᯽ Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral Fixation, Fem Reader & Pet Names. Finger Sucking, Daddy Kink. Draken

Humbug

Bangtan Christmas 2023 drabble 1 - read the rest here.

Paediatrician Dr Jung Hoseok is beloved by all his patients and everyone he works with. Unfortunately, his cheerful demeanour is only a front, underneath it all, he's a humbug.

Pairing: Hoseok x f! reader

Genre: Paediatrician Hoseok, social worker reader, fluff, smut

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, medical emergencies

Hoseok looks up from the computer screen at the sound of his name. His eyes take a moment to adjust, the screen’s the brightest light in the otherwise darkened paediatric ward.

The nurse, Jihyo, holds out a mug of coffee, just how he likes it. 

Hoseok accepts gratefully, stares at the words on the side of the mug.

Big patience for little patients.

He blinks, indifferent, and goes back to prescribing.

His phone rings, muted because it’s 3am but he can hear it loud and clear.

He lifts it to his ear. ‘Dr Jung,’ he says by way of greeting.

‘You’re needed in the ER,’ comes the crisp tone of the ER charge nurse.

Hoseok sighs, doesn’t bother to ask why. ‘I’ll be there in 5.’

He hangs up, signs the chart and gulps the rest of his coffee, scorching his tongue and the roof of his mouth but preferring the burn to the desolate pang of his empty stomach.

The dry sandwich he’d bolted at 6pm the day before is nothing but a distant memory, churning its partially digested way through his intestines.

He takes a shortcut to the ER, cutting through the works alley between buildings.

Ironic that he has to pass the unofficial smoker’s alley to get fresh air.

Kim Namjoon, his friend and the resident cardiothoracics surgeon, nods and waves a vape pen at him in greeting. 

Hoseok lifts a hand back, pushes the back entrance door open that someone’s propped open with a brick, hospital security be damned, re-enters the hospital next to the mortuary.

He glances askance at the double doors. It always makes him feel a little twitchy passing the morgue in the early hours of the morning.

He reminds himself he’s a grown adult as he picks up the pace, allows himself a little sigh of relief as he turns the corner and sees the bright lights of radiology.

He’s greeted by a cacophony of noises as he enters the ER, monitors beeping, people barking out instructions, distant sirens as ambulances pull up to the drop off.

He narrows his eyes against the fluorescent white strip lighting, looking around for the charge nurse’s familiar navy tunic. 

He spots her by the resus bay, grimaces a bit at the carnage from a trauma that hasn’t been cleaned up.

‘Called for a paediatric consult?’ 

The charge nurse nods, brisk, waves an arm in the vague direction of the paediatric area. 

‘15 year old, intoxicated.’

With that she’s off, and Hoseok trudges away. 

The atmosphere in the paediatric area is less jarring, not so much because of the cheerful murals on the walls, but because it’s quieter, less hectic.

Hoseok assesses a teenager in a glittery jumpsuit who smells so strongly of alcohol and hairspray he reminds him of his own high school leaving prom.

He does an assessment, makes the mistake of asking the teen if he wants a drink on his way out of the exam room.

The teen chortles gleefully. 

‘Yeah, gin and tonic, hold the tonic!’

Hoseok rolls his eyes as he exits.

He’s looking for a free computer to write up his notes when there’s movement in the periphery of his vision. 

‘Need a computer?’ you ask. 

Hoseok blinks to wake himself up. You’re way too pretty considering the early hour. Judging by your attire, more casual than smart, your carelessly styled hair, he makes an educated guess. 

‘Are you with social services?’ 

‘Y/N, duty social worker,’ you confirm, nodding towards the exam room he’s just exited. ‘Jaebeom’s one of ours.’ 

‘Yeah?’ Hoseok asks. ‘I’m Hoseok, paediatrics. I’m admitting him until he sobers up.’ 

You nod. ‘His foster carer can pick him up in the morning, she’s got another child that she needs to drop off at school.’ 

You look around, yawning delicately behind your hand. ‘Is there a place to get coffee around here at this time?’ 

There’s an on-call room waiting for him, a bed, but Hoseok doesn’t hesitate. 

‘If you have five minutes for me to write up my notes, I can take you to the lounge?’ 

You give him a look he doesn’t bother to interpret, it’s now 4am and if you say no he can always go to bed. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Thanks.’ 

Hoseok types up his notes with you sitting in one of the empty chairs in the otherwise deserted paediatric department. 

When he logs off he’s amused to find you engrossed in sorting shapes to slot into a sphere. 

‘I can give you a few more minutes if you want,’ he says, dry. 

You laugh. ‘I’ll be quicker once I’ve had caffeine.’ 

You follow him down the corridor towards the main hospital to the lounge. 

Hoseok swipes his ID badge, pushes the door open. 

You take in the ancient mismatched couches, the big screen TV, the tiny kitchenette with the top-of-the-line coffee machine, the chipped mugs drying next to the sink.

‘So this is how doctors roll, huh?’ you say. 

Hoseok laughs. ‘Yeah baby, stick with me and I’ll show you a good time.’ 

He waggles his eyebrows, and you burst out laughing. 

Hoseok’s struck by your smile and the way your eyes light up. He clears his throat, tells himself to stop staring at you like a creep. 

‘Latte?’ he offers, picking up the nicest mug he can see. 

‘Yeah, thanks,’ you say. 

You’re fishing in your bag, emerging with a half-opened package of cookies. 

He exchanges your coffee for a cookie, gestures to one of the couches. 

He’s not expecting you to sit next to him, there’s plenty of space, but after a moment, you choose the seat beside him. 

You sip your coffees in silence. 

‘Been busy?’ you ask. 

‘Yeah, a little,’ Hoseok replies. 

Up close like this, he can see the tiny piercings in your ear, the gleam of gold through the fall of your hair. 

Again, he pulls himself together with effort. 

‘Have you been busy?’ he asks. 

You stretch a little. ‘Yeah. We’re short-staffed, like always. Also something about the cold weather makes people be shits to each other.’

Hoseok’s not surprised. Winter’s always hard, fuck Christmas spirit and all that jazz.

‘I hear you,’ he says. 

You sip your coffee, offer him another cookie which he accepts. 

Your phone rings in your bag, you glance at him as you fish your phone out. 

‘Duty calls,’ you say ruefully. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’ 

Hoseok’s about to bid you goodbye when you lean towards him, close, thumb brushing a corner of his mouth so quickly he barely registers it before you’re pulling your hand away. 

‘Crumbs,’ you say. There’s the tiniest twinkle in your eye.

Hoseok’s voice comes out raspy as he says, ‘Thanks.’ 

‘See you around, doc.’ 

You’re not waiting for an answer, shouldering your bag, tossing him one last look on your way out. 

Hoseok leans back against the couch, willing his heartrate to decelerate. 

Outside, the darkest part of the night’s just about over. 

***

Hoseok’s working hard to keep his bright smile on today. 

He’s had a parent ask him if he has kids and then tell him he couldn’t possibly understand how precious their child is, as he doesn’t have children of his own. 

He got an email from a conference he’s applied to saying due to the huge number of applicants, his abstract wasn’t selected for presentation. 

His intern, Hyunjin, seems to be on a mission to aggravate him as much as possible. 

‘We need a derm consult,’ Hyunjin tells him at the end of presenting the patient he’s just seen. 

Hoseok closes his eyes briefly, desperately summoning what remains of his rapidly dwindling stores of patience. 

‘Why do we need a derm consult, Dr Park?’ he tries not to bark. 

‘This patient has verrucas.’ 

Hoseok blinks, takes a breath. 

‘This patient needs nebulised albuterol and oxygen and an admission to paediatrics. The verrucas can wait until he gets better and the mom can stop by a pharmacy for some over-the-counter verruca treatment.’ 

Hyunjin stares at him. 

‘He’s satting in the low nineties,’ Hoseok points out, words coming out brisk, staccato. ‘I can hear him wheezing from here.’ 

The ER nurse behind Hyunjin’s already tutting and prepping the neb. 

‘Was there anything else, Hyunjin?’ Hoseok asks, getting up, staring at the rapidly expanding list of patients waiting for a paediatric consult.

His phone rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket with a sigh. 

‘Dr Jung,’ he says. 

‘Is that Hoseok?’ 

The voice is vaguely familiar, but he can’t place it. 

‘Depends who’s asking,’ he snaps. 

‘It’s Y/N, the social worker. You got me coffee last week at 4am?’ 

Hoseok has a flash of a memory, of your hand on his face. 

‘Shit, sorry,’ he says, running a hand through his hair, already sticking straight up in all directions, courtesy of the shitty haircut he got in the barbershop on his way in. 

‘Rough day, huh?’ you say, the sympathy in your voice making warmth bloom in his chest. 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner after work today,’ you ask, no preamble, so direct Hoseok takes a moment to process. 

‘I’d love to,’ he says. ‘I don’t get off until 8, though.’ 

‘I finish at 8 too,’ you say. ‘That works for me.’ 

You exchange numbers, and you promise to text him details. 

‘Hope your day gets better, Dr Jung,’ you say, the teasing note in your voice making him smile, genuinely, for the first time, today. 

‘It already is,’ he says. 

He’s still smiling when he hangs up. 

‘Hoseok,’ comes a voice from behind him. 

Hoseok raises a brow inquiringly at Hyunjin, who, inexplicably, is still standing there. 

‘About the verrucas,’ begins Hyunjin. 

‘Nope,’ Hoseok says, pleasantly, still smiling. 

He brushes past Hyunjin and picks up the next consult. 

***

It’s ten to eight and thank fuck for that, because Hoseok’s had enough of today. 

He’s getting changed out of the scrubs he was forced to change into after he was projectile vomited on by a chubby 10 month old, grateful he has spare clothes in his locker, when the door to the changing rooms opens. 

Hoseok pauses, shirtless, hands on the tie of his scrubs bottoms. 

Hyunjin blinks at him. 

‘Nice abs, boss,’ he says. 

Hoseok eyes both the fluffy white tee he was about to change into and the scrubs top he’s just discarded, questioning why he ever thought going into medicine was a good idea. 

He grits his teeth. 

‘Yes, Hyunjin?’ 

‘There’s a blue light call - breathless five year old, ETA 3 minutes.’ 

‘Jisoo is on tonight, let her know,’ Hoseok replies. ‘Also, close the door, damnit.’ 

Hyunjin looks surprised at the three medical students who have clustered behind him, all of whom are staring at Hoseok wide-eyed. 

‘Jisoo’s going to be twenty minutes late, something about a train breakdown?’

Hyunjin’s got the wisdom to stay out of Hoseok’s reach. 

Hoseok’s hand lands on his soft t-shirt, longingly. 

With a sigh, he bypasses it and reaches for his scrubs top, pulling it over his head. 

‘I’ll be right there,’ he says. 

***

By the time Hoseok’s assessed the breathless patient and handed over to an apologetic Jisoo, the time on the clock on the wall says 9pm. 

Hoseok pulls his phone out, dials your number. 

You answer on the first ring. 

Without waiting for him to say anything, you say, ‘The food’s still hot, I took the liberty of ordering for you. Are you on your way?’ 

Hoseok breathes out, a sigh of relief so profound he feels lightheaded. 

‘Marry me,’ he says. ‘I’ll be there in ten.’ 

He gets dressed in record time, emerges out of the carnage of the ER like a phoenix rising from the ashes. 

You’re the first person he sees when he gets to the restaurant, and you’re the best thing he’s seen all day. 

He greets you with a hug and a cheek kiss that you weren’t expecting, judging by the shy smile on your pretty face. 

‘I —’ you start, then you stop, adorably flustered. 

‘You’re beautiful,’ Hoseok says. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’ 

‘I was just going to say I ordered tempura that’s on its way,’ you say. 

‘I’m sorry I’m so late,’ Hoseok says. He’s got his hand on yours on the table without any memory of how it got there, but he likes the feel of it. 

‘Make it up to me,’ you say, easy. 

‘I’m going to do my best,’ he promises. 

***

At least four people have seen Hoseok’s bare chest today, but you’re the only person he cares about impressing, at least right at this moment. 

Because holy fuck, you’re beautiful, pressed tight to him on your poky couch, mouth on his, lips and teeth clashing as he kisses you over and over. 

You’re making noises that are driving him slightly crazy, making him feel hot and desperate, and he has to stop himself from looking at your tits in that black bra or he’s going to embarrass himself. 

Shit. 

Your hand’s slid down, brushing over his dick, and he’s so hard already he has to will himself not to nut right now. 

He tugs experimentally at the strap of your bra, and when you don’t protest he tugs it down, cups the weight of your left breast. 

God, you feel so good. Soft, warm, exposed nipple begging to be kissed. 

He runs his thumb over your areola, a slow pass. 

The low moan you let out gives him the confidence to scrape the tip of his nail over the peak of your breast. 

‘God, take it off, Hoseok,’ you tell him, and Hoseok’s sure as hell not going to make you ask twice. 

He slides a hand around your bare back, unhooks your bra, can’t stop himself from looking. 

His dick, already trying to stand at attention in its denim prison, twitches at the sight of your bared breasts. 

Hoseok’s trying to remember what colour briefs he has on, if it’ll be obvious when he takes his jeans off that he’s leaking precum just from looking at your tits. 

Then you cup the length of him over his jeans, and he finds he doesn’t give a fuck. 

Your skirt’s ridden up, your thighs part under his hand encouragingly. 

You’re so soft Hoseok can’t suppress a groan. 

He hooks a couple fingers under the gusset of your panties, tugs, and your hand lands on his. 

Hoseok looks up, hand stilling. 

Hoseok’s been told that he has a gorgeous smile, but just at this moment, you’re the one who’s blinding him. 

‘You can touch,’ you say, voice husky, teeth in your bottom lip. 

‘Yeah?’ Hoseok asks, his own voice raspy, dropped low. 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Can I taste?’ 

You help him tug your panties down, over the curve of your ass that he can’t resist squeezing. 

He tugs the flimsy cotton down your thighs, helps you slide a leg out. 

He realises, belatedly, that you never answered his question, but you don’t seem to mind as he bends down, flicks his tongue against your pretty cunt. 

Damn, you sound even prettier when he’s eating you out. 

Hoseok licks into your folds, nudges your clit. 

He doesn’t have any hangups about giving head, especially not in a girl like you who seems to enjoy everything he’s doing. 

‘Shit, Hoseok,’ you moan, breathless, eyes squeezed shut. 

He pushes a finger into you, curls it, and you cry out so loudly his cock hardens even more. 

He tugs at the button fly of his jeans, loosening them for a little relief. 

‘Please tell me you have a condom,’ you plead, voice thick, so sexy Hoseok can’t believe you’re under him like this. 

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you come and I’ll fuck you?’ 

‘Fuck me now,’ you tell him. 

Hoseok seals his lips around your clit, flicks his tongue, slips another finger into you, scissoring, pressing, slow, making every movement count. 

‘Hoseok!’ 

He doesn’t reply, because he can tell by the way your thighs are shaking that you’re close. 

He just needs another minute. 

He doesn’t know if you’ve realised that your fingers are in his hair, pulling, but he’s taking it as a positive. 

He keeps doing what he’s doing with his tongue, because you seem to like it. 

Your cunt tightens around his fingers, you call his name again, buck your hips into his face, and Hoseok doesn’t even need you to tell him you’re coming because he can feel you pulsing, can hear it in your voice, can feel the way everything tightens as you reach your peak. 

It’s the hottest thing he’s seen in a while. 

Fuck. 

Hoseok draws himself out of jeans, takes himself in hand, pumps once. 

You haven’t forgotten him. 

‘Get inside, Hoseok,’ you say, and as he fishes the condom out of his jeans you flip it out of his grasp and rip it with your teeth. 

Hoseok closes his eyes as you squeeze the tip and roll it onto his dick, concentrating on not coming in your grasp. 

You push him back onto the couch, get on top of him, and Hoseok could weep at the view. 

Your hair’s a mess, your lips bitten and flushed, and goddamn, your tits need to be in a museum. 

He doesn’t realise he’s said that last bit out loud until you burst out laughing. 

‘Shut up, Hoseok,’ you tell him, but you’re still riding him so there’s that. 

Hoseok grabs your hips, helps you move even though you’re doing a pretty damn good job already. 

‘You like this, Hoseok?’ you ask. 

Hoseok flexes his cock inside you. ‘Yeah,’ he says. 

‘I like it too.’ 

‘Yeah?’ 

You lean forward, tits bouncing in front of his face, and Hoseok thinks that if he died right now, smothered in between your breasts, he wouldn’t mind one bit. 

‘Go on, baby, take what you want,’ you say. 

Hoseok bucks his hips hard, up into the wet warmth of your cunt, tugs your head down to kiss you deep, open-mouthed, and comes with a groan, deep in his chest. 

Bliss. 

***

Hoseok wakes in a bed he doesn’t remember getting into, a bedroom that he finds soothing, with its neutral colours and soft sunlight filtering in the crack between the curtains.

There’s an arm flung across his chest, the soft curve of a breast against his chest. 

You’re turned away, boneless, in a deep sleep. 

His incorrigible cock stirs as he takes in the line of your back, down to the tempting curve of your ass. 

He spots the clock on the wall, groans when he realises he should really be up now if he wants to get to work on time. 

You’re still dead asleep even after he’s fully dressed, splayed out in the sheets, gloriously naked.

Hoseok pulls the duvet over your bare shoulder, resists the urge to kiss your upturned cheek, and makes sure the door’s locked behind him as he leaves.

***

Hoseok tightens his scarf around his neck as he waits for you at the entrance to the Christmas market you’ve managed to convince him to accompany you to.

The fact is, he hates the cold, he thinks all Christmas markets are gimmicky and overpriced, and after a run of incredibly busy shifts, he’d much rather be in bed with you right now than here.

Hoseok sidesteps neatly as he’s approached by a jovial couple dressed as Father Christmas and Mrs Klaus.

He’s about to pull his phone out to check on you when you hurry up to him, tuck your arm in his.

‘Hobi! You weren’t waiting long, were you?’

Hoseok looks at your bright smile and can’t bring himself to say anything other than ‘no, not long.’

Your lips are cold, but the kiss you plant on his cheek, next to his mouth, goes a long way towards improving his mood.

He doesn’t even give the three elves handing out tiny candy canes a dirty look.

‘Crepes?’ you suggest, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the longest queue is in front of the crepe stand.

‘Sure,’ Hoseok agrees.

You get in line and immediately turn to him, sliding your arms around his waist, under his coat.

‘How’ve you been?’ you ask.

Hoseok and you have met up a couple times over the last three weeks, enough that he’s left a spare shirt and some toiletries at your place.

You’re sweet, and fun, and he hopes you like him as much as he’s starting to like you. 

‘I’m better now,’ he says, just so he can admire the glow of your smile. 

‘You’re cheesy,’ you say, but the brightness in your eyes tells him you don’t mind. 

‘Nah,’ Hoseok replies. ‘You dragged us to this Christmas market, I know you’ve got your eye on one of those tacky reindeer tree ornaments, you don’t get to call me cheesy.’ 

‘I like the blue one,’ you say, conceding so easily Hoseok has to smile. 

‘Wait here, I’ll go and get it,’ he says. 

‘What crepe do you want?’ you ask, as he pulls away. 

‘Surprise me,’ he tells you. 

Hoseok walks over to the ornament stall you’ve been eyeing for the past five minutes, picks out the blue ornament, hesitates over the collection of tiny gold Christmas bauble earrings. 

He makes a decision, pays, shoves his purchases into his coat pocket and walks back to you. 

You hold a crepe out to him, and he accepts with a ‘thanks’, taking the warm paper-wrapped bundle out of your hand and taking a bite. 

The warm melted chocolate floods his taste buds, and he tries not to moan at the gooey sweetness of it. 

‘Good, right?’ you ask. ‘Worth the wait.’ 

You’re not waiting for an answer, skipping ahead, heading for the chestnuts and hot chocolate like you’re a walking Christmas cliche. 

Hoseok follows behind you. He finds he doesn’t really mind. 

***

You stick your key in the lock, unlock the door to your apartment, don’t bother with the lights before you turn around and slide your hands up Hoseok’s chest, fingers tucked under the lapels of his coat. 

Hoseok doesn’t have a lot to say, not when you’re looking up at him, lips pouted for a kiss. 

He slips a hand around the back of your neck, cupping your head, and tilts his head down to yours. 

‘Mmmm,’ you murmur. ‘You taste like chocolate.’ 

Hoseok leans down again, kisses you deep, tongue sliding into your mouth. 

‘It’s cold,’ he says. ‘Warm me up.’ 

He’s only half-serious, having you pressed against him like this is doing a hell of a job of warming him up. 

The wicked gleam in your eye gets him the rest of the way. 

‘Come on. Want to take a bath?’ you ask. 

Hoseok makes out with you in front of the mirror in your bathroom whilst the tub fills, is a short second away from guiding his cock between your legs when you pull away, bend over in front of him to test the temperature.

‘Get in,’ you say, and Hoseok’s always been good at following instructions. 

He slides into the warm heat of the bath, groans at the feel of it, reaches out to steady you as you climb in on top of him, right into his lap, impatient like he feels. 

You look so good bare and wet like this, the steam making tendrils of your hair curl against your neck, the tops of your breasts visible above the water line. Hoseok hadn’t thought he could get any harder but he does. 

‘Sit on me,’ he says, and there’s a slosh of water, wet skin against wet skin, and then the slippery warmth of your cunt, taking him in. 

The tips of your breasts jiggle in front of him as you move, and between the tightness of your walls around him and the prettiness of your moans, Hoseok’s in heaven. 

He slips a hand around your hips, helping you ride him, and curls his hand around your breast, lifting it out of the water so he can suck. 

You cry his name as he flicks his tongue over your nipple, and Hoseok squeezes the flesh of your hip, tight, under the water. 

Your rhythm’s erratic but it’s making the pleasure build, short, tight circles of your hips against his. 

‘Hoseok,’ you moan. 

‘Yeah?’ he mumbles, lips around the peak of your breast. 

He flexes his cock inside you, hums in satisfaction at the way your face goes slack, eyes half closed. 

Shit, you look so pretty in the throes of pleasure. 

Hoseok slides a hand up, fingers curling around your neck, thumb pressed into the hollow between your collarbones. 

Your voice is hoarse now, raspy like his, as he urges, ‘Go on, take it.’ 

He presses down, you gasp, and lose your rhythm entirely as you come around his cock, walls spasming around him. 

Hoseok takes over, fucking you through it, hardening until he comes with a low grunt. 

Wet, slick, warm. 

You’re tired, he can tell, the way you’re slumping against his chest. 

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’ll wash us off.’ 

He coaxes you into your shower with him, soaps over the marks he’s made on your skin, wraps you into a towel. 

By the time you’re both in bed, you’re more asleep than awake. 

‘Work tomorrow?’ you ask. 

‘I’m working,’ Hoseok tells you. ‘Want me to set an alarm for you?’ 

He doesn’t get an answer, you’re asleep on his chest already. 

He should get up, switch some lights off, but a moment later, he’s asleep too. 

***

Hoseok never thought he’d see the day he would want Hyunjin to be around, but he’s getting slammed, and the way things are looking, he needs all hands on deck. 

He’s jogging down the corridor to his second emergency call for the day despite it being only 10am. It’s busy even for the holidays. 

‘House fire,’ barks Mira, the ER charge nurse as Hoseok snaps on gloves. ‘Three children, five minutes out.’ 

‘How bad?’ asks Hoseok, prepping an IV access kit. 

‘PICU are aware, they’re sending backup when they can but they’ve got their own internal collapse, they’re dealing with an arrest on the neurosurgical ward,’ Mira replies. 

The doors slide open, and Hoseok can already tell from the looks on the paramedics’ faces that it’s not looking good. 

Fucking hell, where’s Hyunjin, what a day to be in resus training instead of on the floor. 

The second patient’s wheeled in as the first is still being parked, and Hoseok’s surprised to see you accompanying them, covered in soot, but he doesn’t have time to process now. 

All he can do is deal with what’s in front of him, so that’s what he does. 

***

It’s well into the afternoon by the time all three patients are stabilised and wheeled up to the PICU. 

Hoseok’s washing his hands mechanically in one of the resus sinks, buying his brain some time to come down from the adrenaline of the last few hours, when he hears his name called. 

‘Hey,’ you say, holding out a cup to him. 

Hoseok takes a big gulp of the steaming hot coffee. There’s sugar in it, he doesn’t usually have sugar in his coffee, but today it goes down smooth, giving him a much-needed glucose boost. 

He drinks most of it before he can muster a ‘Thanks.’ 

You don’t seem to be in a hurry. 

You’ve cleaned most of the soot off your face, but your top is ruined. 

Belatedly, Hoseok notices a plaster on your arm, remembers that you came in with the ambulance crew and the three kids. 

‘Are you ok?’ he asks. 

‘I’m fine,’ you say. ‘I was just outside the house when the gas oven imploded. I saw the kids in the window and got them out.’ 

Hoseok blinks. He hadn’t been expecting that. 

‘You ran into a burning house?’ 

You frown a bit. ‘It wasn’t burning then, there was just smoke everywhere.’ 

You cough, and he notices that your voice is a little hoarse. 

‘Besides, I was right there and I saw the kids, I couldn’t leave them.’ 

‘Shit,’ Hoseok says. He pulls you into a hug. ‘I didn’t know.’ 

‘Do you think they’re going to be ok?’ you ask, resting your head on his chest. 

‘I hope so,’ Hoseok says.

He pulls away. ‘Did they check your carbon monoxide levels?’ 

You laugh, and the tension in his chest eases a little. ‘Yes, doc, I’ve been cleared for discharge.’ 

You grab his hand, squeeze. ‘I’m probably doing better than you right now.’ 

‘This is why I hate Christmas,’ Hoseok blurts out. 

You’re looking at him, but you don’t say anything, and he can’t stop anyway.

‘Everyone goes on about Christmas and goodwill and people helping each other and yet the same shit happens as the rest of the year. It means nothing, just a commercial holiday that big companies use to make money out of dumb people.’ 

‘It’s bullshit,’ Hoseok says.

‘My parents feel the same as you,’ you say. You give him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. ‘They never celebrated the holidays.’ 

‘They had the right idea,’ Hoseok agrees.

‘When do you get off today?’ you ask. ‘I can make us dinner, if you want.’ 

‘I don’t think I’ll be good company,’ Hoseok says, honestly. 

‘You’re welcome, even if you’re the biggest grinch in the world,’ you say, with a sweetness that makes warmth bloom in his chest. 

‘I’m not a grinch,’ he says, half-heartedly. 

‘A humbug, then,’ you say. 

You reach out and touch his cheek. 

‘Come over, later, if you want.’ 

***

Hoseok finds himself outside your apartment after his shift, wondering if you really wanted him to come over. 

You don’t keep him waiting long, soon enough you’re opening the door, handing him a glass of wine, putting food in front of him.

Hoseok hasn’t even so much as showered, he came straight from work.

You notice him looking at the half-decorated Christmas tree you’ve got in your lounge, the open box of ornaments next to it.

‘I like Christmas,’ you say. ‘I thought I’d cheer myself up by putting up a tree.’

You seem to be worried about his reaction, so Hoseok grasps your hand.

‘Just because I’m a grinch doesn’t mean you have to be,’ he says.

You smile. ‘My parents never had a tree and I always wanted one.’

The food and the wine are going a long way towards making Hoseok feel normal again after his day.

‘Are you going to see them for Christmas?’ he asks.

There’s a brief shadow across your face, so quick he isn’t sure if he saw it.

‘They’re doing relief work in South Sudan,’ you say. ‘They’re doctors too.’

You ask, ‘Are you away for Christmas?’

‘Yeah, my parents and sister are upstate. I’ll drive up to them.’

‘Are they grinches like you are?’ you ask, teasing.

Hoseok laughs. ‘I’m the only grinch in the family. My mother goes all out, and my sister loves Christmas too.’

‘Sounds amazing,’ you say, a hint of wistfulness in your tone.

Your top’s slipped down over your shoulder, and between the way your skin gleams and the way your lips are stained from the wine, you’re so pretty Hoseok’s distracted.

He reaches out, tugging you into his arms. 

‘Can I take a shower?’ he asks.

‘Sure,’ you say. The mischievous twinkle is back in your eyes now. ‘Want company?’

‘Always,’ Hoseok says.

***

For once, you’re up before him the next morning. 

He must have been more tired than he realised.

You’re fastening your bra in a feat of dexterity he’s always admired. 

‘Shame I missed the show,’ he says, his voice raspy in the darkness of your bedroom. 

‘Happens every morning,’ you say. ‘You’ve got an invite every time.’ 

Hoseok laughs, rolls over, sheet around his waist. 

‘What time is it?’ he asks, propping his arm behind his head, looking out the crack in the window as the snow falling outside. 

‘It’s 6am on Christmas eve,’ you tell him. 

‘Shit, I gotta pack for tonight,’ he says. 

You pull a sweater on over a tee, sit on the edge of the bed to put socks on. 

‘I probably won’t see you until after the holidays, huh?’ 

‘I’m back in a couple days,’ Hoseok says, hand on the small of your back where your sweater’s ridden up. 

‘Yeah. Merry Christmas, Hobi. Eat all the turkey for me.’ 

‘I don’t even like turkey,’ he says, honestly. 

You laugh, amused, and cup his cheek. ‘See you after Christmas, grinch. There’s coffee in the kitchen.’ 

Your goodbye kiss makes him want to pull you back into bed with him. 

***

Hoseok pulls up outside his parents’ house, rubs the back of his neck, trying to get the crick out. 

He can see the living room and kitchen lights are on, and he already knows that when he opens the front door and steps in he’ll be greeted with familiar smells. 

Cinnamon. Fresh bread. The chicken dish his eomma always makes the night before Christmas. 

He realises with a start that he never thought to ask you what you’d be doing for Christmas. 

He’d spent an hour finishing decorating your tree after you left your apartment, so that you’d have a fully-decked out tree when you came back from work today, and had only belatedly realised that perhaps you’d have had fun decorating the tree together. 

He’d put the earrings he got you under the tree, hung the gloriously tacky blue ornament he’d picked up for you at the Christmas market. 

He’d packed the red lace panties you’d tossed merrily in his face when you’d stripped for him the night before, in the shower. 

Shit, maybe that was a creep thing to do. 

Too late now. 

The front door opens, and his sister stands in the doorway. 

‘Come on, what’s taking you so long,’ she asks. 

‘Coming,’ Hoseok says. 

He grabs his bag out the trunk and goes inside. 

***

Hoseok wonders if he’s even in the right place. 

You’d once told him, offhand, that you often volunteer at the shelter close to your apartment on Christmas day, and when he’d gone to your apartment and you weren’t in, he’d driven here. 

It’s a women’s shelter, and he’s trying to make himself look as harmless as possible as he waits to be let in. 

A woman dressed in a light-up jumper opens the door, eyes him suspiciously. 

Hoseok has a sudden feeling that he’s made a terrible mistake. 

It’s too late now. 

‘I’m Hoseok, I’m a friend of Y/N’s. Is she here?’ he asks

To his relief, the woman’s face transforms into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

‘You’re the doctor friend she keeps telling us about! Come in, she’s here.’ 

The woman grasps him by the arm, pulls him in out of the snow. 

‘She’s helping in the kitchen, you can help too, if you want.’ 

‘Sure,’ Hoseok says. Her grip on his arm is strong, there’s no way he’s going to say no. 

He’s led to an industrial looking kitchen, dated but clean, greeted by the sounds of chatter and Christmas classics. 

There’s mess everywhere, like Santa exploded, but all that falls away when he sees you.

You look up, spot him, and the smile on your face makes him smile too. He probably looks like an idiot, here grinning at you, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

You get up, and then somehow you’re in his arms, the reindeer headband you have on poking him in the jaw but he’s still not bothered.

There’s heckling, teasing, whooping, but all he sees and hears is you.

‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, holding him so tightly he can barely breathe. 

He likes it.

‘I forgot to wish you Merry Christmas,’ he says.

‘Merry Christmas, humbug.’

Hoseok wants to argue that he’s not a humbug, not really, but you’re kissing him, so he shuts up and kisses you back instead. 

©hamsterclaw 2023

yandere!nagi x reader, kunigami x reader

summary: when your boyfriend moves to argentina, your leftover life is more bleak than you'd imagined. Nagi's willing to spice it up for you, but he's not about to let your opinion of him get in the way of his own pleasure.

a/n - extremely dub bordering on n0ncon, but nagi is genuinely into you. nagi has a super super strong dacry philia k/ink, like SO strong. he doms but lazily. both nagi and kunigami are genuinely into reader. post blue lock at least a few years. choking, vio lence, threats. manipulation. reader's parents were alcoholics and she's shy and timid, a bit of a pushover if you dont like that then skip it. part one probably. angst, hurt comfort, smut, reader has a panic attack and nagi comforts her so sweet. this is dark content, have an age in your bio to interact minors dni

Nagi remembers the moment he realized you didn’t like him. It’s not the kind of detail he normally notices, and it’s even rarer for something like that to bother him, and while it’s true that it takes the first three months of your contract with his pro team for him to pick up on it, once it’s there the truth is undeniable. Glaring. 

It annoys him, honestly, to watch you stammer your way through an earnest conversation with a fucking benchwarmer like Raichi, and then give Nagi short answers that ensure the conversation doesn’t last longer than it needs to. With him, you’re professional, that’s it. But Barou gets to hear about your weekend, hears you sigh about the plant you just bought, and you’ll even argue with him about the merits of scented cleaning products. It grates on him when it feels compulsory that you scurry over to him during the scrimmage break. 

“Is your ankle okay?” You ask quietly, not drawing the attention of any of the assistant coaches or other players. Maybe this is why it bothered him, you were good, good at your job, good at whatever bullshit ology made you good at reading body movements, predicting mood and injury. You also know that any theatrics about a possible injury could get him benched, that he’d spent the last year jockeying with Barou for the top spot on the team, and a single missed game would be devastating to that goal. 

“Hurts a little.” He says, not bothering to look at you. “Not enough though.” You understand immediately. “Can I find you, after?” You look up at him, surprised. He didn’t seek you out often, and you had plenty of needy visitors, inquiring about gameplay, old injuries, and new ones. You nod noncomittally, confirming his little insecurity, going back to stand behind Barou and one of the defenders. The dark-haired forward turns around and says something to you that makes you laugh nervously. Nagi steams. 

He stares out across the pitch for a moment, ignoring the conversation you’re pulled between, one of the defenders snarls at a midfielder, you try to sidestep but immediately you’re called in as a subject matter expert on the play, on their movements, and he’s not looking or caring as you shrink from the huge men. One of the coaches steps in, practically knocking you out of the line of fire, telling them both to fucking walk it off and play better. 

Your hands tremble, so you shove them in your pockets. It’s not too cold on the indoor pitch, but you hate it, hate being yelled at, hate how they’re so eager to touch you, grabbing your arm and dragging you into the argument. You hate how you feel like you’re the only woman for a square mile, even though in your heart you know there’s someone at the reception desk. Even the other experts the team had hired were men, doctors, and professors of game theory. Your contract was up in two months, you reminded yourself, of course, this would be different without him. 

___

“This is your dream,”  you’d told him, hand still swallows in his. He hums softly, nodding. “I won’t um, if you’re gonna say you shouldn’t go because of me, I’ll tell you off.” Kunigami Rensuke raises a single eyebrow. 

“You, you’re gonna tell me off?” He grins. “I don’t think so.” 

“I will.” You say firmly, rocking up onto your tiptoes. He sighs. The two of you are standing on a little bridge in a suburb of Tokyo, the sun setting brilliantly in front of you, painting everything gold. 

“No I’m uh,” he swallows. “I’m going. For sure. To Argentina.” The lump rises in your throat. “And I know you can’t come with me, so don’t bother. You just started your career here. You literally only moved to Japan a year ago.” You nod, pressing your lips together, and he lets go of your hand, slipping an arm around your waist, and tugging you into his body. 

“When do you leave?” You whisper, with all the breath you can muster. 

“Two weeks.” He confirms, and the tears in your eyes spill over. “C’mere.” He grunts, as if you’re not already inhumanely close, he wraps his arms around you. “A girl like you, I’m sure you’ll have another pro-athlete boyfriend in a matter of hours.” His attempt at humor falls flat, betrayed by the pain in his own voice, the idea of you with anyone else tears at him. You don’t laugh at the joke. 

“Don’t you remember I broke my rule for you?” You say, and he looks down at you as the memory surfaces. 

“Ah, yeah,” he surreptitiously wipes his own eye. “Yeah.” He manages a smile with enormous effort. “Not sure I wanna see you with any of those assholes anyway.” He shakes his head. “Who the fuck am I kidding, I’m gonna have to fight the urge to throttle anyone who touches you.” That does pull a laugh from your lips. “They better behave, on the new team, when they rotate you. If they don’t you can call me.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You wrap your arms around him, settling against his chest. “Let’s just think about right now.” 

“Okay.” He breathes. “Okay.” 

____

For the thousandth time this week, you miss Kunigami. You hadn’t realized how much his hovering presence forced his teammates to behave, to be polite, to not yell back in your face when you gently suggested a change in form. Your hands shake a little harder and you feel your heart race in your chest, barely managing to stave off the panic until the scrimmage ends, and the men thunder to back to their locker room. You were already dying for this contract to end, refusing to quit but lining jobs that would place you squarely back in academia. 

It felt like a failure. It felt like an admission of failure, that everything everyone had ever told you was true. Your legs carry you off the field, and down the hallway, but you don’t make it to your office before you start to cry, pressing yourself against the painted cinderblock wall, pressing your hand over your mouth to quiet the sobs. 

Nagi takes a couple of extra minutes to stretch, trying to reason with himself. What did it matter if you didn’t like him? Why was he even thinking about it, why was it interesting to him what you did, what you thought? He pushes to his feet and stalks off towards the door, wanting to refill his water bottle rather than heading straight to the locker room. He’s standing at the end of the hallway when he hears it, a soft, choked sob. He’s immediately hit with a wave of annoyance, followed by something else. 

He’d reasoned with it. Rationalized it. Even considered bringing it up to the expensive sports therapist that the blue lock participants had been given upon their release from the competitive program a few years ago. All the blood starts to rush below his waist. Some people had weirder things, he reminds himself, and it’s not that his dacryphilia bothered him, it’s that it was inconvenient. Hard to find in porn, even harder to find in a partner, but there was something about the softness and vulnerability of that moment, the way a woman’s lower lip would tremble, the way her face would swell slightly, and the big round tears that would fall from her eyes. Even better if she’d melt into him, let him touch her. He groans, barely keeping the sound inaudible. Everyone had their things. This was just annoying. Inconvenient. He wanted to shower, his body still sweat-slicked from the practice game, his muscles aching, but he’s got a problem now. And the problem is that you’re crying quietly down the hallway and even the sound of it is driving him to insanity. He could try, so what if you didn’t like him, he could try, women loved to be comforted-

“-Oh god,” you breathe, the air hitching in your lungs. “Oh my god, fuck.” You sob for real, the tears flowing freely. You cover your face with your hands, the abject sorrow breaking over you like an ocean wave. Your phone burns in your pocket. You could call him. He’d said you could call him. 

But he hadn’t called. Not since you dropped him off at the airport. Just a text that he’d landed okay, and he hopes you have a good day. Nothing. Complete radio silence. But you could-

Nagi steps around the corner and clears his throat. 

“Oh fuck,” you swear, flattening yourself against the wall. “Please don’t-” He takes a step towards you, no concern readable on his face. 

“What?” He asks, gesturing to all of you. You sniff loudly, wiping your face, sure you won’t be able to hide this from him but trying anyway. 

“Nothing, nothing it’s fine.” You start down the hallway and Nagi closes the distance between you with superhuman speed, taking your arm in one of his massive hands, and stopping you. 

“You’re crying.” He says, “It’s not nothing.” He watches you force an inhale, your lower lip trembling. 

“I just um, it’s hard,” you swallow, “I don’t like to be yelled at.” He nods slowly. “And um,” you wipe your face, “Sorry I just, just break up stuff it’s really not your problem.” He hasn’t released your arm, and he can feel your pulse racing under your skin. 

“Don’t be stupid.” He says, yanking you into his chest, knowing he’s sweaty and gross from practice and not caring. He wraps his arms around you anyway and feels you relax against him. He wonders if you can feel how hard he is and decides he doesn’t care as another little hiccuping sob bubbles out of your mouth, he can feel the vibrations in his chest. “Shhhh,” he breathes, comforting you like you’re an agitated animal. “You really don’t like it when they yell, huh?” You nod. He sighs. “They’re not gonna stop.” 

“I know.” You pull away from him and he almost doesn’t let you do it, he’s so strong, so much stronger than  you, he could- “My rotation’s over in a few months and I’ll do something else.” He balks at that. 

“Why would you do that?” He demands. “You’re good at this.” 

“I’m um,” the lump in your throat goes painful and new tears start to burn in your eyes. “I’m miserable Nagi, I’m so fucking miserable. All you all do is yell at each other, you and Barou spend every game at each other's throats, and all the other players snap at me even when I’m being helpful,” you take a shaky breath, “And, and I’m heartbroken and pathetic all the time, when I get home I’m so tired the only thing I have the energy to do is lie down.” You hide your face again. “You’re all so fucking entitled I don’t, I don’t wanna work with any of you ever again.” You shake your head and he realizes, that the last sentence isn’t a generalization. It’s about him. 

“You don’t like me because you think I’m entitled.” He repeats. 

“You are,” you wipe your face again and try to step away from him, but he immediately closes the distance between you. Your back hits the wall of the hallway. “You’re a trust fund private school kid who was born with a natural athletic gift that took you to the upper echelon of the sport without great effort, someone else had to drag you kicking and screaming into it. If you’re not fucking entertained by the team you’re playing you can only give it half your effort, you seem physically incapable of giving a shit about something.” You shake your head. “I,” you look up at him, and his eyes are dark and cold as he considers. “It’s fine, I’ll finish my rotation and leave.” You take another breath and wipe your face, trying to leave for a third time, and for a third time, he stops you, this time taking you roughly by the arm and pulling you back towards him, then pushing you back against the wall. 

“I seem,” he repeats, “I seem physically incapable of giving a shit, huh?” 

“Nagi,” he hears the fear creeping into your voice. “Come on, just let me-” He shakes his head, noting that the gesture alone is enough to stop you midsentence. He thinks about it for a moment and shakes his head again. 

“Lazy,” he mutters, “Entitled, shit,” he laughs but there’s no joy to the sound. “Yeah, I could see how you’d feel that way. But you’re not crying because you don’t like us.” Your eyes widen a little. “You’re upset because you don’t like it when big men raise their voice to you, huh,” he says, and he takes a half step forward, he’s uncomfortably in your space now. “Don’t like it when we snap back when we yell, betcha it doesn’t even matter if it’s not directed atcha?” You swallow. “That’s what I thought.” His eyes darken. “How many times have you cried on the bus home, on the train, because of us?” You look away. He reaches for you with the hand that isn’t pinning you to the wall, and you flinch when it touches your face. He ignores it, cupping your cheek and wiping at a tear. You swallow again, heart pounding. 

“Nagi, come on I have to go.” You glance down the hallway but know no one is coming, that no one can hear you, and that your office is the only one in this part of the building. He withdraws his hand and brings his fingers to his lips, sucking it gently for a second, and then he cocks his head. 

“No.” He says. “I don’t think you do.” You tug at the arm he’s holding in earnest, and he barely registers it. 

“I am not working right now,” you yank hard to no avail, “I’m sorry I’m not one of your fucking fangirls,” the fear in your blood makes you brave, singing a quiet steady song, “Let me go-” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, in a tone of voice you’ve never heard before, and his hand flies to your throat so fast you’re not sure you even see it move. He tightens his grip, holding you against the wall. “You think I give a shit about any of them,” he leans in close to you, as you start to gasp for breath, pulling at his hand and gurgling. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who could be fucking useful,” he spits the words, “And so it doesn’t matter if you don’t like me right now.” He relaxes his grip just enough for you to draw breath as more tears spill over your cheeks. He can’t stop himself, leaning in and kissing them off of you, groaning lightly. “I’ll make you a deal,” he breathes in your ear, causing blood to pool in your cheeks. “You be a good girl for me, and I’ll make them stop. I can make them behave.” You freeze and stop fighting. He relaxes his grip even more, letting you fall to the ground, watching you sputter and gasp, hands flying to your neck, rubbing the raw skin. He watches you, curled at his feet for a beat before squatting down, and patting your head affectionately. 

“You wanna try again, wanna try liking me again?” He asks, softly, knowing the answer. You nod, crying in earnest now. “You don’t wanna go home to your empty apartment.” He says, and it’s not a question. “Come home with me.” You sniff loudly. “You know which car is mine?” You shake your head. “It’s the silver Aston Martin.” He stands. “I’ll unlock it remotely. You get your shit, sit in the front seat and wait for me. Can you handle that?” You nod. He reaches a hand down to you and pulls you to your feet. “Did I scare you?” He says quietly, and you nod again. “Aw,” he cradles you against his chest, he smells like sweat and musk. “M’sorry. It’s hard to piss me off, you oughta be proud of yourself.” 

“I don’t wanna be alone tonight.” You whisper, and he rubs your back. “But don’t do that again, okay?” He shrugs but verbally contradicts the gesture. 

“Yeah, alright.” He hugs you tightly, pressing his face into your neck. “Bring something to wrap my ankle with.” He leaves then, jogging off down the hallway to the showers. You stand there for a few minutes, throat aching, shell-shocked. You float back to your office, taking your back and making your way to the garage with the cars. You find the silver one and at your touch, it unlocks, you sit heavily in the front seat, attempting to take a deep breath. You do something without thinking about it. 

You: hi sorry

You close your eyes, what time was it even in Argentina, would he even look at it? How much would it hurt if he never-

Kunigami: hey what’s with the apology You: I don’t know 

Kunigami: everything okay? I’m on my way to practice, it’s 5AM here. I can call? You: no it’s okay I dont wanna take up too much of your time

You: just wanted to see how you were doing 

Kunigami: yeah alright honestly Kunigami: miss japan, miss you, but the food here kicks ass you’d love it. Kunigami: dream job helps though. I think it’ll be an amazing season. 

You: oh wow!! That’s great to hear Kunigami: what about you, they treating you okay? 

You: ahhhhh

You: it’s probably a lot to text 

Kunigami: so let’s call this weekend and catch up. Plus I think I fucked up my shoulder, you can bill me for the time spent on the phone. Kunigami: stupid question but it’s gonna kill me if I don’t ask Kunigami: have you been dating You: oh god no 

You: I don’t care if that’s embarrassing. Kunigami: thank fucking god it’s been killing me Kunigami: picturing you with anyone else makes me want to put a fist through the wall

You sigh, hands shaking now with relief. 

You: same except it’s throwing myself in the ocean 

Kunigami: this is so fucking hard 

You: yeah

You: Dream job helps though, right? 

Kunigami: sure 

Kunigami: your job still dreamy? 

You: not without you, no. 

Kunigami: listen I’m almost at work, let’s talk this weekend. I missed the fuck out of you. 

You: okay <3 

You steel yourself, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, leaning against the back of the seat in Nagi’s car. He’s another 15 minutes, sliding into the seat with practice, barely reacting to your presence. He presses a button and the engine hums to life, his hair is half-dried, and little tendrils of white cling to his forehead and clump together in his waves. He glances at your phone. 

“Miss your ex?” He says, and you scramble to lock the phone and hide the conversation. He laughs. “Did he used to keep the assholes in line for you?” He asks and you sniff loudly, closing your eyes and leaning against the car seat. 

“I can’t believe you choked me like that.” You mumble, and he shrugs, skillfully backing out of his parking spot and pulling through the garage. 

“You needed it.” 

“I didn’t!” You protest. “I didn’t and you scared me.” That makes him break into a soft smile, as he leaves the private garage it starts to rain. He reaches over and rests a hand on your thigh, rubbing a soft circle in your skin through your tights. 

“Better do everything I say so that I don’t have to scare you again, then, yeah?” He says, and you press your lips together. “Plus,” He shrugs, squeezing your thigh. “You know what’ll happen if you don’t.” You look at him sharply. “Oh,” He says, surprised, “You don’t?” He puts his hand back on the wheel. “I’ll make it worse so that you have to come crying to me.” He shrugs off your shock.  “What?” 

“Really?” You say, turning to him, and the sincerity in your voice knocks the air from his lungs. He’s able to recover in time. 

“Nah, I mean, I could but you’re not gonna make me, right?” He glances to the left and right before carefully making his turn. He puts his hand back on your thigh. “Come on,” he complains, “I’m a good guy, I’m gonna make you feel good, and save you the trouble of drinking alone in your apartment missing a guy who probably isn’t thinking about you.” Your chest aches and you scoot away from him. “Don’t be like that,” he complains, tightening his grip on your thigh, “Come here, like,” he pulls up to a light, and while you wait he arranges you carefully so that you’re leaning against his arm. “Like that.” He says. “See?”

“Mm.” You say softly, so tired from crying, your throat aching, the endless string of bad days has worn you down. You take his huge hand, and he softens. 

“I’m sorry it’s been so hard.” He says quietly. “Did something happen to you, like when you were a kid, dad raise his voice to you too much?” 

“My parents were alcoholics.” You whisper, pressing your face against his warm muscle. “Big tempers on both of them.” He hums softly. 

“You didn’t deserve that.” He rubs the softness of your thigh, delighting in the way you’ve crumbled in front of him. “By the way, I’m uh,” you detect the first traces of vulnerability in his tone. “A little worried about my ankle.” 

“Is that why you lost your temper with me?” You ask, voice barely above the hum of his air conditioner. Summer in Japan is disgusting, humid, and wet, and the rain picks up, hitting his windshield heavily. He shakes his head. 

“I just didn’t want you to go.” 

“And you’re used to getting what you want.” You finish the sentence. He shrugs the apparent insult washing off his back like soap in the shower. 

“I’m gonna make you say you like me,” He turns to you, a smile on his face that you recognize from the soccer pitch. “I’m gonna make you say you respect me,” that makes you laugh, “And I’m gonna make you say you think I’m hardworking,” you giggle, and the sound catches him off guard, “Plus I could tell you’re used to being handled roughly. You dated Kunigami, that guys got some anger issues for sure.” You shake your head. 

“I’m not discussing him with you.” You scoot a bit away from him. 

“Yeah,” Nagi artfully makes a left turn across a multiple-lane street with one hand, watching you watching him. “You think the way I drive is sexy.” 

“I don’t-” 

“You do,” He shrugs, “It’s okay to not like me but still think I’m hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “You’re gonna like me really soon, anyway so it’s not super relevant.” He frowns. “Go back to holding my arm, I like that shit.” You reluctantly cuddle up to him again. “Ankle first though.” He says. “Then I’m gonna make you say all that shit. And you’re staying over.”

“Am I?” You say, and he nods without looking at you. 

“Not like if I decide you’re staying you can leave.” He says, like it’s the most ludicrous 

thing he’s ever heard.   “What are you gonna do?” He rolls his eyes. “Outrun me?” Your hands shake a little and he reaches for them, taking both of them in his hand, releasing your thigh. “Don’t freak out, I’m a good guy. I’ll take good care of you. Betcha Kunigami would like that.” You shudder. 

“He wasn’t big on sharing.” 

“Mm, I’m not either.” He says evenly. “But I’ll earn that, don’t worry. When I’m through

with you, you won’t wanna fuck anyone else. That ginger asshole included.” He pulls up in front of an apartment building and catches the pained look on your face. “Aw, baby’s really heartbroken, huh? Sit tight.” He gets up and walks around the car, opening your door and helping you to your feet. “You look pretty.” He says, opening the door to his apartment building for you. He means it, something about the way you were just a little undone, just a little on edge, endeared you all the more to him. He whisks you up an elevator, watching you avoid eye contact with your reflection in the walls of mirrors. “Whatcha thinking?” He says lowly. 

“I’m trying to decide if you gave me a choice in coming home with you.” You look up at him, and the conflict on your face is genuine. 

“If you’d resisted I guess I would have had to find a way to make you,” he yawns, “But I don’t think it would have been unpleasant for you,” he shrugs, “You don’t date a guy like Kunigami because you’re uncomfortable being roughed around a little” 

“Does it bother you?” You blurt, realizing this is the third time he’s brought up your ex boyfriend. “That I dated him, and I don’t,” you catch yourself, “Didn’t like you.” He snorts at your obvious attempt to cover up the sentiment. 

“First of all, you do like me, you like me a lot, you’re gonna fix up my ankle and then I’m gonna hear you tell me how much you like me over, and over,” the elevator dings and he takes your hand, leading you into a hallway with only two doors, one on each side of it. He takes you down to the one labeled Penthouse A, and it’s hard to contain your reaction when he swings the door open. It’s beautiful, huge, and open concept with a wall of windows, a gigantic slab of marble that makes up the table, and the cabinets are black and gleaming. He grins at your reaction, slipping out of his shoes, and patting your head. “This is why you date first string, dummy.” He hits you lightly on the back of the head before collapsing on the plush leather couch, putting his foot up on his dark wood coffee table. It’s a huge tree stump covered in the varnish that only serves to highlight its natural imperfections in it. It’s a little uneven, and the stack of books on it looks purely decorative and untouched. “Get to work.” He says, and you nod, striding over and kneeling next to him, an action that makes him sit up just a little straighter. You take his foot in two hands, peeling his sock off. 

“It hurt while you were running?” You ask, and he nods. 

“Like a bruise. Soft pain rather than sharp. I can’t believe you noticed I was favoring it.” You nod, giving him a little smile as you press gently, looking for the tendon that was the usual culprit of these kinds of pains. “I was trying to hide it.” 

“I’m an excellent study of movement as well as character,” you straighten your shoulders. “I didn’t see you favor it, I saw you lead with it, which is not really your modus Operandi.” He rolls his eyes. 

“I took Latin, ya know.” 

“Ah yes I’m sure your fancy private school had Latin,” you press softly on his foot, grateful it doesn’t smell like the locker room, “French, Italian-” 

“And English.” He says, a smug smile on his face. “I’ve read Shakespeare.” He leans back. “Some poetry.” 

“Oh,” you look up, “Some poetry huh?” He grins even wider. “Bet that makes the girls swoon.” 

“It does.” He confirms, “What’s up with the ankle though?” 

“You have to rest it, it’s a repetitive stress injury.” You say, and he groans loudly. “If,” you hold up a finger, “If you rest it this weekend you can go to practice on Monday like nothing happened.” He breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“Wrap it for me.” He demands. “Then get up here.” You take your time, ensuring that the bandage isn’t too tight, and he sighs when you tuck it in. You climb up onto the couch next to him, and he wraps a huge arm around you, pulling you against his chest. He hums softly. “Actually,” he lifts you by the waist and settles you in his lap, so that you’re straddling him and facing him. He reaches for a throw blanket and tucks it around the two of you, then frowns. 

“What?” You ask. 

“You’re wearing too much.” He yawns. “We’re gonna nap, so go get one of my t-shirts.” He points down the hallway. You hesitate, and his eyes darken. “I don’t wanna have to make you,” he complains, shoving you off of him and standing. “Now you’ve gotta wear one of my jerseys.” 

“Nagi,” you start, and he waves away your words, lumbering down the hallway and returning a few minutes later with one of his extra game jerseys. 

“Is your skin gonna burn,” he says, shoving it at you good-naturedly. If you hadn’t essentially been kidnapped it would almost be cute. “Go change in the bathroom, I’ll see you naked soon enough, I know you’re not ready and I,” he yawns again, “Don’t feel like arguing.” You nod and disappear into his bathroom. It’s just as enormous as the rest of the apartment, even though it’s a guest bath, there’s a full tub and a beautiful sink with lots of counter space. You open his cabinets, generally snooping, finding some generic stale-dated antibiotics and an uncomplex skincare routine. You change quickly, swimming in his jersey when you step back out into the living room. He flicks his chin, some of his hair flopping out his face to look at you. “C’mere,” he grunts, and you obey, letting him fold his huge warm body around yours, “This is my favorite thing.” He sighs, locking his arms around your body, trapping one of your thighs between his. He spoons you, but only after ensuring you’re both covered by the blanket. 

“Hey,” He says quietly. “You’re still shaking a little.” He feels you nod, your face resting on his arm, your back pressed right against his chest. “Not cause you’re cold?” You shake your head. “You hate it when we yell that much?” 

“You don’t yell.” You say quietly. 

“And you still didn’t like me.” He tightens his grip on your waist. “You gotta know I could kick any of their asses.” He grumbles. “And that you’re safe here, right now.” You hesitate but in mind only, nodding outwardly. He kisses the top of your head. “Relax then.” He says, and you close your eyes, nuzzling into him. You’re not sure when you fall asleep, a few minutes before him, but when you wake your face is pressed to his chest, and he’s got one hand in your hair and the other around your waist. You’re warm, and deeply at peace, feeling loved and held for the first time since Kunigami left. He hums needily when you move, holding you in place. “You’re so soft.” He mumbles, and you see a slight flush on his cheeks from how you’re sleeping. He turns you away from him again, reaching under your shirt and palming your chest through your bra. You let out a soft sigh and he presses his cock against your ass with a groan. 

“Nagi,” you breathe, fuck it, fuck it, this was stupid, he was a dick, but he was here, and if he was here you didn’t have to think about work, about Kunigami, about- he cuts off your train of thought by reaching under your bra and pressing a burning kiss to your neck. 

“Like that,” he mumbles, lips moving up the column of your throat, “Sound so desperate when you say my name.” He reaches between your legs, into your panties, “Say it again.” He parts your folds and easily finds your clit, rubbing at it softly. 

“Nagi,” You breathe again, his free hand coming to rest on your throat. “Nagi, I-” He tightens his grip, cutting off your breath completely. You squirm, eyes watering at the pressure, and the mounting pleasure in your body. 

“Desperate,” he grunts, “How bad do you fucking want it?” You gasp, he doesn’t let you have enough air to breathe to respond. “So stupid already,” he tightens his grip and then you feel him push two fingers inside you, “Soaked. Thought you hated me?” You make some kind of noncommittal gurgle and he gives you a break, letting you suck in a sharp quick breath before the pressure returns. He fucks you with his fingers first, scissoring them and watching you gasp and squirm, but when tears prick at your eyes he groans, yanking you roughly underneath him. He tosses his shirt off and pulls his cock from his grey sweatpants. It’s long and thick, matching his sculpted frame, and the tip is a soft pink, leaking a little as he pumps it, running his thumb sover the tip. 

He lets out a short huffy breath as he eases inside you, cupping your teary face with one hand, bracing his weight with the other. Your legs are tossed over his shoulder, and when he leans down to kiss you with surprising tenderness. He watches your eyes shoot open at the stretch, your lips part as he starts to fuck you, leaving you so empty when he withdraws, that you dig your nails into his muscles back. 

He moves slowly, rolling his hips against yours, fucking you lazily, teasing your clit with his hand, bending down to suck and bite at your nipples, delighting in your glassy faraway expression, and he’s almost surprised when you cum, when you clench down on him, walls fluttering. 

“Next time,” he says, growling into your ear. “Ask me. I’ll tell you if you’ve earned that shit.” You whimper in response, you’re soaking, and he can feel it, can feel how badly you need it, can feel the way your nails are digging into his back, can feel you kiss him back when he leans down. “Tell me you like me,” he murmurs, and you squirm. “Tell me how much you like me.” 

__

He leans down and kisses you, blissfully exhausted, draping his body over yours. His hands move to tangle in your hair and his arms lock around you. You sense that he’s about to drift off to sleep, so you start to squirm. 

“What?” He mutters. “Stay still.” 

“I have to pee.” You whisper, and he groans, reluctantly letting you stand on trembling legs and walk to his bathroom. You splash some cold water on your face after washing your hands. You look at your reflection, disheveled, eyes wild, hands shaking. You run your fingers through your hair, the entire experience had been deeply disorienting, did Nagi expect you to come back and cuddle with him? After that, after choking you like that? Your mind flies again to your ex-boyfriend, and then you swallow, feeling the dull pain in your throat. Nagi would let you leave, you decided. As long as he let you leave, that means you had a choice, that means you could think of this as a mistake, as a weak moment. You swallow, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, pressing your palms to the counter, it’s cool and grounding. You straighten your shoulders and step back out into his luxe apartment, sighing with relief when you hear Nagi’s soft snores, see his huge frame draped over the couch. 

You tiptoe past him, stepping back into your clothes gingerly, feeling more and more like this is something you could rationalize. You’re halfway dressed when he opens half an eye, frowning. 

“What are you doing?” He says, glancing at the coffee table where you’ve folded his jersey. 

“Ah, just heading out.” You say, heart rate picking up a little. He raises his eyebrows, standing and stepping back into his boxers. 

“Nah,” He towers over you, it’s impossible not to note the difference in your size, even when he’s a few feet away. “Stay,” He reaches for you, pulling you back into him by the waist. “I’ll order us takeout.” You pull gently but he doesn’t let you go. 

“Nagi,” you say softly, coming back to honesty. “I feel a little weird, about this.” He cocks his head. “Like, weird about us hooking up.” 

“Oh,” He says, as he understands immediately, “Oh,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “Oh of course, of course, you do.” You blink a few times, stunned at his sudden burst of self-awareness. He gives you a soft, genuine smile, “I didn’t mean to like, make you feel used or weird,” he leans down, cupping your face with his hand, stroking your cheek, and your heart drops to your stomach. “It’s not just a hookup to me, don’t worry.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “I get it, you’re a relationship person. I’ll take you to dinner, just nowhere too loud because-” 

“N-nagi,” You stammer his name, genuinely pulling away from him, and he lets you go, confusion flooding his features again. “It’s not that I feel used,” you say, embarrassed as you lose your cool, your voice rising in pitch. “It’s, it’s that you pinned me to the wall by my throat and then, then told me to get in your car and I did, and then we had sex, and I don’t,” you start to get dizzy, the panic pulling you from reality. “Nagi, I, I don’t feel good.” You draw in a shaky breath, suddenly you’re freezing and burning at the same time, face hot body cold, and then they switch. 

“You’re having a panic attack,” you hear him say, but it sounds like his voice is miles above the surface of your mind. You try to swallow, and try to breathe, and find neither is a reflex you have control over, tears burning in your eyes. You barely feel him pick you up, laying you on the couch and lifting your legs in the air, rubbing a soft circle in your calf. “I’m here,” He says, and there’s a raw desperation in his voice as he feels his cock twitch in his pants, but there’s more too it. He feels it, that clawing ache, he wants you to reach for him, to be comforted by him, “I’m here,” he wants to be enough for you, to restore your breath, even though he’s the one with the power to take it away. “I’m here, and I’m real, I’m here for you.”

His voice carries in your panicked state, and your brain struggles to interpret the sentiment behind that information, a statement of a fact, or threat, or reassurance. It takes a few minutes of gasping, but your body, something physical latches onto his presence because when you sit up you reach for him. Something brittle inside Nagi breaks as your little hands fly out and reach for his, as he pulls you into his lap, kissing at your tears. 

“Tough day,” he murmurs, “Lots of yelling, right?” You nod, and he squeezes you. “I’m here, you’re mine now, I’ll take care of ya.” You shiver at his words. 

“I don’t,” you look up at him, “I’m not ready to date really.” Your teeth are chattering, you’re still visibly trembling. He rolls his eyes at you. “I’m s-serious, you have to let me leave.” 

“I mean,” Nagi shrugs. “No I don’t actually, I don’t have to let you leave, and actually,” his grip on you tightens. “You like me, remember?” 

“No-,” you squirm, still half crying. “No I don’t.” 

“Shhhhh,” he rocks you back and forth, “You’re so cute, but you have to breathe okay, just focus on breathing for a little and don’t think so much,” he kisses your head, “Shhhh.” You sniff and focus on breathing. “That’s my girl.” He tips your head up so that you can meet his grey gaze. “So we’re gonna clean you up, I’m gonna order us food from somewhere nice, I’ll take ya out tomorrow, we can go anywhere you want.” He senses your hesitation and leans down, kissing you tenderly on your trembling lips. “C’mon,” you hear him say, speaking right into your mouth, “Kiss me back.” At the moment, you obey, and he hums softly, feeling you move your mouth against his, concocting some kind of pseudo rhythm that your body keeps to much better than your mind does. “I’m here,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, “I’ll keep ya safe,” he starts to tug your blouse off, and feels you stiffen. “You wanna stop?” He pulls away from you, and you shake your head a little, getting whiplash from the way he suddenly respects your consent. He holds you again. “Okay,” he breathes, “Just breathe for me, I’ll uh,” he laughs, “You did already make me cum, but fuck, seeing you like this, I could go again. You wrap your arms around his neck, making a decision. 

It was nice, nice to be held, and if he would make things easier for you at work, you could figure this out. You could ride whatever this was out until the end of your rotation and then bury yourself in another job. He cradles you to him until your heart rate calms. 

“Jeez,” He laughs lightly, standing while still carrying you in your state of half-dress, walking into the kitchen. He sets you on the counter. “Guess I gotta be careful with you, yeah?” He squeezes your waist before pulling back and wetting a paper towel under warm water. “You want a safe place to land,” he says softly, “That’s okay,” he starts to wipe your face with the warm towel. “We’ll use a safeword, alright?” You swallow. “You just say yellow, if you want me to slow down,” he takes his time wiping your smudged mascara. “You say red if you want me to stop, alright, and I’ll stop,” he pulls away, setting the paper towel on the counter. “And if you really wanna go, you can go, I guess.” 

“You guess?” You whisper. He shrugs. 

“You’re not gonna be the first woman who doesn’t want it from me,” He makes a face, “Not when I can tell how bad you want it.” 

“I didn’t-” 

“I don’t care.” He informs you. “I like you.  You admitted you like me.” You swallow. “Come on,” he mumbles, kissing you softly, and then pulling away, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve liked you forever. I’ll be nice, I will be.” You nod and he hugs you tightly. “You okay?” He asks and you shiver. 

“No.” You whisper. He nods. 

“Will sitting on the couch with me holding you help, maybe?” He asks, and your chest aches, your heart aches, your throat aches, you’re hurt, and your tired. You nod dumbly. You could do this. Could take advantage of this. Just till your rotation with his team was over. You could make the best of this. He plucks you off the counter and carries you to the couch, letting you cry softly on his chest until you fall asleep. He tangles his fingers in your hair. 

“All mine,” he hums. “All mine.” Your jaw tightens, and you think of the real owner of your heart, at this hour he'd he hard at work at the gym, stretching carefully, talking to his teammates. "Shh," Nagi breathes as he feels you tense up, "Shhhhhh. Relax."

the song washing machine heart by mitski feels very yandere bakugo coded i fear.

just,,,, i think if he was your second choice, like you started dating him because things between you and someone else (cough todoroki or midoriya) didn’t work out he would NEVER believe you really love him. it doesn’t matter if he grows to become your first choice, he will never truly be able to shake the feeling that you’re imagining one of them while you’re kissing him.

and like, he wants you to love him. he wants to believe that you truly think of him as your first choice now, but how does he do that when he’s seen how you’ve looked at his rivals. meanwhile he was always the one chasing after your oblivious ass.

you’re everything to him. he’s not just gonna get rid of you. he can’t get rid of you. he worked so hard just to be second choice, to have you now.

he can’t lose you to one of them.

it leads to him becoming very toxic and possessive out of fear. you need to love him, but he’ll never be not paranoid enough to believe you do. bakugo kinda traps himself in this cage of doubt and starts treating you like something that’s gonna get ripped away from him if he isn’t careful.

𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎 ⋮ 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈.

bakugou is six when you confidently tell him you’ll marry him, a giggly little toothy grin on your face as you hand him a flower.

“kacchan, one day we’ll get married,” you announce, and then you lean in, planting a soft kiss to his cheek.

he thinks his world just about stops for a moment.

but then he hears a snicker from the behind, and then another, and another—and suddenly he remembers his friends that are watching, a scowl quickly painting over his face as he grimaces.

“gross,” he grumbles, “i’m not marrying you,” he huffs, swiftly turning around and leaving you on your own.

he pretends like he’s forgotten the flower in his hand is still there, that he doesn’t hear you yell, “oh yes you will!” after him as he fights off the blush dusting across his face.

——————————

“you know, i do hate to say i told you so, but—”

“don’t,” bakugou grumbles, cutting you off. and something in his tone tells you he already knows what you’re going to say.

a small part of him is fond of the little memory, happy that things turned out just as you predicted—another part hates you’re about to tease him mercilessly.

“—but i did tell you so,” you grin, staring at the ring on your hand happily, wriggling your fingers to watch it glimmer in your dimly lit bedroom as moonlight pours through the window. you feel the rumble of his chest under your cheek as he grunts, shuffling closer as you lay your ring clad hand on his sternum.

“you never fuckin’ stop talking, do you?” he mutters, but his arm curls around you tighter.

bakugou thinks he’s spent the greater part of his life trying to get better, to be better—he almost forgets that sometimes, he can be just enough as is. and he thinks he always has been with you, worthy of your six year old hand in marriage even as he left you all alone at the sandbox, worthy of your saccharine smile and melodic laugh even as he pushes past you for years and years on end.

and sometimes, when the weight on his chest becomes too much, he almost forgets you’re all he really needs to breathe.

“i would never pass up a chance to tell sir dynamight ‘i told you so’,” you giggle, poking his cheek as he groans. he flicks your forehead, but there’s a slight wobble to his lips as he fights back a fond grin.

“quit callin’ me that, you sound like an idiot,” he scoffs. your finger traces a small heart across his cheek, and he snorts at the cheesiness. “marrying you’s a bad fuckin’ decision,” he sighs.

“hey,” you pout, “that’s rude. we haven’t even been engaged for a full day yet.”

“i don’t know if i’ll make it a full day as your fiancé.”

“aw, katsuki,” you drawl, planting a loud, wet kiss to his jaw, pinching his cheek as he swats your hand away with a scowl, “you can’t wait a whole day, huh? wanna get married that fast?” you tease through wriggled brows.

he wonders what prompted him to buy the ring in the first place.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he huffs flatly.

“well, we can’t elope,” you hum, and by now, your finger has settled for tracing meaningless patterns over his chest, gently running over the skin as his heart beats under your touch. “your mom would kill you if she didn’t get a wedding.”

“hate to break it to you, babe,” he smirks, pinching the tip of your nose playfully as he chuckles, “but marrying me means you’re apart of the bakugou family—so now you gotta feel the old hag’s wrath too. just like the rest of us.”

“nuh uh, i’m too cute,” you argue. it’s silent, and then he lets out a snort before he rolls his eyes, pressing a soft peck to your forehead—and it’s almost his silent way of agreeing.

“you’re trouble ‘s what you are,” he mutters. you hum, smiling thoughtfully, soft, gentle.

he wonders if he’ll ever fully deserve it.

“are you excited?” you murmur, cheek pressing further against his chest as you shuffle closer.

bakugou swallows for a moment. and it should be an easy question to answer—he doesn’t think he’s ever been more excited for something in his life before. not graduating, not going pro, not starting his agency, not even your first date (and you both still pretend he didn’t accidentally blow up the stems of the flowers he got you through sweaty palms.)

he feels his chest grow heavy, the weight of his emotions too much for him to comprehend, and he finds he’s still tumbling down the road of getting better—of being better. but then you kiss his chest under your cheek, and it’s easy to breathe again.

and he’s enough as is—always has been, always will be. your hand, the same hand that you promised him marriage with at six years old, grabs his and entwines your fingers together, and he thinks maybe being better shouldn’t be hard if you walk with him down the road right by his side.

“six year old me would throw a fit,” he mumbles instead, but he knows you have your answer when you giggle.

“six year old me would also say i told you so.”

“‘course you would,” he snorts, and then he tilts your jaw up and kisses your lips like he means it.

and bakugou katsuki, as his thumb runs over your cheek softly, like he’s holding the world in his hands and standing with the sun under his feet, can’t wait to kiss you on your wedding day.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

at last, the eagerly awaited wait is over! i have been working on this fanfic for the last three days after a lengthy break, and to be honest, i am apprehensive about publishing it just because it has been sUCH a long time-

to be completely honest, i (initially) did not think anyone would be interested in a sequel, but after seeing the overwhelming amount of support and requests for a second installment of this fanfic, i have come to the conclusion that it was time for me to sit down and finish writing this fic for all of you!

that being said, the next part should be up within the next day or two, but in the interim, feel free to read the first part again to brush up on the details, or, if you are new to TREAT YOU BETTER, please check out the first part and enjoy some itoshi brother debauchery!

TREAT YOU BETTER PART ONE.

better than i ever even knew

NSFW - MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

fem!reader. pet names (princess, sweetheart, pretty girl, baby), minor angst start but happy ending, confessions, frenemies to lovers, porn with feelings on feelings. multiple orgasms, oral (f! receiving), mating press, riding, unprotected sex, matsukawa can and will fold u like a pretzel. if there’s anything i missed, pls let me know, enjoy :)

“something you’d like to say to me, issei?”

makki had fallen asleep on your movie night, and you’d excused yourself to use their bathroom, only to find matsukawa waiting in the hallway for you after. he’s caged you in somehow, pinned you to the wall like an insect on corkboard, with nothing more than his commanding presence and a notably large hand to the wall beside your head. he looms over you, imposing.

like he always seems to be, only to you.

Keep reading

❤️❤️❤️

Taglist for Brothers Conflict

Reblog this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for this story.

◈ Summary: Your father marrying, and you suddenly having to live under the same roof with seven step brothers was a royal mess or so you had thought, Because them falling in love with you was so much worse. Or was it?

◈ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Humour, Smut and maybe a little angst. (PG-18) (step brother AU) (They are all adopted, I do NOT support incest, this work is inspired by the popular anime/manga Brothers Conflict)

◈ Pairings: OT7 x Reader (final pairing: will be decided by readers, could also be ot7)

chapter one

masterlist (all chapters can be found linked there)

His | 2 | Yandere Bakugou x Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Story Masterlist

Summary:  You’re a petty villain, and your new villain-career is forced to an immediate halt when none other than Ground Zero captures you. He’s convinced that you’re in need of his help to change your tainted lifestyle, and you’re not going to tell him otherwise.

WARNINGS: ABUSE, INJURIES

Ground Zero’s grip on (Y/n)’s wrists twisted, shifting his hold on her and placing her back in the locked position she was previously, holding her arms together behind her with one hand. She felt Ground Zero’s weight shift as he reached for his belt once more. The clang of metal was behind her and immediately knew she was being detained. The gravel felt rough against her chin as she grimaced, looking forward at the dark alley her and the hero were alone in. She felt like freedom was just a few more paces away — maybe if she had been faster, or just had a quirk…!

Who was she kidding.

Ground Zero was not known for his mercy. He was not known for his compassion. He was not known for his gracious nature.

He was known for his ruthlessness. He was known for his hostility. He was known as the symbol of strength, and by God, did it show by just how bruising his grip was on her arms.

Keep reading

AHHHHHHH

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 1

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: none

Song → 18 by Anarbor

A/N: if you couldn’t already tell, I have planned this as a series/full story. I was torn between writing it on here or on Wattpad or something, but ultimately decided on Tumblr … but let me know if you would prefer it on another platform as well! Also, this series will eventually include smut/NSFW content but that will be tagged appropriately when the time comes. As always, I hope you enjoy. 

Next →Part 2

Slamming the front door behind yourself on your way out that morning, you quickly stuffed your earbuds into your ears and cranked your music as loud as you could to drown out the sounds of your parents yelling after you and, consequently, at one another after you had dropped the bomb about your new job on them seconds before you had left, giving them as little time as possible to shame you for it.

After graduating high school and turning 18, you had decided it was time to take your life into your hands, which wasn’t too easy while you were still living under your parents’ roof, but you had to start somewhere and that somewhere was getting a job at the local corner store, Sakanoshita Market. 

You knew that your parents wanted you to go to university and ‘make something of yourself’, but you also knew that you could never truly be happy under their dictatorship-like ruling, so you decided to get a job, no matter how shitty, save your money, move out as soon as possible, and go from there. 

It was definitely going to be a process, and not an easy one, but all you had to do was take it one step at a time.

Keep reading

Teaser: Streams & Sheets 🔞 | JJK

Word Count: 10k+ words (im sry) Pairings: gamer!jungkook x reader Genre: gaming au, slice of life, established relationship

Summary: Nobody expected famous twitch streamer JJK to trend online when his mysterious girlfriend accidentally makes a cameo in one of his livestreams. The chaotic problem in question? You streamed a live sex tape. ( kofisips' masterlist )

Warnings: the holy trinity (smut, angst & fluff), dom!jungkook, long haired jungkook in a man bun and brow piercing, jungkook with his alphabet username (rip), unprotected sex, creampie, degrading, oral (f & m receiving), face fucking, multiple orgasm, slut shaming, dacryphilia, ass play, online humiliation, mentions of unsure breakup that's not clear with the characters, over thinking, slight ddlg

read: reply to this post or send an ask to be included in the taglist :)

As he takes a sip from his coffee, he hears your huffs and struggles to open the strawberry jam you wanted on your toast. He doesn’t intervene just yet, he stays quiet and waits for you to finally give up.

Mentally, he counts from one to three, then you turned your head and faced him with a pout, whispering his name in a soft voice, “Koo?” Your eyes emulated like that of a doe, “Can you help me out?”

“Alright, give it to me,” he chuckles, reaching for the jar and twisting it open with ease. Handing you the strawberry jam, he smiles as he watches you spread it on your toast merrily, “Anything else my baby wants?”

You hum as you thought, “Hmm, a cup of tea would be nice.”

Jungkook will never admit this, but he loves it when you ask for his help.

No matter how big or small it is, he’s willing to do anything you ask of him. Just call him in those three simple letters and he will literally cross an ocean just to help you out. Running errands is also just a breeze for him all because he knows you’d be needing help in reaching the high shelves or simply carrying anything you bought.

As selfish as it sounds, he adores the way he feels needed by you. He’s fine being called pussy whipped, the guy just loved taking good care of you.

During the first half of your relationship, he may or may not have gone overboard in looking after you. It came to a point where you felt somehow too dependent on him even when he says he doesn’t mind at all.

“Koo, I have hands,” you say sternly, pulling your heavy luggage away from his grip. Raising both of your hands in the air, you move it closer to his face, “See? I have two!”

“Baby, can’t you see this is too heavy for you to carry?” He retorts, not letting go of the handle.

For the rest of the ride to Busan, you stayed quiet. Too quiet for Jungkook’s liking. He would spare you a glance from time to time but not once did you ever meet his gaze. He didn’t understand why you had such a sour mood over a mere luggage, especially not when he’s always done things for you even when you don’t ask. 

When the silence was too much for him to bear, he finally spoke to you first, “Baby.” You finally looked at him, alright, but with an annoyed glare. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was just trying to help.”

“Not a big deal?” Your tone is slightly raised, making his forehead crease. He knows you’re about to call him by his government name next, “Jungkook, you’re always doing things for me, which I appreciate, but I can’t…I can’t keep feeling like a burden all the time.”

His eyes widened at your sudden outburst, “I– Y/N, I never meant for you to feel that way.” He reached for your hand, but not grabbing it. All he does is graze his finger over your knuckles soothingly, “I’m sorry if me constantly helping you made you feel like a burden, but I swear I just love to do things for you.”

Looking at how apologetic he truly was, there was no way you could stay mad at him. Letting out a sigh, you scoot closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder, “I understand, Koo. Just…just let me do things on my own and step in when I call for you.”

Bringing the back of your hand to his lips, he leaves a soft kiss and smiles against your skin, “Okay, love. Sounds fair.”

His favorite part of the day ever since the both of you had decided to live together was waking up entangled in silk sheets and seeing your face first thing in the morning. If there's any scent he can attribute to you, it would be the smell of coffee and cinnamon. 

That's the thing about you. You weren't a shot of espresso; you were a shot of tequila that burned a line to the throat. Aside from that, you were also good at playing video games and could smoke a whole team out if you decided to make gaming a career.

Like a support in the game, you revive him to be the best he can be. The love you give is enough for him to forget all the lower back strain he suffered from sitting on his chair for too long.