort character and you cannot handle him being physically abusive and a drug addict, then you might wanna sit this one out! promise he’ll be painted in a more sympathetic light in part two. | aaah dedicating this to @rat-suki, because ur the only one who’s actually known the details of this fic since november, and because i put a lil something inspired by new moon in there for u ehehe <333 | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+, noncon/dubcon, physical abuse, drug use & abuse + graphic depictions of addiction, mindbreak, overstimulation, manipulation, lowkey yandere vibes (which will get worse), daddy kink, a brother a lil too obsessed with his sister + questionably close sibling relationship, generally toxic relationships (possessiveness, jealousy), rough sex, semi-public sex, cumplay/cum feeding, minimal prep, degradation/dumbification, choking, kinda brat taming???

words: 14.8k

synopsis:

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to. But you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, and allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

It’s well past midnight, but the moon is still hanging high in the sky, illuminating the dingy shopping mall parking lot, its reflection gleaming on the wet, cracked concrete. Breathless little laughs and squeals of surprise and pleasure ring out among the vast empty space, your own voice echoing around you.

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

He’s chasing after you, legs longer than yours, faster than yours, mischievous little growls getting caught in his chest as you daintily leap away from him, just out his grasp again, the tips of his fingers grazing the soft linin of your dress.

“No!” you giggle, pushing your burning thighs to keep running just a bit longer, propelling you forward.

But he’s getting closer and closer with each pound of his boots against the pavement, encroaching on you more and more with each tiny gasp exhaled through your parted lips.

Eventually, he catches you, like he always does, large hands wrapping around your hips as strong arms pull you backwards against a solid chest. You’re both panting, chests heaving with exertion, bubbles of laughter escaping your throats.

“Tag,” he breathes, hot breath curling around the shell of your ear. “You’re it,”

His arms encircle you, holding you tightly, your own arms covering his, little fingers digging into the skin of his forearms almost possessively as he uses his strength and bodyweight to guide you towards the car—a 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz that runs like shit and guzzles gas like no tomorrow. But it’s pretty, and he loves it, with all its chrome and argyle blue, glittering in the moonlight.

“You’re being bad, princess,” the words are mumbled against the skin behind your ear, and you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Good girls don’t run away from their Daddies like that,”

And he says the word with so much disdain, cruel and mocking, making you feel sick for liking it.

“Baaad girl,” he whispers, dragging the word out.

A tiny pout settles on your face, eyebrows knitting. “Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

“You are,” he chuckles, pressing you against the damp metal of his car as you finally reach it, his body still draped over yours. “What? You gonna fight me on it?”

Squirming a little in his grasp, you turn to face him, a playful glint shining in your glassy eyes as you nudge your nose against his. “I just might!”

“Hah,” the breath of air washes over your face, scorching and sweet, a stark contrast to the humid, cool air surrounding you, causing your exposed flesh to break out into chills. “I’d like to see you try, dollface,”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” you murmur, yelping when his fingers dig into the supple flesh of your ass through your dress, grabbing a healthy handful and squeezing in retaliation.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, pushing his forehead against yours, eyes nothing but gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of sapphire. “You gonna show me?” his rough voice fades into a whisper, unblinking eyes holding yours steadily. Calloused hands are sliding up your thighs now, slipping underneath the thin material of your dress and taking the hem with them.

“N-Not here,” you breathe, trying and failing to pull back from him, eyes widening in alarm as you feel his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties.

“Yes, here,” he responds, voice smooth as velvet as soft lips drag along your neck, sharp teeth sinking into your flesh like a hot knife slicing through butter.

Panic is beginning to rise in your chest, your throat closing up, and you choke a little on your words, shaking your head frantically. “Please, Dabi, no, we could just—”

“Wow, you really want me to bruise that pretty ass of yours,” he smirks, cutting you off and pulling back to gaze at you lazily, lips glimmering with saliva.

“No, I—”

“Especially with how much you’re saying no today,” he tuts his tongue in disapproval. “Such a bad girl; a silly, little, stupid, bad girl,”

Each word is punctuated with a sharp slap to your scantily clad ass, each bringing with them a sharp sting that you can hear, echoing out among the parking lot.

“Not bad,” you whimper, eyes shutting tightly against the familiar burn of tears. “Not bad, j-just wanna—”

“Wanna what?” he teases, voice mocking yours as his palm collides with your ass again. “Huh?”

“W-Wanna—Want you to fuck me right,” you rush to say, the words exhaled as a singular huff of breath.

“Oh?” he pulls back slightly, eyes searching your face, his own features contorted with false concern. “Is that so?”

You nod quickly, eagerly, and he can see it in your eyes, how desperately you want him to buy your lie.

But you know he hasn’t the moment that trademark smirk returns to his face, mouth curling up at the edges as he leans forward, lips moving against your ear. “I think that’s a boldfaced lie, babygirl,” his voice is low, sinister, dangerous, traces of amusement sown into his tone. “I think it’s because you don’t want anyone to see how much of a little whore you truly are,”

“D-Dabi, please,” you whimper, vision blurry with tears as you paw at his jacket, pleading with him.

He thinks it’s so cute when you beg, his silence imploring you to continue, urgently rambling on in your quest to convince him.

“I-I want you to really fuck me; I want you to leave b-bruises all over my body, I want to feel you in my tummy, I want you t-to stuff me so full of cum that it goes to my brain and makes me stupid, please Daddy, I want—”

Slim fingers wrap around your neck and squeeze, forcing a cry of surprise from your lips and effectively cutting you off. “I’m gonna make sure you remember those words, sweetheart,”

✰ ✰ ✰

The thump of your own heart echoes in your ears as the Cadillac Eldorado thrums under your body, the leather sticking to the bare skin of your thighs.

“Open,” he demands, delivering a harsh slap to the thigh nearest to him, eyes never leaving the road as his foot presses down, car accelerating. Your thighs obey immediately, spreading as far as they possibly can in the cramped space, knees knocking against the door and center console box.

A rough hand, decorated with callouses and scabs, kneads the flesh once before sliding up, up, up, and then hooking in the elastic of your panties, Dabi spitting out a curse as he lets it snap back against your skin.

“Take those off,” he seethes, aggressively ripping his hand away from you as if he’s aggravated that you’re even wearing them at all. Your dress hitches up around your waist in your haste to obey, little fingers catching in the lacy material as your hips squirm, seatbelt cutting into your flesh, wiggling a little as you pull the dainty material down your legs.

He’s already holding his hand out expectantly and you press them into it, waiting for his fingers to close around the garment before taking your hand back. He feels them, rolling the fabric around in his palm, between his fingers, chuckling darkly as he chucks them over his shoulder a moment later, onto the dirty ground of the backseat.

Those were your favourite, but you know better than to say anything, forcing your expression to stay neutral, to keep your nose from wrinkling up in distaste.

“They’re wet, but not nearly wet enough,” he tsks as if he’s disappointed, hand finding your thigh again. This time, they part instantly, without any verbal prompting, hips pushing towards his palm as it skims the skin of your inner thigh.

“Now, I’m gonna play with this cute lil clit of yours,” he begins, fingers brushing the sensitive nub, words tumbling from his lips slowly, lazily, unhurried, as if you’re stupid, as if you need an ample amount of time for each word to sink in.

It makes your pussy throb, and the borderline malicious smirk that spreads across his face tells you that he felt it, too.

Speaking through his smirk, he continues in the same patronizing voice. “And you—you’re going to be Daddy’s good little girl and get nice and wet for him, so he doesn’t hurt his cock when he fucks you. Do you think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

Yes Daddy, of course Daddy, anything for you, Daddy.

It’s torture in the most delightful way, coarse pads of his fingers just barely grazing your clit, just enough for you to feel it, just enough for you to want—no, need—more. Heat, thick and sticky, pools in the pit of your stomach, thighs straining to open impossibly wider, edges of the car’s interior digging into your knees as you desperately try to shift your hips, to press further into his touch, to evoke anything harder than these teasing, feathery touches.

Blunt nails sink into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, hard enough to make you yelp, entire body flinching from the sudden pain. “Big girls use their words,” he chastises, voice fading from a growl into a pleasant, light tone.

“Please, Daddy, I-I want more,” you whimper, hips still trying to catch your clit on his fingers, on his palm. “Touch me more,”

The hum that vibrates in his throat has your heart sinking, corners of your mouth tugging down as you blink against the sting of disappointment—you know that hum, know it all too well, know all of Dabi’s bizarre mannerisms at this point and what they mean for you. And that hum, the one that only lasts for a moment, the one that’s barely a noise at all, the one that doesn’t even sound like he’s considering anything, means no.

His eyes don’t leave the road in front of him, despite the fact that his car is going faster, and faster, and faster, whipping through the empty city streets, neon buildings and harsh florescent lights becoming nothing but a blur. And if it weren’t for the hard lump straining against the black denim of his jeans, you’d figure him disinterested; facial features relaxed, breathing normal, entirely unresponsive to the pathetic little noises he’s so effortlessly pulling from you.

It ignites a fire in your chest, blazing with the need to make him react, to make him pay attention to you.

Wearing your best pout, you arch your back a little, the action shoving your hips towards his hand again. “Daddy, Daddy,” you whine, low and needy in the back of your throat, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, touch me more? Please, Daddy, I want it so bad, want your cock so bad, please, help me get wetter? Wanna be dripping for you, Daddy, I wanna be soaking for you,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, smirk growing into a full grin as he glances at you from the side of his eye. “Such a brat,” he shakes his head, through the grin is still present on his face as he finally presses two fingers against the swollen bud, rubbing slow, hard circles into it. “You better be drenched for me by the time we get home, you little bitch,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Large hands are on your body as the two of you stumble up the stairs, nimble fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, obscene sucking and slurping amplified by the stairwell, bouncing back to your own ears, saliva slicked lips slipping and sliding together messily as teeth clack together, practically tripping over each other’s feet and fucking Christ he needs you, he needs you now, his cock hurts, goddamn it.

And you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, all clingy and needy and desperate, hushed little whines catching in the back of his throat, fading from deep, rumbling growls as rough hands paw at you.

A sharp gasp is knocked from your chest as he slams you against the wall on the landing of floor three with such force that your head ricochets off the concrete, your resounding cry silenced by Dabi’s lips, tongue invading your mouth as he swallows your beautiful little noises of pain.

You can feel his cock pressed up against your hip, hot and hard and throbbing through the denim that conceals it as he grinds against you, fervent, eager, impatient.

That panic is bubbling up in your throat again, bitter and acidic and eroding, rendering your voice weak and frail as scabbed knuckles drag across your bare thighs, inching higher and higher.

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

“No,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to break the skin. “I’m done waiting,” hands are rucking up your dress. “You made me wait that whole fucking car ride,” sharp hipbones keep your thighs spread. “I can’t wait any longer,” the clinking of his heavy belt buckle echoes throughout the stairwell, sending chills pebbling across your skin.

And then he’s forcing himself into you, shoving his cock into your tight little hole, a choked cry bouncing off the dirty white walls as your eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking from the edges.

The stretch is magnificent, little cunt aching as it sucks in his thick cock, and you swear you can feel the burning in your belly, little pinpricks of pain shooting through your gut.

“G-Gonna tear me in half,” you wail, head falling forward, forehead bumping against his.

“Shh, baby, Daddy’s got you,” a callous laugh leaves his lips after he spits out the nickname, the singular word filled with such derision it must sting his tongue. Large hands hoist you up, and your legs immediately latch around his waist, seeking comfort in the monster that hurt you.

“Daddy, Daddy,” Tears drip down your cheeks as you bury your face in his shoulder, the word escaping your lips in tiny half-sobs catching in your throat, little fingers curling against the worn leather of his jacket.

And he can’t help but soften a little as you weep into his neck, thinks it’s so cute that you need him so bad, your little stuttered breaths hot against his neck as you cling to him, reminding him that he is the only man that can make you feel like this; he is the only man that can make you cry while simultaneously finding solace in his embrace. It makes his blood surge, sends cinders searing up his spine, gives him a high better than any other drug every could, and he finds himself hushing you gently, twitching cock buried in your cute lil cunt, snugly pressed against your cervix.

“Okay, okay,” he’s saying as his hips begin to pump, slow and languid. “Quiet, Daddy’s gonna make it feel good, alright? Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it go away,”

The sweetest, airiest little mewls of Daddy, yes, Daddy, soak into the inky skin of his neck, sandwiched between uneven hitched breaths. He’s gaining speed with each thrust, though, working up a steady rhythm that has you practically bouncing on his cock, little wails of pain fading into whimpers of pleasure. The combination is dizzying, infecting your mind with a haze that is only Dabi, surrounded by him, immersed in him—glowing sapphire and burning hickory and spicy nicotine—unable to quell the little noises spilling from your throat, each one louder than the next with each bump against your cervix and drag against that spot.

“That feel better, princess?” he breathes out, pausing just to readjust his grip on your ass—to angle your hips just right, chuckling at your selfish, needy whine—and then he’s drilling his cock into you, head pounding against the spot that has his name escaping your lips in high pitched squeals that break in your throat, heavy belt buckle clanking against the wall with each of his thrusts.

It sends sparks of mind-numbing pleasure burning through your abdomen, your chest, straight to your very core and collecting there, each spark adding to the growing fire that’s beginning to blaze, followed by intense spears of pain, slicing through your gut and down the muscles of your thighs, legs beginning to quiver as ankles hook tighter, tighter, tighter, the heels of your sneakers digging into his back dimples, trying to get him closer, closer, closer, desperately begging for more, more, more.

Yet it’s all so much, too much, please, Daddy—the harsh sound of metal colliding with concrete mingling with your pathetic whines and his panted breaths, rough whimpers catching deep in his chest, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard a more beautiful sound.

“C’mon, babygirl,” he gasps, pace never slowing, never faltering once, even though there’s glistening dewdrops of sweat decorating his hairline, inky strands beginning to stick to the skin of his forehead. “Be a good girl and cum for Daddy, cum before someone catches you being such a sweet little—God, Christ—a sweet little slut for me,”

And your cunt submits, would never dare to disobey a direct command from its master, from its owner, clenching around him as you cream all over his cock, a sharp cry ripping up your throat as your nails scrabble against leather clad shoulders.

A growl rumbles, deep and dark and dangerous in his chest, as his hips piston a few more times before they still, tips of his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, branding his name in tiny blotches of navy and violet as his cock throbs, coating your insides with spurts of thick cum.

Head falling forward, his forehead collides with yours, chests heaving and breathing laboured. And he can’t help the little chuckle he huffs out as you wiggle your hips a little, eyes still closed as you rock in little motions against him, clit catching on his pubic bone.

Needy little bitch.

But he isn’t nearly done with you yet, because that desire, thick and sticky in the very pit of his stomach, only wants more, insatiable and voracious, desperate for more of your whines, more of your tears, more of your cunt.

You’re gonna make good on all those words you spewed in the parking lot, baby, he’s nearly snarling at you, cutting off your whiny complaints as he drags you up the final flight of stairs, stopping halfway to haul you over his shoulder with a huff and a deft slap to your ass, carrying you the rest of the way to his apartment.

“Dress, off. Now.” He orders as he throws you onto his mattress, pulling his shirt over his head, belt buckle jingling as he walks, still hanging undone.

And then he’s crawling over your naked body, lips attacking yours, smashing and smacking and slurping, a large hand wrapping around your wrists as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, laving over yours in slow, deliberate drags, pinning your wrists against the cold cracked drywall behind his nearly bare, minimalistic bed, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones together between a singular rough palm—a silent warning—and forcing a yelp from your throat into his.

“Don’t move them,” his lips mumble the command against yours before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, between sharp gleaming teeth that bite down hard, sinking into the soft flesh and refusing to release until he tastes copper, the tip of his tongue tracing the harsh indents left behind, licking at your lip once more before pulling away completely.

“I want you to leave bruises all over my body!” he mimics, voice absurdly high as lips skim the curve of your neck, tongue darting out to trace along your collarbones. “Isn’t that what you said, baby?”

But you can’t answer, too busy sucking on your now swollen lip, trying to soothe the incessant throbbing as metal stains your tongue. That’s disrespectful, you think you hear him growl into your unmarred skin before something sharp pierces your nipple, clamping down around it and tugging. A resounding cry tears through your throat as your body instinctually bows off the bed, pressing further into him, a muffled snicker vibrating against your chest before his tongue flicks, licks, slobbers, thick strings of saliva glimmering in the dim light as he pulls away, breaking and slapping against his chin.

“Answer me next time I ask you a fucking question,” The words are spit so harshly they slice into your skin, head nodding fervently before he’s even finished speaking, blinking the bleariness from your eyes. Smoldering sapphire holds your gaze for a moment, burning into your very soul—digging, prying, searching, scrutinizing, his breathing slow, calm, controlled with each deep rise and fall of his bare chest.

You aren’t sure what it is he’s looking for as he peers into the depths of your eyes, but you don’t dare let your gaze stray from his, don’t dare blink, don’t dare breathe until he breaks the spell, blinking once as his lips curl up into a wicked smirk.

“I’m gonna turn your body into a work of art,” he promises you, voice low and guttural, forcing thorns of ice up your spine as lips drag across your jaw.

And he does, paints little galaxies across your skin with his tongue and his lips, asymmetrical blotches of blues and greys and purples, ivory bones scraping against your flesh, signing his name into his masterpiece in deep, dark indents of crimson and violet.

It aches and it pulses and it stings, glittery trails of salt water staining your cheeks, tiny shimmering droplets clinging to your clumped, spiky lashes, adding the finishing touches on the greatest piece he’s ever created.

And it’s so pretty, you’re so pretty when you’re like this, baby, covered in navy and plum and carmine, and, fuck, it’s a shame you won’t stay like this.

It seems he’s in a trance for a moment, in awe of his craftsmanship, of what he’s produced, breathing laboured as shining azure eyes drift over your body, slowly, purposefully, as if he’s memorizing every single nick, bite, scrape, bruise, burning the image into his brain forever.

His gaze floats back up to yours, holding it for a moment, pupils big and gaping and swallowing you whole—before something snaps, breaks, and he comes back to himself, remembers why he did it.

Narrowing slightly, his eyes darken, that sadistic smirk returning to his lips. And then he’s shoving his cock into you again, hard and leaking and the prettiest red you’ve ever seen, cute little cunt stretching around him for the second time tonight.

But little girls who act like brats deserve to get fucked like brats, he tells you in a snarl, slender fingers collaring your neck and squeezing slowly, slowly, slowly, crushing the column of your throat.

Everything’s beginning to grow hazy, vision sliding in and out of focus as those calloused hands continue to tighten, and tighten, and tighten. He looks like some sort of sick angel as he looms above you, nothing more than a shadow of sharp edges and smooth curves, inky spikes and glowing sapphire, haloed by the weak neon light that spills in through grimy windows. Jutting bones prod the soft flesh of your inner thighs, carving out a space just for them as his hips snap viciously, relentlessly, obstinately.

And it’s all overwhelming, overstimulating on every front, uncontrollable tears streaming from your eyes as you choke roughly on your own sobs, each one being forced from your chest by your Daddy’s harsh thrusts, only to get caught on the palm pressed to your airway, ears ringing from the slap of skin against skin overlapping those harsh words spit at you in his falsely saccharine voice.

Aw, no, baby, wispy words caressing your cheek as they float by, eyes starting to roll back in your head. Don’t pass out on me, dollface. I want you awake when I fill your cunt with cum.

The pressure around your throat lets up just a hint, and you wheeze in air, a rush of cold flooding your body. You can feel it, that contrasting, familiar heat scorching the pit of your stomach, beginning to curl in on itself more, and more, and more with each pump of his hips, until it explodes, your body arching off the mattress, unintentionally pressing into the hand adorning your neck, restricting your air entirely.

The chuckle that leaves his lips as you choke yourself is dark, would send spears of ice slicing through your veins if you weren’t otherwise focused on trying to fill your lungs with air. Nothing leaves your mouth other than a few choked whines, barely more than a huff of light breath.

But his hips don’t slow, and he’s glaring down at you with parted lips and lidded eyes, pupils gaping, so large you’re unable to detect even the slightest hint of blue outlining them—nothing but big black orbs, absorbing everything in their vision, sucking everything from you, every hitched sob and soft whine and gorgeous wince, each time he pounds against your cervix.

And it’s how your looking up at him—with those gleaming, adoring eyes and that blissful, fucked out grin—that has him cumming with a shuddered f-fuck, forcing his eyes to stay open as he pumps you full of thick cum, desperate to catalogue every little expression that crosses your face, the way your eyes flutter slightly, the way your neck arches, the tiniest little moan slipping through chapped lips as his cock pulses inside of you.

You must pass out for a second, Dabi’s calloused palm lightly tapping against your cheek as he murmurs to you in that sinful, silky voice, sugared sentiments twining around your exhausted body.

Wake up, princess. Daddy isn’t done playing with you yet.

Words tumble past your lips in a mumble, though you aren’t quite sure what you’re saying—everything feels hazy, like you’re gazing through a thin cloud of smoke, and despite the fact that you can barely move, your body feels light, almost floaty in a way, entirely numb to the immense pain it has endured thus far.

Two fingers, coated in thick, gleaming cream, are thrust into your gasping mouth, tongue met with the salty, bitter taste of his cum. You cough around the sudden intrusion, immediately obey when he orders you to clean, sluggish tongue sliding up and lapping at and slipping between them, sucking the digits free of cum.

Good girl, he leans away and your heart flutters weakly at the praise, saliva slicked fingers dipping into your hole again to gather more.

“C’mon,” he breathes as he brings his fingers to your mouth again, sticky viscous glops collected on his fingers. They catch in the dim light streaming through the window, a unique mixture of pale moonbeams and hazy neon, cum almost glittering, almost pretty. “You wanted me so bad, didn’t you?” your head’s moving—nodding, you think, you can’t really tell, breathing shallow as your eyes belatedly follow his glistening fingers—and he smirks down at you. “Then eat my fucking cum,”

Lips part instantly, mouth falling open as your tongue lolls out, eyes drifting up to his and pleading mutely, begging for the substance—the very essence of him—and nearly moaning when he drags his fingers across the saliva coated muscle, curling and sucking his digits back into the heat of your mouth.

And he’s fucking high off of it all, pupils blown to hell, outlined by the thinnest ring of cobalt, barely detectable, visible only when it catches in the moonlight.

A lumpy pile of denim sits abandoned and bunched up near the end of the bed—he must’ve kicked his pants off at some point, though you don’t remember when—and his cock’s hard again, head brushing your inner thigh. It’s hard for you to tear your gaze from it, fleeting thoughts of stamina and impressive grazing through your mind, turning to smoke the moment you try to latch onto them.

He notices, of course—you’ve been staring at it for nearly a minute now, glazed eyes unblinking, soft little pants passing through barely parted lips. But it’s the way you’re staring at it—in the purest, unadulterated form of desire—that makes it jump, twitching a little against your thigh. You think you hear your Daddy breathe out a curse, think his rough fingers brush some hair back from your drenched forehead, think he says something along the lines of how much he fucking loves you, but in your dreamlike state, you can’t be sure.

Because then rough hands are on you, manhandling you as whatever trance he had fallen into yet again snaps once more.

“We’re gonna put that pretty, empty head of yours to good use!” he’s saying almost enthusiastically as he hoists your boneless body up, propping you up against his chest and securing you with a strong arm wrapped around your waist. “Whaddya think about that, hmm, princess? Want Daddy to use your little skull as his own personal cumdump? Huh?” lithe fingers squeeze your cheeks so hard your lips pucker up, a high-pitched whine getting caught in your throat. “That’s all it’s good for anyway, isn’t it?”

You try to nod, but all your head wants to do is flop back against his shoulder.

“Oh baby,” he cooks mockingly, jutting his inky bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “I thought that was what you wanted?”

“T’is!” you mumble through his grip, drool beginning to collect in the corners of your scrunched mouth, dribbling down your chin. Gazing at him through the corner of your watery eyes, your resolve hardens, doing your best to hold your exhausted body up on your own, expression steeling as you force your woozy head to nod as best you can in his bruising grasp.

“Yeah?” he breathes, mouth curving into a dangerous smirk before his lips are at your ear, voice dropping an octave lower. “You’re fucking stubborn, y’know that? Stubborn little brat, just like your bullheaded brute of a brother,”

And then he’s pushing you down, shoving your head into the mattress and pulling your hips up, a hiss spit through your teeth as he purposefully presses into the fresh bruises.

Your poor little pussy aches, fucked open and raw by his cock, but you are stubborn—you can’t help it, it runs in your blood—exhilarated by the challenge and pushing your hips back weakly towards him.

Your Daddy chuckles behind you, but it’s one of those annoyed chuckles, one of those disbelieving chuckles, one of those chuckles that consists of an audacious smirk, quick short nodding that’s more to himself than anyone else, and a tongue running along his top teeth, sucking on the bones, before it fades from his face completely, replaced with scorn in an instant, eyes cold and jaw clenched as he delivers a harsh backhand to your ass.

Then his body’s blanketing yours, chest hot and heavy against your back, lips moving against the shell of your ear.

“Oh, you really want me to break you, don’t you?”

No, truly, you don’t, but you grit your teeth, eyes shut tightly against the sting of a fresh wave of tears, trying to stop your head from involuntarily shaking no.

He laughs again, this time mean and sharp and full of malice, as he straightens up, lining his cock up with your hole.

“Nah, nah,” he’s saying as he pushes in, and God, it still hurts, it still stretches you, reopening little sutures created in the stairwell. “I think you do—Actually, I know you do. And Daddy knows best, right?”

Yes, of course, Daddy knows best, Daddy always knows best.

And it burns, that relentless snap of his hips, driving his cock into you with deep growls and grunts, with such force that it’s jostling you up the mattress, little hands planting themselves in a pitiful attempt to press back against him, to keep yourself in one place. Every muscle in your arms screams at the effort, stiff and rigid from being held, kept, still and obedient against the wall for an extended period of time.

The dreaminess has faded again, leaving behind a dull haze, and it all just hurts. It seems to come in bouts, inexplicable waves of numbness and pain, alternating sporadically and sprinkled with spikes of intense pleasure, a potent mix of chemicals swirling in your brain, lust and desire and terror and anguish burning through your veins.

You’re sobbing into the mattress now, fingers curling tightly in his soft black sheets as your bleary vision begins to darken at the edges, mumbling out something almost in a chant—his name, you think, though you’re not sure, it all sounds muffled to your ringing ears—vibrations of your voice getting caught in your throat, hitching with your sobs and the rough piston of his hips.

It’s building again, licks of fire scalding hot against the walls of your stomach, the temperature rising with each drag of his cock against that spot, until you’re sure the flames are going to engulf you from the inside out.

Little squeaks, poor imitations of moans, escape your lips, interspersed with your pathetic wails. He’s speaking once more—you can feel it, his chest reverberating against yours, lips moving against your ear again. Something rumbles, rattles, deep and dark and dangerous at the very core of his body, and then he’s tangling a hand in your hair and tugging, hauling you up, a choked cry slipping from your lips.

It pulls you from unconsciousness’s grasp, just for a moment, clears the mist from your mind as he snarls against your ear, taking the cartilage between his teeth and biting down, hard.

“Thought I told you to answer me the next time I ask you a fucking question,” he breathes, and he almost sounds gleeful, contradicting his voice, so rough, so hoarse, so hot.

You did, Daddy, you did, you’re trying to say, trying to nod in the vice grip he has on your strands, the words jumbled and muddled and near incomprehensible, wet and messy and coated in spit.

“But I guess my—Christ—my cock makes you too stupid to do that, huh?” he’s panting now, in time with his thrusts, huffs of breath sweltering against your already sticky skin. “What would your goody-two-shoes brother say if he could see you, hmm? If he could see how fucking dumb his little slut of a baby sister goes from my cum,”

It’s too much, too much, Daddy, too much, the brutal pounding of his cockhead against your swollen cervix and the continuous stream of strained, husky, filthy words he’s spewing in your ear and the sting in your scalp and that spot, that spot, that spot—

It hits you so hard it’s painful, knocks what little breath you had right out of you as your entire body convulses on his cock, little cunt clenching and gushing as you weep Da-Daddy! over and over and over, the only word your soupy brain is capable of conceiving, body going pliant in his arms as your head lolls back against his shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open while he continues to drive his cock into you, hard and fast and messy.

He cums with the prettiest broken whine you’ve ever heard—or at least, you think he does, entire body gone numb once again, think you feel his hips juddering and his cock pulsing, think you feel that familiar, thick substance filling you to the brim. Everything is still for a moment, his chest heaving against your arched back, and then he laughs malevolently, though it sounds far away, even though you can feel the sound vibrating against you.

“That ought’a teach you to say no to me again,” he spits harshly in your ear, giving one more hard yank on your hair before letting go completely, your abused body collapsing in a heap on his mattress.

It feels like you’re more Dabi than yourself now, with his name written all over your body, signed by his mouth, his teeth, his fingers, and his cum leaking out of you, drying hard and sticky on your thighs, his scent being all you can smell, all you can taste, heady and fiery. And as you crawl into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness—finally, finally—you think about just how much can change, and how fast it does, in a mere 92 days.

✰ ✰ ✰

Three months earlier

The air is hazy with thick smoke, heavy enough to dilute the already dim yellow light shining from the bare lightbulbs overhead. The stench of cheap beer, weed and sweat stings your nose, and it wrinkles reflexively.

You aren’t supposed to be here.

Throbbing music radiates through the house, causing the structure to tremble in time with the beat, the dirty drywall you’re currently pressed up against quivering in response. It’s so loud it hurts, vibrating through the warped linoleum floors and through your body. It makes you shiver in disgust, as if it’s some sort of parasite worming it’s way through your veins in timed intervals.

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

You’ve been backed into a corner—literally, surrounded by three college boys you’ve never seen before as they drunkenly leer at you. They’re a year or two older than you, glassy half-lidded eyes scanning your body in a way that makes you feel filthy, in a way that makes you want to scrub your skin raw to rid it of their slimy gazes.

They’re mumbling out something, speaking amongst themselves in low voices, peppered with raspy snickers that make your skin crawl. Pressing further into the corner, you quickly wrack your mind for something—anything—that will get them to part just a little, that’ll crack the wall of bodies you’re now surrounded by just enough for you to barrel through. Adrenaline begins to surge through your veins as you gear up, drawing in a deep breath, and—

“Whadda we have here?”

The men part immediately at the sound of that low voice, smooth as melted chocolate, revealing a figure with spiky onyx hair, an involuntary gasp escaping your lips the moment your eyes collide with sapphire.

“Ah, I thought it was you,” he smirks, peering down at you with a gaze so intense it feels like your body’s been set aflame. “What’s a good little girl like you doing in a place like this, hmm?”

Dabi.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen him, remembering the man with the pretty cobalt eyes and inky hair standing under a singular flickering lamp post outside of the tiny house you and your brother share, or lingering on the threshold of the front door, eyes lazily darting around the space as he waits.

He never comes inside. Your brother doesn’t allow it.

You’ve barely spoken any words to him, always responding to his polite greetings with shy nods or little waves.

But this is the first time you’re meeting him properly.

Feet bolted to the floor, you try to respond, only able to emit a pathetic little squeak.

He huffs out a condescending chuckle, gazing down the bridge of his nose at you, head tilted up just a touch, lidded crystal eyes glittering in the dim light. That trademark smirk spreads into something darker, something almost ominous in nature, something that whispers in your ear that it knows something you don’t, sending sharp spikes of ice shooting up your spine.

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

You shake your head quickly, eyes widening in panic as anxiety begins to rise in your throat. He isn’t about to rat you out, is he?

“Thought so. Dunno why I asked,” he heaves a heavy sigh, chest rising with the force of it, as if he’s extremely exasperated, as if you’re some sort of child lost at a supermarket and he’s bringing you back to your parents. “Alright, let’s go,”

A hand extends, hanging limp in the smoky air for a moment, waiting, before Dabi sighs again with a roll of his eyes, latching onto your wrist and all but dragging you out of the corner, maneuvering through the mass of sweaty bodies crowding the dingy living room.

“We’re leaving?” you ask dumbly as Dabi approaches the back door, hand still wrapped in a firm grasp around your arm.

“Yep. My work here is done, and you,” he tuts his tongue with a slow shake of his head, hidden smile on his face. “Your work here is done, too,”

“W-Where are we going?” you ask as the two of you stumble outside, shivering a little as the cool, fresh air hits your heated skin.

“No idea. Away from this place,” he looks back at your briefly, giving your wrist a soft squeeze before dropping it. “You tryna put your brother in an early grave or somethin’?”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips as you shake your head again. “No, I just—”

“You shouldn’t have been there,” his words echo your thoughts from before. “You were in some real danger for a second, y’know that?”

“I-I know. Thank you for, uh, s-saving me, Sir,”

“Sir?” his eyes are bright with mirth, shining despite the weak light provided by the waxing moon. The smirk returns, and you feel it again—like he’s plotting something, like he’s got some big secret he’s hiding, a plan, something up his sleeve. “Sir is nice, but I think there’s another name you’d rather call me,”

Eyebrows knit in confusion, your eyes drift to the ground, mulling over his words. Something else you’d rather call him? Like what? You’ve only seen the guy a few—

“Still have no idea why you haven’t fucked him yet,” one of your friends muses as Dabi’s exiting his car, eyes watching him lazily from where you’re both seated on the front lawn.

“Keigo would murder me, literally,” you giggle a little, glancing over at the man with inky hair before looking away again, down at your lap as little fingers thread through the grass beneath you and shaking your head.

“Shame,” she sighs, twirling her sticky pink lollipop idly, the candy catching in the sun. “He’s Daddy as hell,”

A sharp gasp leaves your parted lips, eyes snapping back to her face and holding them for a moment before the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, your fingers tapping her bare knee in a silent warning that he’s approaching.

Heavy black boots collide with the front stone path, buckles jingling daintily, his head perking up in a catlike manner, trademark smirk forming on his lips as you both urgently try to calm your laughter.

“Ladies,” he nods with a wink as he passes, little giggles cutting off instantaneously, the two of you mumbling shy greetings in response.

That was the only time you had ever spoken to him, until now.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. He did hear.

He chuckles slightly, dropping the subject with a shake of his head.

“So. Where to?” he asks expectantly, feet slowing to a stop on the cracked sidewalk as he taps out a cigarette. He whips a silver Zippo open, sharp twinge of metal swiping against metal cutting though the silent nighttime air. “Home?”

A shrill bubble of incredulous laughter escapes your throat. Dabi glances over at you, amused, raising an eyebrow in question as he cups the flame and brings it to his lips.

“Do you want to put my brother in an early grave?” you snort.

“I could just walk you to the street, you know,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. “Precious niisan wouldn’t even need to see me,”

You shake your head, idly kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe as you begin walking again. The campus is beginning to bleed into the city now, engulfing the two of you in familiar florescent light. “No, I can’t go home,”

“Why?”

“I…” you trail off, heat flooding your cheeks. “I, um, told him I’d be staying at a friend’s place tonight,”

Dabi gasps mockingly. “Baby, you lied to your niisan?”

Knocking your shoulder against his arm, you scoff, trying to hide the stupid smile the nickname conjures. “Oh, shut up,”

“Getting bold now, I see,” he hums to himself. “Could’a swore just a few minutes ago you were scared of me,”

“N-Not scared, just—uh, just surprised, that’s all,”

“Uh-huh, sure. Tell me again why you can’t just go to this friend’s house?”

“Well, she’s—she’s, like, y’know—” you shrug as a form of explanation, deflating a little at his unimpressed stare as he blows smoke out his nose. “She’s going home with some guy,” you mumble. “A-And I was supposed to too, but…”

Dabi tsks, shaking his head in false sympathy. “Sweetheart, you’re a teenage movie cliché,”

“Shut up,”

“You tell me to shut up one more time and I’m gonna have to do something about it,” he singsongs, a thinly veiled threat coated in sugar. Swallowing thickly, you glance up at him, blinking twice. His eyes tell you that he’s not fucking around, despite the relaxed features of his face, smile easygoing and gaze lidded.

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

“Don’t you know? Good little girls don’t speak like that to Daddy,”

He spits the word out, almost patronizing in his tone, but that fails to stop the way your stomach flutters when it falls from his lips, fails to prevent the choked little gasp that escapes yours. He laughs loudly, your cheeks burning with shame.

Sapphire eyes glint in the pale moonlight, as if he’s just discovered the most valuable treasure, as if he’s just been given the key to the universe—a predator who’s just ensnared it’s prey, and the smirk that slowly etches itself across his face is nothing short of sinister.

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

“Hmm?”

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to, but you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

✰ ✰ ✰

He only has one bed and no couch, he informs you as he leads you up four flights of stairs, explaining that the elevator’s been broken for a few months now, panting out the words just a little.

A soft giggle slips from your lips, amplified by the empty stairwell and echoing off the concrete walls, and Dabi looks back at you, amused.

“Something funny, princess?”

And although there’s a friendly grin on his face and mirth in his eyes, something in his voice makes you tremble, shoots scorching sparks up your spine and sends them rushing through your veins, and your laughter immediately cuts off.

“No,” you say simply, shaking your head and hoping that he didn’t catch the full body shiver that coursed through your figure just a second ago, all thanks to his voice. “Just laughing at the absurdity of it, s’all,”

“Ah,” he says sagely, nodding once. “Well, here we are,”

A tattooed hand gestures vaguely to a white door with a large, black 4 painted on it, the paint beginning to chip away, worn down and faded in some spots.

Dabi’s apartment is small, but you like it. He’s surprised, he tells you, expected someone like you—someone brought up with luxury, someone who’s never had to ask for or want anything in their life, because they always already had it—would hate it.

“Or maybe, that’s exactly why you like it,”

It’s a little snarky, the way those words flow out of his mouth, biting your cheek as they pass, and you wince a little.

“I think it’s homey,” you say quietly, tiny voice raw and honest, deciding to omit the fact that you’ve never really had a space that felt homey yourself. “It’s very you. I really do like it.”

His eyes soften at your gentle confession, features relaxing a little as calloused fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then, I’m glad,”

For a moment, you’re positive he’s going to kiss you, staring down at you so intently with that look in his eyes as they slowly sweep across your face. But he turns on his heel a moment later, stalking into the tiny bachelor and beckoning for you to follow with a wave of his hand, flicking on a lamp as he passes.

“You hungry?” he’s asking as he walks. “I know this kickass noodle place that delivers 24/7,” he collapses on his bed, outfitted in black sheets, looking up at you expectantly when you stop hesitantly a few feet away. “You should probably eat something,” he continues, pushing himself up on his elbows, legs dangling off the end of the mattress. “Especially if there’s still alcohol in your—”

“Oh no, I don’t drink,” you cut him off without thinking, the words etched into your permanent vocabulary, sitting down next to him, just a hint too close.

“No, no, of course you don’t,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head, sitting up fully. “Let me guess; niisan doesn’t allow it,”

A frown forms on your lips, brows knitting together. “Well I—”

“Ah! Stop,” he cuts you off with a disinterested wave and a roll of his eyes. “I’ve heard enough,”

Normally, you’d scoff at someone speaking to you so rudely. But with Dabi, with Dabi, it’s different. A little giggle escapes your lips without your permission, the bubbly noise surprising you, and Dabi chuckles in response, a genuine grin spreading across his face, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“So. Food?”

The takeout arrives at 1:56am, Dabi bringing the bag full of noodles and other appetizers—too much food for only two people, if you’re being honest—back to his bed, placing it in front of you and then crawling onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged.

The action surprises you—he doesn’t have a table, but you had been expecting him to bring the food to the small breakfast bar, complete with two mismatched stools, not his bed.

Old Hammer Horror films flicker on the TV as the two of you pick through the food together, Styrofoam containers littering the bedspread. And it’s…fun—it’s the most fun you’ve had in a long time, a strange, unfamiliar giddiness fizzing in your tummy every time you make him laugh, every time his eye catches yours, every time he shoves your knee and calls you dollface, despite the deep, honey-coated voice echoing in your head telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this and he’s dangerous.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Bedtime,” Dabi says simply as he returns from the little kitchenette after storing the leftover takeout in the fridge, using a hand to tug at the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

“Wha—”

The material hits you square in the face and an involuntary, entirely unsolicited giggle bubbles past your lips, pulling the garment from your head.

“Pajamas,” he nods at the fabric now bunched in your hands, but you can’t seem to find your voice to respond.

Teeth bite into your tongue hard enough to make you wince in an effort to keep a gasp within your chest when he comes into view. He’s lean—toner than you expected, muscles gliding smoothly under his skin as he moves—and you’re unsurprised to find his chest and back decorated with vibrant, intricate tattoos.

Of course, you knew Dabi had tattoos—they’re on his face, his neck, his collarbone, disappearing under the neckline of his shirt and resurfacing under his short sleeves, curling around his arms, brilliant flowing ink telling stories across his skin. They’re beautiful—they’re mesmerizing, inquisitive eyes slowly roaming the expanse of his chest.

But you had never noticed the soft, slightly puckered skin they hid. Scars, your mind provides dimly.

“Do you want to touch them?”

The rumble of his deep voice snaps you out of your revere, heat flooding your cheeks when you realize you were staring. There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you can’t quite tell if his offer is serious or not, your eyes floating up to his.

“Here,” he chuckles a little as he sits down, offering you his forearm, flipping it over and resting it on the bed.

He lets you trace every single one. He won’t tell you where or how he got the scars, and you don’t push, even as curiosity erodes your chest. It’s impolite to pry, Keigo’s voice echoes through your mind, and you nod once to yourself.

You don’t have sex that night. He doesn’t force you. You nearly tell him that you’re surprised, what, a man of his stature, of his reputation, has a pretty girl in his bed and he doesn’t fuck her?, petty retaliation for what he had said to you when you entered the apartment hours ago, but you chicken out at the last minute. You’d soon come to find that some things are better left unsaid.

✰ ✰ ✰

Spring has just arrived, bringing with it cool, gentle breezes and swaying blades of grass decorated with glistening dewdrops that sparkle when the sun catches them in just the right way. The smell of freshly battered cinnamon sugar donuts and cheap coffee wafts in through the open window, drifting over your bodies and embracing you.

It rouses you, and your eyes flutter open to be met with Dabi’s face. And, God, he’s so damn pretty, with thick dark eyelashes fanned out delicately across inked skin and tousled onyx hair, breathing deep and calm, sharp jaw on display. Reaching out, you daintily trace over his relaxed features—circling defined cheekbones, sliding down the slope of his nose, trailing along his jaw—allowing yourself a moment to admire him before thick guilt begins to strangle you.

You should go. Keigo still thinks that you’re at a friend’s house, and doesn’t expect you to be home until late afternoon, but that belated bitter guilt finally brands the back of your tongue, face souring a little at the idea of deceiving your big brother. And after all he’s done for you, niisan tsks in your head, voice sweet and syrupy, and you can almost see the disappointment in his eyes as he shakes his head. We’re all each other has, you know. And you do, really, you do know, head nodding routinely, instinctual at this point, as you begin to push yourself up.

“Stay,” Dabi says softly, eyes still closed as a hand catches your wrist. You stop immediately, allowing him to pull you back down to the mattress as lids lift to reveal the most brilliant sapphires. Fingers trace down the curve of your neck and you hum, arching into his touch.

“Keigo—”

“Doesn’t have to know,” he cuts you off, his voice still quiet, rough around the edges and heavy with sleep. “C’mon. We’ll go get pie for breakfast, and I’ll have you home to niisan by dinner, promise,”

Giggling a little, you roll into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you atop his chest as he flops onto his back.

“Pie,” you laugh, resting your chin on his toned muscles and gazing up at him. “For breakfast?”

“Why not?” He asks, and that smile is back again, the boyish one that looks like he’s hiding something, a little amusing secret just for him, the one that induces a whole flock of butterflies in your chest. “It’s Saturday,” he shrugs as best he can, then squeezes you to his chest. “You don’t got anything to do, I don’t got anything to do...”

Crystal eyes glitter in the morning sun as they gaze at you, golden rays creeping through the small gaps in his thick purple curtains, swaying gently in the wind.

Molars sink into the inside flesh of your cheek as you think, and Dabi tuts his tongue softly, a hand coming to gently pull the skin from between your teeth.

“Okay,”

His lips curl into a smirk, something sharp flashing in his cobalt eyes. “Okay,”

That’s how it begins—with deceptively bright, youthful smiles and cherry pie for breakfast— and five days later, in the backseat of his Cadillac Eldorado while James Cagney flickers on a worn out, off-white screen and two of his fingers are three knuckles deep in you, he asks you to be his, digits curling in your pretty little pussy as he breathes the words against the shell of your ear.

You’re whimpering out yes as you cum, nodding almost frantically against his shoulder as your hips roll towards his palm.

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

✰ ✰ ✰

But it progresses faster than you ever thought it would—faster than you ever thought possible—like a shot of morphine straight to your bloodstream, pupils gaping as DabiDabiDabi surges through your veins, becoming all you can think about—all you want to think about, all you want to do, eat, feel, breathe.

Midnight double-features of old Hollywood films at the local rundown drive-in become one of the many staples of your relationship, finding comfort in the sharp smell of buttersalt popcorn stinging your nose, in the way the film’s sound cracks and pops as it travels through the car radio, staticky like an old record, in the way Dabi forces a cherry Jolly Rancher from his mouth into yours, the hard candy clacking against your teeth.

This is how you spend most of your weeknights for the next month or so—passing candy through kisses in the backseat of the Eldorado, tongues shoved down each other’s throats, stained red and purple and blue from the cheap artificial dye, hands wandering up dresses and little fingers tugging at beltloops and buckles.

On Saturday mornings—sometimes Sundays, too, if you’ve been a really good girl—you find yourself in a familiar red booth at The League—a little diner tucked away on one of the city side streets not too far from Dabi’s apartment—cheap speckled plastic glittering in the sunlight and sticking to your thighs as your favourite waitress, a young woman by the name of Himiko who insists that you call her Mimi, takes your order. She seems to know your Daddy—your Dabi—somehow, but you don’t press, because it’s impolite to pry, you know and niisan raised you better than this.

He always lets you pick what you want for breakfast, but Daddy always orders it for you, always reminds you the mornings you decide on pancakes that if you get those, you aren’t allowed any sundaes or a slice of pie, because too much sugar is bad for his babygirl, and he knows how much syrup you drown those things in, dollface.

But there’s one staple of your relationship that you love more than all the others.

Joyrides.

That’s what he calls them, those drives through the bad parts of the city, the parts with cracked concrete sidewalks and shattered glass and needles littered in the dying grass.

Dabi takes you along frequently, tells you that you have an important job to do, that you play a crucial role in this whole operation, because the police—including your father—have been cracking down especially hard on dealing in this area. But nobody bothers to question a seemingly innocent young woman delivering inconspicuous brown paper bags—bags full of pretty little pills and tiny baggies of white powder—to shop owners and crumbling apartment complexes, eerily reminiscent of a Girl Scout selling cream filled cookies and thin-mints.

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

It’s an instantaneous rush, though, being allowed to participate in Dabi’s business ventures, being allowed to help. It’s a privilege, you think, makes you feel like he trusts you, and you absolutely live for the praise, for that gorgeous smile he gives you after you deliver the sweets to the client, for the passionate kisses he rewards you with for being such a good little helper.

Joyrides are the best. Because it’s just you and him, the Eldorado’s radio struggling to play whatever station it’s picking up on—usually some sort of sixties rock—as you cruise the streets in his absurdly large car, the sky smeared with strokes of faded pinks and oranges, peppered with wispy clouds that look like loose strands of white cotton candy.

And sometimes, after his work is all finished, he’ll drive you to one of those cliffs you’ve come to know so well and let you ride him in the drivers seat—precious little whines and pathetic broken whimpers spilling from your lips as you rest your head against his shoulder, gyrating your hips in fast, shallow little circles, using his cock like it’s a toy, just like he told you to—before taking you back home to fuck you properly, to fuck you right.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s quaint, the little house you and your niisan live in, with its perfectly trimmed hedges and well-manicured grass, a stone walkway leading up to the front door, which is painted white. White windowsills, white brick, white, white, white, the whole thing is white—bright, pure, untarnished.

It’s just enough space for the two of you, your adoptive father, an absurdly large man by the name of Toshinori Yagi, had stated proudly, the first day he showed it to you.

And it’s only a short walk from the university, his wife chimed in with a smile too wide for her face, nodding excessively.

It’s convenient, they had said, the day you received your acceptance letter and scholarship offer from the university your brother attended. It’ll be good for you to stay with your older brother for a little, before going off into the world on your own, they had promised.

You hadn’t really wanted to go to this university—would’ve much preferred to go away to school in another country—but you didn’t. Keigo knew it, too, knew your desire to leave, to see more of the world, to experience it on your own without that hulking shadow with the wild hair. But he coaxed you into it, convinced you to stay, just like he always does, begging you softly not to leave your poor niisan all alone as gentle fingers pushed locks of hair from your face, trailing down your cheek and coming to cup your jaw, reminding you that you’re all each other has.

And you had nodded, nuzzled your face against his palm, sought comfort and relief in the presence of your big brother, just as you always do. He was right; you had your entire life to travel the world, what’s the rush? Why leave now? Stay with him, just for a little longer.

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. Keigo has always had a penchant for living fast, after all, seems to somehow incorporate conceptual and literal speed into all aspects of his life—his marks in school, his record-breaking track races, and now, his personal life, too.

It started in high school. He was in twelfth grade. You still don’t know who gave him his first taste, still don’t know why he decided to shoot up that night, but he did.

And it made him feel invincible. It made him feel like he could fly.

He hid it well, didn’t look like a heroin addict—at least, not what the words ‘heroin addict’ usually conjure up. His topaz eyes were bright as ever, even if his pupils were just a pinprick; nails cut so short it looked painful, to keep from scratching and scabbing his body; was always sure to keep his track marks well hidden, methodical in choosing his injection sites, and kept up with regular hygiene, even if his wild, windswept hair did get a little messier.

Yes, he hid it well.

But he couldn’t hide it from you for long, didn’t hide it from you well enough, becoming increasingly careless the deeper he spiralled into the addiction.

And it takes a while for you to truly acknowledge it. You didn’t want to—not at first, anyway—didn’t want to believe that your all-star, top-of-his-class, golden-child of a big brother was a junkie.

So you ignored it. You ignored the way he began recklessly disposing of the needles in the small trash can under his desk instead of hiding them in the kitchen trash whenever your mother asked him to take it out, ignored the burnt spoon you found in the sink and the bloody Q-tips you found littering the counter of the bathroom the two of you shared, ignored the way those tiny orange syringe caps had begun appearing in odd places, seeming to pop up more and more frequently.

Yes, you ignored it, until he stole one of the shoelaces off of your sneakers. And you still can’t explain it, exactly, can’t explain why that was the final straw, why that had you gripping a laceless shoe in a trembling hand as you stormed into the washroom uninvited and unannounced, catching him with the string between his teeth, just as the last of that disgusting orangish-brown liquid sunk into his veins.

The words disintegrate on your tongue, escaping in a pitiful little squeak, all of the fury you felt towards him for his behaviour melting the instant your eyes catch the end of the injection, wide and unblinking as they stare at the needle stuck in his forearm.

For a moment, neither of you are able to speak, Keigo’s mouth opening and closing a few times as his eyes flood with tears, the prettiest topaz shining in the warm washroom light as they frenetically search your face.

“Sit,” you tell him, finally breaking the silence, your voice not your own. His eyebrows knit together, and he shakes his head a little in misunderstanding, but you persist. “Sit,”

Shoulders deflating, he holds your gaze for a moment longer before nodding once and obeying, sitting on the closed toilet.

“We have to—” you stop as your chin begins to wobble, swallowing thickly against the sob crawling up your throat, quivering hands rooting haphazardly through a first-aid kit. “W-We have to clean those, so they don’t get infected,”

Glassy golden eyes watch you intently, his chest hiccupping just a little as he wordlessly holds his arms out to you, armed with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, the scent stinging your nose.

There aren’t many—only a few little pinpricks on each arm, some decorated with dark blooms of periwinkle and violet, but they still cause your tongue to crumble to bitter, suffocating ash in your mouth.

Tiny fingers encircle his wrist, your touch always so soft, so gentle, as if you’re afraid to break him, and he chokes on a noise that sounds suspiciously similar to a sob.

“You don’t—You shouldn’t have to—” and he can’t even force the words out, breathing out forcefully through his nose as his tears finally overflow, glistening drops streaming down his cheeks, bleary eyes unblinking, focused on your little fingers as they continue their tender ministrations with so much care, with so much love it’s nearly stifling, and he can’t breathe, because he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it—

“I want to,” a knuckle catches one of his fresh tears, swiping it across his cheekbone and leaving a glimmering trail in its wake. “Alright? I want to,”

And this—this becomes a habit.

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t tell Keigo about your relationship. Not at first, at least, conjuring up flimsy excuses that become more ridiculous as the days pass, as your disappearances steadily increase. Dabi doesn’t want to, makes up some bullshit excuse about how he isn’t ready yet. But you buy it anyway, and you wait.

Until the morning of one of your niisan’s big races, the ones where multiple trainers and coaches come from all over the country to assess his performance, when Dabi shows up entirely unannounced and uninvited, makes sure he’s in Keigo’s line of sight as he bounces around at the starting line, and kisses the life out of you, right in front of him.

That’s the only time he attends one of Keigo’s races.

The rest you continue attending by yourself. Dabi doesn’t like it, doesn’t like to have you out of his sight at all lately, but he knows it’s moot to argue with you. You’re going, you told him firmly, the night before Keigo’s next race, whether he likes it or not.

But, boy, was your niisan fuming by the time the two of you arrived home that day.

He hadn’t cared that he had, essentially, lost the race, hadn’t cared that he didn’t even manage to place in the top three for the first time in literal years, hadn’t cared that he just blew several chances with potential coaches and sponsors.

None of it mattered.

With a rough hand wrapped around your bicep, he all but yanks you out of the car, doesn’t care that you’re stumbling over your own feet as he drags you towards the front door, doesn’t care that he shoves you inside the house so hard you do trip, crying out as your hands and knees collide with the cold tiled floor.

And he’s yelling, yelling at the top of his lungs, the moment that white door slams shut, shut so hard the walls tremble.

“Fucking Touya Todoroki!? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You can barely see him through your tears as you quickly flip yourself over, beginning to inch away on your hands and feet as you stare up at him, breath hitching in your chest.

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

“Oh Jesus, don’t tell me—He didn’t tell you his fucking name?”

No, you shake your head quickly, chest stuttering as the name echoes through your mind, your big brother nothing but a blur of crimson and gold advancing towards you, mumbling to himself about how no, of course he didn’t, why would he? Of course not, as he drags nimble fingers through his messy hair.

“To-Todo—”

“Todoroki,” he spits, so harsh it makes you flinch.

“Your coa—”

“Yeah, I know his father,” Keigo rolls his eyes as he crouches down, catches your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger, and you cease all action immediately, freezing in his grip. “You know his brother,”

Your brow furrows as you belatedly search your memory for any instance of the name, gunmetal grey and snow white flashing through your mind, but everything’s too foggy, too hazy with the fear of disappointing your niisan more, eyes squeezing shut as you hiccup at the mere thought.

But then he’s sighing, always knows when he’s gone a little too far—you are very delicate, after all, so small and naïve and in desperate need of someone to take care of you, aren’t you?—collapsing back on his heels and pulling you into his lap as soft hands smooth down your hair, murmuring it’s alright, it’s alright and niisan’s got you, niisan’s got you.

“What’re you doin’ with a man like that, my little songbird?” his voice is gentle as he rocks your bodies back and forth, after your sobs have calmed a bit.

What are you? you want to ask, front teeth sinking into your tongue hard enough to make you wince, keeping those three tiny words inside of your mouth.

“I like him,” you mumble instead, nuzzling your face into his chest and hiding from those bright, inquisitive topaz eyes.

“You—You like him,” he snorts to himself in disbelief, shaking his head a little.

“I do,” you respond, a little firmer as you pull back to stare at your big brother’s face, eyebrows knit together in determination, sparks of fury igniting deep in your chest at the thought of Keigo thinking he knows better, when he’s just as bad.

“He isn’t good for you—”

“He isn’t good for you,” you shoot back, tone clipped as you level your gaze, squirming a little in his arms. His grasp tightens, like he’s terrified you’re going to leave, honey eyes holding yours for a beat before he lets out a breath, looking away, defeated.

“That doesn’t mean you should be allowed to see him,” he mutters, glancing at your tear-stained face for a moment before his eyes flit away again. “But…” his chest rises with a deep inhale, pressing against you. “I guess…I guess it isn’t very fair of me to, uh, judge you, is it?”

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

He huffs out a soft chuckle, gazing at you from the side of his eye, a tiny smirk spreading across his face. “Stop being so cute,” he grumbles, squeezing you against him just a bit too hard, giggles spilling from your lips as your fingers curl in the cotton of his hoodie. “I’m trying to be mad at you, y’know,”

“Kei-nii,” you whine with a roll of your eyes, shoving his shoulder weakly, though there’s a smile on your lips.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s saying as lithe fingers brush some hair back from your face, palm resting against your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw rhythmically. “Just—Promise me, if he ever hurts you…You’ll tell me immediately, yeah?”

Blinking a few times, your eyes search his face, sobering up as gold bores into you. There’s something in his stare, something you’ve never seen before, something that you can’t decipher, and it sends chills pebbling across your skin. Swallowing thickly, you nod, little jerky movements as your eyes hold his. “Y-Yeah, promise, niisan,”

“Good,” he whispers, chin resting atop the crown of your head as he cradles you to his chest. “We’re all we have. Never forget it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You only question Dabi about his name once, lounging around on his bed in the early hours of the morning, tangled in his sheets, wearing his t-shirt, with his large hand resting on your bare thigh. His head’s tipped back against the headboard as he exhales smoke in pretty little curls that disintegrate into hazy nothingness only a moment later.

“T-Touya?” Your hearts thudding against your ribcage as you almost whisper the name, barely audible at all, but his head snaps forward, sapphire eyes finding yours immediately.

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, that you’ve crossed some invisible line you hadn’t had a clue about, his glare scathing your skin; but then his features relax, and a little smirk spreads across his lips.

“Ah, so he finally told you,” his voice is quiet, and you can’t read his tone, eyes squinting a little as you lean towards him. “I don’t go by that name anymore,” he speaks up, voice ringing out clear and strong. “Don’t call me that again,”

The or else is implied, and you nod meekly, promising him softly that you’ll never utter it again.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s been gnawing at you all week, sitting heavy like a block of lead in your stomach, the cuticles on your left thumb bitten raw in agitation. You need to tell him. You’re going to tell him, it’s just…

It just never seemed like the right time to tell him—then again, is there ever a right time to tell your older brother that you’re spending the entire weekend at his drug dealer’s place?

But now it’s Friday, and Dabi will be here in a few minutes, and you still have yet to let Keigo know.

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

You hadn’t been expecting to hear the tinny laughter of a woman when you entered the house, arriving home after your last class of the day, hadn’t been expecting to walk into the living room to find said girl splayed across your niisan’s lap, staring up at him dreamily as endless giggles spilled from her painted lips, hadn’t been expecting him to be so completely enamoured with her that he doesn’t even greet you.

It burns up all of the anxiety that had been building inside you in an instant, turns it into boiling rage that bubbles and pops, noxious as it rises up your throat.

And so, you decide that you won’t say anything at all. If he’s too busy to even acknowledge you like he normally does every single day, then surely he doesn’t care if you leave, right?

“I’m going out,” you toss airily over your shoulder as your halfway out the front door, a small grin spreading across you lips as you spot Dabi leaning lazily against his car. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, smug grin of his own forming on his lips.

Keigo shoots up immediately, nearly knocking the girl to the floor, moving faster than he ever has in his life as he catches your wrist and tugs, hard. A loud yelp sounds from the back of your throat and you stumble backwards, right into your big brother’s chest.

“Where? Huh? Where?” he growls out the word through clenched teeth, squeezing again. “With who? That—That fucking scumbag?”

At the sound of your yelp, Dabi straightens up instantly, usual lidded eyes now wide open and alert, zeroing in on where Keigo has ensnared you.

“Not like it matters to you, not when you have a whore to entertain,” you spit, and though your gaze is blazing, your eyes are filling with tears, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “Right?” you push, after a few moments of silence.

His grip loosens, although he doesn’t let go completely, fingers still clasped around you.

“Princess, I…”

“No,” you snap, viciously pulling yourself free of him. “Don’t princess me. Not after ignoring me like that,”

“You’re overreacting—”

“Then so are you,” you cut him off sharply, already beginning to back away and blinking hard to clear your eyes of stubborn tears. “I’m spending the weekend at Dabi’s. I’ll see you on Sunday,”

Dabi catches you the moment you’re within reach, drawing you close to his chest for a second before pulling back. Calloused hands gently raise your wrist, sapphire eyes assessing the damage. His thumb caresses the rapidly bruising area rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth, and he frowns deeply, his gaze finally meeting yours.

“Does he do this often? Hurt you like this?”

And it’s startling, shocking, to see the overflowing concern in his crystal eyes, studying your face intently as you try to find your voice. You don’t think he’s ever sounded that serious before.

“I—No, of course not,” you shake your head, tongue tripping over the words. “We—Y’know, siblings fight, and stuff, it’s—he doesn’t know his own strength, sometimes, uh, forgets it, a-and I bruise easily,” you shrug, wincing a little at the serious expression still etched deep into Dabi’s face.

“If he ever puts his hands on you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” Dabi says slowly, softly, as if he’s reciting the morning news to you, dark eyes drifting up to refocus on the figure still standing in the doorway. “Do you understand me?” he asks, though his stare does not leave Keigo’s, voice still calm, almost serene. “I’ll fucking kill him,”

He won’t, you reassure him, countless times over the next few weeks. Niisan’s never intentionally hurt me, Daddy, he won’t, I promise.

And they’re all true, those words you repeat to him, over and over and over again, while you comb fingers through his inky hair or press chaste kisses against his scarred skin. They’re all true.

Until they aren’t.

You should’ve known, really, not to talk about it. He doesn’t—not when you’re cleaning his track marks or wiping sweat from his forehead, not when he lays his head in your lap as he’s coming down, eyes fluttering as your fingers thread through his hair, not even when you’re feeding him teaspoons of water to keep him hydrated as his body forces him to throw up nothing, again, lips dry and cracked, skin clammy and cold—and you shouldn’t, either.

“Have you ever thought about switching to pills?” You ask one night, casually, as if this is mundane, normal, to discuss while washing dishes. “I heard oxy is like, heroin in a pill,”

His jaw clenches, you can see the motion out of the corner of your eye, quickly refocusing your gaze on the bowl in your hands, the same bowl you’ve been washing for about five minutes now.

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

“And I asked why not,” you spit, dropping the bowl from your hands. It cracks as it collides with the aluminum of the sink, the sound piercing through the tense air as you turn to glare at your brother, soapy hands on your hips. “It would be safer—”

“Marginally—”

“That’s still better than nothing, Keigo! Christ,” you sigh, running a sudsy hand through your hair. “They’re all fucking opioids, what’s the difference!? They’re all gonna get you high the same way, aren’t they?”

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

You wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to explain to you. You wouldn’t understand that he’s already attempted this, attempted to switch from heroin to pills, and that it wasn’t the same—isn’t the same. You wouldn’t understand that oxy doesn’t give the same instantaneous rush as heroin does, doesn’t take his breath away like heroin does, doesn’t warm his entire fucking body the way heroin does.

No, you wouldn’t understand how most of the time he feels like he can’t fucking breathe until he shoots up, wouldn’t understand how, at this point, heroin feels like an old friend, safe and cozy and more comforting than anything he’s ever felt before, than even your arms are, wouldn’t understand how heroin makes him feel like he’s fucking invincible, like he can take on the entire world in one day, like he can continue living.

It makes him feel whole again, full again, put back together with no cracks or missing pieces. It distracts him from how irrevocably shattered his insides truly are, providing him with quick, fleeting relief, just long enough for him to keep going, keep striving, keep breathing. But you wouldn’t understand any of that. How could you?

He’s sighing as he walks away from you, raking both hands through golden hair.

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t see what this shit is doing to you! It’s killing you, niisan!”

God, no, not the honorific. Not when you’re gazing at him with tears spilling from your eyes, little hands desperately pawing at his t-shirt, urgent just to make him understand, to get through to him for one instant.

“I-It’s killing you and all I can do is watch,” your voice fades into a whisper, breaking on the last word as more tears streak your cheeks, leaving small gleaming trails in their wake, fingers readjusting, knotting in his shirt and tugging, latching onto him as he keeps walking, jaw clenching again as he tries to ignore you. “Y-You have to stop—no, no, n-not stop, just—just slow down, yeah? Slow down a little, it’s—it’s too fast, niisan, you’re going too fast—”

But it’s building, and building, and his head is throbbing, and throbbing, and your voice is rising higher and higher, louder and louder, and it’s all just too much, and before he even knows what’s happening, his hand is cutting through the air, knuckles colliding with your cheek so hard it sends you stumbling backwards, tripping over your own feet as you fall on your ass.

He regrets it the moment it happens, the very moment his skin makes contact with yours.

But that doesn’t matter; the damage is already done.

He’s never hit you before. Sure, he may be a little rough sometimes, and his grip may leave a few bruises every once in a while, but he has never deliberately hit you, until today.

He never thought he would.

Golden eyes dart from his hand, still raised in the air from where it struck you, blood gleaming on his silver rings, to your face, small and terrified, crimson flowing down your cheek, mixing with your tears as it slowly drips off your jaw, and then back to his hand.

And for a moment, he swears, the whole world stops.

Then, a mere second later, his whole world shatters.

You’re trying to form words, staring up at him with impossibly wide, unblinking eyes, but they’re just escaping your lips in little mumbles, half-formed and coated in spit.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, nothing more than a pitiful huff of air formed in the shape of a curse leaving his lips.

It takes your mind a moment to register what’s happened, numb with dizzying shock, stupid with the most heartbreaking pain, dazed as tiny, trembling fingers raise to tenderly prod at the wound, wincing the moment they make contact. But the throbbing of your cheek brings you back quicker than Keigo would’ve liked, and then your eyebrows are knitting together, mouth settling in a wobbly line, blinking hard to clear your eyes of pesky tears.

And all he can do is watch, watch as you shakily push yourself to your feet, watch as your hand grips your phone like it’s a fucking lifeline—a lifeline he very briefly thinks about diving forward and snatching out of your grasp—watch as you turn on the balls of your feet and disappear down the hall, the slam of your bedroom door echoing a moment later.

You barely make it into your bedroom before your collapsing on the floor, wheezing out uneven breaths, sharp, hard huffs of air that slice through your tight chest with each exhale, vision blurry with stinging tears as you stare down at your phone, cradled in quivering hands.

You know that if you make this phone call, Dabi will never let you come back. You know that if you make this phone call, this is it. Trembling fingers hesitate over his name, those four glowing letters staring back at you, an unnecessary amount of various heart emojis cushioning them.

He doesn’t pick up the first time. Maybe it’s a sign, you think to yourself, a sign that you shouldn’t leave just yet, that you should stay and rot away with him for a little bit longer, remain with him for a little more and give him another piece of your soul that he can add to his prized collection as he slowly steals your life force from you.

But then searing pain radiates through your entire face, along your jaw and to the back of your head, and the coppery smell of blood stings your nose, and you press on Dabi’s name again.

✰ ✰ ✰

If he’s being honest, he would’ve never picked up for anyone but you, probably would’ve killed the idiot that thought to interrupt him during one of the biggest deals of his career—of his life.

“What?” he snarls as he answers, pacing along the wall outside the warehouse like a rabid dog, anxious and eager. “This better be important, sweetheart. You knew I was meeting with one of the bosses today—”

“He hit me,”

It’s hard to understand you when you’re still sobbing, words all wet and garbled, and Dabi squints as he focuses his concentration, feet skidding to a stop as his heart begins to pound.

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

And then, his blood runs cold. His ears are ringing, vision fading in and out of focus as red tinges the edges, breathing beginning to accelerate, exhaled harshly through flared nostrils. The thin skin stretched taut across his bony knuckles has turned white as he grips his phone so tightly he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand.

“Pack your shit,” he tells you, voice oddly calm, cold and sterile and sending shivers skittering up your spine. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,”

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi #takami keigo #bnha smut #mha smut #aaaaaah fucking MONSTER #anywayyy cant wait to hear what u all think!!!#dabi don't get mad at me i lost track of time editing n i've been real good going to bed on time #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw daddy kink #tw drugs #tw:abuse

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