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hoseoksluna · 4 days

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LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door.

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often.

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you.

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality.

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run.

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty.

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok.

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay.

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff.

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship.

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it.

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile.

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it.

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together.

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested.

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion.

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours.

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water.

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you.

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last.

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.”

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of.

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.”

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you.

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common.

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you.

And it no longer shall.

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life.

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.”

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps.

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch.

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself.

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up.

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service.

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you.

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take.

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore.

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening.

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were.

And the process soaks your panties.

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore.

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches.

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age.

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you.

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea.

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste.

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him.

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex.

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you.

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.”

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about.

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body.

And you might as well give him what he asks of you.

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them.

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours.

He didn’t expect that.

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly.

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.”

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you.

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable.

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet.

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over.

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better.

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him.

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now.

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back.

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you.

And you let his following question consume you just as much.

“Were you in love with him?”

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out.

No need for long nights of overthinking.

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?”

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst.

“What’s it to me?”

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers.

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him.

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face.

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore.

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin?

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation.

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?”

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it.

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.”

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.”

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about.

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back.

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?”

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?”

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will.

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.”

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead?

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment.

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick.

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer.

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.”

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.”

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety.

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release.

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.”

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.”

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak.

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long.

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.”

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt.

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at.

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water.

And you do.

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out.

“Did you cry for him?”

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?”

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.”

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.”

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his.

The life in you throbs.

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that.

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.”

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again.

“Touch it, please.”

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged.

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain.

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing.

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him.

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.”

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants.

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with.

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally.

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.”

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume.

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit.

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body.

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it.

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away.

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.”

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out.

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him.

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once.

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.”

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity.

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?”

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off.

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth.

Your poor heart skips a beat.

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?”

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you.

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils.

“That’s so hot.”

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.”

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his.

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too.

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle.

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.”

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon.

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty.

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.”

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.”

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.”

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.”

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it.

“I want that so bad.”

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.”

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him.

“I didn’t bring any condoms.”

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.”

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing.

“I’ll give you a big load.”

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face.

“Good girl. Such good manners.”

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime.

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.”

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity.

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin.

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you.

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.”

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.”

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish.

“Say that again.”

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.”

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one.

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out.

But only one thing is clear.

“I’m yours.”

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp.

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg.

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.”

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines.

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him.

Blood-hot.

And you feel as though you deserved every drop.

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see.

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning.

They cease to exist.

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?”

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him.

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head.

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.”

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again.

Again and again.

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb.

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world.

Hoseok is that life.

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

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chestharrington · 5 months

Text

Fixation

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, handjob, p in v). Dubious Consent (coercion, power imbalance, failure to pull out), unhealthy/probably illegal power imbalance, stripper!reader, gator is an asshole (like extremely), degradation, misogyny, sexual assault (by a non major character), brief violence, kind of stockholm syndrome if you think about it, unhappy ending

Summary: Gator Tillman’s fixation of the week just so happens to be you, for better or worse.

A/N: If you know me personally please do not read this thank u <3

The foggy clouds of your breath were painted pink by the glow of the neon sign— The Venus Lounge— with a cute little clamshell opening and closing and everything.

You had a velour sweatsuit pulled over the skimpy costume you’d wear for your next dance, hot pink and bedazzled across the ass. It was trendy maybe fifteen years prior, so it cost just about nothing when you bought it at a bin sale.

Sweet, strawberry-scented vapor poured from your lips as you exhaled. You hated this stupid thing— you’d rather smoke a cigarette like a goddamn adult. But the owner insisted, “You ladies gotta stay smelling nice and sweet and respectable for our clientele.” Which was fucking stupid considering they came in smelling like sweat and mud and body odor.

From the alley, you could get a sneak peek of whoever was coming your way for the night— the big spenders, the handsy ones, the cheap ones… and Gator Tillman’s stupid entourage, who you avoided like the plague.

You made the mistake of getting cozy with him. Once. A few well-paid lap dances, then a private dance in one of the dimly lit back rooms. He’d been handsy, and you relished in it, in him. A handsome, powerful guy who looked at you like you were the hottest woman he’d ever seen. You sucked him off in the private room and he gave you a hundred to shut the fuck up about it. Like you were some sort of whore.

Gator. What a stupid fucking name. His dad was a grade-A cocksucker, so it made sense that he’d name his son something so goddamn stupid. The other girls were scared of Roy, with good reason. Their boyfriend get too rough? He’d brush it off— no domestic abuse charges on his watch. The man is the master of the house, and the woman is his property. One girl swore he came onto her, and she got a broken arm when she brushed him off. A lot of people thought that stepping to the Tillman’s meant winding up dead.

Fuck that.

You hadn’t wanted to wind up in this town anyway. You were married, once upon a time. You had the tattoo of his name on your hipbone, a shitty rental house in West Texas, and a wedding band he bought from a pawn shop. He found a job up north, and you followed like an obedient puppy.

It wasn’t your fault he’d racked up gambling debts— that he owed the wrong people money he didn’t have. And it wasn’t your fault that he was fucking a waitress at the local diner— thin, blonde, perky. The divorce was settled quickly— but you were left penniless, in bumfuck North Dakota, in Tillman territory.

Well, it was a good thing you still had your looks.

You saw the police cruiser pull into the lot, heard the slam of the car door and the mindless chatter between the valiant boys in blue. Those assholes did about as much for the city as a tick does for a dog. Your phone buzzed against your hip, warning you that your break was up. You took one more puff from your vape and slipped back in the door to the dressing room.

You warned everyone that Gator and his boys were out there as you slipped out of your jogging suit and adjusted your dancewear beneath— a baby blue bikini set that you’d bedazzled by hand. You slipped a sheer skirt overtop and surveyed yourself in the mirror. There was still a flush on your cheeks from being out in the cold, but it would be fine.

You slipped out onto the floor, passing by crowded tables. It was busy, even for a Saturday, which meant more money to take home. A hand grabbed your ass and squeezed it in a meaty paw. It was some drunk old guy who probably couldn’t even get it up anymore but had maintained his pervy inclinations. You bit your cheek to keep from saying anything and kept making your rounds.

“You want a dance?” You’d ask the safe guys— the ones who looked nervous to be there, whose eyes kept flitting around like they’d get caught any moment. Their button-ups were ironed, their slacks pressed. Usually, they had a nice fountain pen in their pocket. Clerks, CPAs, any of those nerdy desk jobs.

Most of the time they declined, too nervous to go that far, but occasionally you’d get a yes, do a bit of grinding, and walk away with a nice tip.

You’d done a few lap dances by the time you passed by Gator and his crew. Your money was tucked into the band at your hip, concealing your ex-husband’s name.

He called you like a dog– whistling low. You froze, and turned to face him, all smug and pleased with himself.

“You need somethin’, Deputy?” You asked, jaw clenched, raising a brow. “Because if you do, you can ask like a gentleman. I’m a lady, not a dog.”

He laughed, glancing back at his pack of asshole cops to make sure they saw the next part. “Really? ‘Cause it seems to me you’re actin’ like a bitch.” They all laughed, because of course they did. They thought he was so, so clever. Before you could respond, he held up a fifty-dollar bill between two fingers. “C’mere, girl. I want a dance.”

Your eyes flicked between him and the fifty between his fingers. You were broke, but was it worth it? He saw your hesitation and his smug grin grew. “Aw, you need it that bad, huh?” He patted his thigh twice. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Anyone in their right mind would’ve said no, and walked away with their dignity intact, but he was right— you needed it bad.

So you approached and tried to pluck the money from his hand, but he pulled it away, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Nuh-uh, Sweetheart. Gotta earn it first.”

You huffed in disbelief, taking a step back. But meeting his gaze told you how serious he was. You swallowed your pride and straddled his lap, grinding to the beat.

It felt degrading, dancing on him while his friends all leered. Your tits pressed against Gator’s shirt, his hands firm on your hips, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch. If you called him out on it, he’d probably just say it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

It could’ve been one song, or maybe more. Probably more. When he finally removed his hands, he nodded for you to get off. You swallowed uncomfortably and took a few awkward steps back.

“The money,” you said weakly.

His face scrunched slightly, like he was considering it. “Eh… I don’t think you earned it, Sweetheart. I mean, I’m not even hard.”

He got a real kick out of that, and out of the kicked puppy look in your eyes. You swallowed it down like a bitter pill and met his gaze. “It’s not my fault that all the blow you do is killing your dick. Keep your fuckin’ money, Gator. I don’t want it.”

Which was a lie. You wanted it more than anything… but you knew you’d pissed him off. You could see the vein popping at his temple, the way his hand clenched around his beer bottle. Better to pretend you were better off without it and walk off with some dignity left.

It took about three steps to realize that there was a little less pressure on your hip than there used to be. Your hand felt along the band of the bikini and came up blank. He’d taken your fucking money.

You heard him giggling behind you once he knew you realized, but what was the point? Who would you call to get it back? The police?

By the end of the night, you counted your meager earnings and tucked it away in your bag. Without your dancewear and the makeup and the heels, you could pass for the average citizen of Stark County.

You bundled up in a parka before you walked to your car, a shitty, beat-up car nearly older than you were. One of the side mirrors was ripped off, and the bumper was caved in, but she ran.

Tucked into the windshield was a tiny note, in a messy, nearly illegible scrawl— Impress me next time. You crumpled it and tossed it onto the asphalt.

You saw him again on Monday. The club was closed on Sunday, due to an ordinance that Roy Tillman had put in place about businesses of ill repute operating on the holy day. You wondered what he thought about his son bankrolling the lives of half of the strippers who worked at the club.

He was alone, though, which scared and comforted you in equal measure. You watched him from afar, sitting at the bar, drinking a White Claw and puffing on that stupid fucking vape.

There was a girl in his lap, one of the newer dancers who didn’t know better. Whatever. She’d figure him out soon enough.

Mondays were slow. You did a few dances onstage, made the rounds, flirted with some of the regulars. Gator was blissfully elsewhere, which you loved.

The night had been pretty tame until just before last call, when an overserved realtor got loud and handsy.

“C’mon, why don't you take me back to one of those rooms without the cameras?” One asked as you gave him a half-hearted lap dance. His breath was like a punch bowl at a senior prom, and his fingers dug into the plush of your ass.

You winced as he pulled you harder against him, and you felt the uncomfortable prod of his dick against you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was grinding up against you, sweaty at his temples and forehead. He was deceptively strong, holding you down against him so he could rut against you and get off. “Ya know, the private rooms for the big tippers. Better than all this over the clothes stuff.”

“You need to stop,” you said, as firmly as you could, shoving at his chest to really get your point across. He didn’t let up, and gave you a smarmy grin as he began roughly moving your hips of his own accord. “Hey, stop it, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re the one offerin’ me a dance,” he said. “I sold a nice big house today, got a real good commission. I could tip ya real good if you’re nice.”

“Let me go!” You shoved at his chest, slapping at him, but he just grinned. You were just wondering if biting his ear off would do the trick when you felt yourself pulled off him and tossed aside on the floor like a rag doll.

Then there was the soft sound of blows landing against a stomach. Then the crunch of a broken nose. The wheezy rattle of the realtor’s breath once he started spitting up blood and teeth. Each punch made you flinch until finally, it relented.

“Should’ve let her go, asshole.” Gator’s knuckles were bloodied, and you realized he was holding out a hand to help you up. You took it, nervously, and readjusted your costume where the realtor had tugged at them. “You hurt?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine but is— I mean, is he gonna be okay?”

Gator’s brows furrowed as he spared a glance toward the bloodied pile of meat on the floor. He spat in his direction and shrugged. “Who fuckin’ cares? Goddamn lowlife.”

You wondered if he could sense the irony. His face lit up in recognition, then he knelt beside the realtor, patting him down, searching for something. He stood and held up a fancy, monogrammed leather wallet.

He sifted through, retrieving bill after bill. “Here. Y’earned it.” It was more cash than you brought home in a week. More cash than anyone should carry on themselves at once.

“I’m not taking that,” you said weakly. “I can’t.”

He rolled his eyes, tucking the money in your bra. “Such a fuckin’ bitch, you know that? Can’t even say thank you or nothin’.”

He left you standing there over the broken body of the asshole realtor, who may or may not have been dying. Either way, you figured the Tillman’s would handle it. For better or worse.

“I didn’t fuckin’ do anything,” you argued, which was a lie. And it’s not like anyone would listen even if it wasn’t. Police are on their way, they said. They’ll deal with thieving filth like you.

Well… they didn’t have to get quite so personal. You sat outside the Manager’s office at the stupid fucking sex shop, picking at your cuticles until you heard the police cruiser roll up outside. You heard the door slam, and muffled chatter until you saw him walk in.

“Well… look who got herself into some trouble. And here of all places too.”

Fuck. Gator Fucking Tillman.

You glanced up at him for a moment before returning to your nails. The shop owner was talking the deputy’s fucking ear off until you heard the question you dreaded.

“What is it she was tryin’ to steal? I mean… there’s a lot to choose from, I’ll tell ya that.”

You watched with a thin sense of dread as the shop owner laid out your would-be haul of lingerie that had been stuffed into your purse. Gator grinned as he glanced over at you, then back at the lingerie.

“Can I have the office? I need some privacy to interrogate the perp.” The manager complied, bending to the will of the law or whatever. Gator grabbed you by the arm and tugged you inside, closing the door firmly behind him.

You watched as he strode towards the nice armchair behind the desk, then sat down, legs spread wide. He unzipped the stupid police vest and shrugged it off, so it landed in a pile on the floor. For a moment, it was quiet as you stared at him dumbly, then he snapped his fingers.

“What? You want me to tell you why did it? Three fucking guesses.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “No, I want you to try it on.”

You swallowed, and when you spoke your tongue felt dumb and heavy. “What?”

“You heard me. Try it all on, and tell me if it was worth the trouble.” He looked at you expectantly, and when you didn’t move, he sighed. “It’s this, or I take you to the station, get you booked, and all that. I doubt anyone’s gonna pay your bail, so that’s a few days before arraignment. Then it’s a court case for larceny, and let’s be honest, you’re guilty.”

You stared at him, speechless. He stood up suddenly, grabbing his things before you interrupted— “Wait! Wait. Just… sit back down.”

He grinned. “There’s a good girl. Make it good for me, yeah? You know how.”

You huffed, heart pounding as you grabbed the first set and turned around to change. You had just pulled off your shirt when he cleared his throat behind you. Your hands shook as you turned around, barely covering your tits.

“C’mon, I said to make it good, Sweetheart,” he said with a thinly veiled sense of amusement. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

The fucking asshole. But you took a breath and steadied yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

His gaze was intense, tracing each curve and dip of your body as you moved. You slipped the bra on, clipping it shut with shaking hands.

“Alright, now you can turn around,” he said, nodding towards the panties in your hand. “And do it nice and slow for me.”

Your face burned with embarrassment as you turned around, working the buttons of your skirt so you could slip it down your legs. It fell into a pile around your ankles and fanned out like a flower. You hooked your thumbs into the panties you were wearing, pink with little flowers spotting the fabric. As slowly as you could manage while terrified and pissed, you slipped them down your legs.

When you spared a glance at Gator, he was smirking right back at you. “Give those here,” he said, holding his hand out expectantly.

“What?”

“Geez, you’re fuckin’ dumb. Lemme see ‘em.” He more or less snatched the panties from your grip, smiling like the cat who got the cream as he held them up. “Might have to keep ‘em. Evidence.”

You swallowed down your annoyance and pulled the lacy panties up your legs. When you were finished, you turned, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Shockingly, he was quiet as he looked at you, eyes raking over your tits, and every bare piece of skin he could see. It felt like you stood there under his gaze for hours before he finally spoke up.

“It’s not doin’ much for ya, sweetheart. I mean, you don’t look very fuckable.”

It landed like a blow to your gut. He was an asshole, so it should’ve meant nothing… but he knew exactly where your soft spots were, and just how hard to dig his fingers in. “Fuck you, Gator.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he cooed, patronizing and smug. “So fuckin’ sensitive, huh? Can’t take a joke. C’mere, lemme see you.” He grabbed your wrist in the tightly packed office and tugged you forward, so you practically stumbled on top of him.

You flinched as his hand moved up the back of your thigh, warm and calloused. When he gave your ass a rough squeeze, you closed your eyes and shivered.

“Ya know, I saw your husband the other day.” His finger traced along the name on your hip— Jack. Every loop and whorl of the cursive claimed by his touch. “Looked real happy with that girl of his. Sarah, right? The waitress he was fuckin’ behind your back?”

You swallowed hard and said nothing, but he was more than happy to keep running his mouth. “Well, she’s not special. I’ve fucked Sarah too, and she just laid there like a dead fish the whole time.”

“Maybe you just weren’t that good.” You smirked as you replied, unable to resist being a bit of an asshole right back.

“You gettin’ smart right now?” He gave your ass a quick slap, making you squeak. “I was trying to give you a compliment, but you don’t fuckin’ deserve it. You’re so fuckin’ used up that you don’t even know what good is.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure you think that. It’s easy to blame it on the girl when you can’t make ‘em cum, right?”

His jaw clenched, anger painting his features. “Wouldn’t you fuckin’ like to know, huh?” He caught sight of the smirk on your face and shoved you back. “Put on the next one.”

Fucking dickhead. You rolled your eyes and quickly stripped off the lingerie, throwing it in his general direction once it was off. You weren’t as graceful in dressing in the next set. Why give him a show and let him win? Once it was on, you crossed your arms and looked at him expectantly.

“Well?”

He cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, I like it better than the first, but I don’t think your heart’s quite in it. Gimme a twirl.”

You gave a slow turn, then met his gaze again, raising a brow. He ran a hand over his mouth, looking you up and down. You caught the slightest movement as he spread his legs a little wider. It only served to highlight the bulge in the front of his stupid fucking cargos.

“You’re really enjoyin’ yourself, huh?” You snapped, eyes narrowed. He laughed, following your gaze to his lap.

“Well,” he began, lazily moving a hand to cup his growing hard-on. “I could always find a way to enjoy myself more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

You ignored him and began trying on the last set you’d attempted to steal. A bright red set, skimpier than the others, which you were sure he fucking loved. Before he could ask, you gave a slow twirl.

“Atta girl,” he cooed. He was blatantly stroking himself over the fabric, eyes half-lidded. You swallowed hard, watching the sight before you. It was like something out of a bad porno. Or a really good one. Jury was out. He patted his thigh, nodding you over. “C’mere, I won’t bite.”

A moment of hesitation passed through you, wondering if this was really what you wanted. It was like you could hear his voice in your head, asking if you could do any better. You sighed and slowly settled onto his lap. He looked at you with a funny sort of expression— not so much that he was smug, just… a bit pleased.

“You gonna give me a dance?” His hand rested on your thigh, fingers tapping erratically. You shook your head and he rolled his eyes. “Is this ‘cause I didn’t pay the other night?” You scowled. “I mean, I think you owe me now. I paid ya back a hundred times over thanks to Mr. Realtor from the other day.”

You stayed silent and still, looking anywhere but his face. He took your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him, so close you could taste the fruit flavor from that goddamn vape on his breath.

“Remember how turned on you got just from havin’ my cock in that pretty mouth of yours?” He said, voice barely above a whisper. He ran a thumb along your bottom lip, tugging at it slightly. “I still remember the way you had to slip a hand between your legs to play with yourself.”

You made a weak sound in the back of your throat as you remembered it— that desperate, all-consuming need. Maybe it’s because he was an asshole, or maybe it was all of the authority. Maybe that’s why you shoplifted anyway. Because you knew he’d be the one to show up.

“You ever been with someone as big as me before?”

You shivered. “No.”

A wide smile spread across his lips. “Since?” You just shook your head. “Betcha been dreamin’ about it too. Stuffin’ that greedy little pussy full of your fingers whenever you think about me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t quite deny it. It wasn’t a frequent fantasy, but it was there. “You’re a real narcissist. You know that?”

He grinned. “That’s not a no, is it?” He leaned in closer, nuzzling against your throat, his breath hot. “Bet if I slipped my hand inside those panties, they’d be fuckin’ soaked.”

And despite your better judgment, you fucking whimpered. All but confirming it.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he cooed. His hand found purchase on the small of your back, and when he applied the smallest bit of pressure, you found yourself giving in. Slowly, your hips ground against his, making a soft sigh escape your lips each time your cunt met his clothed dick.

“Want me to find some music?” He asked with a boyish grin. “I bet I have Pony somewhere on my phone.”

You shook your head before he could even try to grab it. “I’ll kill you if you even try.” He laughed, just a bit. It was rare to hear him laugh and have it not be at your, or anyone else’s expense.

You grabbed his hands, moving them to your waist, just at your ribcage. The tips of his fingers brushed against your tits, and he smiled.

“Takin’ charge now, are ya? You could’ve just put ‘em right here.” He moved his hands up, cupping your breasts in his large hands. You moaned softly as he gave a slight squeeze, arching into his touch. “ See? That’s much better, huh? Just take what you need, baby. I’ll give it right to ya.”

Take what you need? You could do that. You moved your hands along his chest, fighting the urge to just tear off his shirt and reveal the white tank top you knew he always wore beneath. Instead, you slipped your hands to his goddamn cargos and made quick work of the button and zipper.

He sat back and watched as you spit into your palm, his eyes hazy with arousal. You slipped your hand inside his pants and slipped beneath the band of his plaid boxers. A low groan escaped his lips when you wrapped your hand around him and squeezed.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Just like that.” His head fell back, leaving the plane of his neck for the taking. Your lips pressed against the skin there, leaving a mixture of soft kisses and bites as you worked him in your hand.

Gator’s stamina was absolute dogshit. You could tell when he was close from the way he’d pulse in your hand and whimper like a fuckin’ girl. You’d just have to squeeze him at his base to stave it off, give him a few seconds to cool off before you kept going.

“You want me?” You asked, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“So fuckin’ bad.” He was bucking up into your fist, chasing the sweet pleasure of your soft hand around him.

A smile spread across your lips. “Then earn it.” You pulled back, meeting his gaze as you removed your hand from him.

He sat there, panting and staring dumbly as you sat atop the desk and spread your legs invitingly. “C’mon, Gator. You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.”

He huffed with annoyance as he stood, towering over you as he pulled off his shirt to reveal that fucking tank top. He leaned down just slightly, so his arms were caging you in. “I’ll fuckin’ earn it, alright. I’m gonna own this pussy by the time I’m through.”

He knelt between your legs, kissing his way up your thighs. You cried out as his teeth dug into the plush skin, leaving an indentation that would probably turn purple the next day.

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” He just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties and tugged them down.

He was quick to drag his fingers through your slit, coating them in your arousal. The wet sounds of him playing with you, spreading you open for him, made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I’m an asshole, but you clearly fuckin’ like it, huh?” He said, holding up his fingers, glistening with your juices, as proof. His smirk made annoyance and arousal bubble up within you, tangling in an utterly infuriating way. “Relax for me, yeah? Gonna stretch you out, make you feel real good.”

You moaned softly as his fingers pressed against your entrance, teasing you with the idea of being full. A gentleman would start off slow, work you up to two fingers gradually. Gator Tillman wasn’t a fucking gentleman, but you didn’t care.

“Shhh… open up for me,” He said, speaking not to you, but to your cunt. “That’s it, atta girl.” A low whimper escaped you as his fingers pressed inside, thick and stretching you just right. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, needing him deeper, more, more.

“Jesus Christ, Gator,” His fingers flexed at just the right spot, making you cry out desperately. He grinned, then pressed a kiss to your thigh as he began fucking you with his fingers, acutely aware that the slightest twitch of his fingers could make you fucking sing for him.

It’s a funny thing he does with his fingers— not quite jackhammering them in and out like most of the other guys you’d been with but not exactly too far away. And you were fucking whining for it, your hips canting against his fingers until he finally had to throw his arm across your pelvis to just, in his words, keep you fuckin’ still.

It felt good, but you were also very aware that he was purposefully, or, worse, unknowingly avoiding your clit. The more you considered it, the more convinced you were that it was the latter. He was homeschooled, apparently, by his religious nut father, which meant his sex ed was probably just porn, and not even the decent kind.

You squirmed slightly. “Gator—”

“’M busy.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. I mean, sure, he was good with his hands, but you would also appreciate that skill applied elsewhere. Whatever, you weren’t helpless.

His eyes narrowed as you moved a hand between your legs, circling your clit in time with his fingers. Your head fell back as a string of moans escaped your lips. That’s what you needed.

“God, you’re desperate,” he muttered, but he didn’t bother to redirect your hands. “I coulda done that.”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t already so close, the pressure and attention to your clit exactly what you needed to fall over the edge.

“I feel you squeezin’ my fingers,” he said, voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Wanna cum that bad, huh? Can’t even take what I give ya? Are you that fuckin’ needy?” When you didn’t think to answer, he leaned over and bit your thigh again. Harder.

“Fuck!” You shouted, annoyed that you’d have a second set of bruises to cover. But your annoyance melted right back into the siren call of pleasure.

Moans tumbled from your lips before you could bring yourself to answer. “Yes, I’m that needy,” You gasped as his fingers moved deeper, harder with every thrust in. Your fingers moved faster on your clit, making your legs twitch on either side of Gator’s shoulders.

He let you teeter there on the precipice for a little longer, until you were sure you were going to tumble straight into sweet ecstasy. So close you could taste it, sweet and heady on the back of your tongue.

And like that, Gator pulled away, slipping his fingers from your cunt and leaving you wanting. You sat there, panting and frustrated as he wiped his fingers off on your thigh. “Too fuckin’ bad. Bend over.”

He slapped the side of your thigh as he stood and looked down at you expectantly. Your legs wobbled as you stood in what little room he provided you, tits brushing against his chest for just a moment as you turned and bent over the desk.

“Isn’t this a pretty sight?” He grabbed your ass, kneading the plush skin roughly before landing a rough smack. You winced at the sting as you spared a glance over your shoulder. He landed another slap on the opposite cheek, then spread you apart with his thumbs. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, you know that?”

He was quick to free his cock from the confines of his cargos and boxers. Over your shoulder, you could see the heap of clothes he’d made on the floor. In the back of your mind, you noted the very careless way he treated the gun in his thigh holster, but said nothing. It was hard to focus on improper gun handling when he had his length in his hand, stroking it slowly as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re gonna pull out, right?” You asked, chewing your lip as you looked at him.

He rolled his eyes, the tip of his cock notched right at your entrance, making you arch against him. “You’re such a fuckin’ bitch. I’m not stupid, I’ll pull out.”

The prettiest groan escaped him as he rocked against your cunt, coating himself in your dripping arousal before the head of his cock nudged at your entrance.

“You want me?” He asked, his breath coming in pants. Your body felt like a fucking live wire, hyperaware of the feeling of him, just barely outside of where you craved him.

You nodded. “Uh-huh. I want you. So bad, Gator.”

He sank into you, nice and slow, so he could relish in the warm, soft feeling of your walls around him. A sappier man would’ve said it felt like heaven. Gator wasn’t sappy.

“Goddamn, you’ve got the tightest fuckin’ pussy,” He managed once he’d bottomed out, every inch of him fully sheathed inside. “Forget what I said about you bein’ used up.”

What a gentleman. You whined softly, pushing back against him to silently beg for more. He put a hand on the small of your back and pushed down so your back arched even more. Then he fucked you in earnest.

The noises you made should’ve been illegal— some form of indecency or something. Loud and whiny, desperate for more. Your nails scratched at the laminate of the desk, seeking something, anything to hold onto for purchase as he fucked you within an inch of your life.

He was so big you could’ve sworn you felt him deep in your stomach, even though you knew physically that was impossible. Each thrust punched out a keening moan from your lips, a swear, a breathy whine, or just his stupid fucking name over and over again.

He reached a hand beneath you, so his rough fingers could play with your clit. “This is what you wanted so bad, yeah?” He asked, voice breathy as he quickly rubbed your clit. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Gator.” You were practically babbling. Thank you thank you thank you.

Over your shoulder, you watched him using your body, chasing his high. Every slap of your ass was for his own gratification, just to see it jiggle. He was only rubbing your clit so he could feel you squeeze him even tighter.

You didn’t care. You fucking loved it. Even as he manhandled you, lifting your thigh and placing it on the desk so he could fuck you deeper, you just laid there and took it like a fucking champ.

“Woulda fucked you sooner if I knew it’d be this good.” His voice wavered slightly with the effort it took to maintain the relentless pace he had set. He slapped your ass hard, making you yelp and clench around him.

What you’d said earlier was right— you were needy. You rocked back against him, meeting him with each thrust. The sounds of his hips hitting your ass with each thrust were nearly as pornographic as both of your moans.

Gator didn’t shut up most of the time, but when he was buried inside of you he could mostly only manage pretty moans.

“F-fuck, sweetheart. You’re… you’re really workin’ for it, huh?” His words were interrupted by low moans and grunts. “C’mon. Give it to me.”

He let you do most of the work, rocking back against him, making you fuck yourself on his cock. And he looked fucking smug about it too.

The switch snapped suddenly when he grabbed your hips and fucked you without abandon, skin slapping against skin as he roughly bullied himself inside of you again and again.

“That’s it. Just lay there and take it, sweetheart.” His voice was breathy and strained. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Fuck! That’s it. Just like that.”

He came suddenly, thrusting deep and hard as he spilled within you. It annoyed you that he looked pretty when he came— his mouth ajar, eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling just slightly.

And then you were annoyed because he fucking lied. He pulled out after he had ridden the aftershocks with a few shallow thrusts and quickly redressed.

“You didn’t pull out,” you said, your voice was strained with annoyance and anger as you looked back at him. He was getting dressed, making sure he looked alright. He didn’t even care to get you off. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugged, trying to appear unbothered by it all. But you saw the annoyed tick in his jaw, the anger beneath it. Like a rattlesnake all coiled up, ready to strike if you made the wrong move. You were never on equal terms. You were no better than prey. And you should have known better, right?

Annoying, hot tears welled on your lashline, and you prayed to any higher power that he wouldn’t notice as you wiped at your eyes. You stood, doing your best to redress in silence, doing your best to remain small. He slapped a fifty on the desk and you flinched. “Buy some Plan B if you’re that fuckin’ worried about it. Jesus Christ.” He paused as he reached the door. “I’ll tell the manager we got it all sorted out. Isn’t that good enough for ya?”

You stood there, unsatisfied and used, with his cum leaking out of you, and stayed silent. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t anything at all.

You walked out with fifty dollars, streaked mascara, three sets of lingerie you’d throw in the trash, and a newfound desire to get the fuck out of Stark County. And, maybe, some misplaced hope that next time might be different.

#it's here it's finally here #gator tillman #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman smut #anyways if you read this pls like and leave a comment idgaf if you reblog truly just wanna know if u enjoyed <3

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http-tokki · 11 months

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need to know

~ choso kamo x fem!reader (tattoo artist choso au) ~tags/cw: tattoo artist choso, fem reader, tattoo artist au, tattoos, needles, satosugu is canon, modern au, choso has a scar over his nose instead of his markings, strangers to friend to lovers (strangers rn) tiny lil man verbal bashing cause men are weak lil babies when getting tattoos, reader is a lil chubby, choso is on antidepressants, smoking/vaping, drinking ~ wc: 2.9k ~ "Dude, he is so fucking hot. I wasn't expecting him to look like that!! What do I do?!! Help?!?"

You: Wednesday 8:45pm Hi, I was just wondering if your books were still open? It says they are in your bio but in case I've missed it and they're closed, please ignore this message, sorry! :)

Kamo: Wednesday 9:23pm Hey. No, they are still open. When were you looking to book? Do you have a specific design? Or are you looking for a flash?

You: Thursday 11:36am Oh, hi, awesome! Thank you for getting back to me so quickly! I was looking to book next month, towards the end. On a weekend if that would be possible (I don't mind the time), and for the design, just a flash (design 3A) on your latest post on my upper arm, around 15-20cm. :)

You: Thursday 11:52pm Unless you think it should be smaller or somewhere else, I'm not picky! I really want something of yours tattooed on me :)

Kamo: Thursday 12:15pm Sure, no problem! I have the 24th free at 12pm. Does that work for you? The spot and size are fine, but I'll make up smaller and bigger stencils on the day in case you change your mind. The total would be $600 for the piece. However, I require a $100 deposit to secure your spot. I can send you the payment details once you confirm your interest. Please read through my FAQs on cancellation policies and further information.

You: Thursday 12:20pm 24th at 12pm is perfect! Thank you!! I'll send a deposit through now! Ahh, so excited! :)

Kamo: Thursday 1:07pm You're welcome. Here is the link x. Please send a screenshot of your payment as proof. For the rest of the amount, I accept cash only. If you have any other questions, feel free to message me. See you on the 24th.

You: Thursday 3:30pm Sending it now! Yay! Thank you so much! Super excited, see you! :)

Kamo: Thursday 4:35 pm Seen

"I sound like an idiot, don't I?" you grumble as your friend reads over your chat with a tattoo artist.

You watch your friend tilt their glasses down, squinting at the screen as their mouth curls into a grimace. They try to hide it with a sniffle, disguising their obvious disgust over your intense enthusiasm.

"Not an idiot," they hand the phone back to you, a frown set in the crooked way it always did when they were uncomfortable. "Just really, really eager, which can be cute if you like that."

Choso is growing tired.

At what? There are too many contributing factors to the headache that had begun blooming his eyes five minutes after stepping into the studio to pinpoint the main culprit of his budding exhaustion. Maybe it was the late night/early morning combo, or perhaps it was the horrific lack of water and food he hadn't consumed in the last twenty-four hours. When was the last time he had taken his medication? Choso begins to run through the previous days in an attempt to remember when he had even glanced at the Zoloft sheet sitting in the bottom drawer of his trolley, but his attention is diverted from his lack of self-care to the man sitting in his tattoo chair.

It is coming up on the two-hour mark since his client walked in. With a brazen attitude that could rival a Greek god, the man had outlined what had to be the simplest fucking tattoo known to man. Choso had rolled his eyes at the frankly impressive and thorough drawing done by the twenty-something gym bro before shifting the paper off to his younger brother.

"Come on, it's easy! An hour tops, and then you've got like two fifty in your hand! You technically owe me an observation session, and this can be it." Yuji had gripped his brother's sleeve, tugging on it the way he used to when they were kids.

Taking in his younger half-brother as his apprentice was a good idea in theory. The two lived and worked together, so there was ample time for obvs and practice, but today was already busy, and Choso was feeling like complete and utter shit.

"Yuji, I don't want to do this. I have a client coming in at twelve for a full session, and I've got this headache and-"

"It's easy money, come on! Please." it technically was easy money. The design was a small band wrapped around the bicep, with no adornments or script, just a flat black line; it was the client himself that made Choso apprehensive.

"Fine." Choso sighed, and Yuji almost jumped into the air in excitement. "You prep and clean him; I'm not doing anything but the actual tattoo."

Yuji nodded eagerly and just about ran into the front room to confirm the walk-in appointment.

That was almost two hours ago, and Choso is still here, finishing up the outlines of the band on a guy twice his size but carrying on like a toddler. Each touch of the needle on skin had the man flinching and hissing through his teeth, and there is only so much Choso could take.

Choso eyes the clock nervously, his next appointment slot ticking closer but the second. There isn't going to be enough time to get out and grab a coffee or snack from the corner store. After another quick glance at the amount of work before him, Choso calls it fifteen minutes to twelve and clicks off the tattoo gun with a disappointed sigh.

"Hey, I'm sorry, but we might have to split this into two sessions."

He looks back over at this current client, who is sweating profusely. It takes everything in him to scowl in disgust at the once brazen man before him, but not the look on his client's face; Choso knows some form of repugnance had slipped through his composure.

"Yeah, sure, man, no sweat," the client replies, relief blatant in his sigh. "Sorry for taking so many breaks. I've got a weak pain tolerance."

That makes Choso feel a little bad.

"You're fine. I've just got a pre-booked client coming in like ten and need to set up." A little lie to hurry the man up.

Hope is so close. So attainable that Choso can almost feel the sun on his face, but the shop bells slice through any dream of a break.

"Hi, I'm here for my twelve with Kamo?"

Choso slouches, attention now on the conversation happening in the front room. It's not even twelve yet! Why would she be here so early?

"Yep! We've got you down for twelve, but Choso's still with someone, so if you wanna wait here, that's okay!" Yuji giggles in response.

"Ohh, I'm just here to ask if umm…Choso wanted a coffee or anything?" his name is a question on her tongue. "I'm going to go get one and wanted to ask if anyone wanted anything so you don't have to wait in line."

That's nice. Choso thinks and leans back on his chair, attempting to glimpse his new client, who has Yuji giggling at every word.

"I was just about to step out to get coffee so I can come with you, but I can get Cho's; you don't need to pay for him." Another giggle. God, his younger brother is shameless.

"That's okay! I can get them; just write your orders down so I don't forget!" the girl insists.

"Ohh, but-"disappointment fills Yuji's voice.

"Yuji, can you come here please!" Choso shouts down the hall, pulling his brother away from his new crush.

Yuji groans, then the shop bells ring again, and then the sound of footsteps shuffles down the hall.

"Yes?"

"Can you wrap him up and finish the payment? I need a smoke." Choso rolled back from the bed, handing over the second skin he has yet to unwrap.

Choso's brother sighs but offers the male client a friendly smile, sits down in the now vacant rollaway stool, and begins to prep the skin for wrap-up.

"I'll be back in five; if anyone needs me, tell them to wait." Choso grumbles the last part and offers a stiff wave to his current client before disappearing into the hall.

The knots in Choso's shoulder have been building for days now, and no amount of rolling or stretching seems to relieve the tension in his muscles, but it is nice to stretch and feel the blood move around him again. Heavy boots echo through the small shop as he stalks to the front desk, floorboards creaking under the weight of thick rubber soles. His fingers slip into his back pocket to reach for the small pack of menthols hastily shoved down after the abrupt end of his morning break.

Stepping out into the world, Choso is blinded by the sun. Having forgotten about the passage of time while being stuck indoors all day, he now stands stunned in the small alcove of the shop's entrance. The sun nears the centre of the sky, beating down the world in a heat never seen before. It wasn't even the beginning of summer, and the sweltering days were breaking temperature records. Choso shields his eyes with a hand, and even then, his vision is blurred as his retinas adjust.

The street is quiet; an abnormal silence had fallen over the usually busy road, but with the rising blistering temps, he suspects people aren't willing to brave the heat to shop or eat. Choso finds the familiar recess in the wall, a door had been there years ago but has long since been boarded up and now acts as refuge for him and his brother. Through any weather, time of day or season, the small alcove is a sanctuary for tired and burnt-out artists needing a second away from the constant buzz of tattoo guns.

Choso scans the few open cafes and bars for his mystery client. Mainly office workers on lunch break and mothers with strollers waiting for the afternoon pick up; he can't see anyone that fits the image he had concocted in his mind on the short walk over until he spots a girl standing in line across the way. The tattoos that adorn her legs are what Choso notices first. Patchwork pieces from different artists in black and white with pops of colour here and there, but for the most part are monochromatic, all spaced far enough to be their own pieces but not so much that they seem gap-y. He is impressed at the choice, knowing that when getting patchwork pieces, they are usually slapped in any available location, but from what he can see, every piece flowed into each other and told a story against her skin. Her arms are equally as covered, though with more room, and he is eager to see the works up close. A flash of pink catches his attention, and he narrows his attention on the pink My Melody backpack that she swings at her side, pink wallet clutched in her free hand as she shifts her weight from her toes to her heels. Choso smirks at the bag and finds himself willing her to turn so he can see the face of the girl who we had been staring at for the past five minutes.

He is staring and he needs to stop before he gets caught. Shifting his attention from the random woman, he fishes out his phone and focuses on the seemingly endless DMs and texts stacked on the lock screen. Sometimes, he wonders if he really should have gone into a career where his livelihood relied on communicating with strangers. With expert precision and one hand, he pulls a cigarette from the crumpled packet and slips the filter between his teeth. Biting down the filter, the taste of menthol fills his mouth, and relief floods his veins before settling in the deep groves of his brain. The cigarette isn't even lit yet, but his nervous system knows that the taste of mint will soon be followed by nicotine, and all will be well for a few minutes. Breaking the habit of smoking has been on Choso's New Year's resolution lists for the past three years, but he only ever lasts a few weeks before turning back to the comfort of those overpriced joints. Maybe next year will be the year. Choso digs through his pockets, fingers grasping for the lighter he keeps in his right pant pocket, but there is nothing. Maybe the other side? Still nothing. Third pocket? Fourth pocket? Nada. Zilch. Zero. Fuck.

There isn't enough time to go back inside to search for matches, and he had already popped the filter and doesn't want to waste the smoke, but it would get gross sitting in the packet- his headache grew.

"Choso?" a soft voice asks from above.

Choso looks up from his lap and is greeted by the most stunning woman he has ever seen. Breathing is no longer automatic as he stares at you, and when his lungs start to contract almost painfully, he realises and takes in an all too obvious breath.

It wasn't fair to look like that. With the sun illuminating your silhouette, cradling you in an angelic aura that has Choso debating on whether he should get on his knees and pray to you, but too much time has passed since you spoke and he acknowledged you that he has to say something, but all he can manage is a muffled yeah?

"I'm your twelve, but you look like you need a light?" you hold out a bright pink light between pretty pink manicured fingers.

Choso offers a tight-lipped smile to prevent the cigarette from falling from his mouth and takes the lighter, flicking it to life. "Thanks, I owe ya."

He holds the flame to the tobacco, and only when it glows bright does he pull the disposable away.

"It didn't cost me anything, so nothing to owe."

There is a beat of silence as you throw the light back into your bag before bending down to pick up the coffee you had set at your feet. "Also, a coffee." another offer towards him.

"The guy at the desk gave me your order, and I always buy my artists something before a session. I'm not hitting on you."

Your admission of this not being a move stirs something in him. Choso accepts the cold cup with a soft thank you, angling his hand away from yours, careful not to burn you with the lit smoke.

"I'll meet you inside. Give you a moment to yourself." you nod towards the door of the studio, feet already turning to start walking towards the entrance.

He watches you walk away, a smile creeping on his face despite not knowing why. You're as cute from the front as you are from the back, and he's glad the girl he had seen in the coffee shop is you. Soft curves make up your figure, dipping at your waist before filling out again over your bust. Choso feels his stomach twist in that familiar feeling, but he can't think of you like that; you're a client and nothing more. There is a mesmerising way in which you walk that has Choso unable to look away, and even when you've stepped into the studio, his gaze lingers on the empty space you once stood in until the rancid taste of burnt filter fills his mouth. Never in his life has he been as thankful for coffee as he is in that moment when burnt paper fills his senses. Taking a big gulp of the sweet but still bitter drink, it takes everything in him not to spit in the street, but he was raised better than that and will wait until he is in the small bathroom to spit up the gross contents.

When Choso returns, you are sitting on the small couch in the waiting room, filling out consent forms. Head down as you read the number of your ID and scribe it down in the open line; he walks past you, suddenly horrified by his heavy choice of shoe. The thick thud of the rubber soles on the hardwood has you lifting your head and smiling at your artist. Choso feels his stomach flip.

"So," Choso starts, but the smoke still in his throat chokes the word. He clears his throat and restarts his sentence. "So, do you smoke, or do you just carry the lighter?"

"My best friend smokes, so I just carry it 'cause you never know when you're gonna need a light." Your laugh is contained, almost forced, as if the interaction you are having is uncomfortable for you. Had he done something wrong?

"Ohh." Is his only reply as you return to the balanced folder on your lap.

Another moment of silence before Choso steps towards the hall. "I'll let Yuji check you in, and then just come in when you're ready." Had he already made you that uncomfortable in the two minutes you had spoken outside? Choso takes a deep breath as he steps into his space and suddenly wishes the whiney baby was the one getting tattooed.

You: Saturday 12:05pm Dude, he is so fucking hot. I wasn't expecting him to look like that!! What do I do?!! Help?!?

Number ONE best friend: Saturday 12:06pm suck his dick? ik guys like that :P

You: Saturday 12:06pm Idk what I expected from you. I need actual advice, please Saturo. U owe me!

Number ONE best friend: Saturday 12:07pm ooh first name, you're kinda scary. Okay, here is what you do. You act like a normal human and then flirt a lil and suss out if he's into it and then ask him out to drinks?

You: Saturday 12:08pm That works if I KNEW HOW TO FLIRT. Ugh im screwed, he's so fine fuck

Number ONE best friend: Saturday 12:09pm eww, you're getting ur jizz all over the screen. just breathe and be normal okay, pretend he's me.

You: Saturday 12:10pm Ignoring the first comment. Im gonna sneak a pic and show u BRO YOU NEED TO SEE HIM

Number ONE best friend: 12:10pm creepy but okeeeeyyy. Sugu also says to breathe and be normal but to ignore anything you think I would do

You: Saturday 12:11pm Thanks, Suguru, please kill him for me, ill talk to u guys in a bit

Number ONE best friend: good luck bestie 8======D

a/n: okay so there is going to be a part two but I'm not sure when, please give me feedback if you want it or want me to stop, put the laptop down and go outside lmao lil texting format, lemme know how y'all feel about that

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aegoniipascal · 8 months

Text

Attraction of Beauty | Derek Danforth

You meet the cocky billionaire, Derek Danforth at an underground night club but the unexpected happened.

WARNING: touchy theme, cussing words, Derek being horny

words: 1.5k+

part two coming soon…

You worked at a club called Underground Night Club. The name was so original and yes, it was an actual underground club that was under a casino.

You were working on bringing the drinks to the booths. You walked over to the bar where your co-worker settled down the trade full of alcoholic drinks. You grab the serving tray and then your coworker speaks up.

“This is for booth 2 and booth 12 needs serving.” Co-worker, Dani tells you over the loud music that the DJ was playing.

You went over to booth 2 and set down the drinks on the table. Before you left the booth, you made sure that you asked the customer if they wanted anything else. All of the ladies shook their heads no then you walked away.

Derek Danforth, how would you describe him as? Some people would say he was a really dick and too cocky. Others would die to be his girlfriend, wife, and even boyfriend because he was insanely rich. He was a good-looking man. He had a blonde streak in his hair and wore only one diamond earring on his left ear.

Of course, he would be at an underground nightclub. All he would do with his money was spent on vapes, snort powder and drinks, and his favorite partying with girls.

As you were walking to booth 12, you saw who was going to serve. It was Derek Danforth, you did not who he was.

You saw there was one girl on each side of him. Derek had his arms on both of their shoulders whispering to them and girls giggling. Now, you are at the booth and grab her note to write the drinks down.

“Sir.” You yelled over the loud music caught the attention of Derek and saw you standing there with a notepad and a pen ready to write.

Within seconds the two girls that were sitting next to him were giving the nasty glare. You didn’t know why there we staring at you hard. Probably it was the fact you were wearing black shorts that went up to your but and your white top that showed your breast.

“Are you the serve?” Derek quizzed you looking you up and down.

“Yes. What can I get you?” You ask him waiting for him to serve his drink and get a move one.

“You look away too fucking hot to be a waiter here.” Derek stated to you. This unexpected answer caught you and the two girls off guard.

You got compliments all the time by older, younger, and questionable men telling you, you looked so beautiful and many more. But you chose to ignore it. What Derek said felt different than what you usually get.

“What can I get you started sir?” You repeatedly asked Derek again. Ignoring what he had replied.

You showed Derek that you weren’t bothered by the comments. It was completely dark and he couldn’t see your face heated up.

“I would like to get a whole bottle of your best bourbon.” Derek finally responded and you wrote it down on your notepad.

“Anything else?” You wanted to make sure that you not going to miss anything because of one screw-up.

Customers are always right.

“That will be all sweetheart.” Derek tells you and he takes out his wallet. You step inside the booth as he takes out his wallet to give you the credit card.

You gently grab his credit card out of his hand. You stepped out of booth 12 and walked away from Derek’s booth. As you were walking you made sure the card was safe in your hands.

What you didn’t know was that Derek Danforth was watching until you disappeared into the crowd. The two girls saw how he looked at the serve and their jealousy was showing on their faces. He was attracted to the beauty that had left. Sure, he had girls and had sex with them then dumping them not making contact with them.

His thoughts were interrupted by one of the girls from his side kissing his neck. Derek loved it when one of his girls did it to him and loved the pressure on his neck. He pushed the girl who was kissing his neck to the side not wanting to be touched.

The woman gasped at her being thrown off by the multi-millionaire playboy. The other girl left his other side and went over to her friend helping her up from the ground.

“Get out of my sight.” Derek’s tone of voice demanded the two girls. Two of them left speed walking out of the booth.

Derek couldn’t stop thinking about you that was all in his mind. He groans as he felt his cock pressing into his dress pants suit. Yes, he wanted you right to fuck you. He tilted his head up and thought for a moment. Then grabs his phone out of his suit and calls the owner.

“Mr. Danforth.” The call finally picks up after the first ring. Derek pulls apart the phone after hearing a shout his ear drum then puts it back.

“Larry, I need you to do me a favor.” Derek said through the phone, touching his dented pants.

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You headed back with an empty serving tray and a credit card. You went over to the bar service and gave the card to Dani. She grabs it out of your hand and looks at the card names. You tried to tell her many times to stop reading the card names but you just let your co-worker.

You lift the table walk into the bar and set it down. You put the tray on the bar table.

“Oh my gosh!” Dani practically jumped not caring if the customer saw.

“What?” You asked your friend why she was happy. You went over to grab one of the glass Telford shorts and set it down on the serving tray.

“You are literally serving Derek Danforth, a multi-millionaire.” Dani told you. You really didn’t care about what she was talking about.

“Who are we talking about?” Jeff popped out of nowhere.

“No one! Here, ring the card up for a whole bottle of the best bourbon we have.” You said snatching the card out of Dani’s hand and giving it to Jeff.

You went to the room that was at the back of the bar. You grabbed the finest bourbon you had in stock and walked out of the alcohol room. You see Dani and Jeff giggling at the card. You went over to the bar and set the bourbon on the tray.

“What is Mr. Danforth like?” Jeff asked you and you rolled his eyes at him.

“Guys I don’t have for this. Both of you guys get up to work.” You said and grabbed the card from your co-worker’s hand and put it inside of her pocket.

You went over to the counter lifted and walked out letting the counter slam closed. You grabbed the severing tray and went off to Booth 12. You didn’t know why Dani and Jeff were gushing about the guy you were serving. You were walking to the booth where Derek was.

He puffed out smoke from his mouth with the vape pen he had. Derek looks around if you are around with his drink. He still hadn’t seen you yet. He was waiting for Larry to text him. Derek couldn’t stop thinking about you and how your body was, he kept replaying your body in his mind.

Derek’s cock was pressed into his pants and he rubs the dent on his pants to see if he could soften a bit. It did not work that was all that he was doing. Then his eyes lit up when he saw you walking with his drink on the serving plate.

As you were walking back to Derek’s booth and saw that he was alone without the two girls by his side. You went into the booth and set the bourbon with a short glass.

“Here’s your card sir.” You handed his card to him. Derek extended his hand to grab his card.

You expected to grab the card and pull away but no he dragged by your arm almost tripping you. You caught yourself from falling onto him. Also dropped the serving tray on the floor.

“Mr. Danforth please this is highly inappropriate.” You said struggling to get out of his grip. Derek did not care about the rules in this.

“Come on baby, you really follow those rules?” Derek asked you and you tugged your arm aggressively away from his grip.

“Yes, I do!” You said angrily. You couldn’t deal with him anymore. You grabbed the serving tray from the floor and walked out of the booth.

“Fuck! Wait.” You had ignored him and walked away.

No girls had ever resisted Derek Danforth but you did. You were the first one. He watched you walk away and disappear from the crowd that was forming. Okay, maybe he had caught you off guard by gripping your hand.

Derek puts his card inside his wallet and puts his wallet in his pocket. He got up from the chair and grabbed the bottle of bourbon to take with him. He wasn’t going to waste the 500 dollars he had spent on one bottle and he didn’t want to give him one of you. He wanted you.

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reblog • like • comment • follow me for more content like this <3

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #derek danforth #derek danforth x reader #the beekeeper

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marsplastic13 · 2 months

Text

'Complicated' (part 7) - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Idea - Kaz Brekker hires a prostitute to overcome his touch aversion, and be a better man for Inej, but things take an unxepected turn. Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Prostitute!Reader, (had to use y/n because I'm bad at names) Genre: modern AU, slow burn word count: 5.6k notes: I can't wait for your opinions on this one

@millercontracting @coldmermaidhologram @syd649 @luffysprincess

‘Kaz’

‘Baby’

‘Love’

‘What??’ he replied to the flood of messages.

‘AC is broken’

Kaz hesitated, staring at the screen, then he typed ‘Yes’

‘:)’

Half an hour later, y/n arrived at his house, looking visibly relieved. “Oh saints, I can breathe again,” she exclaimed, collapsing onto the couch. “It’s a centralized problem. The whole building is hot as hell.”

Kaz went back to type on his computer at the kitchen table, glancing up briefly. “Did they say how much time before it works again?”

“No,” she sighed, sinking further into the cushions. “I’m on forced leave from work.”

“You sound almost sad,” he chuckled, his eyes flickering back to the screen.

“I am. You have no idea of the interesting booking I had,” she said, turning to look at him. “Do you want to know what he asked for?”

“I think I’ll live better without knowing,” he replied, smirking.

“Boring.” y/n pulled out her phone and started watching TikToks, her occasional laughter punctuating the silence.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, both absorbed in their screens. The rhythmic tapping of Kaz's keyboard mixed with the occasional burst of sound from y/n's videos.

After some time, Kaz broke the silence. “I have to work after dinner.”

“You have the weirdest work schedule,” she commented, glancing up. “Do you want me to make dinner?”

“We can order something,” he suggested, not looking up from his screen.

“I’ll cook.” y/n got up and opened his fridge, surveying its contents. “You know that you could eat something other than meat?” she said, studying the shelves.

“I think I have ice cream too,” he shrugged.

“So healthy,” she commented dryly, closing the fridge. “Is there a supermarket nearby?”

“Yep.”

“I’m going,” she announced.

Kaz stared at her, a small grin playing on his lips. y/n sighed, already knowing what he wanted. “It’s in my bag, take it.”

Kaz closed his laptop and settled onto the couch, pulling her Nintendo Switch from the bag. “Why don’t you just buy one?” she asked, not truly annoyed.

“Because I would develop an addiction. Speaking of, take the keys. I won’t get up to open the door even if you arrive with the police,” he replied, already engrossed in the game.

y/n muttered something about him being a child before taking his keys and heading out.

When she returned, y/n put on some music and started cooking, dancing around the kitchen between cupboards and stoves. Kaz occasionally shouted at the game, clearly immersed. The atmosphere in the apartment was light and relaxed.

“Have you been using my vape?” y/n asked, suddenly annoyed.

“No.”

“It’s empty.”

“Maybe it has a leak,” he suggested, not raising his eyes from the game. y/n cupped his face and turned it towards her, leaning in to smell his breath.

“You smell like cherries, you dirty liar. After all your venting about how smoking is bad?” y/n accused, her eyes narrowing playfully.

Kaz laughed, trying to maintain his focus on the screen. “Shut up, you’re distracting me.”

“Oh, I’m distracting you?” she shot back, crossing her arms. “Who was it that went on a twenty-minute rant about how terrible smoking is for your lungs, your heart, your—"

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he interrupted, his fingers flying over the buttons.

“And here you are, sneaking hits off my vape,” y/n continued, her tone teasing, “you even put it back in my bag to hide your tracks, just give up and buy one.”

“No, smoking is bad,” Kaz replied firmly, though his eyes never left the screen.

y/n let out an exasperated sigh. “Unbelievable.”

y/n was done cooking and sighed as she saw Kaz completely engrossed in her game, sitting on the couch with no intention of moving. "Kaz, come on don’t be a child."

Kaz, eyes glued to the screen, mumbled, "Just one more level, I promise."

Rolling her eyes, y/n decided it was time for drastic measures. With a mischievous glint, she leaned over and swiftly snatched the console from his hands. “Hey!” he protested, reaching out to grab it back.

“Nope, you’ve had enough,” she declared, holding the console high above her head.

Kaz jumped up from the couch, trying to reclaim his—well, hers—gaming device. “Give it back, y/n! I was about to beat my high score.”

She laughed, stepping back and keeping the console out of his reach. “No.”

He lunged forward, and they began a playful tussle. y/n darted around the coffee table, and Kaz followed, both of them laughing. “You’re not getting away that easily,” he teased, reaching out to grab her waist.

She squealed, spinning out of his grasp and holding the console behind her back. “You’ll have to catch me first!”

Kaz paused, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Come on, my leg is already killing me today.”

“Then give up,” she laughed.

He feigned to the left, then quickly moved to the right, catching y/n by surprise. She tried to dodge, but he was quicker, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her off the ground.

“Put me down!” she laughed, kicking her feet in the air.

“I don’t care if I break my leg again, you’re giving it back,” he replied, twirling her around.

She clung to the device, laughing uncontrollably. “Okay, okay, you win!” she conceded, handing it over.

Kaz gently set her down, keeping a firm grip on the console. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She playfully swatted his arm. “You’re a child.”

He chuckled, slipping the console into his back pocket. “And you’re annoying.”

They stood there for a moment, both catching their breath and smiling at each other. y/n shook her head, still laughing. “I’m going to cancel your game’s data.”

“There’s no need to get violent,” he said, offended, while they headed to the table. Kaz’s mouth watered at the sight and smell of the food.

“You cook really well for someone who hates eating,” Kaz said with his mouth half full.

“Rude, but thank you,” y/n replied with a smile, her fork tracing patterns on her plate.

Kaz stared at her, his gaze lingering a bit too long.

y/n noticed and rolled her eyes. “Kaz, don’t look at me like that. If you say something about my relationship with food, I’m so going to remind you that you have a girlfriend and that I’m a prostitute.”

“We’re just eating,” he mumbled, trying to justify himself and feeling really guilty. He was still mad at Inej for postponing her visit, and he knew that he and y/n were playing with the boundaries that should exist in their relationship.

He tried to focus on his plate, but his thoughts kept drifting. Maybe in that moment, it could look like an innocent dinner, a friend helping out a friend even, but later? When they would inevitably share a bed, without any payment beforehand? Or when he would book her for another session?

Kaz's mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions. He knew he should feel loyal to Inej, but he was still frustrated that she wasn’t there, and y/n had a way of making everything seem so easy.

y/n seemed to sense his turmoil. She put her fork down and reached out, touching his hand lightly.

“Are you feeling bad?”

“Yes,” Kaz admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” y/n replied with a small smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

He couldn't help but laugh, despite himself. “Fuck off.”

Kaz came back home later than he thought, plus, he took an unexpected punch in the eye that hurt like a bitch. He saw a dim light and soft talking coming from his room.

“Are you having fun on your trip?” he heard y/n's voice, but couldn't make out the answer. However, he heard her laugh.

Kaz peeked into his room, and y/n smiled at him, “It's my grandma,” she said, gesturing to the phone.

“Are you with a boy, sweetie?”

“I'm with a… friend,” she replied.

“Show him to me.”

“No,” she laughed.

“Is he ugly?”

“Grandma! No,” replied y/n, Kaz raised a brow, leaning on the doorframe, now very interested.

“Is he hot or is he cute?”

Kaz raised his brows even more, waiting for her answer.

“Don’t you have something to do? What happened to your face?” y/n narrowed her eyes to look better at him.

“Just a punch,” he shrugged before disappearing into the bathroom.

Kaz could still hear pieces of the conversation from her side. “No, Grandma, we're not sleeping together… My AC is broken… No, I didn't break it on purpose… Yes, he's cute… It's 4 am here!... Have a nice day, I love you.”

He took his spot in the bed as y/n put away her phone. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, my grandma is on one of those old-people-travels on the other side of the world and wanted to talk to me about her new crush. I was sleeping so well,” she said, leaning back into the pillows.

“Her new crush? How old is she?” he asked skeptically, taking the console she had left on his side.

“In her seventies. She’s a bit wild.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” he commented.

Kaz settled into the bed, gingerly touching his bruised eye. y/n was leaning against the headboard, her phone still warm from the call with her grandmother.

“Who punched you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as she studied the bruise.

“An idiot,” Kaz replied, his voice laced with irritation.

“Hmm, he might have his reason. You're very punchable.” y/n’s lips curled into a teasing smile.

Kaz snorted, feeling a bit defensive. “It wasn’t my fault this time.” He rubbed his temples, the stress of the day catching up to him. The lingering ache from the unexpected punch added to his irritation.

y/n rolled her eyes playfully, nudging him with her shoulder. “Sure, it wasn’t.”

“I’m sending you back to your house,” he said, his tone half-serious, as he stretched his legs out, trying to ease the tension that had settled in his muscles.

“I’m taking back my Switch,” she shot back, snatching the console from his side with a triumphant grin.

Kaz’s hand shot out in a playful attempt to reclaim it, but she was quicker, holding it out of his reach. “Go to sleep,” he said, exasperated but amused, his frustration easing into a faint smile as they bantered.

“Do you want a kiss to make the pain go away?” she said with a dangerous smile.

Kaz sighed, a mix of annoyance and fondness tugging at him. “Are you a healer now?”

“I can be a lot of things,” she teased, her tone light and playful.

“Stop flirting with me,” he replied, though the teasing glint in his eyes softened his words.

“Alright,” y/n turned on her side, settling into the playful rhythm of their exchanges.

Kaz battled with himself for a moment, then gave in to the pull he felt towards her. He pulled her closer, their bodies fitting comfortably together.

“Maybe it’s worth a try, it hurts really bad,” he muttered against her neck, his voice muffled.

“Kaz, are you whining?” she asked, laughter dancing in her tone as she turned to face him. Her eyes met his, a hint of mischief in their depths.

He huffed in mock indignation, a playful glint in his eyes. “I'm not whining,” he protested lightly, but the corners of his mouth betrayed a smirk.

The girl's gaze lingered on his waiting lips, a teasing smile playing on her own. With a deliberate slowness, she leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his temple. Kaz responded with an annoyed hum, his eyebrow quirking in response to her playful gesture.

“What? Were you expecting more?” she asked, raising a brow mischievously, her eyes flickering with amusement.

Kaz tilted his head, feigning contemplation. “I don’t know, maybe a little more sympathy?” he teased, his tone light despite the heaviness of their unspoken tension.

“Oh my poor baby, come here,” she playfully pulled him closer, her arms wrapping around him and messing with his hair.

He leaned into the contact, closing his eyes briefly and allowing himself a moment of comfort in her embrace.

“You’re so clingy, Kaz,” she commented after a while, her voice light with teasing. “Who knew you had it in you?”

“I’m not,” he retorted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“And you’re also delusional,” she added playfully, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on his back.

“Shut up,” he replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself.

“Are you this annoying with your girlfriend too?” she teased gently, the question hanging in the air.

“She’s not paid to spend time with me,” Kaz replied, his tone tinged with seriousness.

“I’m not working tonight,” she reminded him gently, her fingers stilling on his back, their closeness emphasizing the unspoken boundaries between them.

Kaz nodded silently, the weight of their complicated relationship settling over them once more. He knew their moments together existed in a fragile balance, a delicate dance between companionship and something more undefined.

Kaz hated how peaceful he felt, how badly he craved the normalcy of their interactions, the lightness. Every time Inej would come back, it was like they had to learn to adjust to each other again. And when they were finally comfortable, she would leave again. While he fell asleep, Jesper's words kept echoing through his mind: “You're playing house with a hooker.” He couldn't be more right.

He couldn't ignore the transactional nature of their relationship, the blurred boundaries that came with it. Yet, there was something genuine in the way she looked at him, in the way she laughed at his jokes, in the way she cared.

He couldn't deny that he was playing a dangerous game, one that could hurt everyone involved. But in the quiet moments, when it was just the two of them, it felt almost normal. It felt like he had someone who understood him.

As he finally drifted off to sleep, Kaz couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He knew he was betraying Inej. The emotional connection he was forming with y/n was real, and it scared him.

When Kaz woke up the next morning, y/n wasn't there. In the kitchen, he found breakfast ready and a note: “Didn't want to wake you, I have to go. Thanks again for yesterday.”

He went on with his day, wondering if the AC at y/n's house had been fixed or not. He knew he wasn't supposed to think about it, that he wasn't supposed to hope that she would write to him again. But at some point, he gave in.

‘How's the AC?’ he texted.

‘Still broken,’ she replied.

Kaz was unsure of what to do. Rationally, he knew that he shouldn't have even texted her.

‘Don’t worry, I'm staying with a friend,’ she sent, like she was reading his mind. He was a bit annoyed, more than he let himself admit.

‘Guess I'll find others Switch and vape,’ he replied, a bit unjustifiably bitter.

‘Ask your girlfriend,’ she retorted. Kaz sighed; he deserved it.

As he put his phone down, Kaz couldn't shake off the unease. He knew his connection with y/n was treading dangerous waters, but he also couldn't deny how much he enjoyed her presence, the effortless way she fit into his life. He leaned back, trying to focus on work, but his mind kept drifting back to y/n. He knew it was wrong, but for the first time in a long time, he felt something akin to happiness.

***

A few days later, Kaz was waiting for y/n to pick him up since she finally got her driving license back, thanks to one of her clients who pulled a few strings, and she wanted to show him her bright new Mini Cooper. She sent him a picture of her outside his house. Kaz was gathering his things when a series of messages got his focus.

‘SHE'S HERE.’

‘INEJ IS HERE.’

‘SHE'S ENTERING THE BUILDING.’

Kaz froze, looking out of the window, he saw the Mini make an illegal turn and speed away.

He was still paralyzed when Inej opened his door. “Surprise!” she said brightly.

“Nej! What are you doing here?” Kaz hoped he sounded happy, while the adrenaline of being almost caught made his heart race. He moved to hug her, unsure of how to seem natural. Since when was he so bad at concealing his thoughts?

Inej started talking about how he was right, that she had been unfair with him, but his mind was focused on how close she had been to seeing him getting into y/n’s car. Kaz had no idea what kind of excuse he could've come up with.

“Sorry, were you going somewhere?” Inej noticed how he was actually ready to leave.

“Just a work thing. Let me make a phone call and cancel,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Kaz went to his room to call y/n, who answered from the speaker of the car with a series of curses. “That was so fucking close, I'm so sorry, love.”

“It’s not your fault, great timing by the way,” he said, his words leaving a bitterness in his mouth. He couldn't believe that his girlfriend was in the other room, and he was calling another girl to talk about how close they got to getting caught together. What kind of person was he becoming? Kaz leaned against the wall of his room, the phone still warm in his hand, and stared at the ceiling. The situation felt surreal, like he was watching someone else's life unravel. How had he ended up here?

“Shut up, my legs are still wobbly. Enjoy your evening and don't take her to that place with the rooftop pool; my boyfriend is taking me there.”

He snorted. “The old man?”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend to annoy?” she laughed. “Get lost, Kaz. See you soon,” she said before ending the call. He stood there a second more, then typed ‘Be careful’ and hit send.

Kaz took a deep breath, steadying himself before rejoining Inej. He plastered on a smile, hoping it looked genuine. The weight of his deceit pressed heavily on him, and as Inej continued talking about her recent travels, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was spiraling into something he couldn't control.

“Why do you have vegan ice cream?” Inej asked, puzzled, as she rummaged through Kaz’s freezer.

Kaz’s heart skipped a beat. “Fuck,” he thought, the image of y/n flashing through his mind. He had completely forgotten about that.

“It was on sale,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though the slight hitch in his voice betrayed him.

Inej raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “You’re always saying that being vegan is stupid. Who are you, and what did you do to my boyfriend?” She laughed, stepping closer and pulling him into a light kiss.

“If she only knew,” Kaz thought, guilt gnawing at him.

***

Kaz and Inej fell into a comfortable routine, with Inej practically moving in with him. She only went to her house every few days, which should have felt like a step forward in their relationship. Yet, Kaz couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Despite his progress with his touch aversion, which he had always seen as a significant hurdle, Inej seemed uncomfortable with the changes. Every time they were in his car, he had to force himself not to touch her. This was something he had never imagined possible, because for him, it had become a habit to drive with his hand on y/n's thigh. But Inej kept shoving him away.

Of course, Kaz knew that Inej had her own issues with physical contact, stemming from her traumatic past. He understood that her boundaries were there for a reason, and he respected them. However, he couldn’t help but feel that his issues were more pressing on their relationship, more in need of resolution. He had worked so hard to overcome his aversion, thinking it would bring them closer. They had started holding hands and sharing the same bed, but Inej wasn’t as clingy as he discovered himself to be.

Doubts began to cloud Kaz's mind. Maybe if he hadn’t sought a quicker way to solve his problems, he would have been more at peace now. But would he, really? The ability to remain calm when someone accidentally brushed against him wasn’t exactly a bad thing. It was progress. But he wondered if he had pushed too much with y/n. Had he relied on her too heavily to guide him through his issues? He had just wanted to be the right person for Inej, but now he started feeling like he had gotten it all wrong.

He recalled the late-night conversations with y/n, the way she had encouraged him to face his fears, to push his limits. It felt good, liberating even. But now, with Inej beside him, those same actions felt like betrayals. Inej’s discomfort was palpable, and it made Kaz question everything. Was he really doing this for her, or was it for himself? Had his need to fix himself overshadowed the essence of their relationship? When exactly did he stop doing it for Inej and started doing it for himself?

Kaz’s mind was a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. He had always believed that conquering his touch aversion would be the key to a more intimate, more fulfilling relationship with Inej. But now, with her subtle rejections, he felt more distant from her than ever. He wanted to reach out, to hold her, to reassure her, but every touch seemed to push her further away.

As he lay in bed beside Inej, Kaz couldn’t help but think about how different things were with y/n. It was intoxicating, but it also made him feel guilty. He had sought out y/n to fix his problems, but now he realized that the solutions she offered might not be compatible with his life with Inej.

Kaz rolled over, staring at the ceiling. He needed to find a balance, a way to reconcile the progress he had made with his need to respect Inej’s boundaries. He had to stop doubting himself and start focusing on what truly mattered: being there for Inej in the way she needed, not the way he thought she needed. It was a daunting task, but Kaz knew it was the only way to salvage their relationship.

All of Kaz’s good ideas and resolve dissolved into a murky cloud of confusion as he found himself slipping out of bed and quietly getting into his car. The drive was eerily silent, matching the turmoil in his mind. He parked nearby and waited, feeling foolish with each passing minute. The neighborhood suddenly filled with the blare of loud music, and Kaz’s heart lurched as he saw y/n’s Mini Cooper turn the corner at an alarming speed, brakes squealing in protest. He watched, almost in disbelief, as she parked somewhat haphazardly, and she and her friends stumbled out of the car, leaning on each other for support. y/n lingered a moment longer than the others, retrieving something from under her seat.

Kaz approached quietly, his voice breaking the silence. “y/n,” he called out.

Startled, she turned, a frown creasing her features. “Are you drunk? You just got your license back,” Kaz blurted out, unable to stop himself.

y/n sighed, “I’m just a bit tipsy.”

“What happened to that light?” Kaz gestured towards the damaged light on her car.

“Why the fuck are you here, Kaz? Where’s your girlfriend?” Her annoyance was palpable.

Guilt flooded Kaz. “I… She’s sleeping. At my house.”

y/n raised her brows in surprise. “Kaz, why are you here?”

Avoiding her gaze, Kaz struggled to find an answer. He had no clear explanation for his impulsive decision. “She’s… She’s not you,” he finally admitted, the words heavy with admission.

y/n’s face hardened, her arms crossing defensively. “Yeah, are you here to remind me?”

“No, I—” Kaz faltered, unable to voice the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind for days.

“What?” y/n’s tone was sharp, demanding.

Taking a deep breath, Kaz finally gathered his courage. “I want you.”

y/n looked down, shaking her head slightly. “No, you don’t,” she replied coldly, her voice cutting through the night air. “y/n, let me explain—”

“Explain what?” She interrupted him, her tone laced with bitterness. “You don’t know me, Kaz. You want what we have when you pay for it, because I’m a whore and you’re my client.”

“That’s not true, y/n—”

“It is true,” she insisted, her voice hardening. “You don’t want me, trust me. Fuck, Kaz, I told you ages ago that if you were catching feelings for me we should’ve stopped.” She ran a hand through her hair, frustration evident.

Kaz felt anger building inside him, fueled by frustration and a sense of injustice. His words were sharp, a challenge to y/n, cutting through the air with an intensity that matched the turmoil in his heart.

“Oh yeah, because I’m the only one here who crossed boundaries, right? Look at me and tell me that you don’t feel anything.” Kaz’s voice held a mix of accusation and desperation. He locked eyes with y/n, searching for any sign of affirmation or denial, needing validation that what he felt wasn't one-sided.

y/n hesitated, her eyes clouding with a fleeting mixture of emotions—sadness, uncertainty, and something Kaz couldn't quite decipher. Her hesitation spoke volumes, a pause filled with unspoken truths and conflicted feelings.

Kaz held his ground, waiting for her response, hoping against hope that she would reveal what he yearned to hear. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of their complicated situation.

When y/n finally spoke, her voice carried a hint of vulnerability beneath its usual composure. "You don’t know me," she repeated, her words laced with a touch of sadness, less firm than before.

After y/n's words hung in the air, Kaz felt a knot tighten in his chest. Her raw honesty pierced through his defenses, forcing him to confront uncomfortable truths he had been avoiding.

“I want to know you,” Kaz insisted softly, his voice a whisper of vulnerability amidst the tension.

“No, you don’t! Let’s be serious, Kaz,” y/n's tone sharpened with frustration, her eyes holding a mix of defiance and pain. “We do this. We get together, we go on dates, how long before you ask me to leave my job?”

Her words hit Kaz like a blow to the gut. He knew she was right. The thought of y/n continuing her work while they pursued something deeper had always nagged at him, buried beneath his desire for closeness and intimacy. Yet, facing her accusation head-on made it all too real.

“How long before it makes you lose it and become like my ex-boyfriend, beating the shit out of me?” y/n’s voice quivered with the weight of her past, her fear palpable in the air between them.

Kaz's heart clenched at the mention of her ex-boyfriend, a reminder of the darkness y/n had escaped and the wounds she still carried. He couldn't bear the thought of causing her more pain, of becoming a source of anguish rather than solace.

He wanted to argue, to assure her that he was different, that he would never hurt her. But the truth lingered in the back of his mind, unspoken yet undeniable. Deep down, he knew y/n was right. He couldn't ignore the unease he felt about her profession, about the risks and compromises it entailed.

As y/n stood before him, her vulnerability laid bare, Kaz struggled to find the words to express the turmoil inside him. Admitting that he couldn’t accept her job felt like a betrayal of everything y/n represented—an independent spirit, unapologetically herself.

But he also couldn’t deny the growing ache in his chest, the longing to protect her from harm, even if it meant sacrificing the connection they shared. It was a choice he wasn’t ready to make, yet one that loomed over their fragile bond.

“I would never—” Kaz began, his voice tinged with hurt and frustration.

“He said that too,” y/n cut in sharply, her words a stark reminder of past betrayals and broken promises. Kaz winced, feeling the weight of her accusation like a punch to the gut. He wanted to protest, to defend himself against the comparison to her ex-boyfriend, but y/n’s pain was palpable, and he couldn’t deny its validity.

“y/n, let me just—” Kaz attempted to interject, but his words faltered as he struggled to find the right words to bridge the widening gap between them. His mind raced, grappling with the realization that his actions had inadvertently pushed y/n away, reinforcing her fears and insecurities.

In that charged moment, Kaz saw y/n not just as the confident and alluring woman he had grown close to, but also as someone who carried deep scars from a past he hadn’t fully understood. He had prided himself on being different, on offering her a haven from the shadows of her past, yet now he saw how fragile that sanctuary had become.

“y/n,” Kaz began again, his voice softer now, tinged with regret. “I never meant to—”

“Save it, Kaz,” y/n cut him off, her tone weary yet resolute. “You can’t change who you are any more than I can change who I am.”

She stepped closer, her hand brushing his hair gently. “Go back to your girlfriend, love. Or break up with her if you don’t want her anymore. It wouldn’t work between us.”

“Why do you think that?” Kaz whispered, his hands trembling slightly as they found their way to y/n’s waist, pulling her closer against him. His heart raced with a mixture of longing and fear, the weight of his words heavy on his tongue. He could feel y/n’s warmth against him, a tangible reminder of the connection they shared, yet he feared it might slip away forever.

“Tell me that you’re not happy with me,” Kaz continued softly, his voice cracking with emotion. “Tell me that it’s all a facade, all fake, and I’ll leave and never look for you again.”

His words hung in the air, a desperate plea wrapped in vulnerability. Kaz knew that admitting his feelings meant risking everything—his relationship with Inej, his self-image, and the fragile bond he had formed with y/n. Yet, in that moment, all he could think about was the uncertainty of their future and the ache of wanting something he might never have.

y/n’s eyes searched his face, her expression unreadable as she weighed his words. Kaz held his breath, waiting for her response, knowing that whatever came next would change everything.

“You can’t give me what I want,” she murmured sadly, a wistful smile on her lips. “I like my life, the freedom of it. I don’t want to change it. And you shouldn’t change yourself, not for Inej, but even more, not for me. You two are legends, Kaz. What you did for each other, all the fears you overcame for her, the—”

Kaz cut her off, unable to bear another moment of uncertainty. He pressed his lips firmly against hers, a desperate attempt to drown out the doubts and fears that threatened to consume him. y/n responded instantly, her hands sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer in a mix of longing and hesitation.

He guided her a few steps back, maneuvering until she was pressed between his body and her car. Their kiss deepened, a passionate exchange that spoke volumes without words. In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist for Kaz. All that mattered was the taste of her lips, the feel of her body against his, and the undeniable pull between them.

For a heartbeat, everything felt right, like they belonged in each other's arms. But beneath the surface of their heated embrace, Kaz couldn't shake the weight of y/n's earlier words. He knew their connection was fraught with complications, tangled in emotions and circumstances that threatened to unravel any semblance of stability.

Yet, as he held her close, Kaz couldn't deny the intensity of what he felt. It was more than physical attraction; it was a yearning for understanding, for connection, for something deeper than he had ever allowed himself to explore before.

But as quickly as their passion ignited, y/n pulled back, leaving Kaz momentarily stunned and breathless. Her eyes searched his, a mix of sadness and resolve shining through.

“Go away,” she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness. “Go back to your girlfriend and forget about me.”

Kaz nodded slowly, as if emerging from a dream. “Don’t ever ask me again to be the better person,” she continued, her voice flat yet determined. “If I ever find you here again, I won’t stop you. I won’t hesitate. I will let you do whatever you want. And I won’t care. I’ll move on with my life. But you will regret it, trust me.”

Her words hung between them, stark and undeniable. Kaz felt a knot tighten in his chest, a mix of guilt, regret, and a profound sense of loss. He had pushed too far, crossed boundaries he shouldn't have, and now he faced the consequences of his actions.

With a final nod, Kaz turned and walked back to his car, each step heavy with the weight of uncertainty and regret.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x fem!reader #six of crows #six of crows fanfic #soc #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker imagine

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phyrestartr · 11 months

Text

Easy Prey (An Underestimation) | Miguel x M!Reader

Brother's BFF Miguel! x Male!Reader W/C: 3.2k

#NSFW, college party, cringe dirty talk, butt plugs, bussy loading, alcohol usage, pot usage, vaping, reader is a little shit, miguel gets got, fluff, it's kinda cute tho, consensual sex, car sex

"Who is that?" Miguel asked over the howl of party-goers and blasted music. He held his shitty beer in one hand, and a weird concoction of juice, something and…something suspicious in his other hand. Lyla really knew how to embody college in her get-togethers.

Sebastian glanced at who Miguel gestured to with the tilt of a chin, and he burst into drunken laughter.

"Dude. No. Nooo no no, nope. That's–nope," he answered, very helpfully. "Just very no."

Miguel rolled his eyes as his best friend's girl kissed her man, and stole away Miguel's chance of learning just who the alt weirdo lounging on the couch was. Christ, people in love were so fucking annoying.

"Why, what's his baggage? Drug dealer? Academic dishonesty?" Miguel took a deep drink from the red solo cup and grimaced. "Fuck, what the hell is in this?"

Sebastian let his girlfriend kiss his neck as he finally gave Miguel an answer. "That's my little brother, dipshit. You remember (Name)? I've only mentioned him like a thousand billion times."

"Huh." Miguel sipped his beer this time.

(Name).

Yeah. Through the haze of booze and the boom of the bass, Miguel did recognize that name. He didn't know you had such a pretty face, though.

Seb smacked his friend's shoulder. "He's sooo off-limits, dude, so off-limits."

Miguel scoffed, brandishing an arrogant smirk on his handsome face. "Says who?"

"Says me, you fucking whore–you're not going to stick your horse dick in my baby brother, you got that?" And he sounded serious, but Miguel didn't really care much. "Hey, hey, if you fuck him, I'm gonna rip your cock off and shove it up your ass and then light you on fire, Miguel. I'm so fucking serious."

"Baby," Seb's girl cooed, "why don't we go wind down a little, huh? I think you need to lay down and cool off."

"Yeah, go lay down, Sebby," Miguel chided.

"I–but I–okay, I'm gonna go do a 'lil nappy nap," he started, letting his girl drag him away from his arch nemesis, "but when I come back, you better've not cum in my brother, you hear me, O'hara?"

"Bye bye, sweet dreams," Miguel called instead of answering. He downed the cursed solo drink as soon as Sebastian was spirited away and made his way over to you.

Miguel more or less brute forced his spot on the couch next to you, pushing between you and some other guy that was getting too handsy with his prey. The other guy threw half-assed complaints and curses at Miguel, but one simple condescending glance had him backing off. Hah. So weak.

"Woah, you really just–just made a spot for yourself, hey?" You said, earning his attention back. "Kinda hot. Really hot. You're hot."

Miguel smirked as he looked you over. He liked the sound of your voice, and the lazy, relaxed gaze you met him with. Normally, he didn't go for the softcore scene type, but the black nails suited you, as did the ring showcasing your septum.

"Couldn't ignore a damsel in distress," Miguel leaned in to say before he slipped his arm along the back of the couch. "I'm Miguel. Miguel O'hara."

"Cool. You fuck guys?" You licked your lips and, oh god, was that the gleam of a tongue stud he saw?

Excitement bubbled in Miguel's gut. "Straight to the point, huh? I like that." He finished off his beer and set the can down to focus on you. "I fuck anyone with a pretty face."

"Oh. Wow. Damn." He watched your leisurely fingers touch all up and down his body. The firm pushes and soft pinches were left in the right places, like you'd done this before to other men. Miguel figured he was probably the best specimen you'd ever laid eyes on.

And then you kissed him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Somehow, it did feel natural, like you'd been dating for years and had done this a million times before, but still drowned in the excitement of one another.

Miguel anchored one hand to your waist while the other freely travelled from your shoulder to your neck to the side of your face. He jolted when your fidgety hand slid down to his clothed cock and gave a hearty squeeze. Damn, you really were straight to the point.

But the way you kissed was another story--you took your time, licking deep into his mouth and prodding behind every tooth to commit Miguel's mouth to memory. You made the sweetest noises, too, reacting to however Miguel decided to taste along the top of your mouth, how he bit your tongue lightly to stop it from leaving him. It'd been so long since Miguel had a partner like you.

"Let's take this somewhere else," Miguel whispered into your skin while his hands started to wander to your hips, your waist, your legs. "Unless you're an exhibitionist freak."

"Woooah, you'd fuck me right here if I wanted? And they say chivalry is dead." Miguel laughed something genuine, only cutting off when you kissed him. "But no, no, I like gettin' messy in privacy."

"Then let's get messy."

Miguel picked you up and hoisted you over his shoulder. The choked half-laugh, half-squawk you let out earned you a sharp slap on the ass as he stole you away to eat you whole, like a jaguar dragging its kill up into a tree for a little privacy.

He could navigate Lyla's house easily, expertly dodging the flailing limbs and spilling drinks of party-goers as he searched for somewhere quiet to take his prize. But every room he checked had its own lust-crazed college students busy fucking or about to get things started.

You piped up from your spot on Miguel's shoulder, though, suggesting the perfect place to fuck: your truck.

"Pretty big," Miguel commented as you both rushed to fold down the back seats to make more room for playtime.

"Mmmn, I like big." You slammed the boot closed before shuffling back to him. "Bigger is better."

Miguel grinned wolfishly before pinning you down. "Glad you understand."

You helped him pull everything off of you from the waist down before you yanked him back in for another sloppy, drunken kiss. His hands, broad and calloused from years of lifting weights, felt up every inch of exposed skin, from your waist, to your thighs, to the powerful curve of your calves, and back up again. Admittedly, he didn't expect you to be in-shape. You weren't built like your brother, a buff, tall meathead; you were built more like a runner: slim, toned, agile.

"Wait, wait, wait," you gasped when Miguel's kisses started migrating lower and lower. The man looked up at you, brow quirked, impatience tugging down the corner of his mouth. "I wanna–"

"Nope," Miguel cut in.

"Whaaat? I just–'M not allowed to feel you up–? I wanna see your muscles," you whined.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Don't care."

Miguel ignored your drunken complaints while he focused on getting you prepped and ready for his own satisfaction. Sure, he liked letting his prizes fawn over him, obsess over his muscles and leave feverish touches on his tawny skin, but time was of the essence; who knew when your brother would roll up and ruin things?

He leaned back up and stuck his fingers into your mouth for a few, rude thrusts before yanking them out and easing your legs open so–oh.

A twinkling, pink, heart-cut gem winked at him in greeting, and a jolt of excitement went straight to Miguel's straining cock. He swallowed as he watched it flicker and gleam with every little shift of your impatient hips. Part of him wanted to leave it in. But the worse side of him wanted to yank it out, and give it something to hold in.

"What's this?" He asked, patronizingly as he gave the plug a bit of a tug. "Guess you are a freak, huh?" Miguel asked in a rich, smokey tone.

But instead of getting embarrassed and shrinking away like he expected, you just wiggled your ass tauntingly.

"'S a buttplug," you said matter-of-factly. "Wanted to get laid t'night." You reached your mischievous hand down between your legs and drummed two fingers against the crystalline base. "Stuffed lube in first. Makes hookin' up fast 'n easy," you explained as you gripped the heart and started to tease the plug free. Miguel's hand caught your wrist before you could get very far.

"And people call me a degenerate," he laughed. Miguel pulled your hand away and took over, watching with rapt attention as the silvered metal plug started to emerge. "But you're just…somethin' else."

You mewled softly and your thighs tensed the slightest bit when the plug slipped out before a generous amount of lube oozed from your emptied hole. Miguel eagerly scooped it up with his fingers and pushed it back inside. Knowing him and his size, he'd need every last drop.

"People call you a degenerate?" You said through a snorted laugh. "Why? You're like–you're so–" you gasped in the same way a 90's horror final girl would when you caught sight of The Thing being pulled from Miguel's pants, "--b-big. Wow. Big. Can I take a pic?"

"What? What do you–can you–no, Christ." He sighed as he stroked himself with your slick and didn't waste much time with foreplay or warming up before mounting you again. "Think you might be worse than me after all, you know that?"

"Probably am." You squirmed a little under his body as he caged you in, his thick arms bracing on either side of your head, and his hard, heavy chest looming above you as he got his massive frame comfortable in the trunk of your truck. It was insane to think that, even with the seats down and nothing in the way, Miguel still almost didn't fit. Part of you kind of thought he might weigh more than the car, too. Hm.

But finally, finally, Miguel dragged the hot tip of his cock against your soft, pliant entrance before jamming himself inside with a blissed-out sigh.

"Fuck," he breathed before pulling out the slightest bit and pressing in deeper again, and again, and again, until he bottomed out. His nerves flared when your hand slipped down to your own weeping length and stroked yourself, selfishly chasing your high with no regard for Miguel.

He scoffed, and bitterly refused to hold back. The pace started off brutal and fast, Miguel using you the same way you were using him. Annoyance fuelled his tempo. He didn't know why your lack of giving a shit aggravated him, but it did. And he didn't like it.

But when he finally got a breathy, thin gasp out of you, he smirked.

"Oh? Finally something out of you. Tch." He folded you in half and hiked your legs over his solid shoulders to drill into you harder. Another small sigh fuelled his ego. "You like that, huh? You like being bent up, outta sorts, fucked by a stranger at a party, huh? That get you off?"

The ladies always crumpled under his heinous words and dirty talking; their expressions warped into something pathetic and embarrassed, they'd make the worst discount pornstar noises, or they'd cum right on the spot. It was a great thing, a beautiful thing, something that Miguel prided himself with quite a bit.

So why were you shaking with bottled laughter?

Miguel's eye twitched. "What's so funny?"

"Y-you just–you talk like you watch too much porn–! I'm just s-saying, man, this is kinda wild." A confusing mix of laughs and gasps punched out of your lungs as your back started to arch. "I-It's making it hard to cum–"

"Shut up, just shut up–you're making me regret this," Miguel bit out, trying to hasten his pace to finish up and leave you in the dust. "I didn't know you were so fucking annoying."

You moaned sweetly as he nailed that sweet spot of yours perfectly, before never hitting it again. "Awe, boo hoo, gonna cry 'cause I think your dirty talk's cringe? Life is sooo hard–" you squeaked as he pulled back and out abruptly. Your legs clattered to the ground and you barked out another hyena laugh as Miguel moved to tuck himself away with the most unreal sour expression you'd ever seen.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't give up," you cooed. "Come on, you know you wanna finish the job. I'm so submissive."

"I fucking can't with that fucking annoying fucking mouth of yours," Miguel grumbled before spitting bars of Spanish at you.

Feeling a rush of energy, you tackled him as well as you could in your truck, and managed to wrestle that hulk onto his back. He was glaring at you when you finally managed to straddle him, but in a sort of embarrassed-mad way, not a real pissed off look. Still, you had to test the waters.

"Off," Miguel said.

"Woah, woah, woah, I can do the whole dirty talk thing if you want," you bartered.

"No. Off."

"Come on," you whined before leaning down to his ear and dropping your voice down into a dripping dark chocolate, "you're such a good boy, Miguel, let me treat you right."

And with a greedy little wriggle of your hips against his stiffy, Miguel was doomed.

"Fucking–fine, you little–" but he couldn't finish that thought, not when he suddenly found himself plunged back into your tight heat.

"Bah, come on," you prodded as you rocked your hips at a selfish, primal pace. "Say it if it gets you off."

With a mind of their own, Miguel's hips jolted up to meet your downwards momentum, and a near animalistic cry hoarsely tore through your throat. And once again, Miguel couldn't help the jerk of his pelvis grinding up against you–you were proving to be too much.

"Fuck," you gasped. You stroked yourself again, now faster and with the broken tempo of your chaotic coupling. "You like being dominated? That it? Told what to do 'n then get some praise for being so, so good?" The laugh you let out could only be labelled evil. "Mmmn, that's hot."

But Miguel couldn't speak, not through his mind blanking bright white every time your bodies crashed together. Even when he tried to speak, only gasps and pathetic moans and pleas slipped out of him, suddenly begging you to fuck him harder, to make him finish, to let him cum inside of you and mark you as taken for the night. Reality felt so far away and numb, even when he knocked his head against the ground as he came.

You felt his nails bite your sides as liquid heat filled in the space where Miguel couldn't reach. Miguel's teeth clenched together with an audible clack as you laughed at him, riding him for all he was worth, using him past the point of over stimulation without a care in the world.

"Shit," you moaned quietly, then chanted it over and over, breathing faster and harder as you pushed yourself towards the edge. But you were a little shit, so of course you scrambled to push up Miguel's shirt just before you finished, just in time to streak sticky white webs of cum onto those well-defined abs of his.

Miguel finally caught a break. He held you in a vice grip, not trusting you to behave while you both calmed down and fought to steady your breathing. Your fingers trailed across his stomach and abdomen, tracing the dips and curves of hardwork and dedication, and also smearing trails of your spend on him.

"I've decided. I hate you. So, so much," Miguel said. He let his eyes fall closed again as he accepted his fate.

You laughed, more amused and playful than mean and mocking this time, and drummed your fingers against his sticky skin. "Yeah. Fair. Kudos to you for being a good sport, though." You paused for a moment. "Wanna get high?"

"Yes."

Shockingly, you were quite good with the aftercare; you took it upon yourself to clean the both of you up with a plethora of wet wipes, paying special attention to the mess you'd made on Miguel's stomach and leaving no trace behind on him. As for yourself, you stuffed the silver plug back into your ass and called it a day, only really needing to clean up any sin that'd escaped your insides.

You both more or less got dressed, and then you hit the vape. Miguel wasn't a stranger to Mary J, but he didn't often vape. He was used to messy blunts rolled by idiots like your brother, but admittedly, he kind of liked this more.

"It's not bad," Miguel remarked as he examined the silvery pen. "Lot less…y’know."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get what you mean." You stretched languidly across Miguel's lap, and plucked the pen from his fingers. You took a deep, lazy drag while your newfound friend exhaled a cloud of vapor. "Smoke works better for hot boxing, though. Blunts do, I mean."

Miguel hummed, lost in the haze of his thoughts, warmed by the buzzing in the back of his skull and your weight across his lap. His fingertips dipped beneath your clothes, absent-mindedly seeking comfort in the heat of your body in his lap. His broad palm pressed flat against your stomach, and you rested your smaller hand over his.

"You think the, uh, the chick who owns this place is gonna freak if I crash here?" You asked before crafting a few smoke rings. "'M toootally fucked up. Driving's a no-no."

"Lyla won't care," Miguel said with a yawn. "She's a witch, but not a psycho bitch."

"Hah. You know her?"

"She's basically my sister. Unfortunately." Miguel huffed and shook his head.

"Oh, cool, cool. She's fire. Like her. Really chill, but in, like, a smart way," you rambled.

"Pretty good way to put it." Miguel smiled.

"Yeah? Yeah. I'm kinda smart sometimes, too. Not super smart, but, y'know, selectively smart." You nodded and stretched again with a yawn. "That's how I bag hot guys. Like you, I guess. But this was more fun. You're more fun 'n a better sport than most guys I mess with."

Miguel stared at the foggy windows. Fun. That's what he was thinking, too. He never had the chance to smoke a joint or indulge in aftercare with most of his one night stands, but it's not like he'd gone out of his way to make that happen, either. He'd never really had a partner mock him either, though. You were kinda weird. But in a good, fun way.

"Yeah. I had fun," Miguel admitted. When his eyes slid back to you, you were grinning, and a sweet dusting of strawberry powder lit up your soft cheeks. Miguel couldn't help his own smile.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Cool, cool."

"Wanna go out with me?" The question caught Miguel by surprise, too. He didn't really commit to people. He didn't really become exclusive with people. But hey, people changed.

You fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. "Mmn, what's in it for me?"

"Bragging rights." Miguel smirked. "You know how many people want me?"

"Hmm."

He huffed, now, your skepticism doing a number on his ego. "I–well what do–you'd get dick, big dick, get chauffeured around, I'd pay for dates–"

"Would you go see a musical with me if I asked?"

Ah. The ultimate test.

"...Yes."

"'Kay. We're gonna go see Grease tomorrow night–uh, tonight. Technically."

A grin split Miguel's face and ached his cheeks. "Alright."

You smiled back. "Alright."

"Just don't tell your brother."

"Lame."

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #phyrestartr #smut

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bugs1nmybrain · 11 months

Text

Mall Slut ~ Shigaraki x Reader

Summary: Shigaraki and the reader go to the dispensary in the mall, get stoned, and get really horny. So they fuck.

Author's Notes: I've been contemplating writing this fic for a while. It's a silly concept to me, and I wish I could live this fantasy irl to be honest. The reader has specific physical and personality characteristics, they're meant to resemble me

Traits About the Reader: she/her pronouns, fem presenting and an afab body, alternative aesthetic, big ass, short

Warnings: NSFW (18+ MDNI), fem reader, drug use (marijuana), Tomura is a bad influence, sex while stoned, bathroom sex, spanking, exhibitionism, Shigaraki has blue hair, brat taming, wrote this while stoned, POV swings, Shigaraki calls the reader a slut, squirting, daddy kink, reader is resistant to Tomura's quirk

Going to the mall was one of Tomura's most frequent pastimes, when he wasn't too busy being pissed off at hero society. Sometimes, he'd simply let himself throw a hoodie on so no one would recognize him, and get out a bit. Maybe check out some game stores, maybe a hot topic if he was feeling desperate for merch. However, one spot in the mall was his favorite, for reasons. And no, it wasn't Spencers.

"You'd be surprised by the deals they have here," Tomura commented as you both strolled your way down the crowded mall. You dodged some idiots who didn't look where they were walking, almost bumping into you. Tomura's face lit up with evident annoyance, but you simply tugged on his arm and kept walking.

The effect you had on him was criminal, he'd say. How such an abrasive, pessimistic, and irritable man could be railed in by one cute little alt girl with a fat ass.

Seriously, you always had to wear the sluttiest skirts that showed off your thighs and hips. Very unfair in his opinion.

You two had finally reached the dispensary, by the name of "Garden Aromas." Good weed store name. You two entered in to see a few people roaming around, looking at products. There was a decent line forming.

"I'm thinking carts," Tomura says, leading both of you straight to the vape section.

"You have that kind of money?" you asked, knowing how expensive that shit is.

"It's fine. I got lent some cash from Kurogiri and I also found a wallet on the ground the other day. I've got money."

"What kind, then?"

"You choose."

You eyeballed the selection of strains. You were at the mall, so nothing to make you sleepy. Or too cognitively impaired. You could very well ask the budtender what he'd recommend, but you hated talking to strangers.

"Me?"

"Who the fuck else would I be talking to?"

"Mimosa."

"Pick one more, between you and I that will be gone in less than a day."

"Fuck..uh..strawberry cough."

"Aight."

Tomura and you waited in line for a bit before coming up to the counter. You told the seller what strains you wanted so he could grab them from their locked casing. You brought out your medicinal card (Tomura didn't have one) and kaching.

The carts went into a special bag and handed over to you, but Tomura took the bag from your hands as soon as it ended up in them. As you two exited the store, Tomura went roaming around in his black backpack that he brought, quickly pulling out the battery to a dab pen. He takes one of the carts from it's packaging and attaches it to the battery before taking a brief hit from it.

"Uh..we're out here," you comment, nerved by the fact that someone could see Tomura hitting the pen out in the open, not bothering to censor himself.

"It's fine. No one will care, as long as it's not in front of one of those mall cops. Most people would probably think it's nicotine, anyways."

"I guess you have a point."

"Of course I do. Here."

Tomura shoved the pen in your hand. You two were currently at a fountain. You took a hit from the pen, not really thinking about how much you were inhaling. As soon as you exhaled, you coughed up a storm, and if you two weren't standing out before, you surely were now.

"Haha!" Tomura cackles. He always got a kick out of your amateur lungs. "People are gonna think you're sick. We should find a better spot."

"y.." you were starting to feel it coming. "yea."

"Come on. I know where to go."

"Okee."

You were sooo stoned. Just from that one dreadful hit. You tried to wrap your head around your surroundings as Tomura pulled you around the mall. Not only were you stoned, but you were also pretty short. If you'd let him he'd probably keep you on a damn leash all the time; you were simply too easy to lose.

"Where are we going, Tomura?"

"Here."

You hadn't been paying much attention to the direction you were walking. Tomura stopped in front of the restrooms and was now dragging you to the men's bathroom. It didn't smell the best. Tomura stopped a little bit before the entrance and glanced in to see if there was anyone in.

"We're good. Come on."

There weren't many stalls in this bathroom, only two and then many urinals. Tomura placed his hand on your back and guided you to the farthest stall, locking the door behind him. It was a big stall, thankfully. Tomura took out the pen once more and clicked on the button to activate it. He pulled for a long time. When he finally stopped, he held the vape in his lungs for a couple seconds before exhaling.

"This hits nice. I've always considered it relaxing," he says, twirling the pen in his hands as he simply stared at it, and continued to talk to you. "How are you feeling? Are you fucked up?"

"I'm stoned, yea."

"Anything more special than that?"

"I mean. You look cute right now. Like cuter than usual. I don't know if it's because I'm stoned but..you're cute."

He stood there in awe, not expecting that response. You didn't either, it just came out. It was true though, as you allowed yourself to look at Tomura's face, or at least what you could see with his hoodie on, you became reminded of how much you adore him. His shaggy blue hair, blood-red eyes, and dry skin all were traits about him you found especially alluring. Some people wouldn't understand the dry skin part, but it was a staple of Tomura's. You couldn't really imagine him with smooth skin. It wasn't a bother, he looked like him, which was perfect for you.

"You're definitely high," Tomura shrugs, slumping back on the door. "You need to get your eyes checked."

"Nuh-uh. You're cute."

"You're a liar, then."

"I'm being for real," you reached out and without thought, wrapped your arms around Tomura and rested your head comfortably underneath his chin. "You're snuggly, too."

"You and I clearly are not smoking the same shit."

"It's vape."

"Shut up."

He put up this fight and displayed himself as if he was annoyed, but he never pushed you away or tensed up as if he was uncomfortable. In fact, the embrace soothed him in a way. It almost pissed him off, knowing how much of a damaged and deranged person he is, and knowing that at the end of the day, you still give him the warmest hugs and call him silly.

"You know..your boobs are pushing against me."

"Eheheh...should I move away?"

"Rnn...no, I guess not."

With that response, you held him even tighter, nuzzling your face at his neck.

He smelt nice. Well, maybe not "nice." Tomura wasn't the freshest guy. He wasn't utterly disgusting, and he didn't smell intolerable, just a little funky. It was a natural musk that calmed you, because the smell was his alone, and comforted you.

His smell was making you feel...clingy. Not to mention his form pressing against you. Tomura's temperature was confusing. To the touch, he's often chilly. However, when you're caught in each other's embrace he seems like a furnace.

"Y/N.."

"What?"

"I have a semi."

You backed up a little and looked down at his crotch. Surely, there was a bit of a bulge. He always wore slim-fit pants so it wasn't hard (ha) to tell when he had a boner. Without consideration about your location, you instinctively went to fumble his bulge through his pants, giving you a startled response from Tomura.

"Hey, if you start that, you know how it'll end."

"I know."

You could swear you felt Tomura's bulge move a little when you said that. You being a little brat never failed to ignite something in him.

"Is that right?" Shiggy flirted. "Then are you gonna be a good girl about it?"

Your face was already flushed from the weed, but now it was even worse. You nodded with a whimper. Tomura watched as you pulled down his boxers, his dick wobbling out afterwards.

Eagerly, you gripped his cock and stroked it in pace, triggering a satisfied grunt from Tomura. You were such a perfect slut for him. He thought to himself that you were doing this on purpose. Touching him in the bathroom like this. Did you want to get fucked in a public bathroom? For people to hear as he made you weak? Heh...

He was going to test this hypothesis.

Shigaraki reached out to stroke your hair a little, tucking your strands behind your ears. His eyes remained lidded, looking at you with lust. He wanted to take you right now, but he wanted to make you all cute and horny for him first. He knew how to get you that way, too.

"Care to give me a show?"

"Hm?"

"Don't hm me. Let me see how pretty you are without that shirt on, hm?"

You blushed and darted your eyes down to his cock to avoid looking at him in the eyes. He giggles at your adorable, shy demeanor. After snickering at his needy request, you tug your shirt over your head clumsily, revealing your black push-up.

"That's coming off too, I hope?"

"Where are your manners?"

"Pllleeeeeeaaaaassseeee?"

And down came your bra. And weren't you a sight for sore eyes? Not only did Tomura adore your tits, you were also accompanied by a pretty black shirt. Easy access. He slid his hands in between your thighs, grazing your panties with his fingers.

"You're wet, hehe..." sometimes when you smoked you got soaked much quicker and easier. It probably had something to do with the sensory processing that came with being high, but it worked in Tomura's favor.

"Mmm.."

How cute. Already whimpering for him and he hasn't done anything to you. You kept stroking Tomura's cock as you had been while he took your face in his hands and kissed you with hunger. It caused you to let go of his cock and lean closer into his embrace, pulling at his sweatshirt while you kissed. Tomura was a bit disappointed at the absence of your hand but distracted himself by reaching behind to grab your ass.

He moved his hands to your waist and held you firmly. He then proceeded to readjust the both of you, so that you were facing away from him. He made sure to let you lean against a wall for support. Tomura flicked your pretty skirt up to reveal your even prettier panties. Soft and lacey and colored black.

Too bad that your pussy was even prettier because your panties didn't remain on for much longer. Tomura pulled them off your ass, watching them drop to your ankles. He touched your pussy, stroking from your clit to your pussy lips. You were drenched, even just the slightest touch, and his fingers ended up sticky. He plunged two fingers into your core and rubbed your g spot perfectly.

"HmMM!!"

"Shhh...be a good slut and keep your voice down."

"Mhmm.."

Shiggy pulls his fingers out and goes back to your clit, rubbing it in swift motion, making you tremble for him.

"That feel good? Or are you just stoned?"

"Tomura..please...a little more."

He took a free hand and toyed with your nipple while he fingered you, burying his face in your neck from behind as he did so. His relentless stimulation drove you to a familiar feeling much quicker than you expected.

"MmMMm~!"

"Hehe...such a good little whore. I can feel your clit twitching on my fingers and everything."

"It's your fault!"

"MY fault? Who's the one walking around in these little miniskirts, pushing her tits up against me and grabbing my dick?"

His fingers got faster and more calculated and you could feel yourself beginning to cum.

"Aa-aawwh..."

"Ehehehe... good whore." Tomura kissed your neck while you came on his fingers, clit pulsing against the pads of them.

Tomura gave you a kiss on the neck as he allowed your pussy a few seconds of recovery. He began rubbing his dick along your slit soon after, eliciting a small yelp of surprise from you.

Then, you heard the sounds of someone's footsteps walking in. You tensed up a bit, worried about what their reaction would be, but your arousal caused you to gravitate your ass closer to Tomura, and he sank his cock all the way into your wet cunt.

"Ah!"

"Mmm..hehehe...shh..can't be too loud, can ya?"

Tomura began thrusting in and out of your pussy, trying to be discreet. It was hard, though, because the bathroom echoed at the slightest noise and Tomura couldn't control how his hips bucked against your ass. His feral desire felt himself become hungry at the sight of your ass jiggling as he thrusts into you. His pace becomes rougher, as he tries to recreate the image again and again.

"t-tomura.."

He doesn't say anything, but Tomura grunts again, this time adding in some heavy breaths and sighs. You looked so hot right now, and he fucking adored how you whined for him as he fucked you for any man in the mall to hear.

You heard a flush of the urinal but the person did not wash their hands from what you could tell. He could've been gross, but maybe he just wanted to get away from what you and Tomura were doing a bad job at hiding.

There (probably) wasn't anyone else in the bathroom now, so Tomura gave up all restraint on your cunt. He grips your waist and bounces you on his cock. As he watches your pretty ass do it's thing, he lands a swift smack on it.

"AH!"

"You're so hot..fuck.."

Your ass was red now, and Tomura would've almost felt bad if he wasn't such a sadist. He rubs it tenderly to soothe you, as he perceives that as his way of being "nice." It doesn't take long until he smacks it again, though, cock leaking at how you'd yelp at the attack.

"Tomura...I'm gonna.."

He didn't know what you were gonna do, but he was gonna make you scream while you did it. He plunged his cock in and out of you rapidly, angling it to rub your g-spot deeply, kissing your cervix while he did so.

"Awwh!~"

Suddenly, a small amount of clear fluid squirted out from your pussy, now leaking down from your thighs.

"Did you just piss?" Shiggy asks as if he's disgusted, but makes no effort to stop or even slow down the pace.

"I-I don't know!"

"Did my cute little girl squirt for daddy, then?"

"Rnn...mhm.." you weren't sure if he could see you nodding, but he was about to cum. You could tell by how deeper, faster, and uncoordinated his thrusts became.

"Aw..fuck I love you.."

"Mmm?"

"You know what I said.." His hips buck against your ass some more, but Tomura finally lets out a geeky groan, cumming deep inside of you. His cum seeps deep in you and as he pulls out, a little trail strings out as well.

"Hehe..."

You were panting like a dog, leaning your arms against the wall for balance. Shigaraki tucks his cock back in his boxers, and then reaches to grab the pen again. You weren't facing him, but you could see a puffy cloud form in front of your face. You turn around to see him ripping the pen and then offering it to you.

"Here's your aftercare."

"That's so romantic of you, Tomura."

"Uh-huh. Wanna go get some food?"

"Yea."

You took the pen from Tomura and took a hit yourself. The adrenaline from the sex mixed with your intoxication made you feel heavy, but Tomura's company provided you with a sense of safety. Which was funny, considering this whole mall would shut down if anyone knew he was here.

"I want ramen."

"I want a kiss."

"Damn, come here then, loser."

Tomura caves into your soft nature and leans down for short but sweet kiss. His lips were chapped, per usual, but they were still supple somehow. He was also very affectionate with his tongue.

He pulls away and opens the door, cocking his head to signal you to get out. As you both walked out you saw as someone was standing at the mirrors, typing on his phone. How long was he there? Tomura pays no bother and pulls you out of the bathroom, and you make your way to the food court.

#shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura smut #shigaraki smut #shiggy #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader smut

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thefrontofmymind · 6 months

Text

Make A Wish (matty healy x fem!reader)

You've been keeping your relationship with Matty secret from your friends. You have a good feeling it'll go the distance.

a/n: me writing??? who'd have thought?? anyway, i was in the mood for something sweet so i whipped this up, enjoy xxx

WC: 790

You always loved the song and dance around your birthday. The fact that you planned this exact party over a month ago, yet still got to act surprised when you came home to a gathering of all your closest friends with plenty of food and drink tickled you. In fact, it didn’t even faze you that Adam texted you just before you left work to ask if you could pick up your cake from the little bakery you loved near your office–even with a ‘pretty, pretty please’ added.

Over dinner, you looked over all the faces of the people who loved you enough to come tonight; old uni friends, a few close coworkers, and Matty and the band.

Matty.

You two acted like friends in front of everyone else, but behind closed doors that was far from the truth. Lingering hands and soft touches, hot breathes and skin sheened with sweat, murmurs of forever and then even after that. You were enjoying the bliss of it, before it could disrupt anything with the group as a whole. Just the two of you.

You caught his eye every so often while you were in separate conversations–just the smallest smirk has he noticed you looking at him instead of devoting your full attention to one of Charli’s stories from an underrage rave she went to with her parents way back when. He could make you giddy like a teenage schoolgirl, and you loved every second of it.

You knew what was next after dinner plates were cleared and George quickly switched off the light above your dining table scattered with half-empty glasses and the odd vape. Cake time.

Matty and Charli were slowly scooting out of your small kitchen–Matty holding the cake and Charli shielding the lit candles from the air with a lighter in hand.

You smiled, watching everyone sing the Happy Birthday song, giggling a little when it got to the point to sing your name and just about everybody came up with a different nickname of yours to say instead. The song ended with a cheer–and not soon enough, the melted wax off the pink candles was dripping closer and closer to the surface of the icing.

“Alright, make a wish!” Matty said as you got ready to blow out the candles.

You thought for a moment.

~~~

Sun was streaming through the cream linen curtains, just enough to wake you from your deep, sunken-into-the-bed, slumber. You let out an involuntary groan as you stretched the tightness from your shoulders.

You could hear footsteps coming down the hallway; not just soft, deliberate steps on the wooden floor, but also a set of small, quick patters coming closer and closer.

“Shh, okay?” You heard a whisper. “We have to be quiet in case Mummy’s still asleep.”

“Okay…” You heard an even softer voice reply.

The bedroom door creaked open. You closed your eyes apart from a tiny sliver. You could see two figures through your lashes–the man you’d grown to love after years of close friendship, and a tiny outline of a toddler with Matty’s same wild, curly hair, a little girl who you could barely keep up with most days.

“Okay, gently shake her,” Matty instructed.

You felt a cold, little hand on your shoulder. “Mummy…wake up! It’s your birthday!” She whispered, only a mere four inches from your face. It took everything in you not to laugh.

You slowly opened your eyes, and with a groggy voice said, “good morning, sweetie.”

“Happy birthday!” She exclaimed–a little too loud for how early it was in the morning, but you understood she was just excited. “We made you breakfast!”

You turned your attention to the plate and mug that Matty was holding; tea just how you like it and avocado toast with enough salt to soak up the sea.

“Thank you, my loves!” You said, gently taking the mug and plate from Matty, placing the cuppa on your nightstand and the plate in your lap on top of your duvet.

“Someone was a big help with mashing the avocado, huh?” Matty asked your daughter.

She nodded shyly, you were glad she didn’t inherit her father’s ego, even when it came to mashing avocado.

The three of you got cosy in yours and Matty’s king-sized bed, and Matty put Mulan on the TV against the far wall–it was your favourite Disney film when you were young and it was quickly becoming your daughter’s as well.

You never thought you could be this happy. This content. You got all you’d ever dreamed of and more, and you got to do it all with the person you loved the most in this world.

~~~

You smiled, blew out your candles, and hoped for the best.

#matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy blurb #matty healy drabble

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footballlover8 · 8 months

Text

Hot’n Cold || Pablo Gavi (Insta Au)

Warnings: hinting too some unaliving yourself as a joke, swearing. (let me know if there is anything else)

Requested?: Yes/No

(Also the first one in the second picture, pretend it’s a vape just for the better)

@Y/n.Gz

Liked by salmaparalluelo, joaofelix79, pedri and 275.537 others

@Y/n.Gz:Cold asf, help me please😭

View comments…

Pedri:Get used too it gusano🪱❤️ (worm)

@Y/n.Gz:BOY!!???? WHY WORM???

Pablogavi:You sleep like a worm, swear too god, you kick me 4 times in a minute when you sleep

@Y/n.Gz:Excuse me?????

Pedri:Deadass, you slept on the couch once, and you kicked fer where the sun doesn’t shine anymore

@Y/n.Gz:Fck you🖕

Mikkykimmeney:My cold baby💗

@Y/n.Gz:Love youuuuu!💗💗

Pablogavi:Hot

@Y/n.Gz:Boy? No context??????😭

Pablogavi:It’s a compliment

@Y/n.Gz:can you add an emoji???? It’s so weird without one😭 I feel like you’re attacking me, help it’s so sarcastic🔪

Pablogavi:My sexy baby🫵❤️

@Y/n.Gz:sounds kinda pedo🐿️

Pablogavi:You’re never happy are ya?🥲

gavilovver:No but bffr, she’s hot asf😍

Bbg..Y/n:Frrrr!😍

Pablogavi_is.Mine: smoking is bad for you

Pedriloves:Fr, she should set a good example.

Pepi:Like I’m a little disappointed ngl

Gavi69:It’s a vape but okey😭

Pepi:Still bad

Gavi69:Be fr, half the football community vapes, no one cares, and she’s literally just a girl

Fan1:So prettyyyyyyy😍❤️

View more comments….

@Y/n.Gz

Liked by pablogavi, hctorforrt_, pedri and 553.825 others

@Y/n.Gz:Made Gavi make a snot angel❄️☃️🪽

View comments…

_Ferminlopez:Snot angel??? That’s new, did he like sneeze?

@Y/n.Gz:Die

_Ferminlopez:Wow, harsh. @pablogavi how do you deal with her????

Pablogavi:Honestly…not sure, she’s a crazy baby with anger issues I swear

@Y/n.Gz:You can die too

Fan7:La masia Duo dies as 19 and 20

@Y/n.Gz:sounds pretty valid

Pedri:Mama called me saying she couldn’t get a hold of you, like phone nor on social media, did you block her????😭😭

@Y/n.Gz:None of your business 🫶🏼

Pablogavi:Bambi!? Why did you block her????????

@Y/n.Gz:she was like, “you should dress warmer” all the time, but I was like “no”

Pablogavi:Bambi…that’s not a valid reason, I swear you’re a stubborn 5 year old sometimes🥲

Pedri:All the time not sometimes

@Y/n.Gz:@pablogavi you always make yourself sound like a pedo

Pablogavi:Bambi I swear I’ll open the window when you’re sleeping tonight

@Y/n.Gz:You wouldn’t dare

Pablogavi:Oh but I would

Pedri:Wow dude, that’s intense…even from you

Vickylopezz._:Babe, I’ll marry you one day😍😍

@Y/n.Gz:MUAHHHH😘😘😘

Mikkykiemeney:Hermosa😍😘

@Y/n.Gz:LOVE YOU💗🫶🏼

View more Comments…

@Y/n.Gz

Liked by danielalexmachado, joaofelix79, marcguiu9 and 799.999 others

@Y/n.Gz:I’m also just a girl💗🎀

View comments….

Pedri:You’re a demon child, that’s what you are

@Y/n.Gz:😃😃😃🫵

Pablogavi:You gonna pretend you were the ones that baked that Bambi?

@Y/n.Gz:Shut up

Pedri:JAJAJAJA AS IF YOU COULD EVER DO THAT

@Y/n.Gz:I’ll punch you

Feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr: Funny how you two come from a family of chefs and can’t do shit yourselves🤣🤣

Pedri:I’m better than her at least

@Y/n.Gz:IM A CHILD STOP ATTACKING ME🔪🔪🔪🔪

Fan79:Help, she’s so pretty🥰😍

Fan9:Shes also just a girl🎀💕💗💅🏽🌸

Fan55:Fuck me

Fan87:Wow wow wow

Ferrantorres:What does that even mean?????

@Y/n.Gz:nothing a man should get concerned over. For you💐

Alejandrobalde:What the fuck? Can I have too??

@Y/n.Gz:Here💐💐

Alejandrobalde:Hah! I got two @ferrantorres !

Ferrantorres:They we’re all dead🥀🥀🥀🥀

@Y/n.Gz:That was dark sharkboy…..Lavagirl

View more comments…

@Y/n.Gz

Liked by _ferminlopez, pedri, ferrantorres and 488.777 others

@Y/n.Gz: Christmas Birthday with bf? I love😍💗 @pablogavi

View comments…

_Ferminlopez: Happy birthday you clumsy fuck🫶🏼🪱

@Y/n.Gz:What is it with y’all and the fucking worm?????

Joaofelix79:You literally deadass kicked him off the bed once?????

@Y/n.Gz:No i didn’t!????

Pablogavi:Yes you did Bambi😭 But that’s okey, still love you 😘

@Y/n.Gz:G😭 Tahnks I guess

Pedri:Can you write? Or are you completely dumbfounded????

@Y/n.Gz:Excuse me??? I’ll block you gtfo

Hctorforrt_:Happy birthday 🖕🫶🏼

@Y/n.Gz:Yall are mean I swear😭

Mikkykiemeney:@frenkiedejong

Frenkiedejong:What’s this supposed to mean!!????

Pablogavi:Trust me…it’s a hint, a big one at that

@Y/n.Gz:@Mikkykiemeney I can break up with gavi, and we can date?

Mikkykiemeney:Oh please dooooo!

Frenkiedejong:Excuse me? I gave you a son?🥲

Mikkykiemeney:I birthed him, don’t see your point

Frenkiedejong:🥲🥲🥲🥲

Pablogavi: @Y/n.Gz a little hurt, but girl power I guess🤞🤝

Fan2:Gavi wtf?

Fan:7:I’ll take them both…

Taia_Belloli:I want😭

@Y/n.Gz:I give😉

Danielalexmachado:Feliz cumpleaños, Bebita😘❤️ (happy birthday baby)

@Y/n.Gz:Thank you mami😘💗

Mikkykiemeney:Happy birthday too the sweetest girl ever!❤️🥰

@Y/n.Gz:Love youuuuu momma bear❤️

View more comments….

@Y/n.Gz

Liked by pablogavi, joaofelix79, pedri and 473.736 others

@Y/n.Gz:Why is he like this?????? Why do I actually have a good bf???? @pablogavi

View comments…

Vickyylopezz_.:BABE? Are you complaining!???????

@Y/n.Gz:NO I SWEAR BUT LETS BE FR HE CRAYCRAY😭

Pablogavi:I’m gonna marry you one day sooner or later

@Y/n.Gz:STOPPPP THAT SOUNDS SO AGRESSIVE, I love you though💗

_Ferminlopez:One weird chick

@Y/n.Gz:Baby chicks 🐥🐣

_Ferminlopez:Yeah you sure as hell walk like one that has just cracked out from the egg

@Y/n.Gz: @pablogavi you just gonna let him??????🔪🫵

Pablogavi:Bambi..Te amo❤️

@Y/n.Gz:No you don’t topper!

Pedri:Who tf is topper??

Pablogavi:Please not this shit again Bambi….

@Y/n.Gz:YOU LOVE THE IDEA OF ME!

_ferminlopez:Why are you like this?

@Y/n.Gz:YOU LOVE BEING SEEN WITH ME!

@Y/n.Gz:But you don’t love me…

Pedri:Wtf?

Vickylopezz._:Are you adopted?

@Y/n.Gz:Babe????😭😭😭

Vickylopezz._:Too pretty too be related too pedri swear

@Y/n.Gz:STOPPPPP🫶🏼😘🥰🫵

View more comments…

@Y/n.Gz

Liked by katrinefogtfriis, pablogavi, pedri and 548.888 others

@Y/n.Gz: @pablogavi took me too fcking Greece. Crazy human being swear too god, te amo mucho!❤️

View comments…

Pablogavi:te amo tambien Mi pequena Bambi❤️ (I love you too my little Bambi)

Pedri:Knew all along, I actually helped so it would be nice to get a thank you as well hermanita🙄 (little sister)

@Y/n.Gz:ew👁️👅👁️

Pablogavi:What does that even mean?😭

@Y/n.Gz:Tongue between eyes👁️👅👁️🐿️

Pedri:What drugs are you on????😭

Pablogavi:Sleeping drugs, swear she’s about too pass out if she has too lift her thumb once more

Pedri:Jeez,cray cray, dunno how you deal with her, she’s like a 3 year old stuck in 17 years olds body😭

@Y/n.Gz:I’ll shoot you with a croquette in the face

Pedri:You have no aim

@Y/n.Gz:harsh

Vickyylopezz_.:Wanna like…get married right now?

@Y/n.Gz:Do you seriously have too ask?

Pablogavi:Stopppp😭 why is everyone stealing my gf from me?

Vickyylopezz_.: accept it, she’s too pretty for you🙂

@Y/n.Gz:You’re both too pretty for me😘

Fan66:Awwww, she’s defending him in a discreet way 🥰😫

View more comments…

@Y/n.Gz

Liked by pedri, _ferminlopez, aitanabonmati and 762.826 others

@Y/n.Gz:I think I like this little Life🫵💗 @pablogavi

View comments….

Pablogavi:why do you say that every second I do something normal for you???😭

@Y/n.Gz:Low standards, but you be giving me high standards that I get shocked at family dinners with my brothers and cousins

Adrifebles:Bitch

Pedri:@adrifebles preach

@Y/n.Gz:I’ll expose your little ass🥰

Pablitogavi:Help! They came to my grandparents restaurant! They were so nice! AHHHH!

Gavibbg:Babe!? I want too be you so bad!😫

Taia_belloli:sweethearts💕

@Y/n.Gz:💗💗💗

Fan6:Her tan though!😫

Fan3:Can I please change life’s with her

Fan8:Nah him! She’s so prettyyyyyy😍

Marcguiu9:Stop.with.this.love.dovey.shit

@Y/n.Gz:I’ll come too the next practice too personally shoot a ball in your face

View more comments…

#gavi fanfic #gavi x reader #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi insta au #gavi insta au #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi fluff #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi #gavi blurb #gavi fluff #gavi imagine #barcelona #fc barcelona

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amour-anguis · 20 days

Note

okay gang I need some of your barty hcs!!

*twists and snaps spinal chord*

- barty is the biggest loser, like pathetic like yeah he’s hot but he’s actually just such a normal dude and he’s so lame

- one time he had a bottle of vape juice in his back pocket and he was drunk and he sat down and the bottle cracked and he didn’t notice and he smelled violently of strawberry banana vape juice for so long it won’t go away (me and @roadsidehorror came up w this and it’s never not funny to me)

- he’s a midnight snacker that man is half asleep eating shredded cheese from the bag standing in front of the fridge

- he begs on his hands and knees to watch reg and his bf have sex he wants to watch so bad

- he has a bad habit of tripping and falling flat on his face. it’s embarrassing and it happens way too often to be normal

- one time he got really high and ate an entire 9x13 pan of mac and cheese and then scared himself bc he thought someone broke into his apartment but he just kept seeing his reflection in things and he also took about 28 photos of a pot outside his window bc he thought it was a cat

#ask amour #barty crouch junior #marauders

31 notes · View notes

thanksjro · 5 months

Text

More Than Meets the Eye #50 — The Midlife Crisis Cruise Comes to an End

Our issue begins on Earth— not Swearth, but honest-to-god Earth— where Optimus Prime and Jetfire are watching a broadcast. It’s not syndicated television like I Love Lucy or The Transformers (1984), however. No, this broadcast is coming from some of our favorite Lost Lighters, detailing their last will and testament.

Nautica wants to be buried on her home planet, and doesn’t give a hot gay fuck what they engrave on her sparkcase. Also she’s missing a good chunk of her face, but don’t worry about that too much.

Chromedome’s just happy that he’s dying WITH his husband this go around. I’m sure Brainstorm’s also thrilled to not have the “please please please stop stabbing yourself in the brain to avoid the pain of being a widower Jesus Christ we can’t keep doing this”.

Rewind takes the opportunity to poke Chromedome in the inferiority complex one last time, making his message out to Dominus Ambus. Our resident lovebirds want to “enter the after spark simultaneously”, though that seems more like something to address with whoever’s killing them.

Over on Cybertron, in Metroplex’s titties, it would seem this broadcast is VERY wideband, as Starscream and Scoop (we’ll go over whatever the fuck’s going on there in another post) witness Nightbeat’s will and testament, though considering Nightbeat’s technically undead, I’m not sure how much legal weight it holds. Having done the whole “dying” thing before, I’m sure he’s spent many a long, sleepless night thinking about how it would happen next time. Ikea Johnson wants a “Neoprimalist” funeral, where they preserve only the head. Interesting that Nightbeat's religious sect is the same as Flywheels, the Scavenger who only existed to be a stand-in for the word "fuck".

Over on Luna 1, Red Alert is convinced that Megatron is using his gun mode to threaten Nightbeat. Fort Max isn’t so sure.

Minimus shows off the most recent trick he’s learned, saying the word “fun” with only stuttering twice. He wants to be buried on the moon, next to all of Rodimus’s failed pregnancies, and wearing the skin of a man who’s been dead for thousands of years.

Whirl doesn’t want a funeral, though you’d think he’d at least want his corpse thrown in the general direction of the Wreckers’ base, where every member gets a slot in the Zone of Remembrance as part of the onboarding. I know he got kicked out, but being shot out of a rail gun at Debris sounds roughly his speed.

Rung only requests that, should he die in his vape pen form, that he be dismantled. He’s so committed to preventing underage smoking, and for that I commend him.

Rung’s request greatly disturbs the Scavengers, who seem to have forgone fixing the Krok-shaped hole in the wall and buying a couch more than two of them can sit on at a time, in order to afford a replacement TV, after Krok fastball-specialed a golden disc through the last one.

On another part of Cybertron, Windblade and Wheeljack watch Velocity state that she doesn’t regret a single thing that’s happened while she’s been a part of the Lost Light. To recap, in the few months Velocity’s been aboard: Thunderclash almost died of being too perfect, Velocity’s first boss ran off to go bang a billionaire with a sword collection, Swerve almost died from too much television, her second boss ran off to get roped into the Polycule Wars, Tailgate exploded, Rung was revealed to be practicing without a license by way of a weird gibbon with a ball gag and his serial killer boyfriend, and she became the only practicing medical professional aboard a ship of over 200, after failing to pass her medical exams ten times. Oh, and she wants to be recycled.

Optimus wants to go save them, thinking that there’s still time. However, the Lost Light isn’t responding, and it doesn’t actually matter anyhow— these recording were sent out weeks ago.

Looks like that’s a series wrap on Nautica, Chromedome, Rewind, Nightbeat, Minimus, Whirl, Rung, and Velocity! Let’s give ‘em a hand, folks!

Three weeks prior, on the planet of Miliarium, action is happening:

Being on your headset in the middle of a battle seems rather rude, but I suppose sacrifices to politeness have to be made, when one of your co-captains is effectively forbidden from stepping foot on any planet that’s aware of Cybertron’s existence, given that he, y’know, is the face of a cause that slaughtered billions over the course of millions of years.

(No, don’t ask Optimus how relations with Earth are going.)

Megatron, continuing to command from orbit, tells Whirl to go help Cyclonus and Crossblades with the Rust Giants’ longship, asking for no casualties. Which is sort of like asking a horse on cocaine to not freak out and kick someone in the head, if that horse also had guns tied to 30% of its body.

Rodimus asks Megatron if he’s enjoying himself, playing a pacifist run of a wartime strategy game with their lives, and Megatron says that he’s “rumbled”; which I’m not sure if I’m search-engining wrong, but I don’t know that even the British are saying that to mean they’re right chuffed or tallywackered about a situation, or whatever. Rodimus is suddenly faced with a Rust Giant that he doesn’t even come up to the knee of, but luckily we have a new superhero to save the day, by way of incredible violence.

Looks like we’re still workshopping the battle-cries.

Tailgate punched this guy so hard it cause a jump-cut to the post-battle celebration, where Rodimus shows off his multi-typefacial abilities, Megatron perpetrates his bigotry towards organics, the Cybertronians make galactic news for a not-awful reason for once, and Swerve is also here! For some reason! It looks like it’s gonna be all peaches and cream from here on, so long as we ignore the first three pages of this issue!

Hey, Cyclonus, you have to wait for him to call you, you're not an Autobot. Just because the little white guy you're Sufjan Stevens-level attached to is going, doesn't mean— Cyclonus, hey. Hey, Cyclonus. Cyclonus. Cycl—

Later, back on the Lost Light, class is in session. We finally get a look at those course Megatron’s been teaching, only briefly mentioned by Riptide in issue #29. The current course track is on the Knights of Cybertron, Megatron having assigned those in attendance to write essays tackling “pre-Functionist folklore and contested heritage”.

Today’s class consists of:

Minimus (old as balls, former high society)

Skids (the best at everything)

Brainstorm (literal genius)

Perceptor (slightly-less-literal genius)

Nautica (jack-of-all-trades brainiac and bibliophile)

Crosscut (former senator, current playwright, therefore probably has at least some sort of degree)

Nightbeat (nosy as fuck, loves to figure shit out)

Hound (former Primal Vanguard)

Thunderclash (perfect student, researcher, friend, confidante, and maybe even lover)

Grapple (not much to say here, other than he’s fucking jacked in IDW)

Xaaron (chief legal advisor for the Autobots)

And Riptide (created during the war and therefore has the least connection to Cybertron's folklore, canonically not a good test-taker)

Poor Riptide's grades don’t stand a snowball's chance in hell against his peers', but good on him for sticking with the classes regardless.

This essay was assigned to help students establish context for the Knights within a world where they have not existed for millions of years, having disappeared since they embarked on their quest to Cyberutopia; a world where information creep, the slow degradation of memory as time passes, has made them into mythological figures. Megatron posits that the only thing we really know about the Knights is that they failed to do what they set out to do, as the universe is not a peaceful place, himself arguably being exhibit A of that failure. Still, he intends to use this course to help the Lost Light’s crew understand the Knights to the best of their current, modernity-biased ability, prior to potentially meeting them. Considering that the Knights will be deciding Megatron’s fate, perhaps this is also for him to grapple with understanding his own end.

Anyway, let’s look at a plot device.

The last time we saw this symbol was during issue #46, both drawn by Grimlock on his walls, paired with the words “prepare confront repel”, and then on some mysterious fellows who were working with Krok’s nasty little friend Demus and someone called "The Grand Architect". However, the first time we saw it was with Skids in #21, after he went through Tyrest’s space bridge and talked to a giant technicolor ball of light.

Seeing this image kickstarts Skids’s memory, enough so that he interrupts class over it. Nautica has also seen this symbol, at an exhibit on Troja Major (a planet that Roberts will use as a dumping ground for many plot points in the sequel series to MTMTE) where it was claimed to be some sort of coat of arms. Thunderclash also knows this symbol, having seen it with his beautiful mind and kind heart in his visions, the same visions that were leading him to the Knights and allowing him to create a map to Cyberutopia. Nautica asks Skids to write out the symbol that he “heard” phonetically into her space phone, in a move that will prove HIGHLY useful later on. Perceptor adds in his two cents, showing off that he’s wearing the “feminine” nose-type today, stating that he had talked to one of the Circle of Light members back in Season 1, who had theorized that the Knights of Cybertron was either originally made up of OR broke down into clans, and that the symbol/map Rodimus and Thunderclash were drawing is merely connected to part of the Knights, and that there could be others floating around.

Nightbeat thinks that all this brainstorming (which hasn’t involved Brainstorm, oddly enough) is super cool and great, showing off his anime thumb in approval. When Minimus tries to give Megatron props for bringing everyone together to figure this out, he finds that Megatron is having some troubles, hunched over his podium as far as his fucked up old man toy articulation will allow. When Minimus approaches to see what’s wrong, he gets punched clear across the room for his troubles. Then this happens:

Look, I don’t care if 99.9% of the Cybertronian population can reclaim, you shouldn’t just limp your wrist at your first officer in the middle of class.

No, what Megatron is actually doing is pointing the fusion cannon he doesn’t have anymore, but had attached to his arm for roughly 4 million years, directly at Minimus’s tiny little skull. Quickly coming back to himself, Megatron is both horrified and mortified by what he’s done, offering nothing more but a quick apology before he dismisses the class and bolts, not even helping Minimus off of the floor.

The following day, Velocity’s paying a visit to Megatron’s room, which is STILL as barren as the most dire of single male living spaces. Velocity’s here because Megatron missed his appointment yesterday, after whatever happened in the classroom. Megatron reminds her that the weekly appointment is for him receiving his ration of “fool’s energon” which is meant to keep him in a weakened state, which arguably shouldn’t make it medicine in the traditional sense. Velocity reminds him that he nearly knocked Minimus Ambus’s (yeah, she uses his full name, guess she’s not been around long enough to get “just Minimus” privileges) block off, and that if Megatron had been at full strength, we might be dealing with a murder situation instead.

Though Minimus IS a load bearer, who regularly slings around a body three times his size, on top of weapons, so maybe not. Also, there’s an even smaller guy inside the first mustached guy, so honestly it’d probably be fine.

Does Velocity even know about the irreducible Minimus? Is that in his medical history? Does she even know that Ultra Magnus and Minimus Ambus are the same person? Because Megatron didn’t even know until they found that corpse on the quantum duplicate Lost Light, and Magnus was his lawyer for the trial as well as being his SIC. Really, what are the legal ramifications of Minimus having assumed the identity of a dead man, now that Tyrest isn’t there to keep up the charade and the secret is a bit more open? Does Minimus have legal claim to Magnus’s identity, or at least ownership of the armor? Can Minimus lay claim to any property he purchased as Magnus, or that the previous Magnuses had purchased prior to their deaths? Was Minimus legally declared dead prior to undertaking the role of Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, if only to make things easier in terms of paperwork? Can Minimus sign off on things, and if so, does he use his own signature, or Magnus’s? If he signed something as Magnus, would any contract bearing it be rendered temporarily void whenever he’s not wearing his work pants? How much of Minimus’s existence makes him cry late into the night with how legally dubious it is? Does Delta Magnus know about Ultra Magnus being a skin suit? I feel like we don’t focus on how fucked up this whole situation is nearly enough.

Anyway, Velocity asks after Megatron’s medicine, probably because First Aid’s medical note-taking skills often get usurped by his need to write SpringerxReader fanfiction. She mentions that what they’ve been feeding Megatron over the last year have some side effects, which Megatron seems surprised by. Considering he’s felt sickly and crampy this whole time, the side effects are likely meant to be the intent of the medication.

Velocity then takes a gander at the dents Megatron put into his head when he had his little freakout, stating that “chemo-sedatives” can change one’s whole personality in extreme cases, as well as increased stress levels, as Megatron admits that the reason he crushed his head with his hands is that he heard voices screaming. However, Megatron doesn’t think stress caused such a thing.

To recap how the last year has gone for Megatron: he was forced to renounce the cause he had led for the last 4 million years, became co-captain of a fucking Carnival cruise ship, had 95% of his crew disappear from reality, found a bunch of corpses, got slapped in the face by Soundwave’s dad, had to lie to Rewind’s face to make him okay with killing himself so that everyone else might live, got shot as an infant, gaining anywhere from three-to-five fathers as a result, visited the most passive-aggressive garden in the galaxy, got stabbed in the chest and brained with a flat-screen television and then had to apologize for it, and was non-consensually hugged by a swarm of flesh-eating insects parading around in his SIC’s skin suit.

Velocity gets a call on her smart watch, Swerve on the other end demanding her presence at the medibay, seeing as she’s the only doctor on the ship now, and there are multiple people having a crisis.

Smash cut to Swerve, Cyclonus, Tailgate, Chromedome, Rewind, Rung, and Megatron standing on the bridge, their colors looking super fucked up and light bloomed out, because this is a 40-page issue with a shit-ton of detail and characters, so we’ve got three colorists, two artists, and an extra inker on for this one. They’re meeting with Rodimus, whose fingers have shrunk down to the size of shoestring potato fries, because Swerve, Tailgate, Rewind, Rung, and Megatron heard some sort of awful noise in their brains at the exact same time. Chromedome is here to support his husband, because he loves him so, so much, kissy-noise kissy-noise. Cyclonus is here mainly to clarify that he’s a badass who no one has ever heard cry, because emotional vulnerability and expressing pain are for pussies, unless you’re doing it by way of self-harming directly onto your face meat.

Only Tailgate and Rewind actually admit to what they heard, Tailgate hearing Cyclonus berate him for falling for Getaway’s tricks and Rewind hearing Dominus berate him for not doing enough to find him. I’d imagine both Rung and Swerve were hearing things relating to their professionalism, given that Rung fucking sucks at his job, and Swerve’s gonna fry the moment Ten gets a union sorted out. Megatron, is well, Megatron, so there’s a litany of awful things that he could have heard.

Rodimus has Blaster reveal that the ship received a signal at the exact same time that these people had their little brain event. Brainstorm hypothesizes that what happened was some sort of psychological assault, perhaps of Galactic Council origin, as a means of testing a new brain weapon. Magnus, who has been up on an upper level with a clipboard up to this point, notes that they could trace the signal. Mainframe informs him that they have, but the origin doesn’t seem to correspond to any known location in the navigation, and they’d have to physically go there to see what’s up. Which isn’t sketchy in the slightest.

Rodimus wants to load up on his big, beautiful Rodpod with everyone, so they can find who did this and make them stop. When Magnus questions if this is a wise course of action, Rodimus uses American grammar to trip up Magnus’s British-based spellcheck, so he gets to do whatever he wants. This is a trick he’s picked up since Drift left, as the old game of “pitting my people-pleaser hippy dippy boytoy and my no-nonsense stick-up-the-ass sentient rulebook against one another, so whatever I wanted to do from the start can seem like a pleasantly centralized option” doesn’t work very well when you replace the boytoy with a grumpy old man who tried to murder everything with a heartbeat.

Velocity wants to join the trip alongside Team Rodimus, but Mainframe has his reservations. I don’t blame him, considering she is, again, the only medical doctor currently on board this ship. He suggests she take along some personal protection, just in case.

…I mean, he’ll definitely make sure any bad guys who come her way will die horribly, if nothing else. Also, apparently the Rodpod's artificial gravity goes all the way around.

Nautica’s spent the last few weeks tricking out the Rodpod with a fancy schmancy new teleport drive, because Rodimus was annoying her to the point where if she didn’t give him what he was moaning about she might have had to kill him. Megatron is hesitant to use the drive, but after being informed that there are safety perimeters in place that’ll keep the ol’ Rodimus Podimus from teleporting inside a asteroid or whatever, he pulls the level and they end up in the dark.

No, not space dark, don’t be funny. That’s my job, and they don’t pay me for it, which should tell you how dire the situation is. This is a special sort of dark. The sort of dark that leads to panic and lethal levels of quipping. Rodimus cuts the lights on, but it does very little to offset the absolutely suffocating darkness outside. Rewind notes that there aren’t any stars, and Tailgate admits that he doesn’t know how space works. That’s alright Tailgate, neither do any of the people who draw or color this comic. You’re amongst (created by?) friends here.

The scanners reveal that there’s something 3000 miles in front of them. And behind them. And to the left, to the right, 12 o'clock, three o'clock, six o'clock, nine o'clock, rock around the clock tonight— that is to say, they’re surrounded by something the size of a planet. After disabling the safety protocols on the Rodimus Podimus, the gang find themselves on the surface of Necroworld, where the Necrobot Censere lives and operates his many plinths to the living and dead. Megatron isn’t exactly thrilled to be back here. Nightbeat on the other hand, is overdose on mystery, and he couldn’t be happier. Nobody’s sure what the fuck is going on. There’s no time to theorize, however, as half the gang just got blown sky high.

Everyone books it back to the Rodpod to escape the dozen attack craft coming after them, but there’s more trouble here— the teleport drive is dead. Which is weird, because they should have had enough juice to get to and from their little trip. When Rodimus tries to contact the Lost Light, there’s no response. They’re not responding. Megatron tells him that those are two different things, mirroring the same thing Optimus said about trying to contact the Lost Light after he and Jetfire viewed the will tapes. Everyone else is busy trying to figure out who the hell could be firing on them, all of them roughly coming to the same conclusion that Cybertronians as a whole aren’t terribly well liked, and the Lost Lighters have made a bit of a name (derogatory) for themselves, since they insulted the Galactic Council, caused the end of the 16-million year Stentarian war, and have ruined at least one bar with physical violence over home movies.

Rodimus tells Megatron to park the Rodpod at the Necrobot’s citadel, just in time for a missile to hit the ass-end of the shuttle, blowing off Magnus’s arm, shredding off roughly half of Nautica’s face, and giving Cyclonus an excuse to hold Tailgate in his arms. Everyone bolts to get inside, Nautica being carried by Skids so we can further solidify the straightest pairing in the series. Once they’re all inside, their attackers retreat, and we see where Censere’s gotten to in all this.

Let’s give him a hand, folks!

While Velocity looks over the body, Nightbeat deals with his personal Santa Claus being dead by way of trying to figure out what happened. Megatron, meanwhile, noticed that the craft that attacked them were of Decepticon design, and he tells Ravage to go check it out. Honestly, I doubt he was the only one to notice, given that all but three of the people on this trip were dealing with the Decepticons in some form or fashion all throughout the war, and could therefore identify the make of the crafts, if not the model, so I’m not sure what the deal is with this secrecy.

Brainstorm is brought over to Nightbeat to help solve this mystery, and he promptly identifies that some of Censere’s equipment is very similar to the stuff Tyrest used for the Aequitas trials, likely used to figure out what sparkflowers to plant where. Rewind, having popped on his sparkliest nipple pasties on, because he hates Censere and wants to get glitter all over his house, asks the boys to scootch on over so he can try to call the Lost Light. Nightbeat thinks that Censere tried to sabotage a signal someone else had sent in an attempt to lure Team Rodimus (and friends) to the planet, and that resulted in the brain attack that had happened earlier in the day. Unfortunately, Censere didn’t spend any time with Rodimus the last time the Lost Light visited, so he didn’t get a taste of the ridiculous way Rodimus likes to live his life, and why the psychic attack wouldn’t work.

Rewind gets the phone working, calling Rodimus over to get on the horn. Magnus stands in the background, showing off his grievous amputation. After a bit of fiddling with the settings on their end, the Lost Light makes official contact with Team Rodimus.

Getaway, last we saw him, was very much in prison, but Rodimus isn’t going to focus on that niggling little detail right now, as he asks for the Lost Light to swing by to pick up the team so they don’t all die. Getaway sort of DOES want to focus on that detail, however, as he very much didn’t appreciate being fetish fuel throughout the holiday season, and, despite his name, didn’t actually escape that setup. No, Getaway had help.

Man, guess Megatron should’ve reconsidered failing Riptide on his essay.

Speaking of Megatron, he walks up about now to see what all the hubbub’s about. Rodimus, looking like he’s about to cry, realizes that Mainframe lied to them about not being able to track the signal. Getaway gives him points for getting that right, but really, he wants to drive home the point that the entirety of the crew wanted Megatron’s little pals off the ship. And that’s what it’s really about, at the end of the day. Getaway hates that high command gave Megatron a party cruise to live out his last days on, last days that might not even happen, with the track record of this goddamned quest. He’s sick of Rodimus and pals acting like this whole arrangement isn’t an affront to every single life that’s been snuffed out because of Megatron’s actions.

Everyone other than Whirl seems pretty bummed out by these accusations. Swerve pipes up, enraged that he’s been doomed to die alongside everyone else— he doesn’t even LIKE Megatron. Getaway reveals that at some point or another, he and Atomizer (the interior designer turned bowman, you’ll recall) approached every single crew member and asked if they thought Megatron deserved to have a second chance and also, completely unrelated, but what would you do in the event of a coup? Anyone who didn’t provide a desirable answer got visited by the nudge gun fairy— that gun that can fire thought into your brain, or just erase memories if fired dry. The collection of headaches main cast have been experiencing over the last several issues? The side effect of being shot. Skids especially does not like this reveal.

Of course, Getaway isn’t just upset with Megatron’s leadership— he’s also mad as hell what’s supposed to be a trip to find their ancestors, who will guide them back onto the straight and narrow, has, in actuality, been Rodimus’s midlife crisis road trip. Getaway wasn’t even here for Rodimus and Drift’s ass-slapping contests and insulting galactic officials who want the Cybertronians dead, but he didn’t need to be. He took one look at the Rodpod and decided he needed to kill Rodimus right then and there.

Rodimus, at this point, remembers the list Atomizer had offered him back during the trial. Magnus, biting his lip at the idea of a list existing, asks what that’s all about, and Rodimus explains. Getaway really was hoping that Rodimus would take the bait, so he could’ve blackmailed Rodimus into stepping down and letting literally anyone else take over. Probably Magnus, at that point in the timeline, given that he hadn’t gotten buddy-buddy with Megatron yet at that point. Unless Getaway considers acting as someone’s lawyer under order of the space pope as being too close to an individual.

Getaway decides that this conversation has reached its natural conclusion, as he’s got questing to get done, and it should be moving at a pretty even clip now, since he’s excised all the distractions. Rodimus swears to come after him, but Getaway doubts it’ll happen, given what’s happening next.

While this debacle has been happening, Ravage has been busy searching a crash site, trying to uncover the identity of who the hell’s decided to attack them. Tarn commits a microagression at him, before firing his twin fusion cannons.

The call ends, Getaway cutting off the comm to all contact.

Ravage shows back up at this point, to give everyone the bad news.

Nightbeat, honey, the tragedy is in the opposite direction.

Now, that’s technically the finale of the main story, but there’s a little bonus comic attached to the end, acting as a sort of sideways epilogue to hint at what Getaway and his merry band of mutineers will be getting up to, since we aren’t seeing them again for a bit.

Our little backup strip begins right before the original launch of the Lost Light, where we see some guys we haven’t seen the 2012 Annual issue. Shock and Ore wander around what will one day become Swerve’s, Shock convinced that this ship is actually the ship they lost 5 million years prior, the Unitrex-1. Ore isn’t so sure, but as the readers, we saw the exact moment that Unitrex-1 disappeared in issue #38, after Rodimus forgot to wash his hands while putting the quantum engine together. Shock, wanting to prove that he’s right, fumbles around in the dark, looking for the graffiti he carved into the underside of a table. Ore gets a call on his space Blackberry while he’s doing this, and we finally get the other half of that call Prowl made in issue #1, after he failed to get Chromedome to stay on Cybertron. The Duobots have 20 minutes to get Overlord’s massive, lippy ass on the ship. Knowing that that isn’t a ton of time, the two quickly book it out of the bar, leaving the spectral form of Skids to look really bummed out.

Later, at Swerve’s grand (secret) opening, we see some more old faces.

Whoa now, Drift, you’re not supposed to be back until next issue!

Pipes thinks he’s been cursed to not have friends, since Hubcap is still at his dead-end job with the Wreckers, and Riptide was too busy being in a coma to come say goodbye. How rude!

Drift doesn’t seem to particularly want Pipes around more than necessary, pushing him to be friends with Rewind, who he describes as having kind eyes. Whether Drift is doing this to keep Pipes safe from overhearing any Overlord-related secrets, keeping his ass-slapping and sexually-tense sword training time with Rodimus safe, or just because he finds Pipes to be mildly annoying isn’t clear. Pipes, however, is looking for more than friendship— he’s looking to bone down.

Pipes’s ideal partner is wide as they are tall, with tits to match and at least one alt-mode that he can use as a yacht. Drift tells him he can introduce him to Tailgate, though something tells me Pipes isn’t really Tailgate’s type, given that he can actually say what he means and doesn’t have some fucked-up facial situation.

It’s really too bad that Pipes died, because I bet he would have loved Nautica, and he would have REALLY loved Nickel.

Later still, we see all of our doctors together— even Ambulon is there! In one piece, even! Ambulon wants to tell First Aid something, and First Aid automatically tries to make it a cosmetic thing, because of COURSE Ambulon would be insecure about his bad skin, and what he really needs is a better cleanser. What Ambulon actually wants to talk about, though, is his alt mode, and the fact that the puns involved with being part of a Combiner make him want to die. First Aid understands, but Swerve, known menace to society, might not be so compassionate, as he throws a grenade into the back of Ambulon’s head, triggering his transformation. Ambulon is mortified, and Swerve does the thing that Ambulon literally just said he hates. First Aid continues to rip flakes of paint off of Ambulon, as the specter of Velocity watches, looking pretty bummed about the fact that she never got to be part of banter like this.

Later on than that, Rewind and a wheelchair-bound Rung are in the currently-empty Swerve’s, as Rewind calls Chromedome to gather up one of the groups for those storytelling circles Rewind organized to try to fix Rung’s brain. He hangs up, then tells Rung that once his brain works again, they’re going to have a goddamned chat about Dominus Ambus, which is only mildly hampered in its threat by the fact that Rewind standing is barely the same height as Rung sitting down.

Rewind then gets to work writing out the story map for when the “Shadowplay” group gets there, as the specter of Chromedome reaches out longingly for the dead version of his husband. He laments that this Rewind died without closure, but the ghostly specter of Rung reminds him that there are rules to this, and they have to leave now. Not sure why Rung’s here to watch himself be threatened by Pipsqueak McGee. Is he actually doing his job for once, helping guide someone through their grief? I doubt it, since Chromedome isn’t a hottie bo-body like Skids, and his problems haven’t (directly, at least) caused the sort of trouble that make entire star systems hate you like Megatron.

Later, during the Overlord disaster, Perceptor sprints into Swerve’s, shouting for a medic, as the rest of the battered and beaten watch. Hoist, himself hooked up to the wall by some sort of cable, while wearing his extra-special Rodimus Star, offers to help, though he’s technically an engineer, and whatever he’s gonna do probably won’t have any consideration for the soul or ability to feel pain. Perceptor was using Tripodeca— sweet, beloved, friend to all, who was the star of the post-Overlord mass funeral Tripodeca— as a, uh, tripod for his rifle, when Overlord probably noticed that the ol’ science sniper looked sort of familiar and did a lil’ grabbing with his big nasty hands. Hoist asks if Perceptor is going to stop Overlord, and considering how things went the last time Overlord was the star of the show, I doubt Perceptor thought he was gonna get lucky twice in terms of survival, especially when Overlord is riGHT BEHIND HIM OH GOD LORDY JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH

How Perceptor survived this isn't clear, but we know he did, as he continued to show up in the story past issue #15 in a decidedly alive, non-paste form. His specter watches this scene unfold, expression unreadable.

Post-Luna 1, Swerve stands in his ruined bar dejectedly, when he realizes that quite a few people have shown up to help him clean up the mess, as long as he promises to reward their hard work with reopening once it’s done. As everyone works to get things back in order, Swerve tells them to keep an eye out for a non-trashed Legislator that he could use as a bouncer, once he fucks around with its head enough to make it do what he wants. Ten’s specter watches as his shitty boss and arguable father is gifted the body that would become him, making a note to get his union going with a bit more urgency.

Later, on the day of the “Fuck Off Megatron 2-for-1 Drink Deal”, Crosscut lead Riptide, Mirage, and Nautica on a tour of the ship. Mirage notes that Swerve’s is a bit of a dive, not suited to his refined tastes in the slightest. In a booth, Getaway and Atomizer have boxed Mainframe in on either side to have a little chat. Swerve and Bluestreak talk television, Bluestreak making a little jab at MTMTE’s second season not being quite as well-received by fans as the first. Over at the bar, Highbrow and Perceptor talk about Quark, while Brainstorm watches while having his briefcase, which he is NOT supposed to have in here.

Crosscut goes on about this bar being where all things happen and where bittersweet is the most often-felt emotion, then calls Trailcutter/blazer an alcoholic as he dances on the ceiling. The specters of just about everyone on the ship watch their fallen friend, enjoying the moment and missing him terribly, as Perceptor brings them back to the here and now of the story, which turns out to be just after the holiday special, judging by the Christmas lights.

Minimus asks if this is safe, and Perceptor says that it is, as nobody can actually interact with the past, because Brainstorm is the only one who’s ever actually perfected that tech, not that this isn’t his fault either. It turns out that when you try to fly against the stream of time as it naturally occurs, you tear a few thousand itty bitty holes on the way to perfecting the process. Perceptor’s found a way to let others view the past, at least for a little while. Minimus is fine with it, as long as everyone continues to behave, and it seems like they are, as everyone mingles in Swerve’s.

The two of them sit down, Megatron handing Minimus what I’m sure is a mocktail, and Perceptor explains that while the window into the past is closing for now, it may open back up in the future. When Rodimus asks when that might be, he then immediately decides that he doesn’t want to know, instead wanting to have a fun little surprise for later. They don’t get very many of those, fun surprises.

As everyone toasts to the dead and to future adventures, the specter of Getaway watches on, smug as hell.

That’s the end of “No Guns, No Swords, No Briefcases” but that is STILL not the end of the issue! It never ends, this thing! Because the number 50 is very big and impressive, obviously this is a double-sized spectacular, and has to cap off with a note from the man himself— James Roberts.

And then after that we get a new notes from fans, but this is already obscenely long and I think I can show you the crux of what they’re all saying right here: MTMTE (2012) is fucking good. It’s a good series. Make your goddamn family, friends, coworkers, librarians, and goldfish read it. Share it with people you’ve never met. Get a long-term personal project out of it. Get long-term friends out of it. Get a long-term romantic partner out of it. If I can do it, so can you!

#transformers #MTMTE #issue 50 #maccadam #hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis

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ericsprincess · 11 months

Text

take your time and turn off the lights

nc-17, Choi Chanhee/Reader, drunk sex, sexual exploration, fingering

~~~

Your best friend wants some education.

~~~

“Can you please get a move on finally? I’m gonna pee myself,” whines Chanhee, leaning on the wall outside of your apartment, while you’re bent over in front of the door. You’re squeezing the key between your fingers, if only the keyhole stopped dodging. Chanhee is being of no help, well, except the fact that he’s holding your bag and heels in one hand, his bedazzled Hello Kitty vape in the other and has a dumb remark on everything.

You’re both drunk, coming home from your monthly besties night out. It is a years long tradition for you and your best friend - on the first Friday of every month, you both doll up at your place, while sharing a bottle of wine, trying out outfits and putting on makeup. Then you hit up a club, both with no money on you - the objective is to just dance, have fun and let men pay for your drinks. But neither one of you intends to pick up a man to go home with - you can do that any other time, but this is an evening just for the two of you. So you stick together and leave the club together when you’re tired, crashing at either of your places for a sleepover.

Today, you picked a club that’s closer to your place, that’s why you’re currently fighting with the lock on your apartment door. You had a really good night, you danced your shoes off, both with Chanhee and various hot men that caught your attention. Chanhee did the same, and judging by how drunk you both are, you both got plenty of attention (and free drinks) tonight. Maybe even a bit too much - at some point, Chanhee suddenly stopped dancing and dragged you off the dance floor to one of the sofas scattered around it and pulled you to chill down on it. As you were catching your breath from the dancing, you looked up at Chanhee with a question in your eyes.

“There was a guy, I didn’t like how he was looking at you,” he explained. Ohhh. Makes sense. You haven’t noticed anyone, so you were glad Chanhee was looking out for you.

“Wanna make out to make him jealous?” asked Chanhee and you nodded, giggling, since you are always up for mischief like that. Chanhee smiled at you, you closed your eyes and seconds later you were tasting sweet cocktails on his tongue. You spent a lot of time just making out, enjoying the alcohol buzz, loud music and the warmth of another body.

Now you’ve finally managed to open the door to your apartment, almost falling over when the lock unexpectedly clicked. You throw your jacket on the hanger, while Chanhee yells “Dibs on the bathroom!” and immediately runs there. You snort and go to the kitchen to make both of you a cup of tea to sober up a bit.

You bring the cups to your room, while you hear the shower running. Chanhee has been to your place a million times, so he’s here like at home and doesnt need to be treated as a guest. You start taking off your clothes, preparing for your own shower, while sipping on the tea. You take off your makeup and just at the time you hear the shower being turned off.

“I left you some hot water, because I’m that nice,” Chanhee walks out of your bathroom in your fluffiest bathrobe (that’s actually yours, not for guests), drying his hair with a towel. “Also I used your shampoo and it’s really good, so if you are missing the bottle tomorrow, don’t ask me about it.”

He looks up at you and stops in his tracks. “Oh, you’re already undressed.” He looks you up and down. “Nice lingerie. Did you plan to pull? You should have told me,” he asks, but his tone is strange.

“No, I just felt like dressing up,” you reply and hand him his cup. “Here is your tea.”

“Thank you. Do you want to watch something or are we just going to sleep?” he asks.

You take a second to consider the options. You are ok with watching something, but you’re so tired from dancing and alcohol, you will probably drop 5 minutes into the movie. It’s been a long evening.

“Up to you. But I am probably falling asleep very soon,” you laugh.

You leave him in your room and go take a shower. The hot water falling over you is soothing and it makes you want to sleep even more. You quickly wash and dry yourself so you can run to bed.

When you enter your room, Chanhee is already laying in your bed under the covers, scrolling on his phone. You drop your towel, looking for some panties and pyjamas. You’re never shy around your best friend and it’s not the first time you’re naked around him, so you don’t pay it any attention. He’s focused on his phone anyways.

Finally, you find some clothes and get into the bed, poking Chanhee to budge so you can fit next to him, warm and cozy under the covers. You lie down and you feel so comfortable - alcohol buzz pleasantly ebbing off, you’re freshly showered and finally in your bed, even next to another warm body, which always makes you sleep better.

Chanhee puts down his phone on the nightstand, turns to your side, huddles close and hugs you from behind. A bit unusual since he’s not big on cuddling, but you’re not complaining - you would not refuse any additional comfort now.

“Hmmm..you still drunk?” you mumble into his arm.

“Not as much..you?” he asks.

“Less, too… But I’m really sleepy,” you reply, accompanied by a yawn. You fidget a bit to burrow deeper into his arms.

“We had a nice evening, didn’t we?” Chanhee asks, silently. His free hand, the one you’re not lying on with your head, is laid on your waist, petting you gently. He moves it to lightly rub over your belly.

“Hmm..yeah,” you’re not even thinking much over the reply. You really did, as always. It’s not even a question.

“You looked really pretty today,” he continues. “Actually, you always look really pretty. It made me realize a lot of things, lately..”

“Like what?” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Chanhee hesitates. He slowly moves his hand up under your pyjamas, over your naked breasts.

That wakes you up.

“Chanhee?” you ask, confused. You can feel his quickening breath.

“Can I?” he asks, without any explanation. And maybe that’s okay - maybe you don’t need one. Maybe the explanation would not change your answer anyways.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, almost shivering in anticipation. You’re not quite sure what you’re agreeing to, but it’s your best friend and you know you can trust him with anything. If he wants to explore your body, he’s welcome to do so.

Chanhee slowly rubs his hand over your tits, feeling up your hardening nipples with his fingers. He squeezes one of your breasts, then the other and goes back to playing with your nipples, until they are fully hard. He pinches one and it makes you wiggle, since you’re too sensitive, and you put a hand over his to let him know. He understands immediately and lets it go, circling his finger around it in apology.

Letting your breasts go, Chanhee moves his hand higher, running the tips of his fingers along your collarbones. He leans his head a bit forwards and kisses your neck. You sigh in content.

You’re starting to get aroused from the touching, feelings emphasized by the alcohol. Everything feels hot, Chanhee’s body behind you, his hand on your body, even his breath on your neck and you don’t have enough self-control to fight it.

And it seems you’re not alone in this. You shift a little and that makes you bump into his hard cock with your ass so you push against it a bit and he gets the hint and moves closer. He’s not humping you, but you still like feeling his hard cock press against you insistently.

And you also really like to know that he likes it, that just touching your body makes him this hard.

Chanhee, however, ignores his erection and focuses on kissing and sucking hickeys onto your neck, while moving his hand under your pyjamas, touching, groping where he can reach and you’re getting so wet from it, you’re slowly losing your mind. You’re breathing heavily and you’re holding onto his other hand that’s embracing you.

It’s almost torture, but you’re not going to ask him for anything. You want him to go at his own pace and if that means he might not want to do more than what he is doing right now, then you’re okay with that. Even though your panties are completely soaked.

Thankfully, you’re in luck tonight. Chanhee’s hand moves downwards, brushing past your belly. His fingers stop at the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“Can I?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you breathe out impatiently. “Please, touch me..”

“But,” he hesitates. “Y/N… I-I’ve never… I don’t know if it will be any good...”

“It doesn’t matter,” you put your hand over his and push it under your pants and panties. “I’ll help you, if you need it.” you reassure him.

Just the warmth and touch of his hand over your pussy is heavenly. He slowly feels around, pushing two fingers between the lips and finding out how wet you are. Maybe you are imagining it, but you would swear his breath hitches.

He slowly rubs up and down, spreading your slick all over your pussy, making his fingers glide over your skin easily. He quickly finds your clit and gently rubs it, and it feels so good you whine at him to not stop. You’re even moving your hips a little to make it easier for him.

He’s being gentle but firm, rubbing your clit in steady tempo, nothing quick and brutish like other men use to. Your orgasm is slowly building up and you know if he continues, you could come like this.

Inexperienced? Maybe, but definitely attentive.

But before you can actually get too close to coming, Chanhee has other plans. He shifts his hand further, touching around your hole, fingers right at the opening.

“Please,” he breathes out into your neck, where his face is still firmly put, no doubt all red and aroused himself.

You just hum in agreement, too out of it to speak, and he pushes two fingers in and whines. You realize that now his hips are really moving against yours, rubbing his cock on your ass as he’s trying to get at least some relief.

He pulls them out and pushes back in and repeats it few more times, trying to fuck you like that, but the angle is not great in this position and he seems to realize that too. He can’t go too deep nor too fast like that. He lets the idea go and pulls them out definitely to get back to rubbing your clit and you’re almost thanking him.

And now that he’s getting the hang of things, you can tell he’s not playing anymore. He’s rubbing your clit with perfect pressure and good tempo, clearly with the sole aim to get you off.

You’re moving with him, barely realizing it, just giving into the feeling. You’re starting to whimper and moan as you’re getting closer and he quickens the tempo, not wavering even though his hand must be starting to hurt at this point.

When you finally come it hits you like a truck, you’re almost spasming and he has to hold you firmly against himself as he keeps rubbing you. He slows down only when he sees your orgasm is finally ending, not wanting to overstimulate you.

You blink, suddenly getting hit by reality. You would have never expected tonight ending this way, getting fingered and gotten off by your best friend, you think while catching your breath.

But it’s not like you’re complaining, not in the least.

You put your hand behind yourself, on his hard cock leaking through the pyjamas, but he stops you.

“Not now,” he says.

“Tomorrow, if you still want to. When we’re sober.”

“Okay,” you nod and turn back so he can spoon you again. Now it’s a bit awkward, since neither knows what to say and you can feel his boner pressing against your ass. But at least, your tiredness is finally overcoming you, especially after having an orgasm. You yawn again.

“Let’s go to sleep?”

“Okay…Good night Y/N,” he burrows his nose into your hair and holds you tight.

“Good night, Chanhee,” you close your eyes.

A minute passes in silence.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

And then you sleep.

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four-white-trees · 17 days

Text

Sunday Six!!! Been a hot minute but I got something this week.

@jichanxo and I have been discussing a drag persona for Kuwana for a little while now (yall have probably seen her art 😍) and we've both been taking a shot at the concept. My approach is Kuwana reconnecting with an old college friend who has asked him to come fill in at her drag bar so Kuwana has to reconnect to an old persona he created called Yuko. It's an interesting dive into Kuwana's life before he was ever a teacher as well as some kuwagami deliciousness.

tagging: @overdevelopedglasses @skysquid22 @passthroughtime @mike----wazowski @phantasy14 @ikainkspills

Time passed quickly like this. The conversations weren’t the most stimulating, but being Yuko made up for that. As the evening went on, business picked up, and Yuko couldn’t linger on any one customer for very long anyway. Naomi stepped onto the stage to sing for thirty minutes at nine o’clock, her angelic voice enrapturing the crowd, and that allowed Yuko to slip into the back to vape for a few minutes.

She met Eto who came out of the office, locking the door behind her. She raised an eyebrow at Yuko. “Vaping? Really?”

Yuko rolled her eyes. “I like it.”

“You always did have shit taste,” Eto said, smiling. She removed the clip from her hair, the straight black tresses falling over her shoulders and reaching her mid-back. “You doing okay out there?”

“Just like how I remember it,” Yuko said, and Eto grinned.

They walked back up front together, and Yuko returned to her station behind the bar. A few new customers walked in through the doors…including him.

The acid wash skinny jeans. The black leather jacket. That shaggy mop of hair.

Yagami.

Kuwana was suddenly too aware of himself, Yuko fading from his mind as he watched Yagami take a seat at one of the tables near the back of the bar. He hadn’t looked toward the bar, hadn’t seemed to notice Kuwana standing there in several layers of make-up and a red dress. He was quickly joined by another man, his face relaxed but focused. Kuwana knew that look. Yagami was on a case.

“Yuko-chan?” Nina’s high voice called, crashing through these thoughts. “You okay?”

“Oh, yes,” Yuko said, shaking her head. She put her back to Yagami and smiled at Nina.

#writing #fanfiction #kuwagami #hopefully the effect here makes sense and isnt confusing #kuwana just fully immerses into the persona of yuko until...yknow #anyway i love yuko she is my girlfriend (she doesnt want me)

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seriesxwriting · 1 year

Text

420

W Rafe Cameron <3

Series- outer banks

Summary- Your the good girl, Rafe’s the bad boy. It’s 420. Wait that’s perfect. It’s Rafe’s opportunity to put some bad in the good. Will you turn to the dark side for a day?

Warnings- drug use (weed), swearing, kissing.

“Hey beautiful” rafe ran up past me so he could hold the door open. “Hey, thanks” I giggled walking through the door, Rafe dropped it on all the people walking behind me and caught up starting a conversation. “How was maths?” He hummed as we walked out into the busy car park, the hot sun was beaming down on the two of us. “When is maths anything but awful” I asked looking across at the brunette boy. “True” Rafe agreed with me letting lose a little snigger. “YO RAFE? You coming or what?” Kelce yelled from the other side of the car park. He was standing with topper and a bunch of the usual boys that Rafe hung with. “Where you off to today?” I queried thinking nothing of it. Stopping to find my keys in my messy, over cluttered bag. “It’s four twenty, where do you think” he lifted his eyebrows up like I was supposed to know what that meant.

“Excuse me?” I stared at him pressing my lips together so I didn’t let out a laugh. “Four twenty” Rafe repeated with a mischievous grin. “You keep saying that like I know what it means” my shoulders shrugged to show him I did not understand. “National smoking day y/n” “so you guys are off to smoke your vapes and some cigarettes then” “not that smoking” he shook his head giggling. “That’s on Rafe for not explaining it properly” topper chuckled appearing behind me with kelce by his side. They slowly entered the conversation, inviting themselves. “National weed smoking Day” Rafe wiggled his eyebrows making me look back at him. “Oh” I blinked feeling kinda awkward now. Of course I didn’t understand 420, I’d never done weed! I was an angel, I’d never even vaped! and I’d only been drunk two or three times in my life.

“Your welcome to come” Rafe put his head on his shoulder, my heart bagan racing from the panic that was spreading quickly over me. “I um…” I licked my lips looking at the three faces staring at me. “I wouldn’t even know the first thing” I shook my head, kelce and topper looked over at rafe who wasn’t ready to give up. “You can say no we’re not trying to peer pressure or anything but if your only worried about not knowing then you don’t have to be” he beamed cutely in my direction, he could be so sweet when he wanted to. Me and Rafe had always been good friends right from lower school but we were on two very different paths, we are two very different people with different attitudes. “I dunno” “you only live once y/n” topper grinned knowing I was swaying towards wanting to go. But yet I still looked at Rafe uncertain. “How about- you come anyway, if you want to smoke when your there you can, if you don’t you can just chill with us” rafe shrugged lightly. This i could agree to.

“Okay” I nodded a few times trying to convince myself almost, swallowing the nerves down my dry throat surrounded by the three smoking professionals. “Great, I’ll ride with you and we can meet them there” Rafes face lit up in excitement and he practically ran round the car to get in the passengers seat. “See you soon” topper patted my shoulder when walking past me with kelce, back off to the group of boys. I quickly got into my car and let out a deep breath gripping the steering wheel with my sweaty Palms. “What am I doing” I blinked looking over at rafe. He’s head was rolled to the side looking my way while slouched in my passenger seat with his legs in a man spread, hips forward. He looked hot, he always looked hot though. “Good girl meets bad boy- this was bound to happen sooner or later” he voiced to my rhetorical question.

My finger came to my mouth and it bit down nervously turning away from Rafe and looking straight rethinking the situation. “Y/n you’ll be fine, i promise I won’t leave your side until your back home in bed” “what if I don’t like it? How will I get home” I whipped my head around with wide eyes as if I was already high. “Then I will take you home, you name it I’ll do it I promise” “what if your high and- and you go back on your promise?” “That’s not How being high works” Rafe shook his head vigorously and moved his hand to my thigh. For some reason I immediately felt calmer when he did which I didn’t think was possible, but after all it was Rafe Cameron. “I’m just- im just gonna drive” I told myself out loud and so I did. Rafe didn’t remove his hand which I was kinda glad of. I drive for five minutes before Rafe muttered “I like being your passenger princess”. I looked at him without humour but him trying not to laugh made me laugh too. “It’s um- it’s not as bad as people make it out to be” Rafe began, changing the subject.

“I’ve never heard anyone say weed was bad” I told him honestly “because everyone does it” Rafe laughed out like he knew something. “Like- you know when Jasón did his presentation this morning” “he wasn’t high?” I frowned jerking my head back “yes he was I smoked with him before school” Rafe laughed again finding this funny. “oh” “and Jenny when she did her assembly, she was fried” “Jenny does weed?” I quizzed almost choking on my words. Rafe nodded and it slowly sank it to me that I was innocent. Next level innocent. “Have you realised how shielded you’ve been?” Rafe lifted an eyebrow pointing at the direction to go. “Something like that” I muttered pulling into some secluded area with two cars parked already. It was pretty much all covered by trees. “Okay- let’s do this” i nodded to Rafe feeling more of an urge to stop being protected from it all. “It doesn’t have to mean anything- just try it and if you ever wanna do it again you know who to call” he winked before getting out of the car. Before I could answer. Or even think of an answer.

Kelce, topper and a few of the boys (Leroy, Adam and grant) from before all got out the cars and came over to meet me and Rafe. “All set?” They all shared a mischievous grin and then patted the backpacks they were wearing. “All set” topper nodded towards a gap in the trees on the other side. “What’s through there?” I whispered to Rafe running to his side, he looked down at me and threw an arm around my shoulder with a smirk. “Just wait and see, best thing about hanging with us is you get to see all our secret spots” he told me running his tongue over his teeth. “Come on guys it’s five past four hurry up” Leroy hurried everyone along. As I stepped through the trees it was like another world, i soon saw that they were hiding a gorgeous secret beach with golden sand, little seashells and light waves stretching over the sand. Trees made perfect shade for us to sit under at the top of the beach, until the sun went away anyway. The boys all sat on their coats in specific places, they were used to this. I felt slightly out of place, I was inexperienced and this was the biggest day of the year for them. That was until rafe waved a gold, metal tin under my nose distracting me from my thoughts.

“Here, don’t do anything yet it’s not time but I’ll show you” he pulled out what must have been the weed as when the lid came off the strong smell crawled up my nose. Rafe put it to his lips and then pulled out a lighter making a flame. “Then you put your hand like this so the wind doesn’t blow out the flame and light it” he taught me passing the roll and lighter to me. “when?” I asked him quietly scotching closer to him. “Four twenty on the dot” he smiled, as i looked around everyone now had a lighter in hand and a splif in their mouths. Rafe got himself ready just as topper began counting down like the idiot he is. “Three- no three twooo- oooo ONE” he shouted and everyone lit a flame. I did exactly what Rafe taught me, the lighter was tricky it took me three attempts but lighting the weed wasn’t overly hard. Everyone took a long pull, “Happy 420!” They all shouted holding their joins in the air and smoke rising from their mouths.

I turned away from everyone when I took my first pull, surprisingly I didn’t cough. “You didn’t inhale” Rafe told me without judging “and you don’t need to hide no one cares it’s your first time we were all you once” topper told me comfortingly. “I know I just….” I trailed off shyly “Here like this” Rafe showed me on his own one. I copied and it went straight to the back of my throat this time. “You got it good job- You get used to the taste” he smiled opening his arm out. I wriggled over putting my head on his shoulder and then taking another pull on it, Rafe was half done already. “Only take a few pulls then put it out and go back to it if you want- don’t over do it for your first time” he told me rubbing my arm with his thumb, I felt the cold metal of the lighter too. “I can’t feel it” “it all hits you at once plus people have different tolerances” kelce told me blowing out his own smoke. I knew they were the experts but still I took another pull thinking nothing of it and then put it out laying it back in the tin. Rafe wrapped me up tighter in his arm as he slowly came to finishing his one. “You okay?” He checked with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m fine” I smiled up at him beginning to enjoy the gathering.

“So speaker or high talk?” Grant asked the group before laughing out loud a little too much. He was picking up number two now and so was Rafe who also burst out laughing causing me to vibrate. “I do have something to say- about mrs smiths new haircut” grant carried on, everyone began sniggering remembering back to it today. “She had to her hairline is non existent now” kelce chuckled with his join at his lips. “It make it way more bate that she’s trying to cover it up though” I added in while giggling a bit myself. As they carried on talking I took my zoot and lit it up again as I still couldn’t feel anything and everyone else was still smoking and clearly high. I took one pull and then another and another. I went to take another one but when I looked down at it the high slammed me in the face.

My hand started shaking and my heart beat abnormally fast. Rafe clocked pretty quickly and he took the joint off me putting it out and dropping it into the tin, then he took the lighter. “Feel it now huh?” He asked worriedly seeing that I was feeling uncomfortable. My legs had fallen flat and I was putting all my weight on Rafe now. “Yep- am i going to die?” I looked up at him worriedly. “No beautiful your not, let’s go for a walk” he whispered to me. Rafe helped me stand up and then held me by my waist as we left the group with out telling them why. “This is fucking- weird” I blinked at the sun while me and Rafe walked down towards the sea out of sight. “It’s pretty expensive to feel like this and it doesn’t last forever so just enjoy it while it lasts” Rafe told me rubbing my hip. “I can’t believe I’ve done it- I’m not a good girl anymore” I giggled looking up at rafe. He was already staring at me. “Oh you definitely still are, it’s what I like so much about you- that we’re so different yet we get on so well” “is this like being drunk? Where I won’t remember it in the morning?” I asked wishfully.

“No you’ll remember it” he laughed gently. “Well if it was- I might have said something on the lines of im glad you invited me today because I like spending time with you” Rafe caught his lip in between his teeth “so do I- that’s why I tried so hard to get you to say yes” “your the only reason it wasn’t an instant no” I shrugged slightly being honest with him, he deserved honesty. “And if this was like drinking- I might do something that could be a little stupid like kiss you”, Rafe double took trying to understand what I just said. He couldn’t decide if I was joking or not. “That- um- probably wouldn’t be stupid- because if it Where like drinking I’d kiss you back” he told me shakily, testing my waters. I took a seat on the hot sand and waited for rafe to Sit down too. “Shame it’s not like drinking” I told him with a smirk when he landed next to me. “Shame indeed” he looked across at me, his eyes flicked to my lips only for a second but I still noticed. I’m that moment I leant in towards rafe, he knew exactly what was happening he leant down to me and his hand flew up to my face. His pink lips were soft but all I could taste was the weed on our breath. It didn’t ruin the kiss though.

The kiss began to get harder and rafe pulled me onto his lap without breaking it. We didn’t need air, we had each other. “Stop” he whispered pulling away looking down. “What’s wrong?” I began to climb off him but Rafe grabbed my hand not wanting me to go anywhere. “If I don’t stop myself now I won’t be able to” he told me, one of his hands moved to my thigh resting it there. “And I will not show you how much I’m falling for you here” “w…” I blinked with parted lips at the boy, I was looking at him in a daze. “I’m serious- the more time I spend with you y/n the faster I fall” his hand held my face as it curved into a smile. Slowly I leant down kissing Rafe a second time, it was only for a few seconds but I just had the biggest urge. “I was afraid to tell you that Rafe, not because I was scared to fall for you- but I was scared of being the only one who fell” “that’s not the case here” he shook his head vigorously clutching my hand in his. “Was everyone saying stuff to you too?” I giggled behind my hand. “Yeah” he laughed nodding his head “I think everyone knew something was going on apart from us” he rubbed his temple. “We know now, right?” “Mmh” Rafe hummed kissing my hand. “If I’m gonna be your girlfriend- you know this is a one off smoking thing it will not be regular” I warned him “yeah I’m not trying to change nothing, I like that your good” Rafe licked his lips. “On the outside anyway”.

“Shut up Cameron” I laughed behind my hand “but while we’re at this one time smoking thing…” “…you want more weed?” He asked with a cute little laugh “it’s only 420 once a year right” I clapped both of my hand together getting ready to be even higher than I already was. Happy fucking 420 to me.

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