#a train isn't big enough for all this smut

[eufezco]

LIKE THE FIRST TIME

it has been a long time since you and logan had sex. you should show him that despite everything he hated about himself, you still craved him.

logan x afab!reader (smut, angst) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!). gif credit to @/asgardswinter

it was a shitty place where you were living with logan. it was always dirty, no matter how many times you cleaned it, it was noisy, because despite being in the middle of nowhere, the train tracks were very close to it, and it was the least home-like thing in the world. both of you were working your asses off to get out of there as soon as possible.

in your free time, you helped caliban with the housework and took care of old charles xavier while logan spent the whole day out, driving and having to deal with one of the things he hated most in the world, people.

he always came home late, tired, with his whole body aching. some nights you would fall asleep while waiting for him and even though logan asked you to do it, to not to wait up for him, most times you stayed up so just to make sure he arrived safely. you waited for him curled up in bed. when he was a minute late, your heart began to beat faster and you imagined the worst. but then he would come into the room, dragging his feet and with his head bowed down.

—how was your day?

logan grunted as he sat at the foot of your bed, you felt how the mattress sagged with his weight.

—did something happen?

you crawled to him and rested your chin on his shoulder. he let out a sigh of relief when your arms wrapped around his body and you hugged him from the back.

—just a tired fuckin' day, that's all.

you hummed, understanding. —well, now you are home so you can finally relax. would you like something to eat?

logan shook his head as he let it fall back and rest on your shoulder. he just wanted to stay like that a little longer with his body between your legs and his eyes closed. he placed one of his hands over yours resting on his stomach as you hugged him. one of his big hands was enough to cover both of yours.

—i've missed you, lo. i always miss you when you are away.

you placed a kiss on his neck. the first thing he did when he entered the house was to get rid of his shirt, keeping only the white tank top he was wearing underneath. his broad shoulders were at your disposal, his muscular arms and warm skin as well.

logan swallowed when he felt your lips on his neck. you noticed so you placed another kiss there.

—i miss you too. every second i spend away from you, i miss you.

you hummed, your heart gave a small jump of joy. while your love language was words of affirmation and you were always reminding him how much he was loved by you, logan was more of an act of service man. removing makeup from your face when you got home and were too tired to do it yourself, washing your hair and massaging your head when you showered, and leaving your coffee ready when he went to work earlier than you. hearing those words come out of logan's mouth meant the whole world.

your hands traveled down his abdomen until they reached the hem of his tshirt and easily slipped under the fabric. you felt his perfect abs under your fingertips and the hairs growing below his belly button as well. he took a deep breath, it had been so long since the last time he had allowed you to touch him like that.

you took your hands out of his tshirt and moved one of them to his neck to make logan turn his head resting on your shoulder and look at you. you connected your lips with his, his bushy beard pricked your face as you kissed him, but you didn't mind, it had been so long since you and logan had kissed so passionately that you could take it.

your tongue slipped past his lips and logan moaned, allowing his to go inside your mouth as well. you moved on the bed, putting one leg on each side of logan's body and sitting on his lap, all this without stopping kissing for a second. his hands now rested on your lower back, yours were on the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

his cock got rock hard the moment you sat on his thighs and you started to roll your hips timidly against his crotch. you felt his growing bulge rubbing against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. god, how bad you needed to feel him.

your hands slid down from his neck, caressing his entire torso, until they reached again the hem of his tshirt. you tried to pull the white tank top over his head, but logan stopped you. his lips parted from yours and he shook his head.

—it's okay. i want you, logan. i promise everything is fine.

you held his cheeks so he would look you in the eyes.

he was getting old, there was nothing left of the young and charming boy you met at charles' academy. his body had changed, his hair and beard were becoming whiter every day, and you were still young and full of light while he was fading away. yet you still loved and desired him, like the first day you craved his body. you found him just as hot, even hotter now, but you didn't want to force him to do something he wasn't going to enjoy.

you kissed him so he could stop worrying. —let me take care of you. i want you, lo, i need to feel you —.you mumbled against his lips. he let out a grunt when he felt you pressing your pussy harder on his bulge.

your hands traveled the same path down his chest one more time until you reached the edge of his tshirt again. you expected him to take your hands off him again but he not only allowed you to keep going but he also lifted his arms so you could pull the white tank top over his head.

—fuck —. you let out in a mix of moan and gasp. his body was breathtaking. your hands were quickly attached to his chest, hairy, hard under your touch, warm, with each of its muscles perfectly defined. abs, pecs, perfect broad and muscular shoulders, and wide strong arms, with veins running from his shoulder down his arms to the back of his hands. you ran your fingers along the thick scars that marked his body. —fuck, you're so hot.

with his hands on your back, logan gently pushed you to keep rubbing yourself against him and you moaned, he was harder if possible and you were so wet that you knew that your panties would be completely soaked. you kissed the crook of his neck while his fists clenched, clutching at the tshirt of his that you were wearing as your pajamas. logan fought against his instinct, against the animalistic way you were making him feel, but his grip became so tight that he ended up ripping the fabric.

—it was one of your favorite tshirts.

—don't care.

and logan kissed your lips as he ended up tearing the fabric completely and threw it on the floor. you grabbed the back of his head when his lips moved down your neck and collarbone. your nipples were already painfully hard when logan cupped one of your tits and wrapped his mouth around your sensitive bud.

all of a sudden you got up from his lap and he had to let your nipple go. he was worried about the way you had moved away from him, had he done something wrong?

now you were standing in the middle of the room, in front of him, only wearing your panties. your body was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever witnessed, with scars very similar to his, with all those things you hated about yourself. was that how you felt about him? if it had not been for the pain in his whole body he would have fallen off the bed on his knees in front of you.

he huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes once you started swaying your hips from side to side while you slid your underwear down your legs. you laughed too, you felt stupid, but at least you had managed to make him smile. you two weren't the type to do those things, things were always more animalistic, more passionate, rougher. you walked towards him and leaned in to kiss him as your hands worked on the zipper of his jeans.

—you're beautiful —. he whispered.

logan helped you to straddle him again. you held your body over his thanks to your knees on the bed. with one hand you grabbed his hard cock resting impatiently against his stomach. he gasped because of your firm grip and squeezed your hips when you lined it up against your aching entrance.

you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan. you never forgot how big he was, the thickness of his cock, the patch of hair on its base, and the veins running along his shaft, but you did forget about the way it stretched you open, about the sting that his dick going deeper inside you caused.

—careful —. logan mumbled against your lips.

you kept taking him, closing your eyes shut and biting your lower lip, hissing every time you took a centimeter more inside of you. you rested your forehead against his and whined when his cock finally bottomed you. —i need a moment.

logan nodded. one of your hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit while his hands lovingly caressed your back. it had been so long since you had sex. logan wouldn't let you touch him, he was disgusted by his own body and he was afraid that you would see him the way he saw himself. that's why that night you decided that you would make him feel so good that he would never doubt the way you felt about him or his body.

you started by slowly rolling your hips as your fingers worked on your clit. his jaw tightened while he felt your body moving with his whole cock inside. his big hands on your hips helped you to move, setting a pace and keeping you from going faster so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

—that's it, take your time —. he said. young logan wouldn't have given you a second to get used to it, he would have fucked you mercilessly and you would have loved every second of it. but now, his eyes were focused on where your bodies became one, enjoying how your pussy adjusted to his size thanks to your fingers rubbing your clit.

he moaned once you lifted your body just a little and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again. your cries and his moans mixed in your mouths. all his body jerked every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.

—you make me feel so good, logan. always have, fuck—. you purred in his ear. his hands, previously resting on your hips, slid all the way to your ass your hands and squeezed it. in those little details you could see how he was gaining confidence, which encouraged you to keep moving without changing your pace. it was slow, passionate, intense and intimate.

between moans and cries, you kept worshiping him, telling him how much you had missed feeling him inside you, how your fingers were no comparison to his cock, how you didn't want to share these moments with anyone other than him. there was no one like him. you didn't care about his scars, his moodiness, the gray of his hair, there would never be another one for you but logan, you did not want another one.

you were close, he could feel it in the way your walls were squeezing his cock and he knew he wouldn't last longer. logan wrapped his arms around your body, pressing you against his hard chest, and your fingers knotted into his hair. he groaned, your little jumps became irregular, your legs began to shake. logan hugged you tighter and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, getting a little choked cry from you.

—cum inside me, lo. fill me up, please, i need it. let me have it, please.

oh god, your words were driving him insane and after how well you had treated him, who was he to deny your wishes?

logan held your body down on his cock as he came, hugging you tighter against him. you buried your head into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin while your legs shook and your pussy clenched around him. it was too much. as he released himself inside you, his claws came out and trapped you between them and logan's body, you had no escape. he groaned when he felt the pain of the adamantium ripping the skin off his knuckles mixed with all the pleasure of cumming inside you.

—shit —. he immediately put the claws away when he realized. —i haven't hurt you, have i?

you shook your head, still coming down from your high. he exhaled with relief. once you had caught your breath, you straightened your back, still sitting on his lap and feeling his cock getting soft inside you. you brought his hands to the front.

—are you okay? that probably hurt —. you caressed his knuckles.

—felt too good to even think about it.

you smiled proudly and kissed him. when you broke away, he noticed the mark of his teeth on the skin of your shoulder. —'m so sorry, fuck.

—don't be. i wish you had bitten me harder.

he shook his head, keeping himself from laughing. —you're a freak.

[lollixp0p]

The Video (18+)

Pairing: Best friend!Hwang Hyunjin x afab!reader

Genre: Smut (MDNI), bit of feelings

Word count: just under 3k!

Warnings: Idol!au, subby!Hyunjin, slightly perv!reader, recording, (maybe a bit dub con because he doesn't mean to send it but reader watches it anyway), mommy kink, masturbation (both but separately), Hyunjin fantasizes about reader, reader fantasizes about Hyunjin, lmk if I missed anything!!

Summary: Hyunjin finally gets some alone time after weeks of hard work and decides to use his time to... relax. The next day he ends up sending you something on accident that sets off a big change in your lives, with or without either of you really realising.

Note: My first ever fic!! :3 Inspired by a video I saw on phub. (@cbini (Ems isn't on Tumblr rn she still wanted to be tagged so I hope it's ok), @comet-falls, @hyunsvngs, @mnwrld and @skz-hell lmao hello everyone, writing blog reveal!!😁 here's this fic I've mention to all of you as an anon<3 (depending on who you are I'm either ❄️anon, 🐾anon or sounding anon😳)). To anyone reading this please give me literally any feedback (comment, reblog, anything!), I want to know if this is good or not since it's my first fic🙏😣

Please do not under any circumstance copy, translate, or repost my works!

It's been exactly three weeks since Hyunjin's had any time for just himself, though it feels like months at this point.

Recently everyone's been running around like headless chickens and between vocal trainings, dance practices and the studio, there hasn't been much time to just relax and recharge. Preparing for a new album really is the busiest time of an idols life.

There hasn't even been time to see family or friends, which is common during busy spells like this, but always dissapointing to think about. Now even more so, with how much he's been wishing to spend time with you, one of his closest friends... who also happens to be his crush. Not that he'd ever let you know though, not in a very long time.

It feels almost like a blessing, getting back to the dorms from practice late in the evening and realising... he's got the place all for himself, at least until his roommates get back from the studio.

Changbin had messaged him earlier, telling him that they'd probably be there well past midnight, so there was no use waiting up for them. To him though, this was the very opposite of an issue. With that much free time, he'd definitely be able to... make himself comfortable, so to speak.

See, not having time to relax also means he'd basically had no time to get off. The best he'd been able to do had been quick little sessions barely once a week in the shower right before passing out on his bed from the exhaustion of working hard.

The realisation that he'd be able to do anything he wants during his time alone is enough to get his dick twitching in his jeans and he decides the shower can wait until later.

Hyunjin goes to his room and locks the door after himself even though he's alone, it's just become a habit after so many years living with his members. He sets his bag down next to his bed and thinks through his plan.

Hyunjin has a little secret, which is that he loves recording himself do dirty things that range from more vanilla to much less vanilla. Something about the thrill of being recorded even if no one will ever see it just... makes him so fucking horny.

He opens the camera of his phone, puts it to video mode and presses record. Moving his hand off the lense and setting it down where he normally sets it, on the carefully placed pile of books on his desk, he sits down on his bed.

"Hmm... I hope the angle's good... It's been so long since I've had time for this", Hyunjin sighs with a pout and brushes his hair out of his eyes. He knows the camera won't see it though because he's made sure the stand, his pile of books, is at a level that cuts off his head perfectly.

Hyunjins hands run down his body slowly and he exhales deeply, just loud enough to get picked up by his phone. Once they reach his jeans he unbuttons them, unzips the zipper, then pulls the jeans down just enough to expose his underwear. Hyunjin pulls his shirt up over his stomach to be held in place under his chin, rubs his hand over his bulge and hums.

It's been so long since the last time he's been able to take his time making himself feel good. It's almost embarrassing how quickly he's getting hard.

He takes his dick out his boxers and then spits on the palm of his right hand. It's dirty and wet but it just turns him on even more. He grabs his dick with the hand and slowly moves his fist up and down, to spread the saliva and precum all over his dick to make the slide easier and wetter but to also get himself to full hardness.

"A-ah, ohh... that's so good... Feels-fuck, feels so good", Hyunjin sighs. It really won't take him too long to cum, he just knows it. He's been pent up for far too long.

He tries to think of something to help his issue and immediately thinks of you, no matter how embarrassed or dirty it makes him feel.

When you first started showing up in the dirtiest corners of his mind he felt so ashamed. Now it doesn't matter to him anymore. You'll never find out so why feel bad?

He continues to move his hand on his dick while thinking of you. The last time the two of you had time to hang out together you'd worn the lowest cut shirt he'd ever seen on you. He had tried so hard to act normal around you but whenever you bent down he'd been able to see into your shirt.

"Haah, fuck..." , he squeezes himself a little harder at the memory. Everytime you moved he could see your bra poking out from the top, black and lacy. The entire time he'd been doing his best to not bust in his pants. Oh, what he'd give to be able to see your tits. They always looked so soft and they'd probably fit perfectly into his palms.

Whenever the both of you would hang out at yours, watching movies and just hanging out, you never bothered to wear a bra. Why would you? It is your house where you want to be as comfortable as possible.

The feeling of laying down on your couch watching a movie with you on top of him, in just a t-shirt, will end up driving him mad one day. Everytime he'd felt your nipples poking into him he'd almost moaned out loud.

"Hngh... Oh my god, please... m-mommy!", he lets out pathetically, moving his fist faster. God he just wants you to use him, to do anything you want to him. The thought makes him whine desperately.

One of the most common fantasies for him is you on top of him using him to get off, not caring about if he's close or not. You'd sit on his face and ride it until you cum. He could probably cum untouched like that. All he'd need was tasting you and seeing you cum, just for him.

All the sudden he remembers the phone recording him and he shudders. He imagines what your reaction would be to seeing him like this. Would you be disgusted or delighted? Would you tell him what to do and how to touch himself? Maybe you'd touch him... He hopes you would.

"Mommy... please touch me, aah- oh!", he runs his thumb over the head of his cock just right and his thighs twitch but he keeps them open, in perfect view to the camera.

Throwing his head back he imagines you riding him. You'd be so tight and wet around him. Maybe you'd tie his hands behind his back so he wouldn't be able to touch you... he'd really like that. You'd feel godly around him, Hyunjin thinks.

"Fuck, oh fuck! Mommy I'm-haah, I'm so close, please!", his dick twitches desperately. You're so gorgeous, to him you're the sexiest person he's ever seen. He feels himself getting so close that tears spring to his eyes.

"Ah- 'm gonna... mommy, gonna cum...!", he whines out long and loud. It takes Hyunjin two more strokes to let go and he cums the hardest he's cum in weeks. He doesn't even register whispering your name. Hyunjin leans back on his left hand and keeps stroking himself through it.

The feeling is overwhelming, so much so that his thighs start twitching pathetically and the tears in the corners of his eyes fall. He's getting incredibly overstimulated but he keeps going, wanting to keep enjoying the feeling, just a bit more.

He squeezes himself one last time and suddenly everything on him feels gross and dirty. He's just had the best orgasm in weeks so it's no surprise that he came a lot, everywhere. He even managed to get some on his chin.

"Fuuck... Did you-haah... did you enjoy that?", he chuckles to the phone. It takes a while for him to come down from the high, the twitchiness and the feeling of euphoria lingering in his body. Once he's capable of standing up again he stops the video.

With his body feeling like jelly, he takes off all his clothes, drops them into his hamper and prepares to shower, at last.

Hyunjin wakes up to his alarm the next day feeling more refreshed than he's felt in weeks. He shuts off the still ringing alarm and quickly gets up from his bed to get dressed and go eat breakfast.

Checking the calendar on his phone to make sure he knows his schedule for today, he makes a note of one thing; he'd have a lot of time alone at the dorms today too, since he's only got a dance practice and a recording session today, which obviously means 3racha will stay behind to stress about their songs while Hyunjin can return early. Maybe this time he should continue the latest piece of art he's been working on after he gets back?

Hyunjin gets through the day well enough.

After eating breakfast he messages you a "Good morning pretty <3 please remember to drink water!" like every morning when he has time for it. He gets to the practice room only five minutes late, which is a record this early in the morning, because usually he ends up sleeping in at least ten minutes (which makes Chan scold him for being such a heavy sleeper).

He does well at practice, even though he ends up a little exhausted. That's nothing new though, with how hard they always work to be the best they can be.

The rest of the members leave to take a break but Hyunjin decides to stay behind to film the solo choreography he's been working on for fun. Once he's happy with how it's turned out, it's time for him to go record his lines.

The recording session goes smoothly, without hundreds of retakes and everyone's satisfied with the result. Afterwards they decide to order some take-out, as a reward for a job well done... and also because they're all feeling too lazy to even think about going to the dorms to cook.

While eating Hyunjin finally realises to check his phone again. "Good morning, take care of yourself too!! :)" is your response to what he sent earlier. It's nothing more than a kind response but it makes him grin to himself like the fool in love he is.

"Yaaah!! Hyunjinnieee, what's making you smile so beautifully?", Changbin leans towards him with his signature flirting-with-Hyunjin grin, mouth half full of rice.

"It's nothing," Hyunjin responds back to him cheeks red, "and don't talk with your mouth full hyung... Do you not have any respect?"

Changbin decides to drop it in favor of eating more delicious food.

"Oh come on... we wanna know!!", Han pouts at him from his seat on the couch in the room. Hyunjin shoves another mouthful of food in his mouth to avoid the embarrassement of explaining how a single text messaged from you manages to make his heart beat out of his chest.

Once Hyunjin's done eating he's free to go back to the dorms and just like he suspected the rest of his dormmates stay behind to work some more, although they all whine at him to stay to explain the previous mystery. He declines and they all keep their sad puppydog eyes on him until he's out the door.

He keeps texting you during his ride, all the way to the dorms. Once he's in his room Hyunjin decides to just change into some clean clothes. He's too excited to talk to you and get to painting, he can wash up later.

He lays in his bed to keep texting you and at some point your conversation changes from how your day's been going to talking about dancing and he mentions how he just today filmed a new choreography bit he's made for fun.

❣️:

Can I see what you've been working on? :)

I'm sure it's really good, you always are!!

Jinnie:

Well... since you asked so nicely😉

[video sent]

Quickly sending the video Hyunjin exits out the messaging app, feeling so giddy he can't help but squirm around on his bed. He still can't believe someone like you could be interested in seeing him dance.

It might seem like a small thing for most but he feels himself turning red just thinking about the way you look at him while he talks about something so important to him. It makes the butterflies in his stomach every time you're near go crazy. It's so attentive, like you actually care and are interested in his interests... and maybe even...?

'No' , he thinks to himself. There's probably no way you could ever actually be interested in him, not in the same way he's interested in you at least.

He leaves his phone charging and finally gets out of bed to go to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He'd need it if he wanted to stay up late to work on his newest art piece.

Hearing the familiar 'ping' notification of receiving a message makes you open your phone again and just like you thought, Hyunjin had sent you the video of his latest masterpiece of a choreography. Not waiting a second you press the video just to see.... Hyunjin take his hand off the camera and set the phone down on the desk in his room he draws on. He sits down on the edge of his bed and says something, you aren't really sure what, because the volume's too low. In confusion you turn it up more.

Hyunjin sighs and reaches up to move his hair out his face, probably. You can't see it though, because the camera cuts his face perfectly off frame. Suddenly his hands run down his body to the button on his jeans. He opens it and starts undoing the zipper next. You just look at the video in shock. 'He isn't about to... to take them off is he?', you think to yourself, just as he pulls the jeans down enough to expose his white boxers and then palms his bulge.

Should you stop watching? Keep watching? How long has it even been playing? How long does it keep playing? While you wonder this you almost miss Hyunjin pull his hard dick out of his underwear and spit on his palm and... Oh God...

You've now done something you can never take back. The downright sinful view of his cock is something you don't think you're ever going to be able to forget. How do you even face him after this? After watching him grasp his dick in his hand and pump it a couple of times to spread the spit and precum around.

You exit the video, panting and absolutely soaking through your underwear. Your other hand rushes to your face to feel your cheeks. They're burning and feel like you've been standing out in the sun for hours, when in reality all you've done is accidentally watch your best friend play with himself.

You struggle to decide what to do with the video and in the end save the video without much thinking, then delete the message of it and decide to notify him of his mistake. As long as he doesn't know you saved it, it should be fine, right?

It takes Hyunjin less than 10 minutes to make and get the coffee. He returns to his room humming the tune of a song he's had on repeat recently. Setting the coffee down on the desk and taking his phone off from the charger he notices new messages from you.

❣️:

Uhm...😕

Hyunjin, I don't think you meant to send that.

He looks at his screen confused. What did you mean by that? He...

Oh God.

Did he send the wrong video?

Frantically opening the video he sent earlier he sees himself, in video, move his hand off the phone camera and set it down the desk near his bed and sit down. Oh no...

"Hmm... I hope the angle's good... It's been so long since I've had time for this", video Hyunjin sighs and reaches up to move his hair from his eyes. His head may be out of frame but he clearly remembers pouting while saying this. He watches himself slowly unbutton and unzip his pants, adjusting them so that his boxers are clearly visible in frame. In the video his hand drifts towards his crotch slowly, teasingly.

He quickly exits the video and promptly shoves his head under his pillow and yells. He'd accidentally sent the wrong video while hurrying to get a cup of coffee. How could he have messed up this bad? In his panic, it takes him a moment to respond.

Jinnie:

Oh god

I'm so sorry!!

Please don't watch that!

❣️:

Don't worry!!!

I stopped watching the moment you started unzipping your pants😖

I saw nothing, promise!🙏 It's been deleted already!! 

Little does he know though, you'd kept the video. You're not really sure why, but subconciously your brain keeps screaming' to finish it later, of course'.

...

Fuck it, you don't think you can wait until later.

Taking a deep breath, you open your gallery to find the video he sent you. You hesitate for a second but press play anyway. You can feel how you're already soaking through your underwear but pay no mind to it yet.

You watch him do the things you've seen already, all the way until he spits in his hand... and you pause the video. 'Is it right to watch this? I mean, he didn't mean to even send it...', you think to yourself.

But the thought of seeing him touch himself, to hear him make the sweetest noises you could ever in your wildest dreams imagine him making drives you on.

Pressing play again you dip your fingers into your pants. You rub yourself over your underwear and oh my god... you can't believe the wetness you feel after less than a minute of watching the video. You focus on the phone you're holding in your other hand and finally move your fingers into your underwear to directly touch your pussy.

On your screen you see Hyunjin start to stroke himself faster, the head of his dick a dark pink, you can feel his desperation through the screen. Without thinking you move your fingers to your clit and start rubbing it in circles, aided by the wetness of your leaking pussy.

He moans out loud and even though you can't hear it through the fog in your head, you know he's desperate. You move your fingers down to your hole and dip two of them in. You're so wet you barely need to even stretch yourself out and then he does it.

"Hngh... Oh my god, please... m-mommy!"

You push your fingers deeper and your pussy lets out he lewdest squelch which in turn makes you close your eyes desperately in pleasure. 'Mommy? When he masturbates he calls out for mommy??', the thought makes you lose your mind. You think about what it would be like if he called you mommy in the throes of pleasure.

You want to make him follow every command you give him. The way he'd look up at you on his knees with you standing above him. Maybe you could make him suck on a strap? He'd look so ridiculously delicious with his mouth full, drool dripping down his cheeks.

You add another finger and start rubbing at your clit with your thumb at the same time. The feeling makes you whimper and imagine his hands on you, teaching him how to touch you perfectly. You're getting so close and you remember to focus your screen again.

Hyunjin looks absolutely disheveled. His dick is red and throbbing, you can tell he's getting close. His voice is another thing that gives him away. He's whiny and his voice keeps cracking every time he opens his mouth. Hyunjin bucks into his hand and moans.

"... mommy, gonna cum...!", he strokes himself twice more and then finally cums. You're so close it's maddening. All the sudden you hear him... whisper your name?

It makes you go off the edge and your entire body clenches and seizes while you silently cry out from all the pleasure you're feeling. Your walls suck in your fingers with how you're clenching around them. On the screen Hyunjin twitches violently, working himself through the end of his orgasm.

You pull your fingers out of yourself and slump down on your bed exhausted, but the last 20 seconds of the video that's now over haunts you. Did you hear him right?

You gather strength to pick up your phone again and rewind the video to the part where he cums and turn the volume almost all the way up. Admittedly you end up fixating on the way his dick looks and face twists in pleasure when he cums and then he says, or more like whisper your name. Your brain blanks.

"Fuuck... Did you-haah... did you enjoy that?", he chuckles to the phone, sits in place for a bit to properly come down and then gets up to stop the video.

You're wet, confused and you can feel your heart beat out of your chest. What do you do now? How can you ever face him normally after that... Does he feel the same way you do? Is he sure he didn't mean to send it?

It's all too much to think about, so you decide that instead of thinking about it you'll clean yourself up and... crawl into a hole where no one will ever find you. Probably. The only thing you know for sure is you definitely won't be sleeping tonight.

© lollixp0p 2024 | please do not under any circumstance copy, translate, or repost my works

[imwritingthefout]

after session hangout

basically you fall in love with the dm of your campaign in college: Ford pines, smut ensues

This is crossposted to ao3 so if you wanna go read it there, here’s the link:

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Waking up each day to the same old ceiling was starting to bore you. 

Ever since moving out of your parents house for college you felt like a stranger in the dorm you now called ‘home’, and It didn't help that you refused to decorate it. 

Getting out of your plain old bed, you stand up and push away the blinds with a tug, the light from the early morning sun blinding you temporarily. You glance down at your clock; 6:30am, thursday. The time isn't the part that excites you though, it's the day. Today is the day you look forward to all week: Dd&md day! 

You go to get ready for your morning class, excited for what the future of today may hold. You love dd&md, its been your favourite game since you were a child -even though you had no one to play it with back then, you got creative (no goat was harmed in your past attempts at playing the game).

Your classes went by in a blur. Of course you were taking notes and whatnot, it was important to pay attention! But in secret, you were drawing your character all over the side of your notebook and thinking of strategies on how to defeat the next dungeon your dm set up for you.

And then there was your dm. 

One of the many reasons you adored thursdays was because you got to play dd&md of course, but other than that there was another big reason you liked thursdays.

To put it plainly: your dm, Stanford Pines was Hot. like, capital H Hot. you couldn't get over his warm brown eyes that sparkled with passion whenever he detailed the characters he was playing. His hands that moved with his every word, adding to the description of the imaginary world he was building. God you wanted to feel those hands on you. What would they feel like, intertwined with your own, on your hips while he-

You decided to stop that train of thought. As much as you liked him, you also respected him enough to know that he would probably never feel that way towards you, and you shouldn't fantasise about him like that (even though it was hard not to).

And though he was Hot, that wasn't the only reason you liked him. You liked him because he was smart, compassionate, funny and so very cute.

What can you say? You had a thing for nerds.

As your last class of the day finished finished up, you quickly packed up your things and rushed to the old building next to the dorms that housed your favourite room in the whole campus: the old meeting room you guys used to house your dd&md sessions! 

The room wasn't glorious, it was just an old meeting room that's been out of use for years. But to you, that room was the home of your imagination. It held a special place in your heart, and you were sure it was the same for the rest of your party.

Speaking of which, you saw Fiddleford approach you down the old hallway, little puffs of dust kicking up with each of his steps. “Hey Fidds! You ready for today’s session?” you yelled to him slightly as he approached. “Ready as I'll ever be! You won't believe what I have planned in order to kick that sorcerer's butt!” he gave your shoulder a weak punch and opened the door with his key.

Usually, the old building was out of commission. But since Fiddleford knew a guy who works as campus security and convinced him to give him the key, you had full access to the building to do whatever you pleased. Of course for you, anything just means playing dd&md, not causing a mess and cleaning up after yourselves as much as possible in order to not inconvenience anyone. You knew that other people your age would throw huge parties and wreck the place, but you weren't that kind of person, really. You just liked having a quiet place to play your games and hang out with your friends. Fiddleford was like that too, that's how he got the key in the first place; because his friend trusted him not to mess up the place.

As you walked inside, you saw the table set out just how you guys left it last week: the long rectangular table set up in the middle of the room, with seven chairs set out all around the table, one for each player and one for your dm. A whiteboard behind the dm’s seat that shows the map of the fantasy world you are currently in the middle of exploring, and cork board on another wall with a bunch of graph paper pinned to it.

You walk around the table, taking your regular seat across from Fiddleford. “So what do you think Ford's planning for this session?” you ask Fidds. This is your usual routine: get to the building early, wait for Fidds and ask him if he has any intel for the session since his roommate is Ford. “like usual, i can’t tell you, it'll ruin the fun!” Fidds exclaimed, although the grin on his face told you he likes this familiar back and forth. 

You eased into a casual conversation from there, talking about your days as you waited for everyone else. You liked coming early because then you had more time to talk with Fidds and, of course, with Ford.

You met Fidds on the first day of the semester, when you sat next to each other in the freshman orientation presentation, and hit it off from there. you became friends rather quickly, bonding over the fact that you were both far away from home with no friends in town. You decided to help him move into his dorm after the presentation, and that's when you met Ford.

At first, you were a bit speechless at the guy in front of you. His outfit was the usual scholar's outfit of a white button up shirt with a brown vest on top, but then he was wearing jeans in order to look more ‘casual’ as he put it. His hair was neat and tidy and his glasses framed his face perfectly, at least in your opinion. You introduced yourself awkwardly, and once he introduced himself as Stanford Pines, a parapsychology major with aspirations for 12 phd’s in the next five years, you knew you were in over your head. You can't have a crush on a super-genius! What if he turns out to be an arrogant asshole? But you couldn't help developing feelings for him as you got closer. He wasn't just a super-genius, he was also kind and compassionate, understanding and just a good friend. That's when you decided to just stay friends with Ford, you couldn't afford to lose such a good friend.

Speaking of which, the man himself comes into the room, holding a stack of books detailing the rules and monsters of dd&md, a satin sack full of dice and his dm screen. You can barely see his face behind all of the things he's carrying, and immediately you jump up to help him carry everything. He silently thanks you for the help and starts setting his stuff up while you go back to your seat. “Hey guys, how've you been since last week?” Ford asks you two. “Oh i've been well, you know. Dealing with you every day can be challenging but I manage somehow” Fidds says dramatically and you stifle a giggle. Ford gives Fidds a death glare before turning to you “and how are you?” he asks with a smile that makes your knees weak. “I'm good!” you proclaim a little too loudly and cough to hide your blush “yes i'm good, just the usual classes and such” you say in a normal voice (or at least what you hope is a normal voice, it doesn't help that Fidds looks at you cheekily, already knowing your secret crush on his roomate) “how have you been?” you ask him. 

“Just the usual: doing homework, studying and building up today’s session” you catch on to the last part as a potential way to continue the conversation. “Well, what do you have planned for today?”. “Oh come on now, it wouldn't be fun to just spoil the game for you, would it?” he says and points to you to emphasise his point. “You can't even give us an outline? Something?” you pout a little and Ford gives in “fine… I may have something up my sleeve for today, and I can guarantee you won't see it coming this time! That's all I'm going to say for now though” he jabs his finger at you, trying to seem angry that you caught onto his plans last time, but his little smile gives him away. 

Soon your other party members start filing in and you all start the session. 

It goes as usual, you all mess around for a bit before getting serious. You can confidently say you saw the twist Ford put in this session coming, it was obvious how the wizard was actually a party member’s son, they had so many similarities! After another successful session, everyone leaves for their respective houses, leaving you, Fidds and Ford alone in the room to clean up.

“I can't believe you saw that coming again! I swear you're like a sorcerer in real life” Ford chuckles and Fidds adds “that would also explain how you get here before me every time! I swear I ran to get here today and you still beat me here!” “well what can i say guys? I'm just magical in every way!” you strike a silly but confident pose as Ford and Fidds laugh at your antics. “Oh shoot! I promised my friend i’d go on a blind date today, could you guys lock up this time? Ford you can just give me the keys tomorrow morning if i get lucky” Fidds winks and Ford rolls his eyes “alright, we get it, you can go”. Fidds leaves the keys on the desk and almost sprints out of the room.

You and Ford clean up the mess on the desk in silence before Ford decides to break it “how do you keep predicting my twists anyways? I swear it was supposed to come out of nowhere but you're too smart” you blush a little at the compliment “thank you, i guess i’m just good at guessing twists. But you do make it kind of easy. I mean, a secret relative of someone close? It’s kind of a cliche don't you think?” he pulls at the collar of his button up shirt and you can immediately tell something is wrong.

“Yeah.. I guess it is kind of cliche, but it's what fits the character, don't you think?” he says with a guilty tone. “Ford, what's wrong? I feel like you're hiding something” you get close enough to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder “you can tell me anything, i wont judge” you add, trying to coax him into telling you what's wrong.

“Well… I guess I brought the secret relative from my own life because… well… I have a twin brother….” the sentence doesn’t completely shock you, but it is still somewhat of a surprise “why do you never mention him? Did something happen between you two?” he chuckles a bit before saying “still as perceptive as ever, huh?” you blush a bit as he continues, looking out into the middle distance in thought

“Me and my brother were really close when we were young, we would do everything together. But as time went on, we grew apart. He didn't like the fact that I wanted to go away to a fancy college, especially because he knew he couldn't follow me there. I was working on a machine to impress the college, but on the day of the showing it stopped working. My own brother sabotaged my future. We had a big falling out over it and that’s why I'm here instead….” you empathised with Ford, but you couldn't help but question some things about his story.

“I know it must have been hard to deal with the fact you lost your ticket to the college of your dreams, but do you really believe your brother would sabotage you? If he loves you, wouldn't he want to support you? Maybe it was an accident and he didn't mean to destroy your project?” Ford looks lost in thought again before replying “i… it's foolish but i never thought of it that way…” he looks at you with thankfulness in his eyes and you can't help but smile up at him “you should maybe sort this out with him? Talk to him about what actually happened and if he meant to hurt you?” 

“God you're right… Thank you! This changes everything! I'm so glad I could just kiss you!” 

….

It takes him a second to realise what he said and blush at the thought of actually kissing you. You just stare at him dumbly for a second until your brain processes what he said.

He wants to kiss you?

Well this took a turn for the better.

“Do you really mean that?” you ask him with hope in your eyes

“Well… yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t i? Look at you” he finds that it's suddenly very important you understand how much he wants to kiss you. “Wow… i- i didn't know you felt the same…” you say softly and look down. He says your name and puts his hand on your cheek and lifts up your face to meet his eyes “i like you. More than as a friend. Would you… let me kiss you?” he looks at you nervously for a moment before you close the gap between you two and kiss him yourself.

The kiss feels electrifying. As your soft lips meet his you put your arms around his neck to pull him closer. You realise he smells exactly how you thought he would; of old books and aftershave. His hands find your waist and rub gentle circles with his thumbs into your skin. You pull away after a little and touch your forehead with his “you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that” you whisper gently.

“Me too” and he goes back to kissing you, this time he takes the lead. You tighten yourself around him until your chests meet, his hands move down to your hips and he pulls you onto his lap in one swoop. You gently bite his lip as he groans into your open lips. He then moves down to kiss from your jaw to your neck, leaving the occasional love bite. You sigh at his bites until he gets to your collarbones. “Do you…. Want to do this?” he breathes the question against your skin, the feeling of him against you makes you shudder. “Yes. im sure”. He straightens up from excitement and goes back to kissing you collarbone, now more eager than ever as his hands travel past the hem of your shirt and up to your bra. Meanwhile your hands go down to feel him underneath you.

“Someone is excited” you smirk as he breaths heavily against you. 

“Very” his response falls heavy against you as he unclasps your bra (with only a little bit of a struggle) and his hands move to massage your breasts. You moan as he pinches your nipples in between his fingers. You lower your head to bite at his shoulder to stifle another moan from falling out of your lips- “No” he says and moves his shoulder to get you to stop muffling your sounds. “I want to hear you”. The thought of him wanting to hear you like this makes you blush and sends a bolt of pleasure down your spine. “Y-yes’’ 

You intend to start massaging him through his pants but he beats you to it, moving his hand down into your pants. You help him take off your pants and underwear (with a lot of struggle because of your position) and he suddenly picks you up and places you on the table. The cold desk underneath you only adds to the pleasure as he caresses your side before moving his hand down to finally touch you. 

His hand caresses your folds and feels how wet you are, and you moan from the feeling of his thick fingers on your sensitive skin. “Damn, you feel so good” he whimpers at how you feel before kissing your breasts and plunging his index finger inside you. “A-ah~” you sigh as he moves his hand so his thumb is circling your clit. 

He continues pumping his finger inside of you for a second before adding a second one and speeding up the pace. If he continues like this you wont last long. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts, he stops and goes down onto his knees, his face in front of your core. “Can I please taste you?” he asks innocently, as if his request isn't the most dirty thing you've heard him say. Thinking about it makes you even more aroused -if that's even possible at this point- and you hastily agree.

Not even a second after he sees you nod does he jump into your pussy, his tongue plunging into you and licking you from the inside. His nose bumps into your clit as he moves to taste and lick you even more. Your breath hitches and you moan loudly as he begins sucking at your clit, toying and teasing it with his tongue. “Please F-Ford” you manage to say in between moans. He groans against you and the vibrations send a wave of pleasure through you.

He suddenly brings his fingers back into you, curling them just right, hitting that spongy spot inside you that sends you over the edge. 

You briefly hear him let out a broken “Fu-uck” as your orgasm ripples through you in waves. Ford helps you ride out your high as he continues fingering you and licking at your clit. You have to push him off of you as it becomes too overstimulating

You try to pull him up to his knees, but he seems embarrassed by something. He looks up at you with his chin and nose glistening from your wetness, a guilty smile on his lips and his glasses fogged up and crooked. You then look down and notice it. A wet spot against his jeans

oh.

He got off on pleasuring you. He turned into a mess from just tasting you, feeling you on his lips and fingers. “That's the hottest thing i've ever seen” you say suddenly and lean down to kiss him passionately. He pulls away “really? You think so?” he looks at you in shock. “Yes! Now let me kiss you” you bring him up and kiss him passionately. He takes the hint, grabs at your hips and grunts. You can feel him already hardening again so you pull at his belt and pull down his pants and underwear. You softly grab him and start moving your hand up and down as he whimpers against your lips. You bring up your hand and spit onto it in order to create less friction when touching him.

“Please Ford- fuck me” you moan into his ear and he leans his head back in pleasure. “But i don't have-” you cut him off “there's some condoms in the front pocket of my bag, please” you emphasise your point by giving his cock another stroke. This seems to fuel him on to run to your bag and get the condom. He opens the packet and rolls it onto his member. He rubs his cock against your folds to collect your juices and as his head rubs against your oversensitive clit you moan. “Please put it inside” you hold onto his shoulders as he follows your request and pushes his tip in slowly.

He slowly pushes himself inside you until he's bottomed out inside you and you both groan. You move your hips experimentally and he whimpers at the feeling of you around him. He slowly starts to pull out and then thrusts back in with a moan of your name. You dig your fingers into the soft skin of his shoulders as he continues thrusting inside of you slowly. 

He continues gently until you decide to whisper in his ear something that changes his attitude completely “harder- please~”. He understands the message and suddenly picks you up and flips you around -while still inside of you- and bends you over the table. You moan at the sudden change of positions but you have no time to get used to it as he starts thrusting into you at a killer pace. He moves his hips sharply into you, with an almost mechanical pace as he pushes your chest onto the table with his broad torso. You can't help the sounds you let out each time he hits that deep spot inside of you. He grunts into your ear at each thrust and it makes your eyes water from all the pleasure.

You're suddenly pushed over the edge for the second time when he wraps his hand around your body and starts playing with you clit. You scream his name as you cum around his cock. His pace stutters a bit and he curses in your ear as he cums too for the second time.

He slowly eases you both down with some gentler thrusts and then exits out of you with a sensual pop. 

You lay down for a little while with your ass out before you gather some strength to get up. As soon as you do, your legs start to shake and Ford catches you in his arms and chuckles a bit with pride. “So…. did you like that?”  

You dead-pan him and say “no. i didn't like that. Of course I liked that you doofus!” he laughs a bit and kisses you again. “I just wanted to make sure!” he says against your lips. You giggle and pull him even closer “well, i enjoyed that a lot” you give him a small peck on the nose and then pull away to put your clothes back on. He disposes of the condom and goes to put on his pants but pauses. “I can't go out with a wet spot on my pants…. What should I do?” he looks terrified at the thought of walking around campus like that.

“Don't worry, i always carry an extra sweatshirt around in case the ac is too much in class” you laugh as he looks at you like you just saved his life “you are an angel!” he comes up to you and kisses you again before going back to putting on his pants. You hand him the sweatshirt and he ties it around his waist in order to hide the evidence of what happened.

He then comes up to you and hugs you. “You know i meant what i said, right? About liking you” you blush and then respond “i meant what i said too”

“Then can this not be a one time thing? I want to -if you’d want of course, there's no pressure if you don't want to do anything more than what happened today but-” you cut him off to spare him from rambling even more “i’d like to go on a date with you, Ford. i want to go out with you and be with you” he sighs with relief. “Great! Are you free tomorrow?” you check your calendar “yeah i should be- do you want to meet up?” 

“I would love that” he kisses your forehead before picking up your bag and the keys to the room.

You go out but as Ford locks the door, he realises something.

“Why do you have condoms in your bag?”

You immediately flush a deep red as you remember the fact that after first meeting him, your horney brain convinced you to put some condoms in your bag. ‘Just in case something happens’ you thought to yourself

“No reason” you yelp out and pull at his bicep so he continues walking and change the subject.

He chuckles at your antics but goes along with you.

He’ll just have to ask another time.

[vaaaaaiolet]

When you run out of his work summit on the brink of tears, you can't believe that Leon hasn't picked up on how he hurt you. His only option is to apologize, but you're not listening to a word he says. So he'll just have to make you watch.

mdni i'm so serious. married f / m smut where porn is the plot THERE'S LORE I SWEAR, sour then sweet dom leon, mirror sex, EMOTIONS, aftercare :3 + 1 bad pun

a/n: anon req'd reader w/ praise kink. i really thought i did something and then i read it and i wanted to die. it isn't my writing if i don't try turning smut into shitty poetry.

word count: 2.9k // read on ao3

“I’m apologizing now, aren’t I?”

“A little late for that, Agent Kennedy,” you seethe. 

Your metronome heels keep time with the irate pounding of your heartbeat. This California Ritz-Carlton hallway stretches like the goddamn Shining and you can’t seem to get away fast enough from your husband. He’s too damn good at his job, and you’re too smart to pretend that this dance the two of you are playing at is anything but a distraction, an impediment.

You are a distraction. You’ve been an unwelcome one all night.

So you’d cut it short yourself.

One keycard slice through the sensor and the sanctuary of your hotel room opens up to you, messy with the aftermath of black-tie preparation. You step up to the vanity; plant your palms on its wooden surface and stare straight ahead as if to admire your ruined mascara. It’s a formality, really. It’s not as if you need the mirror to remind you what happened in this room. Tonight began with indulgent kisses afraid to smudge dress shirt collars, hands squeezed for courage, Leon in perpetual pursuit of the train of your gown. Big dreams.

“You wanna talk? We can talk.” Leon shuts the door with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t make this difficult, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing,” you hiss. You stare daggers at his reflection.

“Really?” His shoulders drop. “Then what was all that with the storming off, the- oh baby, don’t look at me like that.” 

Leon’s arms wrap around your middle while his nose buries itself in your diamond-laced neck. He’s good at that, that sneaking thing without leaving so much as a whisper to signal where he’s going. The higher-ups at the DSO call it stealth. You just want the man you married to tell you what the hell he’s doing before he makes a fool out of you. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I swear,” he whispers, kissing softly down your neck. “Didn’t mean it at all, I’m sorry. What’d I do?”

You scoff. 

He’s testing the waters. A rough thumb finds and starts running down the divot of your spine, thank you backless Mirror Palais ballgown. Pass the smoking gun back and forth, pretend not to see the shrapnel from the bullet holes. You don’t pay Leon any heed as you stoically unhook diamond pendants from your ears, and he frowns.

“I said I was sorry.” 

“I shouldn’t need to tell you what you did, Leon.” 

Shame simmers sickly and strong in the pit of your stomach. You teeter on the edge of snapping altogether and consider throwing his blankets on the floor for the night – you will, actually, as soon you take off all your evening regalia. In your haste, your nails end up nicking Leon’s nose when he tries to murmur another weightless apology.

The kisses stop leaching onto your collarbone. “Don’t play this game with me, sweetheart.” 

“So now you’re calling me immature?”   

“Isn’t that what you call running out of my work summit? Making me chase you down?” Leon counters, running his hands down your sides in a last-ditch effort to diffuse the situation. Thinly-veiled irritation finally seeps into his tone. “What exactly did I do?”

And gosh, does that get the tears going. He’s so blind it hurts.

You tug pins furiously out of your hair in an effort to keep an impending outburst at bay. “You practically had me on a leash!”

Not once had he let you out of his sight in that dreadful ballroom. In front of all those international representatives and agents, people whose reputations preceded them, Leon had kept you attached to him with a heavy hand on your waist, glued to his hip like an untrustworthy child he’d lose track of at a supermarket. Coughs had quickly turned to snickers behind your back. You’re no agent, sure, but you could expect to have some kind of autonomy, right? 

The guest badge you’d flung over the hotel room bed glints tauntingly now, respected by every security detail except the one whose chest your back is currently pressed against. It’s humiliating how untrustworthy, how incapable he made you look tonight.

Leon blinks. “You’re saying I think you can’t handle yourself?”

“You don’t have to. You showed me all night.” 

Tears drip down your cheeks when he relents, his arms lifting like fog over the Golden Gate, and if you’re finally free from his clutches, you might as well take off this suffocating dress. It’s gauzy and gorgeous and completely worthless despite the stack of bills Leon paid for it, however giddy you’d been when he’d brought it home. 

If only you could reach the tiny zipper perched on your tailbone. 

Leon, ever the perceptive one, however, never passes up an opening whether it be zipped or not. He’s got a handy index and thumb; he puts them to use. He’s your husband after all. 

“Right, okay,” he exhales sharply, tugging the chain as your back bows forward, “I did this all wrong. I thought you’d catch on when I should’ve just shown you instead.”

“Show me what?”

A hand inside your newly agape gown. A palm pivoting south to the curve of your hip, pressing, searching. Leon presses his lips to your neck in answer, but this time, it’s urgent in a way that doesn’t quite feel like remorse. He hisses.

“Tell me to stop and I fucking will, but this is my last resort considering how bad I seem to be with my words, sweetheart. How many times have I told you I’m sorry?”

“You-”

A squeeze on your hip. A direction. 

“I need a number.”

The door, your neck, seconds ago.

“...three.”

“And not one of them made it inside that pretty head of yours,” Leon scowls. “Doesn’t look like words are either of our strong suits. Chin up for me, doll, and pay attention ‘cause I’m only asking this once.”

So you do, you lift your face to meet mascara-rimmed eyes in the mirror along with Leon’s sapphire-blue ones that glint right behind, and his palm drifts up to cup your jaw from underneath. He tilts it back and forth. Kisses his teeth. 

“Tell me. How am I supposed to let my wife loose in a room full of criminals just like that?”

What?

Leon circles your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, pulling away quickly. Too early to indulge in this kind of affection. “Thought I asked you something, doll.”

But you hesitate, and so Leon must disappear. His final instructions are to face forward.

He dives to the floor, locking rough fingers around your ankles only to slide them up to the backs of your shins. He goes under so quick that there’s a breeze; you’re granted mere seconds to watch Leon’s blond head duck underneath the floor-length train of your dress and by then, it’s far too late to notice the fire. 

Leon loves starting those.

He also doesn’t wait. Invisible flames lick up your bare legs from Leon’s dragon mouth. Red hot kisses trail up your thighs – he drops a sweet one on the inside of your right knee, makes you buckle momentarily – and these stubbled kisses of his have a tendency to sear any skin on their skyward path. You can’t remember when your elbows propped themselves on the vanity, out of instinct, maybe, to keep the floor of your stomach from falling out at the very first sneak of Leon’s tongue inside the drenched lace gusset of your panties. 

But you can’t afford to be surprised, can you? Not with the line of destruction he’s left behind on his way to his destination. They say it takes one to know one. 

You clutch the edge of the vanity’s shelf, suck down sobs in your throat fluttering into something indecent.

“I need you to talk to me,” he whispers with his lips pressed to your pussy. The vibration echoes up your spine, jerks your head back. “You’re all clammed up. Keeping secrets.”

Air gushes down your throat. “And you’re not?” 

“Of course I am, baby, but I’m explaining, aren’t I?” 

Kiss. Kiss. Suck. 

You keen with your mouth shut.

He noses at your clit, prompting you. “So, where’s your explanation?”

Another quality the DSO prides itself on is your husband’s ability to sweet-talk himself out of a tight spot. That seems to includes in between your legs. Your thighs clench together in a final attempt of defiance when his mouth makes contact with your cunt. Your reflection in the mirror starts to swim at the first swirl of Leon’s tongue, and he makes quick work of you with his goal being none other than to dangle the promise of more to come, literally. 

Thumbs tuck into sensitive folds, and you’re gone. Shaking at the first breach of Leon’s fingers inside you. You spread apart at his will. He dips into arousal now impossible to ignore, and when sparks finally light at the hot air Leon blows over your spasming pussy, he commits his second unforgivable sin of the night: ducking right back out at the crest of your orgasm.

You have principles. The mirror reflects Leon’s swollen lips, tousled hair damp with you when he rises from his knees, and above all this, you clench your teeth. Face forward. 

He wipes his mouth.

“That’s one.” 

The other two remain rhetorical.

You’re being lifted bridal-style when the seal on your mouth finally breaks. “Leon,” you tremble in his arms, “where are we?” The summit, the people; you chase his mouth for any explanation. “You’re working with criminals now?” 

“Yes and no. Arms up,” Leon rasps, and tugs down what remains of your gown, crashes his mouth onto yours. 

You taste yourself in his kiss. Surely that’s not an answer, is it?

“Tonight was a mission,” he continues in his feverish haste, quickly laying your naked body onto the bed before kissing down your breasts.

Pride gets tossed on the floor next to your undergarments, his crumpled dress shirt. 

“The DSO couldn’t guarantee you wouldn’t become collateral for this assignment if things went south and I didn’t want to risk it. So I took you with me.” 

“You brought me to a- oh! ” 

Two thick fingers push into your sopping cunt. You squeal, clutch the sheets. Leon presses the ribbed flesh nestled deep inside you, carving out room for himself from his kneel at the foot of the bed. He gouges deep and you writhe. Your arousal shimmers on his fingers when he finally pulls them out and you find that have nothing to say about that.

“Go on,” he coos lowly. “Don’t get quiet now.” 

Your head whirls. “You sh-should’ve told me they were dangerous.”  

“And where do you think that would’ve gotten us, sweetheart? I didn’t want you panicking. Blowing cover. I had you to take care of and intel to gather, I couldn’t think straight myself. Letting you out of my sight could’ve meant losing you.”

Fuck. You don’t need a mirror to remember how antsy Leon had been before going down to the ballroom. 

Hands squeezed for courage. Hand on your waist. 

The vanilla and leather on his skin had reeked of nerves, and you? You’d written it off.

“I wanted to keep you safe.” Leon looks up at you now, eyes glinting in the dim light. There’s a new softness in their blue depths, a sincere apology. “I just wish you'd believe me.” 

By all intents and purposes, Leon Scott Kennedy is sorry.

There’s been a lapse in judgment. Your elbows sit you up from the bed to fix it. Cupping his cheek, you lean forward to meet Leon’s waiting mouth in a long overdue embrace, one he can melt into with relief. There’s no bitterness on your tongue now. Just sweetness in the seconds you take to breathe your forgiveness into him. The clink of his falling belt promises no punishment.

“But you can’t let me off the hook just yet,” Leon murmurs when he tugs free from your latch on his bottom lip, “I hurt you, angel, and I never wanted to. Tell me I can fix it.”

He can. Your husband can fix everything, the world included. You sigh your approval, yes, yes, more, because forgiveness feels incredible as he lays your shoulders down, sets your hips straight when you twist them the first time he teases his cock’s weeping head over the soaked seam of your pussy. 

“Don’t take your eyes off the mirror for a second,” Leon instructs.

He plants his palms on the sides of your head. You whimper; swear you won’t.

“I mean it. Watch yourself, and maybe then you’ll understand how crazy you drive me.”

So begins your descent. 

You’re drowning, crying for air when Leon sinks into the liquid warmth you’ve saved for him. There’s so much of him to take, tight, tight, tight – your mind is a melting record. You’re breaking. Can’t disappoint him again. When your overwhelmed cunt nearly pushes him out, Leon just chuckles. He cants his hips to compensate, goes at it again. That should be enough to tell you how the DSO’s finest agent never lets a detail go amiss. 

“The Belgium ambassador started tailing you by the fountain." 

And to your astonishment, he starts rattling off half the world map. 

“Got rid of him quick. Then there was a – oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me – Swedish agent, don’t remember what I did to him.” 

A roll of his hips. Your nails down his back. 

“Someone from Germany tried to dose your champagne. Another from Argentina, shit,” his thrusts grow erratic the longer the list grows, “two from Russia, a Japanese spy – perfect fucking pussy, oh my God…”

Your husband takes you on a trip around the globe. He’d traveled to the ends of the earth in that ballroom, kept your back bulletproof with just his hand, the one that was once a collar to you. Turns out being a Kennedy puts you on a hitlist; makes your blood run blue. 

“Too much!” you sob.

You can’t take the responsibility. 

But here in the dark, here with Leon, there’s just pleasure. Opulence. The back of his head is a blond crown in the vanity mirror, the diamonds on your breasts sparkle with each bounce from Leon’s cock slamming home. Even the gooey mess you’re leaving on the chiseled marble of his lower stomach shimmers. War paint from a battle won for you.

Your head falls away from the mirror and Leon guides it back without losing his rhythm. “Mm-mm. You need to see your face when you break.” 

Never has a threat sounded so loving on anyone’s lips, you imagine. 

Your hands tangle into his hair, you grow quiet, you clench. You’re close. This, he can feel.

His lips curve into a weary grin. “Wanted you to see why I had eyes on my baby all night. My pretty girl, all mine.”

Lucky you. 

That somehow does you in. Every word of praise Leon utters makes it clear that no, he did trust you, does trust you. He trusted you enough to know you could hold your own in that lion’s den downstairs, trusts now that you’ll forgive him for a misstep born of love. And with that realization, your pleasure rides helium high. 

“Shit, Leon!” you cry.

Electric pressure builds in your sensitive bud, the one Leon rubs frantically now. Gasps from your wide open mouth sweeten the air like perfume and Leon wishes he could breathe it all in, you’re beautiful when he turns you into a wailing mess. All for him.  

“This one’s two, angel,” he groans when you flutter around him. No way. 

His cock had put you in a trance, so warm and filling is it inside you. You’d forgotten about the deal entirely. 

Your cries increase precariously in pitch. “Oh, please, please, you can’t, Leon, I have to-” 

“Hold on!” 

Leon presses you into the sheets one last time to free the pretty songbird singing his name. You sprout wings in the looking glass.

The afterglow is golden. The sunset is long gone but it glows in your hotel room all the same, wrapped in silk sheets and Leon’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know?” he hums, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“What, all sweaty and gross?” You wouldn’t expect him to know. He’s gorgeous. Leon is gorgeous when he makes love to you.

He nods, laughing when you roll your eyes. “Really, you do. Enough that I had to spend half my mission clawing bad guys off you. But I got it finished, and so did you in the process, huh?” 

Leon drops a kiss to your forehead, murmuring one last I’m sorry, his fourth one.

Shit. 

You scramble to hide under the sheets, leaving him cocking his head after you in utter confusion. “Wait, wait, what’s the matter?”

“I can’t do any more, Leon, I’m gonna pass out.” 

“Do any…?”

“You only left off on two!” 

Leon snorts. You soon feel a warm press on the top of your head: a sugary, schoolboy-sweet kiss.

“There you go, baby. That’s three. Apology accepted?”

And when you poke your head out of the covers to give Leon a kiss of your own, you make sure he knows it’s for apology number four.

He shouldn’t be so surprised you noticed. It’s not like you can take your eyes off him either.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[vivwritesfics]

https://www.tumblr.com/bitten-fruit/741172793760235520/simon-forgets-how-strong-he-is-18-mdni-cw?source=share

Can you do something like this but for lando?

I had no idea people wrote for Ghost it feels almost dystopian for me

Lando isn't aware of his own strength

Smut warning

Imagine it

After the off season where Lando had been keeping up with training

but he wasn't as strong as he was during the F1 season

now, don't get me wrong

the sex was still incredible

he was still incredibly strong

he could still throw her onto the bed

he could still pick her up and hold her

he could still have such a grip on her that it left bruises

she loved all of it

But then the season started again

he buffed up again

it wasn't by a noticeable amount

like, he'd been muscular throughout the off season as well

it became apparent in the bedroom

he easily hoisted her up, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his midsection

lando held her against the wall, rutting against her

he held her easily

hands gripping her ass

gripping enough to leave bruises

goddamn did it feel good

now, there had been a couple of times that lando had walked her to the bedroom and dropped her on the bed

it was just a couple of times

he was strong, sure, but that was still a big ask

especially during the off season

this time? it was so fucking easy

she squealed as he carried her into the bedroom and dropped her onto the bed

her body bounced and Lando dropped his body on top of hers

he kissed her as he rolled them over, until she sat on him

that was how he fucked her

he held her body up, moving his hips up as he pistoned in and out of her

it took an incredible amount of strength

the next day, after she had showered and walked into their bedroom, lando slapped her ass

but then he saw the bruises he'd left on her ass cheek

"Holy shit," he whistled, reaching for it and squeezing it

"Was that me?"

"No, Lan, it was the other guy that came in and railed me within an inch of my life," she sarcastically spat back

lando lightly slapped her ass again and pulled her in for a kiss

[meowpupp]

as a thank you for hitting 1k followers, and an apology for my absence, I would like to share my take on poly!141.

poly141! x recruit!reader. 1.5k words. mentions of sex, although no smut. yet.

you're a sweet little thing. smart as a whip, nerdy, and confident. having spent most of your post highschool graduate years studying, youve acquired numerous impressive qualifications. while most people your age in university were out partying, getting blind drunk, hooking up, you were studying.

a tech genius. that's what laswell had sold you as to price. he had been hesitant to allow any new members at all, especially ones so young. and yet, taskforce 141 sees two new additions. the newest little tech genius who's climbing quickly through the ranks, and another soldier. someone by the name of roach.

at first, you weren't amused. as a woman in the military, your life was already difficult enough. being assigned to an all male taskforce felt like your worst nightmare. but after some convincing from laswell, and realizing this would be the fastest way to make a name for yourself, you sign the papers.

your first week is smooth, albeit awkward. you and the other new recruit, roach, get along fairly well. he's funny, a little dorky, but obviously skilled. he isn't as intimidating as the others, being almost as young as you. you find yourself gravitating to him often, often staying up late together, eating meals together, and even training together. you make quick friends.

and so, it's only natural that you both end up becoming… closer. late night talks turn into makeouts, and makeouts turn into grinding. it's somewhat clumsy however… as if the two of you can quite place the power dynamics.

the others, however, are much more of a challenge to get along with. you're cautious, aware these men have been in this business much longer than you. the four of them- price, ghost, gaz, and soap- are a power unit. it takes weeks for you to find your place within the team.

price tries to be welcoming, although it doesn't quite work. there's this sense of authority and power around him that makes you feel small, almost submissive. his gruff voice sends shivers down your spine each time he speaks over comms, panties growing wet each time he gives you a direct order.

it's almost as if he knows, whispering your name rather than your military nickname. his voice sounds almost seductive. it makes you feel like a pervert, imagining him growling in your ear each time you get off.

price has a way of always remaining in control and not just with you. the power dynamics within the task force are subtle yet well established. there seems to be a chain of command that follows their ranks. price on top, then ghost, then gaz and soap. you notice how they all drop casual innuendos, their affection for each other, corssing over the boundary of just friendliness.

ghost barely looks, let alone, speaks to you for the first month. you're unsure if he even likes you. on the field, he's sharp and alert. you occasionally hear him share banter with the others, but never feel brave enough to join in. the man is intimidating, almost three times your size, a quiet sort of confidence and dominance that follows him around. he's the one you train with most often.

ghost is ruthless. he slams you into the matt, somehow always ending up between your thighs, his big hands holding them apart and pinning you down. you can't help but memorise the sight. your Lieutenant, panting, slightly sweat as he holding you in such a lewd position, glaring down at you.

it's your favourite fantasy to think about late at night as you touch yourself, unaware that the walls are so thin that ghost himself hears you whimper his name. he strokes himself in time with the slick noises of your cunt, imagining how desperate you must look.

gaz isn't intimidating, per say. he isn't distant like ghost or unapproachable like price. the man has such a casual confidence and arrogance around him. he's the first to speak to you, ask you about yourself. throughout your career, you've met many military soldiers. most the men fit into two categories, misogynistic dicks who don't believe you have a place within the ranks, or disgusting perverts who want a quick fuck (most of them have wives, even kids.) but gaz is refreshing. he fits into neither.

he often starts conversations with you. asking questions and truly listening as you speak. little do you know he records each one, saving them for when he's alone late at night. something about the way you speak, your tone, the quiet rasp or accent, it makes him stupidly hard. he's not above recording you while you workout, standing just close enough to capture each huff and grunt as you lift. it's those recordings that get him off the quickest, wondering how whiny youd sound if he held a vibrator to your clit, didnt let up until you were crying and covered in slick.

and soap. the man is difficult for you to read. your first impression is that he's one of those men who fit into the ‘misogynistic asshole’ category. apart from your initial meeting, he practically ignores you.

you can tell its not deliberate. he just seems more immersed in the natural, pre-established dynamic of the taskforce. the one that doesn't include you. it takes a while, but after a month or two, your interactions become more common.

he turns out to be very respectful- even helpful. due to your background in tech, you skipped a few ranks when you joined. soap helps you in the shooting range. standing behind you, body pressing into yours from behind, correcting your posture before you fire.

you even create games with each other. he gives you little quizzes. theyre normally about gun components, military jargon, or even field upgrades. with each quiz he promises a ‘reward.’

its embarrassing whenever you blush and grow wet when he says it. the rough growl of his voice, combined with the accent he has, all makes you dizzy. you don't even notice how he plays it up, practically purring out the word, smirking as you squirm, making sure to graze his fingertips over your hot skin.

it's obvious that after a month or two, that roach is significantly more acclimated than you. it feels unfair. your relationship with each member is steadily growing, yet something about how roach interacts with them is so different. it's like you're missing a puzzle piece.

it isn't until one night when you're venting your frustration that roach reveals the reason he's clicked with them so quickly.

“It's like an initiation,” he smirks, eyes flicking away from you, “think of it kind of like…. hazing.” his eyes are almost predatory as he meets yours again, so unlike the goofy persona he usually has, “if you like, I could speak to price. they have started to discuss inviting you in.”

it's as if everything made sense now. it wasn't your fault. it was another case of discrimination, you being left out because you didn't fit into their stupid boys club.

ever since that conversation with roach, you have become frustrated, irritable, and short with them all. you fulfilled all your required tasks but refused to engage with them any further. denying invites to the pub, ignoring gaz when he tried to speak, training alone, no longer asking soap for help.

after about a week of this, price calls you to his office.

a sick sense of unease and anxiety settles in your gut. the man is so intimidating, and this surely wasn't a positive meeting. you've never been in a position like this. all throughout school, you were a grade A student, and within your years in the military, you've always maintained basic respect and politeness. you've never been in trouble with a CO.

when you step into his office, however, all your expectations are subverted. price sits at his desk, smoking a cigar. roach leans against it next to him. the two of them are speaking lowly.

price notices you first. his eyes carry an emotion you haven't seen before. lust. he's staring at you as if you're some sort of prey. with a smirk, he blows out a large puff of smoke. it curls around him, only making him more intimidating.

“if you were feeling excluded, sweetheart, you should've made me aware.” he leans back in his chair. suddenly, the room feels so small, your body getting hot, “id be more than happy to include you.”

roach walks towards you, guiding you further into the office. he doesn't let you sit, however, instead standing behind you, hands groping your hips. his fingertips slip under your shirt, brushing the sensitive skin of your stomach.

he kisses your neck, “price wants to see how pretty you are,” his hands slide further up, taking your shirt off, “let's give him a show, yeah?”

cont.

[bunnys-kisses]

Can I get a sausage roll and crostata, with coffee, a vodka shot and a vitamin water with Max Verstappen! (I already submitted but forgot to hit anonymous pls use this one lol)

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu, there's tons of things to choose from! i hope you find something you like, orders can be big or small, it's up to you! as for this lovely anon, i briefly saw both your messages and i was like "wow two people want the exact same thing at the same time", but don't worry! your off-anon message has been deleted! but thank you!!

sausage roll ("i wonder how much i could get for photos of this cunt.") + crostata (“stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.”) + vodka shot (rough sex) + vitamin water (dom/sub dynamic) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, rough sex, dom/sub dynamic, semi-public sex, parking garage sex, mild choking, panty gag, car hood sex, quiet sex, clothed sex

you once joked with max that the best necklace you could ever own was his hand around your throat. that line buried its way into max's mind and never let go.

the sight of you, under total ownership of him. you were a bratty sub, you liked to kick your legs like a horse so to speak. you ran your mouth like a motor and got your sick kicks out of standing toe to toe with him. even though he was the dom in this little game, it didn't mean you were going to take it lying down.

to those in the restaurant, you two looked like the perfect couple. the champion of f1 and the woman he held so dear. the front of your shoe rubbed up against the side of his ankle.

"behave." he warned.

he tried to order your usually and you simply said, "i don't want that." then ordered yourself. then you refused to drink the expensive wine he had ordered for your table. once again, bucking against him. why it was a little amusing at first, the act grew tired quite quickly.

and after dinner, in the quiet parking garage. max kept his grip on you, he said in your ear as you entered the garage, "you think this is a joke, don't you? forget all the rules i've given you."

you giggled, "well yeah, if i followed them all the time. then you'd get bored."

he took you by the back of the next and looked at you. even in the low lighting of the garage you could see the intensity in his gaze. he replied, "no, i'll have peace of mind."

you stuck your tongue out cheekily, "simp." then tried to scamper off towards the car, but max's grip on your neck was a little tighter. he held you still against him, you could feel his erection in his jeans. you swallowed, this meant trouble.

“stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.” he said, "gluttony isn't a good look on your, my treasure... or i guess you're my slut. stupid little thing." then gave your throat a squeeze before he practically dragged you to the car and got you up against the side of the hood.

you collided with the metal of the body and whimpered, that was going to leave a bruise on your elbows come more. thankfully the garage was near dead quiet and the dim lighting left you hidden.

he pushed up the skirt of your dress and took your panties off. you always forgot how strong max was, years of training and driving have left him enough strength to rip those panties off of you.

you heard the ripped of fabric and you were about to make a comment before the fabric was stuffed in your mouth and max held your jaw close around it.

"you keep these safe, alright?"

you tried to say something but the fabric muffled your voice into gibberish. max's large hands groped your ass with your skin exposed to the air.

"i give you everything." max said, "the world and all the stars. the shirt off my back and all the love in my heart. all i ask is that you're good for me." he undid his belt, the sound of the metal sent a shiver though you.

he stroked his cock a little bit, he admired the sight of you over his car. he couldn't waste too much time, but allowed himself to indulge in the pathetic sight of you. as much as you snapped your canines at him, you'd always be his pretty sub.

"i wonder how much i could get for photos of this cunt." he wondered absently before he pressed his cock up against your pussy, "snap a few photos." he rubbed his aching cock up against you more, further pressing you into the car. "i bet you'd love that. formula one's little whore. max verstappen's little fuck toy. wear it with honor like you do all of my bruises."

he was quick to get his cock into you. little formalities or tenderness. if you just behaved then maybe he would've afforded you that. but for now you were just something he owned. like the dress you wore, the meal you had and the luxury car you were pressed up against.

"you look so good under me." he said, "you know how to take me so well. so why do you misbehave? why do you sit there and act like a brat. you are so greedy."

you whimpered as you tried to find some way to leverage yourself on top of the shiny car hood. everything screamed wealth and a sick perverted desire. you two played this sexual cat and mouse and it excited you to no end.

max was a good dom however, he cared for you so deeply. but, you two had an agreement so he of course had to pushed you down against the hood his car and move against you.

you both had to keep it quiet. you could feel the rush of being so out in the public. slightly hidden away as max thrusted into you. your nails dragged across the paint of the hood. you tried to keep your noises to a minimum, but it was hard when you felt your insides get twisted in knots.

"see, this is how i like you. you look prettier like this. under me, gagged and letting me split you in two." he kissed at the side of your face, his slight facial hair tickled your face and made you nipples grow hard.

you felt your hips hit against the metal of the car and your pussy clenched around his length. you felt hot all over, the heat pooled deep in your gut.

the wet sounds of your fucking could be heard alongside his heavy pants. your mouth felt dry due to drooling all over the panties in your mouth. you eventually rested your cheek against the car hood.

his licked his lips as he admired the sight of your back. he made a note later to leave marks across your skin. he wanted you to remember tonight. the lesson he was trying to teach.

he demanded you to be a good girl, a good sub for him. he worked a lot and he didn't need more stress thinking that his sub was misbehaving. he knew it was possible. even if you had a bit of a bratty streak.

"good girl. see."

you whimpered and exhaled through your nose. you tensed up and arched your back. your breathing was heavy pants as you felt your heartbeat throb in the back of your head.

the rush of the possibility being of being caught only added another layer of a hot need in you. you wanted to say something to max, but he wanted you gagged and quiet.

max gave a few more heavy thrusts. your forehead was placed against the metal of the car. you felt like a live wire. you whined something around the makeshift gag. your back arched further as you came around his cock.

he then reached for your neck and held onto it tightly. you groaned a little louder, your brain felt like a puddle as he kept that pussy of yours occupied. subby sluts like you always demanded more, more, more.

he kept you pinned down and fucked you. it didn't take long for him to finish as well. he pressed his entire weight onto you, keeping you down as he finished inside of you. the pathetic noise you made only riled him up in his post-orgasmic bliss.

but sadly he couldn't get another round in with you. someone was going to come looking for their car soon and max didn't need his face in the tabloids. he pulled down your dress over your ass and let his cum leak down your thigh.

the panties were taken out of your mouth and thrown to the floor before he got you into the car and got out of the garage. his hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze.

he knew a good place that was right near the water, where he could have a little more time taking his beloved sub apart then piece you back together. maybe then you'll remember, max was in charge. <3

[itsbeeble]

Cheerleaders and Stereotypes

SUMMARY: Choi San isn't an idiot. He's also very patient. How long will it take for you to let him admit that he bagged the hottest cheerleader in the world?

GENRE: fluff, angst, smut

PAIRING: Choi San x afab!reader

WC: ~4.7k

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn @flwoie

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: reader is dumb, relationship is actually a little toxic I won't even lie, san tries to make reader jealous and it works, p in v sex, fingering, size kink, SIZE. KINK., softdom!san, big dick!san, um reader struggles to ride san idk, bulge kink, san lowkey mocks the reader a bit, insecurities, arguing, san lowkey is way too patient for reader, idk i think that's it

A/N: h-heyyyyy *chuckles nervously* Everyone say welcome back tumblr user itsbeeble! Everyone say thank you @from-izzy and @sanaxo-o for distracting me while I was writing and to ally for supporting me through a very very very very long writers block hahahahhahahhahhahha....haha...ha

Choi San, despite popular belief, was not an idiot. Not really at least. Unfortunately for him, he seemed to fit most of the stereotypes of a college athlete.

He was fit, that was without a doubt and he would not deny it. Six days a week in the gym after football practice did him good. Toned arms that hardly fit any of his shirts, the fabric stretching and nearly tearing every time he got dressed. Thick thighs that bulged against every pair of jeans or sweatpants, noticeable from the stands on game day and having girls swooning as he walked. Not to mention his ass. Had he not built up a brick wall called “confidence” the comments made about his ass would have had him blushing and covering his cheeks rather than smirking. 

God, that smirk. He flashed it casually to anyone who looked at him— students, professors, the crowd, the opposing team, the cheerleaders. It was a near unfortunate bonus that he was just as hot as he was fit. That stupid chiselled jaw, the dimples, and his tall frame. It’s irritating. 

At least, it’s irritating for you. 

See, being the supposedly stupid captain of the football team came with many stereotypes. 

Dating the captain of the cheerleading squad was just one more, even if no one knew. 

No one important, that is.

“Sannie,” Yewon was practically hanging off San’s arm, her manicured nails lightly scratching the tan skin. The sing-song tone of her voice made you cringe, the noise scraping at your eardrums and creating a dull throb in your already aching skull. Your back was turned to the pair, but San could tell you were likely trying to grow eyes in the back of your skull to watch the interaction. That stupid, casual smirk of his was trained on the newer cheerleader, her eyes big and filled with faux innocence. “How did you get so big?”

A poorly stifled snort from another girl on the squad, Sihyeon. A good friend of yours who knows exactly what goes on between you and San behind closed doors, and knows exactly what he’s planning. That little snort has you turning the daggers you call eyes onto her, the girls around her shifting uncomfortably at the now tense energy around you. 

Jealousy. That’s what San’s goal is and you know it. He’s pulled this trick several times before, trying to egg you on and expose the relationship that you’d chosen to hide. So he’d play stupid, that same act that everyone believes is a poor reality. The dumb, hot captain of the football team who can’t seem to get a girlfriend despite the girls falling at his feet for a moment of his attention. All he wants is for you to finally get jealous enough to rip that girl off his arm and finally stake your claim publicly. 

Unfortunately, you’re patient. 

Fortunately, so is he.

He smirks down at her, his arm grazing the skin of her lower back that her top doesn’t cover. You can practically hear her breathing stutter, and your grip on your pom poms tightens.

“Never skip a day at the gym, never skip practice, throw a good party on the weekends.” His answer is…lackluster at best. Your nose wrinkles, knowing he did it on purpose. The idiotic responses are for you, in hopes that you’ll turn around and yell at him for pretending to be a moron even though he’s one of the best students in the Kinesiology department. 

“You’ll have to coach me through a workout one day,” Yewon grabs San’s arm tighter when she sees you turn to face the pair. 

“Maybe I should take you up on that.” San isn’t looking at her, not even a brief glance down to acknowledge that she’s there. No, his eyes are trained on you. Daring you to say something, anything. 

Do it.

You know you want to.

Stake the claim.

You know I’m yours. Why not let everyone else know?

You open your mouth to speak, and he quirks an eyebrow at you. Do it, do it, do it.

“Kim Yewon,” the words are laced with venom and she goes rigid. “Break ended ten minutes ago.”

“I was talking to Sannie!” She glared at you, and you almost laughed. 

“Sannie,” you mocked, watching a pout form on your boyfriend’s lips, “has his own practice to get to.”

“Our practice ended half an hour ago.” He argued, toeing the limits of how far he can push you before you finally break. 

“Then leave.” 

“I don’t want to. I wanna stay and talk with Yewon.” He challenged. Sihyeon grimaces behind you, watching as San digs himself a grave not even he can climb out of. 

The two of you stare each other down for a few moments, a mix of emotions running through you. You know that he’s challenging you and trying to get a rise out of you, but you know better. You know you can’t challenge him like that without exposing your relationship— the one thing in your life that you want to keep to yourself for just a little while longer. 

You’re the first to cave, your shoulders slumping just enough to be noticed by San, and his eyebrows knit together. 

“Do what you want. Practice is done for the day.”

The two-story rental house you share with Sihyeon and a few other girls from the squad is eerily silent. The air conditioning and the sound of you quietly walking around your room are the only things keeping you from the thoughts in your head. 

Did San take Yewon up on the ‘offer’?

Did you take it too far?

Should you have just caved for him?

What if he’s sick of this? Of the secret meet-ups and the acting?

Something hits the window as you’re walking past it, and a loud squeak escapes you. You whip your head around just as, what you now realize is, a rock hits the window. Not a large rock. Small, just enough to be noticeable and visible to the naked eye as it tumbles back down to the front lawn. Another rock as you take the two steps you need in order to peer down and see San with a pile of rocks on the ground next to him, a fourth in his hand ready to be thrown if needed. He grins when he sees you, tossing the rock up and down a couple of times before taking aim.

You fling your window open, scowling down at him before he winds his hand back. 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Choi San.” He pouts up at you, but all you do is glare. 

“How else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“Ring the doorbell, dumbass. Like a normal person.” 

Much to your annoyance, San just grins and drops the rock. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You lean against the window frame, arms folded as you run your tongue over your lip in thought. “Shouldn’t you be with Yewon?” 

You can see San’s nose wrinkle at the thought, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he makes his way to the tree he’d been using as a sort of ladder to get into your room. He’d been doing that since you met, since the first time you ever slept together. He’d never been a fan of the whole…front door tactic. Your father would probably hate him. He’d think San was no good, a troublemaker if anything. You would disagree. 

Maybe your relationship was more stereotypical than you were willing to believe. 

San’s shoes are louder than either of you had expected as he jumps down from the tree, grimacing at the noise he makes.

“If my neighbors didn’t know any better, the police would’ve been here by now.” You shuffle back as your boyfriend tucks awkwardly through your window. His large frame pushes against the frame, the vinyl creaking against him as it struggles to stay in one piece. His neck cranes to look up at you, his feet hitting the ground with another loud thump.

“Glad they know better then.” He pushes a hand through his hair, the silky black strands falling loosely over his forehead in spite of his best efforts. 

A moment of silence falls between you, and you take this time to sit at your dresser. Makeup wipes and cleansers are scattered in front of you from when you’d made a weak attempt at distracting yourself from, well, the problem you’d created. 

San sits on your bed behind you, watching every move you make. He sits quietly, like a child in a timeout chair. He waits, letting you make the calls. You never knew why he started doing that— started letting you take the lead in every argument, even the petty nonsensical ones.

“You never answered my question,” your eyes are trained on him through the mirror. He presses his lips together, loosely folding his legs.

“Are you really that upset?” The question is innocent enough, but it brings back the previous irritation from the field. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? My boyfriend is openly flirting with other people knowing that I’ll get pissed off. You flaunt that knowledge like it’s your fucking birthright or whatever. Do you really think I’m not gonna get upset about it?” You put your moisteurizer down with more force than you’d wanted to, shaking your dresser a bit. San flinches at the sudden noise, gnawing at his lip in thought. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Are you, though?” Your eyes are narrowed as you turn around in your chair. A momentary pause as San lets the words sink in. He’s patient. So patient with you, even when you feel you don’t deserve it. “You act like you don’t give two shits about our relationship, and then show up at my fucking window acting like nothing is wrong and that the world is all sunshine and fucking rainbows. You go out of your way to piss me off, make me angry at my own squad, just for what? So you can get a good fuck at the end of the day?” 

Sometimes you forget that, while Choi San is patient, that patience runs thin. 

He isn’t stupid. He knows that this outburst, this frustration, isn’t just at him, but the more you spit your venom at him, taking your anger and misdirecting it, the more his patience begins to run out. You can see it in the clenching of his fists, the ticking of his jaw, and the glare in his eyes. 

Unfortunately, you’re far too lost in your mind that you can’t see the way San rises from his seat on your bed and takes a step toward you. Then another, and another, and suddenly he’s right in front of you. 

“Sometimes I think that the idiotic front that you put on isn’t exactly a front at all—” You spin around, expecting him to still be on your bed. A loud yelp escapes you when you come face-to-face with his well-built frame. “Jesus Christ, San! Why the fuck are you right behi—”

“Shut up,” he says it so simply, so calmly that you almost think he’s not being serious. 

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” You snarl, and San scoffs. 

“Do you even realize why we’re in this situation to begin with?”

“Yeah, you were flirting with my fucking—”

“Don’t blame me for your fucking problems,” San spits out. Your eyes widen and you take a step back. “I’ve been going along with this stupid fucking secret relationship for who knows how long, and all I’ve gotten in return is you bitching about me wanting you to just come out with it!” 

“You know I want to keep—”

“You want to keep your love life private,” San interrupts and flings his hands into the air. “I get it. I understand, Y/N. That doesn’t make it suck any less.” 

“It isn’t just—” you huff, pressing your hand to your forehead in a poor attempt at calming yourself down. “It isn’t just the fact that I want to keep us private, Sannie. I just— I don’t—” 

Your eyes are welling up with tears, and you blink a few times to force them back. San pulls you toward him, his hand practically engulfing yours as he tugs you onto his lap. Your legs are on either side of his, and he laces his fingers with yours, resting them between the two of you. 

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong, sweetheart.” He murmurs, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “Let me help you.”

You shake your head, and his chest rises and falls with a quiet sigh. “I’m just— I’m just so sick of— of everything.” 

San presses a little kiss to your forehead, tugging one of his hands free from yours and lacing it through the strand of hair on the back of your head. He doesn’t move for a few moments, placing another kiss on your forehead and then another. He waits for you to calm yourself and gather your thoughts. 

“Can—” your voice is quieter, a bit more shaky than it was just moments ago. “Can you kiss me?” San smiles, his lips still just millimeters from your forehead.

“Tell me what’s wrong first.” Your hips shift against his, and you drop your head against the column of his neck. Your breath is warm against his skin, and the scent of your shampoo begins to flood his senses. His hand tugs at your hair, drawing your attention back to him. “You’re absolutely insatiable, you know that? Tell me what’s wrong or I’m leaving.”

You can’t fight the little whine that’s pulled out of you. Not that you wanted to. You wanted him. You wanted Choi San so badly that it hurt.

“I was— I was mad because I didn’t want…” You can hardly form a sentence, too distracted by the gentle tugs at your hair and the way San’s other hand has drifted to your hip, drawing circles underneath the fabric of your sleep shorts. 

“What didn’t you want, sweetheart? Tell me.” San pulls your head away from his neck, holding back a grin at the near-glazed look in your eyes. 

“I didn’t want to be part of anymore…stereotypes. We already fit so many, I just—I just wanted to hold that one back for a bit longer.” You whine, your lips falling into a pout that San just wants to kiss away. Instead, he smiles. 

“Was that so hard, pretty girl? So much fighting just for a silly little reason like that?” Your pout deepens, and he sighs. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And nothing is gonna change that, no matter how many stereotypes we fall under. You understand?”

“Yes,” San smiles, stroking your hip and squeezing it.

“‘Yes’ what, baby?” Your eyes are glossy now, your lips parted slightly in your daze.

“Yes sir.”

Despite San’s patience running thin, he always recovers it with ease. Patience is what he’s known for in class, on the field, in your relationship, and in your bedroom. 

He can edge you for hours, cooing at the way you beg for him, beg for that sweet release, for just one more finger, please just one more.

“Pretty girl,” he strokes your cheek, letting his hand slide down your spine to rest against the small of your back. You’re writhing beneath him, trying desperately to bring your hips up just enough for him to hit that sweet spot inside of you but failing miserably. “I don’t think you can handle anymore.” 

Only two of his fingers sit inside you, but it’s more than enough to stretch you out, to provide you with the stimulation you need to go right over the edge—

“San—sir, please.” Your hands grip the pillow beneath your head tightly, nails digging into the fabric so tight you’re afraid it might tear. “Pl—Please lemme cum, I prom—promise I’ll b—be good. Please,” You’re nearly hysterical, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as he plunges his fingers in and out of you, his thumb dancing over your clit but not quite giving you that extra stimulation. Not that you need it with the way he grinds the tips of his fingers into the spongy spot just within his reach. 

“You wanna cum that bad?” San leans down, his chest pressed against your back and his lips right up against your ear. “You’re gonna have to work harder than that. Beg for it. Scream. I want everyone to know that you’re mine.” 

Patience is a virtue you haven’t quite learned yet. What you have learned? You’re extraordinarily good at making Choi San cave for you. 

“Sir,” you plead, pushing your hips back against his hand just enough. There’s a burning feeling in your stomach, the knot winding tighter and tighter until you almost can’t take it. “Please. I’m so so—sorry for yelling. Please I’ve been so good for you. I can take it. Please let me take it. Want you s—so bad. Want you to ma—make me cum. Want you, Sannie! Please, please make me cum. Want you to fuck me so bad, ple—please!” 

For a moment, San’s hand stills inside you. For a moment all you can hear is your desperate whining and your boyfriend attempting to steady his breathing. 

Then he’s ripping his fingers out of your sopping cunt and rolling you onto your back. His frame looms over you in a way that has your body quivering with anticipation, eyes searching yours for…something that you can’t figure out in your lust-filled haze. 

“Such a pretty girl,” San murmurs, pressing his palm at the base of your stomach, one hand nearly covering the expanse of it. “So small, so good for me. So good for Sannie, hm?”

“Yes!” You grab his wrist, nails digging so tightly you’re afraid you might draw blood. “Please, wanna be so good for you Sannie!” 

He sighs, prying your hand away from his wrist and pinning it to the mattress. “You say that, but I don’t know if I believe you.” 

A sob pushes out of you, your back arching into him. He catches you before you can lower back down to the bed, his arm looping around you to keep you pressed against his chest while he sits back. You’re right where you started— on the bed, straddling him with tears running down your cheeks— but this time you’re both completely undressed. You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh, little twitches being the only indication of any impatience. You try to roll your hips against him, trying anything to get that friction back. San clicks his tongue and shakes his head. 

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, stilling your hips with one hand. “Thought you said you’d be good for me.”

“I—I will!” You grab his shoulders, leaning your face up to his, trying desperately to kiss him— to do anything that might sway his decision. “I’m sorry, sir! I promise I just— I just wanted—”

“I know,” he kisses you gently, smiling softly, deceptively. “I know you just wanted to cum all over your Sannie’s lap. Been edgin’ you for so long, haven’t I? You deserve to cum for being so…patient.” You let out a relieved sob as San releases your hip and grabs his cock. He guides it through your folds briefly, soaking it in your arousal and pumping his hand up and down his shaft to thoroughly lubricate it. “You’re gonna prove to me that you can be good, baby. Okay?”

“Yes, yes Sannie!” You lift your hips just enough for him to align his tip with your entrance, almost starting to cry again at the feeling. He helps you sink, knowing that two fingers weren’t enough for you. It never is. No matter how much he fucks you, it’s always a tight fit for you, not that you ever complain. You never complain about how big San is compared to you. He’s caught you drooling over this size of his dick more times than he can count, usually trying to talk you out of riding him out of fear of hurting you. But not today. No, today he’s giving you exactly what you wanted. 

“Go ahead, sweetheart.” He encourages. “Fuck yourself dumb on Sannie’s cock.”

The look in your eyes becomes almost animalistic. You shift your body a bit, steadying your hands on his shoulders, and lift your hips until just his tip remains inside of you. San can feel the way you’re clenching around his tip, knows you’re doing it intentionally, and he lets his head fall back. 

When you sink intohim for the first time, you emit a strangled gasp, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your nails digging into your lover’s shoulders.

“F—Fuck Sannie!” You bite down on your lip, lifting your hips again and dropping back down. “Mmph—fuck you’re too big!”

“You wanted this, sweetheart,” San tells you, rolling his head to the side and groaning as you continue to struggle with riding him. You try so, so hard to build a steady rhythm, but your legs are shaking and your breath is already gone. “I thought cheerleaders were supposed to have good stamina.”

“No—Not when their boyfriend has a f—fucking huge dick!” You cry out, giving up and grinding your hips against his. The steady rolling of your hips relieves the burn just a bit, and you moan as the tip of his cock grinds into that spot with more strength than his fingers did just minutes ago. “Fuck, I can fe—feel you in my stomach!” 

San lifts his head at that, a new hunger in his eyes and he leans you back. You slow your hips at the sudden movement, furrowing your brows while you watch him. He kisses his teeth and places a firm slap on the side of your hip. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” He grips your hip tightly in both hands, forcing you to keep riding him. “Keep going, sweetheart. Keep going until I tell you to stop.” 

You do, your hips picking up a steady pace with the help of one of his hands to guide you along. His other hand presses against your stomach, and you hear his breathing hitch.

“Baby,” he takes your hand from his shoulder, squeezing it gently as he guides it to where his hand was previously. “Feel right here.” 

You hesitate just a moment, and he looks down at you, smiling encouragingly. 

Then you feel it. 

The bulge in your stomach where the tip of his cock reaches as far as it can possibly go. 

“You feel that, baby?” San presses your hand down and you both let out a simultaneous moan at the feeling. The white-hot pleasure builds back up in the pit of your stomach, the loosened knot returning with renewed fervor and you know San can tell. You know that he’s close too, his hips thrusting up to meet yours halfway. “God, you feel so good. How did I get so fucking lucky, huh?”

You don’t respond. You can’t respond. The pleasure is blinding. All you can feel, see, hear, and smell is San. He clouds your thoughts, your senses, your very being. The pleasure is winding up, drawing that knot tighter and tighter and tighter—

“C—Cumming, San!” You arch into him, and he holds your hip to keep you moving. “Fuck, fuck I’m cumming!”

“I know, pretty girl,” he grunts, his thrusts stuttering. “Fuck, I’m close. Keep going baby, wanna cum with you.”

Your hips are moving slower, your muscles burning and you can’t stop yourself from forcing San back until he’s laying against the bed. Your hands find purchase on his chest, sweat beading on your forehead with the effort to keep moving, to keep riding him until you’re both forced over the edge you’d been begging for. 

San’s thumb drifts across your hip, finding purchase on your swollen clit and rubbing sloppy circles into it until you’re sobbing again, sobbing his name and begging for that sweet release. 

When it hits you, it’s blinding. Stars spark behind your eyes, your head tossed back and sweet cries pulled from the depths of your chest. His hips thrust into yours one more time, his eyes trained on how you arch your back and twitch with your release, and then he’s cumming. Thick globs of cum fill you up to the brim, seeping out from the seams of your cunt and mixing with your release. You let yourself collapse against his chest, practically gasping for air and shaking from the effort of riding him.

“You finally got what you wanted,” San murmurs, resting one of his hands on the small of your back as his cock softens in you. “You finally got to ride me.”

“Never…never doing that again,” you mutter back, placing a kiss on the base of his neck. “Absolutely…not.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually letting this happen.” San is grinning ear to ear as he drives you to campus, his free hand holding yours tightly. You purse your lips, refusing to admit defeat.

“This doesn’t mean I want everyone knowing—”

“Bullshit,” San interrupts with a grin. “You want everyone to know that I bagged the hottest cheerleader in the world.”

“You didn’t bag shit, Choi San. And if you say that you ‘bagged’ me to anyone on the football team,” your eyes turn to daggers as you jab a finger into his shoulder, “I will end your bloodline where it stands. Your mom can say ‘bye’ to any chances of a grandchild from us.”

San grimaces, but it’s replaced by a radiant smile as he pulls into the parking garage closest to your building. “You can make as many threats as you want, sweetheart, but you and I both know you won’t risk that. You love getting fucked after dealing with Yewon every day.” 

He opens your door for you, beaming as he helps you out of his car. 

“I’ll make you a deal, sweetheart.”

“Will you now?” Your response is sarcastic but San ignores it.

“You let me show you off as much as I want, and I bitch out Yewon today.”

You don’t even have to think about your response, a grin replacing your scowl.

“That sounds like a damn good deal, Choi San.”

“Sannie!” 

Yewon’s grating voice has never sounded so fucking heavenly in your ears, knowing exactly what’s going to happen next. San is already at your side, rifling through your bag for the extra granola bar he knows you have. He grimaces at the sound, his eyes almost begging you to help him, but you shake your head.

“You dug your own grave, Sannie.” A quick pat on his shoulder and his fate is decided for him.

“Yewon,” he greets the girl, continuing to rifle through the bag. “Can I help you?” 

The disinterest in his voice didn’t deter her, not that anyone was surprised. The cheer squad watched the younger, newer, dumber member as she stumbled through her flirtations, complimenting him on things he didn’t need nor want to be complimented on while searching for a fucking granola bar. 

“Yewon,” San finally interrupts the girl, rising with the snack in his hand and glaring down at her. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not interested.” 

The shock on her face made you smile. Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it was a bitch named Karma. Or, maybe, you were sick of the shitty stereotypes that you always seemed to fall victim to. 

“But you—you always—”

“I was trying to make my girlfriend jealous of me, as shitty as that is,” San pinches the bridge of his nose and scoffs. “But I’ve already got myself a cheerleader, Kim Yewon. And she’s the best girlfriend I could ever ask for. Plus, she’s hot as fuck,” San grins at you, but you can only roll your eyes.

“I said no—”

“You said I couldn’t tell people I bagged you,” it takes him three steps to reach your side and grab your chin. “Not that I couldn’t call you the hottest cheerleader in the world. No offense, Sihyeon.”

“None taken,” your best friend waves her hand dismissively. “I’m just glad you two finally got your heads out of your asses.” 

“Shut up, Sihyeon.” You scowl, but San is quick to bend down, hunching at the shoulders to reach your height and kiss you firmly on the mouth. It’s a searing kiss, more than he said he would do in front of the squad, but you let him have his moment. 

You’d made him wait long enough.

© itsbeeble. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[step-on-me-khun]

Soshiro Hoshina Boyfriend Headcanon's

Wanted to do something Kaiju no.8 related. Both sfw and nsfw. I could've written a fic or smut but plot always escapes me. My ask box is always open. No taglist as this is my first attempt at anything related to Kaiju no.8 - also, due to a shitty laptop, this may be written on a phone. Might do an NSFW alphabet depending on how this does

Warnings: Nsfw content under a cut

Word Count: n/a

Taglist: n/a.

Depending on recs and ideas, I might continue with writing for kn8, but that does depend on multiple things

SFW

If there was any hint that you liked him, platonic or otherwise, he would tease you relentlessly. Small comments here and there, and quiet enough for no one else to hear them.

A sucker for any reaction you give, whether it be a small look you give him, or red face. All the better if someone asks what's wrong - if you're introverted and not too forward, he likes seeing you struggle to answer. If you're a bit bold and don't mind being snarky back to him, expect a lot more teasing and possibly being a little louder with him comments.

Protective, but tries not to be, he had to be distracted by the fight he's fighting otherwise worry floods his mind.

Not particularly clingy but can be as an act.

Shows up to save you from situations at the right time, you don't know how or why.

Offers to train with you, mainly so he can be alone with you, but also so he can train with you. Uses this reason to see how much he can push you, not in a mean way, but so he knows how scared he should be of you.

Ticklish? Expect surprise attacks out of nowhere.

Listens to you talk calms him down after dealing with Kaiju, especially is you can sing, it's one of the rare times you see his eyes gleam with love for you. Also would love it if you're a good listener.

Can be intimidating and scary, but is a big softy and a cuddle bug.

Hides things behind his back, either with his back against the wall, or sitting on a chair - intentionally of course - so you can try to get it back, it's a good way of slyly getting a kiss from you.

If you're short: you'll be teased. If you're taller than him: also teased. If you're short he'll use that to his advantage.

Loves giving you small pecks on your face - nose, cheek, eyelid, jaw, forehead. If you return them he'll be smitten.

Loves being the big spoon when sleeping, but isn't opposed to being the small spoon. Like I said, a hug bug.

Most of the time you wake up with his head on your stomach. If you're not awake and his head is still there, expect a surprise awakening.

Your arms and legs often get tangled together.

Loves seeing you in his uniform.

Also loves you putting him in his place - or at least attempt to.

He wants you to laugh with him, he has an infectious laugh, and doesn't want you to get overwhelmed with your job.

Very affectionate and loving, and persistent if he can tell something's bothering you

Tells you he loves you everyday and night.

Loves holding your hands and kissing your knuckles

NSFW - under the cut

Good with his hands and fingers, probably due to the clutching of his swords. Very much liked using them during sex - stroking your in your intimate areas, teasing you, anything to get a reaction

Tends to be clingy in intimate situations too

Isn't really all too bothered about positions, but mostly missionary to be closer and loving or doggy/prone so he can pin you down

A bit more of a dom than a sub, it's the only time he likes being in control of you

Not all that fussed about giving our receiving oral, but morning surprises are to be expected

Has a high - but not too high - sex drive, enough to keep you satisfied but not enough to drive you insane, unless that is what you want

Put him in his place. But expect to be put on yours after, if he's feeling generous

When he's rough with you, he'll use his hands to either choke you, pull your hair or spank you, even pinning your hands behind your back.

Choke him if you're in control

After care is something he would be good at, especially when he's rough. His hands caressing in areas where had gripped hard on your skin

He likes praising you, and your body, and enjoys it when you do the same

Talks dirty to you when fucking you or getting oral, and will pull on your hair too. He's really good at it too

Edges you a lot, just so he can make you flustered and needy, if he wants you to take control later on the day, this is how he'll do it

Loves looking you directly in your eyes, you look so beautiful to him while you're coming apart

Bites you. Anywhere and everywhere, mainly your neck, collarbone, nape inner thighs and ear lobes

Is vocal, but not overly loud. Whines and groans a bit, hisses when you give him head, and moans softly into your ears if he's fucking your from behind

His favourite part of you is your lush thighs - not so much an ass or tits, but will grope them when he feels like it

Will take risks and try to edge you anywhere that he can

Anytime he senses something's wrong, he instantly slows down or stops so he can care for and reassure you

All in all, he's a loveable asshole

Please don't steal or translate

[berrieluv]

<3; aaron johnson x reader (i think i didn't use pronouns but it's mention that the reader has a vagina) summary: you know damn well, you horny friends. kiki says: this fits contains unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), cheating kink, the feel of guilt that it's never enough to make him stop, i think this smut it's very light, just trying to keep you fed while i work in the angst. also english isn't my first language so i apologize for the bad writing.

me and your husband.

For the public, having you involved in the movie Kraven with Aaron after Bullet Train was just a normal occurrence, two actors working together more than once, nothing that hasn't happen before and nothing that won't happen again.

For Aaron, it was just his masterplan working. He craved you near him, he needed you there. He couldn't function properly anymore without you, without your body and the way your legs wrap around his neck.

His blue eyes are long gone by now, so full with lust he can not think of anything else. He already made you cum three times before you had to take a shower and attend a date, and now here you are again, seizing the day like you started it, with his tongue inside your wet cunt.

He kisses your thigh softly, his hand behind your knee, his mouth marking every inch of your skin with kisses, smelling your dripping pussy and looking amused at the wet spot on the beige sheets.

"You bought them for me?" He moans, looking at your lingerie next to him, the one he just took off the moment you walked back from dinner, his face buried between your thighs, you didn't. You bought them because they were pretty and expensive, and you could afford them "You look so pretty" He says.

His wife is sleeping in the next room, if you get close enough to the wall you could hear her sleep, which was weird, an expensive five stars hotel with thin walls, you must think they would be soundproof for the price. Or maybe it was your guilt, your senses sharpened in shame, making sure you never forget he's a married man.

But maybe you weren't better than that, but why should you. He wanted you, he needed you and loved you even more than you found him attractive, which was to say much.

"Fuck..." You moan when Aaron's tongue was inside your pussy. His hand grabbing your underwear and placing it on your thigh again, grabbing your skin and the lingerie along, the other hand over your belly, keeping you grounded.

Aaron licks the sides of your pussy, his tongue gently going through your folds, he teases your sensitive parts, hitting the right places, he knows how to use his tongue, and it feels like it has been wasted all this time.

Your moans grew louder when two of his fingers are inside you without any previous notice, moving them in and out, his tongue sucking on your clit and you feel yourself getting lost in pleasure.

"Is this good?" He asks out of breath, a big smile plastered across his face, almost like he thought he didn't need anything else but the sweet scent of your dripping cunt.

Was it good? It was fantastic.

"Hold for me, princess?" He asks softly, your legs curled up while your hands keep them up grabbing behind your knees.

He touches your ass, his hand traveling all over every part of your body, his lips are all over your sweet wet cunt, eating like a starving man, making sure every single drop of your wetness goes into his mouth.

"I need you..." He moans against your folds "Fuck, I need you so much"

Aaron takes all of your release, drinking it all, when he looks up his chin is all wet and a spark of proudness in his eyes.

He doesn't even look this proud when he's on a press conference.

"Keep holding your legs" He orders, taking off his jeans and boxers "Good girl" He praises with a smile when he walks back to bed.

You remind silence most of the times, your words consumed by your moans and whimpers, you want him so badly.

"Please..." You finally find the way to speak, your breath heavy and your heart beating faster than it should when he starts thrusting into you. His right hand holding himself on the mattress to not lay all of his weight on you.

His left hand massaging your breasts, treating it like it was a stress ball.

"Shit, princess" He moans, his eyes closing even if he tries to fight it, he loves watching you. He loves the look in your eyes and how they roll, going all blank when he starts thrusting faster.

"Oh!" You moan, and he smirks like a bastard, enjoying knowing he's the one making you feel like this "Oh, God! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You cry, almost chocking in your own pleasure.

"Sh, sh..." He coos "Baby, you're chocking, princess" He chuckles, enjoying your desperation "I'm not even near your throat"

He caresses your cheek with a soft smile, moving slowly down to your throat, applying just the right pressure to make you gasp for air, shutting your moans.

"Don't be so loud..." He demands, it was meant to be teasing, but his voice sounds dominant, his expression is serious and his eyes darkened with lust and need of control "You know Sam is in the next room"

Sam, he doesn't refer as my wife anymore. She stopped being my wife a few months ago, just a few weeks after you became my everything. The air he breathed, not only his wants but his needs.

You feel a warm sensation running through your insides, a loud groan when he lets it out, his cum painting your cunt and dripping down your skin.

"God, I love my little masterpiece" He chuckles, watching your thighs covered by his cunt. "You're tired?"

He asks softly and you nod, his phone starts ringing at the same time you hear his wife walking around their hotel room, you wonder if he hears her.

"Your phone..." You say with your eyes closed when he ignores it and walks to the bathroom.

"Can wait" He says without hesitation.

"What if it's your wife?" You know is her.

"She can wait" Aaron says, it's almost like he doesn't care and a part of you knows he doesn't. "I'll clean you up first, super star"

[madschiavelique]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : miguel didn't like very much the way you left him all horny for you in the toilets during the unexpected mission, so once the anomalies have all been maintained, he decides to teach you proper manners

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, lots of tension, soft!dom miguel, quick boob job, cunnilingus, "it's too big", pnv sex, miguel teaches reader magic words, so much kissing i swear, no use of Y/N, biting, mention of scars (from fights, miguel's) - let me know if i forgot any !! word count : 7,7k

note : i'm sorry i took SO LONG writing this baby, but here it is (and not yet proofread but i couldn't wait hehehe). the end is corny i AM SORRY but it was already long and this is to keep a pretty open. thank u all so much for ur support !! we passed the 400 subscribers today and i'm literally jumping to the ceiling of happiness. this is the last part of the 4shot, i hope you liked it <33 i was super inspired by Shameless by The Weeknd (one of my favourite songs hehehe). enough of me talking, love u guys !!

the previous parts : 1 - love bite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission

tag list : @marit332 @coralineyouareinterribledanger @sunnyx07 @mamamiriamxo @l3laze @amy180801 @gojos-goth-gf @readingfan @cheezit-luv3rr @scaleniusrm @cowboyharrryy

Miguel hadn't followed you, so you decided to lure the creature back by calling out to it:

"You're really terrible at hide-and-seek, you know that?”

Suddenly, it turned towards you and charged at you as you leapt into the air to keep it at bay, at least long enough for Miguel to finish... what he had to do. The sound of his breathless voice replayed in your head, the heat in your cheeks rising. You propelled yourself silently up to a floor above, observing the behaviour of the dough.

The feel of his fangs on the skin of your neck, his tender kisses on your cheeks, the hard feel of his erection against your thigh as his claws pressed into the skin of it...

"Oh my god you're going to be the end of him!" exclaimed a small voice beside you.

The anomaly turned towards it at the same time as you: Lyla.

"Lyla?" you choked out, swivelling your head just in time to avoid the anomaly that had climbed extraordinarily nimbly to your floor.

"His pulse quickened, his body heat increased and his muscles contracted amazingly hard!" she chirped as you mimed shutting up or lowering her voice, but she wasn't listening and you started darting from floor to floor as she continued "You've got him completely wrapped around your finger! No pun intended."

"Please Lyla, keep it down!" you begged her, feeling like a huge red tomato as you blushed and above all hoping not to be chased away by this abomination.

"Oopsie," she smiled, placing a hand over her mouth.

The anomaly swung a ball of paste at you, and you narrowly avoided it as it crashed and exploded with power, splattering you as it went, a large drop smearing across your suit.

"I didn't know you had access to... all this," you muttered breathlessly as you ran down a corridor to get away from the unspeakable thing. "It doesn't matter... Yes, it does matter actually, how come?"

"Don't be angry, you've just given me what little fun I'm allowed to have," she said with a pout, "you know, programme life isn't always fun."

Out of breath, you let out a sigh that relaxed your shoulders with its depth. You shook your head for a moment.

"Well, we'll talk about it later, can you identify this for me?" you asked breathlessly, silently, as you spooned some of the substance and held it up to a small metal support on your watch, which lit up when you dropped a little on it.

"My pleasure, sugar," she said with a quick clap. "Hmm, that looks like a basic bread dough mixture to me. Flour, water, salt, yeast, not forgetting the anomaly gene, otherwise it wouldn't be any fun."

"It's true that I'm bursting with laughter," you say, putting both hands on your hips, still trying to catch your breath. You looked at her for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek, hesitating before asking, "Is Miguel... Done?"

"Yep, he's on his way," she said, giving you an amused wink, and you couldn't help but let a little laugh slip from your nose.

"Right," you said, clearing your throat so the anomaly could hear, "I'm going to lure this thing towards the exit!" You could hear the oily, slimy sounds coming in your direction, turning to Lyla one last time to ask: "Make sure you send Miguel my location, okay?" you said as you started to trot off.

"Already done!" she replied, blowing you a kiss which she pressed onto her hand before disappearing in a cloud of pixels.

You ran on, stammering aloud to keep the beast at your heels: " Come this way! You know, I think you'd really like rock, I've got two friends who play really well, I think you'd love to meet them!"

The pile rumbled behind you. You leapt into the air, grabbing the glass dome and hanging upside down, standing with your arms crossed over your chest.

"No, really, I think you'd like it. Oh well! You've got a head that could listen to metal, plus you've got exactly the right mouth shape to sing it, you know."

It was rumbling from the ground, right underneath you.

Then, just above you, you felt a tap on the thin glass roof, and when you looked up, you saw Miguel. It was a funny sight, the way you were standing made it look like you were reflecting yourselves in a mirror.

"Oh, hi there," you smiled behind your mask, taking on a slight intonation as if you hadn't been the cause of his delay. "Did everything go well?"

He let out a desperate sigh, the red glasses on his suit narrowing, before simply saying:

"Something unexpected came up, it was very... frustrating. But I'll wait."

I'll wait. The very word made you gulp.

"Observations?" he asked, jerking his chin in the direction of the anomaly just below you.

"It's dough, we'd just have to find something to bake it with," you suggested.

Outside there was a loud bang: the lorry Gwen and Hobie had been chasing had started to roll over, and the anomaly, just as alert as you and Miguel, leapt towards the first bay window to get out.

Gwen and Hobie seemed to have managed to deal with their anomaly, the truck was completely dented, sideways, and luckily for you, the oil from the truck was starting to spread on the ground. You got out, Miguel following to examine the situation. All it needed was a spark...

"I'll try to coat it with a bit of oil, find a lighter, a box of matches, whatever," he warned, before dashing off towards the pile of dough.

You looked around, and there, as luck would have it, was a convenience store. You leapt towards it. Managing to light a lighter with your costume on would be complicated, so you managed to find a box of matches, rushing towards the street again.

Miguel kept jumping up and down to coat the anomaly, and when he finally saw you coming, he shouted: "Light it up.

So you grabbed a match, struck it against the side of the box and threw it into the oil. You stepped aside and ran further to avoid taking any damage from the fire. It immediately licked at the anomaly, which let out horrible, high-pitched screams as the paste on its body cooked and smoked, turning golden and thinning little by little.

And so, you launched the multidimensional cell that had been given to you, and finally imprisoned the anomaly.

"I think 'the more the merrier' is a phrase I like less and less," said Gwen as you catalogued the anomalies.

"Are you kidding me? This was so much fun," said Peter. "It was like doing MMA!"

"Speak for yourself, we took care of the Magic Bus driver," Hobie huffed.

"I think Gordon Ramsey would be proud of our muffin," you agreed.

"You have to admit it smelled good," confirmed Pavitr.

Everything had gone well, Gwen had finished her exam period and you were all filling in your reports. Everything was going well, and everyone was pretty relaxed, except maybe you.

It was a pretty nasty trick you played on Miguel, leaving him like that, so close to the climax, and then leaving. And somewhere in there, you feared and waited impatiently for what was to come.

You couldn't help glancing at him from time to time. He seemed to be concentrating, but sometimes you could feel his gaze on you, insistent. You found him incredibly calm, and maybe it was just because he hid it well, but just to see him lose a little of that control, you managed to brush past him for a moment when no one was looking, your knuckles deliberately brushing his thigh before joining the others. Pretending to be interested in their conversation, you couldn't help but glance over at Miguel.

Death stare was probably the closest you could come to defining the look he was giving you at that moment, and a shiver of dread ran down your spine as you swallowed. He seemed to chew the inside of his cheek for a moment, trying to act as if nothing had happened.

You weren't going to get out of this alive, or entirely.

"Well, I don't know about you, but the lack of sleep knocked me out, so I'm going to bed, see you later!" said Gwen before leaving.

"Same here, see ya," said Hobie.

And successively, the only ones left were Peter, Miguel and you.

He waited patiently, with you beside him, until Peter had finished his report and, like all the others before him, had gone to sleep. The seconds seemed to stretch out painfully, every movement and possibility accentuated by the wait. Miguel seemed tense, and you had no idea whether Peter could feel it from his side too, but you could feel your skin tingling with anticipation.

Every moment, every second tickled your mind and body like tiny needles, Miguel's gaze resting insistently on yours.

"Well, that's not all, but I think we've all got better things to do than hang around making a report," Peter yawned. "Good night, sleep well."

Oh, it won't be sleep.

He then waved goodbye one last time, turning his back to you as he headed for the exit. Miguel turned to look at you, taking a deep breath as he tilted his head back to look at you from an even higher angle.

The footsteps echoed around the room, fading away little by little as Miguel's eyes turned red, yours watching them and stifling a gasp. He took a single step closer, no more, but it was enough to intimidate you and for you to take a step backwards.

It was when the door finally closed behind Peter that he grabbed you powerfully around the waist and pinned you down on one of the desks, causing you to squeal in surprise as you widened your eyes for a moment, blinking frantically. In less time than it took to say 'empanada' Miguel had you completely under control, immobilising you faster than poison and more powerfully than a pair of handcuffs.

His nose wrinkled slightly.

"Did you enjoy your little act?" he asked, his tone extraordinarily calm, which made him all the more menacing. "Leaving me like that without finishing what you'd started?"

Your heart was racing, and suddenly just meeting his gaze seemed too powerful to maintain eye contact, so you turned your head to the side. Was it simply because you were embarrassed by your own little prank, or was it just that the intensity of his eyes on yours was too much? But Miguel wasn't going to have it any other way, so with one of his hands he grabbed your jaw and redirected it so that you were facing him.

"It's very rude not to look into someone's eyes when they're talking to you, you know that," he whispered, moving a little closer. "We're going to have to correct that, and teach you polite forms of address."

And you couldn't argue with that, because right now it wasn't a choice you had to make.

"Speaking of politeness, I realise that you haven't used any magic words so far for our little encounters," he said, his thumb pressing and digging into the skin of your cheek.

He moved a little closer, tilting his head to one side as you felt his nose brush against yours, moving a little closer still to feel his lips brush against yours, the simple touch of them sending little electric currents of excitement through you...

But nothing, he just grazed his lips against yours, not moving any further, but not backing away either. Your breaths collided softly, his eyes still fixed on yours with insistence.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice composed and contained, as you tried to free yourself a little from the hold his hand had on your jaw, to no avail.

His lips, so close to yours and yet so far away, gave you electrifying sensations, but you wanted more. You wanted the two of you to kiss, for your lips to become one again, for you to be able to offer him the body's 'I love you'.

So you tried to move a little closer, meeting his lips to satisfy your desire, no, your need. But he pulled back slightly, causing you to sigh in disappointment. No, you'd have to tell him.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice small but audible, as if you were pouring your desire into his plump lips.

A smile, the stretch of his lips pulling them a little further away from yours.

"Where," the question sounding more like a command.

His thumb eased a little in its pressure and caressed the skin of your cheek for a moment before sliding across your chin, settling just below your bottom lip.

"There," you replied, your desperation for more contact growing stronger by the second as the only thought on your mind was his kisses.

You wanted to taste that rainy, woody flavour on his lips again, and feel them assault your body with kisses.

"Only there?" he questioned, provoking your cravings even more as your impatience was felt almost painfully.

It didn't seem fair, he seemed to possess incredible composure and cold-blood as your veins pulsed through your body like lava flowing from the volcano of your heart.

The little game Miguel was playing with you almost felt like a little revenge. Could you blame him? He wanted all this as much as you did, but he liked balance, he liked things to be even, and he was making you pay for the advance you'd dared to take from him.

His thumb pressed against your plump lip, his skin barely brushing against it, and it felt like a thread sticking out with no way of pulling on it.

"Yes- No!" you moaned, feeling like a child who was denied a sweet treat, unable to hide your longing for more as his touch confused you, "everywhere."

His lips were parted, as close as ever, his warm breath spilling over yours. His thumb had moved up the curve of your lips to press against the volume of her, his eyes fixed on it.

"I didn't hear that properly," he said, his eyes returning to yours.

Their carmine colour reflected your face: eyebrows slanted back, eyes almost watery, his thumb resting on your lips as he continued to caress it mathematically to elicit a reaction from you.

You tried to squirm away for a moment, but Miguel's hand on your waist held you in place with incredible ease.

He raised an eyebrow, obviously your attempt was in vain, he hadn't started hand-to-hand training the day before like you had, he'd been an ace at physical power and combat for much longer, so of course he could immobilise you in less than no time and much less delicately if the mood took him.

His lips brushed yours a little closer, and you could almost feel them completely. But this tiny glimpse of heaven wasn't granted to you, and you whimpered for a moment before finally just saying:

"Kiss me," you whined, "please."

His eyes crinkled with his smile.

"Mira que buena."

He finally kissed you, and it was like you had taken cotton candy in your mouth and as it melted you could feel all the little crystals of sugar that were hidden by the fluffiness of the sweet, a moan of relief vibrating from your lips against his lips.

Millions of tiny sparkles crackled under your skin, rising to the surface like champagne bubbles as Miguel cupped your face and kissed you. He took your lips as if you were holding the air that allowed him to breathe, his hand going round your side to slip under your back, pressing against your pelvis to bring it close to his.

He bit your lower lip lightly before pulling away, his half-closed eyes looking into yours again. His hand came to caress your cheekbone gently, with a tenderness that was almost unlike anything he had ever offered you before.

"Tell me more about these desires you mentioned.”

Your breath caught slightly, and you suddenly felt your face heat up fiercely, as if you were leaning over the hearth of a fireplace, its fire licking your face and your being from afar. You swallowed, formulating out loud your desires, all those thoughts you'd had about him even after your meeting at the Conditioning Centre and what had happened in the cabin, seemed difficult.

"Come on, don't be scared," he murmured before leaning over to kiss your forehead gently, offering you soft, sweet words to help you get the burning out of your soul.

All those thoughts you'd had, those warm nights during that week when you'd imagined the feel of his fingers, his lips, the sweet words that interested you as he searched inside you to expose you to him emotionally, all of them could be said, especially the one that was vibrating immensely inside you at the moment.

"I want... I want you to..."

You had the impression that the words you were about to say would be like throwing a tiny stone into still water, like stepping on ice and feeling it crack, like throwing alcohol into the fireplace that was warming you up.

The hand that was resting on your cheek ran down your neck, brushing your chest as it slid to your hip and slid all the way down to your thigh, stopping in its descent at that very spot, his hand gripping it.

"Hmm?" he asked, his humming vibrating against the skin of your cheek and tickling you.

You bit the inside of your lip, your teeth pressing into your flesh and trapping some of the wet skin against your bottom teeth. You released this clutch with a gasp as your voice dropped to a whisper when you whispered :

"I want you to fuck me."

His eyes crinkled as he smiled, an eyebrow raised, his proud grin stretching across his cheek as his lip parted wide enough to reveal his fangs. He came to kiss your cheek, his soft lips caressing it as his lashes offered you butterfly kisses.

His grip on your thigh softened, his thumb making circular movements against your covered skin as a warm cloud began to form in your lower belly.

"Say that again," he said, his breath landing on your neck as his thumb began to move slightly up your inner thigh.

You tilted your head back, closing your eyes as the simple sensation of his fingers on your body caressed you sublimely, a sigh of ease slipping from your lips. Miguel then took the opportunity to kiss the corner of your jaw, laying a trail of kisses that mixed sweetness and hunger, kissing and biting your skin. He lowered his lips a little further down your neck and kissed you lazily, the coolness of his lips meeting the fire burning at the back of your head. His lips reached a sensitive corner, causing you to let out a moan.

You moistened your lips, your cheeks burning as Miguel's fingers traced the sensitive skin of your thigh and his other hand rested on the small of your back, close to the cloud of heat.

And he expected you, with all these delicious distractions, to be able to string a sentence together properly and clearly. So you tried to speak louder, swallowing before saying:

"I want you to fuck me."

His lips came away from your neck, just brushing your ear before coming back to face you. The red of his eyes was deep, hungry, but above all attentive to your every move, which made him even more intimidating. His lips were so close to yours that you could feel them moving close to your skin as he spoke.

"There must be something with my hear because I can't hear properly what you said," he said, his tone a little less contained than he had managed to convey before, less composed, "say it louder."

His fingers continued their trajectory, very close to you, to where your desires came from, the knot in your lower abdomen tightening even though he never reached the spot. So this was the intense despair he'd felt earlier? The pain of his desire overcoming his thought and logic in the simple hope that he would be touched to turn the pain into sweetness?

You tried to move your hips a little, in the simple hope that he might go further, touch you, but he steadied you in an instant with his hand on your back, making you let out a little cry of longing.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your gaze meeting his for a moment, and you saw it in the reflection of his eyes: the breadth of your desire spreading through your whole body.

You breathed in, gathering your strength and thoughts to say, "I want you to-"

His hand went up your back to the nape of your neck and traced up and down your spine, your body undulating uncontrollably as you concluded with a strangled sigh:

"Fuck me, please."

His carmine eyes watched you through his long black lashes, a proud sneer stretching his lips, your request seemed to have pleased him greatly.

If you had something to ask him, you might as well ask him politely. He tilted his head to one side, the light illuminating his jaw over his massive shoulder, it was so sharp it could have cut glass. Did he have any idea of the hold he had over you?

"Muy bien, bien hecho, muñeca," he murmured before kissing you again, gently.

His kiss was demanding, hungry, eager for your lips to be captured by his. Your hands, until now too afraid to touch anything or attempt any gesture, were tempted by the need to touch him in turn. They came to rest on his face, cupping it as he devoured your mouth relentlessly, his kiss a mixture of thirst, craving and the occasional sensation of his canines scratching your skin.

His thumb had moved up to your groin, deliberately avoiding and brushing very close to the part you'd been dreaming of him touching. Both his hands were now on your hips, gripping them to draw them to his.

And the electrifying sensation of his erection meeting in a single touch the excitement of your cunt that had grown inside you caused you both to moan together.

Your hand snaked through his hair, his sighs of comfort rushing into the depths of your body, blowing on the already burning fire inside you making it blaze and shine. His pelvis had begun to undulate against yours, the friction he was exerting against your covered flesh, against your throbbing clit, sending sparks throughout your body.

"Coño," he let out between kisses, one of his hands gripping your hip a little tighter to pull you closer to him and hold you in place while the other moved up your body like ivy on a statue, pressing against the back of your neck so that you were even closer. He wanted to eliminate any space between you, and you wanted it just as much, arching your body to his touch.

The kiss went from gentle to passionate, from passionate to hungry, and from hungry to needing more. Your tongues exchanged a waltz, and the next moment Miguel was back at your neck as your hand rested on his hip.

You needed more closeness, more of everything, but less clothing. He pulled you in again, straightening you up so that you ended up sitting on the desk, both your mouths still dancing.

He placed both hands firmly under your thighs, ready to lift you up.

"Hang on," he whispered between two kisses.

Without missing a beat you wrapped your legs around his waist, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as he lifted you with incredible ease, heading for a door at the back of the room: Miguel's quarters.

To avoid being bothered by anything during his precious, absent sleep, Miguel didn't belong to any of the dormitories, sleeping in secluded quarters. One of his hands came up to grip one of your buttocks, grasping it with his full hand and kneading it, a little hum of pleasure vibrating from your lips against his as you nibbled on it. You kissed his cheek, tracing his jaw with your wet skin.

As he depixelised his hand from his suit and placed it on the digital recognition pad, you gently kissed his neck, a rumble rising in his throat, a mixture of threat and plea for patience. But how could you still be patient? It was impossible, you were each other's tinder box and lighter.

As soon as the airlock opened, he came to kiss you dangerously, not tiring for a moment of the sensation of your lips caught between his. He walked quickly and eagerly, his erratic breathing colliding with your warm skin.

You rounded a corner, and the familiar sensation of a mattress under your back met you almost brutally. You were out of breath, lying back, looking at Miguel.

He stood there, looking down at you. His hair was dishevelled from the passage of your hands, his eyes shining like two rubies in the half-light, watching you hungrily. He towered over you, dominating you with his size and power. You shuddered, because at the moment he looked like a predator facing the prey he was about to devour.

He chuckled, moving closer as he put one knee on the mattress, one of his hands coming to rest beside your head, leaning gently over you, crawling up to spread your thighs as his face came level with yours.

And it was with the sensitivity that only lips possess that he whispered to you:

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," his mouth hungrily came to reclaim yours, his other hand sliding up your waist to reach your hip and hold it in place as he consumed you.

You were in his grip, entranced, trapped in the web of desire he had woven in your mind, every thread of which you touched bringing the spider back to its prey.

His hand came up to your head and nestled under the nape of your neck, looking for the zip to take off your suit. You helped him, pressing a little harder against his lips in your kisses as you raised your head to help him pull it off.

He found it, and you could feel with what composure he was pulling it. You knew perfectly well that if it had only been up to him, your suit would have been ripped to shreds and it would have been impossible to reassemble it properly and put it back together in one piece. But he was holding back, with difficulty.

The sensation of all those little metal teeth coming loose against your back and letting your abundantly heated skin breathe sent tingles through each of your ribs and down your spine, your back arching all the more at the sensation. Maybe having absolutely nothing under your costume could be complicated in certain situations, but it had never been as practical or as pleasant as it was right now. And Miguel seemed to agree.

His hand came to pull at the fabric, exposing your shoulder, and feeling his fingers run over it made you shiver. He continued to pull gently, your chest meeting the cool air until your breasts were bare.

He broke away from your lips for a moment, watching your skin like a flame and its enchanted dance. And you were burning, your whole body aflame with his touch, his kisses, his eyes. You couldn't undress him on your side, his costume knew no beginning or end other than pixels, and you found that profoundly unfair.

Then, very gently, his hand came to hover over your skin. It barely grazed, not even touching it, passing over the roundness of your shoulder, following your collarbone up to your cheek. He placed his hand on it, and it was as if your body was a diamond, every facet of which was illuminated by the light from his hand.

"Tan linda," he whispered, nestling back into the crook of your neck, kissing the warm, tender skin there. His kisses trailed down to your collarbone, sucking on your skin from time to time to reveal violet and pink flowers.

You hummed with delight under his touch, your body lighting up and glowing a little more with every touch of his lips against your skin. They came to rest between the valley of your breasts, his red eyes meeting yours as, while one of his hands pulled a little harder on the part of your suit that was still in place, his own suit began to depixel as he straightened up to face you.

Lips parted, you watched his body reveal itself, his tanned torso sculpted like a god. But above all, you couldn't help letting your eyes wander along the countless scars that marked his body.

Various shapes were mixed in, cuts, burns, strange, sinuous lines, all marking the traces of past dangers. And he had survived them all.

Gently, your hand came to rest on his cheek, pressing against your touch and kissing your palm as you let your fingers move down his torso. You let your fingertips trace a scar, caressing it gently, Miguel's breath shuddering against your skin for a moment.

Your breath caught in your throat as his bare hand grazed the skin of one of your tits, his thumb gently tracing the bouncing skin. His lips moved down the ridge of your breasts, kissing the soft, tender skin of it.

He looked into your eyes as he stuck out his tongue and ran it over your nipple slowly, the warmth of his saliva and the roughness of his muscle sending all sorts of little stars into your body.

It was as if your flesh was bare soil, and with his hands he brought forth flowers of many colours and intoxicating scents that enchanted you, making you drunk with his touch and the colours he painted under your skin.

His tongue traced the separation between your skin and your nipple, his hand resting on the other, pressing it gently between his large fingers. Then he kissed it gently, sucking lightly as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. And as the moans multiplied between your lips, he stopped, a smile stretching his lips as his hand dripped down your waist and clutched the rest of your costume.

As he pulled it off, in a slow motion, he kissed his way down your belly, letting buds of caress blossom on your body. Reaching below your navel, he exchanged a glance with you, seeking approval.

As a simple response, you raised your hips, and he gently pulled the rest of the costume down, his bare fingers brushing your buttocks and thighs as he pulled until you were covered by nothing but your panties.

One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other settled on your waist, lazily tracing your skin until it reached your groin, stopping there, drawing indescribable patterns as the fire in your lower belly heated up.

He stayed there, eyes riveted on yours, his other hand moving slightly up your inner thighs but not reaching your core either. The tingles it sent through your being were delicious, but you were getting impatient. Your pussy was almost starting to ache from the lack of touch and contact.

"Lower..." you murmured, your desires taking possession of your body, your reason silenced.

He tilted his head to one side, and the same words you'd said to him earlier in the bathroom came back to you:

"Say that again."

A grunt of frustration rattled against your teeth. Your own cards had just been used against you in your own game, and you had no say in the matter. His fingers continued to draw as if nothing had happened, sometimes reaching for half a second a little lower than where they were staying. You needed more.

"Touch me lower," you said, looking into his red eyes, which raised an eyebrow as if to say 'aren't you forgetting something?', so you punctuated your sentence with a little "please."

He smiled, dark, his tongue passing over his canine and his lip as he ran his fingers between your skin and the elastic of your panties, pulling the latter so that only the air, his hands and his warm breath covered you.

His fingers returned to your now naked groin, and he gently traced your skin, finally coming to touch your cunt, a sigh of respite taking hold of your chest as he gently passed a single finger between your lips.

"Hmm?" he hummed, raising his fingers to the height of his head, observing the sticky substance that glued to his skin, "would you look at that." Evidence of your arousal was placed before your eyes, "Am I the reason you're so wet ?"

Your head tucked into your shoulders, your cheeks heating intensely as he smiled wider.

"Tengo suerte," he murmured as his finger returned to your entrance, coating itself in more of your wetness as his thumb settled on your clit, making slow, hypnotic circular movements that tightened the knot in your lower abdomen.

Your hands clutched the sheets as you drew in a shaky breath, but he reached down and guided one of them to his hair, which you grabbed without hesitation.

"Like it when I touch you there?" he asked, echoing the words you had said to him in the cabin.

"Mhm," you agreed, unable to formulate a coherent sentence, inhaling more air as he pushed in his first finger.

His hands were big, his fingers thick, and he manipulated them all to perfection. His finger was streching you out, undulating to awaken exceptional sensations in you.

"How does that feel?" he asked, his tone composed and almost teasing in the way he asked you things.

"Good," you assented as he inserted a second finger, causing you to gasp out a moan, your eyelids closing of their own accord.

His fingers worked you out, curving up to touch the spot that made you see stars.

"Keeps your eyes on me," he whispered as his head lowered against your cunt, his hot breath falling against your damp skin, "I want you to see me."

With difficulty you complied, and he brought his tongue against your pussy, a moan of pleasure rising from your throat. The sensation of his hot, wet tongue licking your clit made your whole body burn.

Your hand gripped his hair more firmly, needing something to anchor it so that you didn't succumb entirely to all your vices. Miguel groaned at this gesture, and the sensation of his vibrant voice on your sensitive skin almost made you come in an instant.

Your pelvis moved of its own accord, and Miguel immediately grabbed it to immobilise you, his fingers and tongue working together to make you moan even more.

The sight reminded you immensely of the bullet incident: his eyes reddened, his tongue and lips resting on you while your fingers were knotted in his hair.

You were beginning to feel as if you were flying away, but it was at that precise moment that Miguel stopped, pulling his fingers out and his mouth away. You whimpered, a whiney complaint filling your mouth as you laid your head back in disappointment on the pillow, Miguel moving up to your face.

"I just wanted to make sure you'd know what it feels like."

The torment was unbearable, and you bit your lips for fear that, on the instant, you might send an insult into his face.

"Oh," he said, raising an eyebrow, "did I make you mad?"

His tone seemed almost condescending, addressing you as if you were a child. He brought his face close to yours, his eyes falling on your lips.

"Want me to fuck you, querida?" he questioned, his lips brushing yours "want me to fill you up with my cock?"

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, simply nodding in response as his simple words managed to make your hair stand on end.

"Use your words," he said simply.

"Yes," you said, beginning to learn from his lessons, trying to find more strength in your voice, "fuck me, please."

He nodded, proud.

"Good," he said, bringing his two fingers, still covered with yourself, close to your lips, "open up."

Timidly, you parted your lips.

"Wider," he ordered in a calm voice.

You obeyed, and soon felt his moist fingers on your tongue. You licked them, his eyes watching with great interest. They were thick and having them both in your mouth wasn't easy, but by relaxing your jaw you eventually managed to suck them off properly, your eyes returning to his, feverish with desire.

Without further ado, he removed his fingers from your mouth and came to kiss your lips, hungry. The entre-met you had offered him wasn't enough, and he was fasting from it to be able to taste all the other parts of you that were still untouched by his lips.

His naked erection pressed against your cunt, and your hips undulated against the sensation as you let out an excited moan against his lips, your walls closing in on nothing.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he splayed his hand across your lower back, undoing the kiss to press his forehead against yours. He adjusted his cock in front of your entrance, coating himself in your juices, and just by that gesture and the memory of your hands, you knew it would be too much.

"Miguel it's," you breathed softly against him, "it's too big. I'll never-" but he cut you off.

"I'm sure you can take it, muñeca," he murmured softly, kissing your cheek.

He returned to kiss your lips, then asked before doing anything else:

"Ready?"

You inhaled softly, your eyes plunging into the red of his, before murmuring against his lips:

"Ready."

He nodded, coming to kiss you chastely before lining up his cock and thrusting in. A moan slipped from your lips, he was big, way too big.

"Shh," he soothed, kissing your temple, "you're tense cariño, breathe through your nose."

So you followed his instructions, trying to relax as much as possible as your nails on his back began to dig into his flesh. Your breath was coming in shaky gasps, your teeth sinking into your lip as Miguel whispered:

"You're doing so well," his hands gently caressing your arched back and thigh.

His voice relaxed you, your breathing a little more settled as he thrust deeper, stretching you out. He kissed your forehead tenderly, brushing the tiny tear from the corner of your eye with his lips.

"Just like that," he groaned, finally managing to fill you completely, "look at you taking me so well.

He kissed your lips gently, caressing the skin of your side. He kissed your cheek, then the side of your neck, sucking in one more mark.

Full, that's how you felt. He stretched you out fully, filling every inch of your being, meeting the warm cloud as he kissed you to contrast the sensation. And soon enough, you relaxed a little more.

"Are you ready for me to move?" he murmured, his thumb resting on your cheek.

As a simple response, breathing softly, you moved your hips on him. He smiled, kissing your lips softly as he pulled back slightly to push into you again, a shaky breath mingling with a moan that he swallowed from your lips.

His tongue came to meet yours, curling around it, sucking it between his lips tenderly as he took a slow rhythm to get you used to him.

He sprinkled kisses across your face, sloppy ones running over your warm naked skin, inevitably coming back to your neck, nibbling lightly. He traced your collarbone with his lips, running along it until he reached your shoulder, where the rounded skin was bitten and a moan was torn from your lips.

His hand came to take your arm, kissing the skin gently as he raised it, straightening slightly to manipulate and kiss it better.

His lips came to linger on the inner skin of your arms, depositing his lips gently as he traced that softened area, his pelvis taking on a slightly faster rhythm.

After the little treatment he'd given you, you weren't going to last long, so you let yourself be carried and touched by his adoring lips.

His tongue traced the skin on the inside of your wrist, his teeth grazing the separation between your hand and it. He came to kiss your palm, then delicately placed his lips on each of your knuckles before pressing it against his cheek.

Your thumb caressed it, and he surrendered to your touch. He then guided it to the side of your head, his fingers nestling in the crack of yours until your hands were intertwined.

"Qué guapa," he breathed.

His rhythm quickened, and you could feel the knot in your belly gradually tightening as Miguel's thrusting in and out of you became sublime, and the sounds you were making multiplied as he hit all the right spots.

Your fingers tightened on Miguel's hand as your other reached down his back to grip his arm, squeezing hard as you felt you were going to come.

"Miguel," you sobbed as he returned to kiss your lips, "I'm close."

It was a miracle you managed to get those few words right. The hand that wasn't intertwined with yours came to cup your face before moving down your body to grab your hip, a deep sigh escaping from his throat.

And you felt his canine gently bite your lip as the knot burst in your lower belly and a moan echoed in your throat. It was like a bolt of lightning striking against metal, spreading out in a powerful electric shock in your entire body as the pleasure beat like a second heart. Miguel's voice growled against your skin as you closed around him spasmodically, your nails clawing at his arm.

You twitched, Miguel kissing your forehead, your eyelids, your nose, your lips. You were slowly coming down from your clouds, the sensations you had gradually fading.

"Tan buena..." he whispered, close to your lips, "but I'm not done with you yet.”

His fingers loosened from yours as he grabbed your arms with both hands to pull you against him and straighten you up. He was sitting, still inside you, making you sit on top of him, facing him.

One of his hands grabbed one of your buttocks, guiding you to move back and forth on him, while his other was on your back, caressing it.

He came to attack your lips again, the sound of your two bodies meeting clapping in the air as you felt completely disorientated by the pleasure. The speed with which he entered you was exceptional, and the sensations he triggered were even more so.

His lips moved over the back of your neck, then settled on your shoulder, his breathing becoming more and more jerky.

You tilted your head back, your voice interspersed with the feeling of him pounding you, the heat in your belly not entirely gone and tightening again.

Then the hand that had been resting on your back slipped between your two bodies and caressed your clit, your breath catching as you felt the cloud spread once more to the small of your back.

Miguel's voice grew less hushed as his rhythm quickened, his fingers working your clit with speed as you felt the climax building up again.

And all at once, you felt his fangs penetrate your beloved as he gave a powerful thrust, and you both came. The earth stopped spinning as you felt like you'd been sent miles above the clouds, both your bodies warm against each other, both of you breathless.

Everything seemed soft, floating, an inner peace had taken hold of both of you as you came down from this peak of pleasure.

He held you against him gently, running his tongue over the two slits he'd made in your skin. He pulled out of you, placing you so gently and carefully on the mattress that it was as if he had a spider's web in his hands.

You snuggled up to him, and he pulled the blanket over you as he kissed you again.

You felt safe here, cuddled in his huge arms that wrapped around you, his hands caressing your body with pure adoration and softness.

You kissed his chest, on one of his scars, and he breathed a profound sigh.

"How did you know?" he whispered.

The end of his question never came, but it was simple: how did you know I wanted to be kissed here? Probably no one had ever touched him this way, here, like that.

"There's nothing like tenderness to soothe the scars." you smiled.

He breathed out, his eyes had returned to their natural brown. He pressed you a little closer to him, his eyes locked in yours. Blue words are the ones you say with your eyes, when your lips are too tired.

"Maybe we'll have to find a name for this pseudo-friendship?" he smiled, the little chat you'd had on the first mission coming back to you as you smiled and kissed him sweetly.

"Why when we already have two letters?" you replied, placing your hand on his cheek, kissing your palm as his hand caressed your waist.

"Two letters?" he asked, curious.

"Yeah," you confirmed, your voice becoming a whisper, "us."

He gave you a candid, sincere smile before kissing your lips softly.

"Yes," he nodded, "we could make a great us, muñeca."

Us, two letters, a whole world.

[meownotgood]

arrival in tokyo / hayakawa aki

Aki has found you insufferable from the moment you were paired up together. It's bad enough that they're forcing him to work with a damn devil, but you happen to be the most disobedient, irritating devil he's ever met. You seem to have quite the attitude, and brats like you ought to be put in their place.

pairing: hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: 23.2k

tags: 18+, smut, exhibitionism (aki fucks you in an alleyway), light degradation, praise, pain play (aki puts his cigarette out on you), begging & teasing, face-fucking, thigh-fucking, spit kink, fingering, choking, 1 (one) spanking, pet names (good girl, baby, etc.), aki is a bit of an ass, he punches you in the face once

this work contains explicit content intended for 18+ individuals. please read the tags and do not interact if you are a minor.

I want you two patrolling the south district all afternoon. I know you're not thrilled about this, but please, try to get along. I better not see you two fighting, understand? 

Oh, and Hayakawa, take a back seat today. If anything happens, just let them handle it, alright? Don't worry, I know they are more than capable. 

Those words seem to echo inside Aki's head, resounding with every heavy step he takes, with every loud clack of his shoes against the pavement. 

Just let them handle it? Why? Is he not fit to do his own job? He isn't helpless or weak, far from it. The squad he leads is one of the strongest in the prefecture, dammit. There's no way a brand new recruit, someone so irresponsible, bothersome, mindless — There's no way someone like you is stronger or more capable than him. That's ridiculous. 

You should be listening to his instruction, stepping back and allowing him to handle things, like a subordinate ought to do. Honestly, it's best you just quit right now, because if you're not going to do that, there will definitely be some serious problems. 

Speak of the devil, your voice stirs Aki from his thoughts: "Sir? Can you slow down? You're walking really fast." 

"No. Keep up or I'll leave you behind." Aki snaps back. 

The city is rather bustling today. People walk about, cars on the street inch forwards in the afternoon traffic, and the whistles of trains can be heard in the distance. There's a light breeze that wafts through the air, tickling the hair on the back of your neck. The sun beams down, warm heat radiating off of the concrete sidewalk. 

You've never been to Tokyo before — or any big city, for that matter — so the atmosphere is totally unfamiliar to you. Various storefronts are busy with shoppers. The walkway is crowded as tons of people commute from place to place. Skyscrapers stretch into the clouds, to the point where you have to crane your neck to look up at them. Wow, and you thought Public Safety's headquarters were huge.

With the way the man in front of you is rushing though, there's no time to enjoy the nice weather, nor take in any of the sights. You have to keep your eyes glued to his back if you want to stay at his heels and avoid getting lost in the crowd. You definitely didn't expect to spend your first devil hunting patrol sightseeing, but still, it would have been nice not to rush around everywhere. 

Aki Hayakawa is who you've been assigned to work alongside today, and he seems… interesting. Besides the woman you talked to earlier, he's the only devil hunter you've met so far, and he doesn't exactly give the best first impression. Respectfully, he's impolite. And to put it bluntly, he's kind of a stuck-up ass. 

When you first met him, he didn't even say hello to you, nor bother to introduce himself. He just looked down on you with an annoyed expression on his face that only seemed to worsen the longer you met his gaze. When he spoke, he acted as if you weren't even there, talking to the woman in front of you like he couldn't care less that you're standing right next to him. I'll work with them for now, but after today, I'm done. I'm tired of getting paired up with trouble-makers. 

Trouble-maker? You? Oh, come on. You're not that much of a nuisance… Probably. 

He's awfully up-tight, too. As you were both walking out of the Public Safety building, you were asking him questions: Hey, sir, what's it like working at Public Safety? Do you like it here? What devils do you have contracts with? There's a sword strapped to your back, is that what you use to fight? Hey, which do you prefer, ramen or udon? 

And he gives you straight to the point answers: It's fine. Yes. That's classified. Yes… And can you stop asking me stupid questions like that? 

Interesting, inscrutable, and cold: those are the best words you can think of to describe him. Cold like a sharp breath of winter. The type of cold that makes trying to get closer to him feel like trekking through the flurry of a heavy snowstorm. He's kept his eyes forward the whole time you've been walking, refusing to spare you any kind of glance. If you try to talk to him, all you receive in return are dry responses. 

You know he's your senior, and from what you've heard, he's supposedly an avid devil hater. It's not difficult to assume why. With these dark and brooding types, it always tends to be the same story. Some kind of complicated revenge plot, or something like that. 

The woman from before — Makima, was that what she said her name was? — told you that you were a special type of person, one who isn't human, nor devil. Hybrids, they're calling it. Supposedly, it's a rare sort of phenomenon. Hardly anyone has seen it before, and most people don't even believe it's true. 

Before Makima found you, you spent your whole life living out in the country. There's not many devils there, so subsequently, not many devil hunters. Besides what you heard in rumors and passing stories from the city, you were oblivious to the topic. Makima had to explain everything to you, and even then, your powers were still a total mystery. 

You still don't fully understand how to use them. Makima told you it'll take some practice, so stick with Hayakawa for now until you're able to get the hang of things. 

You might find him difficult to get along with, She said, But he's one of the most talented devil hunters I have working with me. I think you two could learn from each other. 

You didn't exactly want to become a devil hunter either, but Makima was the one who convinced you. Actually… she says the only way you'll be given any rights is if you're under her protection. Otherwise, it's fair game for you to be hunted as a devil. So you wouldn't exactly say you had a choice. 

Well, it's pretty safe to assume that's why Hayakawa doesn't like you. If people are willing to hunt you as a devil, then you're sure they must see you as one, too. Out in the country, nobody seemed to bat an eye, but the city seems to be full of lots of die-hard devil haters. Unfortunately, you doubt you'll be able to change his mind on that; people from the city are always set in their ways.  

Maybe he feels annoyed about being forced to work with a devil, especially one his boss implies is stronger than himself. You can bet he's still thinking about it, fussing over what Makima said, and if it's actually true. To be honest, even though you're sure he hates you, he doesn't seem like the type who's always a dick to everyone, just to those who happen to tick him off. There might even be a sweeter side to him in there… somewhere. Who knows. 

Either way, he's definitely interesting, and although he can be annoying, he's fun to observe. You want to find out more about him, if you're able. Besides, if you're going to be working with him, for however long it might be, you figure it's a good idea to try to understand him. As best you can, anyways. 

You've noticed that everything about him, from the way he looks to the way he talks screams professionalism. 

You threw on your uniform haphazardly, but Hayakawa has his suit buttoned perfectly, tie tucked in neatly, collar of his dress shirt straightened exactly. His hair is tied up nice and tidy, showing off a pair of simple earrings. With every word he says, he sounds sure of himself. His voice has a certain deep, smooth vibrato that makes you feel commanded to listen to it. You haven't seen him fight, but you can imagine how precise he'd be with the sword that's strapped to his back. 

He's handsome. He'd totally be your type, if he wasn't so pretentious. He's a smoker. You saw him smoking a cigarette outside the Public Safety building when Makima first led you in. The way he carries himself implies he's decently strong, probably more so than he appears. And he's also — 

"Listen up," Your attention is pulled back to Aki when you suddenly hear him open his mouth, "If we see a devil, step back and watch me handle it the right way, got it? I don't need you making a mess for the cleaning crew when your powers end up going haywire…. Are you even listening right now?" 

"Mmmmm… Nope," You reply, "You're gonna have to repeat all that." 

Aki sighs in annoyance, "When I say something, I'm not saying it because I want to hear myself speak. Listen when I'm talking to you. Can you not even do that much?" 

"Geez, I heard you the first time, calm down. I was just playing around." 

"Then repeat what I said." Aki commands. 

"Don't fight the devils, don't make a mess, blah blah cleaning crew." 

There's a few seconds of silence. It's almost like you can hear his eye twitching in irritation, the bridge of his nose knotting up as his temper rises. Finally, he says, "Just… Stay out of my way." 

He also happens to be pretty fun to mess with. 

You chime from behind him, "Whatever you say, Lieutenant." 

There's something about Aki that makes it both extremely easy to get on his nerves and very entertaining to do so. Your existence alone seems to be enough to get under his skin. When you make a joke or poke fun at him, he falls for it every time. If he really wanted to shut you down, he could easily ignore you, but he has this sort of complex about him that makes it impossible. 

It's a constant struggle, where he feels like he has to have the upper hand, the authority over you. Where he feels like in every situation, he has to be correct, and you have to be the one proven wrong. 

If you say go left, he'll say go right. If you say go slow, he'll say go faster. Someone like him, who's cold, diligent, and sensible should be totally incompatible with somebody like you, and in many ways, you are. But that just makes you want to get closer to him, to shatter the expectation and have him come to understand you just as much as you want to understand him. 

Aki Hayakawa is clearly the type of man who strives to achieve his goals by any means necessary. He's determined, but doesn't seem egotistical, which makes him intriguing. You think he seems like the type of person who has his own sense of justice, his own tightly-knit morals. He follows the orders that are given to him and sticks to his principle. In short, he's the type of person who doesn't understand how to have any fun. 

It'd be amusing to chip away at that, you figure. To get him to go against those values, to see him choose the immoral route instead. Being forced to work alongside those he swore to kill, to get revenge on, a devil, would probably be the first step. 

So as much as he is difficult, and as much as he is a total hard-ass, he's also fun, you conclude. It's fun to wear down his serious exterior, to see him when he strays away from his usual poker-faced expression. It makes you wonder just how far you can push him, what else you can manage to get out of him. At what point would he finally break? When would that stern, rule-following demeanor finally snap, and what would happen when it did? 

You've quickly found yourself trying to do anything to create sparks, to bring some sort of heat to that unshakeable cold. Aki makes it almost too easy, because whatever you say or do seems to immediately put him in a bad mood. That's why as you've been walking behind him, you haven't just been sightseeing. You've been formulating a plan. 

You overheard Makima when she was giving him orders; Aki was given specific instructions not to kill you, not to fight you, and to let you handle any problems that occur. You're sure he's got to be dying to defy those, to put an annoying brat like you in your place. 

You're going to figure out just what makes him tick. You'll find something that'll really piss him off, and then, once he snaps, you'll have won. Even if he thinks he's the one with the upper hand, if you can get him to defy the rules, to live a little, everything will have gone according to your plan. You thought being a devil hunter would be nothing but boring nonsense, but maybe now, things will start becoming entertaining. 

He thinks you're some sort of trouble-maker? Then a trouble-maker is exactly what he's going to get. 

"Hey, sir, I wanna know something," You ask him, speeding up a little so you're walking closer behind him, "Why do you hate devils so much?"

Aki's reply comes quickly and point-blank. "None of your business." 

"Oh, come on. Just tell me." 

"No," Aki says firmly, "Stop asking." 

Your lips form into a subtle pout. "If we're gonna be working together, we should try to get to know each other, right? Why won't you just say it?"

"I have no intentions of getting to know you." 

You pause for a moment, realizing you've hit a dead end. It seems like trying to get him to open up about anything is a no-go. You need something you can work with, something that's gonna give you a bit of leverage over him. If he doesn't want to play nice, that's fine. You have to change your approach, and there's one thing you think will work perfectly. 

"Hm, well," You muse, "I want to get to know you. Tell me, would you say you're a strong devil hunter? Or a weak one?"

Aki scoffs, "What's it to you?" 

"I just wanna make sure I'm working with someone who's on my level, not someone who's gonna hold me back." 

There's a slight pause, before he replies, "The civilian sector is where weak devil hunters operate, not here." 

He's avoiding the question. Are you touching a nerve, is he insecure? You might just have him with this. 

"I don't think that's true, and you know why?" 

Aki doesn't respond, waiting for your answer. You give him a moment to simmer, to try and figure out what you're going to say next. His arms are held uniformly behind his back, and you can see his hands start to tighten, his knuckles start to tense. You're glad he's not facing you, because if he was, he'd see the shit-eating grin plastered all over your face right now. 

"I think Public Safety is filled with nothing but weak, useless devil hunters. I know 'cause… I'm looking right at one." 

Aki abruptly stops in his tracks, and you nearly bump into his back when he does. He turns around on his heels, and for the first time since you left, you're looking right at him. His eyebrows are furrowed tightly, the bridge of his nose is crinkled up, and he's eyeing you up and down with this look of utter disgust and contempt. 

Yeah, you've really done it now, but you can't shrink away just yet. You have to keep pushing, 'til you get him right where you want him. 

"What the hell do you know about me?" Aki says, and the tone of his voice is much angrier than before, much harsher. You're aware that you're making a scene now, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, with people walking around you, giving the both of you dirty looks. 

You can't pay any attention to them, you have to keep focused on Aki. Don't look away from him, don't show that you're at all affected, otherwise this won't work. 

You reply, "You seem pretty weak to me, and what that lady said before confirms it, does it not?" 

"I'm not weaker than you. You don't know the first thing about what makes a person strong or weak." Aki's eyes narrow as he examines you, his posture rigid. 

"You sure about that?" You counter, straight-faced. "I heard what that lady said, she told you to let me handle things. So why did you tell me to let you handle it instead? You don't strike me as the type who'd disobey orders." 

Aki steps in a little bit closer to you. With the way you have to look up at him to continue meeting his gaze, you're suddenly aware of how tall he is compared to you, his body casting a harsh shadow over your figure. He just about towers over you, in fact. It gives you the feeling that to him, you must be small and meager. 

He utters his next words a little quieter than before, through gritted teeth, "Shut up. I'm your superior for a damn reason. If I tell you something, you listen and you don't question it." 

"Oh, whatever," You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, "Superior doesn't mean anything if you're a weakling." 

"You've got quite the attitude, don't you?" Aki leans over you, his voice sounding much closer to your ear, "I suggest you start watching your mouth, unless you want to have problems with me." 

"Why don't you watch yours?" You keep your gaze locked on his, despite how difficult it is to meet his sharp stare. "You've done nothing but be rude to me since we've met, you know. I didn't do anything, I don't think it's justified." 

"And you've done nothing but get on my last nerve." 

You shrug, seemingly unaffected by his mood, but you feel the smallest tinge of regret, the slightest feeling of nervousness. For a second, you wonder if pissing him off this much is a good idea, but before you can contemplate it much further, you're already saying, "Not my fault you've got such a short fuse." 

Aki brings his hand to your shoulder. He grips you hard, dragging you in. He's so close, mere inches away from your face; you can smell his fancy cologne, see the glimmers of spite that linger in his gaze. 

When he speaks again, his voice is a low, strict murmur, "This is the last time I'm going to say this to you. I am your superior, and you're going to treat me as such. Start taking this job seriously and stop acting stupid before it gets you in trouble. Do you think I wanted to deal with your bullshit, to be forced to work with scum like you?" 

The way he's scolding you, the deep and resentful tone of his voice: something about it makes heat rise to your cheeks, makes your heart pound impossibly faster. You feel embarrassed. There's a tight cord of anxiety forming in your chest — You feel like shrinking away from him, like you're suddenly the weak one in the situation. You were so confident earlier, but all it took was him reprimanding you like this for you to instantly regret what you just did. 

You feel like telling him, I'm sorry, please, forgive me sir, because everything from him telling you off to the way he stands over you, expression unyielding, hand tightening on your shoulder — You feel overpowered, in every sense of the word. At his mercy. The pressure is building, but before you can look away, Aki tilts your chin up a little with his finger, coaxing you to keep meeting his gaze. 

He leans forward just slightly more, and you notice now how he's speaking with his mouth mere inches away from yours. His lips look soft, they're parted a little, and although his tall frame in your vision is the only thing you can see, you know there's still people shuffling past. All these passerby, watching you get scolded like a child who's been naughty. 

Aki continues, "The only thing I want you to do from now on is sit back, keep your damn mouth shut, and listen when I give you an order. It's not that hard to do, so quit acting like a brat and show me some respect, got it?" 

You could do that, you really could step away right now. You could say you're sorry, and that would be that. But as much as the pressure is on right now, you still feel a lingering sense of satisfaction. He thinks he's the one in the driver's seat, but you can see it in his expression — His eye is twitching, his lips are pursed, his fingers are trembling ever-so slightly in frustration — He's going to snap. And you're the one who pushed him this far, who managed to get him this way. 

Honestly, being pinned under his thumb like this, treated like you're lesser, getting him really, truly pissed — It gives you a sort of thrill. A certain kind of high feeling, like even though he's in control, he's the one scolding you, it still feels like you've won. You accomplished what you set out to do, did you not? You got under his skin enough to make professional, no-nonsense Aki stop working just to reprimand you and cause a huge scene. 

This predicament of yours causes you to ponder the same thing you were dwelling on earlier, that same train of thought. How far would Aki go just to get the upper hand over you? What would he do to prove that he's right and you're wrong? 

You know you shouldn't enjoy pushing his buttons like this. You're sure the logical option here would be to fall back in line. Go back to work, follow orders like you're supposed to. But where's the fun in that? You can push him further than this. He's nowhere near close to breaking yet, and you want to find out what happens when he does. 

So, you say something you probably shouldn't — No, definitely should not say. Two little words that you know will piss him off more than anything. 

"Or what?" 

There's a pause. His hand is on you, his grip flexes, his body is so, so close. A brief stare-down, a deadlock that leaves you listening to the sound of your own heartbeat drumming hard in your chest, your mind spinning as you wonder what he's going to do, and what he's even capable of doing. And then —

"How about I show you, hm?" Aki stands up straight, peering down at you with an unreadable expression. He tilts his head, gesturing to the side, towards an alleyway that rests in between the tall buildings and crowded street corners. It's dark, and despite how much you squint your eyes, it's impossible to tell where it leads. 

"C'mere." 

Before you know it, before you even understand why, you're following him as he leads you deep into the alley. It's quiet, sort of dingy, cast in a dim, cool shadow. Far enough away from people that you can't hear them, but still close enough that you can see their shapes as they pass by the entryway. 

You're walking into the alley deeper, further, and you're about to ask, "Hey, sir-" But before you can get out, What are we doing here? He cuts you off by turning around and grabbing you by the collar of your shirt, slamming your back against the brick wall. 

Aki quickly has you caged in here, one hand tightly gripping your collar, the other placed firm on the wall beside your head. His knee slots into the empty space between your legs to trap you further, and he pulls you off the wall, dragging you forwards roughly by your collar until you're closer to his face. All you can do is sit there, limp, unable to move as he has you cornered. The impact of your back hitting the wall made your eyes shut involuntary, but you slowly open them now. 

You can look at him a lot closer than before; you study his earrings, black and shiny, glinting in the low light. His jawline is sharp, his nose is pointy and defined. He smells like cigarette smoke and cedar, completely intoxicating. Pinned this close against him, with his eyes never leaving yours, you feel like you could drown in his gaze. He's looking at you in a certain way that makes you feel trapped, like he's looking at something inferior, something he owns. 

Aki manages to somehow sound even more pissed when he speaks this time. "I don't know why you think it's acceptable to talk back to me, but you need to be taught something about respect, because clearly, you don't get what it means." 

You retaliate, "I don't need to be taught shit from you." 

"Apparently, you do. You fail to understand something as simple as respecting authority. If I was in your situation, I wouldn't be acting like this, I'd understand my place. But I guess you just don't get it." Aki's eyes narrow and his fist tightens on your collar. He keeps a resolute, level tone. "Miss Makima should have never taken you in, I think you're a lost cause."

It's difficult to speak with your collar choking you, Aki practically holding you up by it, but you still manage to spit out, "Huh? My situation? What's that supposed to mean?" 

"You really don't get it, do you? I guess I have to spell it out," Aki scoffs, "You're a fucking devil, and devils are less than human. As long as you're a devil, you'll be my subordinate, that's just the way it is. You should appreciate that I'm kind enough to give you this much." 

That word in particular, devil — The way he says it is laced with so much animosity, chewed up and spat out from his lips, like he hates even having to say the word. Like it's something about you, about this world, he absolutely, wholeheartedly despises. 

Your hands reach for his, grabbing at his knuckles, at where he grips your shirt, but to no avail; he refuses to let up. His thigh slides further upwards until you're sat between it, and you can start to feel the slightest amount of friction between your legs. 

You counter, "Well, aren't you nice. This is what you call kind? Treating me like shit, talking down to me like I'm some kind of animal?" 

"The way I'm treating you is all you deserve. I could kill you right now, but I'm generous enough to let you live. If you knew what's good for you, if you were at all smart, you'd ditch the attitude and be on the ground, licking the dirt off my shoes."

"Nah," You shake your head, and despite your situation, even though it would seem like he has the advantage here, you still have a playful smirk growing on your face. This is it, you're winning. "That lady told you not to kill me, and dogs like you always do as they're told." 

"Makima told me I can put you down if you try to run or disobey my orders. If you think your insignificant life means anything to her, you'd be dead wrong." 

"Put me down, eh?" You cock an eyebrow, a dry laugh escaping your mouth, "Like you even have the balls to do that." 

Aki taunts, "Yeah? You think so?" 

"I know so." 

After you say those words, everything happens in a matter of seconds. 

You notice his grip on your collar flex before he twists, still holding onto you. He roughly flings you away from the wall, with enough force that you stumble and fall on your ass. You manage to push yourself up, Aki standing over you and watching, allowing you to shakily stand to your feet. You don't have time to prepare to fight, though, because the second you've got your bearings, the last thing you see is him cracking his knuckles before his fist connects with your face. 

Fuck, he hit you hard. So hard you fall back again, all the way until you're on the ground. You can feel blood welling at your split lip, and you taste it on your tongue, where you accidentally bit down. The concrete pavement is icy cold against your skin; it feels good, almost, helping to soothe the stinging in your cheek. 

You really didn't expect him to hit you like that… Although, in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. Slowly, your senses start to return, the pain beginning to fade, but your daze is completely shattered when you feel Aki's foot come down on your face. 

He steps on your head with what feels like his full weight, grinding your cheek under his foot like you're a doormat, shoving your face further into the floor. It's filthy: the way you're pinned between the bottom of his shoe and the dirty ground of the alleyway. There's the sound of steel scraping metal, his sword being drawn from the sheath, the low hum of his voice — Don't move. — and then, you feel the sharp edge of his blade on your neck. So close, one misstep or tiny movement from slicing into your skin. 

Although your state doesn't make it easy, you're still able to see him in the corner of your vision; his expression deadpan, as if he's looking down at something far lesser, an insect. 

"You didn't put up much of a fight, did you?" Aki taunts, his eyes examining you, "Only one hit to take you out? If you weren't a devil yourself, I'd say there wasn't a good likelihood of you surviving past your first mission." 

You ignore him. "Get your foot off my fucking face." 

Aki leans his head down a little. He's silent, and in the corner of your eye, you can see the way his jaw flexes, the way he gathers saliva in his mouth. Then, before you have a chance to react, a glob of his spit lands on the front of your shirt. 

"Filth stays on the ground, where it belongs." 

You wiggle a little under him, trying to see if there's a way to get up, but Aki responds by pressing the blade of his sword firmer to your neck. Now, if you move even a centimeter, it's sure to cut you. Aki addresses it: "Didn't I tell you not to move? You're going to end up hurting yourself." 

Hurting yourself. Like he isn't the one holding the sword that's pressed to your throat right now. Like you're the one who caused this to happen, not him. 

You sigh defeatedly, "This is pointless. We both know you're not gonna kill me, so just let up already." 

"Of course I'm not. It isn't worth my damn time. Wouldn't be worth it to have to clean up the mess afterwards, either." 

With his foot still pressed to your head and his sword on your neck, Aki uses his free hand to rustle through the pocket of his suit jacket. He pulls a thin cigarette from the pack, sticking it between his teeth. He finds his lighter next, and you can hear him strike the wheel with his thumb. One, two, three times, before there's a flame to bring the cigarette to life. 

You're still slightly dazed, but the adrenaline is starting to overpower the hazy feeling. Your cheek is sore from where he keeps stepping on it. There's a slight, dull sting coming from your lip, and you can feel the blood starting to dry. 

Now this, this is the most pathetic you've felt in a long, long time. Your lip split from where he hit you, his foot shoving your face into the ground, his sword on your neck, all while he nonchalantly lights his cigarette. 

This is what it's like to lose against him, to genuinely find yourself beneath him, obedient. However, the most pitiful position you've been in since you met him also happens to be the most exciting. 

That thrill from before: you can feel it now, even stronger. In reality, it never truly went away. You're annoyed, but your heart pounds in your ribcage, you feel fire under your skin. Your head feels fuzzy and light, like you're floating in fluffy white clouds, fogging up and obscuring your vision, making it harder to think clearly or rationally. 

You should be done, you really should be done with this. The attitude, the quarreling. A sword to your neck should be the final straw. But should means nothing to you. Since when have you done what's correct, what you should be doing? 

You said it yourself. Aki isn't going to kill you. The heart-racing thrill: you want it more, you can take more from him. This is the most entertained you've felt all damn day. The exhilaration is so fun to chase, and Aki is so, so easily toyed with. 

There's a little smile tugging at your lips when you speak again, and you hope Aki can't hear it in your voice. "That lady told you not to fight me, did she not? I wonder what she's gonna say when she finds out you went directly against your orders." 

Aki speaks in between the cigarette in his teeth, grinding his heel a little harder into your cheek, making you wince. "Do you want me to give you another thrashing, or are you gonna shut up now?" 

"Tch. You're an asshole."  

"Yeah, sure." Aki shoves his lighter back in his pocket, taking a long, drawn-out drag from his cigarette. The smoke spills from his lips as he tilts his head back and slowly exhales. Finally, he says, "What's your point?" 

Your point? Your point is he's infuriating, impossible to get along with, and the most insufferable person you've ever had the misfortune of working with. Your point is that Aki is utterly difficult, and yet, he's the most captivating person you've ever encountered. 

No-one has put you in your place quite like this before. Nobody has ever made you feel this overpowered, this pathetic. There's something exciting about Aki being the first. 

There's elation, a thrill, in the feeling of being conquered by him, of having the power shifted away. And there's euphoria in the feeling of getting closer to him, when his hands were on you, when his mouth was just inches away from yours. There's a certain dizziness to the way he smells, to the way he effortlessly towers over you, to how physically strong you know he is, even though he holds himself back. The low, sultry lull of his voice goes right between your legs every single time he talks. 

Perhaps you want to break him just as much as you want to be broken. The idea of getting closer to him, closer than ever before, beating all the odds stacked against you, is absolutely alluring. 

Aki is a sworn devil hater, a model for professionalism, dignified and principled in every way. How amazing would it be to see him defy that, to make him want you, even though it contradicts all of his supposed values? He's been putting on this front, acting like he stand you, but the way he touches you even though he doesn't have to, the look of clear want in the back of his eyes that he's been trying to hide — Those things say differently. 

So maybe there's something else, something more you can gain from this struggle. Maybe, just maybe, there's another way to go about this. There's a different approach you can take, one much, much more satisfying. It's high risk, high reward. You're really not sure if Aki — straight-laced, goody two-shoes Aki — would ever do something so indecent. Aki, who hates devils, who always follows the rules, and who has no idea how to enjoy himself. A part of you is sure this won't work, but if it does, if this pays off… 

"You wanna know what my point is? Do you?" You taunt, finally breaking the silence between the two of you. 

Aki fiddles with the hilt of his sword, causing the blade to tap gently against your skin. He replies simply, without any elaboration: "No." 

"My point is I think you're compensating for something." 

Aki snorts, "Really? You were silent for so long, and that's the best insult you can come up with? You can do better." 

"I'm not saying it 'cause it's an insult, I'm saying it 'cause it's fucking true," You argue, speaking through gritted teeth. You're looking right up at him now, your gaze shooting daggers. Aki stares back with nonchalance, but also with a hint of curiosity, taking another lazy hit from his cigarette. 

You continue, "Guys like you only act this way because they're compensating for whatever they don't have. Did it make you feel good to take your frustrations out on me? Why don't you toss me around a little more, it might make you feel even better." 

"I wouldn't have needed to do this if you just followed my orders in the first place."

"Nope, this isn't about that for you," You wiggle a little bit under his weight, "This is about you wanting to take your anger out on a poor, defenseless devil." 

"This is about me teaching you a lesson on discipline. Seems I was unsuccessful. You haven't learned a thing." 

The blade of his sword, cool and sharp, presses further against your skin, shutting you right up. Your breath catches in your throat and you stare back at him, wide-eyed.

Aki holds his cigarette idly between his fingers, smoke rising up from the end. "You run your mouth way too much for your own good. For a 'poor, defenseless devil' you were acting real cocky earlier. What happened to that? You're the one who called me weak and useless. Now look at you." 

Then, Aki leans over, resting his weight on his bent knee, on the foot still pressing your face into the ground. In a tone much quieter than before, he says, "So, are you going to be quiet, or should I shut you up myself?" 

You eye him up and down. It's hard to breathe, hard to speak or even think, but you're just barely able to keep your guard up. You ask, "Are you going to answer any of my questions?" 

"I don't think they warrant answers." 

"Tell me, are you compensating for something? Or not?" 

Aki scoffs, "Are we really still on this subject?" 

"The fact that you won't tell me just means I'm right. You're probably a virgin, getting all pissy with me 'cause you're mad no girls will give you any attention." 

You can see the way Aki's jaw flexes, partially gritting his teeth as he sternly commands, "Watch your damn mouth." 

But you don't: "Is it fun to be Public Safety's measly little dog? I'm sure they keep you on a tight leash, never allowing you to have any fun. I bet you spend all your time running around, doing errands for that bitch, hoping someday she's gonna give you a chance. I'm sure that-"

You cut yourself off with a sharp intake of breath when you feel Aki press his blade into your neck. The pressure is only slight, but it's just enough to prick your skin. A thin rivulet of blood trickles down your neck, pooling onto the sidewalk under you, spilling from the small cut his sword created. Thump thump thump — Your heart beats faster, so hard you can hear it loud in your ears and feel it pounding in your chest. 

Sword to your throat, his foot stepping on your head, your own blood spilled; your body is frozen, but your head feels high. And when you peer up at him through blurry vision slowly beginning to focus, Aki looks like he's about to fucking lose it. 

Where his hand clasps the hilt of his sword, his grip tightens, his knuckles clenching. His lips curl into a scowl, his eyebrows furrow into a knot. He glares down at you with frustration, with a look like he wants you dead. This time, all he can manage is a choked, restrained, "Shut up." 

Your breathing comes out much harsher than before, and your eyes nervously flicker across his form. There's pressure building in the air, in between the two of you, so tense it feels like it's weighing down on you. With a voice that comes out weaker than you intend, you mutter, "Am I right?" 

"You're disgusting," Aki flicks his dying cigarette, scattering ash down, where it lands all over your clothes. "That's what you are." 

"And you have a small dick." 

In a single moment, with those few words, the cord of tension snaps — Aki swings his sword away from your neck and brings his foot off of your head. He takes a few steps back from you, then commands, "Get up, and don't make me tell you twice." 

You're a bit weak when you move, your limbs numb from laying on the hard concrete for so long. Hesitantly, you sit up, brushing the ash from the front of your shirt with your palm, the fabric still a bit wet from where he spit on it. 

Aki drops his cigarette butt on the ground, stamping it out with his shoe. You catch him sliding his sword back in the sheath strapped around his shoulder, muttering something to himself so quietly you hardly hear it. Something like, Can't believe I got your filthy blood all over it. Then, he grabs your elbow to yank you up the rest of the way, to your feet. 

Aki holds onto you tightly, guiding you up against the wall, putting you in the same position he had you in earlier: his height dwarfing yours, his knee caging you in. One of his hands presses flat to the brick, beside your head, while the other moves to grab your chin, forcefully tilting your head up so you have no choice but to look him in the eyes. 

There is it again — That sort of possessive look present in his gaze, framed by his messy bangs and heavy eyelids. He's close, so close, even more than last time, it seems like. If he were any closer, you're sure he'd be able to hear how much your heart is pounding right now. 

Aki exhales a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back to relieve some of the tension there, before he finally speaks. 

"Why don't you say what you said again? To my face this time." 

The frustration and anger you felt from him earlier have all but disappeared from his voice, replaced by the smooth, scolding tone you've become plenty familiar with by now. You can hear his breathing, soft and controlled. You can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest. There's that intense pressure again, combined with heat, with the closeness between the two of you. With the warmth radiating off your body and his, made stronger by the animosity. 

Once again, the balance has shifted, but not in the way either of you expect, not in the way it would seem. In reality, by bringing the two of you closer, Aki just did you a huge favor. 

You answer, "I said you're Public Safety's mutt, and not a very good one, at that." 

"And? What else?" 

"And that you have a small dick." 

Aki taunts, voice deadpan, "Wouldn't you like to know." 

"Oh?" You huff a dry laugh, "Is that an offer to show me?" 

"Tch," Aki scoffs, his eyes narrowing in contempt, "Don't be ridiculous. Do you think I don't understand what you're getting at? Do you think I'm stupid?" 

He's caught onto you, hasn't he? 

A grin tugs at the corners of your cheeks. "Of course not, sir. I think you're quite smart, actually. I just think you could stand to live a little, and if you understand what I'm getting at, then you should know what I mean." 

Aki keeps his hold on your chin, gripping a little tighter. The pad of his thumb brushes ever-so slightly over your bottom lip, where the blood has nearly dried. You're hot all over, and his hand is cold; his touch causes you to shiver. 

Aki continues, his voice low and quiet, "How do you imagine all of this playing out, hm? Acting like a brat isn't going to get you what you want. You seem to believe you're doing something here, but look where your antics have gotten you." 

His eyes flicker down, to the shallow wound on your neck. A dried stream of blood still lingers on your skin, and a tiny pebble of fresh blood wells from the cut, threatening to drip down. Then, his gaze flicks back to your face, resting on your lips. "All you did was end up getting yourself hurt." 

"Hm…" You muse, tone exaggerated as you feign thinking. His thumb continues to toy with your bottom lip as you talk. "No, I don't think it's what I want. It's what you want, actually." 

"You're projecting." 

You can't help but chuckle at that. There's a slight, teasing lilt in your voice when you speak again, the words dripping like honey, sweet and saccharine, "Isn't it hard, sir? It has to be so difficult, always following someone else's orders, never having the opportunity to take what you want. Why don't you be selfish for a change? Don't you want to have some fun?" 

Aki feels your lips quiver under his thumb. Your pupils are blown, gaze pooling with something he knows, but can't even begin to fathom. And when he moves his hand, faintly cupping your cheek, he feels the warmth radiating from your skin, the fire quickly spreading from you to him, filling his own body with a steady burn.  

His touch, delicate and light, is a perfect juxtaposition to his next words: harsh and strict. He replies, "What's difficult is having to deal with you. I'm sick of it." 

You feel his fingertips as they start to trail your jawline, tracing the shape, all the way until his hand is able to firmly hold the back of your neck. Your breath hitches, your eyes widen. Aki can see it in your face, in your reaction — The way his intimate touch intoxicates you, instantly sending blood rushing to your head. 

"I… I think…" You manage, gnawing on your bottom lip in an attempt to maintain your composure, "I think you wanna have fun, you just don't want to admit it. You don't have to hold back with me, you know. I'm sure you wanna enjoy yourself." 

"No, I don't. What gives you the impression that I do?" Aki replies, but he offers a tender squeeze to the back of your neck, and when he exhales, his breath comes out the slightest bit shaky. His eyes narrow, and it's like you can see the way his gears are turning, thought process reflected in his gaze. As if he's wondering, debating back and forth with himself… Does he? Does he want to enjoy himself? 

You've been keeping your arms at your sides since he first pinned you here, but with his eyes never wavering from your face, Aki can see your hand start to move in the corners of his vision. You wedge an arm between yourself and him, hesitantly pressing your palm to his chest, over the folds of his suit jacket. The fabric is soft to the touch, smooth. Clearly well-kept, dry cleaned and ironed to make it so. 

You can feel the way his heart drums under your palm to a quick, eager rhythm, how his chest swells with every deep breath. The bridge of his nose scrunches ever-so slightly — the only sign that he noticed — but Aki doesn't move, nor does he make any attempt to stop you. He's frozen in place, tentatively waiting for you to take the next action. Entertaining you, to the slightest degree. 

And you do just that: with a faint smile on your face, you slowly drag your palm down. Over his chest, fingertips ghosting across the crisp folds in his jacket, over the neatly done buttons. Then, down further, to cup the shape of his hip, to rub circles on his thigh, your hand just barely squeezing. 

"You say that you don't, but," Your voice is quiet, your fingers rub teasingly close to his inner thigh, and Aki bunches the hand that rests on the brick wall into a tight fist. "You're here, aren't you? You could get off of me any minute now and leave me here in this alley, but you haven't. You wanna tell me why that is, hm, Hayakawa? You wanna tell me what you're doing right now, why you have me pinned here?" 

No, you know why, and you want it just as badly as he does. You want to find out what he looks like with his crisp suit out of place, his tie loose, his shirt unbuttoned. You want to hear his voice when he can no longer maintain his level tone, what it sounds like when he breaks. 

You take a deep, trembling breath in. Aki exhales a slow, steady, controlled breath out. Here in this moment, it feels as though time only exists between the two of you. It passes in fractions, in every flicker of Aki's eyes over you, and in every faint beat of your heart. 

You can hear a plane as it flies overhead, a distant car horn honk — A subtle reminder that you're still in public, that what you're about to do is incredibly risky, but honestly, you can't bring yourself to care. The risk will make this all the more exciting. 

You speak to fill the growing silence, voice barely more than a whisper, staring up at Aki through your eyelashes. "You're so quiet. I bet you're thinking about it." 

Aki swallows, his voice lowered to match your volume when he replies, "Thinking about what?" 

You smile. "About bending me over and taking me in this alleyway, right here, right now." 

Aki sucks in a harsh, sharp breath. You lean in further, and his head dips in a little lower — Perhaps by accident, perhaps by choice. You stand up straighter to bring yourself closer to him, practically on your tiptoes; Aki can feel your warm breath fan out over the shell of his ear when you speak. 

"Well?" You ask. The heat from your breath and your soft voice in his ear causes Aki's whole body to shiver. "You're the one who said you didn't want to deal with bullshit or messing around. How about we get to the point, and you go on and tell me what you want to do to me." 

"I… I don't…" 

Aki trails off; the words are stuck in his throat, unable to form, and he cuts his sentence short with a loud gasp when your lips suddenly press to his ear. Your hand grabs the diamond of his tie, yanking him in even closer. You trail kisses down his cheek, his jaw, so light they can hardly be felt, so teasing they send sparks of electricity through his veins. 

You whisper against his skin, "Tell me how badly you wanna fuck me right now." 

"I think… I think that's just what you want." Aki tries to keep his voice unshaken, but you can tell how it's beginning to waver, his resolve faltering. There's a warm flush blooming on his cheeks, and he leans his head further into your shoulder, hoping you won't be able to see it. "You're awfully desperate. As if you even have the privilege to be." 

"No, you definitely want this, just as much as me. You're the desperate one here, I'm sure." 

Aki grits his teeth and chokes out, "I don't fuck devils." 

You grip his tie tighter, pulling him in until you're able to press your lips to his neck; Aki's body curls over you, obedient. His heart is pounding — You can feel it, the way his pulse thrums steadily beneath your lips. Your teeth connect, nipping faint love bites, mouth hot on his skin, and he's practically melting at the sensation, his weight starting to slide down the wall. I don't fuck devils, he claims, but when your hand trails from his thigh to between his legs, you can feel where the stiff outline of his cock strains his slacks. 

"Ah, s-shit," Aki stammers, "You…" 

Whatever he was hoping to say dies out when you squeeze him. Aki sighs deeply, his thigh sliding down from the wall, his hips subtly shifting back to give you better access. 

You palm his dick; he's so warm here, throbbing and aching under your touch, so much that you can feel his cock pulse even through the fabric. When you squeeze again, harder this time, Aki can feel precum dribble out, getting his dick messy, his boxers filthy. 

You press a long, lingering kiss to his collar. Then, you pull away to admire your work; red smears cover his skin, up and down his neck, and the crisp, white collar of his dress shirt is marked with a vivid lipstick stain. 

"Wow, you're so hard," You tease, trying your best to hold back a snicker, "Is this just from me kissing you? I knew you wanted me, but I had no idea you wanted me this badly." 

The only thing Aki can manage to mutter into your ear is a quiet, forceless, "Stop." 

You retort, "Why should I?" 

Aki swallows hard to clear some of the dryness in his throat, then murmurs, "We can't do this, not here." 

Yeah, he says that, but his words carry no bite, and his actions betray them; even while he speaks, even while he says we can't, he's rutting his hips into your touch, desperately seeking out more friction. A hushed whine leaves his lips when he grinds himself hard against your palm. 

"Oh?" You smirk, "So that's what you want, you want me to stop, huh?" 

Abruptly, you take your hand away from him. Aki's breath hitches from the lack of contact. His cock aches even more, suddenly feeling terribly confined in his slacks. So desperate to come free, to feel something. 

Aki stutters, "No, I'm-" 

You cut him off, "You're so needy, poor thing. All you have to do is admit you want me to touch you and I will. You think you can do that, sir?" 

"Fucking," Aki growls, his hand squeezing the back of your neck, "What I want right now is to shut you the hell up." 

"Hah, is that so?" You laugh, "And how are you gonna do that? Are you gonna shut my mouth with-" Your hand returns to grab him, palm stroking the shape of his cock through his pants, and Aki can't hold back a groan. "-this?" 

The moment you said that, the second your hand began palming him again, it's almost like you flipped a switch. The last of his resolve was finally chipped away, his need for you reached a boiling point, and now, there's no turning back. You can sense it in the way his breath starts to quicken, in how his hand grabs your side with a tight grip, wrinkling up your dress shirt. You know he isn't holding himself back anymore when his lips hover over your neck, his breath warm, and he finally says what you've been waiting to hear. 

"Yeah, you'd fucking like that, wouldn't you?" Aki's voice is low and sultry, laced with a hint of annoyance; his tone makes you feel weak, your heart flipping, the breath punched from your lungs. "Bet you're dying to have my cock down your throat. As if you even deserve it, considering the way you've acted." 

A soft whimper escapes your mouth before you have the opportunity to stop it, and you swear you can hear Aki huff the faintest chuckle. He runs his hand down your lower back, all the way 'til he finds the curve of your ass, and you gasp when he gives it a firm squeeze. 

Your eyelids flutter, and his tongue swipes over your neck — You're like putty in his hands then, instantly yielding. His tongue, warm and wet, licks up the stream of dried blood from your skin, the taste metallic in his mouth. You hastily rub his dick with your palm, and his lips latch to your wound; he sucks fresh blood from it, his teeth nibbling faint impressions, your taste fogging up his head. Somehow, you swear you feel him get even harder. 

Aki mutters into your neck, "You're awfully quiet now." 

It's difficult to formulate a sentence with his mouth all over you, but you manage to hesitantly ask, "And… And if I say that I do? If I say I would like that?" 

Aki presses his lips to cut, placing a kiss so unexpectedly soft and tender it makes your head spin, your thoughts teetering. His fingers thread up through the base of your scalp, sending tingles down your spine. He answers, "I'm not sure you've earned it, honestly. You'd be lucky if I gave you my fingers — No, you don't even deserve that much. The most you deserve is my shoe to grind down on." 

You're not even thinking before you babble, "I deserve it, I do. I… I really want you, please." 

"Oh, you're so greedy," Aki hums, muttering breathlessly between his lips peppering teasing kisses on your neck, "I know you'd be happy with anything I give you, but you still want more." 

You nod, squeezing the stiff tent in his slacks, and Aki sighs into your skin, quickly pulling back so he can look at you. He grabs your chin with his fingers, tilting your face towards him; his gaze meets yours, and his eyes are pooled with lust, pupils blown out wide, swallowing the blue of his iris. 

In a low tone, voice smooth, Aki says, "I like it when you beg for me, it's fitting for a pathetic little brat like you. Why don't you beg a bit more, then maybe I'll consider giving you what you want." 

This may be the first time you've listened to his orders, but the second you've realized that, pleas are already falling from your mouth and you can't do anything to stop them. 

"Aki, please." You whine, and it's the first time you've said his name like this, too. The way you say it so desperately, like you really do need him — Aki feels his heart skip a beat in his chest, and his dick pulses under your hand. You plead, "I really want it, don't be mean to me." 

"No," Aki scolds, his eyes narrowing, and he leans in a little further, speaking softly, his lips mere centimeters away from yours, "If you want it that bad, then ask me properly. Tell me what you want, and speak with some respect, otherwise you're not getting it." 

You hesitate for a moment, listening to the heavy breaths — yours, and his — as they echo around the alley. Only for a moment, though, because you know exactly what he wants to hear, and that happens to be the only motivation you need. 

Finally, you stammer, "I want your cock, Hayakawa, sir," You gulp, Aki's breath hitches, and then, you continue, "I want it in my mouth, want you down my throat." 

"Fuck, you think you can take it?" Aki mutters breathlessly, and when you nod your head, he takes one step back from you. He briefly eyes you up and down, and his hand tremors slightly as he brings it to your shoulder. 

"Then get on your knees." 

You don't need to be told twice. 

With his hand on your shoulder, Aki guides you to switch places with him, so that his back is to the wall and you're positioned in front of him, at his feet. He hurriedly pulls his sword strap off his body to make himself more comfortable, tossing it to the ground with a clatter. Then, he holds the back of your head, gently coaxing you to your knees. 

His heart thrums hard in his chest, a wave of anxiety rising in his nerves. If he's being honest with himself, Aki still isn't sure if he should be doing this. No, he definitely shouldn't. He should get back to work, stop acting stupid, quit messing around, but he just can't. 

Honestly, when did he get this way? Was it when you first laid your hands on him, or was it when he figured out that you wanted him, when you gazed at him with that hazy look in your eyes like you're just begging for him to take you? He isn't sure, he doesn't know when or why or how he became unable to resist you, but right now, he really doesn't care. 

He wants this way too damn bad. He needs you so much that all he can do is sit back and let this happen, even if his brain is telling him he shouldn't be. 

And when he sees the way you obediently sink down to your knees in front of him, hands promptly fiddling with his belt to get it undone: it makes his head feel hazy, clouded with a certain sense of adoration, and all of his hesitations are quickly tossed away. 

You stare up at him expectantly for a second, and Aki chides, "What are you waiting for? You're not chickening out, are you? You're the one who said you wanted this right here, right now." 

You're not, definitely not. You hesitated for a moment only because you suddenly realized the gravity of your situation, and you can hardly believe it's even happening. 

This is it, you did it, you won. You've got rule-following, devil-hating Aki Hayakawa pushing your head towards him, exhaling a heavy sigh of relief when your hand cups his bulge through the fabric of his slacks, his dick throbbing and stiffening beneath your touch. When you look up at him, you can see he's practically panting, his lips parted as he reaches up and grasps his tie to work it loose. His eyes never leave your figure as he watches you, anticipating your next move with bated breath. 

This is really happening, you're going to do this right here, down a dingy alleyway in broad daylight and… Honestly, you want him so badly you can't even begin to question things. 

So, you shake your head and reply, "I'm not. I'd never. And I won't change my mind."

"Good. That's what I like to hear." 

The metal buckle of his belt clangs as you unfasten it. In this moment, everything starts to seem louder in your ears, more surreal. You can hear the sound of his breathing, shaky exhales quickened with nervousness and excitement. The smell of him fills your lungs: his rich cologne and cigarette smoke. 

With his belt undone, hanging in the loops, you pop the button on his slacks next. Your fingers clasp around his zipper, pulling it down slowly, and as you do, Aki shoves his hand in his jacket pocket. He finds a cigarette, placing it between his lips, then his lighter, and he uses his palm to shield it from the breeze. You're edging his pants down his hips when you hear him strike the wheel, flame bringing his cigarette to life. 

The outline of his cock is even more noticeable through his boxers, thick and heavy where it sits on his thigh. There's a bit of wetness seeping through the fabric, from where his precum has dribbled out and dirtied it. Aki shoves his lighter back in his pocket, holding his cigarette between two fingers; he brings it to his lips, inhales from it deeply, lazily, and when your palm cups his dick, he groans, puffs of smoke falling from his mouth. 

He's so fucking hard, so needy — You can't help but tease, "See, I knew you wanted to have some fun with me, Mister 'I don't fuck devils.'"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Aki snaps, flicking the ash from his cigarette, his eyebrows furrowing up, "God, always such a pain in my ass — Why don't you put that pretty mouth of yours to use, show me it's good for more than just giving me lip." 

"Oh? You think it's pretty?" 

Aki seems to falter for a moment. "It's-"

He interrupts himself with a shuddery gasp when you press your tongue to his clothed cock, breathing hot air that he can feel even through the fabric. You swirl your tongue around him, getting the fabric of his boxers even wetter. His whole body shivers, and he leans back further against the wall to support himself. 

You place a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his stiff bulge; Aki whines softly, and through his heavy breaths, he's just barely able to choke out, "I can't… Don't tease me." 

As much as you want to oppose those words, you can't deny that you want this just as badly as he does, and you're getting a bit impatient yourself. So, you simply flash a playful smile in response before hooking your fingers around the waistband of his briefs, gently tugging them down, pressing one last delicate kiss to his clothed cockhead as you do so. You yank his boxers past where his hip bones jut out, then to his thighs, just enough to take his cock out. 

It's thick, pale, with a slight curve to it — So damn pretty that you nearly start drooling at the sight. Aki holds his cigarette deft between two of his fingers, reaching down to grab your face with his free hand, just as you wrap your hand around the base of his dick, stroking him to a lazy rhythm. 

He mouths something so quietly you almost miss it: Hold still. Then, he shifts his hips until he can lay the length of his cock over your cheek. For a moment, he holds you there, admiring the way it dwarfs your face, a little half-hearted chuckle escaping his lips. 

He brings his thumb to the tip of his cock while your loose palm continues to pump him. A faint, wet sound echoes in your ears as he rubs circles over the slit, gathering the sticky precum that leaks from there. He presses his thumb to your mouth, and when your lips part, he shoves it in, smearing his precum over your tongue. 

"There we go," Aki praises, exhaling a long, unsteady breath. Your lips close around his finger and you give it a gentle suck. Aki groans, "Yeah, want you to suck on me just like that," He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, grabbing your face and squeezing your cheeks. "Got it?" 

You nod, "Mhmmm. Yes, sir." 

Sir. His cock throbs just at that. You've been so damn difficult, always arguing with him, always trying to get on his nerves, but now that he's finally figured out what you wanted from him, you're unusually well-behaved. He could get used to seeing you like this, he thinks. Your obedience just makes him want to ruin you. 

Aki presses the tip of his cock to your lips, and you feel it throb hard when you kiss it. He pulls on your chin, coaxing you to open your mouth. Smoke wisps up from the end of his unattended cigarette. Punctuated by his harsh breathing, he slurs a string of instructions: Open wide. Stick out your tongue. C'mon, you're gonna have to open wider than that. 

Once you take him into your mouth, slowly bobbing your head down on him, your throat adjusting to his size, Aki gulps and praises, Atta girl. Keep taking it just like that. Watch those teeth for me. 

God, if being scolded by him makes you feel high, then being praised by him takes you even higher. Your head feels fluffy, and you whimper weakly around his cock. Aki presses down on the back of your head with one hand, bringing his cigarette to his mouth with the other. 

He takes a deep inhale before he's mumbling around the smoke, "Oh, that's it, baby." The pet name slips from his lips before he even realizes. His words make you even dizzier, and he tosses his head back, Adam's apple prominent in his throat, "Fuck, don't stop until it's all the way in, yeah?" 

Aki groans when your tongue swirls around his length, pushing your head down more, encouraging you to take all of him. It's so much, he's too much, his cock filling every part of your mouth and your throat, to the point where it's difficult to breathe, let alone keep your composure. The only thing you can think about, the only thing filling all of your senses is him, and all you can do is stare up at him, doe-eyed, as he shifts his hips forwards and crams his cock all the way down your throat. 

The tip of your nose nudges at his pelvis. Aki holds you in place, his palm rubbing the back of your head, fingers toying with your hair. He can see the way you're struggling to take him, muffled gags sending weak vibrations down his length, but he doesn't let up — He makes you watch as he takes a long, drawn-out drag from his cigarette, smoke falling from his lips as he exhales slow and steady. 

With your warm and wet mouth around him, swallowing him up, the nicotine seems to hit his system harder than before — Aki feels his whole body relax, his eyelashes heavy and fluttering, his shoulders slumping. 

"You're finally quiet now… I knew you could be good for me." He mumbles breathlessly, and he holds his cigarette between his teeth so he can reach down, wiping the tears welling at the corners of your eyes with his thumb. He feels the heat radiating off of your cheeks, and he carefully brushes messy strands of hair from your face so he can get a better look at you, tucking them carefully behind your ears. 

The cock-drunk expression already present on your face, the pleading look in your eyes, the way your mouth feels around him — Aki's breath starts to come out sharp and fast, his heart pounding in his chest, and he knows, he knows he can't restrain himself anymore, even if he wanted to. Not when it's this good, not when you look so needy for him, not when he's this desperate for you. 

It doesn't matter if he shouldn't be doing this, he doesn't fucking care if someone turns and walks right down this alleyway. He's going to be selfish, he's going to take what he wants from you. This is what you wanted him to do, isn't it? 

Finally, he drags your head back, giving you a second to breathe and your jaw some relief, but the moment is short lived when his hips abruptly rut forward, shoving his cock back in. Aki takes control then, gripping your hair tightly as he starts up a rhythm, fucking himself into your mouth. 

The alley quickly becomes filled with the wet sounds of you slurping and choking on his dick. He reaches so deep into your throat, and as his pace gets rougher, more and more greedy, your throat starts to ache, and your mind is a muddled blur, thoughts consumed by the feeling of his dick in every corner of your throat. 

His cigarette is nearly spent, and Aki takes one last drag, sighing as the smoke leaves his lungs. He taps the cigarette with his finger, flicking the ash to the ground below, before he asks, "Where do you want this?"

You're confused, at first, but Aki shows you what he's getting at when he hovers his cigarette over the nape of your neck, where exposed skin peeks out from the collar of your shirt. His expression is unreadable, but when you look up at him through your eyelashes, you notice how his pupils are blown out wide, how his face is dusted a warm shade of pink. 

"Shit… Should I put it out right here?" 

You mumble around him, the vibrations on his cock causing him to inhale a sharp breath through his teeth, and Aki seems to take it as a yes. 

He presses the end of the cigarette down, putting it out right on your skin, just above your collarbone. He grinds it in deep, using your neck as his ashtray, and it burns. You whine as an enveloping heat blooms over your skin, across your neck and your shoulders. There's a bit of pain, cold and warm at the same time; it mixes with pleasure, with the ache between your legs, and then, it goes numb. Aki flicks the cigarette away once it's completely out, a slight, satisfied smile forming on his face. 

"You're so amazing, God," He praises, exhaling a shaky sigh, "Such a good girl." 

The sounds coming from the both of you grow louder and louder, more and more obscene. You're choking on him, and he's panting, his chest heaving with every breath, low whines of pleasure falling from his lips between every gasp. What if someone hears you? Someone could turn down this alley, they'd hear your gags and whimpers, and they'd see you on your knees, your superior's dick in your mouth, Hayakawa's dick — While the two of you are supposed to be working, no less. 

What would his co-workers, what would his boss say, if they went looking for him and saw this? Utterly square, professional Aki, getting off instead of doing his job. In a dingy alleyway, his cock down the throat of a fucking devil. He's always so calm and composed, poker-faced, but here, his face is flushed red, his lips are parted, quivering slightly, and his expression is contorted in pleasure as he falls apart at the seams. If anyone saw, he'd never live it down, surely. 

Your eyes flicker over to the entrance of the alley. Shadowy figures of people can be seen walking past, faraway and tiny, but still there. You're sure the darkness of the alleyway is enough to conceal the two of you, but if any of them come this way, if anyone walks back here… 

"Hey." 

Aki's voice interrupts your thoughts, his hand grabbing you firmly by your cheeks, and your gaze immediately darts back to him. There's a slight look of annoyance on his face, and in a resolute tone, his hips stalling, he sternly commands, "Look at me. Don't look anywhere else, I want you to focus on me." 

You offer him a shallow nod. Aki starts up his rhythm again, his hand returning to hold the back of your head, shoving you down onto him, and his hips shifting forwards, inching his cock further into your mouth. You force yourself to keep your eyes on him, on his face. 

Even though it's difficult to breathe, difficult to take him, it feels good, he tastes good. You begin to match his pace, bobbing your head in tune with his movements, swallowing him up as best you can manage. It's messy, wet tears coating your cheeks, spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth. 

His dick leaks warm precum down your throat. The shaft glistens from your drool each time you pull back, smeared a diluted red from what remains of your lipstick. 

Aki brushes his fingertips over the cigarette-sized burn mark on your neck, rubbing it with his thumb, making it sting. You whimper, tears streaming down your face, and Aki cups your cheek in his palm, his thumb wiping them from your eyes. He sighs, and with his gaze still locked onto yours, you can see how his eyes become filled with adoration, his expression softening. In a voice barely more than a whisper, he mutters, "So pretty when you cry for me." 

His breathing gets a little faster, his pace grows a little rougher, until he's fucking your mouth relentlessly, rolling his hips in an attempt to get himself even deeper inside. Your tongue swirls around his length — Aki whines, his body tensing; the stimulation on his dick is too much to handle, too perfect, too good, and when you force your head down, sucking hard, Aki can't take it, suddenly gasping, "F-Fuck, I'm gonna-" 

He cuts himself off with a loud moan, his grip tightening in your hair, his head tossed back. For a moment, he considers pulling out, but when you shut your eyes and take him as far as you can, your lips wrapped around his base, he gives up; he buries his cock in your mouth as far as he can manage. 

The pleasure builds, builds, builds, until with one last harsh suck on his dick, Aki feels it all boil over. Beads of sweat form on his forehead. His voice is strained, breaking, words slurred and nearly incoherent as he mumbles, "Oh God, cumming, I'm cumming — Swallow it, pretty baby." 

And then, he's moaning through desperate gasps, his cock twitching as he spills into your throat. You swallow nearly all of his cum, reaching up to grip his thighs, your fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. When he's finally spent, sure that he's given you every last spurt of his cum, he relaxes, his body slumping against the wall. His hand softly strokes the back of your head: a subtle form of praise. 

When you pull back, you wipe the drool from your chin and the tears from your face with the back of your hand. Aki catches his breath. His bangs stick to his forehead from his sweat, and he reaches up to hastily push them out of the way. 

Slowly, he comes down, his eyes fluttering open; his gaze immediately darts to the entrance of the alleyway, lingering for a moment as the stars fade and his vision comes back into focus. No-one, that's good. He blinks away the rest of the haze before his eyes return to you. 

You look like a mess, your cheeks tear-stained, your hair ruffled, trying your best to stifle little coughs. Well, he's sure he isn't faring much better. He's got to look pretty disheveled, too, with his tie loose, his face covered in sweat, and his cheeks red hot. And he's still hard, his dick starting to ache again, just at the sight of you. 

Fuck, you could barely take him. You were choking on him so much, but still staring up at him with an eager, lust-filled look, like you were enjoying yourself just by pleasing him.

Yet, even though you could barely take him, even though you're still struggling to breathe, you're looking up at him with a wild, excited expression, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Aki has his gaze locked onto you, and he watches as you open wide, stick out your tongue, and let him see the bead of white — his cum — that lingers there. 

Half in disbelief, half in pure ecstasy, Aki slurs, "Oh, God…" 

You giggle, putting your tongue back in your mouth, and Aki swears he feels blood rushing to his dick when you swallow. When you speak, your voice is sickeningly sweet, enough to make Aki's heart leap when you ask, "You gonna fuck me now, sir?" 

"Shit," Aki pushes himself off the wall, stumbling a little when he stands up straight. He finds his footing, then he crooks a finger at you, mumbling, "Up." 

Your legs are a little shaky when you rise to your feet. Aki yanks his boxers up, not bothering to re-button his pants or fix his ajar belt. His hands fist your shirt collar, and before you can say anything more, he's yanking you towards him; his eyes flutter shut, and his lips come crashing onto yours. 

The kiss is messy and desperate — You're wrapping your arms around his neck, and he's gripping your sides, dragging your body as close to his as he can get you. His lips feel just as soft and perfect as they look, and when they part, he's licking into your mouth, sucking eagerly on your tongue. You grip his tie to yank him in even more, and he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, bringing a hand to your jaw. His touch is delicate, a perfect contrast to how greedy his kisses are. 

He tastes like fresh mint and the rich flavor of his cigarettes. You taste like himself, and the sensation has him reeling. His head goes foggy and light as he melts in the feeling of your lips on his, and just from this, he's already getting hard in his briefs again. You just taste too good, kissing you feels too amazing, too addicting. God, he's going to want to have you again, isn't he? 

With his palm still holding your side, Aki carefully twists, switching your position with his. Before he presses you up against the wall, he places his hand over the small of your back, providing a buffer between you and the hard brick. Then, his hand is fumbling to pull your dress shirt out from where it's tucked into your pants. As soon as he's got it, he slips his hand up your shirt. Your whole body shivers at his touch, his hand cool on your warm skin. 

Trailing his fingertips over your soft, bare skin, Aki feels the curve of your waist, traces the shape of your spine; he feels you melt into his touch, your body slumping, your back arching into him. 

His fingertips are nimble, and his palm is calloused, but his touch feels absolutely heavenly. As his lips press harder against yours, he gropes and squeezes your breast through your bra, and you groan into his mouth. 

When he pulls apart from you, you're both struggling to catch your breath, panting heavily, but he gives you little time to rest. You catch a glimpse of his face before he dips down — Pupils blown out wide, his face flushed, eyelids heavy — and then, his lips press softly to your neck. 

You sigh out his name quietly, your fingers tangling through his hair, his topknot starting to come a little loose. His head feels fuzzy, his thoughts cloudy, but in a brief moment of clarity, between his gentle kisses and love bites, Aki whispers to you, "You wanna get out of here?" 

Your response comes quicker than he expected. "No," You shake your head, gripping his hair tighter, "I can't wait, I want you right here." 

Aki laughs dryly, burying his face into the nape of your neck. He should have known you would say that. His soft bangs brush over your skin, and his fingers absently toy with the hem of your bra, threatening to slip under. 

"God, that's…" He pauses, exhaling a shuddery sigh, "That's dangerous, you know?"  

"We've already taken plenty of risks, haven't we? What's one more?" 

A bird chirps from somewhere above. A train whistles from someplace far away. Aki's hand slides down, feeling out the ridges of your ribcage. He rubs slow circles into your side with his palm, lost in thought. After a steady, deep breath, he softly replies, "If we… If I do this, then I'm not gonna be able to stop." 

The way he says those words, his tone deep, his voice wavering — It implies exactly what he means. I won't be able to stop myself, I won't be able to hold back, even if someone walks down this alley. 

You smirk. "Then don't." 

Aki steadies himself with one last shaky breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. Then, he takes a few steps back from you. You see him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He reaches up, adjusting his askew tie, his eyes giving you a quick once over. He allows himself one last chance, one more moment of contemplation, of considering if he should actually go through with this. If he should really fuck you, you, a damn devil, right here, right now. 

Well, should he? He's pretty sure he already established that he shouldn't, he just can't find it in himself to care. Right now, he's listening to his dick instead of his brain, but honestly, who can blame him? The way you're looking at him — It's like you're begging for him to let go, like you need for him to take you right now, in whichever way he pleases. It's absolutely intoxicating. 

Still, you can see the hesitation in his gaze, the way he bites his bottom lip, how his fingers around his tie tremble more than they should. His tone seems genuine, softened at the edges when he asks you, "Are you sure, are you certain you want to do this?" 

You huff, "Yeah, I'm sure." 

"Because I'm- I mean, you can say if you want me to stop, y'know, if you…" 

"Aki." 

The firmness to how you say his name causes Aki to freeze. He eyes you up and down expectantly. 

You continue, voice low, steady, "I'm sure, I've been sure. I told you, didn't I? You don't have to hold back with me." You breathe in, breathe out. A deep, heavy sigh. And then — "Do your worst." 

Aki gulps. Do your worst. He wonders what his worst might be. What, exactly, you'd let him do to you. How much you'd be able to take. He supposes he'll find out. 

In a strict, level tone, he commands, "Face against the wall." 

You follow his instruction immediately, spinning around, and Aki continues, "Bend over. Spread your legs for me. Place your hands on the wall, like-" He steps forwards, grabbing your wrists in each hand and guiding you to press your palms flat on the brick. "This." 

One of his hands settles on your waist, while he places the other on the small of your back. Aki guides you carefully until you're arched to fit perfectly under him: his tall frame is leant almost completely over yours, his hips are pressed up flush to your ass. Your arms are bent, your cheek nearly touching the brick wall, your legs spread a bit. 

In this position, he's so close, and it's so obscene, your body arched, your legs open. Aki takes a deep breath, and with his chest fitting into the curve of your back, you can feel the way his chest expands, then contracts. 

His body is large enough to dwarf your own, casting you in his cool, dim shadow. He wraps his arm under your stomach to pull you closer to himself, and when he does, you can feel the stiff outline of his cock in his briefs rub up against your ass — Already so hard, straining the fabric uncomfortably, dribbling precum out over his thigh.  

Aki leans down, his deep voice close to your ear, breathless: "How bad do you want this?" 

"Just as badly as you." 

Aki chuckles. His palm travels down your back, all the way to caress the swell of your ass. "So, very, very badly then, huh?" 

Your response comes in the form of a half-sigh, half-whimper as you shift to grind your ass on him, but to your surprise, Aki grabs your waist with an iron grip. He holds you still, stopping you. "Hey," You huff in frustration, "What's up, did you change your mind? Is someone coming?" 

"No. I'll keep going, but there's something I want you to do for me first." Aki replies; his voice is suddenly stern, resolute, and it throws you off a little. 

The gears in your head start to turn, and timidly, you ask, "And… What might that be?" 

His hips shove towards you firmer as he drags you in, even closer. You can clearly feel his hard cock pressed up against you, but with him holding you still, you're provided no movement, no friction. It's fucking agonizing. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear, and he speaks at barely more than a whisper when he mutters, "I want you to apologize." 

Aki nips at your ear; his warm breath and the intense closeness of his body on yours spread a wave of enveloping heat over your back. It's difficult for you to speak, your voice sounding feeble, but you still manage to ask, "...For what?" 

Aki replies matter-of-factly, "For acting like a brat, and for your blatant disrespect." 

"You… You can't be serious," You huff, rolling your eyes, "There's no way I'm doing that."  

Aki's lips graze over your jaw, soft, but barely there. "Then you're not getting fucked. It's a pretty simple request — I'm not sure why you'd decide to throw a fit now, when you're so close to getting what you wanted. I thought you were more desperate than this." His voice is low, the slightest bit condescending, "You're still my subordinate, so be good and apologize like one." 

Without a second thought, you snap, "Oh, bite me, you prick." 

"I will if you ask nicely." 

Aki grabs both of your hips, holding you still. Hesitantly, he grinds his clothed cock against your ass, a small gasp escaping his lips. Even through the layers of clothing: his boxers and your slacks, you can feel him. So thick, so close to giving you what you're desiring, but not quite. 

As he slowly humps your ass, searching for whatever bit of friction he can receive, your mind begins to wander. His breath in your ear is heavy, shaky. 

You think of when his cock was in your mouth, and imagine what it would feel like filling you up, his dick stretching you out. You imagine his precise fingers on your clit, long digits shoved in your aching pussy. A lump grows in your throat, a knot tightens in your chest. You want him so badly, so much it aches, and judging by the way he grinds on you, starting to rub his dick up against you with a desperate fervor, you're certain he wants you just as much. 

Your lips quiver, words on the tip of your tongue, until finally, you blurt out, "Aki, fuck- I can't wait anymore. I really want you, please." 

The desperate, syrupy tone to your voice causes Aki to briefly falter, if only for a second. His heart flutters in his chest, blood rushing to his cock, but his daze is shaken when you try to move your hips. He holds you firm, gripping even tighter: A silent command to hold still. 

"You're so needy," He teases, his voice cold, but the slightest bit strained. When you yield, going slack under him, his hand slides around to your front, fingers toying idly with the button on your slacks. "We're supposed to be working, you know. But here you are, begging for me, and you couldn't even wait for us to go somewhere more private. You want my cock that badly? Tch, dirty girl." 

Growing impatient, you counter, "And you were supposed to show me around the city, yet you're in some dingy alley getting your dick wet instead. I wonder what that says about you." 

Aki wraps his arm around your stomach, dragging your body closer to his, making certain you feel the outline of his cock, how hard he is, how much he's throbbing. He mutters, "C'mon. That's no way to get what you want." 

Even though he has his dick pressed up to your ass, even though he's grinding against you lazily, each of his sentences punctuated by his ragged breathing, Aki's voice assumes that same familiar, scolding tone. The tone that quickly puts you in the same overpowered, weak state you shifted in and out of when you first began this struggle. You're losing, again. But your head couldn't feel any higher. 

Aki continues, his breath hot on your ear, "Talking back to me is going to get you nowhere. I'm sure I told you this before, I thought you understood. Were you not listening again?" 

"I know," You slur, and there's heat rising to your cheeks from the embarrassment, from the pressure, "I was listening, I swear." 

"I don't think you were. If you had been paying attention, you'd be busy apologizing to me right about now." 

"Aki-"

"Be quiet." Aki snaps, "I don't want to hear anything else out of your mouth unless you're doing what I asked." 

Slowly, teasingly, he glides his hand down, his palm caressing your inner thigh; when he hears the immediate hitch in your breath, he drags his hand away, further from what you want. You can't help but whine in disappointment. 

Aki grinds a little harder against you. His cock is sitting thick and heavy on his thigh, the fabric of his boxers soaked from his dribbles of precum. He's aching, dying to be inside you, to feel your tight walls around his cock, to fuck you stupid. But still, he doesn't let up, refusing to give in. He won't, not until you're compliant. Not until he wins. 

Your breathing comes out faster, more uneven, and Aki is panting just as hard. He slips his hand under your shirt, fingertips tracing circles on your stomach, his touch so light and delicate it makes your whole body shiver. The shape of his dick on your ass, his touch on your skin, his large figure caging you in, his warm breath on your neck — Everything reaches a fever pitch, and with your mind in a haze, you finally crack. 

"I'm sorry!" You shout. Tears of frustration prick at the corners of your eyes as you continue to babble, stumbling over your words, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir, please, forgive me. I really need you, I can't…" 

Aki taunts, voice low, "Are you? What are you sorry for?" 

You hear the button on your pants pop. 

"For…" You gulp, "For acting like a brat, and for being disrespectful to you." 

Then, you hear the zipper: drug down agonizingly slowly, the sound and the anticipation that comes with it seeming to cut through the echo of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. 

You start to speak again — Sir, please, I'm — but before you can finish your sentence, Aki's fingers slip under your slacks. You cut yourself off with a sharp intake of breath. 

"There we go." Aki praises, and he rewards you by pressing his fingertips to your clit through the fabric of your panties. He rubs faint, barely-there circles, but it's still enough to give you some of the pleasure you had been oh-so desperately searching for. Your legs tense up, a quiet whine escaping your lips. Your hands, still pressed to the brick wall, tighten into fists. 

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Aki takes his hand away to grab your pants, gently pulling them down to your thighs. Then, he cups your pussy in his hand. He can feel the warmth there with his palm, and when he speaks, his tone returns to the certain deep, resonating vibrato that always sends a pang between your legs. "Do you think you've been good enough to have me touch you? You think you've earned it?" 

"Yes, yes," You reply quickly, but can hardly speak, nodding your head hurriedly. You're so wet, you're practically dripping, and you're certain he must be able to feel it through the damp fabric of your underwear. "I deserve it, I can be good. Just please-" 

Aki interrupts, "You wanna be good for me?" 

"Mhmm, yessir." 

Leaning his body over you all the way, Aki hikes your dress shirt up to your chest, until his hand is able to grip your bare side. He gives you a gentle squeeze, then brings his other hand to hold under your chin. Carefully, he tilts your head upwards, guiding you to look up at him, his face situated directly above yours. 

"Open your mouth." 

You're following the command as soon as you hear it. You open your mouth slowly, staring up at him through a half-lidded gaze. It's difficult to see from this angle, but you're sure he looks composed, his messy bangs falling to frame his face. His expression serious, but his pupils blown out wide. 

Aki taps his finger gently on your cheek. "You need to open wider than that. Stick out your tongue some, too. There we go." 

He grips your chin tightly, his jaw flexes. A red-hot fire rises to your cheeks — You're embarrassed, sitting here with your mouth open wide and your tongue out, eagerly waiting for what you know he's going to do. This should be such a pathetic position for you to be in, this should be totally humiliating. 

Shouldn't you be ashamed of yourself, of how desperate you're acting? And yet, all you can manage to think of, the one sensation that dominates everything, making your thoughts feel flowery, your limbs feel weak — All you feel is that utter, all-encompassing thrill. 

And when he gathers saliva, spitting a glob of it directly onto your tongue, you whine, your thighs shake, your head feels dizzy and fluffy; Aki commands, "Swallow." And you're listening to those instructions to a tee, instantly feeling a rush of adrenaline and an ache between your legs the second you've swallowed down his spit. 

Aki sighs deeply. His dick throbs once he sees you swallow, sending precum oozing down his thigh. His forehead falls to press to yours, his bangs brushed over your face. "Oh, fuck… Good girl." 

He swiftly hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, hurrying to pull them down. His palms stroke your bare thighs, the stiff outline of his cock shoves against your ass — Even less friction than before, and you can feel it pulse with need, the fabric of his boxers a soaked mess. 

"Where should I touch you?" Aki asks breathlessly, "Right here?" 

Before you even have the chance to answer, he rubs his fingers through your soaked folds, gathering your slick on the digits. You're dripping out all over his knuckles, his hand quickly becoming a glossy, wet mess. Aki chuckles quietly, and he places a quick kiss to your forehead before leaning his head back over your shoulder, speaking close to your ear once more. 

"God, you're wet… Did that turn you on, baby? Shit," His dick throbs, he exhales a half-sigh, half-moan, "You like it when I spit in your mouth? You're filthier than I thought you'd be. I love it." 

You can't manage a response to that, just a feverish nod. Your eyes screw up tight, and you hear Aki spitting again — This time, into his hand. He brings his hand between your legs, rubbing your clit with the base of his spit-soaked palm, firm and rough. 

If you're filthy for this: for wanting him to fuck you right here, in public, for getting wet when he scolds you, when he spit into your mouth — You're filthy, sure, but he's no better than you, is he? His dick is so hard it's aching, and you can feel his heart pounding like a drum where his chest presses to your back. He's the one who has you bent over here, who's getting off on teasing you perhaps even more than you are. 

The heel of his palm rubs slow, deep circles on your clit. Aki taunts, "Feel good? I want you to tell me how it feels." 

"Aki- S-Shit," The words barely come out, and you're speaking through tiny gasps when you mutter, "It's really good, please-"

You're not sure what you're begging for at this point, but Aki seems to get the hint. He brushes his fingers over your pussy, fingertips teasing at your entrance. "You want them inside?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he's easing two of his fingers inside you. 

"That's it," Aki coos, his voice a little shaky. His fingers stretch you out, slowly and carefully. "Can you take them all the way?" 

You manage to reply, "Mhmm.." 

Your heart pounds incessantly in your ears, your legs threaten to buckle. You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself, and briefly, Aki stops. His voice in your ear is quiet, calm, seeming to resonate deep in your skull, deep within your chest. 

I'm right here. Focus on me. Got it? 

You're pinned beneath him here: Aki resting his body weight on top of you, his fingers inside your cunt, holding you up by your tummy with his other arm. You press your thighs together, the inside of them slick and wet, his arm right between them. You can feel the smooth fabric of his suit jacket sleeve rubbing your skin. If his sleeve isn't filthy already, it's going to be ruined after this, surely. 

Aki presses his fingers in knuckle-deep: his ring and his middle, the two longest. And they're so long, reaching so deeply inside you, stretching you out perfectly. Gently, he curls them, pressing them right up to your sweet spot, eliciting a needy whine from your lips. 

I know it feels good, but don't make too much noise. We wouldn't want anybody to hear us. 

You offer him a shallow nod and try to stifle your noises as best you can, but you're unable to hold back a few weak whimpers. His fingers are already soaked, glistening with your slick when he drags them out, echoing a lewd, wet sound when he pushes them back in. 

With a soft groan, he shoves his cock firmer against your ass; he can feel it throbbing, aching with need. You're so wet, and he knows if he were to sink his cock into you, it'd slide in so easy — The thought alone is enough to make him feel delirious.

Shit… You want me to go faster? 

Aki fucks you with his fingers until your legs are starting to shake. Your walls are so tight around the digits, squeezing them each time he drags them out, sucking them in greedily when he presses them inside — God, you're so desperate for him. Aki wants to give you more, needs to give you more. You've been so good, you deserve it. You deserve to have him give you everything. 

He hears your breath start to pick up, sharp and desperate. The pace of his fingers stays steady, controlled, Aki determined to make you cum. His lips press faintly to the shell of your ear. 

That's it, keep going, just like this. You're doing so well. 

A tight knot coils in your stomach, your edge coming closer, closer — Aki holds you tight, and he pulls his fingers out to briefly rub precise halos over your clit, his fingertips soaked with your slick. You're shaking, gasping, up on your tiptoes as your back arches into him. 

I want you to cum for me. You think you can do that, pretty girl? 

His words are all it takes to make you fall apart. Your whole body trembles, your moans growing louder and louder; His free hand quickly comes to cover your mouth, his palm muffling your noise. He coos, Shh, shh. That's it. Oh, baby… 

You cum hard for him, your whole body trembling, and Aki shoves his fingers back inside; he fingers you through your orgasm, blood rushing to his cock when he feels the way your cunt pulses around the digits. He draws out as much pleasure from you as he possibly can, only slowing when he notices you beginning to come down, and only dragging his fingers out of you when he's sure you're completely spent. 

As you catch your breath, your muscles relaxed, the exhilaration in your head starting to fade, Aki removes his palm from your mouth to hold you up, close to himself, your weight supported on his arm. "You alright?" He murmurs, and you offer him a quick nod and a slurred, Yes. 

You still want me, don't you? 

You laugh. Come on, is that even a question you have to ask? 

You're right. With the way you're already shifting your hips to grind your ass on him, a desperate look in your eyes as he grabs your chin, tilting your head up and to the side so he can look at you — It's clear you're nowhere near close to satisfied, and there's no way in hell Aki's quitting now. Not until he's given you all he has, not until you've finally had enough. 

With his hand holding your chin, Aki runs his thumb along your bottom lip, bringing his other hand in front of your face. His fingers are soaked, glistening in the low light, and he slowly spreads them apart, letting you see the way your slick and cum sticks between them. "Look at that. You made such a mess, you gonna clean it up?" 

His thumb pulls down gently on your lip, and you take the hint, parting your mouth obediently. Aki presses his fingers in slowly, careful not to push you too far, so you won't gag. Your tongue swirls around the digits, licking them clean, tasting yourself. 

And once again, just like all the times before, the praise he utters into your ear sends your heart fluttering: That's my girl. You think you can take my cock now? 

As soon as he's pulled his fingers from your mouth, still wet from your saliva, Aki makes quick work of yanking down his boxers. He grabs your hips to drag you towards him, his cock sliding in between your thighs. He's so hard, fucking aching, precum dribbling out from the sensitive tip, and it's so wet, messy with the slick that coats your thighs, your cunt practically dripping out onto him. 

Aki, please. 

The way you say his name so sweetly, so perfectly — He wants to fuck you so badly he's starting to get dizzy, to hear you say it over and over again, to make you say his name. His, because he's the one you're so desperate to have, he's the one you're bent over in a dirty alleyway for. You belong to him and you know it. 

So desperate for me. Be patient. 

Without even thinking, you counter, stammering, "I'm… I'm not desperate." 

"If you're not, then," Aki rubs circles into your skin with his thumbs, holding your hips tightly. He ruts forwards to a lazy rhythm, fucking into your plush thighs, the shaft warm and wet, throbbing incessantly, the friction delicious on his aching cock. "You're fine if I keep doing this?" 

He could spend an eternity here, teasing you as much as you can take, making you beg for him again and again, his dick buried between your thighs. But he knows what you want, knows what you need. You need more. 

You can hardly speak: "No, I… I'm…" 

"C'mon. Spit it out." Aki demands, "If you want it, tell me." 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Your words come out as barely more than a whisper. 

Aki, fuck me. 

Aki scoffs. Tsk. Try again. Ask properly. 

God, he's fucking difficult, even up until the very end, but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't enjoy it. You'd be lying if you tried to claim you didn't love this: the way he forces you into obedience, time and time again. 

I want… I want your cock. Hayakawa, sir. 

You hear a quiet whine, a hitched breath, as Aki presses his cockhead to your entrance. His dick throbs hard, and his voice trembles ever so slightly. 

Ask nicely. Say please for me. 

Then, a deep sigh of relief when he eases inside, pushing past the initial tight ring of your cunt, stretching you out just barely, around the fat tip of his cock. 

God, it feels so good — You want him to sink all the way in, to fill you up with the entire length of his cock, to feel him as deep inside as he can possibly get. Without a second thought, desperate pleas continuously fall from your lips: Please, please, please. 

Aki sees the way your legs begin to buckle, his arms around your middle holding you up tighter, closer to himself. You're under him, with his body leant over yours, his large frame dwarfing your own — You feel overpowered, owned, and the feeling only seems to multiply when one of his arms snakes under you, his large hand carefully wrapping around your throat. He squeezes, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make you melt, your head floaty and high, your nerves going numb. 

In a tone that's deep, smooth, intense, Aki mutters into your ear, "That's a good girl." 

Then, he rewards you, easing himself into you slowly, stretching you out around his fat cock. His knuckles tense, fingers tightening around your neck, his touch sending tingles throughout your head, your shoulders, your spine. Through heavy eyelids, his gaze flickers down; Aki watches, vision hazy and blurred at the edges as the shaft of his cock is buried deeper and deeper inside you. He's so wrapped up in the sight that he almost doesn't catch when you weakly mutter, More. 

God, I'm gonna give you all of it. 

And he does: he groans when he's sheathed himself all the way in, down to the hilt, gently rocking his hips, burying himself into you as much as he can manage. He's so deep; you can feel his cock in your stomach, all the way inside you, throbbing to a dull rhythm. His hips are shoved deft to your ass, his warm, bare, sweat-soaked skin pressed against yours. 

Aki takes a moment to catch his breath. You take him perfectly, just as well as he imagined — No, even better. You feel so damn good around his cock, squeezing him tightly when he nestles in deeper, sucking him back in greedily when he tries to pull out. Perhaps if he knew from the start that you would feel this fucking amazing, he wouldn't have wasted so much time; he'd have you bent over for him from the minute you got here. 

You feel his warm breath on your ear, his quiet voice, genuine and strained: You feel so, so good. 

Starting up a gentle rhythm, Aki fucks into you with shallow thrusts, each movement careful and hesitant as he tries to give you a chance to get used to the feeling of him stretching you. He rests his weight on your back — You can feel his heartbeat drumming wildly in his chest, even through the layers of his shirt and suit jacket. If it wasn't for him holding you up, you're sure you would have fallen by now. 

He gives your neck one more faint squeeze as he shoves his cock in, sending blood rushing to your head, before he drags his hand over to your stomach. With the heel of his palm, he presses down, adding more pressure, and you can't help but whine out his name. 

"Aki," You manage, voice threatening to break at the end. 

"You want more? Shit, you want me to fuck you harder, yeah?" Aki interrupts, saying exactly what was on your mind. "You gonna keep your voice down?" 

In any other circumstance, or if Aki wasn't busy fucking your brains out, rendering coherent thoughts unable to form, maybe you would have considered yourself pathetic. Maybe you would have thought this, what's happening right now, was utterly embarrassing for you. Here you are, in a dirty back alley, with your superior's dick inside you, his hands all over you, and all you can think about is how badly you want more. 

Your superior, fucking Hayakawa, who's a total ass, utterly insufferable, and here you are, begging like a little bitch for him to fuck you harder. 

Without even considering whether or not you'll be able to fulfill his request, you're babbling, "Uh-huh, yessir, yessir." 

Aki's lips graze over the shell of your ear. If you get too loud, I'm going to stop. Show me how well you can take it. 

Whispered, slurred, you mutter a promise to him: I will.

After that, once he hears you say those few words, Aki stops trying to hold himself back. 

His hands grip your bare sides, his fingers trembling, his palms warm. He starts fucking you like he really means it, burying his cock in over and over. The buckle of his belt jingles, still hanging loosely in the loops of his slacks, and the soft sound of skin hitting skin — his hips hitting your ass — begins to bounce off the enclosed walls of the alley. You can hear him in your ear: his gasps for air, hushed curses, little moans of ecstacy that he's unable to hold back, and you're practically biting on your tongue to shut yourself up. 

Aki fucks you like he needs you, like he needs this, like he's needed someone to fuck like this for far, far too long. It's like he's taking out his frustrations on you, all of his resentment, and all of that pent up desperation he's had for so long now, everything building and building until it explodes — Until he fucks you like he's unable to quit. 

One of his hands presses to the back of your head, shoving your face into the wall, the brick rough on your cheek. The other glides over your bare ass, where he grabs and squeezes, and when you promptly whimper, he's not sure what overtakes him, but he gives your ass a firm slap — Immediately soothing the sting by caressing your skin with his palm. 

Fuck, I can't- You're squeezing my cock so much. 

Your hands tighten, grabbing uselessly at the wall, fingertips scraping the surface. Aki suddenly grabs your chin, roughly jerking your head upwards, and you hear him mumble something that sounds like, Open. 

You take the hint, opening your mouth wide, and while he's still fucking you, rutting his hips to a desperate fervor, Aki messily spits — The glob drips from his tongue, a string of drool, a total mess of his saliva. When it falls to your mouth, you gulp, and Aki groans, his dick throbbing at the sight, at the way you eagerly swallow down his spit. 

He leans back, then, spitting another messy glob of saliva — It drips down your ass, all the way to the shaft of his dick, getting it slicker, wetter when he shoves it back inside and God, it's so damn wet, so soaked, so easy for him to fuck himself into you. 

You're both getting louder, despite your attempts to keep quiet, and Aki hastily brings his hand to your mouth, covering it firmly with his palm. He leans in, his voice low and strict when he scolds, "I told you to be quiet. Do you want someone to hear us, or what?" 

… Actually, he knows he shouldn't get excited by that thought — He knows he shouldn't feel his dick get harder, his breath come out quicker, and his heart hammer faster when he imagines someone walking down this alley and seeing him fucking you senseless, but he just can't help it. He can't help but feel like he wants someone to see, to know just how desperate and needy you are for him. 

But, even if he enjoys the idea, he's still a man of his word, and when you're acting disobediently, something needs to be done. 

So, Aki begins to slow his pace. His thrusts are deep, but restrained, agonizingly teasing as he drags his cock out lazily, feeling the way your walls tighten, gripping the shaft. You mumble something incoherent into his palm; perhaps a protest, or possibly a plea for more. 

Nevertheless, Aki ignores it, and asks, "Can you hear that?" 

You promptly shake your head. Honestly, it's hard for you to even hear anything. His voice sounds like it's been plunged underwater, your head fuzzy with clouds and fluff, your brain practically unable to think. All you're focused on is the intense pleasure you're feeling: warmth that spreads across your entire body, pooling in your gut, causing your legs to shake and your toes to curl. You try your best to pay attention, and you don't notice it at first, but then —

When he thrusts in again, that's when you hear it — A disgustingly wet noise, so loud, the echo seeming to fill the entire alley. 

Heat rises in your cheeks, and a low chuckle falls from Aki's mouth. "So fucking wet…" He taunts, "You're still so loud. God, what am I going to do with you?" 

Aki keeps his palm deft to your mouth as he begins rutting into you harder again, burying his face into your neck to stifle his noise. He fucks you faster, harder, putting his full weight into every thrust. His pace grows ragged as he chases his own pleasure, his hand shifting, his thumb pressing to your lips, urging you to part them. And when you do, he's shoving his thumb into your mouth, pressing it to your tongue, mumbling the command: Suck on it. 

You do as you're told, lips closing around his thumb as you suck gently, your moans muffled, quiet. Aki feels himself start to lose control, his edge growing closer. 

He groans, "Shit, I can't- I'm close-" He thinks he can hold out, but when you start whimpering around his finger, shifting your weight on your heels to press your ass into him, urging him to fuck you even deeper, he's pressing his lips to your throat, muttering into your skin, "You want my cum?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I want it-" 

"F-Fuck… You gonna ask for it nicely?" 

Aki thinks, Of course you are. 

"Uh-huh," You're stammering, nodding your head feverishly, Aki fucking you to a desperate pace, "Please, I want your cum, Hayakawa, sir, please." 

Hayakawa, sir. God. 

Aki yanks your dress shirt up to your chest as he pulls out, and he wraps his hand around his cock, jerking it with a tight grip. The tension snaps, and Aki gasps — His cum shoots from his cock, ropes of sticky white covering your back, your ass, dripping down to your thighs, getting you utterly filthy. He lets his cock lay over your ass, squeezing the sensitive tip of his cockhead, making sure everything he has to give you drips out onto your skin. 

"H-hah, shit," Aki mumbles, his voice hoarse, breathless, "So messy… Such a good girl. Such a good girl for me." 

He comes down slowly, catching his breath, his arm coming to wrap around your stomach when he sees you starting to slip. With a shudder he can feel across his entire body, Aki drags his half-hard cock over your ass, over his cum, and although he's trying to calm down, when he looks at you like this, as you eagerly grind your ass up against him, he just can't. 

He's swiftly filled with the imperative to fuck you again, to get more, because he isn't done. There's more he can give to you, more he can take. 

Still, the prickle of nervousness welling in his chest causes him to turn and look towards the entrance of the alley. There's more people than ever. He can see their small, shadowy forms as they walk past. If any of them walk just a little bit closer, then… 

For a very brief moment, Aki considers stopping. He contemplates whether or not he should ask you if this is too much, if you two should get out of here like he initially suggested. But, all of those hesitations are cast away, all of his nervousness is replaced by a wave of desire the moment he hears you speak. 

You beg, "Aki, please. I want more, want you to make me cum- Please, can you?" 

It's risky, and only getting riskier. But when you ask him like that, when you beg for him to make you cum, how is he supposed to resist you? You always win in the end. 

So, Aki slurs, "Okay, okay, yeah." He places his hands gently on your waist, instructing, "Turn around for me, baby."

As you shakily stand to your feet, he holds you up by your waist so you won't fall. Then, he guides you to twist until your back is pressed to the wall, your weight leant on it, and your arms around his shoulders to keep yourself steady. 

Aki reaches up, grasping the diamond of his tie, carefully loosening it until it hangs undone around his collar. You clasp your hands around his neck, and he pops the buttons on his suit jacket next, taking it off and tossing it to the ground — It's filthy already, anyway — leaving him in his crisp white dress shirt. 

He hikes his sleeves up to his forearms, exposing his biceps, skin covered in scars from various contracts, and you're reaching down to jerk him as he does it, your palm around his cock quickly getting him hard again. 

Aki's eyes meet yours. Gently, he places his arms under your ass, lifting you up until you can wrap your legs around his waist. The metal of his earrings glint in the dim light, the tips of his ears a faint shade of pink. 

He looks so different from what you're used to, from the way he normally looks: so serious and poker-faced. Right now, his gaze is deep, filled with longing, his pupils blown wide. His messy bangs stick to his forehead from sweat, his eyelashes flutter, and his cheeks are flushed a light tinge of pink, warm to the touch when you cup his face in your free hand. 

He's pretty like this, you think. He's pretty when his bangs frame his face, when his hair is loose and unkempt, close to falling out of his topknot. He's pretty with his soft lips parted, when he's only in his dress shirt, with his slacks pooling at his ankles, when he's so goddamn needy for you. His voice sounds pretty and deep when he slurs a quick, You ready? And when you nod, he's easing back into you — The expression on his face then is the prettiest. 

It's warm, wet, tight, especially from this angle. Aki's breath hitches the second he's pressed in, and as his cock slowly fills you, the pleasure starting to build up again, he clumsily grabs your chin, pulling you in until your lips come crashing onto his. 

He moans into your mouth as he kisses you, his tongue swirling around yours, your hands fisted in his collar to drag him in even closer. He buries his cock in deeper, all the way, and it's so much, too much — His dick is so sensitive he can hardly stand it, and it's so damn messy when he thrusts in, the shaft smeared with his cum, your pussy dripping with your own arousal. He pulls his lips away from yours to gasp for breath, starting to fuck you to a steady rhythm, as best he can handle. 

His head is cloudy, all his limbs feel light, and when he buries himself in the tight warmth of your cunt, he finds himself drowning in the feeling. You feel so good, so amazing — You're so warm, so close, and there's so much pleasure. So much, so much, so much, and, God, he's going to lose his fucking mind. 

Your hand holds the back of his head, fingers threading through his soft hair. When he suddenly thrusts into you hard, you whimper, gripping close to the scalp, sending tingles down his neck and over his shoulders. Aki presses feverish kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your nose, and when he pulls back, his forehead falls to press against yours. His words are mumbled softly from his throat, barely more than a whisper. 

You take me so well, you know that? 

He's forehead to forehead with you then, his topknot coming looser and looser as your hands tug at his hair with every rough thrust. Aki can feel sweat dripping from his brow, can hear the wet squelch of his cock fucking into your soaked cunt. 

You want me to fuck you harder, baby? Tell me what you want, I wanna make you cum. 

You nod and babble without a second thought, Yeah, Aki, please. 

Aki gasps — Oh my God… — His pace growing faster, less contained. It's hard for him to breathe, even harder for him to think, but the way you say his name is so amazing, so perfect, all he knows is that he needs to hear you say it again. He doesn't care who hears anymore, he doesn't care that you're both getting louder and louder, your moans turning into screams. All he cares about is you, you, you. 

Aki grips your waist tighter, tight enough you're sure his grip will bruise. He commands breathlessly, "Want you to say my name again. Tell me who's fucking you so good right now." 

His voice is all it takes to have you oblige: You chant his name, over and over again, tell him, You are, you are, Aki. Each time it falls from your lips, his heart skips a beat, his dick throbs and holy shit — He needs to give you his cum, he needs to finish with you, more than he thinks he's needed anything in this goddamn world. 

With each thrust in, he's hitting that perfect sweet spot deep in your core, pushing you to the edge. You feel it coming, your breath starting to quicken, your muscles starting to tense, the pleasure boiling and boiling and —

"Aki!" You cry out his name, your eyes screwing shut, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck, "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum…" 

"Yeah, h-hah, I'm close too," Aki presses a quick, faint kiss to your forehead, his lips soft, his touch tender. Your high approaches with a rush of adrenaline and waves of pleasure, and just before you fall to pieces, just as you're reaching your peak, Aki's deep and smooth voice mutters instructions that push you right over the edge. 

Cum for me. Get my dick nice and wet, pretty girl. 

You're falling apart for him then, your whole body tensing, your hands clamoring at his back, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, your cunt throbbing around his dick; you bury your head in his shoulder to stifle your noise, but Aki can still hear your moans, your wobbly chants of his name. Aki, Aki, Aki — Over and over again, so fucking desperate, so pretty, and all for him. 

Aki presses a firm hand to the back of your head, holding you there, close to himself. He fucks you clumsily, his hips beginning to stutter, and when he feels you cum on him, squeezing like a vice around his cock, he can't hold himself back from riding the same high. 

He shoves himself in deep, fucking you shallowly through his orgasm, his cock spilling inside, filling you with the last of his cum. He gasps out your name as he finishes, incoherent strings of curses and gasps alongside it — Fuck, fuck, feels so- Oh God, babygirl… — his voice high-pitched, strained. His vision goes white, his hands tremble as he holds onto your sides, and his whole body shudders before his muscles relax. 

Time appears frozen in place for a few short moments. You begin to catch your breath, your heart rate slowing down, the high you were feeling starting to fade. Once exhaustion hits your limbs, your body slumps, and Aki holds you up, muttering quietly into your ear, "I've got you."

His breath feels warm on your cheek as he exhales shallow gasps. Your eyelids feel heavy, sleepy, the warmth of his body held close to yours just amplifying the feeling. Aki whispers, "You okay?" And when you nod your head, he softly instructs, "Here. I'm gonna set you down. Put your arms around me." 

You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders, and very carefully, Aki puts you down, making sure you've regained your stability before he fully lets go. 

Everything starts to become clearer as Aki helps you get dressed, one of his hands kept on your waist to steady you. He pulls up your pants, buttons them, tucks your shirt in so it looks orderly. He brushes messy strands of hair from your face, his fingertips brushing over the marks on your skin, over your neck — Undeniable proof that he was there, that this was real. Even now, he still finds it hard to believe. 

Perhaps he should be angry with you, perhaps he should scold you for what happened. But… Honestly, after taking out his stresses on you, he feels too calm to make a big deal out of it. 

He fixes himself next: he pulls up his slacks and re-clasps his belt buckle. He bends down to snatch his suit jacket from the ground, pulling it back over his shoulders and buttoning it up. He grasps his tie, straightening it, pulling to make it tight. 

His gaze meets yours as he's reaching up into his hair, grasping the loose hair tie to pull it out, dark, messy locks falling around his face. "You're not talking," He says, crooking an eyebrow, "You must be tired." 

You groggily reply, "Mhmm… I am. Really tired." You pause, nearly losing your train of thought when you look at him, admiring the way he looks with his hair down, so pretty — But once you find it again, you ask, "Do you think anyone saw us?" 

Aki takes a quick glance at the entrance to the alley. The traffic seems to have cleared, with much less people walking by than before. Nothing seems suspicious, nothing seems out of the ordinary, and when he looks towards the other side of the alleyway, he concludes that the two of you are still very much alone. 

He shakes his head and replies, "No, no. I don't think so." 

Although your brain still feels hazy and muddled, and your body feels weak and weary, you've begun to come to your senses. The reality of the situation, of what happened, hits you all at once, and as if he can read your mind, Aki tells you, "We don't have to talk about any of this, if you don't want to." 

With his hair tie around his wrist, he grabs his hair, tying it up neatly into his signature topknot, nice and tight. He shoves his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket once he's done. 

"No, it's fine, it's…" You avert your eyes for a moment, trying to think, "It's okay. To talk about it, I mean. I don't regret anything." 

Aki hums, "That's good to know." 

He finds his cigarettes, pulling one out and sticking it between his teeth. Then, his lighter, and he tilts his head away from you to strike the wheel, a small flame bringing his cigarette to life. 

To break the silence, you ask him, "You gonna make me go back to work now?" 

Aki shrugs his shoulders. "C'mon," He replies, putting his lighter back in his pocket, smoke wisping up from the end of his cig, "I'm not that mean. You live around here? I'll walk you home, I'll tell Makima you got sick or something." 

"No, I don't. They had me staying at Public Safety for now." 

Aki takes a long drag in from his cigarette. The nicotine soothes his lungs, relaxing his body and his mind. He feels calmer, more composed, his worries melting away. Perhaps that's why, after he's exhaled the smoke from his lungs, when he opens his mouth next, he's saying to you, "I'll take you back to my place, then." 

"What?" You exclaim, "No way, that's not necessary." 

"I won't be there, I still have work I need to get done today. I'll give you my keys, you can leave whenever you're ready. Or stay until I get back, it's up to you." 

"But-" You're about to protest, but instead, you sigh in defeat. "Alright, fine. You missed a spot, by the way." 

"Huh?" 

You grab his shirt collar, still smeared with a bright red lipstick stain, and tuck it into his jacket. In the dim light, it's difficult to tell, but you swear you can see the slightest tinge of pink dawn on Aki's cheeks. He says nonchalantly, "Oh, thanks." 

Tapping his cigarette with his finger to scatter the ash, Aki brings his free hand to your waist, holding it hesitantly, his eyes scanning your face as if he's waiting for some kind of objection. When there is none, he brings his cigarette back to his lips, taking another drag before abruptly asking, "Did Makima assign you a buddy yet?" 

"...What's that?" 

"Everyone at Public Safety has a partner for going on patrols and such. It's safer that way, to work in pairs," Aki explains, "You should be mine." 

"Huh? Really?" You huff a dry laugh and lean back further against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're joking, right?" 

"Nope." When he answers, his voice sounds stern and serious as ever, true to his words. "My last buddy quit, so now I don't have one." 

"That's not what I meant. I mean like… Why would you ask me? I thought you hated my guts." You scoff, "You really wanna be buddies with a devil?" 

Aki eyes you up and down, his expression poker-faced. "Considering what I just did with said devil, I don't think it's so crazy." He tilts his head upwards, exhaling smoke into the afternoon sky. "I'll take back my proposal if you're not interested." 

"No, I'm…" You blurt out, looking away sheepishly, "I'm interested." 

"Good. I'll give the paperwork to Miss Makima. You'll have to sign some things tomorrow." 

As seconds bleed into minutes, puffy white clouds passing idly in the sky, Aki finishes his cigarette, dropping it to the ground and stamping it out with the heel of his shoe. He takes a step back from you, looking down, checking to make sure he looks in order. 

There's still one more thing lingering in your mind, and so, you ask him, "Hey, Aki." 

Aki looks up, "Yeah?" 

"Do you think I'm pretty?" 

Aki chuckles. He reaches down, grabbing his sword sheath from off the floor. "Yeah, I do. I thought so when I first saw you." 

You huff, "Wish you'd have just admitted to that from the start."

"Well," Aki stands up straight, tossing the strap of his sheath over his shoulder. A soft, ever-so slight smile forms on his face. "If I had done that, we wouldn't have had as much fun, now would we?" 

He rustles around in his pockets, finding his keys. The keyring jingles when he places them in your open hands. You examine them: there's a couple of silver keys, a metal tag with his last name, and a small label of a three digit number. His apartment number, you assume. 

"So…" You start, looking up at him, "I guess this means we'll be working together from now on, yeah? You better not argue with me the whole time. I'd like to do my job in peace, you know." 

Aki smiles a little bit wider. "Don't worry. I think we'll get along just fine." 

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. 

The endless lull of the clock on the wall would be enough to make Aki fall asleep, if he wasn't busy finishing up paperwork. 

He sighs, learning back further in his office chair, rubbing some of the tiredness from his eyes with his hands. Even though he rushed to the Public Safety building the second he was finished with his assignments, it still feels like he's been here forever. Thankfully, he's nearly done filling out papers. Soon, he'll be able to head home. 

As he stares absentmindedly at the ceiling, counting each speckle of popcorn in the drywall, he wonders if you're still at his place, or if you've left already. He told you to make yourself at home, so perhaps you're still there, watching late-night television. Maybe you raided his fridge and ate all his leftovers. 

A small part of him hopes you'll be there when he arrives, greeting him at the door as he walks in. Or maybe curled up asleep on the couch, because you couldn't stay awake any longer. He definitely wouldn't blame you. 

A gentle knock at the door stirs him from his thoughts. Aki sits up straight, and a voice from behind it quietly asks, "Can I come in?" 

"Yes." Aki answers, and he swivels his chair towards the door just as it opens. A woman with long, braided red hair steps in, and she greets him with a soft smile and a wave. 

"How was today?" Makima asks, closing the door, then crossing her arms behind her back. "What do you think of our new recruit? Did you two get along?" 

"They're…" Aki narrows his eyes. He taps the tip of his pen idly against the desk. "...Interesting." 

"Do you think they'll be useful?" 

Aki scoffs, "They like to mess around more than they like to work, but it's nothing we can't whip back into shape, so, yes. I would say so." 

"Hm, alright," Makima places a hand to her chin, cocking her head slightly. "I saw the paperwork you left on my desk. You made a request to change your buddy, didn't you?" 

"Oh, yes ma'am. Is that okay?"

"Of course. I'm just surprised is all. I thought for sure you two would end up hating each other. I suppose I was wrong." 

Aki stays silent for a moment. Yeah, that's what he thought too, wasn't it? When this day started, all he could do was count down the minutes until it was over in his head, until he wouldn't have to deal with you anymore. But now, he can't even focus on his paperwork because he's too busy thinking about you, too busy wondering when he'll get to see you again. 

Damn, when did he get so obsessed? Was it by your doing, or was it his? 

He doesn't know, so he just shakes his head and replies, "I thought so too. But I guess… I don't." 

Makima eyes him up and down for a moment. "Well, as long as you fill out all the necessary paperwork, and make sure you get our new recruit to fill it out as well, I can approve your request." 

Aki nods. "Okay, thank you." 

Makima turns to leave. Aki turns back to his paperwork. The clock continues to tick, and his pen scratches the desk as he checks a box, then messily signs his name in cursive. The door opens with a creak, Makima takes one step out, but then she abruptly turns around. 

"Oh, and Hayakawa?" 

Aki looks up. "Yeah?" 

"The next time I have you two patrol together, make sure you actually get some work done. I'm enlisting you two to hunt devils, not fuck on the job." 

And with that, Makima steps out of the office, leaving Aki to stare wide-eyed and red-faced at the door as it swings shut. 

credit to @cyancherub 's fic gunsmoke in mirrors for inspiration

[virginreprise]

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" I KNOW I CAUGHT YOU AT A NOT SO HAPPY TIME OF YOUR LIFE " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

WARNINGS: age difference (big one), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel miller has a vintage porn collection, joel's a sad old man, video game joel was in mind when writing, joel is six foot because i say so, multi-part, smut in the next chapter because i can't write anything if it isn't slowburn

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER ONE—BAD DISEASE

Static from the television set tucked in a corner, a beaten leather armchair parked in front of it and a stack of vintage, VHS porn tapes on the unit. One half of “Agent 69” stuck in the VCR, balancing on its side due to the lack of care from its owner who’d jacked off in the very chair that towered over it—cum stained fist and a name on his lips, slipped out between plush flesh. Hand frantic, jerking in tandem with the buck of his hips as he flit his eyes between the TV and the wood-panelled ceiling, profanities spilling from his filthy mouth. Muttering to himself as pornstar moans graced his ears, words whispered into the night, stolen by the archangels and flown up to God: conspiring, scheming, uttering under their breath that he should not be allowed through the holy gates on judgement day. That the defiled Bible on his bookshelf and the cross that had been left for him by the previous owners, pinned to the trailer wall, was not enough for them to ignore the strained sentences that he spewed in a desperate bid for the Trailer Park Princess on her knees—red nails and red lips wrapped around his cock. A ring of colour staining the base. 

Utter filth. And Joel knew it. 

The perversions he didn’t keep to himself, laughed about bending over the pretty thing next door whilst nursing a beer on Pete’s porch—puffing away on the cheap cigars he’d stolen from the liquor store. They tasted like shit, smelt like shit and Joel would’ve been better without it, but it added to the image: kept Susan from asking him stupid questions like why he didn’t have a woman. It was her way of flirting, bikini top displaying her sagging tits, bending over the kitchen counter whilst his buddies watched baseball. 

“You got your eye on anyone, Joel?” 

“Not really, Susan.” 

Then Pete interjecting. 

“Come off it, Susan. Just cause he ain’t committed don’t mean that he ain’t got women.”

That kept her quiet, made her slink away into the hallway, slipping into their bedroom and pulling a cover-up on—suddenly insecure. 

Joel wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t have some strange penchant for young women. They were just…nice to look at. Pretty and sun-kissed in the Texan heat, ass hanging out their shorts, bikini top doing much more to entice than Susan’s did. There was no harm in looking—they never knew. He prided himself on being discreet, nursing a beer in the late afternoon whilst Kenny Rogers lulled from the radio, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the porch floor—eyes trained on your open window, cracked just a tad to let the air through. Drapes open. 

At times, he thinks you do it on purpose, a gentle taunt, a silent jeer: “You can only look, perv.” 

If the invitation was there, he’d take you up on it. Because out of all the women he’d fucked, headboard bashing against the wall, a chip in the wood of the trailer evidence of his trysts, you were the only one who’d worked him up to the point of no return. The only one who’d grabbed him completely by the collar and forced him to lick your boots. 

Like Joel said, he wasn’t a pervert. You were just a fucking whore who needed to be put in her place. 

So he’d sit there, in the white garden chair he’d snatched up from the pile of scrap that accumulated just east of his trailer, and watch. Most days, you’d be doing nothing in particular, unfortunately already dressed, dirty clothes in hand and wet hair dripping down your back. Other days, the days where Joel thought he was really lucky, where he’d stumble inside with a hard-on, sit on his recliner and hastily shove whatever he got his hands on, into the VCR, skipping over the poorly acted introductions, and pretend that the moans reverberating the trailer, were yours. Images of you slipping your shorts over your hips, swaying slightly to whatever tune you were listening to, peeling your shirt off your body. No bra. Slyly stepping towards your window, catching his eye once, a look so slight that he wouldn’t be surprised if he imagined it, and pulled your drapes shut. 

He’d spilt all over his hand, white on his knuckles and a smile on his lips. 

Joel would never feel guilty for wanting you, not when he had already made peace with the fact he was a deadbeat, bound to the white trash lifestyle, unemployed and living off the pills he paid for and sold for a ridiculously high price, still grieving his losses and wondering what the fuck he could’ve done differently. If he would’ve done anything differently given the chance. 

No, Joel was not a bad person. He just looked for her in every person, desperately seeking a will. And so far, you had succeeded in helping him remove the gun from his mouth—evenings spent in different, dangerous ways. 

Texan summers were unlike anything you’d experienced before, the heat so incredibly stifling that your love for the sun disappeared completely. Mornings spent on the porch, soaking in the last bits of breeze before cycling your ass to work, sweating and heaving by the time you got there, in the same condition when you rode back home and locked yourself away with every window flung open before nightfall fell and you felt you could breathe again. 

The cicadas were loud, the snakes huddled up in the shade, waiting for you to trample on them, and the beast next door, Joel Miller: terrifying, gorgeous and a fucking pervert. 

The day you’d moved into the trailer, despairing the loss of stability, ruminating upon your desperate escape from a home now dead and lost to the prairies of your mind, he’d been there. Wifebeater stretched across his wide torso, a cigarette placed on his lips, unused as it hung there, smoking away, the grey wisps begging with each dissipation into the atmosphere: breathe me in. He’d stared. Unable to be subtle no matter how slick he thinks he is, eyes flitting between your tits and your ass. Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. A calculated dance that left a funny feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, a lurch in your bowels that made nausea claw its way up your throat. 

Tits. Ass. Then, he suddenly looked at your face, standing there on his porch, the sunrise building its way up the horizon, too early for anybody to see him looking you over like you were a dead deer he’d just shot, smirking at the notion of sawing your head off and displaying it on the wall above his mantle. Heaving boxes into the empty trailer, lot number seventeen, whilst the owner of lot eighteen wouldn’t take his fucking eyes off you, was a terrible feat. 

Once you’d shoved the last box into your bedroom, you’d shut the door, locked it tight and peeked through the window to see that he had gone back inside, retreating to the haven of steel and veneer. 

Over time, Joel became easier to manage. After the initial, awkward introductions where he’d called you princess, babydoll, sugar (almost adding a “tits” to the end of the nickname before realising where he was) your stomach reeling at the monikers, time settled your unmistakable disgust for him, the universe replaced the sickness you felt when you spoke to him with another stomach-turning anxiety that you pushed down far into every crevasse and high onto every mountain. 

You grew to enjoy the nicknames, skipping a few paces up his porch steps and ask him ever so kindly if he could come and fix the cupboard door that was swinging off its hinges, change the lightbulb because you couldn’t reach the ceiling yourself, stop the leaky tap that seemed to start drip drip dripping every month—just to bully you. 

Although you knew that Joel was a dirtbag, hearing him talking about the filthiest things, laughing as Pete clapped him on the back in praise and acknowledgement, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to treat you like a whore, he gave you nothing except a sly smile, a sleazy nickname and the occasional help around the house. Fixing things. 

So, naturally, you began asking around about Joel. Susan liked to gossip. So did Lillian, a woman who had spent her entire life in the park and, at sixty-two, had no interest in leaving. 

“I remember when he moved here,” she’d told you one fine summer evening, when the heat wasn’t as menacing and you felt content being away from the air conditioning, sipping sweet tea in Lillian’s wooden garden chairs, feet placed on the seat—chin resting on your knees. “All stoic, wouldn’t speak ‘ta anyone. I could tell he’d gone through something bad, you know me and my sixth sense.” 

She’d paused for a moment, taking a drag, a sip, a sigh before looking at you solemnly. 

“He was a catch with the ladies,” she’d muttered. “They were all after him, even this one over here,” she’d pointed to Susan who’d smacked her arm, complaining about her disrespect. She was a married, loyal woman after all. “Well, it’s true. If I were twenty years younger, I would’ve gone for him too, but it wouldn’t have done much anyway cause he didn’t touch anyone. There ain’t many pretty young ladies round here, you know you’re the only one,” she’d said plainly, addressing you with a hint of affection. 

Waving her cigarette around as she relayed every single detail she knew about Joel’s love life, telling you how after a few years of moping, he’d bring back girls in the middle of the night, fuck them, and then throw them out the next day. 

“He’s not a romantic,” Lillian had prefaced, Susan interjecting with:

“Ya think so? I think he is…if he just found the right woman-”

“Oh don’t listen to her Darlin’, he’s a man who likes to play. He ain’t lookin’ to settle, I tell you that much.” 

Listening to them both, their anecdotes, their stories, and their opinions, you concluded one thing about Joel Miller. He was an asshole. A man who had done nothing to better his life since he stepped foot in the trailer park ten years ago, a sag in his shoulders and an anger in his eyes. 

You weren’t sure if he’d mellowed since then, or if he’d just managed to conceal it better. Joel hadn’t been angry around you, not when you knocked on his door at three in the morning, asking him if he could come get the spider out of your bedroom, not when you’d accidentally run into his truck with your bike or told him that he was an asshole when you’d caught him talking about you one day in springtime. 

“She’s as dumb as fucking rocks,” he’d chuckled. “Bet she gets cockdrunk so easy.” 

He’d grumbled out the last sentence, an afterthought that was more for him than the men he was talking to, but you, stumbling around, half-asleep after your shift, were not willing to take the degradation. You’d berated him in front of his peers, slammed the door behind you, and regretted it immediately. Because, even though it shouldn’t matter, even though you thought he was pervy and angry and wouldn’t treat you how you’d been told you deserved, the last thing you wanted was for him to hate you. 

Every time he praised you, told you that you looked good as you stepped out of your home, on your way to Lillian’s for a catch-up and the cigarettes she bought you every three weeks, just for being good and keeping her company, you felt that tingle, the synaptic transmissions running down your spine every time he stepped through your door, asking what the issue with your tap was. You should’ve been disgusted when he’d left and you’d gone to the bathroom only to find the panties you’d left on the floor were gone, but you’d felt that same spark instead. A deep, sliding ache that consumed every part of you. 

Luckily for you, your sink decided to start leaking again on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Perfect time to lure him into your trailer, grab him by the neck and ask him as nicely as you could if he could cease the pain. 

Sip of beer, drag of cigarette, click of the remote to change the channel, repeat. 

A usual Sunday afternoon pastime. 

Joel would’ve rifled through his VHS’s, find something he could jack off to whilst he deliberated whether today would be the day he’d say “fuck it” and saunter on over to next door, hoping to god he’d get his dick wet by someone other than a whore, but he couldn’t be bothered to move from his seat. It was effort enough trying to change the channel, arm aching as he pressed the button, rolling his eyes as the same boring drab illuminated his TV screen. 

It was another one of those days. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, the broken glass, the notion that he would never fix it no matter how easy it would’ve been to go over to Shane’s and ask him to get it working again, all for the low price of a few pills. 

She’d left him with it and he would die with it. 

A reminder of her every time he glanced at his watch, swallowing hard as he remembered the way he’d pressed cool metal to the side of his head, a tear slipping down his cheek before realising that he never could. Because Joel was an asshole, he knew that. He was selfish and cruel and spoke about people as if they could get any lower than he already was. But more so than anything, Joel was a sad old man.

Tommy, the damn bastard, who’d left Joel to fend for himself while he went off with his new-found “true love” to have kids and a decent life, had sent a few thousand dollars and a pitiful “I’m sorry, Joel,” over the phone after his big brother had fucked up and lost his job. When Joel had been left penniless and broken. Nothing to fight for. No one to hold him or tell him that he was loved. He’d spent all his money raiding gas stations for cases of beer, bottles of whisky, anything that could numb the pain—choosing the alcohol over food, over his mortgage. When he’d lost the house, he hadn’t taken anything of hers. Even after she’d died, he’d insisted that everything needed getting rid of. Her clothes, her posters, even her damn phone. He’d slammed Tommy against the wall after realising that he was taking everything with him, that he was not doing as he was told. After that, Joel had closed the door on her bedroom and never stepped foot in it again. 

All he had of her was a damn watch, a photo that his little brother had shoved into his hands, a harsh, “Take it, you damn bastard. You’ll regret it when you stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” on his lips, and the memory of her in his arms when he’d felt that huge heart of hers stop beating. 

There had been many low points in Joel’s life, wandering through his existence on a tightrope that was ready to snap with every step, but none had been lower than that. 

Not even when he’d called Tommy in the middle of the night, sobbing, struggling to breathe with a clean bottle of Jim Beam in his hands, begging him to help. He’d lost his house, he’d lost his job, he’d lost his daughter. Where to next? 

Tommy, all the way in Wyoming had scraped together some money, told Joel to get himself down to the mobile park and a steady job. Start from the bottom again. 

Sometimes, Joel resented his brother for not giving him that money for a flight to the West, smiling down the phone as he informed that they had a spare room for him, his nephew cooing in his bassinet and waiting for his old uncle. 

He understood though. When he wasn’t drunk it made more sense why he hadn’t invited him to his home. 

They hadn’t spoken in sixteen years. To his nephew whom he did not know the name of, he was just the deadbeat uncle who hadn’t made it out of Texas—still alive but lost. 

Tommy would’ve probably hated him more if he was sitting on Joel’s couch, staring at the porn and the beer, the cigarettes that his little brother knew he had only smoked when he was a rebellious teenager—the occasional pull never becoming a habit, especially when his daughter came along. 

Almost certainly would’ve despised him if he knew how he felt about the girl next door, the perverse catharsis he experienced when he took himself in hand and imagined taking care of her, shushing her whimpers, making her whine with the way he stretched her open. 

Oh, and he was a bad man. A bad fucking man and he was the last thing you needed. Some poor, young girl who was doing her best to make it. Pay the rent on time, make sure she was kept fed, all whilst juggling the inescapable feeling that once you were in the trailer park there was no getting out. 

Joel didn’t see an end. He’d been here for over a decade; his drug money was not for a new house or a new life, it was for whores and booze, a carton of Marlboro reds that he got for cheap from Bill, and porn. He’d collected all the goddamn vices—became a person so unlike who he was, so far from the quietly loveable single dad he’d been hailed as years ago. 

As far as Joel now was concerned, that guy was a fucking pussy. 

That guy would think he needed professional help for the way he thought about you, would expel every single image of you naked and writhing, tits bouncing in time with his thrusts as you lay boneless and crying in his grasp. 

You were legal. What was the big fucking deal? 

Joel needed this. You were not just some throwaway material good that would leave him in debt for the next ten years—you were full and gorgeous, smart, quick-witted and made him harder than the oak tree that stood centuries-old just a little down the road from the old Palmer farmhouse. 

That day you’d heard him talking about you to his friends, the way he’d lied and said that you were dumb, when you’d come storming up his porch steps—all rage and heat—and cussed him out, he’d laughed. It didn’t matter about the taunts and the sniggers he got from his buddies who he would have no issue never speaking to again. They could go fuck themselves for all he cared because you hadn’t willingly thrown yourself at his feet and licked his boots. 

Whores were easy. No challenge with a whore, no longing, no desire, just a mutual understanding that this was transactional and she was going to moan as loud as you wanted her to whether it felt good or not. 

But you had given Joel something worth chasing. And fuck he was going to catch you, even if it meant he’d die in the chair he sat in, with nothing to show for his life except a case of Bud, an empty fridge, and a stain on his bedsheets where you’d reached for him—begging for everything he could not give.

Something about him had you checking your appearance before you walked out the door, making your hair presentable, touching up your lipgloss, blotting the oil from your face. All for a man who saw you as nothing but jailbait

You wanted to be wanted. To be looked at with a fire, an urge to grasp you and take you fully, pull you close when you cried and kiss you when you shook with the need to run far away. You wanted to be kept, to be reminded every day that you were needed, loved and desired.

You wanted Joel. 

Joel: the sad old man next door, the dangerously handsome figure in your life that stood six feet tall, jaw sharp and strong, muscles straining with his arms crossed—built big and firm. A chest you’d very much like to lay your head on. A bulge in his pants you’d very much like to see stripped bare. 

So when the opportunity came, you seized it, with an iron first, intent on capturing what had been yours since the day you’d moved to the free prison—since the day he’d stared at you, an unadulterated and irremovable, perverse desire that shook the very beings of your existence. That determined exactly who you are and how you would fall for the watchful eyes and glinting gaze that befell you every time you stepped down the rotten wood steps at the foot of the trailer entrance. 

You stepped onto them then, Chuck Taylors strapped to your feet, laces loose and lazily tied, skin smoothed from the razor you’d pressed against it in the shower that morning—all for him. The appearance every bit of expectation you had for his fantasies and ideals, hoping that the attire would thrust him further into abandoning a morality he did not have. 

The sun set rapidly behind you, the grass long and dry around your ankles, unmowed—as you nor Joel had ever discussed who would get mowing duty—and a clear head. A set destination, unstifled by a long day at work, the sweat curling along your back too harsh to be ignored and the sometimes discourteous demeanour of Joel’s so powerful that you often wondered why you liked him. Why you gave so much attention to a man years ahead of you, unable to look at you without laughing at the prospect you thought you were more to him than a pretty thing to look at whilst he wallowed in his castle of self-pity he’d built for himself all these years spent trapped and lonely. 

It all seemed insignificant that day you’d crossed the boundary between lot seventeen and lot eighteen. When you’d shakily advanced up his steps, onto the porch you grew so fond of, and knocked once, twice, thrice on the white door—stepping back to await his welcome. Hoping to god that he’d see you and take you there. 

The shuffling on the other side of the door raised your heart rate, a sweat forming on the back of your neck which you brushed away with a hasty hand, intimidated by what awaited you when the white disappeared and transformed into bulking arms and a firm chest—a tall body that you gazed up at with ardour. 

When the sight appeared, you gulped away the desire to run away, to pretend that you’d just come here for the leaky tap and that there was no other reason you had bothered him on his peaceful Sunday afternoon. No ulterior motive. Not that you just wanted to see him because he had hardly been around the past couple of days and in truth you were worried about him; you wanted to make him feel better. 

“Hi.” He struggled to conceal the surprise in his voice, seemingly struggling further to keep the thickness in his throat at bay, the redness of his eyes that displayed days of restlessness and insomnia. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you murmured impassively, licking your lips, swallowing away the dryness in your throat at the state of him: burning cigarette in hand, flannel shirt unbuttoned and displaying the white wifebeater that lay underneath. The shape of his belly was visible underneath it, his belt purposefully unbuckled and hanging from the loops of his jeans. “I’m alright.” 

There was a twitch of his lips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting from head to toe—shameless in the way he always was. In the way you liked. 

“You sure?” 

It seemed stupid suddenly: the entire situation. The call you felt towards him, the want you had to curl up against his chest, let him hold you and tell you he was proud of you for opening up to him—telling him how fucking much you wanted him, despite knowing exactly how it would end if you were to venture further into a relationship that surpassed just neighbours. 

So instead of inviting yourself in, seducing him until he fell to his knees, tugged you by the waist and begged you for just the smallest piece of yourself, you succumbed to your insecurity, and retreated from the palace walls. 

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just that my taps leaking again.” For a split second, he almost looked irritated, eyes honing in on you, narrowing with a look of aggravation—confirmed by the clench of his jaw. You appeased him, saying, “You don’t have to come over now. I just thought I’d tell you,” and the expression slowly slipped away into something much more sinister: mirth. 

“Sure thing, pretty girl,” he said as he slinked away from the doorframe, inviting you into his home, coaxing you past the threshold as he fumbled about in the fridge and pulled out two beers. 

Contemplating, you stared at him, the flex of his muscles as he uncapped each bottle, the stature and size of him as he hunched over the counters, turning around to hold out a drink to you. An invitation. One that you had expected you’d have to give yourself—that you’d have to kick and cry before he ever let himself find you. 

“Just have a drink,” he soothed in that southern lull of his, the words rolling from his tongue with ease. As if he had practised the scenario before he knew it would befall him. “No point in worrying over your tap, I can’t do anything until I buy new washers. I’m out 'cause of you.” 

The irritation he’d shown earlier seemed palpable now—as if he was inviting you into his home simply to make you as uncomfortable as possible, hold you down by the hips until you promised to leave him alone. A taunt, a ploy to make sure you would never get what you wanted. 

However, you had never stepped foot in his trailer, had only ever been on his porch and ran your hand over the chair he frequented, wondering what it looked like beyond the four walls, and curiosity prevailed as it always did. 

Uncertainly, you stepped onto the carpet, gently closing the door behind you, and mumbled a thank you as you took the beer from his hand. 

Almost immediately, you felt like apologising for his irrational emotions. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to put you out. I’ll pay for whatever you need-”

“You pay in ways you don’t know. I don’t need your money.” 

The cryptic way in which he spoke, the casualness as he gave you a look that hinted at something you couldn’t decipher and the slow saunter to his armchair left you in a state of uncertainty. Standing there, with a beer wetting your hand, a frown on your face and a furrowed brow, you had no idea where to go next. What would await you if you questioned him—the things you would discover that were best left in the hands of God and no one else. 

Again, curiosity thrust its violent hand into your stomach and forced your feet to start moving towards him, hoping that he’d appreciate your bravery—your denial of your urges to run far away. It was noted, however, that Joel Miller could care less about bravery. That the quality itself was right down at the bottom of the ladder and that he could and would not give a shit if you welcomed his advances in spite of your lack of courage. 

Hesitantly, you planted yourself on his couch, the furniture built into the wall, curving into an L shape where you imagined he’d kick his feet up after a long day, palm the bulge in his jeans and pick from the litany of porn that you took one glance at and thought better than to stare at it too long in case he felt offended by your interest. 

The discovery admittedly took away a little of his allure. 

“Make yourself at home,” he insisted, taking a sip of his beer and urging you to do the same with a single nod of his head. The slight twitch of his lips when you did so caused your body to go squirming, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as the fire raged within you—unable to be sated with the way he looked at you then. 

Just a scoff, a sip, and a glance at your lips before he turned away completely and focused his attention on the blank TV screen— his reflection the only entertainment. 

Silence grew uncomfortable, the bitter taste of alcohol coating the back of your throat, dripping down your oesophagus and choking any words that you wished to say. The heat emanating from him was overpowering even from the distance you sat apart, the scent of cigarettes overwhelming, so much so that you needed a distraction, anything to dull the rest of your senses from shutting down—all because of his powerful presence; the effect he had on you even when he sat still and awaited your call. 

“What did you mean?” The words came tumbling from your mouth, driven by an insatiable desire and lacklustre confidence you had somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach, bubbling with the acid that nestled there until it rose to the surface—bile transforming into questions that could leave you in a shell of humiliation. At his furrowed brow, you expanded. “About me paying in ways I don’t know.” 

He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Sombre, all of a sudden. Staring into the barrel of his bottle, the brown glass reflecting like constellations on his face—accentuating the sharp angle of his jawline, the sunken hollows of his cheekbones. 

When his eyes nestled on yours, burrowing right into your skull, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even fathom the thought of taking a lungful of air, waiting with your breath held tight inside, for his answer. 

“You shouldn’t go asking questions like that.” He sipped quietly, wetting his lips by flicking his tongue in and out, averting his gaze back to the shadow of himself in the television. “You’ll get yourself in trouble.” 

It was not the answer you wished for, eyes downcast, focused on your shaking knee as you tried to gauge some form of clarity beneath the mystery that clouded the gates to his head—what lay beneath his skull; what you wished to find. 

Against your better judgment, you pressed further, keeping the beer bottle clutched between your hands and hoping it would stay cold forever. 

“I can handle myself.” It came out more confident than you had expected, your bobbing knee ceasing its movement, your dry throat provided with moisture. A break from the anxious sweat you had broken out in. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just leave a hundred dollars on your doorstep and leave you alone.” 

You hoped quietly, in that stifling room, that he would make sure it didn’t come to that. That he would let you pay in any way he saw fit. You hoped that the sad hulk of a man sitting in the lone chair with porn in every drawer and money set aside for whores, would let you have him—bring back a semblance of light to his eyes. Find out what kept the despondency trapped so tight around him, the crown of thorns on his head expanding until it reached his feet and kept him locked in nature's prison—skin scratched, bloody and unable to be healed unless he found someone willing to cut through the overgrowth. 

He seemed to bristle at your words, shoulders tightening, jaw clenching in the manner he did when he was irritated. You’d seen it before when Dale had been drunk and had followed you home. When you’d stumbled uncomfortably to your trailer and pleaded Joel who sat on his porch, almost looking like he was waiting for you, to get him off your back. That tick, the downturn of his brow, the twitch of his lip, the look so intimidating you had rushed inside and watched through the window as Joel clapped a hand on Dale’s back and ushered him away from you.

You had no idea what he’d done after they’d left your sight but Dale barely looked at you after. The last interaction you’d had with him was the morning after when he’d knocked on your door, timid for a fifty-year-old man, and apologised. Joel had been there, like he almost always was—always dancing in your peripheral, waiting for you, taunting you—with a cup of coffee clasped between two hands and a smug look on his face when he watched the interaction. 

“You ain’t as smart as you think you are,” he uttered, slipping you away from the vignette and shattering the memory with his simple words. 

They stung. More than you cared to admit. 

Men were never this difficult, never this hard to get through to, never this confusing. He had given you every possible sign, every protection, every knowing look that confessed: you are everything I wish to have. 

It seemed every day he was further from you, every day he looked at you and thought that he was blinded by loneliness and that you were the last thing he needed to dote on. 

With the rejection, came vexation, a rumbling little thing that forced its way into your mouth—lips parting to let it out. 

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” As soon as they fell, the rest came following like a herd of bulls, a huge red flag flying through the air, right where Joel sat. They came for him, and you didn’t care enough to stop them. “I’m not stupid, no matter what you say.” 

The tick, tick, tick of his jaw. That subtle way his eyes narrowed, honing in on everything but the thing causing his problems, trying desperately to stop the truths from betraying his conceptions. 

“I see you, Joel. I see you through my bedroom window, using me as your personal stripper because you’re too fucking cheap to go down to the strip club and give a tip.” The push and pull was becoming apparent, the sympathy and disgust you held for him all at once growing and growing until all that prevailed was rage. That after everything, he still refused. That he was still a fucking coward no matter how many faces he pulled at anyone who looked at him wrong. You would not be deterred by the look he gave you then: one that should’ve made you shrink away in fear he would do something rash. “I see the way you looked at me from day fucking one. Just a pair of tits to stare at, a new young girl that you can prey on-”

“Stop.” 

“I’m not stupid.” Your voice was rising rapidly, your lips downturned in a scowl, unable to see the danger that befell you if you continued. “I know how you talk about me to your friends, I know that you make a show of being this immovable thing that no one can ever get to because you’re so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can’t even admit to yourself that the only thing you are is a fucking pervert. And an asshole.” 

“You are crossing a line, little girl.” 

His words fell on deaf ears, a scoff coming from the back of your throat—so many things that you wanted to say but couldn’t voice. You settled for a final, blow. One that might kick him off his feet. 

“I know you stole my panties.” Jaw ticking, teeth grinding so hard they were liable to turn to dust in his mouth. “Took them right off my bathroom floor. Could you not help yourself? Are you that sad, Joel? Are you that much of a fucking perve-” 

Silenced by the way he towered, standing upright, bottle discarded by the leg of his chair and fury dancing in his eyes—so apparent and profound you finally stopped and cowered. 

“You don’t know a thing about me.” 

You were stunned into submission, finally on the end of his intimidation—a feat that was sure to happen sooner rather than later. You were just another Dale, just another one of his victims that he shot down with narrowed eyes and a nasty tone of voice that forced you to swallow down the confidence—sending it right back to your stomach, and burning the false assurance away. 

“I have been cordial with you for as long as possible.” There was danger in the way he spoke so calmly, a tremor in your hands as he stepped forward, facing you completely, and kneeled before you—eyes boring into yours, forcing you to look at him with the hand he placed on the couch beside you. “I’ve tried my hardest to be respectable but you make it so damn difficult.” 

“I’m sorry,” you began, wishing you could take it all back, wishing that you could’ve used your boldness for better: crawled into his lap and let him hold you, sank to your knees like he and worshipped him with every bit of yourself you had.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he shook his head, the hand on the couch, moving, the weight of it resting there dissipating and falling even heavier on the side of your face. “You can’t take it back now.” 

Nerves slipped like rapids through your stomach, the damn thing churning so much you began to feel sick with the anticipation and fear you felt being closer to him than you ever had been before. Your mouth opened as if to speak, then closed again when you realised that your throat had closed, the inside of your mouth dry and unable to lubricate your words with credibility as they fell from your lips.

“You think I’m a pervert?” he asked, eyes expecting an answer, eyebrows raising to help you find a response. “Hm?” 

“Yes.” The monosyllable fell shakily, unable to lie when he was looking at you so harshly, all whilst stroking your cheekbone with his thumb and engulfing the right side of your face with one, big, warm hand. 

He nodded with knowing, his other hand falling to your bare knee. You were crowded by him, completely consumed by his presence and with a harsh swallow, you hoped that he would slip away and allow you to breathe—if only for a moment. 

“I know,” he said with finality, your cheek whacked with cold air as he removed his hand, quickly providing you with warmth again as he pressed his thumb to your chin, holding it delicately. Making sure you couldn’t look away from him. “But you like it, don’t you?” he brushed the bottom of your lip with his nail, an uncontrollable shiver running through you that he revelled in.

He’d called your bluff entirely. He’d locked you up in his cage, gave you the upper hand for just a second, made you believe that you could get away from him if you kicked and screamed enough, only to leave you hopeless as he twisted the key to the right, and threw the metal that granted you freedom, into the fire. 

“If you had an issue with me looking, you’d close the drapes. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it ain’t too hard for you.” 

His patronisation, his demeanour that consisted of arousal and determination, had a small breath puffing from your lungs, a sudden and overwhelming heat crawling from each of his hands and into your head—breaking your rationale and leaving you pliable and willing in his grasp. He’d got you. Right there. And if he wanted you, you would let him have you. 

“And if you didn’t want me to steal your panties, then you shouldn’t have left them there.” 

It was unbelievable, the way he twisted the blame onto you, the way he made you believe in everything he was saying with a simple swipe of his thumb over your bottom lip and a look in his eyes that stopped you from questioning him. 

“Yes, Joel, I’m sorry, Joel,” were the only words swimming through your head: words that you would’ve spoken aloud had he not stunned you into silence, the hand on your knee sliding along your skin, up towards the hem of your shorts where he slipped his fingers under and skimmed the skin concealed by the denim. 

“You understand me, little girl?” 

“I’m not a little girl,” you managed, voice shaky as the warmth of him engulfed you entirely, wrapped up in the scent of him, the feel of the callouses along your smooth skin and the eyes piercing you. If looks could kill…if those pretty eyes could rip you apart with the viciousness of their stare. 

“No you ain’t,” he murmured, gripping your chin, thumb rubbing along the flesh of your bottom lip, the skin bouncing as he peeled it back and let go. “I know you ain’t.” 

There seemed a flood came over his being, a white wave of purity dowsing him, ridding him of every adulteration and forcing sense back into his head as the hand fell from your face, the one on your inner thigh taking longer to slip away before the cloud of insensibility faded and he arrived to a semblance of morality. 

You watched as he stumbled over to the kitchen, hand working over the scruff he called a beard and forced his eyes away from you. 

“Joel,” you called softly, finally gaining back a little strength now he wasn’t crowding you; forcing you to look at him and make the first move so his conscience could be clean. 

“Just go.” The words were uttered much softer than before, the delicacy of his voice surprising you but the strain that coated his throat a reminder that this was still Joel Miller. Dangerously beautiful Joel Miller with a lifetime of terror stashed somewhere in the backrooms of his mind, a darkness in the depths of his eyes you couldn’t help but be frightened by, and a story you wished he would tell. A story that stretched years back to the life before he crept past the opening gates of Shady Springs Mobile Park and left a life that you had no clue wether  had been better or worse than his life now. “I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and have a look at that tap. You might have to get maintenance round soon though if it keeps up.” 

“I don’t like strangers…in my house.” Your words trailed off at the end of your sentence, caught up in the possibilities of your words and how he would reply. If he would see right through you and clock how you’d only spoken because the tap was one of the biggest ties you had to Joel. If he would realise that you’d thought about getting maintenance months ago when it first started dripping but didn’t want a permanent fix, no matter how annoying. All because of Joel Miller and the way he’d perversely captured you in the plot of some barely legal porno that you would’ve turned your nose up at if it was anyone but him and you. 

You and Joel. 

The thought sounded nice—the reality a little less nicer. 

“Yeah, well…” he leant back on the countertops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes bloodshot and bordered by black—an undeniable piece of evidence that Joel perhaps wasn’t doing as well as he made everyone believe; that there was something deeper tugging at his mind and causing such aggravation. 

After a moments silence, when he looked at you and you looked right back at him, your head clear and working properly again, you diverted the conversation elsewhere—a ploy to hack deeper at his head and find what lay underneath his skull. 

“Are you okay?” Simple, easy. Not difficult to ascertain the concern laced deep in your tone because you were concerned for him. The moment he’d opened the door after days of barely seeing him, time spent cursing the fact he could peer through your windows but you could not peer through his, you knew something was wrong. That there was something happening to him. Something dangerous. Your sympathy began to overtake everything else, memory shed of all the times he had wronged you and replaced with the very little he had done right. “You look…tired. Exhausted, really.” 

“I’m fine,” he said with finality, the rage in his eyes returning but with less power this time. The fatigue was setting in, the constant running from himself finally catching up to him. 

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.” It shut you up well enough, so much so that you began to lose the commiserations. You could always say you tried. “Now get out of my house.” 

It was the final thing he said to you before he slipped away, striding down the hallway, footsteps echoing until he reached the bedroom; the click of the door resounding throughout the trailer. 

You stared at the spot where he’d kneeled, a finger brushing softly over your lip before shaking away the self-pity and gently placing the beer bottle on the table that sat next to his chair. 

Looking one last time at the door at the end of the hallway, shadowed and guarded by snapping dogs, you opened the door, the damn thing creaking as if to shout to everyone within a mile radius that you had made no progress with the man you desperately wanted, and stepped out. Leaving your pride on the doorstep. 

© virginreprise

thanks for reading !

[222col]

meet me at the tennis court

pairing: art donaldson x reader ft. patrick zweig summary: art needs patrick's tennis coach, in more ways than just tennis. word count: 2.4k warnings: 18+!!!!, smut, dirty talk

Art never thought he'd be one for sabotage or betrayal, he never thought he'd need too, he was a good enough player on his own. He and Patrick had always been of a similar level, it was an even playing field before either of them went pro. Patrick got a head start, when Art went to Stanford. While Art did improve during college, Patrick had a dedicated coach, Art had to share a college level coach with the whole team, the playing field wasn't so level anymore. You starting coaching Patrick a year into his professional career, you'd met Art a few times when they'd practise together during spring or summer break, you knew he had potential. Art knew he needed one thing to beat Patrick, you.

It wasn't that he didn't want Patrick to succeed, he did, but he knew he needed you. As much as Art would never admit it out loud, he knew he had the talent to go further than Patrick, he just needed help. He'd watched you, how you worked with Patrick, your sternness, but kindness. You were exactly what he needed, for his career, but also his life. Once Art finished college, Patrick persuaded him to play in a doubles match with him, it wasn't high priority for Art, but he knew it meant time with you, so he agreed. Arriving at training, Art was nervous. Knowing this was his big chance to steal you away from Patrick, to join his team. Part of him felt bad, like a bad friend, but there was just something about you, that he craved.

"Alright, boys," You arrive to the court as the boys are warming up, tight tennis skirt and matching tank, carrying a crate of balls and a racket. Art mumbles a 'Christ' under his breath as you set the crate down and set up some cones. "Dude, I know, I don't know how I ever focus with her as my coach." Patrick responds. Art didn't think he was loud enough for him to hear, letting go of Patrick's hands, letting him drop to the floor. "You think she's hot?" Art questions, pulling his friend up from the floor. "Art, I'm not blind. I know she's hot, I spend nearly every day with her." Art shakes his head and picks up his racket. Patrick follows suit, holding out his hand in front of Art's mouth. Gum drops from his mouth to Patrick's hand. "Very romantic, can we maybe get on with training now?" Their heads snap towards you, both nodding as you wait, hands on hips.

Art wants to impress you, but he keeps missing shots, watching your skirt blow in the wind as you hit balls his way. "Get it together, Donaldson!" You shout, hitting another ball his way. He's focused now, but Patrick jumps in front of him to hit the ball back to your side of the court. "Nice to know one of you has your head screwed on, need to go back to college tennis, Art?" Your words sting, he's meant to be showing you that he's worthy of your time and attention, yet Patrick is out doing him, again. You throw a couple balls in his direction. "Let's see your serve." He picks up a ball, takes a breath and lines it up with the neck of his racket. He grunts as he hits the ball, it was one of his best. "Better." You smile to him. He has to stop the blush that creeps onto his cheeks. "Christ, all she did was smile at you, Donaldson." Patrick mocks, clearly noticing the redness on his cheeks. He's grateful you're moving cones and don't notice.

He improves throughout the rest of the session, not better than Patrick, but not missing any more shots. "Okay, boys, that should do us for today." They both drop their rackets, hair slick to their foreheads with sweat as you hand them both a bottle of water. "You have potential, Art, but you need to focus more." He shrugs in agreement as he drinks his water. "He's normally a lot more focused, wonder what got into you, Donaldson?" Patrick isn't slick, Art internally cusses him out. "Maybe I could do with a private session, if you have any spare time?" Art's almost smirking, Patrick definitely is. "Sure, Art," You say, packing away spare rackets. "I have a couple hours tomorrow before Patrick's solo session." His smirk turns to smile. "Great. See you then."

The two boys pick up their bags and head to the showers. Undressing and turning the water on, Patrick laughs. "What?" Art questions, turning on the shower next to his. "You're trying to fuck my coach." Art just shakes his head and starts washing himself. "You're not even denying it!" Patrick laughs, washing the shampoo out of his hair. "Maybe I just want some help." Art responds, letting the water wash the soap off of his skin. "Oh yeah, I'm sure you do." Patrick brings his fist to the side of his face and sticks his tongue to the inside of his cheek, imitating a blowjob. Art scoffs and continues showering. As much as yes, Art does want you in that way. He wants more, he wants all of you. Your body, your brain, your guidance.

Still nervous, but less so than yesterday, Art arrives for his private training session. You're already on the court, skirt looser than yesterday, the wind nearly exposes your ass as you bend over to pick up some extra balls. "Fuck me," Art mutters under his breath. He drops his bag next to you. "Jesus, Art, you nearly gave me a heart attack." You laugh, breath unsteady as you hold your chest. His mind is already wandering. He laughs too, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." Opening his bag to pick out a racket. You pick up a racket of your own, grabbing a few balls and telling Art to do the same. You both get into position on either side of the court. After a few rallies, you stop. "You seem a bit pent up, Art, what's bothering you?" You ask, walking towards the net. The sexual frustration he's feeling is one thing, the other being how to breach the subject of subtly betraying Patrick. "Patrick's other coach said this too, I'm not sure." Patrick doesn't have another coach, Art just needs to find a way for you to leave Patrick and focus all your time on him.

"Oh really? That's interesting. Maybe you need to channel your aggression on the court." You don't bite. Do you know he's lying? You take a sip of water. "I didn't know Patrick had another coach." There it is. You bite. "Yeah, for a few months now, I think." Art keeps lying, he should feel bad, but if it means you direct your energy to him. He'll do anything. "Interesting. I told Patrick when I first starting working with him that I prefer my clients to work solely with me." You take another sip. "You know, so secrets don't get shared. My work doesn't get undone, things of that nature." He's done it. He's got you questioning. Your brow furrows as you keep drinking. "That makes perfect sense. I was surprised when he told me, when I knew how brilliant you are- How brilliant you made him." He hopes you ignore his slip up. You don't. "How brilliant I am?" You smirk to him, placing your water on the bench, taking a step towards him. "Well, you're an extraordinary woman." He smiles. "Exactly what I'm looking for actually." You examine his face. "In a coach?"

His eyes deepen, the space between you closing. "Yeah, something like that." Your hands are on your hips, looking up at Art. He can feel your breath on his neck, swallowing deeply. Looking down at you, the loose fit tank not helping, due to the fact he has the perfect angle to see your cleavage. "Something like that?" You repeat his words back to him. "Mhm." is all he can muster in response, his breath hitching. "You want me to coach you, guide you, tell you what to do?" You lean up to him, you lips mere inches from his now. "I definitely want you to tell me what to do." His confidence is back. Smirking down at you. "In tennis?" You question, playing dumb. "In tennis, in life, in bed..." He trails off, faking innocence. "Kiss me then." You barely finish your sentence before his lips are on yours. You can feel his hunger on his lips, his hands searching all over your body as yours tangle themselves in his hair. He finds his way underneath your skirt, caressing the lace and bare skin beneath it. You smile into his kiss, cocky bastard, you think, kissing you like this with his hands on your ass in the middle of the tennis court. Anyone could walk out onto the court, any minute, Patrick could easily arrive early and find the two of you together like this. The thought only turns you on further, Art must feel it in the kiss as his hand snakes around your body and into your underwear.

Gasping and gripping his body tighter as his fingers stroke the length of your folds, your legs almost buckle as he grabs hold of you tighter. Giggling to himself as he watches you come undone. His finger slips inside of you as his lips find their way back to yours. His kiss can barely capture the sound of your moans as he slips another finger inside. "Shut the fuck up," He whispers in your ear, covering your mouth with his hand. "Or do you want someone to catch us with my hand under your skirt?" His grin is evil, he's loving this, watching your eyes turn darker the further he pushes his fingers inside of you. He removes his hand from your face, returning to it's place on your ass. "I don't remember me saying you could tell me what to do, Donaldson." Your voice is shaky, breathing heavy as you hold your moans in the best you can. He raises his eyebrow, removing his fingers from inside you as you pout. "Do you want me to stop?" He asks, his fingers teasing your clit, so gently you can barely feel it. "N-no," you muster, his fingers re-enter. "Stop acting like you're in control right now then." His order hits you like a slap across the face, your knees go weak. You didn't think he had it in him. All you can do is nod your head as he picks up the pace. His thumb now drawing circles on your clit, your eyes close as your head flings back. You bite your lip to stop your moaning, Art's lips attacking your neck, definitely leaving small bruises as he goes. "Good girl." You can't stop the groan that falls from your lips this time. Art chuckles, loving the control he has over you in this moment.

"I thought I told you to shut the fuck up, or do you not want to come today?" Your head swings back to face him. "I'll be quiet, I promise, fuck- Art, please let me come," He rewards you with a kiss, you use it to your advantage and let your moans escape into his mouth. You're getting close and he knows it. You've began to shake, your grip on his biceps getting stronger as your nails dig into the skin. He's revelling in the fact you're leaving marks on him. He's getting exactly what he wants, you. "Come for me, baby," His whisper pushes you over the edge, nearly falling to your knees as you finish on his hand, he instinctively holds your body up as you bite down on to his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. He can feel that through his shirt, he'll be left with a bite mark. A groan leaves his own lips at the thought. "So, you'll be my coach then?" He asks, cheekily as you ride out your high. "Fuck, Art, I'll be whatever you want me to be if you keep doing that." He chuckles, pulling out his fingers, immediately bringing them to his lips. He inserts them both to his mouth, licking every drop of you from his fingers. He licks them clean and leans down to kiss you. He giggles into the kiss and smacks your ass playfully. "Hit the showers, Donaldson. I've got to get ready to fire my client, looks like you'll be my priority from now on." He picks up his bag, winking at you as he leaves the court.

Entering the showers, he finds Patrick. He claps slowly, "What a show, Donaldson." Art's cheeks flash red. "Really, I didn't think you had that in you." Art's head drops, thinking whether to deny the whole thing, until he sees the tent in his trousers. Patrick just laughs, patting him on the back. "It's nice to know that I'm finally rubbing off on you." Art's laughing too now, turning on the shower and undressing. "Fuck off," He retorts, stepping under the cold water. He winces as the water hits the fresh marks you've left on his body. Patrick inspects the reason for his wince, noticing the bite mark on his shoulder. "Is it weird to say that's hot?" Patrick smirks, brushing his fingers over the mark. Art shakes his head and pushes his hand off his shoulder.

"You might wanna start looking for a new coach." Art states, washing his face. "Why? You wanna make sure I don't make a move on the girl you're fucking?" Patrick smirks, as Art turns to face him. "She's my coach, as well as the girl I'm fucking, actually," Art can't even attempt to hide his smile as he continues showering. "You little snake!" Patrick laughs as he slaps Art's boner, he groans in pain. "Will you still be my doubles partner?" Patrick asks, picking up his bag, ready to head to the court. Art laughs, "Of course," turning back to his shower. "Don't tell her you saw anything, oh, and if she asks you've had another coach the past few months." Patrick leans around and hits Art on the balls. "You really are a fucking snake, Art!" Patrick laughs and jokingly kisses his cheek. "It's exciting seeing you like this, I hope she gets you to apply it to your tennis, then maybe you'll finally beat me."

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg <3

The Most Beautiful Flower

Jotun!King!Loki x fem!Æsir!Queen!Reader

Summary: Some side effects of the pregnancy with the twins unlocked several body insecurities, causing your husband to think of a plan to cheer you up and convince you of your beauty.

Warnings: body insecurities, pregnancy stuff, suggestive smut, tooth rotting fluff, Loki being an absolute sweetheart and most loving, caring, supporting hubby ever, protective Loki, nudity

Word Count: 3,6k

a/n: This oneshot is based on a request @eleniblue had. 😊 Thank you for this, my friend! I hope you're going to like it! 😊

Ps. Chapter Two of 'Through the Years' will be posted on Thursday! 😁

Tags: @lady-rose-moon @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbsblr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @chennqingg @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @theaudacitytowrite @jennyggggrrr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @eleniblue @vanilla-daydreaming @loz-3 @valencia-rou @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @bunny24sstuff @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovingchoices14 @linaax @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @glitchquake @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @gruftiela @lulubelle814 @mandywholock1980 @november-rayne @chantsdemarins @simping-for-marvel @lou12346789 @aagn360 @lokiforever @anukulee @multifandom-worlds (Continuing in the comments!)

Ice Flower Masterlist ❄ Loki Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

You stood in front of the wide full-length mirror of yours and Loki's bedroom; looking at yourself. You had just taken a bath with the help of two maidens, but preferred to get fully dressed alone.

Yes... Being now nine months pregnant with Jotun twins was everything but easy. Your feet often hurt and were swollen. Your back ached from all the weight it had to carry. You also were so much more sensitive now. Especially to touch, of course - which could be great, but also annoying.

The worst of all, though, was that you were freezing even more! You didn't know that it was possible, but... Oh, it was. Only logical with two Frost Giant babies growing within you... There were nights when even Loki's body warmth wasn't enough to keep you from freezing. Several furs and blankets were needed, until you were practically wrapped up in a cocoon. And that was only the 'beginning'... The healers told you that it was quite possible for more 'side effects' to occur - and you still had about four months to go...

You looked with critical eyes over your body; seeing several stretch marks, water retention in your legs, swollen feet and even some small freezer burn marks - especially on your belly. Not to mention that you gained a lot of weight throughout this pregnancy.

You sighed; body insecurities kicking in. This is far from beautiful, you thought. This isn't how a queen should look like... You ran your hands down the bare skin of your lower back and over your big bump, which were your twins. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes; your mind planting even more dark thoughts within your brain. What if Loki won't find me attractive anymore? What if he thinks I'm ugly? The maelstrom of negativity pulled you deeper and deeper with no chances of escape. What if he won't bed me any-

Your train of thoughts got harshly interrupted by a pair of pleasantly warm hands, which landed on your hips and glided forwards to cup your growing bump. You gasped. Touch sensitivity.

"What's that frown on your face about, my love?" The deep, velvety timbre of your husband's voice urged to your ears. Combined with the kiss he bestowed upon your bare shoulder, caused goosebumps to form on your entire body.

You were about to answer, as one of your twins gave a nudge against Loki's palm, making the king chuckle. "Someone is enjoying the touch of their father," he stated; letting his one hand roam to feel for more movement of his offspring. "Seems like they are well and healthy. What did the healers say this morning, Flower?" You nodded and placed your hands on Loki's way bigger ones; enjoying the touch nevertheless. "They are, my love. Healthy and growing as they should." Loki inhaled the scent of your freshly washed hair and cleaned skin, before lowering his head to kiss your shoulder once again. "That is good to hear. I never had doubts, though. Not with such a strong, powerful woman being their mother." Your heart skipped of course a beat at his words - but the darkness lurked within your head still.

Loki lifted his lips from your skin with a soft pop, before he looked up to meet your eyes in the mirror. "Now, my queen... Tell me... What is that frown doing on the beautiful face of yours?"

You swallowed hard; tried desperately to suppress the upcoming tears. "Nothing, my king. I was just thinking." "Thinking? About what?" Your husband asked; pressing his tall frame against yours. You shook your head. You didn't want him to see how weak and vulnerable you were in this moment. You didn't want his pity. You should be strong... Be his warrior goddess. But you weren't.

"Nothing important, Loki," you lied and turned around in his embrace to give him a fake smile.

Your husband looked intensely at you for a moment; frowning. He sensed that something was off. He knew. He wasn't blind, neither stupid. But he also didn't want to pressure you into talking to him - so he played it off.

"Alright, my love."

Over the next days, the Jotun king made sure to always have an eye on you. Sure, he was already watching you like a hawk; barely leaving you alone. After all, you were carrying his children. His primal instinct left him no other choice than to look after his pregnant wife. And honestly? He wouldn't want it any other way. He must protect what was his.

Now, though, he watched you even closer; trying to figure out what exactly was bothering you - and he soon got his answer...

Some days, you were awake before him. Nothing unusual, but now that you were pregnant, it happened more often. Just like that day.

You were standing in front of the mirror - once more looking at your unattractive self. Usually, you did that when Loki was away and couldn't notice, but this time... You thought he was asleep, but unbeknownst to you, he wasn't...

Loki shifted inside the bed; arm reaching out to feel for you, but your side of the bed was cold and empty. She's already awake and up, the king thought. He was about to settle down again and continue to sleep, when he suddenly heard a heartbreaking sigh. Frowning, he turned on his back and blinked his eyes open. His bare abs clenched as he sat up; ruby eyes searching for the origin of said sigh. Then he saw you. Standing in front of the mirror; only dressed in undergarments. Your gaze was focused on a deep stretch mark on the side of your left hip. The moment Loki saw a tear running down the side of your face, he knew. It fell like scales from his eyes. It all made sense now. Your strange behaviour. Why you avoided his touch more often and hid your body from him; avoiding him seeing you naked.

The changes your body went through during pregnancy was bothering you. You were insecure.

His heart ached upon watching this; knowing exactly what you must be thinking. He wanted to jump up from the bed, run over to you and scream at you how utterly beautiful you were to him, but he knew he couldn't. You were clearly trying to hide this from him. If he would confront you now, you'd feel caught and probably even embarrassed. So, heavy-heartedly, Loki quietly laid back down; pretending to be asleep. But his mind was working; searching for a way to make those dreadful insecurities go away - and it didn't take him long to figure out a plan...

"My king, where are you taking me? I know you said it is a surprise - and I really don't wish to ruin this, but... My feet are hurting. I'm afraid I won't be able to walk much longer..." Your hand was entwined with Loki's, as he led you - carefully and slowly, blindfolded to somewhere only he knew.

He said he wanted to take you out a bit, but make it a surprise and not tell you where. Just the two of you. No guards. No interruptions. You agreed, of course; trusting him with your life.

"I know, my darling Flower. Apologies. We'll arrive soon," he said; squeezing your hand in a reassuring manner. Sure, you had a carriage for about half the way, but the rest had to be reached on foot. "Is everything else alright? Beside the aching feet?" Loki stopped for a moment, to check on your well-being. You nodded; smiling softly. "We're good, love." "Good." Loki pressed his lips against your forehead; kissing you softly.

"Let us walk on. We have almost reached our destination."

You couldn't deny, that you were quite curious about Loki's plans - and you really thought about it a lot. But you hadn't anticipated what was awaiting you, once the king announced that you had arrived...

"Are you ready, Y/N?" You nodded excitedly; free hand roaming your baby bump. "Yes!" "Alright." You felt how Loki let go of your hand and took a step closer to you; the ground rustling beneath his feet. "Brace yourself, Flower." He was audibly smiling, while he gently untied the blindfold on the back of your head. Once he did that, he stepped aside. "Open your eyes, my queen." You did, of course, causing a gasp immediately to leave your lips.

You were in the forest. But not on Jotunheim... This was Asgard. A big picnic blanket was spread out on the ground, with a lot of things to eat splayed out on top of it. Asgardian food. Your gaze travelled further. Behind the blanket, there was- "No way, Loki..." Your eyes widened. "You... You took me to-" Loki appeared in your field of view; smiling. "To our lake, yes." You felt how your eyes started to water immediately.

The little lake in the forests beside the Asgardian training camp. The lake where you and the king met; spend a lot of time in and falling helplessly in love with each other in the end. This small lake was a big and important part of yours and Loki's life. And now he had taken you there. It had been quite a few years since you lastly saw the lake. Too much was going on in both yours and Loki's life. Until now...

"Oh, my love this... This is amazing." You cried - happy tears. "It's so great to be here again. So many memories are connected to this place..." Loki nodded; wrapping you up in the tightest hug possible. "Indeed. I love being back here as well." "How do I deserve this? For you to take me here?" The king just shrugged his shoulders with a smile. "Does a man in love needs a reason to take out the woman he loves?"

Of course, Loki had his reason - but he didn't want to confront you with it just now.

"I-I suppose not," you answered; softly blushing at his charming words. "See? Now let's dig into the food, shall we? I'm starving."

After the delicious food the royal Asgardian kitchen of the palace had prepared for you was eaten, Loki had thought of a way to approach the body insecurities you had developed.

"Darling," Loki started; getting your attention. "It's a beautiful warm day today... Would you like to go for a swim?" The king noticed how your demeanour shifted immediately. You felt visibly uncomfortable; eyes widening. "A-A swim?" "Yes," Loki said with a smile; already starting to get rid of his armour and loincloth. Your eyes widened even more - if that was possible as you watched him getting naked. "Skinny dipping?" You squeaked up; almost shocked. "Sure, my love. It is how we met, isn't it?" He smiled smugly; giving you a smouldering look. "So... Are you joining me?" Your husband was about to get rid of the loincloth, covering his most private parts, when you stopped him. "L-Loki, stop, please, I-" He halted immediately in his movements; beautiful ruby eyes meeting your Y/E/C ones.

"What is it, Flower?" "I-I-" You stammered out; not knowing what to say. "Nothing, I just..." Loki's eyebrows slanted; a soft expression taking over his face. "My queen... I know there's something wrong. I already knew it for days - weeks, even... I noticed. I'm not blind, darling. I just didn't pressure you into talking to me; hoping you'd probably come to me on your own, but..." He reached for your hand; gently taking it in his bigger one. "Please... Don't shut me out. Talk to me."

You sighed; bottom lip trembling dangerously. That was exactly what you wanted to prevent from happening - but well, you weren't able to. He had seen it. Now it was already too late anyway. Hiding was impossible.

"Please..." Loki whispered and lifted your chin gently with his thumb and forefinger. The touch causing a gasp to leave your lips; feeling the touch sensitivity once more.

"I-I'm afraid that... That you don't find me attractive anymore." With those words leaving your lips, Loki had been proven right. This was about your body insecurities.

"What? But why, my love? Why would I ever find you unattractive?" You blinked; trying again to suppress the tears. "Be-Because I've gained weight since I'm pregnant... I'm far from the beautiful and strong woman you married. I have stretch marks. I have swollen feet. There a water retention in my legs and even freezer-" Loki couldn't listen to this any longer. How you talked so ill of yourself. So, he intervened.

"Y/N, no. Let me me stop you right here," your husband said in a serious voice; his heart aching and bleeding. "Please don't talk like that about yourself. Please." "But-" He shook his head, interrupting you straight again. "No, my queen, you are listening to me now." Loki took both your hands in his now; making you look at him. "Your body is changing, yes - but... Flower... You are pregnant. It's normal for your body to change. It's natural." He stated softly; squeezing your hands. "And by the holy roots of Yggdrasil, please... Please don't think that I find you less attractive because of that. Norns, no! Quite the opposite... I find myself being more attracted towards you than ever before."

You blinked; unable to process his words. Could this be true? "W-What? You... What? H-How? I-I mean..."

"How?" Loki couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Darling, you are practically glowing! Your skin is so soft and sensitive. Every touch feels like an igniting spark. I love that you gained weight, because..." He started; hungry eyes wandering over your whole body. "Everything got bigger - and I mean that in the sexiest way possible." He winked - and you blushed. "Your bum got bigger - don't think I haven't noticed that, because I have." Another wink. "Your baby bump, of course. My two favourite ladies..." His eyes settled on your chest for a moment. "And those thighs... Look at them." Loki ran his palms up the sides of your legs, up to your hips. "Delicious. How could I not want you?"

You just stared at him, at a loss of words; listening to everything he said.

The king's ruby eyes were trained on your swollen stomach once more, "I don't care about stretch marks or freezer burn marks or water retention." hands following suit. "All I care about is yours and our children's well-being. Your body is performing a miracle, darling. You are growing our twins. Carrying and nurturing them. This is more than I could've ever asked for."

You weren't able to hold back your tears any longer. His words touched you deeply; were like balm for your wounded soul. "R-Really?" You stammered out; eyes searching his. Loki smiled; was towering above you by now. "Really. Every word I just spoke is true. You are truly the most beautiful woman in all the nine realms. My beautiful, unique, special flower."

You softly smiled at him through the tears; still a bit insecure, but not as much as you were before. Cupping your husband's cheeks, you pulled him down for a kiss - which he gladly returned; and you didn't let go of him. You kept your lips locked to his; needing all his love and attention. You literally took the king's breath away and at some point he desperately needed to breathe, so he let one hand wander to your side; fingertips gently starting to tickle you.

Due to the pregnancy you were more ticklish than before. Therefore caused your husband's small tickling attack your immediate retreat from his sinful lips to let out a hearty giggle.

"Loki, s-stop, I-" He just smirked; mischief sparkling in his ruby eyes. He started to tickle you even more, using his other hand too - until you were not just giggling, but laughing. "Lokiiii! P-Please, I-" "Only if you promise to not hide your beauty from me anymore and take a swim with me." "O-Ho-Hokay, I- I promise!" Loki stopped then; turning his tickling into caressing. "There you go, my love." He smiled lovingly down at you and bestowed another kiss upon your lips. "Now come." The king got rid of the last item of clothing which prevented him from being nude, then walked straight into the lake - giving you a delicious view of his glorious, peachy butt, firm, strong thighs and muscular back. You swallowed hard; trying desperately to not get impure thoughts right now.

He dipped underneath the water; getting his whole body wet, before he re-emerged; shaking the water out of his luscious raven curls. You bit your lip at the sight; thighs clenching together instantly. "Are you going to join me now, my queen? I promise, here is nobody but us. We are alone." You nodded; taking a deep breath and started to undress. Loki watched your every move; his eyes not leaving your body once again. You couldn't help but to blush under his stunning, deep ruby eyes.

Slowly, you moved to get up from the picnic blanket - which was a tricky task by now. "Shall I help you, Flower?" Loki asked; was ready to jump to your side immediately. "No, no, it's okay. I got it, my love." You reassured him and in the end made it to stand up.

Loki was watching you as you took careful steps towards the shore of the lake; a smile upon his lips. Being the gentleman he was, he helped you inside the water, of course.

"You look like a goddess, my love. Truly beautiful." "T-Thank you." You took his hand; letting him guide you into the lake. Loki's other hand was immediately on your hip to support you; helping you swim over to the familiar stones, on which you could lean onto. You placed your arms on the edge; supporting yourself. Loki swam up behind you; embracing you and resting his head in the crook of your neck.

"This is wonderful, Loki. Thank you for taking me here. I didn't realise how much I missed this place - until now." You felt him nodding. "Me too, Y/N. It's great to relive old memories here." "Mhm... Definitely. When I think back to when we met..." You started; giggling. "You were such a handsome, arrogant asshole - it drove me crazy how perfect, yet annoying you were." The king chuckled. "Well, I guess you are right. I was. I just didn't know how to get along with those sudden, strange feelings I harboured for you." "Understandable." Another chuckle. "I never thought I'd get you back after all that happened, but... Look at us now... We are married, the king and queen of Jotunheim and expecting offspring." "Crazy, isn't it?" Loki pulled you a little closer; planting several kisses on the wet skin of your neck. "Mhhh... Crazy but real."

Pleasant silence spread between the two of you. You were both just enjoying the warmth of the sun, the soft breeze rustling the trees and the sound of the nature around you; bathing in each other's proximity - until Loki broke the silence again...

He inhaled a deep breath; burying his nose in your hair. "You know what I'd love to do now, Flower?" You shook your head; completely unaware of the not so innocent thoughts ghosting through your husband's mind. "No, my king. Enlighten me, please?" Loki smirked - unbeknownst to you and lowered his head, only to press his soft lips against the shell of your ear. "I'd love to ravish you right here on that very stone, like I almost did on that very day a few years ago. Finish what I- we started. Can you remember, darling?" He whispered, causing a shiver to run down your spine; eyes widening.

Oh and how you remembered that day! After all, he had almost taken your innocence...

"O-Of course I remember." Your husband chuckled darkly, "Would you like that, my precious Flower? Making love for real this time? Without being afraid of getting caught while doing such a forbidden thing?" and pressed his hips up against your bottom; eliciting a soft moan from your lips. You felt how your brain fogged up; arousal flooding your veins. You turned around in his embrace; Y/E/C eyes literally dripping with want. "I-I would love to, m-my king."

You were about to dip your hand past the water surface and reach for the throbbing desire between his legs, when he suddenly reached for your hand; stopping you. You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was undeniable arousal in his rubies as well, but love and care overweight the lust - as if he had realised something. A switch in his head turned.

He shook his head; averting his eyes. "Apologies, my love, but I think we rather shouldn't do that."

You frowned at his words; your built up self-confidence almost crashing down again. Wasn't he the one who insisted this? Wasn't he the one who-

"I don't want to hurt you, you know - or Norns forbid, our children. You are nine months pregnant, Y/N. Making love on a stone beside a lake isn't perhaps the best option. Especially not for your back. You need to be comfortable - and a stone is the exact opposite."

You blinked. Oh...

Blushing, you nodded. "Perhaps, yes, my king." Loki smiled; pressing a sweet kiss on your lips. "Let's get you back home in our chambers and I promise you that I am going to show you tonight how attractive I think you are, sweet Flower. My queen needs to be thoroughly worshipped, like she deserves - and I hate that I wasn't able to do this in a long time, but tonight, I'm going to make up for it, darling, I swear by the holy roots of Yggdrasil."

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: corruption arc, murder, death of minor character (i don't wanna spoil it but I wanna make sure no one is caught off guard. it's axe woves), possessive behavior, loss and anxiety, light smut, mentions of being intimate

Word Count: 7,842

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you.

[a/n: if dark fics aren't your forte, don't worry this isn't super dark. well, not as dark as i originally planned to go. more psychological horror than physical]

.

"i denied death for you. and i'd die for you again. kill for you. i'd tear the stars down from the heavens to fashion you a crown. you are my heart. my queen. i'd do anything and everything you ask me."

-Jay Kristoff

.

Looking back, you had no chance of not falling in love with Din Djarin. Even despite having plenty of reasons not to. You were on the run from the Empire, trying to keep a padawan safe from them. He was hired to collect said padawan as a bounty. He was a Mandalorian. You were a Jedi. Needless to say, the odds had been stacked against you both, but falling for him was the simplest thing in all the worlds.

You had a lot of reason not to, sure, but you also had no chance in avoiding it. Not with the way he put you and Grogu above everything else⏤ even himself. Not with the way he balanced trusting you to hold your own in a fight versus protecting you when you were overwhelmed. Not with the way his hand would softly brush against you as if he wanted so badly to touch you but thought himself unworthy. Not with the way his hoarse voice whispered your name in the softest concern and care.

Never before had you put any belief in the concept of soulmates, it seemed silly, but after meeting Din you weren’t so sure. The two of you seemed made to fit one another. Complement. Make the other stronger, better. The way you both understood one another, the care and love that came so easily… It was as if you loved him in another life. Like the two of you were destined to find one another in every lifetime. Made of the same stardust and shaped by the galaxy itself.

You loved Din Djarin. You loved him so damn much, and it made watching him crumble that much harder.

“Din.” You mumbled. Boba had swooped back to pick the lot of you up after the successful rescue mission. Though calling it successful seemed…bittersweet. Grogu was safe, but Grogu was gone. You wandered closer to where Din sat in a chair. He had isolated himself the moment you all boarded the ship. He was slumped over, elbows on his knees, and head hanging down. You knelt down by his side and squeezed his arm. “Hey. I wanted to check on you.” Din nodded, but stayed silent. His helmet stayed facing down, away from you, and it broke your heart to see him so devastated. “Tell me what you need, baby. I can stay or I can give you some space.”

Again, Din did not respond, but he turned his arm just enough to grasp you by the hand. You gave it a slight squeeze and just stayed there. For the rest of the flight neither of you moved. You knew Din felt like he couldn't complain. Grogu was safe with Skywalker, set to train and harness his gifts. Softly, you reassured him that whatever he was feeling was alright. He stayed silent.

Boba and Fennec’s goal was to reach Tatooine so you and Din tagged along. It wasn’t far. You all got there in a matter of hours and when you parted ways, Boba encouraged you or Din to call him if anything was ever needed. It didn’t take long for you to get a room at an inn. 

That night in bed you held Din close. The room had been darkened so even if you did open your eyes all you could see was his silhouette. He loved you with soft touches and thankful whispers, and when the both of you were spent and exhausted Din collapsed into you. Typically, he liked being the big spoon. Din loved wrapping his body around yours, all encompassing, as if he needed to protect you even in sleep. However, tonight, Din clung to your side⏤ an arm draped over your waist as he laid his head on your bare chest. You held him close, raking a hand through his hair tenderly.

The room was filled with quiet breaths, and when Din spoke his voice was so hushed that you nearly missed it.

“Don’t leave me, cyar'ika.” He seemed to beg. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You said firmly. Holding onto him tighter. You continued to whisper promises of staying by his side long after he fell asleep.

Din wanted to find the covert. That was what he told you he needed. You had no qualms with that. You wanted to do whatever you had to in order to help him find some semblance of normal. Coruscant was not one of your favorite places in the galaxy, but you’d walk through hell as long as Din was by your side. As you followed him, his eyes tracking signs and clues you couldn’t see, your own gaze continued to drift to the saber hanging from Din’s belt. His newest acquisition.

Ages ago, when it had been time to build your own lightsaber, the kyber crystal you chose had really chosen you. Everybody had certain strengths, even within the Force, and yours was reading energies. Your kyber crystal seemed to sing to you. The energy it gave was warmth. It was protective. It was loyal. Building your lightsaber had been a time honored tradition you treasured. Having it hang from your hip was something you did not take lightly. It gave you strength.

The energy coming from the darksaber felt…wrong. It was hard to put into words. It was muted to you, as if trying to hide, but still the darksaber seemed to weep a negative energy into the air itself. You didn’t like it, but you had no significant reasoning why other than ‘it feels bad’.

When the two of you reached the covert, Din was adamant about you coming in with him. Even when you told him you thought it was a bad idea, he still tangled his hand in yours and dragged you in. Just as you thought the other two Mandalorians there were unhappy with seeing you. In part because of the lightsaber on your hip, but more so because you were not their kind. You were not Mandalorian. Auretii. That’s what the Armorer called you. An outsider. It wasn’t inaccurate. 

The interaction started bad and only got worse.

Paz Vizsla challenged Din for the darksaber, a man you knew that Din considered to be a brother even despite rough disagreements in the past, and watching Din use the saber sent a chill down your spine. It was too heavy in his hands, and with every swing the blade was more difficult for Din to use. You could see it in his stride. You didn’t know how to explain it⏤ it was always difficult to explain the way an energy felt to you⏤ but the saber was fighting. It was annoyed.

Din won the battle.

“Din Djarin, have you ever removed your helmet?” The silence that followed the question broke your heart. “Have you ever removed your helmet?” You felt useless watching Din endure this pain. It was the same watching Skywalker carry Grogu away. You were a witness to his suffering. “By Creed, you must vow.”

“I have.”

“Then, you are a Mandalorian no more.”

The walk back into the depths of Coruscant was silent and painful. You slipped your hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I’m here. I’m not leaving. You will not lose me. Din returned the squeeze, but the pain was radiating off him in palpable waves. A feeling washed over you and your eyes darted to Din’s hip where the saber rested. Smug. It felt smug. 

The two of you walked into the covert as Mandalorian and Jedi, but left as Apostate and Aruetti.

You had the opinion that Din never got to properly mourn the loss of the Razor Crest. With everything going on at the time, it seemed like the least of the problems you both had. However, it's loss was felt now. Even in the short time you spent with Din and Grogu, the ship had become a place of comfort. For Din, the Crest had been all he had for so long⏤ it was his home. It held all his belongings and in a singular second it was all gone.

That aching wound was constantly festering, but when the two of you were forced to ride in public ships to get from world to world you could tell it stung Din the most. That’s how you’d have to get off Coruscant, but a small victory came in the form of a message from Peli. 

“Din, you’re not gonna believe this.” You grinned as he returned from whatever errand he had to do. “Peli has a possible Razor Crest replacement. She just messaged me. If we can just get to⏤”

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but Din took you by the hand and began to travel the opposite way of the small inn you were staying in. “What?”

“I found a ship. Here. Already purchased it.”

Surprise washed over you. “Wait.” You tried to get him to stop and look at you, but Din seemed like a man on a mission. “You bought it already? Without even asking me?”

“It was my credits.”

The words stung. It was so dismissive. Nothing like the way Din usually spoke to you. He always discussed big decisions with you, just as you did with him. The two of you were a team. Through and through. Din seemed to sense your displeasure and his steps faltered.

“Cyar'ika, ni ceta.” Din murmured. You recognized the apology. He turned and settled a hand on the side of your face. “I…I don’t know what came over me. I suppose I was just excited.”

“It’s…” You lifted a hand to cup the one tenderly caressing your cheek. Din had just lost his Creed. The cornerstone of his existence. Of course, he’d be short. You’d be more worried if he wasn’t showing signs of being upset. You gave him a tight lipped smile. “No, I’m sorry. Are you alright? How do you feel?” Din didn’t respond. “Baby?”

He shook his head, his voice quiet. “I’m just ready to be off world.”

“I understand.” You gave him a smile. “Show us our new home then.”

Din let out a small chuckle and you took that as a victory. He led you to a yard of ships and pointed out a black ship with burgundy accents. It was nothing special. It wasn’t the Razor Crest. However, it had enough space for the both of you.

“This is nice.” You explored the cargo hold. 

“It’ll do.” Din countered.

You jumped when you heard the ramp closing and as Din passed you to get to the cockpit, he set his hand on your lower back to take you with him. As you settled in the passenger seat, you watched as Din familiarized himself with the control panel. When the ship reached the atmosphere, you leaned forward.

“Hey, maybe we should go see Peli anyways. Say hello.” You suggested. “She can look the ship over and tell us if we need anything…” Peli would just rip you off, but she was a familiar face. Boba and Fennec were on Tatooine as well. You thought Din could use more than just you. A reminder that he had more in his life than he thought. “Din?”

“No.” Din replied. He placed in a set of coordinates and you recognized them to be Nevarro. Well, maybe that would work. Karga was there. Cara too. Last you heard, Mayfeld was kicking around the newest establishment. The ship slipped into hyperspace and Din held a hand out to you. When you took it he yanked you toward him and you fell onto his lap. “We’re needed in Nevarro. Karga.”

He said it as if the name was enough. Before you could ask for further clarification, Din was tossing his gloves aside. He hit a button that shaded the windows, dimming the room till it was nearly impossible to see then he whispered to close your eyes. It was natural for you to do just as he asked. His hands grasped at your hips, pulling you down to grind against your core, and a pair of lips began to leave open mouth kisses along your neck.

“Cyar'ika…” Din breathed as he wrestled your shirt off you. Rough and desperate. Yanking your breast band off with it. The moment you were bare to the chilly air of the cockpit, Din’s hot mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and you moaned. Din pulled away and you already missed his mouth. “Need you. Need all of you.”

Din loved you with rough hands and frantic begging. When the two of you were spent, breathless and sweaty, you slumped against his body. Din trailed his hands up and down your spine as if he couldn’t fathom not touching you.

“I can’t lose you.” He murmured in your ear. “Not you, cyar'ika.”

“You won’t.” You reassured him. “You won’t lose me.”

The reason Din stopped in Nevarro, stopped to see Karga, was for bounty pucks. You had never seen him take so many at once and he said less than ten words to the High Magistrate of Nevarro before dragging you back to the ship. 

A distraction. You convinced yourself. It was just a distraction. 

Din needed something to keep his mind busy and what better than bounty hunting? As long as you were there to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s cared for, then everything would be alright. It might take time, but it would be okay. That’s what you told yourself. Over and over and over. You wondered if the reassurance was more for your benefit. 

The first couple of bounties went normal, but slowly things began to feel…different. Wrong. The quarries Din brought in were more often cold than warm these days. He seemed to be favoring the darksaber as well. It had gone from a weapon used as a last resort to one of his regulars. Din got better with the weapon after every quarry, and the saber’s energy felt like it was singing. As wrong as it all felt, Din seemed himself still. In fact, he almost seemed closer to his normal self. The aching sadness and mourning wasn’t so present. 

“Din?” You called out from where you sat at the small table. Rather than staying on the new ship, the two of you had rented a room at a local inn. It put you closer to where the current quarry was hiding. “You in the mood for something specific? For dinner, I mean?” Din had stepped into the bathroom to clean up and still had yet to come out. “Baby?”

Concern began to take root, but the door opened and you felt it slip away only to be replaced by shock. A stranger in familiar armor stood in the doorway. Din. Din was helmetless. You quickly shut your eyes with a curse. Heavy footfalls crossed the room to stand in front of you and you felt Din’s warm hands on your cheeks.

“Cyar'ika, look at me.”

“Din, what are you doing?” You gasped. It had been nearly two months since the covert, but even then he kept his helmet on. Never took it off. You didn’t understand what had suddenly changed now so suddenly. “I⏤”

“I want you to see me.”

“But⏤ But, why now?”

Din’s thumbs were tracing your cheek and he wouldn’t answer your question. He murmured again for you to open your eyes and you hesitantly peeked through your lashes. Din stood towering above you. From where you sat, you had to look up to admire his features. His appearance was never important to you. You fell in love with the soul inside that armor. Din always swore you’d see his face one day, but the context would be different. He’d whisper about a future together as you both laid tangled in bed. 

He was handsome. Strong features, pretty dark brown eyes, scruff along his jaw. And his hair, you were finally able to see the dark slightly loose curls that you’d run your fingers through. You slowly stood and lifted a hand to trace his features.

“Am… Am I okay?” Din asked. 

The phrasing of the question was odd and it took you a moment to garner a guess. You cupped his face with a broad smile. “You’re more than okay. You’re perfect. Maker, it’s kind of not fair how handsome you are.” You kept your tone teasing and Din chuckled. The sight of his smile warmed your chest. “What brought this on?”

“I am an Apostate.” Din said firmly and you felt your own smile falter. His dark brown eyes stayed locked onto yours and though they held the depth and soul you always knew they would there was something else there. “I am no longer Mandalorian. Why should I hide my face any longer?”

“Din…” You mumbled. Concern leaking into your voice. This was quite the huge and sudden leap to make. “You⏤”

He leaned in and pressed a light kiss against your lips. The kiss turned deeper as Din began to devour you. Needy and wanting. Desperate. Soon he had you picked up into his arms so he could slam you against the wall. It always felt like Din craved you⏤ that wasn’t in debate. Right now though, he was like a man starved. As if he had never had never had you before and was worried he’d never have you again.

Din loved you like a man possessed. Pressed between him and the wall he was unrelenting. Still, held tight by the man you were in love with, Din moaned and begged for you to stay with him. He didn’t even pause to let you reassure him. Just praised the way you felt and pleaded for you to be his. 

There was something wrong with Din.

As you sat in the dingy alley, panting heavily from your near death experience, that was the first thought to occur to you. A hunt had gone wrong. One of the quarry’s allies had gotten the jump on you. You had taken a few hits, saw an opening to save yourself, but before you even had a chance the goon was being ripped off of you. Din had saved you, but it didn’t feel like being saved from where you sat.

Din had ripped the man off you and rather than use the darksaber he chose to beat the goon bloody with his hands. Blood splattered in the alley, on his otherwise spotless armor, and you found yourself trembling. The man who had been attacking you was long dead, but Din did not stop. His face was twisted in rage and hate. You called out his name, more than once, and eventually he paused in his onslaught to catch his breath. His chest was heaving from exertion and you could tear your eyes away from the red that stained his silver beskar.

Slowly, Din rose and stalked toward you. For a brief moment, you didn’t recognize Din. You didn’t know the stranger towering over you. He knelt down and reached out to cup the side of your face. The hot blood of the man Din had slaughtered smeared across your cheek. You could feel it and it sent a chill of fear down your spine. The hate began to dissipate from his eyes. There was a softness you recognized now, but for the first time you’d describe Din as hollow.

“Are you okay, cyar'ika?” He breathed. You nodded nervously. Din grabbed you by the arms and pulled you to stand. He let out a sigh of relief and wrapped you into a tight hug. He pressed you against his blood stained armor and laid his head on top of yours. Din shook his head, a shaky breath slipping from his lips, “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. No one will take you from me. I swear it, cyar'ika.” 

Relief and love radiated from Din, but all you could feel was the humming possessive energy that the darksaber blasted into the air around you both.

The sensation of dropping out of hyperspace woke you up. You blinked and reached out to a cold bed. Din had gotten up and was now dropping you out of hyperspace? You pushed up and slid out of bed. You found Din in the cockpit and the sight of an unfamiliar world hung in view just outside the ship. 

“Where are we?”

“Mandalore.”

You sat down in the passenger seat and grabbed Din by the knee forcing him to set the ship to drift and turn to face you. “What the kriff do you mean Mandalore?” Din didn’t respond. He leaned back in his seat and just stared at you. You were still trying to get used to seeing him without his helmet. Din rarely wore it these days. Even in a fight. “Din.”

“We’re meeting allies here.”

“For what?!”

“We’re recovering our home.”

Din was answering the questions as if you were being ridiculous for even asking them. As if you had been privy to this knowledge. Frustration made your temper flare. “Din, are you serious!?” He didn’t react and somehow that was worse. “We need to talk.”

“Then talk.”

Things had only gotten worse with Din. You were scared of what he was capable, but never in relation to you. No matter how cold his eyes grew, no matter how lost in got in a brutal fight, no matter how bitter the darksaber made the air, you knew Din wouldn’t hurt you. That knowledge was ingrained in your very soul. What worried you⏤ what kept you awake at night⏤ was your worry for Din. He always said he couldn’t lose you, but it felt like you were the one losing him.

“Baby.” You murmured and rose to take a seat in his lap innocently. Just trying to get closer to him. You cupped his face and at your contact the cold, distant look in his eyes briefly cracked. Din stared up at you in adoration and love. “I’m… I’m scared.”

Din furrowed his brow and sat up. His arms wrapped around your waist. “Don’t be. You never have to be scared. I’m never going to let anything hurt you.”

“No, Din, that’s not what I’m scared of.” You replied. “I’m scared for you. I’m worried about you.”

“I’ve never been better, cyar’ika.”

You raked a hand through his hair trying to convey every ounce of passion you felt for him in the simple motion. “Din… I’ve been wanting to say this for some time.” You shook your head. “The darksaber.” There was a flash of something unrecognizable in his gaze, but you pressed onward. “It’s… dangerous. You know when I told you about my lightsaber. It’s energy.” He nodded. “The darksaber gives off an energy too, and I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean?” Din asked.

“It feels like,” You winced and struggled for a description to match, “poison. Din, baby, it feels like poison.” Din shook his head as if he still could not understand what it was you were trying to say. “I think it’s a bad influence.”

Din scoffed but the curl of his lips made it seem like he wasn’t taking your statement seriously. “Cyar’ika, it’s a sword. It can’t influence me.”

“It’s not just a sword, Din. It has a kyber crystal in it and⏤”

“Are you trying to tell me I need to get rid of it?” He pressed. You gave a small nod. “I can’t. I need it.” You opened your mouth to argue, but his arms tightened around you. “If we’re going to take Mandalore back, recover it, then I have to use the darksaber. Be Mandalor.”

Your eyes widened. “Since when did you want that title??”

“But more importantly, I need it to protect you.” He whispered, ignoring your question entirely. Din leaned his forehead against yours and the touch was so soft and reverent that you shuddered. He took in a slow deep breath. “You are my priority. Always. The darksaber grants me the power to keep you safe.”

You pressed a tender kiss to his lips and Din’s breath hitched. As you spoke, you kept your lips close enough to brush against his with every word. “You never needed it before. And I’m not helpless. You know that.” Din closed his eyes and you dragged your fingers through his scruff. “We were fine without the darksaber. We don’t need it.”

Din leaned in to capture your lips with his. For the first time in a very long time, the kiss was slow and patient. He took his time tasting you and he leaned back to allow your hands to travel and explore him. It was so reminiscent of the days before everything fell apart that you almost cried.

Eventually, he pulled back and focused his heavy gaze on you. Din gave you a small smile, a hand tracing your jawline. “No, cyar’ika. The saber stays.” Your own smile faltered and fell. He left one last chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you. I will protect you.”

Your life on Mandalore was odd. Din left you out of the loop of everything. All you knew was that more and more Mandalorians arrived by the day to follow Din Djarin. It didn’t surprise you. The Din you knew and loved was a natural born leader whether he liked it or not. He had a magnetic draw to him. You didn’t see that side to your Din very much anymore. 

The city around you was slowly being rebuilt and you pondered your next move. Two months you had been on this rock seeing Din from a distance. Watching him turn into someone you didn’t recognize. When the palace was reestablished, a sentence you found obnoxious and ridiculous, Din moved you there to stay. He’d work all day, drift into your shared bedroom at night, and you mourned the days where everything was easier. Simple.

“Cyar’ika.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see the Mandalor approaching. The king of this world looked like Din, still stared at you as if you hung the moon and stars, but all you could see was the darksaber. It’s possessive energy clung to the man you loved. Two Mandalorian guards followed behind him, and you briefly admired the thick, fur lined cape that hung off one shoulder.

Din came to a stop in front of you and motioned to himself with a sheepish smile, “What do you think?”

“Very regal, Mandalor.” You teased softly.

Din drifted closer and took your hands in his. “Ni ceta, cyar’ika.” He mumbled. “I know I haven’t been around.”

“You’ve been busy. I get it.” You shrugged and tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

“But you come first. You always come first.” Din said firmly. “Things will be better from here on out. We’re stable. We’re established. And… I have a surprise for you.” Nervously, Din lifted your hands to tenderly press a kiss to them. “I have no right to ask, but will you give me your time today.”

It was so sweet. It was so Din. You were too overwhelmed to do anything but nod. Things could always turn around, you told yourself. All your time here, distanced from Din, you had planned. He needed a little exposure to his old life. You were the only person Din kept. Maybe seeing Boba and Fennec, seeing Peli, seeing Karga, seeing anyone would bring him back to the surface more permanently. You had even wanted to get in touch with Skywalker or Ahsoka to plan some kind of visit. If Din could see Grogu, you had no doubt he’d snap back into reality. He’d set aside the darksaber. The issue was, Mandalore still had thick storm clouds that prevented any outside interference or messaging. 

You felt isolated.

Din looped your arm through his and you walked by his side down the long hallway. You weren’t sure where he was taking you quite yet, but he spoke casually about his day and asked about yours with real interest. His smile was so warm and sincere that you could almost ignore the negative energy that damned saber gave off.

“Where are we going?” You asked as Din turned down a hall you knew would lead outside. “If we go out, I’m gonna need to grab my jacket.” Mandalore’s seasons still confused you and it almost seemed like the previous attacks had thrown the natural order out of balance. Lately, it had been rather cold.

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.” Din chuckled. He paused by the doors and you couldn’t help but glance at the two silent Mandalorian guards still standing near. Movement made you glance back in time to see he had shrugged out of his thick robe. Din settled the heavy article on your shoulders and you were surprised by the warmth it encased you in. “Comfortable?”

You nodded with a small smile. The robe smelled like him. Din captured your face in his gloved hands and you gazed up at him in awe. Din was in a good mood. It had been so long since you saw him like this. Light hearted. Excited. “Are you happy?” The question fell from your lips before you could even think.

“Of course.” Din replied quickly. His tone suggested he was surprised you’d ask. “I have you.”

“You’ve always had me.” You mumbled.

Din’s face faltered, only for a second, before he bowed his head to rest on yours. Forehead to forehead. “Ni ceta.” He breathed the apology out sincerely. “I know things have been hard and…you’ve put up with so much. I’m so thankful for you, cyar’ika, and my greatest regret will always be making you question that.”

“I never questioned it.” You lifted a hand to place on top of his own. “I love you, and I know you love me. I’ve just…been worried about you, baby. I want you to be happy.”

“I am.” Din replied. “You make me happy.” He closed the space to press his lips to yours. Tender. Loving. Passionate. Din’s tongue traced the curve of your lower lip and you allowed him to deepen the kiss. Your hands shifted to tangle in his hair. Din pulled you closer, flush against his body, and it didn’t even matter to you that two other Mandalorians stood off to the side as witness to this scene. Din pulled back, separating the two of you, but he quickly set two more chaste kisses against your lips as if he couldn't bear the thought of being apart. Din whispered a promise under his breath. “For the rest of my life, I will make you happy. I’ll keep you safe.”

You had endured the hell of watching Din suffer and begin to lose himself in sorrow. Perhaps, this was the light at the end of the tunnel. Din had found stable ground, and he was now returning to a man you recognized.

Din turned away to push open the doors, but he kept your arm looped through his. The courtyard which typically sat unused and in a semi state of shambles had been cleaned and polished. Mandalorians as far as you could see stood waiting and as Din walked you down the path you spotted a medium sized platform, nearly a stage, and on it was a chair⏤ no, a throne. That was the only word to describe the heavy, dark metal seat. Standing on the platform, you recognized Bo Katan. She stood on one side of the throne. On the other side stood two others that you recognized, you had seen them with Din often, but you didn’t know their names.

“Din?” You whispered his name.

He shot you a smile but continued on. Suddenly, you found yourself on the platform standing beside Din as he faced the crowd. He lifted one hand, as if in greeting, and you stared at him as he spoke Mando’a. His voice was loud and firm. Powerful. This was a king among men. You never thought Din Djarin of all people would look like he belonged in this setting. You knew he had the attributes that would make a fair and just king, but Din had never enjoyed the spotlight. The future he craved, the future he painted while speaking to you in the dead of night, was a humble one. A home, some land, a family. Peaceful.

A bark of Mando’a, in a voice you vaguely recognized, interrupted Din and you watched as his shoulders stiffened. The crowd parted and a Mandalorin in dark blue armor approached. Axe Woves. That was his name you believed. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you could feel the tension in the air.

Din set his hand on your waist and pushed you back. You only stumbled back a few steps before Bo Katan took you by the elbow and dragged you back further.

“What⏤ What is going on?” You asked.

“Challenge.” Bo Katan said. Din drew the darksaber from his belt and as it came to life you felt your own heart plummet. It’s poison was spewing in the air⏤ suffocating you. Smug. Arrogant. Angry. Insulted. You sucked in a sharp breath. “Axe Woves has challenged Din for the darksaber. For rule.”

The fight started in a clash of weaponry. 

It was a blur of beskar, but all your eyes could focus on was the arc of the darksaber. The burning glow that was now seared into your eyes. Seared into your brain. You wanted nothing more than to take that damned thing and throw it into the darkest pit you could find. Every time you watched Din used it, you hated it all the more. The fight did not last long.

Axe Woves was a good fighter, but he was not Din Djarin.

Soon, the air was silent as Din held the edge of the darksaber just under Axe’s jaw. Close enough that the man had to have felt the heat. Axe was breathing hard, but you couldn’t see his face⏤ his back was to you. Din stood where you could see his face and he looked to be the picture of calm. 

“Cetar.” Din demanded. Bo Katan whispered, her eyes not leaving the scene, as she translated the Mando’a. ‘Kneel’. Din asked him to kneel. You felt a chill run up your spine and it wasn’t from the cold air. The darksaber was singing. Excited. Eager. It craved and craved and craved. Din repeated the command. “Cetar.”

“Nayc.” Axe replied. You didn’t need that word translated. 

At the sound of his refusal, you watched a flash of an emotion you didn’t immediately recognize in Din’s eyes. However, it was clear to see the way his lips briefly curled up into a smirk. You opened your mouth to scream, but all your words caught in your throat. Thick, heavy, and unwilling to be heard. Before you could overcome your hindrance, Din shoved the darksaber through Axe’s chest with not even a singular hiccup of hesitation. Your mouth hung open in shock and disbelief, but the horror didn’t land until Din leaned in and used his vibroblade to slice through the man’s neck in one swift motion. Blood sprayed out and the darksaber was screaming in pleasure.

“He had to make an example.” Bo Katan whispered. “It’s unfortunate, but Woves brought this upon himself.”

Din deactivated the saber and set it back onto his belt. While Axe Woves’ body slumped to the ground, Din tucked the still bloody vibroblade back into his boot’s holster. You stared at him wide eyed and horrified as Din marched back to the platform. He spoke before the crowd again, but it felt like your ears were ringing. The man you fell in love with would never have cut a man down in cold blood. The duel had been over. It didn’t have to end with blood. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Din as he crossed the platform to sit on the throne. His legs were spread out in dominance as he lounged in the seat radiating confidence and pride. His eyes snapped to yours and Din held his hand out to you. Bo Katan gave you a small nudge and you stumbled toward the throne with hesitant steps. Din’s cold features melted away as he stared up at you as he always did, loving, but it only made the splattering of blood on his face that much more daunting. 

When you placed your hand in his, your fingers were trembling. Din squeezed your hand in comfort and he carefully pulled you back so you sat in his seat. Bo Katan was addressing the crowd and you stared and stared at Axe Woves’ dead body. Still laying on the courtyard’s ground, the pool of blood around him growing larger and larger.

You felt Din’s breath on your neck. His hands settled on your hips as he sat up to press his chest against your back. His breath was replaced with his lips. Din mumbled about how much he loved you and how important you were to him against your skin. All this time, all the hope you had, was for naught. The man at your back was a stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Din pressed another hot kiss to the back of your neck. "But I just wanted to show you our new throne, my queen. Surprise."

As it turned out, the light at the end of the tunnel had turned out to be just more hellfire.

In the dead of night, you ran. 

You had hoped Din would return to his senses, become the man he once was, on his own accord. You hoped he had only needed time, but this had been proof. You were out of your depth. Din needed more than just time, he needed more than just you. As soon as you got past the thick, stormy atmosphere on Mandalore, you’d call for help. 

The plan had been to take Din’s ship. It was the only one you were familiar with the controls enough to not have to worry about running into any issues. As it turned out, flying was not going to be the biggest problem you faced.

“Cyar’ika.”

Your blood ran cold. Slowly, nervously, you turned around to see Din stood not far away. His shoulders were slumped in disappointment, and the look in his eyes could only be described as absolute and total devastation. He took one step forward and you took one back. Din’s jaw locked.

“Din…”

“What are you doing?” Din murmured. 

You shook your head. “Listen to me⏤”

“Listen??” Din scoffed. He took in a shuddering breath. “How could you⏤ Cyar’ika, I… Why?”

His voice cracked and you felt your heart ache in your chest. Din took another step toward you and you held a hand up which brought him to a sudden halt. You pressed your lips together then tried to explain that you were doing this for him. “Din, you’re not…you’re not yourself. You need help.”

“I need you.” Din replied firmly. “Everything is fine.”

“You murdered a man in cold blood today.”

“Is that what you⏤ You truly think so little of me?” Din asked. “It was a duel, cyar’ika. A challenge on my rule. I had no choice.”

You took a step toward him. “Din, you slaughtered him. And you enjoyed it.”

Din’s eyes darkened and the energy that slammed into you was possessive. For so long, you assumed that was how the darksaber felt. However, seeing the way he stared at you now, you realized the possession went much further than how the saber felt for him. He stormed forward and on pure instinct your hand drew your lightsaber without activating it. A warning. His steps stuttered. You didn’t know it was possible to visually see a person’s heart break, but you were witness to it right now.

“Cyar’ika,” Din whispered, “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?”

That was true for the man you fell in love with. 

Was it still true?

“I…I…” You struggled to find your words.

Din held his hands out, palms up, in surrender. He took slow steps toward you as if you were a skittish animal he was trying to calm. The tenderness in Din’s gaze cracked your resolve. He reached out and let his hands slowly drag down your arms until they reached your hands. You felt your body tremble. It was easy to make the decision to run when you stared at Din’s features covered in blood, but now? His warm, brown eyes reminded you of every soft touch and tender word of love. 

“Just come back with me.” Din whispered. “Talk to me, cyar’ika. I know…I know things haven’t been right.” He squeezed your hands and pushed the one holding the lightsaber back to your hip. “Let me fix this. Let me make this right. Give me a chance.”

Din leaned forward to set his forehead against yours. A familiar motion that brought you comfort. You let out a soft sigh. One more night. You could spend it talking with Din, gauging a better plan, and it wasn’t like you would be able to leave right now anyways. Not with him right in front of you like this. The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just going to let you walk away and the absolute last thing you wanted to do was fight him. 

“Please?” Din pleased.

“Okay.” You murmured. 

The bright smile of relief that crossed his face made your heart flutter. Din pulled you into a tight hug and he clung to you like a lifeline. This would be alright. This would be okay. You’d make sure of it. Din slipped his hand into yours and carefully tugged you alongside him. The entire walk back to your bedroom was silent. Din’s thumb traced patterns against your skin.

“I love you.” Din said the moment you were back in your shared room together. His words came out as a desperate ache. “I’m sorry…”

“No, Din, I…I love you. I will always love you.” You replied. “I was leaving to help you.” Din’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I just think you’ve lost sight of your path.” You pressed your lips together then settled your hands on his chest. “I think we should leave Mandalore. Not forever, just⏤ I think we should visit Boba or Karga. Peli? Or… Or maybe we can reach out to Skywalker. Try to visit Grogu.”

Din’s eyes widened at the suggestion. 

He wrapped his hands around your wrists then lifted your hands so he could press a soft kiss against one palm then the other. Din nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll be better, cyar’ika.” You gave him a small smile and he leaned in to crash his lips against yours. The way his lips moved against yours made you feel like he was trying to physically beg you to stay with him. Din had never been a man of many words, he’d whisper kind sentiments, but he always showed how much he cared by action. “I love you.” Din’s mouth dropped to your neck as his hands began to tear at your clothes. “You are everything to me.”

 Your hands reached out to unlatch Din’s armor. It was muscle memory for you. How many times had you done this exact same action in the dark during your time with him? Too many to count. His besker fell to the ground and the second he was bare of any armor, Din scooped you up and carried you to bed.

In the morning everything would be okay.

You’d make it so.

A familiar hand caressing the side of your face is what you woke to. You forced your eyes open, groggy, to find that Din was sitting on the side of the bed leaning over you. He wore his armor once more. Din leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead.

“Ni ceta, cyar’ika.”

“Din?” You questioned.

“I want you to know that everything I do is because I love you.” Din said. “I’ve lost everything, but you.” He cradled the side of your face. “Even this, accepting the title and responsibility of Mandalor, I did with you in mind.”

There was a tone in his voice that was making you nervous. Slowly, you sat up and shook your head, “Din, I never asked you to do that.”

“I know.” He replied. “But this is how I protect you.”

“Din⏤”

“There is nothing in this galaxy that will harm you while I’m around.” Din said firmly. He stood up off the bed and gave you a tight nod. “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. This won’t last forever, I swear it. But I can’t leave anything to chance. Not when you mean so much to me.”

Din began to walk toward the bedroom door to leave and you stared at him in confusion. Quickly, before he could leave, you threw the blankets off your body and jumped out of bed. There was a heaviness around your left ankle, a coldness, and with every movement came a rattling. You glanced down to see a shiny, silver chain locked around your ankle. It trailed to the wall beside your bed.

“Din.” You breathed. He stopped but said nothing. “Din?” He turned around with sad eyes. Panicked, you began to rush toward him, but a few feet away from him the chain caught your ankle and you nearly fell to the floor. Warm hands caught you by the arms and pulled your back to your feet. Teary eyed, you shook your head. “What have you done?”

“It’s temporary.” Din repeated himself. “Just until I know you won’t hurt yourself by leaving.”

“Hurt myself⏤ Din, I⏤”

“Cyar’ika, I'm doing this for you. To protect you.” Din gave you a tight lipped smile of regret. “Or until I can make you understand.” Din leaned his forehead against yours. The soft action you loved ruined by his words. “You are mine, cyar’ika. You are mine, and I am yours.” That look of possession was in his eyes again. “And because you are mine, I have to take care of you. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Din was beginning to step back so you quickly cupped his face between your hands. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be. As softly as you could manage, trying to bite back the fear and panic in your voice, you mumbled. “Din, baby, you’re losing yourself. I love you, but you’re losing yourself and it’s breaking my heart. Let me go. Let me help you.”

He turned his head and gently kissed the inside of your palm.

“Maybe I am.” Din murmured. “But if that’s the cost of keeping you, then it’s one I will happily pay.”

Din left without another word and you crumpled to the ground in tears. You mourned for the man you lost and cursed the man who took his place.

mando'a translations

ni ceta: i'm sorry cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart cetar: kneel nayc: no